Later that night, Whitley happily read herself to sleep wrapped in blankets on the floor behind the sofa with the Crisco lamp burning brightly. While Lydia slept on the sofa, I was ecstatic to be able to sleep in front of the fireplace, my yearning for warmth winning out over my fear of fire. Sylvia smiled at me gratefully as she blew out the wick on her way to bed.
In the morning, Roger showed me the traps that he and his neighbors had devised for trapping small animals, like squirrels and rabbits, in the neighborhood. He told me that at first they were successful, but now there weren’t many animals left in the neighborhood. He said that he now spent a good portion of each day walking the three miles or so down to the banks of the Missouri River to set traps for birds, rats, squirrels, or any other animal he was lucky enough to catch. He had to stay to guard them, though, or someone else would steal the trapped animal and often the trap itself. Most days he came home empty handed, but sometimes he would get lucky and catch two or three animals.
Roger reluctantly told me I could stay with them, as long as I caught my own food. He made it clear that although they were willing to share their house, there wasn’t enough food to go around and I could tell it was hard for him to say it, both because he didn’t want to feel obligated to share and because he felt bad about turning a needy kid away. I didn’t mind, though. I knew they had to take care of family first and they had absolutely no reason to open their home to me, a stranger. I assured him that I wouldn’t be staying much longer. As soon as the weather warmed up a little I was going to head out for my mom’s house up north.
Chapter 7
Homecoming
I stayed a week with Whitley and her family. I didn’t eat much, but at least I was warm and had water to drink. I liked the family and they were pretty nice to me, especially when I bagged a couple of rabbits in a park down by the river and gave it to them for letting me stay, but I began thinking about Mom all the time. I found I didn’t care anymore about the divorce and remarriage—I just wanted her to hold me in her arms again. I left one morning when the sun was shining and I had hope in my heart. Roger told me before I left that if things got bad, I could come back and stay with them. I couldn’t imagine a reason that I would do that.
It had snowed twice more since the day of the fire, but it had melted some, too, so the highway I was following was sloshy and uncomfortable. I walked from early morning until after dark, but arrived at Mom’s before it was very late. I was so happy to see the house, the same house I had spent so much time avoiding the past two years, time that could have been spent with Mom. I felt the lost Time like a finger poking my heart and vowed to make up for it now.
I knocked on the door—the doorbell didn’t work without electricity, of course—and after several minutes, Lyle answered the door. At least I thought it was Lyle; I barely recognized him at first and I was shocked by his appearance. He was thin and unshaven; his clothes were stained and torn. A long way from the handsome, self-assured doctor he had been last time I’d seen him. He stared at me for a few seconds before he recognized me, then he smiled sadly and invited me in.
He led me into the living room, where he had a fire burning in the fireplace and asked me if I wanted something to drink. I nodded and he gave me a cup of water, apologizing that he didn’t have any pop or anything else to offer me. He seemed odd, but I just figured it was the situation we were all in.
— Where’s Mom?
— She’s not here…
Lyle looked away and wrung his hands together like he was trying to hold on to something, but not succeeding.
— Your mother…
He looked at me then and his eyes teared up. It was a few seconds before he could go on, but I didn’t want him to. I wanted to shout, NO! Don’t tell me!, but I just stood there dumbfounded, while the finger poking my heart turned into a fist.
— I’m sorry, Ben. She passed away three days ago.
The fist suddenly slammed into my heart and I felt my whole body crumpling under the blow. Lyle caught me before I hit the floor, then he held me in his arms like I was a little kid and cried into my neck. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear. I felt like I had died, like the blow was too great and that my heart had stopped beating right then and there. I don’t know how long Lyle held me, but after a while he gently laid me on the sofa by the fire and covered me with a very soft, warm blanket and left the room. I remember lying there thinking, This must be it, this must be heaven. It’s warm and soft; I’m not hungry or thirsty. The only thing missing is Mom and Dad. Then I got mad. I finally started crying hot, angry tears. It was my old enemy Time again—three days, I missed her by three days. If I had left Whitley’s house the day after I’d arrived, I could have seen her, saved her. I could have at least apologized for turning my back on Time before the CME, time we could have spent together, time I could have forgiven her, told her I loved her, and time we could have used to make new happy memories. Now there was no time; there would never be time again. I felt the crush of guilt for blaming Time and Mom, instead of myself.
I think I lay on that couch, drifting in and out of consciousness for a few days; I no longer cared how many days were passing. Lyle brought me water, spooned some kind of weak broth into my mouth, and every so often, something bitter tasting dissolved in water. I hoped it was poison, but I think it was probably some kind of medicine. He also put cold compresses on my forehead when I was feverish and tucked extra blankets around me when I shivered. I dreamed about Dad and fire, and Mom and snow, sometimes even when I was awake. I thought if I lived, I would be insane. I deserved worse.
After a number of days, I awoke one morning with a clear head. The sun was shining through the big bay window in the living room and I smelled something cooking. It smelled delicious and for the first time in months, I was hungry. I tried to sit up, but got dizzy and had to lie back down until the spell passed. I tried again, slower this time, and was able to stay upright. Lyle came in then and smiled his sad smile.
