The Architect of Grayland by Arvey Evelyn

Author:Arvey, Evelyn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-two

Marc was up. She could hear him moving around outside the tent. She joined him in the cold morning air and rubbed her hands together. For the first time since last year, she could see her breath. But thankfully, it was no longer raining. There wasn’t a hint of wind or clouds. It was a beautiful morning. They packed. Marc tucked his food pods and the light globe she’d made for him into a newly made pouch and slung it over his shoulder. “Good idea,” she told him. Marc wrote a note for Adam on the side of his tent in large blue letters (just in case), and then set off along the ridgeline between their areas.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

They set off. Each on their own side of the ridge.

Strange. We’re doing this together, yet we’re apart. I didn’t notice until now. It’s odd, but it feels…right. Why wouldn’t we walk in our own areas? I bet he doesn’t notice at all. She smiled a private little smile. And he’s the one who says we’re not bonded to our Grays.

The day grew warmer. Elaine shed her jacket. How far would they have to go? Would they find anything? She didn’t want to face another long journey—not now, not when things were moving along.

I wonder if Mr. Gray knows what we’re up to? Does he understand that we want to settle somewhere new, that we want to make a village? I bet he does. Her mind wandered. Could they make a community, the three of them? What would it be like? How would it function on a day-to-day basis? How would Adam handle it? We’ll ask him what he wants. We’ll do what makes him comfortable. We could visit him only on Wednesdays, for example…or at dinnertime…or only when he invites us. Or not at all. But I don’t think he’ll want to be alone all the time. I wouldn’t want to. It’ll all work out, I’m sure.

Which made her think about mealtimes. How would that work? She’d never once thought about it—would they eat together? Or separately, each at their own place? Who would prepare the meals? Who would serve? Who would clean up? Who, indeed? Elaine drew in a sharp breath; they’d better not expect her to do it! There was no way she was going to be a servant to the men. She hadn’t walked all this way to be a maid. She glanced at Marc. He would love to be served by her and eat her food and never have to make another bite to eat for the rest of his life. No. Not on her watch. She couldn’t let that happen.

She walked on, brooding. But then it hit her: this was Grayland. The rules were different here. The food came pre-made, in self-cleaning pods. Everyone could serve themselves whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. And then, like magic, the containers would refill with no effort from her. Where was the problem? She smothered a laugh with her arm, and Marc looked quizzically at her.

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