Parched

by Lou Cadle

  She wouldn’t say all that to Curt, though. The loss of his home was devastating, and though he had taken it stoically, she was sure that for weeks, he’d be missing items he had lost.

  “We were lucky, little baby,” she said. One of the remaining houses here had burned to a pile of debris that was still smoldering, but the other two were standing, though one wall was blackened by the fire. Becca ran to the last house, screaming for her brothers, and when they came flying out of the house, all of them, to hug her, Sierra felt her own eyes fill with tears. She was relieved Becca’s losses last night hadn’t been complete.

  Sierra hung back, bouncing the fussy baby gently. It wanted food, she imagined. She’d heard about the forced breastfeeding of Becca, and hoped it’d work. If it didn’t, this little life would be gone in no time at all. She’d been lucky with that, with Zoe. She’d produced lots of milk, and except for being surprised at how much it hurt at first, breastfeeding had gone pretty easily for her, and Zoe had thrived.

  “Hang in there, little one,” she said to the baby. “Everything may turn out okay.”

  It was Gili who noticed her first. The woman walked up. “Janine died,” she said.

  “Kelly did everything she could. And she managed to save the baby.” She held out the small bundle, wearing a diaper made of an old dishtowel. “I don’t think Becca has named him.”

  “What are we going to do with a baby?” Gili said, not taking him.

  “The best you can. Like I did.”

  Gili held her arms out for the baby then, and in a second, Sierra saw her face soften. “It’s been a long time since I held one.”

  When they’d rushed out to greet Becca, Sierra had seen what she assumed was all their children—a boy in his early teens, a boy about Zoe’s age, and a girl, younger. “You didn’t lose anyone in the fire?”

  “No, but we were scared out of our minds. I’m surprised I didn’t die of a heart attack.”

  “Except for Janine, we all came through okay too. And of course Janine wasn’t because of the fire.”

  “How’d she die?”

  “I believe that she bled to death. Maybe I should have brought her. We can bury her, or you can, whichever you want. But it should probably be by tomorrow. The heat, you know.”

  “I can’t even—” Gili began, and then she bit her lip and stopped. “Becca’s going to be heartbroken. What can I say to her?”

  “I know you’ll figure it out.” Sierra yawned. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. I’ve been up all night, working hard, and I’m going to pass out mid-sentence if I try and stay. Besides, I’m sure you all want to be alone to grieve.”

  “We couldn’t save your grain fields. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Everybody’s alive. That’s what matters most.”

  “What will you eat?”

  Sierra shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly, I can’t think about that, or anything, until I’ve had eight or ten hours of solid sleep. I’m going to say goodbye for now. We’ll come back eventually, once we’ve cleaned up. Until then, this neighborhood is yours. Do what you will with it. Maybe there’s enough grain underground that will sprout to get a crop by the end of the year.” She was making a unilateral decision for the whole group, but looking at the devastation here, she couldn’t imagine that even Arch would say no to that. “I’m trusting you to not steal from us, or sneak up and do any mischief.”

  “We won’t,” Gili said.

  “Good. I’ve seen enough killing for a whole lifetime.” She looked around. “Enough destruction. I wouldn’t mind living the second thirty years without seeing one bit more.”

  “I can’t disagree.”

  The baby started crying in earnest then, loud, hungry cries.

  “He needs food,” Sierra said.

  “What are we going to feed him?”

  “Becca has that sorted out. Talk to her about it.” And with that, Sierra left them. She made it home, pulled into the driveway, and the next thing she knew, it was terribly hot and her father was shaking her awake in the car.

  “Come to bed, sweetheart,” he said. “You’ve had a rough time of it.”

  She let him steer her into the shower first, and she showered in her smoke-blackened clothes and then stripped them off and let them sit there, damp, as she soaped herself up and felt the dozens of stinging burns on her face and arms. More hair came off when she shampooed it, and she reached back and felt a patch of hard stubble where it had burned away. She couldn’t work up enough energy to feel bad about it. It was little enough to lose, compared to what she might have.

  She stumbled into bed wearing only a towel, and when next she woke, she was covered by a sheet and the day had grown very hot indeed. The windows were open, and the smell of a scorched world drifted in. She rolled over and fell back asleep, wondering if it was possible to sleep twenty-four hours straight. It sounded like a great idea.

  Chapter 26

  It had been three days since the fire, and Dev was finally out of things to clean up and repair. They’d buried Janine, but not too deep, in case her family wanted to claim the body and re-bury her in another way. Joan had said a few words over the grave, and they’d all piled rocks on top to keep scavengers away.

  He was doing dishes while his daughter was back in her room, her own sheets on the bed, and no sign of what had happened there except one pink stain of blood on the carpet that his mother hadn’t been able to get out entirely.

  Not even his father seemed worried about the people down the hill, and what might come of them being so close. Dev wasn’t sure why. Maybe his mother had talked him out of his concern. Dev hoped his family was safe from them, but you never knew about people. Instead of being grateful, they might be resentful. Though Becca had been there the whole time that Janine was in labor—and when she died—she might, upon reconsidering it, believe Dev’s mom hadn’t done everything she could.

