by Lou Cadle
Knowing the Morrows now, and something about how adults interacted with each other, he guessed they’d apologized for the damage and offered to pay for it. That’s the kind of people they were. Sometimes they hired him to do work at their place—when he was smaller just odd jobs, but now he was called upon whenever they wanted to carry something heavy. They had their chickens in a wheeled coop, for instance, and every week he came over and helped Mr. Morrow haul it along to a fresh spot. At his mother’s insistence, he always refused to charge for such a short bit of work, but Mr. Morrow always pushed a ten-dollar bill on him anyway. He had a bunch of them now, tens and twenties and a few hundreds, in an envelope taped to the bottom of a drawer. It wasn’t enough to buy a car—not that his father would let him do that—and Dev wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it, but it made him feel better knowing it was there and that it was his.
Three quarters of a mile from the main road, next to the driveway, a wooden sign said Right Side, handmade by Mr. Morrow his first year here. His woodworking skills had improved a lot since, but for some reason he kept the old sign with all its imperfections. Dev had no idea why he’d named his place that, or why he’d named it at all.
Mr. Morrow had twelve solar panels on frames separate from the house, and one of those vertical axis wind turbines that looked more like the pictures of modern art sculpture in Dev’s art textbook than like a working windmill. But it made electricity all the same.
Dev climbed the steps to the deck and knocked on the back door. “It’s Devlin Quinn, Mr. Morrow,” he called.
“Hang on,” came a voice.
It took another few minutes, but finally the door was answered.
“Sorry, had to put in my teeth and ears,” Mr. Morrow said. By “teeth” he meant teeth, like false teeth, but by “ears” he meant his hearing aids. His real ears were still there, though they had many brown warts on them and the earlobes were long and saggy. It must suck getting old. “Come on in, Dev. What’s shaking?”
Meaning, as Dev had learned from Mr. Morrow years ago, what was happening, was there anything new. “Nothing much. Mom wanted to know if you needed anything from town.”
“Come in to the living room, sit down. Let me get my list and ponder over it.”
Dev could smell the faint sick smell coming from the bedroom where Mrs. Morrow lay dying. She’d been dying for four years. She was sure taking her time about it. Every year the smell changed, he thought, grew more bitter, musty, like a grave was opening up in there, wanting to pull her in. Mr. Morrow had quit inviting him in to say hello two years back, and Dev was just as happy not to. She hadn’t recognized him for a long time, and even back then on some days she’d been confused about who he was, thinking he was someone named Randy.
The house had scattered rugs over light-colored wood flooring. Dev looked around and saw the electric keyboard pushed against the wall. He’d never seen Mr. Morrow play it, and he’d only heard it when walking up to the house a dozen times ever, but there was sheet music set up on it that changed from time to time. Dev went over and looked at it. The Best of Billy Joel. Never heard of him—or her, maybe.
Mr. Morrow walked back in, studying a handwritten list and carrying a printed bag of grocery store food. “Here, would you like some?”
“What is it?”
“Jerky. It looked good on the shelf, and I hadn’t had any in years, but I realized I can’t eat it any more, not with these teeth.”
“Sure, thanks.” Dev didn’t eat red meat hardly ever—beyond their means—and having beef jerky was a real treat. “I can really have some?”
“Take the whole package with you. It’ll go to waste here.”
“What’s Mrs. Morrow eat?” Dev immediately regretted asking. “I’m sorry. That was too personal, wasn’t it?”
“No, it’s fine to ask me anything you want. Liquid meals if I can get her to drink them, like baby formula for old people.”
Dev didn’t want to know more. He was sorry he had asked. But he nodded and schooled his expression to a neutral one. “Anyway, anything you need in town?”
“You going to the grocery store only?”
“Hardware store. And the junk yard, I think.”
“Hardware store would be great. Here, I’ll write it down.” Mr. Morrow copied out a half-dozen items onto a new list and then made careful check marks on his original list. “None of it is crucial, so if you can’t find it easily, don’t worry. I’ll hunt it down another day. Or order it delivered.”
“Do you have gas in your car? My dad is worried about gas.”
“It’s electric.”
Dev had forgotten that it wasn’t hybrid. “You generate enough electricity for charging it?”
“If I used it every day, I wouldn’t. But I only go into town twice a month or so. I charge it an hour or two every sunny day at high noon, and that’s enough to keep it topped off.”
“How’s your garden?”
“It’s good. Seems like a great year for growing. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, sir,” Dev said. “The corn is almost knee-high already. All three kinds.” His mom ground their own corn meal, and they always had a few popcorn plants too, for a treat.
It came into his mind to ask Mr. Morrow something—something he wasn’t willing to ask his mom. But even with Mr. Morrow, he’d come at it sideways. “Could I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask me anything you want.”
“How did you and your wife meet? Did you know at the beginning that she was the one?”
“I’m not sure I believe in ‘the one,’ so much. There are a lot of people you could be compatible with, and you always have to work at making a relationship thrive. However, I liked her from the beginning. We met at a grad school mixer. But she didn’t much like me.”
“She didn’t?”
