in it. I don’t want him to look at me and see someone who isn’t ready for the final step. I won’t let Bea take more from me than she already has.
“I feel lighter,” I tell him. “I won’t miss it.”
“Good,” he says and moves to me, pressing his damp palm against the outside of my face. I cover it with my own. His eyes are proud, and his pride warms me. He says it again, tenderly: “Good.” After a moment, he lowers his hand. I miss his touch almost immediately. “I’m temporarily relocating staff to various residencies this week. It will just be me, Casey and Foster here—and you and Emmy, of course.”
“Why?”
“I need to get an understanding of the op-ed’s impact across the wider membership. It’s shaken some of our people. Staff will be my ears and eyes. If there are any misgivings, doubts, fears, concerns … this is the most expedient way I can address them.”
“Makes sense.”
“Oh, and before I forget—” He digs into his pocket and holds something up. At first, I don’t know what I’m looking at and then I slowly understand. My phone. Or what was my phone. The screen is completely cracked. I take it from him and try the power. It’s dead.
“What the hell happened?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. We found it in Emmy’s room,” he says. I close my eyes. “I’m sorry, Lo. Casey will get you a new one.”
“Okay,” I say tiredly. “Thanks.”
His eyes drift over my body in a way that I understand. I set the phone down and I turn away from him, slipping out of my pants and then unbuttoning my shirt, feeling his eyes on me as I undress. I like the feeling but when I turn to present myself to him, he’s facing away, staring out the window, lost deep in thought. I can guess what he’s thinking about.
“Who’s Rob?” I ask. He stiffens. “I heard the name this morning, when I was coming up the hall … you think he wrote the op-ed?”
He turns to me. “I told you I wasn’t idle.”
“I thought you said you needed the name—”
“I said I needed a retraction. I didn’t say I didn’t know who wrote it.” He crosses his arms. “Faith is trusting in what you don’t know with the understanding that it will prepare you for all the unknown asks of you. You need to trust in me, Lo.”
“I’m sorry.” My face burns. “I do.”
He holds to the silence, lets me sit with the shame.
“Rob is a former member,” Lev finally answers. His tone is careful, guarded. “And he is the only member I have ever asked to leave The Unity Project.”
I process it slowly. It’s hard to imagine Lev turning someone away from The Project, when all he’s wanted was to offer people refuge inside it.
“Why?”
“Because he was dangerous. He was a threat to members. It was a last resort. I never wanted it to come to that.”
“A threat?”
“The Project welcomes all, but many of the people who come to us have been hurt. Many of them find comfort in my story. Some relate to it on a deeply personal level. Rob and I shared similar pasts and he idolized me. He’d never seen someone go through something like what he had, until he met me. And he would have never imagined what was possible in his life until he met me. He developed—a fixation. It was unhealthy.”
“What do you mean?”
Lev lifts the corner of his shirt just a little, revealing his scars. It makes my stomach hurt, to see them. I can’t get used to the sight of them.
I never want to get used to the sight of them.
“He tried to make himself in my image.”
I step back, hand to mouth. “My God…”
He lowers his shirt. “As his … devotion intensified, members had to be good enough in his eyes to be worthy of me. He acted on my behalf, without my knowledge, and he hurt them to keep them in line.” Lev pauses. “I had to tell him to leave.”
I wrap my arms around myself.
“He didn’t take it well, I’m guessing.”
“He felt if he wasn’t good enough for me, no one was. He’s threatened us multiple times over the years. He did promise me he would be the end of The Unity Project.” He exhales and looks away from me, to the fire. “I wanted to help him so badly, Lo. I count him as one of my greatest failures.”
“You know