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The agent smiles at me. His teeth are glaringly white against his tan skin.
I can't tell if the tan is real or fake. It looks fake, but he's in real estate, so maybe he spends a lot of time outside or on the golf course. He's saying something to me, but I'm not listening. It really doesn't matter what he says. I love the house, and I'm putting in an offer one way or the other. "With the neighbors," he says when I finally stop studying the house's interior and look over at him.
"I'm sorry?" I say. "You'll get along great with the neighbors," he says. "Lovely folks. Married couples, all of them." He swallows and his smile dims. "You aren't married, are you, Mr. Bracco?" "No, I'm not," I reply. "I haven't found the right one yet, I guess."
"That's always the trick," he says, and turns his smile back up. "But don't you worry, Mr. Bracco. Singles have moved into this development before, and each and every one of them was married before their first year anniversary." "Oh no, I'm not joking," he continues. "Seriously?" I ask. "Everyone that has moved into this development has ended up married?" "Within the year, yes," he says.
He spreads his arms wide. "Love is in the air here at Eden's Cove." "Sounds like it," I say. I turn in a circle and survey the open living room. The entire house, from the architecture to the furnishings, is done up in the mid-century modern style. It looks like it was plucked from a late 1950s magazine and plopped down in the middle of the desert. "And only a 30-minute drive to town," the agent adds.
"Okay," I say, and do another circle. The place is immaculate. It is exactly what I'm looking for. The world has gotten so sterile and cold, so having a home that feels warm and inviting while also being stylish is what I need. But there's an elephant in the room. "Why is the price so low?" I ask the agent. "It's brand new." His smile never falters. "It is brand new," he says after a moment's hesitation.
But the neighborhood is eager to get the right person in here, so they priced it accordingly. "Are there many offers in?" I ask. "A few," he says. "Then I should probably go over asking," I say. I wince inside. I barely have enough to afford the asking price. Going over will stretch me very thin. The housing market isn't for buyers like me who work in consulting.
The agent's smile widens and he says, "Oh no, Mr. Bracco, the price is set!" "Right," I say, "but no one rejects an offer that's over what they're asking." "On the contrary," the agent says, "offering more than the asking price would be an instant rejection. For the neighborhood, it's all about the right person." "You said that," I say, "but what does that mean?"
I am afraid his smile will tear his face apart as he widens it even more. "It means opportunity for those who have what it takes to be a part of Eden's Cove," he says. I don't know what to say, so I just nod. I keep nodding as I walk from the living room and into the kitchen. Even the brand new appliances are in that retro style. It's amazing what they make these days. The agent joins me in the kitchen.
"You work from home, yes?" he replies. "Yes," I reply. "And what do you consult on again?" he asks. "System efficiencies," I say. "Companies have me look over their processes and I make suggestions. If they like the suggestions, then I hammer out a plan they can implement themselves or I can refer them to some great organizations that will help them. Sounds interesting," he says. "If it only paid more," I say. The doorbell rings.
The agent's eyes go wide and he freezes in place like his shoes are glued to the linoleum. The doorbell rings again. "Excuse me," he says. I start to follow him and he holds his hand out. "No, no, stay here. I'll only be a moment." The agent leaves the kitchen and I quietly move to the corner of the kitchen wall. I hear the door open and a man's voice speaking low. The agent responds, but I can't hear what he's saying.
Then the door closes and the voices are blocked completely. I turn the corner, study the closed front door for a second, then walk down the hall toward the bedrooms. There are three of them, two smaller and one primary. Although I guess, back when this house would have been the height of style, the room would have been called a master. That doesn't fly today. I skip the smaller bedrooms.
I'll use one as a guest room and one as an office. I'm pretty sure from the floor plans I saw, they are exactly the same. But the primary bedroom is something else. I walk in and have to stop to take a breath. The room is huge. There's a side nook with a vanity set up as if the woman of the house is already in residence. And despite the agent's claim, I don't see that happening anytime soon.