“Nosirree, she did not. She called me ‘arrogant’ and worse. But I liked her. I liked her spark, her fire. I liked that she was willing to disagree with me like she did the first time we talked.”
“Why did you like that?” Dev couldn’t imagine liking to fight with anyone. His dad fought but didn’t seem to take any pleasure in it.
“It showed me she had spirit, and her own mind, and she knew it. I’d been—hmm, not sure how to say this—but deferred to a lot by that point. I was working with the top researcher at the university in my field, and I was his golden boy.” He cocked his head. “You know what that means?”
“I can figure it out from context.” His mother had always pushed him to do that.
“Excellent. And I had my own master degree students to boss around, and they deferred to me. So I needed a bit of dressing down, I think. I wasn’t used to it, and I found I liked it.”
“What were you two arguing about? When Mrs. Morrow said that?”
“I haven’t the slightest.” He laughed. “But I kept after her despite her low opinion of me, and eventually I won her over.”
“How?”
“I started with something we agreed about. And I built from there.”
Dev thought he and Sierra had a lot in common. They lived on the same road. They had similar chores. They were both the only child in their families. Maybe that could be a starting point for him. “Do girls like it if you talk about stuff you know? Like about science, like you know? Are they impressed?”
“As with most human beings, they’d rather have a chance to impress you with what they know.”
“Huh,” Dev said. He had no idea what sorts of things Sierra knew. How to be around a lot of kids at once? Maybe he’d ask her about that. That he was an only child and home-schooled had made it harder, his mother always said, for him to socialize. But he did okay in town, when he was left alone with a group, as long as he could find one person he could talk to. Usually another guy. But Sierra made his tongue glue itself to the roof of his mouth. So he’d ask Sierra how could he—whatever. Make more friends? Get a girl’s attention? Would that be too bold?
&nb
sp; He came back to the present to see Mr. Morrow looking at him, a pleasant expression on his face. “Thank you. Um, you won’t mention this talk to my folks?”
Mr. Morrow said, “Our secret,” and he crossed his heart like a little kid.
“Thanks a lot for the jerky. And I’ll bring back your hardware stuff this evening before sunset, okay?”
“I thank you for taking the trouble. And please thank your parents for me.”
“I will.”
* * *
Net news broadcast, two weeks later
“Ras Tanura was not a phrase—not a place name—that had ever been on the lips of the average American until now, but from this day forward, it will no doubt be carved in our collective consciousness like Pearl Harbor.
“The parallels between the two attacks are striking. Air strikes—both bombers and drones—were launched from Iran before dawn local time, and coordinated with an extensive mining operation that must have been planned and carried out weeks ago. The port is where eighty percent of Saudi Arabia’s oil is shipped from, and that means sixty percent of the oil the U.S. uses originates on ships in that port.
“Individual ships were hit from small boats as well, by missiles. Our Pentagon reporter, quoting an unnamed source, says the U.S. government suspects Russian involvement in the plot.”
Cut to: White House spokeswoman.
“In the face of the reality of the limited world supplies of petroleum, this is an unconscionable act, as is the sabotage of offshore oil drilling rigs, which continues by the Iranian forces unabated. As a world, as a people, we need every drop of oil that remains, and we need to use it wisely. To utterly waste it in a wanton act of destruction will result in untold suffering. Our prayers go out to the men and women working at the port who died in this cowardly attack.
“Mark my words. The perpetrators will pay.”
Chapter 5
“If you really must go,” Pilar said on Sunday after Sierra had cleaned the house, “fill up the gas tank and grab a few things at the store. Here’s two hundred. I hope that’ll cover it.”
“Did you look up the price online?” Sierra asked.
“I tried, but I got an error message on the site.”
“Okay. Can I spend the change?”
“If there is any, sure. I hope that’ll motivate you to keep it on electric.”
“It changes over on the hills no matter what I do.”
“I know that. Just be slow and conservative and electric when you can, and you’ll have more change for whatever you want. Or, almost whatever you want. No drugs.”
“Not even aspirin?” she said.
“Ha-ha,” he said. “Coke, while unhealthy and drug-like in its effect, is also fine.”
“Maybe ice cream, if I can find any.”
“The Jacksons sell that goat milk ice cream from their house, you know, off 163?”
“Sure,” Sierra said, but she doubted that’s what she’d be spending her change on. “I’ll be back when I’m back.”
“Before dark,” Pilar said.
Sierra nodded that she’d heard.
“I mean it. Before dark.” He held the car’s KE in between his fingers, not handing it over, waiting for a response.
“Fine. Before dark.”
Sierra drove down the hill on electric and stopped at Mia’s, because Mia hadn’t answered her text. Her mother said through a screen door, “Sorry. She and Rudy are off doing something.”
“Okay, thanks. I thought I’d just check.” If her phone was off, that meant she and Rudy were probably off having sex. Sierra would check in the park by the empty library building to see if anyone was hanging out there. The weather was warm enough that some of her friends would have gone up to Ellison Creek, but if she burned gas going up there, Pilar would be pissed off.
