The Things That Keep Us Here

by Carla Buckley

  “I suppose that’s true. But still. Help me keep an eye on her.”

  “Sure.” He stabbed the poker into the flames, sending sparks spiraling. “Listen, we have to keep the cars locked in the garage. People are going around stealing gas.”

  She rocked back on her heels and stared up at him. “In this neighborhood?”

  “In every neighborhood. Folks are out of work. They’re getting desperate.”

  Her sister had been fired that morning. Beth had gone in to find the doors locked and all the lights off. A piece of paper had been taped to the door. “Has Shazia heard back from Sweden yet?”

  “She left a message. Antony’ll call when he gets the chance.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier for her to email him?”

  “Of course.” He set the poker back in the stand and drew the grate closed. “But Finn, prince that he is, doesn’t want anyone to know he’s got power. He’s terrified the whole neighborhood will be at his door if they find out.”

  Ann thought of Libby struggling to keep the baby warm, and elderly Mr. Mitchell, who lived across the street and was particularly frail, and felt a spurt of anger. “He can’t expect to keep something like that a secret for long.”

  “I know.” Peter brushed the ashes from his hands. “Tell you the truth, I feel sorry for him, holed up like that. He has no one to talk to but his dog.”

  They were all feeling the strain. “Libby and Smith got into a terrible fight this afternoon.”

  “Is that why their SUV is backed into the street?”

  “It was awful, Peter. I thought Libby was actually going to run him over.” She and Peter had never fought like that. They’d retreated into cold silences instead, stamped with their own kind of ugliness. “Kate saw everything.”

  “It’ll be better when the power comes back on.”

  Bringing with it heat, light, television, the Internet, cell phones—all their old friends. “I called over there, but no one picked up the phone.”

  “Maybe they’re making up.”

  “Ha, ha.” Another thing she didn’t know about. She and Peter had never used sex to make up. Nothing could have brought them back together, so they hadn’t even tried.

  Peter stood watching the threesome at the kitchen table. “I’m going to try the stores again. Even with the power out, they might have rigged up a manual system.”

  “We need milk and bread. Vegetables would be a godsend.” She couldn’t even bear to think about fresh fruit. Her mouth practically watered at the possibility of an orange. A banana. “Stores may be posting information. We should ask Finn to check.”

  “I told you. We can’t.”

  “We can at least ask him to take a look.”

  He glanced at her and softly said, “Finn pulled a gun on me.”

  “What!”

  “I was on my way out when I looked into his kitchen. Guess he didn’t want me seeing his supplies.”

  She would never have guessed the man would be capable of violence. But wasn’t that a lesson she’d learned that very afternoon, watching Smith and Libby? “That’s no reason to pull a gun on someone.”

  “I wasn’t going to point that out to him.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.” So, this was what he’d been holding back. “What a horrible, selfish man. What harm would it do him to let you check in every now and then?”

  He shrugged, his gaze on the flames. “Well, what goes around comes around.”

  “Your dad used to say that all the time.” His father had had a saw like that for every situation. Trying to hold a conversation with him had been like thumbing through a book of old folk sayings.

  Peter refused to meet her gaze. “I better bring in some more firewood.”

  Apparently, talking about his father was still off-limits.

  He strode over to the back door and reached for his coat. Ann turned to the window, to the black night pressed against the glass. She couldn’t see past the pane, but somewhere out there was Walter Finn. He probably wasn’t the only one with a gun. He probably wasn’t the only one going a little crazy. There was a lesson there for all of them. It wasn’t just the virus they needed to worry about.

  NINETEEN

  PETER TURNED THE KNOB AND PUSHED THE BUTTON. A flame sputtered to life. He set the kettle on top of the grate. It was cold out here, cold enough to show his breath before him in little flags of white that held themselves suspended in the air before dissolving. It was almost as cold inside. His ears and nose tingled. It was difficult to draw a deep breath. He hunched his shoulders and slid his hands into his armpits and stomped his feet. He wore two thick pairs of wool socks and heavy work boots, and yet his feet still ached. Ann had been checking the girls every day for signs of frostbite.

