by William Oday
“I do now,” a weak voice said.
Beth looked over her shoulder and saw Elio awake. His eyelids heavy and barely open.
“I’m sorry, Elio,” Mason said. His chest convulsed as a ragged exhale escaped. “So sorry.”
The room went quiet.
The faintest whisper broke the silence.
“Did your best…”
His words trailed off and he slipped back under.
Beth turned back to her husband. He looked crushed. Beaten. Such a contradiction to the man she woke up to every morning.
This morning that seemed like years ago. This morning when things made sense. This morning before the world went crazy.
What happened to normal, everyday life?
Was it always so delicate and we never noticed?
Did we ignore the fragility? Did we have to ignore it in order to keep going, day in and day out?
Mason caught her gaze. His jaw set, his eyes unblinking.
“Save him, Beth,” he said as he rolled his arm over to expose the IV port taped to the crook of his elbow.
She wanted to collapse. Run away to avoid doing what he asked. Tears blurred her vision as she inserted the needle and watched as another vital pint oozed out of the man she loved. She watched his color leak away. Cold sweat trickled from his brow.
“I will, my love. I will.”
She’d tell him anything to bring peace. To bring comfort where only black sorrow dwelt.
Mason managed a weak smile before his eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out.
75
THERESA lay on her parent’s bed next to Elio. Sunlight speared through a crack in the curtain and blinded her. She looked away, at the clock on the side table.
It was morning.
Holly was gone. She’d watched from the front window as her mom and dad carried the covered body around to the backyard. Her best friend since third grade was gone.
Max was gone. Her two best friends in the world stolen from her. Grief stabbed at her heart. She pulled away from the sensation. Too overwhelmed to process it.
The later events of the night bubbled to the surface and she opened her eyes. And saw Elio watching her.
He smiled.
“Morning.”
“Elio.” She could barely speak his name. He’d nearly died a few times last night. She didn’t know if he’d make it until morning. There was no way she could sleep. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up.
“You’re alive.”
She touched his lips, as if to test this waking reality. One she didn’t yet trust not to be a dream. He kissed her fingertips.
“Couldn’t leave right when things were getting interesting,” he said with a strained wink.
“Are you hitting on me, Elio Lopez? Because if you are, I might remind you that we are in my parents’ bed.”
“I noticed that.”
A slow smile spread across his face.
She didn’t mean that!
If she could’ve seen him through an unbiased lens, she would’ve been forced to admit he looked terrible. But she looked at him with nothing but wonder. Nothing but love.
“You saved me,” she said.
“No, you saved me.”
Theresa edged closer and propped up on an elbow. She lowered her face to his. Her lips brushed his and a tingle of perfect connection passed between them.
“Ahem.”
Theresa looked up. Her mom stood in the open doorway with her arms crossed.
“I’ll need you to give my patient some breathing room. He’s lucky to have pulled through.”
Holding her close, Elio said, “You’re right Mrs. West. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
“Slow it down, Romeo. That’s my daughter you’re swooning over.”
“I know.”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up.
“I saved you last night. Don’t make me kill you this morning.”
“Mom!”
Her mother grinned, a sadness tinging her good spirits. “Only kidding. Mostly. Theresa, can you help me with a bottle? I’ve been up every hour and a half all night. I’m wrecked.”
Only then did Theresa notice the blanket in her mother’s crossed arms.
Her mom looked down and smiled. Tender and protective. She tilted the swaddled bundle down to reveal a tiny chimpanzee.
“Sure.”
Beth walked over and deposited the wrapped bundle in Theresa’s lap. “I’ll get the bottle.”
She headed back to the kitchen.
Elio peeked over and creased his brow.
“Maybe I’m still out of it, but isn’t that a monkey?”
“No. It’s a chimpanzee. Isn’t he the cutest thing ever?”
He really was. Eyes closed and mouth puckered. Delicate little fingers pushing at the air. It squirmed when the air ended up not being filled with warm milk. It squealed and turned its head.
Elio’s gaze returned to Theresa.
“He’s the second cutest.”
Theresa’s cheeks burned. Her ears felt warm.
“You are an unrepentant flirt, Elio Lopez.”
He looked up at the ceiling and smiled.
“What?”
“I like the way you say my name.”
Her mom returned with a bottle of warm electrolytes. Theresa knew it wasn’t milk yet from her experience with Jane’s first few months.
Her heart broke again knowing Jane was gone. And the loss swirled with the wonder of holding her baby. Like a grand cycle of life playing out in her hands.
In her heart.
She didn’t understand the depths of it. She didn’t know it could go this deep. The full depth and meaning was a hint and a promise.
She didn’t have to understand right this minute.
It felt significant. Like a moment you never forget. One that changed everything.
That was enough for now.
76
MASON pushed himself up on the living room couch and rubbed his eyes. He felt like Rip Van Winkle after only an hour of sleep. The events of the night had not yet receded beyond the comforting distance of a good night’s sleep.
Scratching the gunk out of his eyes was exhausting.