Only a couple kids she didn’t know at all well were at the park. She drove by and waved, and then out to the Walmart. She walked through the store, but it was empty of any of her friends except for one who was busy working, supervising the self-checkout. In fact, the whole store was weirdly empty. On the grocery end of the store, the shelves for fresh food looked bare as well. Must be getting a delivery tomorrow. She looked around for things to buy with her change, but nothing appealed. Her dad had given her a short list of things to buy for him: yeast, salt, and honey. She had to get molasses instead of honey and hoped it was okay. She loaded the trunk with the few groceries.
She headed for the little hardware store where the guy with the gold tooth worked. She didn’t know his name yet. Maybe today, if he was there, she’d find out. Going through the aisles, she didn’t see him, so she peeked out the back door to the big yard with construction stuff and garden supplies.
“Can I help you?” a voice came from behind her.
She turned. It was him. “Thanks. I was, uh, looking for...” Her gaze roamed his chest, looking for a name tag. There was none. “I’m Sierra. What’s your name?”
“Aiden.”
“Nice name.”
“So’s yours.”
“Sierra Ash. I picked my own last name.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. You like it?” She touched her hair by her temple, then dropped her hand, worried he’d think she was asking if he liked her hair.
“It’s nice. And short. Saves time filling out forms.”
She laughed. “I never thought of it that way.”
“So are you looking for something in particular?”
“Do you have any pet supplies?” she asked, the idea popping out of her mouth the instant it had popped into her brain.
“This way,” he said.
She followed him, checking out his ass. Not half-bad. A little flatter than what she’d call perfect. Seven point five out of ten. Maybe an eight.
“Here you go. Not much here, but there are bowls and a couple toys. Dog or cat?”
“Dog.”
“I prefer dogs.”
“I’ve never had a cat. My dad says they either stink up the house or kill wildlife.”
“I guess with your name and all, he’s into wildlife.”
“Not in any untoward way.” She was proud of the quip, thought she’d nailed the right level of flirtation with it. A sexual reference, but not too direct. But on the heels of that, she realized she’d talked about her dad’s ideas, revealing that she was still living at home. Not sexy at all. She wasn’t a kid and didn’t want him to think she was. To cover her confusion, she squatted down and began pawing the pet toys. She picked up a metal dog brush and examined it as if she cared about the quality of the tines.
“Need anything else?”
“No.” She took a deep breath and looked up at him, trying for a smoldering look. “Do you?” She was thinking about him maybe asking her for a phone number, but then he smirked and it dawned on her that he might think she’d just outright offered him sex. Ack!
“Not right now. I’m at work until four.”
“Well. Thanks anyway.” She stood and brushed past him so he couldn’t see her blushing. She could feel the red deepening with every step.
She made it to the car and got in, leaning her forehead on the steering wheel. Way to go, dumbshit. When she raised her head and glanced at the front door to the hardware store, she was relieved to see he wasn’t standing there looking at her.
Only then did she realize she’d walked out with the dog brush in her hand.
Great. I’m an idiot, and I’m a thief.
She’d return it next time she was in town. Not right now. No way.
The car started at her command, and she drove to the gas station her dad preferred. But it had a sign up that said, “Out of gas. Closed until further notice.” And it was obviously closed, lights off, door shut, no one there. She drove to the only other gas station in town, a Valero, but this one had a sign that said, “No gas until Thursday.” The marquee with the gas prices on it showed $24.99 per gallon. The tank held fourteen gallons and was just over half full. So the
two hundred her father had given her to cover a few groceries hadn’t been enough to leave her any change.
She tried making two more calls, but no one she wanted to be with was around. She probably shouldn’t cruise around looking for something to do, but she had hoped for more than this, for friends, entertainment, a social life. Sometimes it was hard living so far out of town. People didn’t stop to think to call her. As little as she wanted to, she might as well turn around and go home. Damn.
She found her father at the base of one of the wind turbine towers, his multimeter in his hand. “Are you fixing something?” she said.
“Routine checks. That way, I won’t have an emergency to repair later.”
“Do you need to climb today? I’m not doing anything and can watch you.”
“It seemed early for you to be home. Don’t you have another final to study for?”
“It’s easy, and I know it.”
“I don’t need to climb, but if you’re bored, here.” He rooted in his toolbox and handed her a wire brush. “Go attack any rust on the guy wires.”
She took the brush and moved to the nearest wire that held the turbine towers in place.
“Let me know if there’s a big patch of rust, and we’ll paint before the sun goes down.”
“Have you heard from Lisette?”
“She’s probably busy,” he said.
“I guess that’s good. It means she’s selling stuff. Oh. There wasn’t any gas. The Valero had a sign that said Thursday there would be.”
“Price?”
“Twenty-five dollars a gallon.”
“Probably will be thirty-five by Thursday, then. If there is any. Maybe I should go down and get in line at dawn.”
“Why wouldn’t there be any?”
“The war.”
“I don’t get it.” She thought he worried too much about the war.
“For the next several months, we’ll be missing something like sixty percent of the oil imports we’re used to. Maybe more than that if the war drags on. Could be years until they increase. And I doubt we’ll ever again be where we were before the war. They teach you that at school, right?”
