The Things That Keep Us Here

by Carla Buckley

  Brilliant sunlight assailed him as he stepped onto the first floor. He blinked.

  All the softness of last night’s slanting flakes was gone. Harsh brightness poured in through the windows, the result of sun glinting off mounds of snow, the sky beyond white with the promise of more. The sun was high. It had been up for hours. The snow had blanketed the house and coerced his sleeping mind to stay huddled beneath the covers for as long as possible. He’d make some coffee and head straight in to the lab.

  The house was quiet. Everyone else was sleeping in, too. Then he heard the strangeness, the absolute stillness that saturated the room and pressed against him, and realized this was no ordinary silence. No refrigerator humming, no furnace clicking off and on, no television playing. Now he felt the chill. How long had the power been off?

  Ann came down the stairs, a befuddled expression on her face. Her gaze found his. She was hearing it, too.

  “We’ve lost power,” he told her. “I’ve got to go in.”

  She pulled her robe more tightly around her. “Are the roads clear?”

  He went to the sliding glass door and looked out.

  Everything was white. It covered the patio and the bushes. It swelled up to the bottom of the trampoline. He couldn’t see where the sidewalk ended and the road began.

  Ann came up behind him. “Oh, no.”

  He wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. The lab was over ten miles away. Even if he walked the entire distance, forging through the snow that would reach his knees, he’d never make it in time.

  He looked out at the stillness and felt despair. His lab wasn’t on a generator. With every minute that passed, the temperature inside the freezer was rising. The viruses he’d prepared were thawing. Some of them might already be dead. Before too long, they’d all be dead. Whatever answers they’d held would be lost forever.

  SIXTEEN

  ANN ELBOWED HER WAY INTO THE KITCHEN, HER ARMS full. The snow had started again, no longer a charming dance of flakes but a relentless slanting white the same hard color as the sky. She dumped packages on the counter. “Peter, would you light the grill?”

  Peter was emptying the refrigerator shelves into bags by his feet. “It’s not even noon.”

  “I know. But we need to cook the meat before it spoils.” If they got a sudden warm spell before the power returned, they’d lose all of it. This way, they could eke out a few more days. Cooked meat lasted longer than uncooked. Didn’t it?

  He looked thoughtful. “All right. Why don’t you bring it out to me in batches?”

  Thank goodness he was here. It was reassuring for all of them to have another adult around, helping to work things out.

  “Kate says the lights don’t work, either.” Maddie held her spoon poised over her yogurt cup. She was bundled in sweaters and mittens, a bright pink scarf tied around her throat, its ends trailing down her back.

  “Don’t worry.” Peter shrugged into his coat. “Your mom’s got lots of candles.”

  No, she didn’t. Ann had a couple of boxes of tapers for the dining room candlesticks, that bizarre collection Peter’s mother foisted on her before she went into the assisted-living place, and a bunch of tea lights left over from Halloween. With any luck, the power would be back on before she had to resort to using any of them.

  “You still good for firewood?” Peter opened a drawer and removed the box of matches.

  “I think so.” She hadn’t touched the half-cord he’d bought before he moved out. It lay as he’d left it, covered by a tarp at the back of the yard.

  “Good. I’ll get a fire going in a little while.” He winked at Maddie, slid open the sliding glass door, and stepped outside into whiteness.

  Kate shuffled into the room and slumped into her seat at the kitchen table. She was the picture of mourning in her black turtleneck and skullcap pulled down low. “Is it ever going to stop snowing?”

  “Daddy says we have to shovel,” Maddie said. “And you have to do the front walk all by yourself.”

  Kate glared at her. “Don’t talk to me.” She reached for the container of yogurt in front of her and scowled. “I hate yogurt.”

  “I know.” Ann unwound butcher’s paper from a rib roast. “But eat it anyway.” That yogurt was already a week past its expiration date. Perfectly okay, but a few more days might render it inedible.

  “I should’ve charged my iPod last night. It’s totally dead.” Kate peeled back the foil cover. “And my cell phone’s dead, too.”