Opposite the vanity nook is a sitting area with two lounge chairs and a glass and ebony coffee table. Behind the chairs is a large bay window that looks out over the back lawn. The grass is bright green and the color shines through the window, giving the entire room a slight verdant glow. God, I wonder what the water bill is to keep that lawn so green. The development is in a desert, so water has to be at a premium. Can I afford it? Then I turn to the bed.
A king. Probably one of those California kings that's just a little bigger. I'll have to ask so I can be sure to get the right sheets. If my offer is accepted, that is. The bed is raised from the floor, and I take the two steps up to it and give it a solid press with both hands. "Nice mattress," the agent says from behind me, making me jump and spin around like I'm a guilty child caught in his parents' bedroom.
"Yeah, it is," I say, and step down from the bed. "Everything alright, hmm?" He responds. "The door," I say. "Someone was at the door. I was just asking if everything is alright." "Perfectly fine," he says. "Great," I say, not believing him in the slightest. "So what's next? What's the process? So you'd like to put in an offer?" He asks. "Yeah, right away," I say.
"And you are sure that Eden's Cove is the place you want to spend the rest of your life?" he asks. I chuckle. "Well, I don't know about the rest of my life," I say. "But then I'd rather not have to move again. I've been house-hopping for years, so setting down some roots is what I'm looking for." "Setting down some roots is what you are looking for!" he echoes. "That sounds perfect." I shrug and wait. He smiles.
"Follow me to the kitchen, and we'll get your offer all sorted out," he says. I follow him, and we get it all sorted out. He wasn't kidding. The offer price line is already filled out, and it's several thousand less than what was advertised. "Is this price correct?" I ask the agent. "For the right person, yes," he says. "Okay," I reply. Weird, but I'm not gonna argue. Still, it is weird.
After signing the offer paperwork, I take another look around. This time, I check the bedrooms. Both are furnished, one for guests and one already set up as an office. "I'm going to need this room emptied," I say. "I already have furniture. No outside furniture allowed," he states. Then he lifts the pack of papers I had just signed. He doesn't exactly wave the papers in my face, but it's close.
"It's all in the contract," he continues. "Will that be a problem?" "I can't bring any of my own furniture at all?" I ask. "Do you have any pieces that fit the decor?" He replies. "If so, and they are approved, then yes, you may bring those. But they would have to be considered by the committee." "Sure, no problem," I say. "I have a lamp and two side tables that are from the era." "Excellent," he says. "Any other questions, Mr. Bracco?"
"When will I hear back about whether or not my offer is accepted?" I ask. "You will hear back from them very soon," he says. "And by them, you mean the owners?" I ask. "The committee," he says. "They make all of the decisions for Eden's Cove." "Okay, great," I say. "When will I hear back from the committee? If I'm not getting the place, then I need to know right away so I can keep looking. My lease is up next month, so I don't have a lot of time."
"Oh, there's no need to worry about your lease, Mr. Bracco," he says. He walks away and I follow. When we step outside the front door and into the desert heat, I take a deep breath. It's hot and dry and what I need. I've done the Pacific Northwest rain thing. I've suffered through southern humidity. I've dealt with sweltering summers made worse by scorching asphalt and towers of steel and glass in large cities.
Hot, dry and quiet is what I'm looking for. The agent shakes my hand and walks me to my car. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Mr. Bracco." He says as I get in and crank up the AC. "You will?" I ask. "I thought you said the committee has to think about it. I said they handle all decisions." The agent replies and smiles. "Goodbye, Mr. Bracco." "Yeah, uh, see ya." I reply.
I close the door, put the car in gear, and back out of the driveway. The agent waves at me as I drive past. I respond in kind. Then I'm driving past the other houses. Men are outside mowing their front lawns or trimming the bushes that line their walkways. Some are systematically walking back and forth, spraying either herbicide or fertilizer on their grass. One man looks up and gives me a huge smile. I slow and roll down my window.
