by Angela Scott
Cole’s eyes widened. “Nooo, no. Nope. Not at all. That guy stole my childhood. My mother insisted I wear bandanas and jean jacket vests. Screw that guy.”
I could totally picture it, and I chuckled. I liked that he was opening up to me. “What did you use to do before the world all went to crap? Did you have a job?”
He became quiet and contemplative. “Of course. I’ve had lots of jobs.”
“Anything you want to tell me about?”
He shook his head. “No, not really. A little bit of this and that. I’m a jack of all trades. Some would call me a floater, though my mother would say I lacked true ambition to stick with anything. Either way, I’m good at a lot of things and great at very few.”
That seemed rather sad, to have a mother who didn’t support his life choices. “I’m sorry.”
He smirked. “Don’t be. I had an okay life, did as I wanted. Kids always disappoint their parents. It’s no big deal.”
Had I disappointed my dad? I didn’t think so. Toby, on the other hand, oh yeah. Yeah, he’d disappointed Dad a lot. Cole’s words held a bit of truth to them.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
I didn’t know what more to ask. In a lot of ways, it was all so trivial now that the angel question had been asked and answered. I stared at him, looking at him differently. Maybe he was only a man as he claimed. Maybe there was more, like I believed. So much uncertainty surrounded him, no matter what he said. Undeveloped film, for instance. But like he had pointed out, what did it matter?
A regular man or something more, I still needed him.
“I think I liked it a lot better when you thought I was magical, even as annoying as that was.” He sighed as he watched me. “You look let down.”
I was, a little. “Having you as an angel would’ve been awesome. Somehow, it made going through all of this more, I don’t know, doable, survivable even. Now, I feel even more nervous, as if I need to be more cautious.”
He gave me a funny look. “I’m still useful, you know. I’m alive, and I’m here.”
“I’m glad you are. Don’t ever think I’m not, because I need you. Especially with Bob.”
“You know, Tess, you need to give yourself a lot more credit than you do. You survived a massive windstorm. You hiked your way off a mountain, you found supplies, and set up camp here. All with a cat, a deer, and a baby in tow. You’re a lot stronger and more capable than when I first met you. You’re a survivor, whether you think you’re cut out to be or not.”
A survivor? I mean, of course I was, but I never viewed it like that before. I figured it was by pure luck and divine intervention that I made it this far. Not once had I ever given myself credit for any of it.
“Are we good here?” he asked. “Because seriously, I really want to sit on a yoga ball.”
I nodded. “Yeah, we’re good. I may join you later after I get Bob bathed and put down for a nap.”
His face broke out into a huge grin. “That would be great. We can tone our butts together.”
I stood, wiped Bob’s messy face off with his bib, and removed him from the high chair. “I guess I’ll get him ready.”
Cole slowly stood. “Hey, Tess. Before you do that, I’ve been meaning to give you something. I wish I would’ve given it to you before you asked me about being a stalker, because it’s not going to come off looking too great. Just don’t jump to conclusions, okay? Remember the twins in the elevator scenario.”
I didn’t say anything, watching as he pulled out my leather bracelet and laid it on the table in front of me.
I stared at it — the frayed edges, the scratched metal plate that read, where there’s a will there’s a way, and the faded brown leather.
It was my bracelet, all right. The one he’d found at the abandoned cabin and had given to me a long time ago. The one I lost on the mountain. The one I’d thought I’d lost forever after I’d been blown away and ended up in an open field.
I stared at him.
“Impossible things happen all of the time,” he said, holding up his hands as he backed away. “That’s what makes life so interesting.”
Chapter 33
The best backpacks Walmart had to offer had soft internal frames with extra padding for comfort and multiple zippered compartments for quick access. They were the most expensive on the shelf, but they still wouldn’t hold everything we needed. What they could hold would only get us by for a week at most.
I tried not to think about that as I sorted through which necessities, things we really needed, had to be left behind. It wasn’t as if I were trying to pack baby toys or card games. I was talking about picking between if Bob could get by with a dozen diapers in exchange for bringing six more ounces of baby food. Hard decisions like that. I’d already allotted myself one extra pair of underwear, a pair of socks, a couple packets of Raman, and a few MREs Walmart had stocked in the sporting department. The remaining space could be for Bob and food for Callie. No spare clothing for myself. No creature comforts. Nothing extra. In fact, I was trying to get by on very little so the others didn’t have to.
We didn’t have the room for it.
“Well, this is a nice development.” Cole dried his hair with a towel. He’d taken an extra-long time bathing and primping himself. It amazed me, as I took in his bare chest, that even during an apocalypse, he still felt the need to shave his body. He draped the towel over one of his shoulders and sat next to me on the couch, wearing only a pair of basketball shorts. “Does this mean we’re leaving?”
“No.” I shoved my original water purifier pump into the new backpack, forcing it in. My old backpack had seen better days. With a cat and a baby, the old backpack wouldn’t do. Walmart only stocked purifying tablets, which would work in a pinch, but the pump, though bulky, was more ideal. I shoved a package of tablets in Cole’s pack to be on the safe side. “I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I thought we should be prepared in case.”
