by David Lucin
“I’m only making sure.”
Jenn hopped on her bike, one foot on the pedal and the other on the ground to balance her. “I’ll be there. Give me the details on the way into town, but let’s get going. If we leave now, I might be able to catch Sam for a few minutes before he goes to work.”
“Things are good with him?” Val asked as they proceeded down the driveway, the damp air chilling Jenn’s face.
“Really good. I thought we were gonna end up killing each other after we moved in, but it’s been great. He’s even started picking up his clothes off the floor.”
The woods of ponderosas gave way to open fields lined with neat rows of young potato plants beginning to leaf. Where the driveway met a paved road, Val turned right. Over her shoulder, she said to Jenn, “Glad you don’t want to kill him. You two are perfect for each other.”
“Yeah, we are.” They rode in silence for a while. Then Jenn asked, “You’re coming on Sunday, I assume? Allison’ll be there.” Val came to the Ruiz house for Sunday night dinner whenever she could. She lived alone, and without Internet and without phones, the world had become a lonely place, so Jenn made a point of inviting her out as much as possible. Jenn was as introverted as Val, but she understood that human beings were social creatures. Being around others was healthy, and though Val would sometimes try to decline, she always left happier than when she arrived.
“Yes,” Val said, her smile wide and genuine. “I’ll be there.”
“I’m going to get water with Allison tomorrow morning, too. We’re meeting at her place at the uni at 6:30.” Most refugees had been put up on campus, and Allison and her family were assigned to an apartment at McKay Village, Sam’s old dorm. Every time Jenn visited her there, she was overcome with nostalgia and longing; she still associated NAU with a simpler life that was gone forever. “So if you want to come wait in line with us for two hours, you’re more than welcome. There’s a rumor floating around that the Go Market has beets, so we’ll swing by there after and check it out.”
“This,” Val started, “I am less excited about than the dinner, but I’ll be there.”
3
“It’s my mom’s birthday in a couple weeks,” Sam said.
Jenn, lying next to him in their bed, head nuzzled beneath his collarbone, stopped breathing. A second ago, she was barely conscious, her brain swimming in a blissful soup of hormones, but now she was wide awake. An uncomfortable sensation wormed its way into her intestines. Sam would want to put on some sort of party for his mother, and surely Barbara, of all people, would be expecting one. Worse, Jenn would have to attend, and as a general rule, she made a point of spending as little time with Barbara as possible.
“Oh?” She should be asking what Sam was planning and how she could help, yet if she kept quiet, maybe he would drop it for now. Sam worked today, and she didn’t want to spend their precious few minutes together talking about Barbara.
“Yeah,” he said, twirling her hair. “I was thinking we should do something for her.”
Crap. One way or another, they were having this conversation. “I’m sure Maria would be happy to help. I’d suggest going out for a nice dinner, but, well, you know.”
Sam yawned and scratched his beard. “I guess that’s off the table.”
“Pun intended?”
He fake-laughed and pulled her tight. “What about a surprise party?”
Jenn laughed for real.
“What’s so funny about that?” Sam asked.
“Nothing. I just can’t picture your mom being the surprise-party type. You ever done one for her?”
“No,” he said, stretching the syllable into two. “Maybe I’ll talk to Nicole and see what she thinks.”
“Good idea.” She traced circles with her finger on his chest. Like her, he was lean to begin with, yet she’d never seen him so thin. “I’m glad you guys are getting along better now. It’s nice.”
“Thanks. She can still be a real pain sometimes, but she likes you.”
Jenn snorted at him. “Right. Sure.”
“She does,” he insisted. “Last time we had dinner at Gary’s, I saw you two talking on the couch.”
“Oh, that. It was great,” she said sarcastically. “She was going off to me about how Kevin isn’t at home enough anymore. After that, she asked me what part of China my parents were from.” On her cheek, she felt his heartbeat quicken, so she added, “It’s fine. In hindsight, the China comment is kind of funny, and really, I should feel honored that she’d talk to me about her marital problems, right?”