"Hi," I say. "I'm Ted. Ted Bracco." "Good to meet you, Ted Bracco," the man says and wipes his hands on his jeans. He crosses his lawn and extends one of his hands to me. I reach out and shake it. "Martin," he says as we shake. "Martin Cantor." "Good to meet you, Martin," I say. I lean out of my window, look left, look right, making a show of being conspiratorial. "So, Martin, who do I have to bribe to make sure my offer is accepted?"
He laughs and laughs. "Oh, Ted. Do you mind that I call you Ted?" he says. "Please do," I reply. "Well, Ted," he says and leans close. He looks left, he looks right, and he plays the game with me. "I wouldn't worry too much about that. You're a shoo-in." "You think so?" I say. "Oh, yes," he replies. "You're the only single man that's put in an offer. The rest are couples and families."
"Does that matter?" "You bet it does, Ted. Eden's Cove is as much about finding your partner as it is about learning to build a life with your partner, just like with my wife and I." He turns and looks over his shoulder then waves. "That's when I see her. There's a woman standing at the huge bay window that takes up most of their living room wall. She's dressed in a 1950s-style dress with her hair all done up and her arms crossed over her chest. She's looking right at me. I wave.
She doesn't wave back. "That's Martha," he says. "The love of my life! Martin and Martha?" I say and laugh. "Who gets the nickname?" He frowns. "I don't understand," he says. "Marty," I say. "It can be a nickname for Martin or Martha. Who gets that nickname?" "Our names are Martin and Martha," he replies. "Well, yeah, but..." "Our names are Martin and Martha."
He repeats, then he leans in close. "Just like your name is Ted, which is short for Theodore," I say. He shakes his head. "But your name is Ted." Then he steps back and slaps his hands on his thighs. "I best get back to it," he says. "Great to meet you, Ted. Looking forward to talking more soon." "Uh, yeah, me too," I say, and give a wave as he walks away. I glance up at the window and Martha is still staring at me.
I wave once more, but she doesn't wave back. She only watches me, her arms crossed. "Okay," I say and roll the window up. Then I'm off and driving under the massive arch at the development's entrance. In the rearview mirror, I see the backwards letters that spell out Eden's Cove, a couple's paradise. The agent calls me the next morning. "Your offer has been accepted, Mr. Bracco," he says before I even get a hello out. "Congratulations!"
"Thanks, that's great!" I reply. "I'll let my landlord know, and I'll reserve a moving truck for next month." "Oh, no, no, no," he says like a disapproving school teacher. "Your offer has been accepted now." "Right, and my lease is up next month," I say. "I have no problem signing all the papers, but I can't move until next month."
I'm sorry, Mr. Bracco, but you don't seem to understand, he says. Your offer has been accepted now. That means you must move in now, or they'll take another offer. That's a little strange, don't you think? I say. He doesn't reply. Are you there? I ask. I am, Mr. Bracco. The agent replies. I wait a minute, then shake my head and say...
"Fine. I can move in right away, no problem. I'll still have to pay next month's rent, but I should be able to cover that." "I am sure you can, Mr. Bracco," he says. "Thanks for the great news," I say. "I'll see if I can wrangle up a moving company on short notice." "No need, Mr. Bracco," he says. "The movers will be there in two days to gather your belongings and move them to Eden's Cove." "Two days? I haven't even started packing," I say.
I look about my apartment. Not that there's much to pack. Uh, yeah, sure. I can make two days' work. I am sure you can, Mr. Bracco, the agent says. Again, congratulations. You have made a beautiful choice. I sure as hell hope so, but I don't say that. Instead, I say, so when do we sign the papers? I'll be by this afternoon, he says and hangs up.
In two days, the moving truck pulls up to the apartment complex. Three men get out of the cab. Behind them, two cars pull up and four men from each car get out. I instantly recognize one of them. "Martin?" I say as I walk down my steps and hold out my hand. "Are you here to help supervise or something?" "Supervise?" he chuckles. "I'm here to help you get packed, Ted. Just like the rest of your new neighbors."
