by Paul Curtin
Elise wasn’t handling it any better. Michael put his hand on her shoulder, and she looked back at him with a helpless expression. She turned to Sean and yelled, “Stop it. Sean, stop it. Please. Take the cans and we can talk about this later.”
“Will everyone stop telling me what I can do in my own house?” Sean yelled back.
There it was again.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry,” Molly said.
“Do you have more?”
More? Michael had watched the same video Sean did. She didn’t take more than a few cans and jars. But Sean moved toward the closet, and Molly stepped in the way. Michael half-expected Sean to backhand her, his temper flaring so hot. Instead, he stared her down and pointed a finger in her face.
“Get out of the way,” Sean said.
“I gave you all the food, I swear,” Molly said.
“I won’t ask you again.”
“Daddy, please. There’s no more.”
Sean grabbed her shoulders and moved her like it was nothing. Her feet skipped as she tried to hold her ground, but she couldn’t stop him. He grabbed the closet door and yanked at it, but it just popped up in its track and crashed back down.
“What’s wrong with this thing?” Sean asked.
He tried again. Another crash. Sean turned to the other door, but Molly stood in the way, practically falling in front of him, her hands clasped together, shaking. He threatened her one more time, pressed his forearm against her chest, and nudged her aside.
“Please don’t hurt him,” Molly yelled.
The words felt like that dynamite going off, so loud Michael swore he had a ringing in his ears from the blast. Sean stood with his shoulders heaving up and down, an almost primal stance. Elise looked back at her brother. Her eyes asked him a question he didn’t know the answer to.
“Don’t hurt who?” Sean asked.
The puzzle piece clicked into place, though not for Sean. It made little sense for Molly to take food from her dad and to always take her food back to her room after meals—unless there was someone else. Someone she was hiding.
Shit. Sean wasn’t going to be happy about it.
Sean threw the closet door open and popped his head inside. Michael primed himself to wrestle him off the poor boy. A man could not shack up with Sean’s perfect, pure daughter without consequence. If a little food got him this wound up, discovering his little girl was a woman would send him off the rails.
Sean paused, pulled his head back, and looked at his daughter. From his angle, Michael couldn’t see Sean’s face, but he saw the shame in Molly’s. Sean said nothing for a few seconds. Tears dripped from Molly’s eyes with each blink, her face wincing every second like she was being stabbed. She grabbed onto his arms. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, trying to pull herself toward him.
But Sean pushed her touch away.
It was painful to watch. Michael understood how easy it was to wound someone you loved. When someone shared their deepest secrets and insecurities—when they were close, it was a small thing to use that to stomp their heart into pieces. In only a few words he had the ability to make Kelly feel like utter shit when she had done something wrong. And now he watched Sean dismantle his daughter right there, without words.
Molly bowed her head toward the ground, shaking. Elise said, “What’s happening?”
Andrew stepped out from behind the closet door, his arms pressed against his sides, eyes trained on the ground. Elise covered her mouth.
Sean whipped his head back toward Andrew, and the room became still. Michael readied himself. Andrew met the man’s eyes, his jaw chattering and whole body shaking, but holding his gaze. Sean looked back at Molly, her eyes a deep red and cheeks so inflamed it was as if she was having an allergic reaction, and then he turned toward the door.
The color had faded from his face, leaving a kind of shell-shocked stare. Elise tried to reach out to him, but he just brushed by her as he left the room.
Elise stared down the hallway for a long while before she approached Molly and pulled her close, allowing her to weep into her shoulder. Andrew bent down and lowered himself. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said.
Elise, with tears resting at the edges of her eyes, looked up at Andrew and then pressed her cheek against Molly’s. Michael leaned against the doorframe and wished he wasn’t stuck in this damn house.
Sean
Sean set the clipboard down and rubbed his eyes. Math was a bitter, merciless thing. It didn’t care about his feelings. It didn’t care about the diminishing supply that would mean the death of everyone in his home.
He sat against the side of the concrete steps with his LED flashlight shining toward the ceiling, thinking about the food. About Molly and back to the food. About his reaction. Still angry but now ashamed. God, so ashamed.
But then there were thoughts of Andrew—that son of a bitch. He always knew what that boy was after. He liked to put on that respectable facade, but he was a boy nonetheless. Not a man. A boy. And boys were always after the same thing. Sean clenched his jaw.
The door to the reserves squeaked, someone starting down the stairs. Didn’t have to look to see who it was. Nobody but his wife would want to speak to him after what had happened upstairs. He bowed his head.
“Hey,” Elise said, standing over him.
He said nothing for a long while. “I’m sorry, Elise.”
She brushed off a spot on the floor and plopped down next to him. She reached around his back and rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that angry.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She pulled him closer, said, “It’s okay,” in such a way that he knew she didn’t mean it.
He smiled, but it drained from his face immediately. “When I saw that food gone, it was like I—”
“You want to provide for us. I get that,” she said. “But Molly—our family—is not a threat. Even if she was stealing half the food, she’s your daughter.”