— Glad to see you back among the living.
I wasn’t glad to be back, but I just nodded my head.
— I stitched up a little girl’s arm last night and gave her some antibiotics to keep it from getting infected. Her father insisted that I take some food in payment. Of course, I refused at first—God knows no one has food to spare—but they’re Mormons and they have those food storage caches. Anyway, I finally let him give me some cans of soup and he even threw in some crackers.
Lyle was talking as he checked my temperature and looked into my eyes and throat with a little penlight. I was amazed that the battery still worked; I hadn’t seen a flashlight in months, but I guess he probably just used it for short periods of time to check patients. After he seemed satisfied that I was going to live, he went to the kitchen and brought back a steaming cup of soup on a plate, surrounded by crackers. I remembered that this house had four fireplaces, one of which was in the kitchen. It had seemed so ostentatious the last time I was here, but now I felt bad for judging Lyle so harshly.
After I had eaten, I slept for most of the day, as it was dark again when I woke up to the sound of the front door being closed. Lyle came in to check on me while taking off his coat, hat, and gloves and warming his hands over the fire. He gave me another of his now familiar sad smiles and turned back to staring at the fire, saying nothing. I sat up slowly, cleared my throat, reached for the cup of water that Lyle had left on the coffee table, and struggled to make a sound come out of my raspy throat.
— Another patient?
— Yes… Not as good an outcome this time, I’m afraid.
He pressed his lips together and closed his eyes. I decided I didn’t want to know exactly what that meant, so I said nothing. After several minutes, Lyle finally turned to me and said,
— Are you hungry? I can make another can of soup for you.
— That would be really nice, thank you.
Lyle returned later with two mugs of soup and we ate
in silence. After we were done, Lyle took the dishes into the kitchen and returned some time later with something in his hand. He gave it to me, then sat down on the sofa opposite mine, watching me as I looked at the object in my hand. It was the watch pin I had given Mom over two years ago. It was stopped at 11:47 a.m. and the little date at the bottom said Nov 1. I just stared at it until Lyle said,
— The last thing she told me was “Give this to Ben; tell him I love him more than Time itself.”
A tear rolled down my cheek and fell onto the face of the watch, then many more began to fall. Lyle handed me a hand towel to wipe my face. After a while, I asked,
— How… why’d she die?
— Your mom had been helping me go door-to-door to take care of sick people. She would normally wear a mask when there was some kind of communicable disease, but one little girl who had the flu or pneumonia was scared of the mask, so your mom took it off to soothe her and care for her. She stayed with the family, caring for that sick little girl for four days until she recovered. Unfortunately, though, your mom couldn’t recover from it after she came down with it. I did all I could, but it just wasn’t enough.
Lyle stared at me for a second, his eyes begging for forgiveness, then looked down, resignedly, at his hands folded in his lap. He seemed to be struggling with the fact that he could not save her.
— Where is she now? I mean, where’d you bury her?
— Well, Ben, I haven’t been able to bury her; the ground’s been too frozen. I made her a box and she’s in it… out in the shed out back.
He seemed almost apologetic as I stared at him. The thought of putting my mother, my precious, beautiful mother, in a box in the shed seemed like an outrage, an assault on everything good and pure and reasonable.
— I didn’t know what else to do, Ben. You’ve got to understand, there’s nowhere else I could take her. I tried to dig a grave for her, but I couldn’t get deep enough. I’ll finish it when the ground thaws a bit. You can help if you want to.
— No! Mom deserves better than that! You know she deserves better than a box in the shed!
Lyle had tears in his eyes when he replied.
— I know, I know, Ben. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to take her to the morgue and just throw her in with hundreds of other bodies. I want to bury her here, in our backyard, so I can go out and talk to her every day, so we can talk to her. Please understand…
I stood shakily, weakly, and stuffed Mom’s watch into my pocket. I grabbed my coat as I made my way to the back door, ignoring Lyle’s pleas to lie back down and rest. I had to see Mom; I had to see that she was okay, that she was properly taken care of.
The cold air gave me a burst of adrenalin and I jogged across the huge acre lot to the back of the yard where the shed stood. The moon was nearly full and I was able to see quite clearly. I stopped in front of the shed door and took several deep breaths as I built up my courage to enter.
I went in, leaving the door open to add to the dim light coming through the two windows. The shed had been cleared of all the mundane lawn equipment that it used to house, instead having just one long, narrow box in the middle. Lyle had placed a few trinkets on top, which meant nothing to me, so I laid them aside and opened the top. I braced myself for the odor of death that I remembered Mr. Westcott having, but there was nothing but a slightly sweet perfume smell. Mom’s body was wrapped in a quilt on top of which was a bouquet of dried flowers. I thought it was probably her wedding bouquet.
