The Saco Motel was a run-down motor lodge across the road from a gas station. Freya was struck by the cold silence when she stepped out of the car. The stars blazed above, and there was nothing else for miles in any direction. It was only forty miles from home, but it felt like they’d reached the edge of the earth.
Despite the recent snow, only two of the seven rooms had lights on. Two pickup trucks were parked side by side in front of rooms one and two. Freya made her way to the little side-window marked “CHECK IN.” She’d called ahead to reserve two rooms with Lassa’s card.
It took a while for the grumpy clerk to appear. She was almost about to ring the bell a second time. When he slid the window open, the Jeopardy! theme played in the distance. She filled out the registration form in Lassa’s name. The clerk ran the card without bothering to check her ID, and then shuffled over to a pegboard where the keys for each room dangled.
“Can I get rooms five and seven?” Freya asked.
“Not together?” he inquired.
She shook her head.
“Ohh-kay.”
He just wanted to get back to watching TV. Freya could relate. She was too far away from Dan, Unity was thin. She felt it growing stronger and realized Dan had stepped out of the car to be closer to her. She smiled at that. He couldn’t wait five minutes to be with her.
Lynn climbed out of the car and glanced back the way they’d come, still anxious. She looked at the motel’s wood-shingle siding with distaste, and Freya felt a pang of guilt.
“I’m sorry about this,” Freya said.
“It’s not your fault,” Lynn said. She sounded very tired.
Freya handed her the key to room five and kept the other. Lynn worked it out immediately.
“Samantha may not agree,” Lynn cautioned.
“She doesn’t have to agree,” Freya said.
Lynn shrugged. It was odd to see her not press a point. She’d clearly had about enough of this, but Freya didn’t know what she could do about it. If she asked, Lynn would insist she was fine.
It’s the thing with Lassa, Dan explained. He pictured Lynn Harris slowly deflating, punctured by the idea Lassa had lied to her.
Please, stop, Freya thought.
Dan frowned in apology. He hadn’t meant to visualize it. Freya felt the root of it. Dan hated all the lies, hated keeping this a secret. He wanted to come clean with Lynn, with his mother, with everyone. Thinking about it made him miserable.
Soon, Freya promised, and she hated the doubt he felt in response, discord that had no place between them. Doubt would undermine everything. It ate at Unity like acid.
Freya looked at Lynn, and it sank in just how much bullshit Lynn had put up with on their behalf. She didn’t have to be here, didn’t have to drive them around, or put herself in danger. She wasn’t required to give a shit about her unfaithful lover’s problematic kid. She had been staring for too long, and Lynn was about to ask what was wrong.
“Lassa didn’t lie to you,” Freya blurted.
“Freya…” Lynn began, a patronizing note in her voice.
“No, listen to me. She didn’t know about any of the Hiidenkirnu stuff. I can explain it to you, but it’s going to sound insane.”
Lynn was so ready to argue, but she bit it back. She shut her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling deeply.
“Can we go inside? I’m freezing.”
The room was a water-spotted blur of beige. The last guest had clearly been a smoker, but at least it was warm inside. Freya and Dan sat side by side on the second bed. They tried to explain everything.
It was a struggle. The arguments that had been so convincing to Dr. Garbuglio didn’t work on Lynn. Lynn didn’t like science fiction. She didn’t have Lassa’s scientific background or Dr. Garbuglio’s fascination with the mind. The microscope pictures didn’t convince her. Her standards for evidence were strict.
“What about the Starball?” Dan offered, and Freya felt the glimmer of his desire, the hunger to be more.
“Let me see it,” Lynn offered.
Freya held it out but drew it back when Lynn motioned to hand it to her.
“We decided no one should get stuck unless they fully understand and consent. Lassa and Dan were accidents.”
Lynn narrowed her eyes. She didn’t believe them.
“Let’s test this. You say you can read each other’s minds, right?”
“Yes.”
Lynn Harris took her American Express card out of her wallet and cupped it in her hand. She held it out to Dan. Immediately, Freya saw what she intended.
“3759 504718 11201,” Freya said, preempting Lynn.
Lynn scowled in response. She took out her phone, flipped through it, and handed it to Freya.
“Read that. Word for word,” Lynn instructed Dan.
“III. RESTRAINTS ON OWNERSHIP OF RIPARIAN LANDS. When a parcel of land adjoins a water body, the landowner does not necessarily have exclusive use and dominion over the area adjacent to the water's edge. In some situations, a public servitude exists on part of the exposed land along the water. In other cases, a conveyance intentionally, or unintentionally, omits title to shorelands, thus denying the landowner the right to use the area immediately adjacent to the water in any way other than as a general member of the public.”
As Dan read through legalese, Lynn’s alarm shifted into fear. She backed slowly towards the door.
“Lynn,” Freya began.
Lynn scrambled for the knob, threw the door open, and rushed outside. She got in her car, and they were afraid she was going to drive off and leave them in the middle of nowhere. But she just sat in the driver’s seat, staring at them through the open door.