“I know.” She joined him looking at the food, breathing a sigh. Maybe she had expected a fight from him, and now wasn’t getting one. So, they sat quietly for a moment before Sean said, “A month ago we had enough food for you, me, Molly, and Aidan to last for two-and-a-half years. We’re now down to one year and one month with Andrew around.”
She rubbed his back, the tension releasing from his muscles but returning almost instantaneously. No way out. No relief coming. The temperature continued to drop. They could plant crops again with the organic seeds they had in the reserves—he even had a technique that might work in the winter—but the sun never broke through the oppressive cloud cover outside.
“We’ll be fine,” Elise said.
“If it were just us, we would be.”
“But it’s not just us.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure that’s what it works out to? What if we cut back on our rations?”
“We might have to.”
He didn’t want to ask his next question, but it nagged at him, his mind already running through the worst case scenarios. His imagination couldn’t be any worse than the truth. “How long has he been here?”
“You want to know?”
He paused, then nodded.
“Apparently, the night all this started.”
“Climbed up the ladder to the roof outside Molly’s window?”
Elise nodded. “He and Molly had been—” She stopped.
“Just say it.”
“They’ve been intimate for a while. The night before the eruption, they had a sleepover.”
The words sunk into him like daggers.
“When they woke up that morning,” she said, “the ash was already here and then you locked down the house. His family had abandoned him, so he stayed.”
“How c
ould she do this?”
“Do what?”
“All of this. Why not just tell us?”
She looked at him as if to ask whether he really didn’t know. He covered his face.
“She’s really broken up about it.”
“Maybe she should be.”
Elise pulled away. “She should be what?”
“Broken up about it. She’s sixteen years old. She shouldn’t have been having sleepovers. Period.”
“Maybe, but she needs to know her father is going to love her regardless.”
Tears lined his eyes. “How am I supposed to even start that conversation?”
“You can start by hugging her and telling her you love her.”
He nodded and sniffled. Elise pulled him into her chest and it was as if a dam had burst. He wept. Wept like a man who had lost control of everything.
Sean tapped on Molly’s door and waited. No response at first. His guts turned. If he found Andrew in there with his daughter, he might just kill him.
He frowned. He wasn’t there to instigate. The doorknob clicked and Molly opened the door wide, her eyes red, hair tossed around at all angles. “Were you sleeping?” Sean said. “I can come back.”
She kept one arm crossed over her midsection, her eyes glued to the floor, and extended her arm outward as if to invite him in. Sean took a couple steps forward and shut the door behind him, watching her sit on the bed. He looked at the walls, trying to choose something eloquent to say. Nothing came to mind, so he just said, “I’m sorry.”
She stayed quiet for a while, hugging a pillow. “You must hate me.”
“No, no, no,” Sean said and kneeled in front of her. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Ever.”
Tears fell onto her cheeks, and his heart shattered. He sat on the bed next to her, and she cried into his shoulder. Sean cupped the back of her head and kissed the top of it. He said, “There was no excuse for how I acted, Molls. No excuse.”
He felt her tears soak into his sleeve, and he rested his head on top of hers. Her body shook, and he closed his eyes.
But when they opened a moment later, he was still very aware that Andrew was in his home. That little worm. Andrew wouldn’t get any of his love. None of this would have ever happened without that pissant coming into his home, eating his food, playing house with his daughter. Even thinking about him touching Molly made his skin crawl.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Molly whispered.
He closed his eyes again. “I love you,” he said. All would be forgiven for Molly.
But only her.
Andrew
It had been three weeks since Andrew had slept in Molly’s bed—and two months since the ash started. He tossed and turned on the fold-out couch, often reaching across the cushion half-asleep only to find no one. After weeks of snuggling every night, he had gotten used to her warmth. Every night was cold in comparison, even with the living room fireplace only a few feet away.
They had found opportunities to be together, though not frequently. When Molly’s dad was around, they had to act asexual. One time, he was rubbing Molly’s back, touching her without thinking while they did a puzzle in the living room. The look Sean gave him when he had walked in—hell, Andrew pulled his hand back like he’d been caught with his hand down her pants. Andrew fantasized about pulling Sean aside and telling him how it was—he loved Molly and he would not act like nothing had happened. But that would only make matters worse. With tensions in the house already high, creating more conflict was a terrible idea.
Elise had done her best to welcome him into the home. They had talked shortly after he was discovered. He was leaning against a kitchen counter when she came in to start dinner. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You all right?”
He shrugged and said, “Sure.” Truth was, Molly wouldn’t look at him in the days after the blow up. He wasn’t fine, not that he wanted to make waves by saying so.
She stood in front of him, leaned closer, and said, “He’ll come around.”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’ve been married to him for a long time. I know. When he gets to know you, it’ll be all right.”
“Doesn’t feel that way.”
She swatted the idea away with her hand. “You know, he and Michael have been going at it for years.”