  Kate had drifted all morning, opening her laptop and staring at the blank screen, picking up her hair dryer and dropping it back onto the bathroom counter with a groan, as if by sheer want she could make them spring to life.

  “You can use the phone in the den.” Ann set the roast aside and reached for another package.

  What a relief it had been to lift the receiver and hear the steady thrum of the dial tone. Though the den was an inconvenient spot for their only line to the outside world. She’d have to plug it into the family room outlet later.

  “I can?” Kate regarded her with suspicion. “How come?”

  “We got lucky. We never upgraded to digital, so the landline still works.”

  “What does that mean?” Kate demanded. Ann ripped open the paper and found pork chops. “To tell you the truth, I don’t have a clue. Your dad might be able to explain it.”

  “So, would Michele’s phone work, too?”

  “You’ll have to try her and see.” She mentally crossed her fingers.

  “Don’t forget to call your boyfriend,” Maddie said slyly. Kate dipped her spoon into her yogurt. “I told you. Don’t talk to me.”

  “So, wait.” Maddie looked up at Ann. “What about the TV? Is there one that works?”

  “No, honey. I’m afraid that’s a different thing.” Ann snipped through the thin plastic and dumped the chops into a bowl.

  “Oh.” Maddie’s voice sagged with disappointment.

  Ann looked across the counter at Maddie staring down into her cup, clearly trying not to cry. “You know how you’re always trying to get me to play Monopoly?” An eternally endless game when played at an eight-year-old’s level.

  Maddie shrugged elaborately.

  “Well, consider me fair game.” Ann smiled. “So to speak.”

  Maddie straightened in her seat. “O-kay!”

  “We’ll all play.” They could divide into teams. The girls would love that, even Kate, especially if Shazia joined in. “Let me take care of the food first, okay?” Ann turned and almost bumped into Shazia.

  “Excuse me.” Shazia balanced a stack of packaged chicken breasts and ground beef in her arms. “This is the last of it.” She set them carefully on the counter.

  Just a few days ago, their meat supply had seemed so ample. Whenever Ann opened the freezer, she had been reassured to see the packed shelves. But now that everything was spread out before her, it seemed woefully meager. Well, she could make soup from the bones. She could use the fat to cook with. And at some point, the stores would reopen. The city would step in. Ann’s wasn’t the only family watching its food supply dwindle.

  “Do you want me to empty the rest of the freezer?” Shazia said.

  The fewer times they opened the door, the colder its contents would keep. Still, it would be a challenge to figure out when things were no longer safe to eat. Meat would give off a rancid odor. Ice cream would form a furry skin, but how did frozen peas signal rot? She’d make a new rule—no one opened the freezer but her. “Better leave it as it is. But you could help put away the food Peter took out.”

  “Okay.” Shazia picked up two bags and elbowed her way through the back door.

  “Listen, guys. We’re all going to sleep down here tonight. I’ll set up the air mattresses. Your dad will light a fire in the fireplace.”

  “Why can’t we sleep in our own rooms?” Kate said.

  “It’ll be too cold up there. It’ll be nice down here, I promise. But no more reading in bed, Kate. I’m sor
ry, honey.” Ann turned on the faucet and washed her hands.

  “Why can’t I use a flashlight?” Kate asked.

  “We need to conserve our batteries.”

  Maddie licked her spoon. “What does that mean?”

  “That means nothing works,” Kate said. “Not even your CD player. Not even your DS.”

  Maddie turned to look at Ann. “Is that true?”

  “Hey,” Ann said cheerfully, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “It’ll be all right. We’ve lost power before. Remember?” Not like this. Never like this. “The lights will come back on any minute now. Until then, it’ll be a big party. I mean, how many times do you get to sleep in the family room?”

  “Big whoop.” Kate pushed herself up from the table and brought her yogurt container over. Ann put a staying hand on Kate’s arm. Kate rolled her eyes, then held out the cup.

  Ann looked inside. It had been scraped clean. “Good girl.” She put her hand to Kate’s forehead, then the backs of her fingers against her daughter’s pale cheek. “How are you feeling?”

  “Freezing.”