Neither knew what to do about it. They worried she might scream. Lynn closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the top of the steering wheel, with her hands pressed against her temples. She stayed that way for almost five minutes. Just as they were about to get up and close the door, Lynn came back in.
“I’m sorry. I needed a minute,” Lynn said. She closed the door and took a seat on the opposite bed.
“It’s okay,” they said together. They forgot to break up their speech.
“Is that how… Is that how you think? How you talk?”
“We are one,” they said. They saw it disturbed Lynn and made an effort to desynchronize.
“I’m sorry, we’ll stop,” Freya said.
“It’s okay. This is just very difficult to take. How can you stand it?”
“Honestly, I almost don’t want to talk with other people at all. Speaking is so limited. Communication in Unity is like…” Freya trailed, trying to find the right words.
“There are no lies, no pretense,” Dan completed her. “The ideas are unfiltered. You see the actual truth of the other, what they really are, what they want. It’s perfect,” Dan said.
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Lynn was beginning to see. They saw understanding dawning on her face.
“Aren’t you afraid of being exposed?” Lynn asked.
“Terrified,” they agreed.
“But, after the initial fear, it’s so much better not to hide. I feel free,” Dan said.
“I had worried it would be hard to accept parts of him,” Freya said. “But it was so much harder to accept myself.”
“It’s the same for me,” Dan said.
“What about Lassa? Have you ever United with her?”
“Never. Unity is only us, so far. Maybe that’s all it will ever be, we don’t know.”
“Are you scared you might?” Lynn asked Freya.
“I was. Now, I’m just aware. It feels like we’re preparing for an operation we know is going to hurt terribly. We’ll probably be alright, but only probably. Does that make sense?”
“Not really. Does one of you ever drag the other down? Do you always have to settle on the average between you if one wants something more than the other?”
They had to pause to consider that. Freya thought of the way she’d squelched Dan’s joke, the way he had to hold back when they ran, her frustration when they’d tried to ski together.
“Sometimes it feels that way,” Freya said, feeling the idea seesaw between them. “I haven’t written any songs since this began. There are unpleasant aspects. But we’re far stronger as one than we are apart. I would give up anything for him. Dan is the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Lynn lowered her eyes, and Freya saw that she’d cut her very deeply without meaning to.
“I’m sorry,” Freya said for the thousandth time.
Lynn seemed on the verge of waving it away, then she looked intently at Freya.
“You’ve changed. You’re so much more human now,” Lynn said.
Freya blinked as if she’d been slapped.
“What I mean is, you seem to relate to other people better, and you’re much more perceptive. You were very cold before. Like her. Are you getting that from Dan?”
“A lot of it. I’ve learned so much from being Dan. He fills in the gaps,” Freya said. Her choice of words drew a thought from Dan that made her cheeks burn. Freya hoped Lynn didn’t notice.
Lynn took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and sat up straight on the bed. Freya admired that. She was a fighter.
“Who else knows about this?”
“Garbuglio. We just told him tonight. We can tell Dan’s mother tonight and Lassa tomorrow,” Freya said, feeling a surge of relief from Dan.
“It’s going to take some time for me to wrap my head around this. I can’t even begin to think of a legal strategy. This is so much.”
This is so much,” Lynn said.
“We need some time, too,” Freya said.
“His mother is going to throw a fit,” Lynn groaned.
“I’m not leaving him for any reason,” Freya said.
“I understand,” Lynn agreed.
Freya just slowly shook her head.
No, you don’t.
“Thank you so much for everything, Lynn. I’m sorry this is all so hard. You’re a good person,” Freya said.
Lynn had a funny look. She hadn’t expected to hear that. Dan’s stomach growled, breaking the moment.
“Sorry,” he said.
“We should have stopped for food somewhere.”
“Want something from the gas station?” Dan offered. Freya felt his eagerness to help.
“I doubt they’ll have anything vegetarian. Let me see if there’s anything close enough to deliver.”
Lynn pulled out her phone and searched. She had just one bar, and it took forever for the search to load.
“Is Italian okay?”
They nodded, and Lynn tried calling. She had to get up and stand beside the window before the call would go through. Kaiser Slice was twenty miles north and didn’t deliver, but it had vegetarian lasagna on the menu.
“What do you want?” Lynn asked them.
Freya ordered spaghetti and sausage. Dan wanted the veal parm, but he didn’t want to make Lynn order veal. He opted for chicken piccata.
“I can drive if you want,” Dan offered.
“You’re not on my insurance. I need time to think anyway. Will you two be okay here?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Before Lynn left, Dan took Freya’s suitcase and guitar case out of the trunk. Freya quashed a feeling of worry that only she should carry the guitar. She silently apologized for acting like Mr. Mathis. Dan only found it funny.
I’ll be careful, he beamed. He knew what the guitar meant to her.