“They still don’t get along.”
“But they’re both stubborn. Won’t admit they’re wrong. Almost ever. If one of them did, though, it would go a long way. I’m just saying, if you pull your weight, help out around here, he’ll warm to you. Not overnight. Not saying that. But give it time.”
He doubted that time would help.
He rolled over on his back and sighed. Across the room Michael was snoring. People had started sleeping in the living room when the ancillary rooms grew frigid. Some days, Sean conserved energy and didn’t run the furnace, so everyone would roll up in sleeping bags near the fire. It was communal but claustrophobic, everyone so close together. Sean always slept between him and Molly—with a loaded shotgun next to him. That night it was just Michael, Kelly, and Aidan. Aidan slept in his aunt’s sleeping bag, the little player.
Michael snored again. Andrew put his hands on his throbbing temples. The pain became worse when he looked at the fire. His throat was parched, and his bottom lip had split from the dryness. He threw the blankets off, the cold invading the warm pocket under his covers. He shivered and eased himself off the couch, tiptoeing toward the kitchen. It seemed like every third floorboard made a noise with even the slightest pressure.
He opened one cupboard, grabbed a glass, and sank it into a large cast iron pot filled with tasteless boiled water. After taking a towel and drying off the sides, he went for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom upstairs. There were over-the-counter painkillers up there, and if he wanted any sleep, he needed them.
He slinked back and started up the stairs, each step emitting a low grumble. He whispered curses. Sneaking upstairs would appear like only one thing to Sean. If he and Molly had alone time, it was when Sean was chopping wood or counting the reserves. Nighttime was never a good idea. Sean patrolled the house then, almost as if he never slept. Last thing Andrew wanted was to get shot over an aspirin. Not that he thought Sean would really do that.
He hoped.
Panic churned in his gut. He inched forward into the bathroom, settled his breathing, set his water by the side of the sink, and opened the wooden cabinet. There was barely any light at night, and all he could see were shapes, the fine print obscured by the deep dark.
He snatched a bottle off the shelf and brought it close to his face, the words a blur. He traced his hand around the plastic—a prescription bottle with a big cap on top. Over-the-counter painkillers were large-bodied with small caps. He rattled the pills inside and decided it was not the one he needed.
A bright light lit up everything around him, blinding him. He dropped the bottle into the sink, yelping, “Holy shit,” and closing the cabinet door.
The light, like a spotlight on him, shone from the doorway about five feet off the ground, suspended in the air as if held by a ghost. He shielded his eyes, but the light penetrated his aching skull like a spike being driven into his eye sockets. He stepped back.
“You want to die?” the deep voice behind the light said.
“What?”
No response for a few seconds, and then the light tipped toward the ground. The white rays reflected off the linoleum, creating a glow around the bathroom. His eyes adjusted to the decreased luminosity, and the person with the flashlight came into focus.
Andrew could feel his heart in his temples. “Mr. Cain.”
Sean approached him without saying a word, his eyes like dark reflective beads. He picked up the pill bottle. “I asked you if you wanted to die.”
“No, sir.”
&
nbsp; Sean had said nothing to him for weeks. Andrew caught his lingering glances, though, penetrating and uneasy. Nothing could stop Sean from raising the huge metal flashlight and bringing it down on his head.
Sean held up the bottle, and Andrew flinched. “Then don’t take these.” He shook the pills inside. “These are Aidan’s meds. You take these things, and you’ll be getting some nasty side effects that’ll put you in the ground.” He put the bottle back. “At least that’s what the doctor told me.”
“I wasn’t going to take them.”
Sean said nothing.
He looked toward the door and then back to Sean, whose gaze was fixed on him. The light from below reflected around and concealed his features so that his eye sockets and wrinkles were black splotches. Andrew diverted his eyes.
“You’re not looking for sleeping pills, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. You get dependent, there’s no more after my supply’s gone.”
“I just have a bad headache.”
“Can’t sleep it off?”
He didn’t know how to answer the question.
“We have a limited supply,” Sean said.
“I just figured—”
“You would use it for your headache.”
Andrew’s mouth formed an ‘O,’ but he said nothing for what seemed like forever. “I don’t know.”
The shadows playing on his face made him look deranged. “I guess that’s what they’re used for, huh?”
He wanted to laugh to break the tension, but he held it in his throat. “Is it okay?”
Sean opened the cabinet and selected a small white bottle with red trim. He extended it. “This’s the one you want. For future reference.”
Andrew took the bottle, his hands trembling and the pills clanking around inside. He held it against his chest to steady it. “Thanks.”
“Don’t touch anything else,” Sean said, staring at him.
The glare insinuated that Sean was talking about more than pill bottles.
Sean turned and walked toward the hallway. It would have been best to end the encounter then, but he spoke before his brain could tell him to stop. “Mr. Cain,” he said. Sean pivoted back toward him. “I know we haven’t had a chance to talk.”