  The whine of a car engine made him look up the street into the blue dawn light. Dr. Singh’s SUV was stuck again. Gears ground, then the vehicle pulled itself up and out and crunched past. The man lifted a hand and was gone.

  The street lay rutted and piled with brown snow crumbly as sugar. Some neighbors had cleared paths. Others still had snow heaped in front of their doors. The sun had helped a little, melting the drifts into soft mounds, which the moon then hardened into crisp crusts.

  The birch in the back corner looked strong. It had tripled in size over the past few years, and now it looked as though it owned its patch of yard. A nest clung to a forked branch, a wispy brown cup. He wondered if the birds that had built it would return, if they’d safely completed their trip south.

  Smoke puffed from a chimney across the way.

  He turned his attention back to the grill. No steam yet emerged from the spout.

  A nearby snuffling sound made him glance over to see a dog nosing his way down the sidewalk toward him. Finn’s dog. The animal stopped and pawed at the snow. Peter crouched. “Hey, boy,” he said. “Hey, Barney.”

  The dog lifted his head. His eyes were dull. His fur lay matted against his body. Where was Finn? What was he doing letting his dog wander around like this? Peter had never seen the dog without the man and vice versa. Had Finn run out of food and released his dog to fend for himself? No. Only ten days before, the man had had a kitchen full of food. Finn could have decided to move in with someone and been unable to bring the dog with him. Hard to imagine the guy would’ve left his dog to take his own chances, but maybe he’d felt he had no choice. Maybe the man had gotten sick. Peter thought of him alone in his basement with all his electronic toys, his gun at the ready. How could any of it help him now?

  The dog lowered his head, watching.

  “C’mere, boy.”

  He was hungry. And thin, his ribs clearly delineated beneath his filthy coat. Peter patted his jacket pocket and fumbled out the bit of granola bar. It was Maddie’s. She hadn’t wanted it and had given it to Peter to hold a day or two back. He peeled back the wrapper and extended his hand. It would be good to get the dog close enough for even the most cursory examination. Roaming around out here, the animal was subject to all sorts of hazards—infection, hypothermia, dehydration. Peter held the food steady. “Come on, boy.”

  The dog slitted his eyes, backed up a step, and growled.

  Wary, no more the friendly pet. What could have happened to make him this way?

  The kettle on the grill began to hiss.

  The dog would come investigate after Peter left, he decided. He dropped the granola bar onto a flattened section of snow and stood. Switching off the flame, he lifted the kettle and heard the whoosh of heated water slide against metal.

  Ann had the glass carafe ready on the kitchen counter, the paper filter in the holder, the coffee spooned out. He poured until the filter was full of bubbly grounds, then lifted the lid from the teapot Ann had prepared for Shazia and filled that, too. Now the bowls lined up, the instant oatmeal carefully measured.

  Ann closed her eyes. “This is what heaven must smell like.”

  She wore a woolen hat and thick woolen mittens. Her hair waved around her face, out of
its usual smooth style. When had she given up wearing lipstick and mascara? Probably weeks ago and he was only just now noticing. He’d always preferred her this way—the soft intelligence in her eyes, the gentle coloring of her mouth. “I thought you said it would smell like new books.”

  “It does.”

  They were speaking quietly so as not to waken Shazia and the girls, sleeping in the next room. “And magnolias.”

  “Peter. There are rooms in heaven that have different smells.” She put her hands on her hips. “Duh.”

  A perfect Kate imitation. He grinned, lifted the kettle, and poured in more water. “That was the last of the propane.”

  “No more coffee?” She looked stricken.

  “We can use the fireplace.”

  She shook her head. He knew she was thinking about how low their firewood supply was. They’d been conserving it for night, when the cold became unbearable. She gave him a rueful look. “It’s all right. The power should be back on soon.”

  Every day they said the same thing. It had been thirteen days. Peter was beginning to fear the worst—that the power might never return. That everyone at the power company was sick or gone. That they might have to wait until spring to feel warm again.

