“We’re a broken nation,” his mom said, watching him. “If you can even call us that anymore.”
“But don’t you think things will turn around?” Carrie asked.
She sighed. “Before we spent a few weeks in that Raleigh municipality, maybe. But the things we’ve seen, Carrie…”
“I know it’s bad right now,” Carrie said, “but President Rigsby is working on it. It’s only been five years. It has to get better, I know it will. America is a resilient land filled with resilient people. We’ve always come through hard times a better and stronger nation. I’m sure we’ll pull through this depression even more—”
“Depression?” Greg slammed down his fork. “It takes an economy to have a depression. The dollar’s worth nothin’, and the only jobs are for people willing to align themselves with the new regime—the same regime that obliterated the free-market system to rid itself of any competition. Exactly what part of that is a depression?”
Carrie’s cheeks colored. “Um…”
“There’s not a single Fortune 500 company left,” Greg plowed on. “They were either wiped out or went overseas. The government coulda saved things if they’d just set reasonable risk-based and minimum capital standards. But did they? No. Depression, my foot!”
“Greg was working on a business degree when the market crashed,” his mom said.
He shot her a dark glare. He wasn’t talking about himself. He was talking about the economy.
“His dream was to be a big finance guy,” she went on, “at one of those—”
“Ma,” he cut in.
“—big businesses on Wall Street. But I’m afraid there are no big businesses anymore. Small ones either.”
He grunted. “You done?”
She flashed a smile. “Maybe.”
Carrie pushed the carrots around her plate. “My dad was in finance, too. He was a Senior Analyst at a bank in Chicago.”
“Yeah? And how’s that workin’ out for him?” Greg asked. “Did he predict his bank would go belly up, or was he the cause of it? Or was he smart enough to know what was comin’ and cash out in time to bury his fortune in your backyard, ‘cause if so, where is he?” He looked around in jest. “I’d love to meet him, ‘cause only the best of the best chooses a career in finance at a time like this, right?”
Carrie blinked rapidly but said nothing. Neither did anybody else. After a long, awkward moment his mom leaned close.
“Carrie’s father passed away after the Collapse,” she whispered. “Same with her mom. You wanna rethink what you just said, son?”
Greg stopped mid-chew.
He glanced around. His grandma’s expression could have killed him a couple times over. Same with everybody else’s—everybody except Carrie, who had her head down, hiding behind her honey-colored hair again.
Still in a violent mood, his mom smacked him under the table.
“Sorry,” Greg said.
“That’s okay.” Carrie took a quick breath and looked up, although her eyes didn’t quite reach his again. “Actually, my dad believed the answer to America’s problem wasn’t in big business anyway. He said America was built on tiny ma and pa shops, little burger joints and farmers’ markets. Maybe it will be again. Our clan alone could produce a few small shops. Like the little flower shop on the corner of Main Street. Do you remember it, May?”
Greg’s grandma went Jekyll and Hyde on him. In an instant, she was grinning wide enough to show her missing molars. “Buds and Roses? Oh, I loved that place. They had the most exquisite orchids.”
Carrie smiled. “Mom and I used to go there all the time. Now it’s boarded up and has weeds growing out of every corner, but I’d love to fix it up someday. I know it seems crazy, but I haven’t given up on my dreams.” Her blue eyes flickered sideways. “Neither should you, Greg. You never know what the future holds.”
“The future, huh?” He sat back. “So let me get this straight. You figure sometime in the future you’re gonna find a job—which doesn’t exist—earn a boatload of money—which even the most corrupt officials don’t have—and somehow get enough money to buy your house and citizenship back from the crooked government that robbed you of every last dime in the first place? Then you’ll fix up some shop to sell”—he waved a hand in the air—“whatever to people who don’t own a cent. Is that about right?”
Carrie shrugged. “I guess. Maybe all it takes is for town after town to produce small shops which grow into bigger shops until the banks can reopen and America can get back to what it was. Right, CJ?”