His fingers continued twirling her hair, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Nicole warned us this might happen,” he said darkly.
“That what might happen?”
“The antidepressants or anxiety meds she’s taking. They’re running out at the hospital, so Nicole thought it was best if Mom started weaning herself off before they ran out completely.”
She peered up at him. “Will she be okay without them?”
“Yeah,” he answered casually, which meant he might be lying. “Maybe. I think so, if we’re all supportive of her.”
There was worry in his eyes. It was touching to see him care about his mother, even though she was, in Jenn’s opinion, a nightmare. Sam was lucky to have Barbara, and in a way, Jenn was lucky to have her, too. She’d lost her parents and brothers, and she thought about them dozens of times every day, but she was part of Sam’s family now. It was time to start acting like it.
Playfully, she rolled on top of him and placed his hands on her hips. “A surprise party’s perfect. Let’s do it here. We haven’t had everyone over yet, so this is a good opportunity.”
“Really?” His brow crinkled. “Are you sure? You don’t have to. We can probably do it at Gary’s. Maria would—”
She leaned down to kiss him. Pulling away, she said, “Nope. We’re doing it here. I’ve made up my mind.”
He smiled up at her. “Then I know better than to argue with you.”
“You’ve got me all figured out.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to Nicole and start thinking of people we should invite. I think Mom’s been going on walks with Kate from next door, so maybe she can come with her husband.”
“Sounds good.” Jenn kissed him again, then slapped his chest and said, “You should get dressed. If you’re late for work again, Carter’ll kill you.”
As she climbed off him, he pushed aside the covers and grumbled, “I’m pretty sure that guy’s never heard of a lunch break before.”
She found a bra and a pair of jeans beside the bed. “He’s good for you,” she started. “You need the discipline.”
Sam mumbled under his breath, then asked, “You still going to get water with Allison?”
“Yeah,” she said and slid into her pants. These ones used to fit too tight, but now, after almost two months of rationing, she needed a belt to keep them snug. “I’m meeting her at McKay Village at 6:30.”
“You guys are so cute.”
With her fly halfway up, she paused. “Cute? Ew, why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. It’s just cute. Jenn Jansen has a friend.”
“What are you talking about? I have lots of friends.”
“Who? Besides Allison.”
“Val,” she said automatically. “She’s coming today, too.”
He hopped on one leg as he pulled on his khaki shorts. “That doesn’t count. Val’s like your sister.”
“Sister?” She reached into the closet for a shirt, gave it a quick sniff test, and threw it on. “How do you figure?”
“Because she comes over to Gary’s for dinner pretty much every Sunday, and you’re constantly talking about how Val did this and Val did that and Val’s so cool and blah, blah, blah.”
That made sense, she supposed. She admired Val as she admired Jason or Andrew, and Val looked out for her as they always had. Besides, if Jenn thought of Dylan like a brother, why wouldn’t she think of Val like a sister? But there
was no way she sounded as pathetic as Sam’s impression. So she found one of his shirts, recoiled at the scent of body odor, and tossed it at him anyway. “I do not sound like that!”
His answer was a lopsided smirk.
“This is stupid,” she said. “Maybe I’d have more friends if you weren’t so needy and took up all my time.”
He came around the mattress and held her by the waist. The shirt smelled as disgusting on him as it did in the closet. Without working showers, the reek of unwashed bodies and soiled clothes had become a fact of life. Eventually, she hoped, her nose would grow used to Sam’s smell, though hers was equally as bad. Deodorant hardly helped, and perfume or cologne only made it worse. There was talk of setting up some sort of communal bathing facility in the locker rooms at the campus gym, like at the relief camp in New River, and Jenn couldn’t wait. She was already sick to death of sponge baths in ice-cold water.
“It’s good to have a friend,” he said. “I never thought Allison was your type, but I guess I was wrong.”
“I have a type?”