I turn to the other men that are standing around watching us. All of them give me huge smiles. "Wait, you're not a moving company?" I ask. "You all are my neighbors?" "Precisely!" Martin says. "Let me introduce you." Which he does. "So, who's on the committee?" I ask. "Which of you guys gave my offer the green light?" They look at each other and then laugh. "What?" I ask. "What am I missing?"
"We aren't on the committee," Martin says, slapping me on the shoulder. "Only wives are on the committee." "Only wives?" I ask, unsure that I heard him correctly. "Only wives," the men all say in unison. Before I can react, Martin has me by the elbow and is walking me up to my apartment. "All right, Ted, let's do this," he says. "We'll make sure to take care of your possessions as if they are our own."
They have the truck loaded and ready to go within an hour. There are 11 of them after all, so it goes pretty efficiently. I couldn't have designed a better system myself. "What about this?" I ask, as I look at a pile of my things still sitting in the middle of my apartment's front room. "They don't fit the aesthetic," Martin says. "You understand." I could protest. A couple of items I'd like to keep.
"Come on," Martin says, gripping me by the shoulder and turning me away from the pile. "Let's get you home." The first night is a blur. The first week is a whirlwind. It's all barbecues and cocktails by pools. My house doesn't have a pool, but most do. I'm introduced to all of the husbands in the neighborhood, but none of the wives. They seem aloof and busy. They are uninterested in meeting me directly, not that they don't watch me constantly.
Every damn window I pass has a wife in it, dressed for the day and arms crossed over their chest. When I ask Martin about it at yet another evening barbecue, he blows it off as nothing. "You have to understand that Eden's Cove is a special place, Ted," he says. "It works because it works," he leans in. "We have a system, and I hear you like systems.
"Yeah, systems are my bread and butter," I say. "Then you understand," he replies and takes the glass from my hand. "Let me get you a refill. Old fashioned, right?" "Uh, yeah, right," I say. I glance past the men and to the sliding glass door. Martha is standing there, her eyes on me. I give her a slight nod. She gives me a slight nod back. "That's different."
The barbecue ends and I waddle my way back to my house, full of steaks and cocktails. When I get home, I find a photo album sitting on my front steps. I pick it up and thumb through it. The whole thing is filled with pictures of women, all about my age. Each page has a photo and a short bio. It's kind of weird to find, but that's not really the weird part.
I fumble with my door handle and get the front door open. No need for keys. I've been told we don't lock doors in Eden's Cove. The door closes behind me as I give it a backwards kick with my foot. My eyes are riveted to the photo album. I hurry into the kitchen and turn the light on over the small table in front of my own sliding glass door. The women are very attractive. Each one is close to my type if I even have a type.
The photos themselves are what have me fascinated. They aren't selfies or posed pictures. No, they're much more candid than that. Like, really, really candid. One is of a woman as she's drying off in her bathroom. Her towel blocks her body, so it's not indecent exactly. But I can swear the woman doesn't know she's being photographed. I look at the rest of the album, and all the pictures are like that.
A woman coming out of a supermarket. A woman getting into her car. A woman buying a latte. A woman leaving an office. None of them are looking at the camera. None of them show any sign that they know they are having their picture taken. I should stop looking. It feels voyeuristic. But I'm a little buzzed from the cocktails, and the album is just so weird that I can't stop flipping the pages. And the women really are attractive. I'd say most are out of my league for sure.
I'm not bad looking, but these women could definitely do better than me. By the time I set the album down, it's well past midnight. I have an early morning meeting, so I get ready for bed and climb into my California King. A few of the photos float across my sleepy mind as I drift off. I can't wait to ask Martin what the hell is going on tomorrow. So far, Eden's Cove has been great, but this is a trip and a half for sure. The second my meeting ends, the doorbell rings.
