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63
Preparations

Dove no longer appeared in the dining room at noon. Lee, when she returned from Istanbul, scarcely noticed, and the rest of staff took it for granted. She'd heard nothing of Ngunda's farewell. She almost never took coffee breaks—had her coffee in her office—and worked alone most of the time.

On the day after Ngunda's goodbye, Lor Lu had video cubes of it distributed to all staff families. Ben and the girls had watched together, as most families had. Lee had been in Helsinki by then, or somewhere over Europe, and when she'd returned from Istanbul, people's attentions were on other matters.

And Ben and the girls deliberately avoided mentioning it.

Thus the transformation of Dove never really came up in her presence. She had, of course, been exposed to comments a few times, but hadn't paid enough attention to wonder what they meant.

Lor Lu had told Ben that Dove wanted her along on the bus tour. And that he himself preferred she not know yet, either about Dove, or about going on tour. It would distract her from what she was doing. He would, he said, wait till shortly before the tour. He trusted her operating style and attitude to protect her from learning accidently.

To Ben they seemed like odd decisions, but he trusted them.

* * *

It was twelve days after the farewell meeting when Lor Lu stopped at her office with a surprise. "Lee," he said, "Dove has listed you to be on the bus tour."

"Me?"  

"Right."

The order stunned her. For it was an order, not an invitation or suggestion; that was clear from Lor Lu's wording and tone of voice. And the tour group would leave in only five days. "Why me?" she asked.

"Why don't you ask Dove?"

"I— But . . ." She frowned. "What about the girls?"

"They'll be in school. And Ben will be here; they'll be fine."

"How long will it be?"

"It's planned for three weeks, but it may be shorter."

She sat as if dropped there, her mind blank. "You won't be able to take much," Lor Lu went on. "A large suitcase that will ride in luggage, and a small one overhead. The bus is a deluxe sleeper. The seats recline way back, and there are pillows. We'll stay in motels or hotels every third night or so, to shower and do laundry."

The word "we" brought her out of it. "You'll be there too?"

Grinning, he nodded. "I'm very good at playing by ear, dealing with things off the cuff. That will be important on so unstructured a tour."

"I won't be the only woman, will I?"

"One of five."

For several long seconds she thought, then looked earnestly at Lor Lu. "I really don't want to go," she said. "I really really don't."

Beneath Lor Lu's mild, steady gaze, her eyes lowered. She thought of the extras and privileges she'd been granted: the deluxe office, and the high-powered legal help against Mark's threat to the girls.

But she still didn't want to go. The thought somehow frightened her. "It is necessary that you go," Lor Lu said abruptly, and turning, left.

She'd never seen Lor Lu abrupt before, and wondered if he was angry at her. Giving him time to reach his office, she dialed him. He wasn't back yet, so she got herself a cup of tea, added sugar and milk, then tried again.

"This is Lor Lu." He sounded as cheerful as ever.

"Lor Lu, it's Lee." Embarrassingly she giggled.

For an instant on the screen his eyebrows rose, then he grinned. "The alliteration," he said.

She nodded, serious again, wondering what had come over her. "I called to tell you I'll go on the tour. I mean—of course I will."

The grin changed to a warm smile. "Good. See Norman for a briefing sheet and instructions. Do it now. Put aside whatever you've been working on, even if you're in the middle of a sentence. From this point until told otherwise, you are assigned solely to tour duties."

She watched the picture click off the screen. Four days. Could she learn her tour duties in four days? And what in the world could they be?

* * *

It turned out she had no readily definable tour duties. She would, Norman told her, be Lor Lu's assistant, expediting various tasks as they came up, and "soaking up the experience."

Anger swelled. She recognized flunky work when her nose was pushed in it. "For that he pulled me off my regular job?"

"My impression is that Dove and Lor Lu have a future role in mind for you, and this will help prepare you for it."

"A future role? What future role?" The words spilled out rapidly. "I need to know more about this! Why are other people told these things, but not me?"

"I don't know what role, Lee," Norman said patiently. "I simply put two and two together. Ask Lor Lu. He'll know."

She left glowering, the slim packet of briefing sheets in an envelope, along with general instructions. Ask Lor Lu! Huh! He'd say ask Dove.

* * *

By the time she'd finished reading the briefing and policy, she'd semi-cooled down. Calling Lor Lu, she asked what to do next. "I've finished reading the stuff Norman gave me, and it's not even noon. Should I go back to what I was working on before? Or what?"

"I've pulled Ben off Accounting for now," Lor Lu answered. "He'll work with you on what comes next." He paused. "I'm afraid you're ill-prepared for this, but don't worry, you'll do just fine."

He disconnected then. Ill prepared? she thought angrily. Don't worry? And Ben will work with me? He's an accountant, for god's sake! What in hell is going on? Why is this happening to me? 

* * *

At noon the family met in the dining hall, as usual. But Lee insisted that she and Ben eat at home, leaving the girls at the dining hall without supervision. She was upset, angry, feared she'd lose control, and didn't want to make a spectacle of herself. Ben of course was agreeable, and they walked home through a lovely summer day at 7,800 feet elevation, the sun bright, the sky a vaulting, vivid, high-country blue, the temperature 74 degrees. Behind them, as they walked, the high peaks of the Sangre de Cristo, twenty miles west, formed an array of dark stone and bright snowfields. She noticed none of it.

"What are you supposed to work with me on?" she demanded. "You're not in Tours. Lucky you! And what's so goddamned ill-prepared about me? Even I know I'm ill-prepared! That's the one goddamned thing I do know! I didn't need some goddamned Asian 'holy man extraordinary' to tell me that! If he knew you were in the goddamned basement doing the goddamned laundry, why didn't he know how goddamned ill-prepared I am?"