  Thank God that was all. There was no evidence of fever, no complaint of a headache. She pulled the scarf up to Kate’s chin and put her arms around her daughter’s shoulders. “Daddy’ll get a fire going soon.” Kate’s hair smelled of Kate and cold.

  Kate pulled away and dropped the yogurt container into the trash. “Can I call Michele?”

  “You bet. If a call comes through, pick it up.”

  Maddie brought over her spoon and dropped it into the bowl of soapy water. “Can we play Monopoly now?”

  “Not just yet, sweetheart. Why don’t you find a book to read?” The chicken breasts were frozen solid. She’d have to defrost them before she could peel off the plastic wrap. She plugged the sink and turned on the faucet.

  “But I’ve been reading. I’m sick of reading.”

  Growing up, Ann could read for hours and hours. Her idea of heaven was to stay up late as the house ticked into nighttime silence and read by the cozy light from her lamp until her mother called down the hall, Time to go to sleep, Annie.

  “Well, how about cards?” Ann set the packages of chicken into the cold water and balanced a heavy pot on top to keep them submerged.

  “There’s no one to play with.”

  True. She trotted out the one sure thing. “Why don’t you draw?”

  “I guess.” Sighing, Maddie dragged herself away. “Can I bring my markers downstairs?”

  “Of course.” Ann slid open the door to an elemental rush of cold that sucked away her breath. Peter stood in a drift of snow that came up beyond his knees, scraping the grill rack with a wire brush. “Here you go.” She reached the platter of food out to him. “I’ve got more coming.”

  He nodded absently. She guessed he was thinking about his samples again. Had he really been onto something? Would it have made any difference, in the end? They’d never know.

  Back in the kitchen, she crossed to the refrigerator, picked up the bags still sitting on the floor, and nudged the door closed. Now it was just a big, empty, expensive box.

  The garage was a frigid slap. She pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and felt her way around the strange shapes that loomed out of the gloom. Bikes, sleds, lawnmower. Shazia crouched in the corner and fitted things into the big bin Ann had emptied earlier, light from the small window falling onto her.

  “Do you want me to open the garage door so you can see?”

  “It’s all right.” Shazia reached out and took the bags from her. The girl’s teeth were chattering. The sweater she wore wasn’t heavy enough to keep her warm. “Shazia, you’re freezing. Go inside.

  I’ll do that.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m almost done.”

  Ann hadn’t seen the girl in anything but blouses and thin sweaters. She should have figured it out sooner. Maybe Shazia didn’t have any winter-weight clothes. She was probably too polite to say anything. “Do you have anything warmer to wear?”

  Shazia glanced down at herself. “I didn’t realize how cold it got here.”

  “We’ll go through my closet.” Nothing would be a perfect match, Shazia was so tall and slim, but they’d figure something out.

  “All right. Thank you.” Shazia folded up the plastic bag and reached for the next.

  In the kitchen, Ann found Maddie kneeling by the bin of markers, poking through them. “Hey, Mom—Kate’s been calling you. Libby’s on the phone.” She uncapped a marker and scrawled something across a piece of paper. “These are all dried up.”

  “Check the school-supply box.”

  Kate stood in the den, an impatient look on her face. She thrust the receiver at Ann. “I was talking to Michele.”

  So Michele was just on the other end of the phone line. Thank goodness. Something was going right. “I’ll let you know when I’m off. Go round up the pillows from everyone’s bed, please, and put them in the family room.” Ann put the receiver to her ear. “Hey. How are you guys doing?”

  “Can you believe this?” Libby sounded on the verge of tears. “My mom was all set to come, then this … stupid … quarantine.”

  “I’m so sorry, Libby.”

  “I mean, how are they going to stop people?” Ann leaned back against the desk. Peter’s laptop sat there, its lid yawning hopefully open. She pressed it shut. “They’ll shoot them.”

  “Oh, come on! This is America, not some Third World country.”

  “They will, Libby. You can’t risk it.” Libby let out a shaky breath. “How are your folks doing?”

  “My dad had a rough night. His cough is back. But at least they have electricity.”

  “Nice to know it’s civilized somewhere.”