“Good morning, honey.”
Beth walked in from the kitchen with a tall glass of orange juice in her hand. She gave it to him accompanied by a kiss on the forehead.
“Get back under that blanket. You’re still too cold.”
“Yes, doctor.”
He threw the blanket over his legs and then took a sip. The citrus tang hurt his mouth. He took another drink and then gulped it down.
“Thirsty, huh?”
Orange juice dribbled down his chin.
“A little.”
“I’ll get more.”
“How’s Elio?”
Beth paused and turned back. “He’s doing better. The soft tissue damage will heal. No vital organs were affected. But he got pretty torn up. Infection is the big question mark. I’ve got him pumped full of what antibiotics I had, but it’s too soon to tell.”
“He’ll make it. He’s tough. Just like his father.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
Mason remembered carrying Holly’s lifeless body to the backyard, and down into the storm shelter where the cool air would slow the tissue decay. He would take the corpse to her parents as soon as he had the strength. The thought of initiating their nightmare turned his stomach.
An endless well of grief awaited them.
No other future would come to pass. And yet, not knowing what happened provided a limbo of uncertainty. Like the cat in the quantum experiment that is both alive and dead at the same time.
He knew he was partly to blame for her death. He hadn’t pulled the trigger. He knew exactly what that felt like. This was different. It was a burden. A guilt. But he’d carried greater for years.
And for his family, he would shoulder a new one and carry on despite the weight.
“
Mason,” Beth said, “about what you told me last night. You—“
“Let’s hold on that, if you don’t mind. I’m glad you know the truth. But I’m not ready to revisit it right now.”
Beth looked at the floor, chewed her lip, and then nodded.
“I’ll get the juice.”
Mason realized again for the millionth time, he was so lucky to have her.
She’d gone into the kitchen, so he raised his voice for her to hear.
“Where’s Iridia?”
Another voice answered.
“Here.”
She appeared in the hallway to the bedrooms. She wore his old UCLA sweatshirt. Bright yellow lettering on dark blue cloth. It hung low for a top, but rode high for a dress. Her long, thin legs drew attention to themselves. She probably planned it that way.
How did a swimsuit issue model end up in his home? How did she end up in his sweatshirt? Beth was going to be grumpy, no doubt.
Mason gave her a smile he didn’t totally feel. His body hurt and he wasn’t sure how his wife was going to react to their interaction. Mostly, he wished Iridia wasn’t his responsibility. What was he supposed to do with her now? He was too beat to deal with it.
So, he faked a smile and acted like a regular human being.
“Good morning,” he said.
“It’s too early to tell.”
Maybe she wasn’t all bad. He felt the same exact way.
Beth returned to the living room with another glass of orange juice.
Mason salivated so hard his jaws ached.
Iridia waved her away.
“Just put it on the table. I’m still waking up.”
Beth did a double take and then chuckled.
“It’s not for you. There’s more in the fridge if you want some.”
Iridia looked confused. Like the idea of getting her own juice in the morning was incomprehensible.
“You know, you might be more comfortable with some shorts on,” Beth said with a raised brow.
Iridia pinched at the cloth.
“This is fine. A bit rough. But okay.”
Mason accepted the offered glass and took a big swig. The sugary juice acted like a battery charger. He literally felt the energy seeping into his limbs.
He leaned back against the couch and looked out the window.
The old Woodie classic was in the neighbor’s driveway. Otis must have gotten home after they did last night. Mason remembered the scene at the Reagan Medical Center and that Otis went to see his wife there yesterday. Hopefully, they got out before the chaos broke loose.
And then another memory pinged for attention and he grimaced.
Beth’s slow morning demeanor kicked into doctor mode. “What is it? Pain?”
“No. I didn’t get a chance to check on Mr. Piddles last night.”
Beth looked out the window and saw the car in the driveway.
“They’re back now. I’m sure he’s fine.”
Mason started to get up.
“I should go. You know how they are with that demanding devil.”
Beth stepped in front of him and gently pushed him back down to the couch.
“You’re not going anywhere, Mr. West.” She turned to Iridia.
“Iridia, can you please be a dear, and go next door to make sure Mr. Piddles didn’t die from starvation or meet some other improbable end?”
“Really?”
Iridia looked scandalized at the thought of doing anything more than leaning against the wall.
“I’ll pour you a glass of orange juice, and I’ll consider making you some toast and jam.”
Iridia nodded. She understood the give and take.
“Deal.”
“Put some pants on first.”
Iridia tugged at the sweatshirt and it lifted for an instant, revealing black lace panties.
“What’s wrong with this?”
“You’ll give old Mr. Crayford a heart attack. That’s what’s wrong with it.”
Beth left for a moment and returned with a gray pair of old sweatpants. She dropped them into Iridia’s arms.
Iridia yanked up the sweatshirt and wiggled into them. Right there in the living room. Like it was her own private changing room.
Mason looked away and caught Beth watching him as he did. Her arms crossed and lips pressed tight together.
