by N. C. Reed
“How would they know?” he asked her. “No electricity, no television, no radio. Completely primitive people, Kitten. I asked something similar once. When you take any of this singularly it's nothing, really. But all together, and you can see why he's so worried about it.”
“He didn't tell me all that,” she said in weak defense.
“Did you give him a chance before you told him how tired he was?” Leon's voice dripped with sarcasm.
“No,” came the small voiced reply. “No, I didn't ask him anything. I. . .no.”
“Well, when I asked him the questions you're asking me, those were the answers,” he informed her. “See, I didn't believe right away either. But there's too much falling into line for this to all be coincidence, Pussycat. Better safe than sorry, so we're being as safe as we can.”
“He told me my car would probably still run because of how old it is,” she recalled. “And that I might want to put at least some of my portfolio into gold and silver and keep it with me. To keep canned food and bottled water stored. He's really serious, isn't he?” the light was finally coming on.
“Did you think he was joking about that?”
“I…it just didn't. . .I mean I wasn't thinking about that at the time,” she admitted. “All I could see was the first man I'd ever met that I thought I could...that I...” she stopped. “I saw him leaving,” she continued after a deep breath. “That's all I could think about at the time. He was leaving me.”
“I don't know what for you to do other than what I said, sweetie,” Leon decided enough was enough. “Try to apologize. Try to make it right. I think he 'll listen so long as you remember what I said. Don't patronize him, don't pretend. Be honest, but don't question his sanity again. He's not crazy. This witch doctor vision thing may not happen at all for all I know, but Clay isn't making the story up. Of that I'm certain. I firmly believe that everything he's told me happened, and happened the way he told me it did. All that's left is to see if it really happens the way the old man told it would. I'm hoping it won't, but it seemed silly not to protect ourselves.”
“Do you think if I came down there he'd see me?”
“I don't know,” he admitted. “I imagine he would. I'm pretty sure he. . .he thought an awful lot of you, Kitten,” he settled for saying. “I mean an awful lot,” he added, trying to make her understand.
“I do him, too,” she admitted. “I'm going to leave Brick in charge here and come down there tomorrow. And I'll stay there until he talks to me,” she decided suddenly. “You think that's okay?”
“Club's yours now, Pussycat,” Leon chuckled. “You leave any who you want in charge. As to staying, if you can't stay with him you can stay here. I've got plenty of room.”
“Then I'll see you tomorrow.”
-
“This is really good, guys,” Clay nodded as the twins finished their presentation. “I'm impressed.”
The two had not only put together a presentation of the damage that a CME could do, they had also assembled another on the study of 'spirit visions' and related phenomenon among non-developed indigenous people.
“There are a lot of instances for this kind of thing,” Deuce shrugged. “It can't hurt, we figured.”
“Nothing can hurt when they already think you're nuts,” Clay snorted.
“Huh?”
“Nothing,” Clay waved it away. “Listen, have you guys thought about getting extra tablets and memory cards for them? Downloading books. Not just how-to stuff, but novels. Maybe a couple extra computers? We won't be able to get them after something happens.”
“We have, and we need to go to Walmart anyway for supplies,” Leanne told him. “Paper, printer ink, a spare printer.”
“Why not order it online?” Clay asked her.
“I don't have a way to pay for it,” she admitted. Clay produced a debit card and handed it to her.
“Order away,” he told her. “You enjoy anime, right?” he asked Deuce.
“Yes,” the boy looked prepared to defend himself.
“Order your favorites if you don't already have them,” Clay told him. “I can afford it, I promise you. Leanne, what about you? Something you enjoy that you want more of?”
“Music,” she said softly. “We won't have music anymore,” her voice was sad.
“Get all you want,” Clay told her. “Downloads, discs, doesn't matter. Get music that will suit everyone, for that matter. Sooner or later, even if this happens, we 'll want to have a party or something. Get board games, too. Movies, books, whatever.”