"Hey guys," I say as the husbands stand on the front steps, my front walk, and my lawn. "Uh, what's up?" "What do you think of 'The Choices'?" Martin asks. "The Choices?" I ask. "In the album," he continues. "The women? Any catch your eye?" The men behind him all stare at me, waiting.
"Um, sure, yeah," I say. Some did catch my eye. "Great!" he says, and gives the other guys a thumbs up. They all give him a thumbs up back. "Let's see those choices," Martin says and pushes past me. Then the rest do the same, and suddenly my house is full of men. I stand there for a second, then close the door and join them all in the living room.
Martin already has the album in hand, which means he went into my bedroom to get it, because that's where I left it. "What are their numbers?" Martin asks, flipping through the album. He pauses and moves his face close to a page. "She's lovely." He flips the album around to me. "Is she one? Numbers?" I ask. His finger slides to a number at the top of the page. "Oh, numbers."
"I didn't notice those before. So, which ones?" he asks. He shoves the album out at me and I take it. I quickly flip through the pages, then stop when I come to a redhead that I'd noticed last night. "She's pretty cute, and it looks like she's a lawyer," I say. "Number?" Martin asks. I glance at the top of the page. "Uh, 14," I say.
The men all pull out their phones and send a text. Then they tuck their phones back in their pockets and continue staring at me. "Another," Martin says. "We need at least three." "Um," I keep flipping. "She sounds nice." I show him a photo of a brunette who's washing dishes in her kitchen. It says she's an environmental consultant and went to Cal State. "25," I say before Martin can ask. The phones come out. Texts are sent.
The phones go back. "One more," Martin says. "Sure, yeah," I say. I flip through the whole album, then start over from the beginning. "Her," I say. "Number eight." Phones, texts, pockets. "Great," Martin cheers. "This is wonderful. We should celebrate." "Celebrate?" I ask. "Of course," Martin says. "You just picked your wife."
"I did?" "You sure did, Ted," Martin says and claps my shoulder. He gives it a gentle squeeze. "I'm so happy for you. We're all so happy for you." The other men nod in unison. "My place at 6:30 sharp," he says. "We're gonna have hot dogs and beers. And cake." "Okay. Sounds fun," I say. "Oh, it will be," Martin says then walks past me toward the front door.
The rest of the men follow, and soon I'm left alone in my living room, more than a little fried. I realize that Martin has taken the photo album with him. It's 6:25 when I step out of my front door. Martin's house is barely a minute's walk, but before I get to the curb, I pause and watch as all of the garage doors up and down the street open, then cars reverse out.
As car after car after car drives past my house, I see only wives driving, no one else in the cars, only a wife driving. None of them look my way. I watch them leave, then see Martha sitting in her car in her driveway, waiting for the others to pass. She's the last to leave, and before she reverses out of her driveway, she looks straight at me and gives me a quick nod. I nod back.
She smiles and then drives off. I've been in Eden's Cove for weeks now, and that's the first smile I've gotten from a wife. A question pops in my head, one that I should have been asking from the beginning. But work and socializing with the guys has filled up all of my time. Where the hell did I move to? The celebration goes late into the night. I'm thoroughly plastered by the time I'm able to say my goodbyes and stumble home.
I kick off my shoes and strip off my clothes as I walk down the hallway to my bedroom. Standing in my boxers, I brush my teeth and try to cobble together what is going on. I guess I picked a wife. Whatever that means. The guys are all super happy for me. That is obvious. Then I think about how all the wives left. I think about how I haven't actually talked to any of them. I think about how I haven't really talked to anyone outside of work since I moved in.
I kept telling my friends I was busy. Their texts stopped after a while. I think about the photo album. I think about the numbers. I spit, rinse, and laugh. I'm too much in my head and I'm drunk. I'll deal with it all in the morning. The first thing I see when I wake up is a pair of bright green eyes staring at me. They look familiar. I jump and sit up, then scramble out of my bed.