“No, not really. You two are just so different. She’s so giddy and positive, and you’re, well—”
“A little mean?”
“Sure. Sometimes.”
“Mouthy?”
“That too.”
Stealthily, his hands found her backside. Her pulse kicked up a notch, and fantasies whirled through her mind, but she couldn’t afford lazy days anymore. Skipping class to spend hours in bed with her boyfriend was one thing; not stocking the house with drinking water to do the same was another. So with great reluctance, she said, “Stop it. You have work and I have chores.” Then, on her tiptoes, she ran her fingers through his beard and added softly into his ear, “Save it for tonight.”
* * *
“Ugh!” Allison slapped the handlebars of her bike. “That’s going to take forever!”
She, Jenn, and Val stood on the sidewalk next to the Go Market parking lot, most of which was surrounded by fencing reinforced with dozens of idle vehicles along the inside. According to Gary, they were meant to prevent intruders from simply rushing the fence or knocking it down with a car or truck. Hundreds of civilians snaked through a maze of stanchion that led to the front door. Most carried backpacks. Many had wheelbarrows. One pulled a red wagon. The building’s distinctive tall glass windows were boarded up, and two or three police with guns patrolled the line.
Her watch said 10:05 a.m. At seven, there was already a lineup at the water treatment plant. By the time the front gates opened at eight, it stretched so far back that she couldn’t see where it ended. An hour and a half later, they finally had their jugs filled—two gallons each.
Val, her bike leaning against her waist, inspected her nails while Allison gazed longingly at the lineup. “You really think they have beets?”
Jenn’s mouth watered at the thought, but the rumors about them might be just that—rumors. Was it worth waiting in line for hours only to find out that there weren’t any? Her stomach said yes, but her feet, still sore from five straight days of night patrol, and her brain, which desperately wanted to finish reading Rainwater, said no.
Predictably, her stomach won out.
“I’m fine with hanging around to see,” she offered. “But I understand if you guys don’t want to.”
Allison licked her lips. “I say we try. Let’s do it.”
She led them to the front gate, where a police officer peeked inside their bags and then waved them through, into the parking lot. Every time Jenn came here, she expected the cops to ask for her gun, but they never did, maybe because more and more people in town openly wore weapons. Jenn rarely left home without her Glock—which Gary had officially gifted to her—and Val always carried her SIG Sauer P226. Last week, Jenn even saw a woman with a crossbow strapped to her back. She wondered where she could find one of those and who could teach her how to shoot it.
They locked their bikes at the makeshift rack by the gate and meandered to the rear of the line, where Jenn mentally prepared to remain standing for another two or three hours. Within minutes, others had filed in behind them.
“Some of the vegetables should be done in the gardens at McKay Village soon,” Allison said. Jenn would have preferred fresh fruit like raspberries, but there wasn’t enough sunlight peeking through the smoke in the atmosphere. “They planted carrots there. Isn’t that cool?”
The person in front of them in line, a tall, lanky man wearing an oversized green T-shirt, leaned into the woman beside him—his wife?—and whispered into her ear while shooting a glance toward Allison.
What was that for? Because Allison had brought up carrots? No, more likely, it was because she’d mentioned McKay Village. Not all of Flagstaff welcomed the refugees with open arms. Sure, the addition of two thousand more people put a strain on Flagstaff’s food supply, but in total, nonresidents made up less than ten percent of the population. When Jenn did the math in her head, the number of calories they’d take away from her, Maria, Gary, and everyone she cared about was tiny. Not negligible, but not enough to cause mass starvation. Plus, most of the refugees were like Allison: grateful, hard workers who did everything in their power to prepare Flagstaff for the winter. It was no coincidence, Jenn thought, that a large proportion of laborers at the farm were newcomers, not locals.
But many didn’t see things that way. They noticed strange faces in the streets and heard about the uptick in property crime. Anxiety overrode logic, leading them to believe that the refugees were the source of all their problems.
The man and his wife were moving forward with the line, so Jenn told herself to relax. She realized her hand was hovering above the Glock.
