Maybe Eric isn’t as unaware of his charms on Bridget as I thought. “Good. Scare the pants off her. Not literally, of course. You could do better.”
He tries not to laugh and thereby encourage my absurdity, but he fails. “If we get her vote on council, it’ll be four to three, and then it’ll move to consensus. If we campaign the masses a little, I’ll bet we could get everyone to agree.”
Eric is a thousand times more outgoing than I am, and he’s been super friendly recently. I assumed it was because he was happier in general and feeling good about our plan. But he’s been politicking long before anyone would suspect him of such. I pat down the mulch and stand, my hands on my hips. “Golden Boy’s already campaigning, isn’t he?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s convincing, if you don’t know to look for the faint furrow at the corners of his mouth where a smile would be.
“I like you when you’re evil,” I say.
34
Eric
August is cooler than July, though how the heat affected the plant yields remains to be seen. Cassie’s thirtieth birthday passed a few days ago. I’m glad my parents aren’t alive, because I think her death might’ve been the one thing that would break them.
There are many reasons to want September to come already—the main harvest will be in, and I won’t have to obsess about whether or not we’ll starve to death. Winter will be nearer, and we’ll be that much closer to going after Walt.
I take a break from picking tomatoes and cucumbers to check on the rabbits’ water in the court filled with hutches, which Sylvie calls The Court of Cuteness, and come upon her petting a black and white rabbit with a splotchy coat like Bird’s.
“I’m not letting them eat this one,” she says. “Every time they harvest rabbits, I hide him away.” She shuts the wire door and sticks a leafy stem through the metal. The bunny nibbles it into his mouth like a conveyor belt.
“Then maybe you should stop feeding him. He looks like good eating.”
She watches the rabbit, chewing her lip, then wags a finger when he taps his nose against the metal. “No more for you, Knuckle.”
“You named him Knuckle?”
“Leo said the markings on his side look like a fist with the bumps of the knuckles on top. We ran with it.”
“So, this means you don’t want a Knuckle sandwich?”
“You are the worst,” she groans. “How did I fall in love with someone so corny?”
“How could you not fall in love with someone so corny?”
She wraps her arms around my waist. “True. Is it lunchtime?”
I nod. At her call, Leo and Emily scamper over from the hutches in back. “No school?” I ask.
“It’s Saturday,” Leo reminds me.
The kids get off on the weekends, and parents usually work Monday through Friday. Paul was on watch last night, and Sylvie volunteered to amuse Leo today, along with Emily, which she says is easier because they blab each other’s ears off instead of hers.
Emily takes my hand while we walk. At first, I didn’t know how to react, but then I saw how content she seemed, and I found it comforting. Now, if she doesn’t hold my hand, I’m mildly insulted, a fact in which Sylvie finds endless humor, since I once made the mistake of asking her if Emily was mad at me.
“And all is right with the world,” Sylvie says, smiling at our hands.
“You know what you’re getting for lunch?” I ask.
“Let me guess. A knuckle sandwich,” she says, and claps when I make a face. “I can predict the corniness!”
“What’s corniness?” Leo asks Sylvie.
“Eric’s jokes. He makes dad jokes.”
“But you’re not a dad,” Emily says.
“You don’t have to be a dad to make dad jokes,” I say. “You just have to be highly intelligent.” Sylvie snorts, and Emily nods like I’ve imparted great wisdom.
“Are you going to have a baby?” Emily asks.
“You have to be married to have a baby,” Leo says.
“Really?” Emily peers up at me. “Are you going to get married?”
Sylvie feels the same way about the institution of marriage as she does about the corporatization of Valentine’s Day. Since I never miss a chance to bug her, I say, “I’d marry Sylvie, but she’d say no if I asked. She doesn’t want to get married.”
Sylvie keeps her eyes on our destination, but color travels from her collar up her neck. It’s the truth. A year with Sylvie and I know she’s the one. Years, plural, with Rachel, and I still wasn’t sure.