Lying there, her mouth duct-taped closed and her arms bound behind her back, is the brunette, number 25. "What the actual fuck?" I whisper. "Oh good, you're awake," Martin says as he walks into my bedroom, carrying a tray with coffee, orange juice, toast, and a scrambled egg. "Ted, meet Olivia. Olivia, meet Ted.
The woman thrashes against her bonds and struggles to cry out from behind the duct tape. Martin sets the tray down on the vanity, then looks from me to, uh, Olivia and back to me. "It takes some adjustment," he says. "Believe me, when I first met Martha, she was spitting mad. But eventually, like they all do, she calmed down. And we couldn't be happier." "You kidnapped her?" I ask and move back to the bed.
Martin steps in front of me and places a hand on my chest. "No! They found you a wife!" he says. His arm is stiff, and I can feel the strength behind it, ready to give me a hard shove if I make any sudden movements. "They? Who did?" I ask. Martin frowns. "The committee!" he says then glances back at Olivia. "The wives, of course! They make all of the decisions."
"Well, Martin, that's great for them. But I'm not going to be complicit in this," I say. I juke to the left, then to the right. Martin falls for my feint, and I scramble around him to the bed. "Hold on," I say. "I'll get you out of this." I don't even hear him come up behind me. All I know is I suddenly have an arm around my throat, and it's hard to breathe.
"It takes some adjustment," Martin says in my ear, "but all relationships do." Then spots fill my vision and it all goes black. When I wake up, I'm in my bed with my arms secured behind my back. "Oh good, you're awake," Martin says as he sets down a magazine and gets up from one of the lounge chairs in the sitting area.
"Get out of my house!" I say. My throat is raw and my neck is sore. "Get out now, and I won't call the police!" "Of course you won't call the police!" Martin says, and walks over to me. "Why would you? You're happy here in Eden's Cove." "I was until all this fucking bullshit!" I shout. He puts a finger to his lips.
"Quiet down, Ted," he says. "We don't want you to ruin the process. And I know you like a good process. I also like to not have my hands tied behind my back and to not be complicit in kidnapping." I shout. He shoves a palm against my mouth. "Ted, I have to insist that you be quiet," he says. "The committee really does not want to have to put your house back on the market." He waits for that to sink in. It does.
I nod. Then I hear it. What he's calling the process. From down the hall, I hear a woman reciting something. I'm not sure of the words. I can also hear muffled cries. The recitation doesn't stop, no matter how intense the muffled cries get. Martin takes his hand from my mouth.
"What is going on?" I ask. "Martha is helping your fiancé prepare for Wedded Bliss." Martin says. "Wedded Bliss?" I echo. He smiles and nods. When he doesn't offer any further explanations, I ask. "So, what happens now?" "I help you prepare for Wedded Bliss." He says. "Okay." I say and nod. "And how are you going to do that?" "We talk." He says. "We talk?"
You and I? Oh, not just me. All of the husbands will come by. We each take a shift. A shift? I ask. To help you get your mind right, he says and pulls out a little black book from his pocket. He shifts and gets comfortable on the bed next to me. Ready?
"Do I have a choice?" I ask. "You already made your choice when you moved into Eden's Cove, Dad!" He says and laughs. Then he begins to recite from the little black book. The words mean nothing to me. They definitely aren't in English. After an hour, I feel like I'm drugged. After two hours, I feel like I am the drug. After three hours, I'm bobbing my head up and down to the cadence of Martin's voice.
The guy does have a nice voice. Down the hall, the muffled cries have stopped. All day and all night, the guys show up, one after the other. Some help me wash up, then get me back to bed with my hands tied firmly again. Some make me food and bring me trays filled with steaks or sandwiches or cereal, depending on the meal time. They all recite from the little black book. The words mean nothing. Their faces mean nothing.
