Parched

by Lou Cadle

  “I’ll start a batch tonight,” he said. “Oh no, wait. We can’t afford to use much grain on it.”

  “That’s so,” Dev said. “Sorry. Bad idea.”

  “Maybe potatoes. I might be able to get something between vodka and beer. It’ll take two weeks, and I’ll have to use beets and carrots in lieu of sugar again, so it will look pretty weird.”

  “Thank you,” Dev said. “I want to get home, but I wanted you to know. Apologize to Joan that I didn’t tell her myself.”

  Sierra trotted after him. “You’ll tell me if Zoe needs anything from me, won’t you?”

  “Of course. You might check in with her tonight after supper, see if she wants to talk with you.”

  “I will. I’m so sorry, Dev. I wish I could do more.”

  “So do I.”

  HIS MOTHER FADED FAST. He had assumed he’d have months more with her, but it became clear within days that she was getting sicker. She developed a cough, maybe because of inhaling smoke the night of the fire. Or maybe the cancer had spread to her lungs. They had no way of knowing. Whatever the cause, the coughing fits seemed to drain her of some life force, and every time she had one, she ended up looking frailer and older.

  Ten days after he had learned she was sick, she refused to eat. After two days of not eating, he demanded she have some soup, and he fed it to her spoonful by spoonful. But she vomited it back up in fifteen minutes, and he regretted forcing the point.

  Everyone in the neighborhood had dropped by for five or ten minutes most days, but today he told them thanks, but she needed her rest. And they all said to convey their love to her, and he did.

  Two days after that, when she had him alone in the room again, she said, “I don’t think I have much longer, Devlin.”

  “Mom,” he said. And that’s all he could say. He couldn’t lie to her, and he could see she was slipping fast.

  “I know you doubt God now,” she said. “And I know you don’t think there’s a Heaven. But there is one. I know it, and maybe I’ve been good enough that I’ll get to go there.”

  “Of course you’re good enough.” Today, he couldn’t stop his tears.

  “I’ll be waiting for you, and for that sweet girl. Make sure she grows up good too, and we’ll be together forever. I promise you. I’ll wait for you. It won’t be long at all.”

  “I’ll be good. And Zoe is good all the time.”

  “She’s my angel. I want to sleep now. So tired.”

  “I love you, Mom.” He kissed her forehead and had to wipe his tears off her face before he left.

  That night, she woke again and he let Zoe go in for a few minutes. “You need to say your goodbyes, Punkin.”

  “Is she going to die?”

  “Soon, I think.”

  “I don’t want her to die.”

  “Neither do I.” He hugged his child tightly and let her go.

  Zoe came out in the five minutes. “She hurts.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish I could stop it.”

  “Me too. Want some dinner?” He hadn’t made anything. His own appetite was not the best.

  “Fruit?” she said.

  “That’s sounds like a good idea.” His father came in, looked in the bedroom, and then went to wash up before sitting with his wife. Dev could hear his voice rise once, when he said, “Don’t leave me.”

  Zoe whispered, “Grandpa’s crying.”

  Dev nodded.

  “I wish I could make him not hurt too.”

  Dev nodded again. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  He tucked his daughter in that night and went to sit by his mother’s bed, his father sitting on the other side.

  His mother fought death. Breathing grew difficult for her, and yet she couldn’t wake up to try for more air. Unconscious, she fought her final battle, and all Dev could do was witness it. At the end, her breathing grew easier, and slower, until each breath came further and further apart. He kept thinking she’d breathed her last, but then one more wheezing breath would come.

  It was terrible to watch. And yet he knew he’d hate himself if he left her side. He only did once, to get Zoe breakfast. He told her to scoot on over to her mother’s house.

  “Is Grandma dying?”

  “I think so, honey. I love you, but I want someone else in charge of you while I help her and Grandpa, okay?”

  She didn’t rebel, thank God. “Tell her I love her.”

  “I’ll do that right now. But she knows. She’ll always know.”