  Dev’s mom was napping right now, beaten down, physically and probably emotionally as well. She’d done a hard thing, losing a patient and then cutting the baby out of the womb of the dead woman. Not to mention all the sopping up of blood and loads of laundry.

  His father came in, nodded to him, and went back to the master bedroom. Dev dried dishes—hardly took a swipe in this sort of dry weather—and put them away. He was checking the refrigerator, making sure there’d be enough food for lunch, when his father came in and stood at the door to the hall. He cleared his throat. And then he cleared it a second time. “Son, would you please get Zoe and come in to our bedroom?”

  “Sure,” said Dev. His voice sounded normal to him, but he wasn’t feeling normal. He was feeling a sense of dread, and part of him felt like a nine-year-old child himself. He had an irrational desire to go running out the back door and hide from whatever was coming. He knew, with certainty, that something was wrong. But he had his own child now, and he had to be strong for her.

  She was doing homework, working out long division problems on a chalkboard that Curt had made for her. Or it was a dry-erase board, actually, with a coating of light blue enamel paint, and Zoe used crayons that had been recycled from old bits of crayons. If she had a child, there’d be nothing left to write with.

  “Punkin?” he said.

  Her head swiveled fast. “What’s wrong?”

  Dev opened his mouth to say “nothing,” but he thought better of it. “I’m not sure. Grandpa wants to talk with us.”

  “It’s about Grandma, isn’t it?”

  Why did she think that? “We’ll have to find out. Let’s go.”

  Zoe put her crayon down neatly on the board, wiped her hands on her shorts, and straightened her shirt. Dev put his hand on her shoulder as they entered the hall. She broke away from him and moved fast, getting in his parents’ bedroom and, by the time he was there, she had thrown herself on the bed where Dev’s mother was lying propped up on old towels rolled into a bolster pillow.

  “Don’t be sick,” Zoe said to his mother. “Please.”
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  Dev looked at his father’s stricken face and knew this was going to be bad. He hardened his heart as well as he could, not wanting to break down in front of Zoe. He had to be strong for her. “Dad, what is it?”

  His mother said, “All I know is, I’m pretty sick. And taking care of Janine seemed to drain me.”

  His father cleared his throat again. “I think it was the smoke in the air.”

  “Maybe so,” his mother said. “But I’m not feeling any better, though I’ve rested a lot. And so I thought it was time we talked about this.”

  “Okay,” Dev said. “Tell me what I can do.”

  “I don’t think there is anything you can do.”

  “I’ll help around the house more,” Zoe said.

  “Thank you, honeybunch,” his mother said, patting Zoe’s hair. “You’re already the best help I could hope for, but you might have to do a little more.”

  “I’ll get you something to make you feel better,” Zoe said, and pulled away and ran back down the hall.

  “What do you think it is?” Dev asked his mother.

  His father said, “It’s her old female troubles.”

  His mother said, “I suspect cancer. Uterine, cervical, ovarian maybe. I don’t know for sure, but I know I’ve been feeling weaker and weaker.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “It’s not bad,” she said, which probably meant it was awful.

  Dev wished with all his heart he could do something to help her.

  She read his mind. “It’s okay. There’s willow bark tea, and that helps. And the raspberry tea—the same thing I was giving Janine—helps with the bleeding.”

  “Bleeding.” Dev’s voice sounded flat in his own ears. “Is it bad?”

  “Not too bad.”

  “Mom, I don’t—” He was going to say, “know what to say,” but his throat closed up.

  “I know, Devlin,” she said. “I love you too.”

  Zoe came in with her stuffed whale, climbed on the bed with it, and Dev had to leave before he burst into tears. He went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water, and drank it all down. Then he poured another. Giving his throat something to do was helping him fight back tears.

  When he went back in, Zoe was telling his mother about how she had cracked the code of long division. His father jerked his head, indicating he wanted to talk with Dev outside.

  They went to the back porch. Before his father could speak, Dev said, “How long have you known?”

  “A little over three months. I believe she was sick for three or four months before that, but she didn’t want to worry me.”

  “And she didn’t tell me for the same reason?”

  “What could you do about it? I can tell you, I can’t do a damned thing about it, and it feels like shit being so impotent. You were better off not knowing.”

  Dev wasn’t sure if he was more surprised at his father admitting that he couldn’t tackle any problem and solve it, or to hear him use a word like “shit” without having banged his thumb with a hammer first. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll all be sorry. I’m really worried now. It was too much for her, taking care of that pregnant woman. But she insisted. She seemed to think it was some kind of trade, helping get a baby born.” He shook his head. “As if that’d replace her in some way. Nothing can replace her. No one can. There’s no trading life for life. Believe me, I’d drown six babies right now if it could somehow make her better.”

  Dev doubted that, but he knew what his father meant. “There aren’t many like her.”

  “There’s no one like her.” His father turned away and looked over their land, hiding his face.

  Dev wished he was closer to his father, felt like he could put his arms around the man, give him some kind of comfort. Or feel some comfort coming from him. That was something he’d always relied on his mother for. Without her…. His mind refused to complete the thought. “She’s dying,” he said, not quite making it a question.