Time means nothing. Then one morning, I have no idea how many mornings it's been since that first day. But one morning, Martin comes in and nods at the husband, whose shift it is. The husband closes the little black book and gets up from my bed where he's been sitting. Crawford is his name, I think. He hands Martin the little black book and leaves. "Hi, Martin," I say. There's cheer in my voice.
"Why wouldn't there be? I'm going to be married." "Hi, Ted," Barton replies, matching my cheer. "How do you feel today?" "I feel great," I say and mean it. "Wonderful," he says. "Now, before I free your hands, I need to ask you a couple of questions. Will that be all right? Shoot," I say. He takes a seat at the end of the bed. "Who is in charge in Eden's Cove?" he asks.
"The committee, of course," I reply. "And who makes up the committee?" he asks. "The wives, of course," I reply. "These are easy questions." "I should hope so," Martin says. "And who do we all serve?" "Our mistress, Sekhmet," I say. "Goddess of plagues, chaos, wars, and the hot desert sun."
Very good, Martin says. Which is why Eden's Cove is out here in the desert, right Ted? Right, I reply. We must be close to Sekhmet, our mistress, our reason for being. Perfect, Martin says. He stands and moves around the bed to me. I'm going to untie you now, and then there will be one last question. He unties me, and I pull my hands to my lap so I can rub my wrists.
"What's the last question?" I ask him. Martin turns to the bedroom door. It swings open, and I see Olivia standing there with Martha behind her. Olivia is dressed in a beautiful dress with some kind of exotic bird print on it. The dress flares out at the bottom, just like all the wives' dresses. "Ted, who is that?" Martin asks, pointing at Olivia.
"That's Olivia!" I say, and smile big at the beautiful woman who is framed in what is now our bedroom doorway. "My amazing wife!" Martha gives Olivia a nudge, and that's all she needs. She rushes across the bedroom and throws her arms around me. I do the same, and soon we are kissing and crying and laughing and loving each other so much. The honeymoon lasts a week. It is utter bliss.
Olivia is the most wonderful woman and such a good wife. If Martin hadn't come by to disturb us with an invitation to tonight's full moon ceremony, I don't think we would have ever left our bedroom. Dressed in an emerald green evening dress and me in a black suit with a white shirt but no tie, the two of us walk down the street, hand in hand, toward Martin and Martha's house. I hold her hand up to my lips and kiss it.
Olivia laughs and we both glance up at the full moon that is looking down on us. We are greeted with cheers and congratulations by everyone as we make the rounds by Martin and Martha's pool. Then we are shown to the barbecue grill, which has been decorated with flowers and silks. There's something on the grill, but I can't quite see what it is. "Kristen and Charles have provided the sacrifice tonight," Martin says, suddenly at my elbow.
"Great," I say. "That's very sweet of them." "It was their turn," Martin says. "That's why you haven't seen much of Kristen or Charles since you've moved in." "Congratulations," a man says, and I realize what Martin has said is true. I've only seen the guy a couple of times, and I don't remember ever seeing the woman that stands next to him, not even at a bay window.
The woman, Kristen, steps to Olivia. Olivia places her hand on the woman's belly and nods. "Thank you," Olivia says. "For Sekhmet and for your eternal happiness together," Kristen says. Their foreheads meet and they close their eyes. Then they part. "Thank you," Olivia says again. "How about we get this ceremony started?" Martin calls out and is instantly met with cheers.
We all strip naked and stand around the grill. The chanting begins and Olivia joins in. I lean over and kiss her cheek. She giggles and swats me away. I begin to chant with the others, and the words feel so good. They feel so right. The grill is lit, and what is on it is soon illuminated. "For the goddess!" Martin shouts. "For the goddess!" We all echo. Then we hug and laugh and watch the infant's body burn.
After all, there are no families in Eden Cove. We should get a pool put in, Olivia says to me. I agree as we hug and laugh and sway and chant and enjoy all that is Eden's Cove. Sekhmet would approve.
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