  About 10:15, his mother took her last breath. He didn’t trust it had been her last for another fifteen minutes. Then he looked to his father. “She’s gone.”

  “Get the first aid kit and make sure.” It was the first his father had spoken in hours.

  Dev barely knew enough to use the stethoscope, but he did as he was told. There was no heartbeat, no rise and fall of her chest. A scent of urine assured him it was over. “I’m sorry, Dad. She’s gone.”

  “I’ll start the grave. Alone,” his father said, and he left the house.

  Dev was left with his mother’s body. And he did what his mother would have done, had their roles been reversed. He got a pan of soapy water and cleaned her up, dressed her again, in a skirt and blouse, and brushed her hair. She’d never been one for makeup, but she had a tiny cross on a necklace she had worn sometimes, and he clipped that around her neck. She looked like his mother, and yet death had stolen something from her, so she looked slightly wrong, like someone who might have been his mother’s older sister.

  Then he didn’t know what to do. His father clearly needed to be alone for a time, so he couldn’t help with the grave now. It seemed stupid, and almost beside the point, but he went out and fed the animals, gathered eggs, and harvested a few vegetables. He checked on his mother again, and then walked next door to start the painful process of telling everyone his mother was gone.

  Chapter 28

  Kelly was buried out beyond the fruit trees, in a place that had room for more than one grave. Sierra cried at the burial, and she had been crying for two days. She wondered how she had ever thought her heart couldn’t be touched anymore. It was touched now—or more like punched or shattered. Memories of moments with Kelly filled her mind: from the smallest of things, like her handing over the box of straws just a few weeks ago, to her loving exasperation with Arch, to the morning Zoe was delivered and Kelly had lost patience with Sierra’s yelling and had started yelling back. In a crazy way, it had helped get her through the last painful moments of labor. It had been Kelly who had put the wet, tiny baby on her belly, who had said, “It’s a girl.”

  Her eyes went to that girl, almost ten years old now, leaning into her father as Arch filled in the grave. She wished she could do something to ease Zoe’s pain, but she knew only time would do that. No matter how much time passed, they’d all miss Kelly. In many ways, she was the leader of their neighborhood. Arch might not have realized that, but she had been.

  Pilar and Joan had put together a funeral brunch, and Pilar was already over at the picnic table at the Quinn house, laying it out. Joan had conducted the service, putting on her priest collar and a scarf thing with embroidered crosses that draped around her shoulders and hung past her waist. All of them had worn the best clothes they still owned.

  Arch handed the shovel to Dev, who kissed his daughter’s head before taking it and doing his part to fill in the grave. They all took turns shoveling the dirt on, and then there were rocks to place on top, and a cross Curt had carved to place at the head of the grave.

  In silence, they walked back to where Pilar waited, shooing flies off the table. Sierra ate more from the desire not to waste food than from hunger. Grief was hard on appetite, as she knew too well.

  As the meal dragged on, people started talking a little, telling stories of Kelly and her kindness. Arch said nothing. He seemed lost in his grief, deflated by it, confused. Sierra wished she could think of something to say to him beyond, “I’m so sorr
y.”

  Over dessert of thin amaranth crepes stuffed with plum jam, which Pilar pointed out was owed to Kelly’s talent with jam-making, Joan told a funny story of trying to learn to plant potatoes from Kelly, and then Pilar told the story of his fall from the turbine and how she’d helped him.

  At the end of the story, Dev said, “You were flirting with her.”

  “I was not!” Pilar said, shocked.

  Sierra said, “You sort of were. As I remember, you were high on drugs and said something to her. Maybe told her she was beautiful?”

  “She was that,” Joan said. “Inside and out.”

  Pilar looked nervously at Arch, who didn’t seem to be listening. “I’m sure I meant nothing by it.”

  Sierra was amused by his embarrassment, and relieved she could feel amused by anything at all today. She and Dev exchanged a grin, but then Dev’s smile faded as it must have hit him again that his mother was really gone.