“We have a bathroom, Iridia. Feel free to use it for changing or whatever.”
Iridia adjusted and primped the ratty old clothes like it was a fashion shoot.
“No need.”
Beth exhaled, in a pointedly exasperated way that nobody could miss.
Iridia did. She combed fingers through her hair and then put it up in a bun with a red hair band.
“Go Trojans. That’s UCLA, right?”
Beth groaned and shook her head. “No, the Trojans are USC.”
Iridia rolled her eyes like the correction was so minor as to not merit a mention in the first place.
“It’s all sports stuff.”
Mason stifled a laugh.
Beth turned on her heel and marched to the kitchen.
“Go check on the cat. I’ll get your juice.”
77
One small bite of bread with butter tasted delicious, so rich Mason could barely swallow it. He washed it down with more OJ. Liquid wasn’t a problem. He set the glistening triangle of toasted wheat back on the saucer.
“Where’s Theresa?”
“She’s sleeping in our bed with Elio.”
The hackles on Mason’s back prickled up. His jaw clenched and teeth ground together. The next bite of toast forgotten.
Elio was a good kid. And Mason was overjoyed that he’d made it through the night. But that sure didn’t mean he got to sleep in the same bed as his daughter!
As weak as he was, his brain urged him to stomp in there and toss the injured boy out on his ear.
Beth giggled.
“You are such a dad.”
Mason hardly heard.
“Relax. He’s in no shape to do anything that might set off your dad alarms.”
“No more sleeping together.”
“What are you worried about? What could they be doing in there? All alone. No adult to monitor their blossoming desires.”
Mason knew she was playing him, and he still got more worked up. But he knew how to play games, too.
“Iridia seemed to really like my sweatshirt. Fit her well, too, don’t you think?”
Beth’s game face cracked and she scowled.
“Don’t you even start that!”
They both giggled and she snuggled up under his arm. Their lips touched and her needed warmth spread through him. She was the most amazing woman he’d ever known.
Even if she could be a little jealous for no reason.
The enjoyment of their intimate moment shattered with a scream coming from outside. Mason thought it was Iridia, but he couldn’t be sure. He was certain it came from next door.
“Help me up.”
Beth paused while the doctor and the wife inside her battled to make the call. She helped him up and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He was grateful she understood when a protective doctor needed to compromise with a protective husband, father, and neighbor.
Biting through the sharp, stabbing pain in his left calf, Mason got to his feet. With a little help from his doctor, he made his way down the front steps, remembering to skip the second one even in his diminished state.
Especially now, when a slip would assuredly send him on a collision path with the pavement.
They walked next door and found the door open. As they entered, Iridia nearly bowled them over on her way out. Her face washed white with panic. Words stammered and stumbled out of her mouth, over and on top of each other like an avalanche.
“I came, the door, walked in, was open.” She waved toward Otis and Mabel’s bedroom. “Just walked in.”
Of course she would just walk in. The world was an open door for her.
&nb
sp; “I can’t, alive, he’s there.”
Mason held her shoulders, trying to calm and bring her back to the ground.
She went silent and looked at each of them with eyes wide as dinner plates.
“The blood.”
A warbling scream burbled up in her throat.
“The blood.”
It was clear she would offer no more.
“Stay here.”
He walked toward the bedrooms in the back, Beth following along in his wake. As he drew near, the sweet stink of putrid flesh assaulted his senses. He knew the smell. He’d fought through a devastated city choked with it.
Death.
He gagged and covered his nose and mouth with the blanket.
“Mason,” Beth said in a whisper at his ear. Her hand pulled on his shoulder.
He stepped into the open doorway and wished he hadn’t.
Mabel Crayford lay sprawled on the bed, posed indecorously with her legs sprawled wide. There was no shame. That and every other human emotion no longer remained. Dark blood soaked the bed sheets and congealed puddles covered the floor. Crusted over open sores covered her gray skin. Like the skin simply split apart and spilled bile onto the bed. Her lips were drawn up tight above her teeth, showing too much gum. The torment of her suffering frozen on her face.
Otis sat next to her, his back to the door. He wore what once might have been a white t-shirt. It was mostly black with dried blood. It stuck to his torso in damp patches from sores seeping pus underneath. More weeping wounds oozed from his exposed skin.
The stench poisoned the air. Mason tasted it, swallowed it. Breathed it into his lungs.
His stomach heaved and he fought to keep vomit down. He swallowed hard.
“Otis.” He waited. “Otis.”
Otis didn’t respond. He dipped a filthy rag into a bowl of dark liquid. He then dabbed at Mabel’s eyes. Or what was once her eyes. Her sockets were crusted black.
She had not died easily.
Otis whispered incoherent words.
Mason started to take a step into the room and Beth dropped an arm in front of him. She shook her head and mouthed the word No.
This was the sickness. The contagion. The thing affecting those people on TV.
At the very hospital where Mabel was receiving treatment.
Mason took a step back and the wood floor creaked.