“Rook cards,” Deuce mentioned.
“Yeah, better get plenty of them,” Clay chuckled. Winter time meant Rook tournaments. Family, friendships, even marriage counted for nothing when opponents faced each other across a deck of Rook cards. There were notebooks of scores going back two or more decades in Gordon's home.
“Okay, you've got the idea,” Clay clapped his hands together. “Anything else?”
“I think we really are about as ready as we can be,” Leanne admitted. “I'm sure we will find something we missed sooner or later. Hopefully sooner, but. . .we 'll make it. It will be hard,” she sighed. “But if this happens, we will make it.”
“Then get this done, reward yourselves, and forget about it,” Clay ordered. “We're done. Enjoy yourselves. Be kids. You earned it and more. That has plenty of money on it,” he pointed to the card. “Order whatever you want and have it sent here if you need to hide it. I'm serious. No one has worked harder than you two, and you never once questioned my sanity. At least not to my face,” he grinned.
“Thank you Uncle Clay,” the pair said in unison.
“That really is creepy,” he told them as they settled in front of the computer.
“We know,” they replied.
“Figures.”
-
Clay woke early Tuesday. With the harvest in he didn't have to be up so early but it was habit. He grabbed a bite to eat and then headed for the barn. He carried a lever action rifle with him, a .45-70 Marlin, just in case, and he always had a knife and a handgun as well as a multi-tool.
He saddled one of his favorite horses and began riding the fences, something that they did once a week or after a storm had passed. It wasn't technically time for it, but he felt like riding. It was a form of freedom for him in many ways, and a good therapy as well. He had missed it when he was away and hadn't realized how much until he had it back.
The Sanders' farm itself was just over fifteen hundred acres in total, and over half was in grasslands or hay. Cattle was their primary focus anymore and the bulk of the crop they had planted was stored to feed the stock through the winter.
To a lesser extent they raised horses, but it was less seldom and more targeted. There were also a dozen or so donkeys roaming the fields, protection against coyotes and wild dogs.
He had put a gate along the fence between the Sanders and Troy farms and used it to pass into those lands, another twelve hundred acres of mostly crop land, but about a third in grass and bit more in hay. The cattle there looked fit and healthy and showed no signs of distress. The fences were in good shape. Everything was fine it seemed.
But it wasn't really. Not for him, anyway.
Realizing he had spent several hours on horseback, he headed home at a slow trot, allowing his horse to have his head. Once back he rubbed the young stallion down and gave him a handful of oats and an apple he had sliced. A soft nicker for a thank you came from the stall and he smiled.
Taking his rifle, he headed back to his house. He was plodding along, head down, rifle on his shoulder, so he didn't see her sitting on her car in his drive. He was about to climb his steps when she spoke.
“Hey, Cowboy.”
His rifle was off his shoulder before he had thought about it, brought up and ready as he crouched. She raised her hands slowly, realizing once again that startling or surprising this man was not a safe way to do business.
“A little jumpy, aren't you?” she tried to jo
ke.
“Comes with being crazy I suppose,” he shot back, his voice flat. “What can I do for you?”
She winced at how abrupt he was.
“I was hoping we could talk,” she kept her voice gentle.
“We are,” he nodded.
“Clay, please,” she pleaded gently. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. . .I'm sorry,” she stumbled. “I didn't mean to question your mental state, I promise. I just. . .it seemed so far fetched, that's all.”
“I know,” he nodded. “Didn't expect you to believe it. I think I told you that.”
“I know that now, but at the time it seemed like you wanted me to just jump up screaming 'oh, what do we do?' or something. And I couldn't see a reason to. I still don't,” she admitted. “But just because I don't believe what that man told you doesn't mean. . .it doesn't give me the right to call you into question like that. You were right; you haven't shown any signs of any kind of mental lapse since I've known you, and me suggesting that was the issue was wrong. Even if that old man doesn't know shit and nothing happens, that doesn't make you crazy or 'tired',” she used air quotes. “And I swear to you I'm sorry I said it. If I could take it back I would if it cost me everything I own, I'd take it back,” her voice rang with earnestness.