  Everyone had work, but no one wanted to leave. There was some comfort in just sitting there with friends, sipping water from mugs, enjoying a light breeze.

  After a long silence, Arch looked up. “It feels humid to me. Does it to anyone else?”

  Sierra couldn’t tell that it was, but her father nodded. “Could be we’ll get a monsoon.”

  “We need it,” Arch said. “Kelly—” And then he stopped himself. He shook his head a little and said, almost to himself, “She’d want us to carry on.”

  “We will, Dad,” Dev said. “Zoe’s counting on us.”

  Arch looked at his granddaughter and managed a pained-looking smile for her.

  Sierra stood to gather plates. If she didn’t do something with her hands, she was going to burst into tears again.

  Movement out of the corner of her eye made her stop with her plate in her hand. Becca was there, holding the baby and a bag—diaper bag, maybe. And Gili was there. And Saul.

  “Guys,” Sierra said to the table, and she put her plate back down and pointed. She walked over to meet the people, worried that this was going to become a bad situation.

  But Saul said, as she neared him, “We’re leaving.”

  “What?” Sierra understood the words. But she had a hard time understanding why.

  Gili said, “The place down there isn’t right for us. We need somewhere different. Somewhere with water, somewhere cooler. So we’re going up the mountain.”

  “Are you sure?” Sierra said. “It could be dangerous up there.”

  “We know that,” Saul said. “We know.”

  “I’m sorry we haven’t been down there to check on you,” Sierra said. “One of our people—Kelly—just died. She was sick, and all our energy was focused on that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Becca said. “She was so good with Janine.”

  Gili said, “I’m sorry too. We’re all grieving, I guess.”

  “Well, come on over, I suppose, and have a seat.”

  “We’re not staying,” Saul said. “Also, we want you to know that we’ll never mention that you’re here. We don’t want anybody to give you trouble. I’m sorry if we gave you any.”

  “I’ll go over alone,” Becca said to him. “Wait right here. I’ll be back.”

  Becca went with Sierra back to the picnic table. Most everyone was standing, and there was more than a little tension in the group. Like Sierra, they were worried this meant trouble. “They’re leaving,” she told them. “Headed up the hill.”

  The tension ratcheting down was palpable.

  Joan said, “Do you have a place to go?”

  “No, not exactly. But Saul has an idea.” Becca didn’t seem inclined to explain more.

  Pilar said, “We all wish you luck, I’m sure.” He looked down at the remains of the lunch. “Let me wrap up these last few crepes for you to take with you. It’s not much. But if you have kids, they might enjoy them.” He leaned over and spread jelly onto the first in the pile of three or four.

  Dev said, “The baby looks good. Have you named him?”

  “No,” she said. “And he’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh?” Dev said.

  “I don’t want him.”

  Sierra was shocked—and then she wasn’t.

  “He’s not our kin. To me, he’ll always be the reason I lost my wife. I don’t love him, and I don’t think I can. I guess that makes me a terrible person, but….” And she shrugged. “So be it. I’m a terrible person.”

  “No,” Joan said. “You’re just grieving. That’s allowed.”

  Becca edged closer to the table and dropped the bag onto it. “This is breast milk in glass jars and the pump. It should get him through two or three days. If one of you wants to do that—I guess he might just survive. But I’m done. If you don’t want him, I’ll take him up the road and leave him.”

  Misha’s voice was shocked. “For predators?”

  “Yes,” Becca said. “We don’t have the food, he might die anyway, and I don’t want the reminder.”

  “He’s half your wife,” Joan said gently.

  “He’s half her killer,” Becca said. Her voice was icy. She wasn’t joking, and Sierra didn’t think she’d change her mind. Either they took this baby, or its life was over.

  They all stood there, staring. Maybe every woman was doing was Sierra was: calculating if they could bear to take on this great responsibility. Then Sierra realized it would have to be her. Joan was too old, and her girls had no experience. Sierra looked at her daughter, who looked back, hope on her face. Well, at least she’d have an enthusiastic helper. Not skilled, but willing. Sierra smiled at Zoe, and was about to open her mouth and make the offer, when Emily stood and pointed at herself.

