She opens her eyes and makes a small circle, ignoring the strange looks it earns her, until she feels a pull in her gut and heads in that direction. She reaches a crossroads, and then does that small turn again, letting the pull guide her to where she needs to go next, through one hallway and down another, past rooms holding the young and old, the sick and convalescing, their friends and family, doctors, nurses, past a double set of doors and into—
The chapel.
It’s moments like these that make Bea feel foolish for going so long without believing in God. To think of everything she could not See before her heart was willing to give itself over to a power greater than her person. It terrifies her to know she almost jeopardized everything tonight with a single call. But she resisted.
And now, as reward, she’s received a call of her own.
In the pew at the very front, a person.
The heartbeat she hears that’s not her own belongs to this person. It’s so loud, so uncertain, so lost. She moves her way slowly up the aisle until she’s at the pew’s edge. A man is slumped forward, his arms rested against his knees. He’s wearing scrubs, a badge. Bea puts her hands in her pockets and sits beside him and from this angle, she can see his face is wet with tears. There’s a sadness coming off him and it’s so strong she feels it in her bones. The prickling over her body intensifies. He stiffens at the audacity of her closeness but she pays it no mind. God brought her here. She just needs to wait for the man to realize it.
After a time, it happens.
Foster, she says softly. His name is Foster, and she doesn’t know how it comes to her, if she had glimpsed it on his badge and it took this long to register, or if God was waiting for the perfect moment to whisper it in her ear.
She knows what she chooses to believe.
Foster’s breath catches in his throat.
He presses his palm against his chest.
* * *
Bea often wonders what it would be like to be inside Lev’s mind, to parse his divine mystery.
How does God speak to him?
What does it feel like when he does?
Bea’s only received a taste. The magnitude of his own calling must be beyond comprehension, but those nights when his urgency flows like a current from him, electrifying them all, almost enables her to imagine it. They’re sitting outside Chapman House, on the ground, a bonfire crackling at the heart of the circle they’ve formed, Lev next to it, his beautiful dog, Atara, next to him.
The early spring air is a little bitter, but it’s hard to mind being cold in Lev’s presence, especially when Lev himself doesn’t seem to mind being cold in theirs. He stands before them and tilts his head back, as though he can see past the starry sky and into eternity.
He’s received revelation.
In October, the nation will blanket itself under the false security of the election and hate will take root in the gaps created by that complacency. Their Father has shown him the signs; this year will herald the end of innocence. But they must be strong. Their role is to witness it, to not break before it, and to offer redemption and refuge to all those broken by it.
No one, Lev says, is too broken for them.
But what are they? a voice calls from the crowd. What are the signs?
Lev’s gaze seeks the member out until it settles on a man sitting just across from Bea.
Rob.
He’s one of Lev’s closest friends; he’s been in The Project since the beginning. Bea isn’t sure she understands why. Rob is constantly questioning Lev, questioning God, questioning the work. He cannot give his tithe without asking why. He can’t accept his assignments without asking why. The selflessness their work demands of them is absent in Rob, and even if he ultimately participates, Bea wonders how much his participation is truly worth if he can’t seem to do it while keeping his disrespectful mouth shut. Lev studies Rob and then makes his way over, crouching to Rob’s level before pressing his hands against the sides of Rob’s face. He kisses Rob’s forehead. Light dances across their skin. Despite the crackle and pop of the fire and how quietly and closely Lev speaks, they all hear his voice.
Faith, my brother, Lev says, is not a question. It’s the answer.
Everyone around them is still, watching.
Do you have faith? Lev asks.
Yes, Bea thinks, though Lev isn’t asking her. Rob swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously up and down. Even the minutest hesitance, Bea feels, must be an answer.
The wrong one.
But if we knew what you know, Rob says, raising his chin, we would be better prepared. We would be stronger for it.
Faith is what prepares you in the face of the unknown. Faith is what enables you to stand before it and to stay standing when others fall. Lev rises. God chooses what to reveal to us and when. If you were meant to know, don’t you think I would have told you? How long have you walked with me, Rob? Do you walk with me still? Where is your faith?
It’s here, Bea calls out before she can stop herself. She shrinks when Lev finds her in the dark … but then other voices follow.
Here! It’s here! And here!
Lev turns back to Rob and asks him again: Where is your faith?
Rob is frozen, his mouth hung open.
The world is being shaken, and what is not shaken will remain. Where. Is. Your. Faith?
Rob says nothing.
Lev tells him to stand.
* * *
After the meeting, Lev sends for Bea, and Casey leads her to his small cabin near the edge of the lake, tucked away from the house. Inside, it holds only a small kitchen, a bathroom, a desk, a bed. Lev doesn’t need much more than that. He stands at the window, staring out at the moonlit night. Atara greets Casey and Bea at the door and Bea runs her hands over the husky’s fluffy coat. She’s nervous, worried she spoke out of turn at the meeting, that she’s disappointed him somehow.
Thank you, Casey, Lev says.
Casey dismisses herself, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Lev faces Bea, regards her tenderly.
You did well at the protest, he tells her. I knew you would. You brought Foster to us. That’s why I sent you. And tonight—you rallied our people in the face of another’s doubt.
She nods.
Where is your faith, Bea?
She presses her hands against her heart.
He crosses the room to her, bringing his hand to her cheek. She feels warmth spread throughout her body from his palm.
How long have we known each other?
Six months. She can’t believe it’s only been six months.
And yet I can no longer imagine The Project before you, he says, his eyes on hers. When I enter a room, the first face I look for is yours. God called me to you in a way He has called me to no other. You must feel that too.
She nods, her eyes filling with tears.
From the very first moment he came to her, she felt it.
I was the question, she says, her voice trembling, her body trembling. You were the answer.
He rests his forehead against hers.
There is no flaw in you, he says.
He presses his mouth against hers.
NOVEMBER 2017
“When did she stop being a member?” I ask faintly.
My body is numb in the way my body was numb when Bea told me, for the very first time, what had happened to our parents. On some level, I think I’d known; they were never there on my fleeting trips to the surface. I would open my eyes and the hospital would bloom around me, Bea hovering, Patty—though I didn’t know who she was at the time—hovering, but never Mom or Dad. I would slip back under, feeling a bit unsettled, but half-convinced next time, next time they’d be there.