He looked inside the backpack. “I’m proud of you. It’s very adult-like to plan ahead like this.”
I held several necessary items in my hands, knowing I’d have to leave them behind. “It’s hard making decisions like this.”
He gave his head of wet hair another towel drying as he spoke. “Yeah, being an adult sucks that way, but from what I can see, you’re doing great.”
It didn’t feel great. It felt more like doom.
I leaned back against the couch, feeling somewhat defeated. “Bob needs more than what either of us can carry, and if we’re forced to leave here and can’t find more supplies somewhere else…” I paused as the image of holding Bob’s lifeless body in my arms came to view. “It … it won’t be good.”
He lowered the towel to his shoulders again, took my hand in his, and fingered the leather bracelet on my wrist. “Then we’ll find supplies.” He turned the bracelet, so I could read the words, where there’s a will there’s a way.
He didn’t get it. Cole would never get it. I tried to pull my hand away. He quickly wrapped an arm around me and drew me even closer. “You got this. Trust in yourself.”
Much easier said than done.
I didn’t trust myself to make these tough decisions. Not when the consequences could prove deadly.
“You know,” he said, “even without all this end of the world mayhem, life has always been hard. You pretty much got up every morning and hoped for the best. Nothing is a guarantee. Nothing is set in stone. Not then. Not now. Every waking minute is a gamble. That’s where trust comes in. You trust that a car won’t swerve into you, that an unleashed dog doesn’t attack, that you don’t catch a deadly virus, that an airplane doesn’t fall out of the sky and crash into your house. You get the picture.”
“Yeah, a very sordid one. Thanks for that.” I tried to pull away again, but he held on tight.
“Every day you get up, put your pants on, and take a leap of faith. You trust that things will work out the way they shou
ld. Just because things are dramatically different now, doesn’t change that.”
I forced him to let go by wiggling until he did. I stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Before all of this happened, my biggest fear was that I might not get asked to prom or that I might get a bad mid-term grade. I didn’t worry about planes in the sky, dogs, or crazy car drivers. Now, I’m packing this stupid bag…” I gave it a kick “…and have to trust that I have everything we need so we don’t die. That’s a huge difference.”
He pointed both of his index fingers at me. “Not as different as you think. You still had to put your pants on, trust in the system, hope the boy of your dreams would see beyond your annoying quirks and that your so-so studying habits would get you that passing grade. Lots of hope, faith, and trust right there, if I do say so myself. Emphasis on lots.”
Impossible. He was simply impossible.
“Just so you know, I’ll put the backpacks together, but I’m not in any hurry to go.” I wanted to make sure he understood that.
He nodded. “I figured.”
“I’m also packing your bag with extra stuff. Lots and lots of extra stuff. Emphasis on lots.”
“Bring it on.” He flexed several times. As much as I didn’t want to admire his toned physique or the fact he smelled like a tropical island — thanks, Old Spice — I couldn’t help it. “I don’t quite understand this, though.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a book. “How is this necessary?”
I took the rather thick book from him and turned it around so he could read the title: How to Survive Anything and Everything. “There’s so many tips in there for getting water, finding food, and managing tough terrain. Walmart has thought of everything. Plus, as the book points out, the pages can be used for starting fires and for bathroom duties.” I shoved the book back into his bag. “Everything in these bags serves a purpose, and if I can get multiple purposes out of a single item, then all the better.”
He nodded. “You’ve come a long way, Grasshopper. A very long way.”
Of course, I had. I didn’t have a choice. “Can you help me try this on with Bob in it?” I held up the baby-holding-contraption with its maze of straps and buckles. “I need to test this out with my backpack on.” I stood in front of him. As he stood, I slipped my arms through the straps. “I’m not sure if he’s going to like it or not, but I need my arms free. It’ll be too hard to carry him any other way.”
Cole laid his wet towel over the armrest of the couch and then lifted Bob from the playpen, where he sucked on his thumb contentedly as he watched us. For a baby, he was a pretty good one.
“He looks a little big for something like this.” Cole pointed at the baby carrier. “How many pounds does that thing hold?”
“Thirty-two pounds. The kid on the box looked a lot bigger than Bob and there’s no way Bob has maxed out the weight.” I adjusted the straps. “It was the most expensive one on the shelf, too, so it’s got to be a good one.” The price didn’t mean anything, but what else did I have to go by?
“Here goes nothing.” Cole stepped closer and maneuvered Bob’s legs and arms into the right holes. “Geez, this isn’t easy, is it?”
It became a crazy dance of sorts. Me, trying to lean forward so Cole could slip Bob into the contraption, and Cole trying to get a good angle from the top.
Bob didn’t make a peep. He sucked his thumb and allowed us to tweak his little body in a lot of ways that didn’t seem natural. He didn’t cry or make any noises of complaint, so we soldiered on, determined to make it work.
“There,” Cole said, stepping back to look us over. “It seems like it will do the job. Some of the straps need adjusting, though.”
He tightened the straps that ran over my shoulders, pulling the whole thing higher, which took a lot of the weight off my lower back. He then reached around me and tugged at the straps around my waist. “Are you sure you can do this? A kid on front and a pack on your back?”