Ben walked faster. "I'm going to put a Mexican pizza in the oven," he said. "You can help me eat it, or you can fix something else. You don't have a clue how ill-prepared you are, and it's mainly my fault. Now shut up before you piss me off!"

His response stunned her, jolted her out of her tizzy. Ben had never spoken to her like that before. She said nothing more all the way home. There he opened the door, held it for her, and when he'd closed it behind them, grabbed her and kissed her, hard. Then he held her at arms length, looking at her seriously.

"I love you, Lee," he said, "even though I got exasperated just now. I love you dearly. And the girls do, too, so we've been trying to spare you upsets and confusion."

Her mouth was slightly open in surprise, and he let her go, striding into the kitchen while she stood watching. She heard the oven controls beeping; the freezer lid open, then close; heard the oven door. Shaking herself free of astonishment, she followed Ben into the kitchen and went to the beverage station.

"Seven-Up?" she asked. "Pepsi?"

He turned. His grin was back. "How about rue? Some bitter rue would be about right." Laughing he added, "This time I'll try root beer. The girls prefer it with pizza. I ought to give it a try."

The words echoed in Lee's mind: "The girls prefer it. . . . I ought to give it a try." There was a double meaning there, deliberate or otherwise.

He turned the breakfast nook TV on, to tennis, making it easier not to talk until they'd finished the pizza. When it was gone, they looked at each other. "Let's go in the living room," Ben said, and turned off the game. "I'm going to put a cube in the player, the first step in your preparation. We'll watch it together. It's a talk Dove gave in Sacramento. Then we'll watch one he gave in Denver, and another in Boston." He paused long. "And then an especially important one he gave here two weeks ago. After that we'll talk, but until then we'll just listen. By that time you'll understand what the tour's about. And what Dove's about. I don't know what you'll think of them, but at least you'll know."

* * *

She watched without arguing. The first three videos Lee found interesting enough, even thought-provoking, and of course informative on Dove's theology, or philosophy—whatever they called it. But they were hardly compelling; not for her. Ngunda's short farewell video, on the other hand, made her skin crawl. Not with fright, but it was definitely a strange sensation. When they'd watched it through to the end, she was quietly sober.

"Any questions?" Ben asked.

"No, I don't think so."

"Fine. Anything that especially struck you?"

She shook her head. "Nothing in particular. The last one did seem—spooky. And it made me remember the dreams I had that night. I think it was the same night."

"Yeah, that was the night." Apparently, he decided, she hadn't perceived Dove's aura on video. Interesting.

"There's something I would like to know, though," she went on. "What this new role is I might have after the tour."

"I honest to God don't know," Ben said. "Apparently Lor Lu wants to tell you himself. Lor Lu or Dove."

"And I have three more days after today for preparations. What will they be? More videos?"

"No, sweetheart. We'll watch another after supper." He paused. "And tomorrow you'll begin Life Healing. A start."

She didn't argue, just looked very very sober.

* * *

On her way to the scheduling director next morning, she felt—not bad, actually. Not eager by any means, but not fearful. Resigned, strangely relieved—and remarkably enough, curious.

They were ready for her; she'd already been fitted into the schedule. Her facilitator was female, her face familiar from the dining hall—young, pleasant-seeming . . . not sinister-looking at all. The woman got to her feet. "Good morning, Lee," she said, "my name is Jenny Buckels. Please have a seat." She gestured at a chair in front of her small worktable.

Lee glanced around as she sat. The room was pleasant enough. There were framed nature photos on the walls, fresh flowers on a stand and on the facilitator's table. The flowers, she supposed, were from the greenhouse out back, like the flowers in the dining room. "I thought there'd be an aura analyzer," she said.

"Some of us read auras clearly enough without equipment. Are you comfortable?"

Read auras without equipment? My god! Lee thought. "As comfortable as I'm likely to be."

"Good." Jenny smiled. "Were you hoping for an analyzer?"

"Well, yes. I hoped I could get you to sit in front of it, and let me look. So I could see what an aura looks like."

The facilitator laughed. "You're not the first person that's told me that. We'll borrow one afterward. Good enough?"

Lee's smile was mostly politeness. "Afterward's fine."

Jenny's fingers hovered relaxedly over a keyboard. The monitor stood between them, just below Jenny's line of sight.

"Good. Have you had an adequate breakfast?"

"Yes."

"A decent night's sleep?"

"Yes I have."

"All right, we're ready then. I'll read from a list of words and phrases, and note your aural reaction to each of them. You don't need to say anything, but you may if you wish. After that you'll have a short break while I set up what comes next."

Her fingers were poised over a keyboard. "Okay," she said, "start of procedure," and began to read the list.

* * *

By noon, Lee had wept and laughed. Twice she almost fell from her chair, with a desperate grogginess that left as inexplicably as it had struck. She ate lunch with Ben and the girls, and said very little, while they made small talk. It wasn't that she was depressed or preoccupied. Spaced-out was the word.

* * *

After lunch she got three more hours of it, in two installments. Then she was offered a choice of snacks—she chose a bowl of French vanilla ice cream topped with butterscotch and chocolate—and was provided with a cot in a quiet cubicle, for a half-hour's nap. She slept almost at once.

She left cheerful, and not at all introverted. Actually it didn't seem like that big a deal. She was certainly no cultist convert, she felt sure of that. But it had been interesting and powerful, and she felt good about it. And it was, after all, only therapy. Lots of people had therapy.

She hadn't, she decided, been as ill-prepared as she'd feared. The girls had been preparing her for months: the girls and Ben—without any of them knowing it. She wondered what the next two days would be like.

You'll know, she told herself, in forty-eight hours. 

 

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Framed