  She walked around the table and held out her arms. Becca didn’t hesitate. She put the baby into Emily’s arms, and Emily smiled down at it. She put her face into the blanket and sniffed the child, and when she raised her head, she looked happier than Sierra had ever seen her. She looked maternal. She looked like paintings she’d seen of the Madonna.

  Emily turned away and carried the baby off, aiming toward her home, riveted by the child and not bothering to wave a goodbye. But then, her arms were full. As she walked off, Sierra heard her humming. No words. But she was making sound, volitional sound. She was making music for the baby.

  She’d never heard that before. Not once. She looked at Joan, intending to ask her if Emily hummed around the house, but Joan’s face told the story. Her mouth was open in shock. She stood, snatched up the bag, and went after Emily.

  “Damn,” Rod said. “I didn’t know she could talk even.”

  “She makes sounds in her sleep sometimes,” Misha said. She looked around. “I was going to ask Kelly if Em can possibly do this. If the breast pump would work and the baby could live. And then I remembered—” She stopped. “We’re going to miss Kelly in so many ways.”

  Pilar finished wrapping the crepes, stood, and trotted over to give them to Becca, who was already walking away with the others.

  Sierra felt like her world had been turned upside down. She hoped that Emily wasn’t in for terrible grief. She hoped if the baby survived that they could provide enough food for it—and extra for Emily, for when she was breastfeeding. Could she force milk to come in only two days? Without pregnancy hormones? “I don’t think it took Becca much more than two days to produce milk, did it? Maybe three or four,” she said.

  “That’s true,” Misha said. “Okay, I guess I should help clean up.”

  “No, don’t bother,” Sierra said. “I’ll do it. You both go home and be with your family.”

  “New kind of family,” Rod said.

  Misha said to him, “Are you upset about it?”

  “Me? No. Hell, I’m adopted. I guess you guys are making a habit of adopting every random male who comes your way.” He was teasing, not angry at all. He remembered his own parents, and had talked about them many times, but he had come to terms long ago with losing them.

  And he had landed in as good a situation as anyone
could hope for in this new world. He was loved, and valued. “That’s one lucky baby,” Sierra said. “I hope he makes it.”

  “He will,” Zoe said. “I know he will.”

  Pilar returned. “They’re dragging that wagon. They have three kids, by the way. At least they’ll all get dessert today.”

  Dev said, “Might be the last time in their lives they do.”

  Pilar said, “We did what we could for them. We have no reason to feel ashamed of anything.” He didn’t sound entirely sure of that.

  “We did,” Sierra told him. “They’ll be lucky to find anyone else as kind or generous on down the road.”

  Dev said, “I’d better get to the dishes.”

  “I will,” Zoe said. “I guess I have to learn to cook better too.”

  “I’ll help you with that,” Sierra said. “Or maybe Pilar would be better. He’s the better cook.”

  “Don’t say that, Sierra. You’re a pretty good cook,” Zoe said, climbing off her seat and grabbing an empty bowl.

  THAT AFTERNOON, THE sky clouded up. Sierra was helping Curt make the barn more comfortable as a place to live. He refused to sleep in the house, though both she and Pilar had told him he was welcome to take the sofa and stay indefinitely.

  “Too used to living alone,” he had said. “And I’ll rebuild. Might take me a year, but I’ll do it.”

  She was lingering, wanting to be with him. It wasn’t the right time to bring up the kiss they had shared, or what she’d like to see happen between them. Grief for Kelly was still filling her heart. She was willing to wait to talk about the other thing for a few weeks.

  Maybe I’m getting patient in my old age.

  “Let’s go look across the road,” Curt said.

  “Why?”

  “I want to think about getting the grain planted.”

  “Okay.”

  More had burned here than she had thought. Little fires had sprung up that horrible night, and she had battled them back, but the fire had taken out a lot of brush.

  “That’s the one good thing about the fire,” he said. “It did part of our work for us.”