I heard nothing he said.
His bare shoulder, smelling divine, brushed against my cheek. His close proximity felt oddly wonderful and confusing at the same time.
He reached around me a little more, coming even closer, as he tugged and pulled at different straps. It would’ve been easier had he simply turned me around, but no, he went about the whole thing the hard way—the mind tingling way. Poor Bob became the barrier that kept our chests from touching.
Bob sucked his thumb and craned his neck up at us, not bothered by the sling or the fact that we had made a Bob sandwich out of him.
I closed my eyes and turned my face into Cole’s shoulder, not touching him, but smelling his clean male scent, taking it all in as my brain screamed at me, What is wrong with you? Stop it! Stop it now!
I breathed deep, audibly filling my lungs to full capacity.
“Tess?”
The tone of his voice forced my eyes open.
His hands stilled on the straps as his eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”
God, what was I doing?
I had no idea.
We didn’t have that kind of relationship. Most of the time, we could hardly stand one another. I could hardly stand him. Yet, here I was smelling him like a weirdo.
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t let go of the straps or back away. He just stood there, staring at me as I stared at him.
His eyes scanned mine. I scanned his.
We stood that way for quite a while, neither of us saying anything, with Bob content to watch the awkward exchange.
“I’m sorry.” It seemed like the appropriate thing to say, though I didn’t feel sorry. More like strange and a little curious at once.
He released his hands from the straps and took a step back. “Don’t be.” He patted my shoulder and avoided looking at me. “Looks like the carrier is a good fit for Bob. He seems to like it.”
I was about to say something, but he didn’t give me a chance to, as he turned and sprinted away.
Literally, he jumped over the coffee table, hurdled the baby-bouncer saucer toy, and ran down the aisle, his bare feet slapping against the linoleum. A few minutes later, the sound of a basketball being dribbled and smacking a backboard echoed throughout the store.
Chapter 34
I pushed down on the thick handle with both hands. I pushed down even harder, putting as much weight into it as possible. I may have even grunted.
The jogging stroller didn’t tip over completely backwards. Just enough to lift the front wheel to get over curbs or bumps.
Positive point number one. Nice.
I kept track of the pros and cons of the display strollers, testing each out except for the compact umbrella versions. An umbrella stroller would be ideal for quick trips to the zoo or for packing lightly, but this was the apocalypse, end of the world stuff. No, I needed the most bad-ass stroller Walmart had to offer — big durable wheels, with a large basket underneath the seat for holding lots of extras like diapers, wipes, formula, water, and supplies. A cup holder for me would be a definite positive point as well — a perk for pushing the thing all over the place. Moms needed a perk or two when it came to strollers. Not that I was a mom or anything. I had to keep Bob alive. That was all. Not the mom. Definitely, not the mom. More like the nanny or the totally awesome and super responsible big sister.
I kicked the tires. I’d seen people kick car tires before buying a new vehicle, so there had to be something to it. The same concept had to work for strollers. I took a boot to a lot of stroller tires, but I couldn’t tell much of a difference.
So far, the jogger took the lead, and since it was called a jogger, I ran it up and down several aisles, weaving it between displays, and taking tight corners and turns. That stroller held its own. No parts fell off. I fastened a teddy bear in to test the straps, and it stayed secured and upright. All good signs of an excellent stroller for Bob.
I yanked on the teddy bear, not bothering to unbuckle it, because I wante
d to test the durability of the straps that would be holding Bob in place. They had to be good. They had to be strong. They would have to withstand some insane situations, like a baby being sucked into the sky. I had seen enough crap to know that could totally happen and wanted to be sure it never did.
“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to remove babies from strollers. Looks painful. Almost abusive.”
I whipped around to see Cole standing there with the deer at his side, who had clearly taken a liking to him. I hadn’t heard either of them approach.
“I’m testing the straps.” I kept tugging, but the bear didn’t come loose until I unbuckled it. Another good selling point. It appeared the jogger was the overall winner.
“The stroller’s a good idea. I like it. It could come in real handy when we have to run for our lives.”
I held the bear by one furry limb, dangling it at my side. “It’s those kinds of statements that keep me from ever wanting to step outside again and to stay in Walmart forever.”
“Unless we have to run for our lives.” He smiled and winked. “As nice as Walmart is, at some point, it’s going to happen. It always happens.”
“You’re not funny.”
He really wasn’t, even if he was right.
He shrugged. “Depends on the audience.” He motioned in my direction. “You’re not the norm.”
“Whatever. If we find ourselves running, this is a jogger stroller. It’s built for that kind of thing.”
He shrugged again. “We’ll see, but it’s still a cool idea and gives us more options, like doubling as a bed for Bob when we can’t find anywhere to sleep. It’ll keep him up off the ground.”
The ground. The outside. Nowhere to sleep.
Just a few reasons why we should stay put, but we’d been over all of that before.
“Tess, I think you and I need to talk.”
I tossed the stuffed bear onto a random shelf, trying to buy myself another moment or two to avoid the conversation. “About what?”
He tilted his head to the side. “I think you know.”
Of course, I knew.