They started giggling, their thoughts raced ahead to the room. As she shut the door, Freya saw Lynn staring at them. Freya gave her a sad little wave and went inside to be one with her love. One with herself.
* * *
They drew the dingy curtains and made desperate love on the motel bed that squeaked with every thrust.
More, Freya willed, and there was no need to explain anything. Her nails dug lines of fire into his back as he crushed her against the bed. They could barely breathe, but she rose into every stroke and urging him on. The friction between them became more urgent as the bed rattled across the floor, inching towards absolution.
Their orgasm was spreading fire that immolated everything. It rolled between them, thrumming on for so long they thought it might never end. Freya never wanted to move from this spot, but it was inevitable. She had to pee, and Dan’s stomach gurgled.
The wheel of worries turned. So many things had happened, and so many more loomed. They had one more breath of tranquility before they rose to resume the cycle.
Thank you, the thought began with Freya and ended with Dan. They looked around the room, seeing for the first time the ancient tube television, the spotty carpet, the lines of dust on the blades of the vents. This place was no Rabbit Hill Inn, but Freya quelled his embarrassment before it could even begin.
I’d rather be in a jail cell with you than a palace without, Freya thought. Dan laughed at her. It was the most sixteen-year-old-girl thing she could have possibly thought and, after an indignant moment, she was laughing with him.
They had a weird sense of how crazy the two of them must look to an observer, intense stares broken by peals of giggling. They pushed away the idea, worried that a cell was a real possibility. Unity was still strong, and they hoped it was forever this time.
We should shower, Freya thought, and Dan had a lazy desire to stay in bed.
Do you want to reek of sex when we explain to your mother we’re mind-melded? Freya teased, and that got him up in a hurry. The saving grace of the Saco Motel was the water was hot and the pressure was good.
They turned the water as hot as Dan could stand and did a slow waltz changing who was beneath the spray as each got cold. Freya had brought a little travel container of her soap, and he lathered her up, loving every part of her he could reach with his hands.
Before they knew it, she had her hands pressed against the grimy tiles, and he was taking her from behind. They were too spent to get there again. Dan clung to her, still inside until the hot water gave out. With a yelp, they cleaned up as quickly as they could, bursting out of the bathroom laughing and dripping onto the abominable carpet.
They thought about walking over to the gas station for a snack. Dan was ravenous enough that even hot dogs turning on rollers all day seemed like a good idea. Freya wasn’t quite that far gone, but she thought she could do some serious damage to a box of Cheez-Its.
Before we go, I have something for you, she thought, lapsing into subvocalization to maintain the surprise.
I just had it twice, and I loved it, he returned. She grinned back and took out her guitar. Her mind wanted to leap ahead to the surprise, but she had the discipline not to think it. Freya savored his curiosity as she tuned her guitar. Then she began to play. The fourth note was an open D, and his eyes lit with immediate recognition.
“One?”
Dan could barely believe it, and she could only spare a grin before she had to concentrate. The song wasn’t meant for just one guitar, but a bunch of people had come up with arrangements to play all the parts on an acoustic.
Freya had watched a few of them and stripped out all the parts she thought were too gimmicky. She would have liked to learn the lyrics, too, but there hadn’t been time. As she played, Dan’s memory of the song rang out to accompany her. He knew all the words by heart.
The rest of the song was just an incredible flurry of sixteenth-note triplets that were meant to sound like gunfire, and when she was through shredding there was a film of sweat on her forehead. She beamed with pride that she’d nailed it, even though it was a ridiculous thing to do on acoustic.
I can’t believe you learned that for me, Dan beamed. She put her palm over the locket he’d given her.
I remembered how you felt when they played “Turn the Page,” Freya explained.
Before they were United, Dan had never talked with Freya about music. He never played it in his car, never advanced an opinion. She’d thought he didn’t care. He thought she would judge him for the stuff he liked. And he was right, she would have.
I used to be so difficult. I was such a cunt to everyone, Freya admitted. No self-pity now, this was an honest appraisal. All the little twinges where Dan had held his tongue, all the times she’d talked too loud, laughed at the wrong time, all the people she’d made uncomfortable and never noticed. The way her friends had all dried up, the reason she sat alone in the cafeteria where the whole thing began. It was the price of Unity, seeing yourself fully from the outside.
I was such an asshole, too, Dan admitted, and he took on all the shitty things she’d seen him do, the tears streaming down Claire’s face as she chased him around the house, the way they were always clapping Tate on the back of the head and making him the butt of every joke.
Freya set the Ovation back in its case and did the latches. She’d just wanted to do something special for Dan, but somehow the song had become a confessional. She took his hand, and they stared at each other, deciding how they felt about this. The reckoning was long overdue.
I want to be better, they vowed. If only they could remain one, if only Unity would last forever. They could be so much more. For a silent moment they only listened, looking for the slightest fragmentation but Unity showed no sign of abating. Their movements were synchronized as they put on clothes and walked hand-in-hand to the gas station.