“But how will you have babies?”
“I guess we won’t,” I say, and change the subject. “How’s your new bed?”
“Everyone is jealous, and Cassidy made her daddy look in all the apartments for another, but he couldn’t find one.”
“Excellent,” I say in an evil voice. Emily skips for a couple steps, giggling.
In the cafe, we grab our food and sit at our usual table, where a high chair seat hangs on the end. Jorge, Paul, and Indy already wait, though Jorge’s greeting lacks its usual cheer. “What’s up?” I ask.
He hands Jin a spoonful of rice, which Jin crams in wrong end first. “There’s something going on with the radios. You know how they listen in to the broadcasts? Well, they don’t hear half of what they used to.”
I set Emily’s plate on the table and slide into my seat. “That’s not so strange. Gas could be going bad if it’s not preserved properly. Or running out. They could lose power.”
“Except it’s only the ones in the south,” Paul says. “They’re hearing the same things from the north. And it’s the south in other countries, too. Europe and whatnot.”
“Someone in Germany said something about giant mobs coming from Italy and France, and those Safe Zones are off the radio,” Jorge adds. “But they called them hordes.”
“Shit.”
This is likely why the mobs in Manhattan are moving restlessly. What we’re seeing in Jersey must be that, too. We have no idea what makes Lexers go from one place to the next, or why they mob up, or anything else, except that they’ll eat the hell out of you if you’re not careful. Those Safe Zones in Pennsylvania, New Hampshire, Maine, and Vermont had better be on the lookout.
With nowhere left to go when it freezes, our island could become the boon I thought it could be, once Walt is gone. Sylvie pushes food around on her plate, and the only reason I continue eating is because today’s lunch of pasta and veggies is the best thing I’ve eaten in days.
“We don’t know anything for sure,” Indy says with a pointed glance at the kids. “And we’re safe here, anyway. How’s the pasta, Paul?”
She looks vaguely put out by his shrug, though he shovels it in. Indy was in the kitchen today, which is a highly prized work shift, and this dish must be hers. She’s slowly returning to the vibrant Indy of old, now that the talk of Landon’s departure has finally fizzled out. Meals are much nicer without that blowhard.
“I think it’s yummy,” Leo says.
“Thanks, little man.”
Sylvie takes a bite. “It’s delicious. Right, Paul?”
Paul rises to retrieve more water without answering. I’ve seen Paul glance at Indy more than a few times since she left her room, always with concern, but he’ll never let her see that. I watch his retreating back and say, “Paul is an excellent holder of grudges.”
“What could he possibly begrudge me?” Indy asks.
“He was nice to you, and you made fun of him,” Sylvie says. “So he stopped being nice.”
“But that’s what we do,” Indy argues. “It’s funny.”
Sylvie drops her head to the table and bangs her forehead against it. “I give up.”
I pat her hair. She’s referring to her dream of Indy and Paul together. It’s difficult to get a read on Paul much of the time, though he’d be an idiot not to be at least half-interested in Indy. “Sometimes it just isn’t meant to be,” I say.
“But
I want it to be,” she whines.
“What are you talking about?” Indy asks. Paul returns with his water, and Indy motions at us. “They’re being weird.”
“Shocker.” Paul sets his glass on the table and sits. “Lunch was decent for a change. Keep up the good work.”
“That compliment makes me want to run right back into the kitchen and whip you up dessert.”
“Sweet. Anything’s good. I’m not picky.”
Indy throws her napkin at Paul just as Kate pulls up a chair. “Well, now I need to know what’s going on.”
“The usual,” Indy says. “Paul driving me crazy.”
“He can only drive you crazy if you let him.” Kate sets her chin in her hand and says to Paul, “But you need to ask yourself why you spend so much time driving her crazy. What are you trying to get out of her?”
That Irish blush blooms in his cheeks, and Indy busies herself retrieving her napkin and wiping her mouth. “I have news,” Kate continues. “Your ammo request is going to consensus.”