  Ann poured a cup and lifted it to her face, breathing in the aroma. “I’m going to wash clothes today.”

  “Thank God. I’m down to those boxers my mom gave me.”

  “The ones with the reindeer?”

  “The very same.”

  She looked at him over the rim of her cup. “But Peter. She’d be so thrilled to see you wearing them.”

  She was teasing him. This was the Ann he remembered from before. The Ann who’d been lost to him for so many years. How surprising that these strained circumstances would reveal her to him again. He’d missed her. “Well, at least they’re not as bad as the necktie she sent me for Easter.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Tell me.”

  “It has little bunnies all over it. Cute until you look close and realize what those bunnies are doing.”

  “Oh, Lord—don’t tell me you wore it to work!”

  “I was in a hurry. I just pulled it on.”

  “Oh, Peter.”

  “Shazia finally said something, but by then my students were calling me Peter Cottontail.” She laughed.

  He shook his head. “I think one of the nurses must be helping her pick out stuff. Mom didn’t used to be …” He was going to say nuts, but he stopped himself. That was exactly what she was now.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Your mom’s always gotten into the spirit of the holidays. As soon as it’s time to take down the New Year’s stuff, she puts up the Valentine’s Day stuff.”

  “True.”

  “You should call her, you know.”

  Her voice was light. He’d never have the relationship with his mother that Ann had with her parents, especially not now. It wasn’t as if he or his mother got anything out of their brief phone conversations. “Peter?” she’d say in a fuzzy voice. “What a nice name. I’ve always liked that name.” And then they’d both wait for him to make an appropriate response.

  He lifted the carafe over his cup. “How’s your dad doing?”

  “Still fighting that cold. Beth’s really worried about him.”

  Beth had moved in with Ann’s parents. She’d packed up her small apartment and loaded everything into her car. With no paycheck coming in, it made sense. But he felt sad that his sister-in-law had had to give up that small bit of independence. “She’ll get him in soon.”

  “Maybe.”

  “The Guarnieris have their chimney going.” A shadow crossed her face. “I wonder how they’re doing.”

  “Al was out shoveling yesterday. I waved, but he didn’t look over.”

  The man had stood there staring at the snow. At last he flung his shovel aside and went indoors. Peter went over later and finished the job. Underneath the snow he’d discovered petrified newspapers and a bright green mitten. He pried it loose and placed it on the doormat. When he looked later, the mitten was gone.

  “I wish there was something we could do.” She held her cup between her palms. “Has Kate or Maddie said anything to you about Jodi?”

  “Not a word.”

  “They must suspect something, but I don’t dare bring it up.” She took a sip. “I heard Shazia on the phone last night. Was it her family?”

  “No. Dr. Antony’s secretary returned her call. She confirmed that he’s in Australia with that aboriginal tribe. So it must be a legitimate lead.”

  “Australia. It’s summer there right now, isn’t it? Just think of it. No peeling ice off your toothbrush, no scraping frost off the windows.”

  He’d always promised to take her to Australia. He’d forgotten that, too. He felt a pang of guilt. “I’m going to get you some new pots and pans.”

  She looked at him, surprised. “Where did that come from?”

  “Look at that kettle. It’s filthy. There’s no way you can get all that soot off, so stop scrubbing. When this is all over, I’m getting you a new set. Anything you like.”

  “Even that super-expensive copper-clad stuff?”

  “You bet.” He smiled at her.

  She smiled back, a faraway look in her eyes.

  He watched her. “Ann,” he said gently.

  She turned her gaze to him.

  “It won’t be this bad much longer.” He didn’t say anything about the second wave of deaths that was surely coming after this one ended, or the third. She already knew.

  She studied him for a long moment. Then, at last, she nodded, accepting the only thing he had to offer her: hope.