  His father nodded. Then he pointed. “She was insistent on the orchard, you know, and she wouldn’t accept any spindly little trees either. Nearly broke the bank, buying those trees and getting them delivered up here. And the hens were her idea. I wanted only rabbits, but she wanted the hens too. And she taught you pretty much everything you know. And Zoe.”

  “You taught me a lot too,” Dev said. “Hunting, and fishing, and carpentry. Lots of stuff.” It was as close to a hug as he could manage.

  “The book learning was all on your mom,” he said.

  “She’s a good teacher.”

  “We don’t get to short the animals, or the garden, or any of our work,” his father said, “but I want her in bed, and I want someone close by if she needs something.”

  “Zoe can do that. I’ll handle the animals and garden and the cooking and housework. You can do everything else.”

  “We’ll take turns. I don’t want Zoe to remember her grandmother only as a sick woman.”

  “She won’t.” Dev longed to go somewhere, hunting, out into the shed, somewhere and pretend to do something and let himself cry. “I knew something was off with Mom—and with you. I should have asked sooner. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing you could have done. She’s happier this way.”

  “I might have made my peace with her,” Dev said.

  “Are you not at peace with her now?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Then appreciate what she wanted for you, for both you and Zoe to not be worried for as long as she could keep it from you. It’s one of her last gifts to you. So accept it without whining.”

  There was the old Arch again, impatient, gruff. “I’ll try not to whine,” Dev said. “Can’t swear about Zoe though.”

  “She’s a good kid.”

  “She was raised by people who love her.”

  “Good genes too. Even Crocker’s. Not too shabby.”

  “True enough.”

  “I hope she didn’t get whatever gene made Kelly sick with this.”

  What a thought. “No, me neither.”

  “Anyway. I’m going to make sure your mother doesn’t need anything from me. You go on and do whatever work you want. Figure it out yourself. I don’t have the time or the energy to supervise you.”

  “I was thinking of going hunting. Maybe there’s an animal out there injured by the fire. I can put it out of its misery and get us food, all at once.”

  “If your chores are done here.”

  “They are,” Dev said, feeling equal parts exasperation and amusement that his father still lectured him about chores at this late date. “I’ll get Zoe and tell her I’m going hunting, and tell her to take care of her grandma. And see if she needs to talk about what we just learned.”

  “Talk doesn’t do anything. I’d have talked myself blue if it could have.”

  Dev wondered who he’d talk to if he needed to. Joan. Pilar maybe. But he’d be there for his daughter and make sure any time she needed to talk, he’d listen. He might be growing into his father in some ways, but in parenting, he would not become him. Zoe would always know that she was loved and could talk to him about anything, that he’d always have the time for her.

  Chapter 27

  When he came back from hunting, he had no meat, but he’d had his cry. And it had been something of a comfort to be out there, seeing the aftermath of the burn. He’d found a wildflower blooming from the blackened ground. Life found a way, always. Even after his mother was gone, Zoe would continue, part of her made of his mother. Even that baby was alive because of her. It’d always stand as a testament to her effort, made when she must have been tired and in pain, but working to make sure it would survive.

  After he checked in with Zoe and his mom, he went next door, finding Curt and Sierra working together in the barn. “Where’s Pilar?” he said. “I need to talk with all of you.”

  “I’ll go get him,” said Curt.

  “Is something wrong?” Sierra asked him.

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nbsp; “Yeah, but don’t make me tell it more than once. And if you can tell Joan and them, I’d appreciate it.”

  When Pilar and Curt returned, Dev told them about his mother.

  Pilar said, his eyes brimming, “Cancer, you think?”

  “She thinks, yes.”

  “What can we do for you?”

  “I don’t know that you can do anything,” Dev said.

  Curt said, “If you need extra help with anything, just say the word.”

  Sierra said, “Zoe knew.”

  “Knew what?” Dev said.

  “That something was wrong with your mother.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

  “It was the night of the fire. Whatever that was. Two nights? Three? Is that all? And the fire was coming, and everything drove it to the back of my mind. Damn, and I promised her I’d talk to you about it.” She looked chagrined.

  “What’d she say?”

  “That she thought Kelly might be sick and that she knew Arch was worried.”

  His poor child. “Why didn’t she say anything to me?”

  “She wouldn’t have to me, I’m sure, but it was a tough day for her. The fire was coming. She was mad at me, I think, and she blurted it out. Dev, what do I say to her now?”

  “Only the truth. And that you love her and are there for her.”

  “I am. And I’m here for you, if you need to talk. Or anything. If you need me to help with Kelly, I’ll do whatever. Sponge baths, read to her. Anything at all.”

  Pilar said, “You know that’ll go for Joan and her family as well, Dev. There isn’t a person here who wouldn’t walk in front of a bus for your mother if you asked us to.”

  As miserable as he was, Dev found himself almost amused at the metaphor, something from the old times. Zoe’d never see a bus moving in her lifetime. “If you can think of anything to do to help her with pain. Maybe brew up more of your beer?”