My excitement is tempered by anxiety, and I see the same on the other’s faces. “Do you know when?” I ask.
“Probably three weeks or a month. Consensus is a pain in the ass, which is why we only do it when we have to and vote on everything at once. That gives people time to submit proposals. I told them there wasn’t a rush.”
“We have until it freezes,” I say. “Unless the mobs move.”
I don’t mind the wait, since it will give us time to ensure over ninety percent of the residents are on our side. All they have to do is agree to give us ammo. They won’t be involved. And, if they refuse, I might not honor their wishes after all.
“Bridget not only brought it up, but she got the rest of the council to vote yes,” Kate says. “What magic did you work on her?”
Sylvie chokes on her pasta yet manages to say, “I think it was his butt.”
Kate laughs along with the others. I shake my head. Sylvie gets a kick out of teasing me, but I did nothing but treat Bridget as someone whose opinion mattered. Though maybe I threw a few extra smiles in for good measure.
Thankfully, before the conversation can continue down that road, Julie and Chris appear bearing plates. Julie steps aside to reveal Noli just behind. “Hey, guys, mind if we sit?”
Sylvie vacates her seat for my lap. “Here, Noli, sit next to Paul. I’ll sit on Eric.”
I hold her in place with one arm and finish my food with the other. Sylvie sets her plate on my empty one. “Finish mine.”
Our dwindling storerooms are apparent in the smaller portions we receive. We’re not hungry, just not stuffed. I push the plate closer to her in refusal.
“Well, I’m not eating it,” Sylvie says. “So, there.”
“That’s mature.”
She sticks out her tongue. “How are you, Noli?”
“Good,” Noli says. She eats a forkful of pasta and glances at Paul.
He drinks from his cup, staring straight ahead like he’s on watch for the enemy and to look away would spell certain death. Noli is petite, and, next to him, she’s miniscule. She’s cute, with dark hair, a lip ring, and pretty eyes.
Noli finishes chewing. “This is really good today.”
“Indy made it,” Jorge says.
“It’s great,” Noli says to Indy.
“Thanks,” Indy says.
Paul takes a sip of water. Sylvie squirms on my lap at Julie’s inquiring look. They have no idea what they’re doing when it comes to Paul. He’s not going to make stilted conversation in front of everyone, especially not if he knows he’s being set up.
“What do you work on when the steam plant is off in the summer?” I ask Noli.
She turns to me with a smile, grateful for the opener. “I float. Last week was janitorial. This week and next week are childcare.”
“You work in the Con-Ed plant?” Indy asks.
“Mostly. I knew Artie before this. He hired me when I graduated with my engineering degree. After the virus, we met up at the office and lived there for a while before we made it here.”
“You drive trains?” Leo asks.
Noli winks at him. “Wrong kind of engineer. But I wish I could drive trains. That’d be cool. Next week I’ll be in your class, and I’ll show you what I did, but it won’t be as exciting as a train engineer.”
“That’s okay,” Leo says. “We welcome all visitors.”
“Straight out of Miss Anabelle’s mouth,” Sylvie says. “The woman is a saint.”
Chris dances in his chair. “Except when she gets her drink on at parties.”
“Would you let that go already? Give the woman a break.” Julie lifts her shoulders. “She was dancing, like, a lot. Dirty dancing.”
“Really?” Indy asks. At their nods, she claps her hands. “I love that. Don’t you love when people surprise you?”
“No,” Sylvie says.
“Of course you don’t. I think it’s cool.”
“So do I,” Noli says. “People used to doubt I was an engineer. After ten minutes of my explaining the design of structural components of buildings, they’d wake up long enough to say they believed me.”
The table laughs, Paul included. “You’d be surprised how many buildings in the city look like they were put together by a monkey,” he says, then shuts his mouth tight, seeming surprised he’s spoken.
“Oh, I know,” Noli agrees. “We were constantly working on buildings that were so out of code it wasn’t funny. You were a firefighter?” Paul nods. “We had a great fire protection engineer. He’d been in the department.”
