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Bailey’s expression softened as she processed his words. “You and I might have more in common that I thought.”
“You shot a man you cared about?” he teased her, knowing she likely hadn’t.
“I’ve had to make tough choices about people I love. I’m still doing it every day.”
“There are ways out. Look at me.” He lifted his arms as though he were the shining example of a well-lived life all of a sudden. It was laughable, but he wanted to offer her the levity.
“Oh yes, you’ve clearly got it all figured out.” She nudged him with her elbow as they walked by the fragrant wildflowers at the edge of the dirt path. There were tiny houses splattered throughout the area, all similar in their simplicity. Just cinderblock with a metal roof.
“Is everyone already sleeping? It’s so quiet.” King craned his neck to search for anyone chatting or roaming around.
“We’re up before the sun. This time of the evening, people have eaten. They’ve finished their jobs. Mostly they are settled in with a good book by their fire and resting. Some meditate. Others sing. They sew or make crafts. Some pray. The children learn or are told stories. It’s my favorite time of the night. I loved it when I was very small. We call it the stillness.”
“You’ve really lived here your whole life?”
“I was born here. Literally. Like over there.” She pointed to a small, square, one-room house.
“Did your parents build Cinderhill or something?”
“No, it was here when my parents arrived. It was smaller, just about ten people living off the land. Only four of the cinderblock houses existed.”
“What drew them here? Or how did they even find it? It would have been before you could just search communes on the internet, right?”
“Someone my father knew had passed through the area on a hunting trip and came back with stories of the way of life. My parents were not adjusting well to adult life and the expectations of a ‘normal’ existence in a capitalist society.”
“Meaning?”
“My father couldn’t find a job he wanted to do and hated going to work. They weren’t very skilled at anything that could earn them a decent living and both of their parents had put them out after short stints of returning home. I think my father was out of options, and when he heard about Cinderhill he was convinced it would be some kind of heaven.”
“Heaven? So it’s a religious thing? I didn’t see a church.” King scratched at his head, attempting to sell himself as confused when in fact he’d read all the notes Carmen had sent about Cinderhill.
“There’s no building we call a church. Not anymore. There was a temple my father created but it’s gone. Now, I make sure people here can believe what they like and have the ability to listen to their hearts and bodies. Cinderhill is not supposed to change people; it’s meant to give them more space and freedom to discover who they are.”
“What if they are assholes?” King asked, partly serious. “Shouldn’t some people change?”
“Then they don’t belong here.” Bailey shrugged, but he could sense some unease.
“How do you make them leave? If everything is so peaceful, how do you defend Cinderhill when things go wrong?”
“They rarely do. But those things work themselves out in the end. This type of living isn’t for everyone and the assholes usually go back to the city.” Her lips curled into a devilish smile.
He understood her joke instantly. “I’m rethinking calling you kind.”
“You’ll be rethinking everything when the sun comes up tomorrow morning and you realize how much work you have to do.”
CHAPTERSEVEN
Bailey
King stood in the communal outdoor kitchen; his eyes fixed on the pile of peaches Bailey had brought in. There was already an unsettled bewildered look on his face that she found a little funny. That’s what a pullout cot for a bed and a cold shower can do.
“Did you sleep well?” Bailey asked, able to guess his response based solely on his expression.
“I slept,” King said, his voice gravelly. “I think. Can you sleep while you’re tossing and turning?”
“The cot wasn’t great?”
“I guess I’ve gotten used to high thread count sheets and a pillowtop mattress. Also I don’t think I’ve slept on a bed that my feet hung over in a while. I’m not complaining, but my body is.”