  TWENTY

  ANN CAUGHT SIGHT OF HERSELF IN THE MIRROR AS SHE pulled the towel from the bathroom rack, and stopped to stare. When had she become so pale, her cheeks sharp and her eyes sunken? She’d lost weight. They all had. Peter’s pants were so droopy he’d taken to wearing belts, and the girls … She shook her head to clear it. No. She couldn’t bear to think about the girls.

  In the laundry room, she turned on the faucet and squirted dish soap into the sink. She swirled her hand around but the water was too cold. The bubbles formed reluctantly and broke apart as soon as she dropped in the socks and underwear.

  They were getting precariously low on food. They’d run out of so many things. All the fresh food was long gone; they were now steadily working their way through their dwindling supply of frozen and canned foods. She worried about the girls’ calcium intake. The milk and yogurt had been consumed first, and they were down to a single block of Swiss, the girls’ least favorite kind of cheese. Time to dig into her stash of vitamins to try and stave off any deficiencies until she or Peter could get to the store. They couldn’t stay trapped inside forever. At some point, they’d have to risk venturing out, quarantine or no quarantine.

  In the meantime, they still had flour and sugar, and seasonings. She was going to experiment with making biscuits in the fireplace today, keeping a close eye on the pan to make sure they didn’t scorch or become hard as rock. Everything took so much effort. All their energy seemed to be directed toward maintaining the basics: food and heat and shelter. She marveled at the ancestors who found time to sew clothes, fashion furniture, tend livestock.

  Peter came through the back door, whistling, stomping the snow noisily off his shoes. His hair stuck up on one side, and he’d missed a spot shaving along his jaw. His eyes were bright blue, and he had two spots of color on his cheeks. He brought with him the smell of icy air and frozen vegetation. He’d been on one of his mysterious excursions again. He hadn’t asked her to join him and she hadn’t offered, sensing his need to be alone. She felt the same need. Sometimes she went upstairs to her bedroom closet and huddled in a blanket on the floor and put her forehead against her bent knees. She’d sit there in the dark, quiet cold, breathing in deep gasps of air, until the fear inside her subsided to a murmur and it was safe again to be around the girls.

  “The mail hasn’t
come,” she told him. “No paper, either.”

  They were down to the telephone and the truck radio, and the latter was increasingly playing more music than news.

  “We’ve got a bigger problem,” he said. “The garbage is getting out of control.”

  “I know.” Ann squeezed moisture from a pair of socks. Everyone in the neighborhood had been lugging trash to the curb and leaving it there. The entire street overflowed with cans and bags stiff with frost.

  “When this cold snap lifts, things will start rotting. There’ll be bugs.” He leaned against the jamb and crossed his arms. “Not to mention rodents.”

  She gave him a sharp glance. “We don’t have rats in the suburbs.”

  “I’m not kidding, Ann. If it’s not rats, it’ll be other wild animals.”

  “That’s just fantastic. Our own private wildlife refuge. Maybe we can sell tickets.” She wrung out a pair of Maddie’s underwear and draped it over the side of the laundry basket. “Will you tell Kate to bring down her things?”

  “Sure.” He walked into the next room.

  Maddie’s nightgown went in, and one of her turtlenecks. The water was turning brown. It was all the smoke from the fire. It coated their skin, slid down their throats, and sank deep into their hair. She thought of standing in a steaming shower, upending shampoo into her palm and soaping, letting warm water sluice down her skin.

  Kate whirled in and dumped clothes onto the floor. “Here.”

  Ann eyed the pile. “You’ve worn everything three times?”

  “Oh, believe me. They’re disgusting.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Ann picked up Kate’s green shirt from the pile and pressed it deep into the water. The iciness of the water shot straight through the thin rubbery skin of the gloves she wore and penetrated deep into her bones. Her hands throbbed.

  Kate stood there watching. “I don’t get it. How come we still have water?”

  “They’re different systems. But we have to be prepared to lose the water. That’s why I keep the bathtubs and sinks full.” Every day, she’d work through their laundry. As long as they had running water, she’d wash their clothes. “That’s why you can’t bathe in my bathtub. That’s drinking water.”