Page 10 of Pocket Wife

His gaze lifts to me. “That is inefficient.”

“It is also why nobody here starves.”

He absorbs that without argument, which annoys me less than it should.

We continue past orchards where glassberries hang in clear clusters, past low houses with festival ribbons still tied to porch rails, past a field where two girls help their grandfather cover seed trays. Everyone stops working to watch Rethan pass. Some stare at his height. Others stare at the Authority insignia. A few look at me as if I’ve invited danger to walk beside me.

I keep my chin level.

At the Odell farm, Mrs. Odell meets us beside the repaired well pump. Her eyes are red, but her apron is clean and her voice steady.

“My husband’s buried on the hill,” she tells Rethan before he asks anything. “His father too. The relocation paper says burial sites will be cataloged and transferred. What does that mean?”

Rethan’s expression remains composed. “Usually, remains are exhumed under supervision and reinterred at the destination site.”

Mrs. Odell flinches.

I step in. “That will not happen.”

“I described procedure,” Rethan says. “Not approval.”

“Procedure can still be cruel.”

“Yes,” he says after a moment. “It can.”

I’d expected resistance. Agreement leaves me with nowhere to put my anger.

At the next farm, Torren shows him the cooperative grain stores and explains how one poor harvest in Upper Fen is balanced by surplus from three other settlements. Rethan asks about storage rotations, transport routes, seed ownership, and who controls emergency distribution. Not once does he ask what the land is worth.

By the time we reach the schoolhouse, I’m no longer sure what to do with him.

Jessa stands on the steps with several children behind her pretending not to listen. “If Helix moves us, they split the placements by household size. My students could be scattered across four districts.”

Rethan turns toward the children. His face doesn’t soften, exactly, but his voice lowers. “Prepare copies of school records and household locations. Educational continuity may support cultural cohesion.”

Jessa blinks. “Does that help?”

“It may.”

After we leave, I wait until the children’s whispers fade behind us. “You could have said yes.”

“I do not offer certainty where none exists.”

“No. You offer tiny pieces of hope and make people guess how much they weigh.”

He considers that. “Would false confidence comfort them?”

“For an hour, maybe.”

“And after?”

I have no answer that doesn’t make me sound reckless.

We walk in silence until the road curves toward the ridge. From there, the valley opens beneath us: fields, barns, wells, orchards, smoke from breakfast fires, neighbors moving between homes with borrowed tools and borrowed courage. I’ve seen that view thousands of times. With Rethan beside me, it looks suddenly fragile.

He stops at the overlook. “Helix’s impact statement refers to this area as low-density agricultural usage.”

I give a humorless laugh. “That sounds clean.”