I gently pulled the quilt away from her face and then recoiled in shock. I had expected her to look almost the same as the last time I’d seen her, maybe a little thinner, but I didn’t expect to see her skin look so white, so frozen. I remembered how much she hated being cold, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I covered her back up and quickly put the lid back on her coffin. I ran from the shed, choking on my sobs. I stood outside the back door crying for a long time until Lyle came out and gently forced me back in. I was too weak to put up much resistance. He just kept saying,
— I’m sorry, Ben, I’m really sorry.
Chapter 8
Haunting Beauty
I knew I couldn’t stay there in that house much longer. Even though it was a much better place than I’d lived in a long time, I couldn’t get over the fact that my mom was lying out there in the shed in the back yard, cold and alone. I had dreams of her coming into the house and trying to climb under the covers with me as I slept in order to get warm. Other times, I’d dream that I would wake up, hearing her voice, and find her sitting at the kitchen table talking to Lyle. But she wasn’t normal; her skin looked gray and when she looked at me, her eyes looked dark and dead. I woke up screaming many times in the next few days.
Several days later, I felt strong enough to leave. I figured I’d tried to go back to Whitley’s house even though I hated to be a burden to that family. Lyle tried to talk me into staying, but I just couldn’t face another night in that house; it held too many ghosts for me. I felt sorry for Lyle. I just couldn’t see him as the bad guy anymore after he’d been so good to me and all the other people he helped, medically, since I’d been there, and never once asked for any kind of payment in return. I could tell he was lonely and that he really wanted me to stay with him. I thought he probably saw a little of my mom in me and wanted to hold on to that connection to her. I found myself yearning for that too, but in the end, I just couldn’t stand the ghosts.
The day I left was a much warmer day, although still quite blustery. I think it must have been getting closer to spring. While I was walking on the highway, a flashing light on one of the off ramps startled me. I began to see more and more lights the further I walked toward the center of town: streetlights, lights in buildings and houses, lighted business signs. The power was back on! I looked around in amazement at the reawakening of civilization. People were out in the streets, cheering and hollering, hugging family and neighbors. By the time I reached Whitley’s house, their power was back, too. Everyone was whooping and hollering inside the house. I could hear them even before I rang the doorbell. When it sounded, I could hear a squeal of delight and footsteps racing to open the door.
Whitley threw open the door and embraced me in a big hug. I was a little embarrassed by her enthusiasm, especially when I saw that there were two other girls standing beside her, all with big grins on their faces.
— Mom, Dad, Aunt Lydia! Look who’s here!
Several people rushed into the front room while Whitley pulled me into the house. Roger, Silvia, and especially Lydia seemed very happy to see me, and I was warmed by such a heartfelt welcome. After many confused minutes with everyone talking all at once, asking me questions, exclaiming over the fact that the power was back on, etc., Whitley pulled me into her bedroom with the two girls and introduced them to me as her cousins. One was a younger girl named Mikayla and the other was a stunningly beautiful girl named Sara. I found out that they were not sisters, though, but cousins to each other, as well.
While Whitley and Mikayla were both pretty girls, in a malnourished sort of way, I just couldn’t keep my eyes off Sara. She had shoulder length, smooth, blond hair that curled out at the ends like the petals of an opening rose. Her eyes were big, deep pools of the lightest blue, like pictures I’d seen of the Caribbean on flyers that Mom had brought home to try to get Dad to take her on vacation the year before the CME. She was small, not much bigger than her younger cousins, but then all of us were mere slivers of what we used to be by then. She had beautiful, full lips that curved ever so slightly up when the other girls giggled about something, but even while smiling she looked sad, and her eyes had a haunted quality about them. I could tell that the past few months had taken a toll on her, much more so than on her cousins.
After an hour or two of listening to girl chatter, during which Sara was mostly silent, like me, Sara asked me if I’d like to go for a walk outside. I was suddenly struck with fear of what I must smell like since I hadn’t had a shower or a full b
ath in months. We had run out of deodorant and soap a long time ago, and the best we could do to keep somewhat clean was to rub snow and a handful of baking soda all over.
It was pretty dark by then, but I agreed to go for a walk with her because there was no way I could say no to that lovely girl, and the thought of being alone with her made my heart pound in my chest. I felt more alive around her than I had since before the CME. We grabbed our coats and walked around the neighborhood, which was now lit with just a few streetlamps, some having been damaged during the CME. Luckily, she started the conversation, as I felt quite tongue-tied around her.
— How old are you?
— I’ll be fifteen in April. Wait, is it April yet?
— No, it’s still March.
She looked at me quizzically, then said,
— I turn sixteen in July. I can’t wait until July!
— You’re lucky.
We walked in silence for a few seconds, then she spoke again, as if trying to find something to say to fill the empty space.
— My name is Sara. But then you already knew that, didn’t you?
— Yeah, it’s a beautiful name, though.
I looked down at my feet then said, barely above a whisper,
— It was my mother’s name.
I don’t think she heard the past tense in my words because she exclaimed,
— Your mom’s name is Sara? What a coincidence! Does she spell it with an “h” at the end? I don’t.
Time Lost: Teenage Survivalist II Page 4