  “I don’t know how civilized it is there. Beth’s apartment was broken into while she was at work. The cops didn’t even come out to write a report. They just took her complaint over the phone.”

  “Oh, God. I hadn’t thought of that. What if someone broke in here? We don’t have a gun. We don’t have anything.”

  “Libby. It’s all right. No one’s going to break in.” Still, Ann glanced to the window. Of course, no one was out there. She was being foolish.

  “I’m so tired of this, Ann. I just want a hot cup of tea and to read the newspaper without freaking out over what it’s saying.”

  “I know. Well, at least we still have the phone.”

  “I’d lose my mind otherwise.” There was a muted shout in the background. Libby sighed. “I’d better go. Smith needs something. Probably forgot how to change a diaper again.”

  Ann smiled. Libby already sounded better. “I’ll call you later.”

  THE BASEMENT WAS SHROUDED IN DARKNESS. ANN REACHED automatically for the light switch and caught herself. She stepped into the utility room and waited for her eyes to pick out even the faintest images. No use. It was utterly black in here. She shuffled forward a few steps until her feet bumped into something. She bent and extended her hands and touched the smooth contours of a storage bin. Prying off the lid, she patted around, feeling smooth metal and stiff canvas. Pushing the tent aside, she reached deeper, hooking her fingers onto something ribbed and rubbery. She drew out her find and dropped it to the floor. There should be another underneath, and sure enough, there it was. She brushed off dust and a sticky wad of cobweb, hoping the spider that constructed it had moved on. Say, to another solar system.

  After dragging both air mattresses up the stairs, she spread them across the family room floor and manually pumped them up. Each one could hold two people. There were five of them. Someone would have to sleep on the couch. She and Kate would take one mattress, Peter and Maddie the other. Shazia could sleep on the couch. It was long enough, and she was slim.

  Back down in the basement, she unearthed the collection of sleeping bags: the two brightly colored ones emblazoned with cartoon characters, which the girls took to sleepovers, the more durable pair from when Peter and she had gone camping in West Virginia years ago, and the o
ld black one from Peter’s college days, which she really should return to him. Well, it would come in handy now.

  Coming back up to the family room, she unzipped each bag and shook it out over the mattresses, and spread one across the couch for Shazia. Now, upstairs to retrieve comforters and pillows from the beds. When she came back into the kitchen, she found Maddie sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Hi, Mommy.”

  “Hi, honey.”

  She layered the comforters across the sleeping bags, folding down the tops and tucking in the ends, and plumped up the pillows and set them out. At last she stood back, hands on her hips, and studied her handiwork. It looked cozy. Those big windows would be a problem, though. She could already feel the cold seeping in from where she stood. She’d have to fashion some sort of weatherproofing system with plastic wrap and duct tape.

  “That looks nice,” Maddie said.

  Ann turned to smile at her.

  Maddie was holding a paintbrush. Not one of those thin plastic ones that came in all those crayon colors but a full-sized brush with a real wood handle. It looked, in fact, exactly like the very expensive sable one Peter had given her for their first anniversary. The one she knew they couldn’t afford but which she couldn’t give up. The one she’d used to paint her first watercolor, the deep vibrant purples of violets against the rich green grass.

  Ann sucked in her breath. “Where did you get that?”

  Maddie swirled bristles across a sheet of paper. “This box.”

  “Where’s this box?”

  “Downstairs.”

  “On the top shelf?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Ann came over. She plucked the brush from Maddie’s hand and plunged it in the cup of water.

  “Don’t, Mommy. What about my picture?”

  Twisted tubes of paint lay scattered across the table, alongside a plastic palette still smeared with the last colors Ann had ever used. She couldn’t bear to look at their hopeful brightness. “Did you open the other box, too?”

  “No.”

  Ann reached for the tube of aquamarine and screwed the cap tight. The umber lay uncapped, too, and the ebony. “You should have asked me first.” She had taped those box flaps shut. Maddie would have had to work to open them, and that should have signaled to her that that box wasn’t to be touched. “This isn’t for you.” Her voice trembled with anger.