He found himself wanting to believe her, wanting to give in and just say okay. But he knew things between them would be different now. Where before it had been comfortable it would now be stiff. Uneasy. She would tiptoe around subjects that she thought might upset him and he would keep things to himself that he assumed she would question him over. Once it was lost, trust was hard to win back.
“I don't see how we can go back to how we were,” he shook his head. “And that's what I wanted. How we were before this. I don't see a way to get that back. Where I can talk without wondering when you 'll think I'm 'tired'. Where you can talk without worrying I 'll think you're calling me nuts. I…I don't need that,” he shook his head again. “I don't want it. I liked the way it was,” he admitted with a sad smile. “I liked it so much in fact that I wanted it to be that way all the time. Maybe if it wasn't for all this I could have had it, but then without it, without this happening, I'd still be in Africa and not know you exist.”
“I don't know which way would have been better,” he sighed.
“We can fix it,” Lainie insisted, taking a step or two in his direction. “I can fix it, Clay, I swear I can,” she told him. “Please, just let this one thing go away. Let’s pretend it didn't happen, okay? I didn't say anything stupid, and you didn't leave. It didn't happen and we don't mention it again, ever. Please,” she added softly. “I'm begging you.”
“What is it you want from this, Lainie?” he asked suddenly, sitting down heavily on his steps, rifle laid to the side.
“What do you mean?” she was taken aback by how similar that sounded to what Leon has asked her.
“I mean what am I to you?” he asked her. “I...I thought I knew, but I was wrong I think. I also thought I knew what you were to me, but I seemed to get that wrong too. If we do 'fix it', what then?”
“I took the week off,” she told him. “I came down here determined to make this work. However long it took to get you to talk to me, I'd take it. That's what you mean to me,” she told him, taking another two steps his way. “You want me to quit dancing? I will.” Step. “Do you want me to sell the club? I will.” Step. “You want me to move down here with you and learn to be a homemaker? I will. What ever you want me to do, Clay, I will.” She was standing in front of him now.
“That's what you mean to me, Clayton Sanders,” she told him softly. “Everything. And I hope I mean that much to you, too. Please give me a chance to prove it. To make it up to you. To make it right.”
He looked at her for a long time. So long she began to blush under his scrutiny, but she withstood it. Finally, he pushed to his feet, rifle in hand and started up the steps into his house. She watched him go, afraid to breathe. Her heart felt like it was going to break in two.
She had all but lost hope when he stopped, door open under his hand, and looked back at her.
“Are you coming inside or just gonna stand there?”
She would have to wait for him to come back down and help her. When he invited her inside her knees gave way and she collapsed, tears that she had held back flowing freely. Clay went to her, but instead of helping her up he simply picked her up, carrying her up the steps as she lay in his arms, her arms around him, her face buried in his neck.
They would stay that way for a long time, silence between them as they just held one another. Fixing things.
-
“That car is up there again,” Angela remarked as she looked out the window of her kitchen.
“What car?” her daughter Alicia asked. “What are you talking about?” she came to the window.
“That car belongs to Clayton's lady friend,” Angela told her, pointing to the Chevelle.
“Nice,” her daughter nodded. “Lady friend, huh.”
“Yes,” Angela frowned. “I've not met her yet. Ken Walters' daughter was interested in Clayton but he has all but ignored her in favor of whoever that girl is,” she nodded toward the car again.
“Who is she?” Alicia asked. “Do you know that?”
“No,” Angela told her flatly. “I don't.”
“Well I don't think she's local,” Alicia noted. “Car like that would be remembered around here.”