“You should start a garden, Jenn,” Allison continued. “In your yard.”
In the aftermath of the bombs, a number of household gardens popped up around town. Gary started one. So did Sam’s stepfather, Kevin. At McKay Village, the refugees had constructed an enormous garden in the quad. The city had planted even more with the intent of adding fresh food, like the elusive beets, to the variety of rations given out at the Go Market.
“You know where I can find seeds?” Jenn asked. “Because last I heard, Flagstaff’s bone dry.”
“My neighbors down the hall might have some left.”
“If you can track down some seeds, sure, I’m fine with a garden, assuming you do most of the heavy lifting. And by most, I mean all. I don’t have a clue about gardening.”
“Me neither,” Allison admitted. “But I want to learn.”
The line shuffled forward another few steps. “I’ll show you,” Val said.
Gaping at her, Jenn asked, “You garden?”
Val put a hand over her mouth and yawned. “Yes, sometimes I worked at the greenhouse when they needed help planting or picking.”
Jenn tried picturing Val with gardening gloves. It wasn’t easy. Then the light bulb flashed. José, one of the two who joined Ed on the first expedition to Phoenix, ran the greenhouse, and according to Dylan, he and Val once dated. That must have been how they met. Jenn wouldn’t mention any of this, though, for fear of upsetting Val. Dylan had described their relationship as a “fling,” but the way Val spoke about José made her think there might have been more to it.
“Green thumb Val,” Jenn joked instead. “Maybe that should be your new nickname.”
Val held out a thumb and inspected it. “What is green thumb?”
“It means you’re good with plants. Like, a good gardener.”
“Yes, but why green?”
“I don’t know. Because plants are green? It’s just what it is.”
Val narrowed her eyes, then said to Allison, “Yes, I will show you. We’ll even make Jenn help us.”
“I can’t wait to see that! We can check out the garden at McKay Village to get some ideas and come up with a game plan.”
Ahead of them in line, the man in the green T-shirt peered over his shoulder and made a scoffing noise, then muttered to his wife, who sh
ook her head and muttered something in return.
Jenn’s blood ran hot. She had no patience for these kinds of people. The dirty looks, the whispers, and the insults were all too familiar. As an Asian when America was at war with China, she incurred her fair share of racism, even though she might not have been Chinese. Watching this man deride Allison reminded her too much of being spat at and called “chink” behind her back.
“You got a problem?” she barked at him. She shouldn’t say anything and should let this go, but her adrenaline was in control.
He pretended not to hear her. Or Jenn assumed he was pretending. Allison said, “Who are you talking to?”
Jenn ignored her and tapped the man on the shoulder. “Hey, you deaf?”
Slowly, he spun around. Now that he faced her, he appeared taller. Six feet, minimum. He was older than she’d thought, too. The wrinkles on his forehead and the gray in his messy beard put him in his fifties. His wife might have been a few years younger. Her blonde pixie-cut hair was lopsided and uneven, as if she’d trimmed it herself with scissors at home. She had a lean, angular face and a judgmental stare that only made Jenn hate her more. He wore a pistol on his belt, but that didn’t matter; Jenn had one, too, and she doubted that this man had ever used his for real before.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, playing dumb, but Jenn heard arrogance in his tone.
“Yeah,” she said, “you can tell me why you keep mouthing off to your wife every time my friend mentions McKay Village.”
He choked out a mocking laugh. Ahead of him in line, a pair of women with a little boy were watching the exchange. Beside Jenn, Allison wheezed with each breath. Val stood motionless, shoulders back, chest out, hand close to her SIG. She was a refugee, too. A different kind, yes, but a refugee all the same. More than anyone, she would understand why Jenn had rushed to Allison’s defense.
To Jenn’s surprise, the woman with the pixie cut spoke: “It’s because your friend here”—she waved rudely at Allison—“is another mouth to feed.”
A spark of rage set her chest on fire. “What did you just call her?”