“Cool,” Paul says.
“He told us this story about being in a building when fire shot up through the floor. They all went down with the people they were rescuing. Obviously, he lived, but the story was terrifying. He didn’t let us skimp on floor thickness or anything else.”
“Passive fire protection.”
“Exactly. I think of that here sometimes. What would we do if we had a fire?”
“We have the standpipes, and Louis had me check out the hoses and whatnot. They use water from the towers. We could use a pumper truck, though.”
“Does that have water?”
“Some, but it also pressurizes the water from the city system.”
Noli asks a few more questions, and Paul launches into a discussion of standpipes, hydrants, and the various types of fire trucks while she offers her opinion on StuyTown’s structural details. Conversation picks up around them, and Sylvie whispers in my ear, “Paul’s talking like a human being.”
Indy catches the discreet thumbs up Julie and Sylvie exchange. Her gaze moves to Paul and Noli and then out the windows to the garden, her smile marked by what could be amused regret. After a minute, she stands with her plate. “I have to go, but I’ll see you all later. Bye, Noli. It was nice talking to you.”
Noli gives a friendly wave. “You too, Indy.”
“What happened to my dessert?” Paul asks.
“Maybe next time,” Indy says. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
Paul smirks and then returns to the conversation with Noli. Indy brings her plate to the bussing station, her practiced smile reverting to the one of a minute ago. I’m not sure it was anything, and Sylvie’s ordered me to stay out of love lives, but I’m positive I see Paul’s eyes flit toward Indy’s receding figure before she’s gone from sight.
35
Sylvie
Indy, Jorge, and I sit outside on our lunch break from the store, where a few benches allow you to both view the garden and remain hidden from sight. Indy drops her sandwich onto her cloth napkin, if sandwich is what you call something made of too-hard bread and spread with mushed beans. “Ugh. This is disgusting.”
“That’s why I chose the peanut butter,” I say.
“They need to let me back in the kitchen. A few spices, a little dressing on the greens, and it would be good.”
“But then I’d be alone in the store.”
“What am
I?” Jorge asks. “Chopped liver?”
“You’re mushed beans,” I say. “You keep running off to do other jobs, and you don’t have to work weekends because of Jin.”
The roar of a large engine comes from the path, and a fire truck eases beside the garden a moment later. Paul is behind the wheel, for once not driving like a maniac.
“Want to take a look?” Jorge asks.
Indy stuffs the remainder of her sandwich in her mouth to get it over with. I nibble on mine as we walk. The truck parks between two buildings, and adults gather around it along with the students from the school.
The mobs moved, in what was a brief hiatus, and allowed us to retrieve a truck from the fire station only a half block from the corner of StuyTown. Because Leo begged and Noli asked, Paul agreed to talk about fire safety and show the kids the truck. If their hanging mouths are any indication, they’re impressed by the shiny red vehicle. We reach where Eric stands in the crowd as Paul jumps from the driver’s side wearing the classic firefighter pants and boots. Blue suspenders cross over the back of his navy FDNY T-shirt, and his muscles are none the worse for that.
Indy gawks for a long moment, then proceeds to scrutinize the truck, a crack in the concrete, and her almost-back-to-normal nail beds. Her reaction would have thrilled me a few months ago. Though I’ve given up on them as a couple, I still say, “My ovaries just heaved a little. And it’s Paul, so I’m also nauseous.”
Jorge guffaws. “What is it with ladies and firemen?”
“I don’t know. It’s instinctual. We have no choice in the matter.” I nudge Eric. “Why don’t you get yourself an outfit like that?”
“Now you’ve gone and ruined my surprise,” he says. “Paul didn’t want to wear it, but Leo insisted.”
Noli stands with Leo, attention riveted on Paul while he gives a speech to the kids. “Want to go say hi to our favorite firefighter?” I ask Indy.
She slips on her sunglasses. “I’ll stay here.”
The City Series (Book 3): Instauration Page 24