-
Clay's leg had gone to sleep as he sat, Lainie draped across him, asleep, head on his shoulder. He felt ashamed of himself in many ways, having made her cry like that. He consoled himself somewhat by remembering that it wasn't all his fault, but that didn't take away the sting of knowing how badly he had hurt her. She was clearly exhausted, and had cried herself to sleep in his arms. He had sat patiently, holding her while she slept, often kissing the top of her head and whispering to her.
She occasionally murmured in her sleep but he never heard her clearly enough to know what she was saying. He had no idea how long he had sat there when he heard a knock at his door.
“Perfect,” he muttered as Lainie startled awake.
“Huh? Whasit?” she looked around and then turned to him, smiling as she did so.
“Hi, Cowboy,” she said softly, her hand coming up to caress his face. “I was afraid I dreamed it,” she told him.
“No,” he smiled just as softly. “No, it's real. And so is that,” he sighed as the knocking continued. He got to his feet and carefully settled her on the sofa, his leg tingling as blood flowed unrestricted once again.
“Who is it?” she asked him, straightening her clothes.
“No telling,” he admitted. “Wait here.” He limped to the door even as the knocking continued. Looking through a small window he saw his mother standing there, along with his sister, Alicia.
“Great,” he muttered, opening the door.
“Mom. Ally,” he greeted. “What can I do for you?”
“We wanted to meet your lady friend,” Angela said without preamble. “Since you haven't brought her to meet us, we decided to come to her.”
“Now isn't a good time,” Clay shook his head. “You can meet her tomorrow. I've invited her to Sunday dinner anyway for the express purpose of meeting all of you, so there ya go.”
“Clayton, we came up here to see who that is,” Angela said pointedly. “Now are you going to let us in or not?”
His back was instantly up. He wasn't going to accept that, even from his mother.
“Not,” he told her flatly, though trying to maintain respect in his voice. “How about that? Now, I have things to do. We'll talk to you tomorrow.” With that he closed the door in their face, ignoring whatever was being said.
“Clay, that was rude,” Lainie chided gently. “Is it that big a deal?”
“It is when people start thinking they can waltz into my own home and tell me what to do,” he nodded abruptly. “I don't do that to them. I won't have it done to me.”
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“I'm sure they just want to make sure I'm not taking advantage of you,” she told him, smiling.
“I'm sure they were just being nosy because they don't know who you are yet,” he shook his head. “They 'll want to know who you are, who your family is, where you went to school, the list is as endless as it is meaningless, but they 'll still want to know.”
“Meaningless?” Lainie asked, standing.
“What difference does it make who your family is?” he asked her. “How does that affect the kind of person you are? I admit it can, but that's just personal choices, nothing else. People from 'good' families go bad all the time. And seriously, who could care less where someone went to school?”
“And I don't want them digging into your family history and bringing up a lot of things you'd rather not talk about,” he said finally, after a moment's pause.
“I know,” she kissed him lightly on the cheek. “It's okay, Cowboy. I'm a big girl and can look after myself. But thank you,” she added, laying her head on his shoulder. “For sticking up for me.”
He wrapped his arms around her and she thrilled in the feeling, having been afraid she'd never have it again.
“Lets get something to eat,” he told her. “I was coming home to eat when someone caught me by surprise,” he chuckled.
“Was it a good surprise?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Turned out that way,” he smiled. “Sure turned out that way.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
-
Angela and Alicia had returned home in a bit of a huff. Ally hadn't really been that keen on invading her brother's privacy, but basically being told to buzz off by her younger brother had changed all that.
“I should have gotten the tag off her car and asked Greg Holloway to run it for me,” Angela thought aloud as they got back to her kitchen.
“I don't think they can do that anymore, Mom,” Ally shook her head. “And Clay did say we'd meet her tomorrow.”
“Closing the door in my face like that,” Angela continued as if she hadn't heard. “Of all the nerve.”
“What nerve?” Gordon asked as he walked inside.
“Clayton closed the door in our faces when we went up there to meet his lady friend,” Alicia told him.