Greg’s grandpa stroked his bushy white beard. “I don’t know, Carrie. I’m afraid we’re not recovering from this one. We’re in too deep this time.”
She couldn’t have looked more shocked if he’d slapped her. “No. I can’t believe that. America is better than this. I know it is.”
“Not anymore,” Greg and his grandpa said at the same time.
With that cheery thought, they all settled into a quiet rhythm of eating and wanting to kill themselves—or the person next to them.
After a minute, Greg’s grandma reached a bony hand across to him.
“Gregory, dear, why don’t you let Carrie show you around the neighborhood. No one knows it better than her. There’s a beautiful little spot down by the pond where the two of you might wander. Don’t worry about hurrying back.” She finished by attempting to wink inconspicuously at Carrie.
Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me.
Could none of them take a hint? He glared at Carrie, daring her to continue the suggestion. Her ears turned bright red.
“I think Zach’s too close to the fire,” she said softly. “Excuse me.” With that, Carrie was up and out the back door.
Finally.
He almost grabbed her full plate, but his stomach rolled in protest. He was getting weak in his old age. Without refrigeration, though, the leftovers were a waste anyway. Better his waist than the goats’ out back.
As he reached for her plate, his mom elbowed him.
“What?” he snapped.
She motioned to the back door.
Did she honestly expect him to follow Carrie? From the three anxious faces around the table, he guessed that’s exactly what he was supposed to do.
Fine. He threw down his napkin. If that’s what they want.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” he said. “Don’t clear that plate.”
six
GREG WAITED INSIDE THE back door while Carrie chastised the preteens for standing too close to the fire. When she finished, she wandered over to admire the oversized-but-empty garden.
Waiting for her escort, he seethed.
He burst through the door and stormed across the lawn. It only took two steps for the freezing air to penetrate his thin t-shirt.
“You call this pleasantly cool?” he said.
With a cry of fright, Carrie jumped and whirled around. She laid a hand over her heart. Without meaning to, he’d startled her, giving him a wicked sort of thrill. Recovering quickly, she unwrapped her skinny arms.
“Who knows, Greg. Once you get used to our weather up here, you might like it.” She took in a deep breath, an unwise thing considering the proximity of the milk goats. “Definitely pleasantly cool.”
Whatever game she was playing, he was done.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t know what kinda ideas you got in that head of yours, or what you’ve schemed up with my grandma about you and me, but let me be perfectly clear: I’m not interested.”
She blinked a few times. “Excuse me?”
“I plan on makin’ this my home, so you and my grandma need to leave me alone.”
She blushed right through her freckles. “Oh, I didn’t—”
He spun on his heel and marched back inside.
* * * * *
Carrie didn’t move until the wet grass seeped through the tear in her left shoe and her toes started to freeze. She was tempted to go home, but that would only draw more attention. But neither would she go
back to that table. Ever again. She headed to the well, filled up two buckets with water, and found the darkest corner of the kitchen to start the massive dinner cleanup. It wasn’t long before Mariah and several others were helping. Even the older kids were expected to clear tables and dry dishes after a clan dinner, although for once Carrie wished everyone wasn’t so efficient.
She took her time wiping down the last of the counters, shining them to perfection. Sadly, even that job couldn’t last, leaving her nothing to do but socialize like everyone else, the thing she desperately wanted to avoid.
Usually she would have pulled out a deck of cards and played Canasta with May, but May was busy talking to Mariah next to a pair of murderous eyes. Stupid Greg. Amber and Zach had disappeared downstairs with the other teens, which didn’t leave Carrie many options. She made her way into the living room where the younger married women huddled around Jenna Kovach’s newest patch quilt.
The four women looked up, surprised she’d joined them, but they were civil enough to allow Carrie into the conversation. Jenna was explaining the intricacies of quilting, including the new pattern she started. It was supposedly a block pattern, although to Carrie it looked more like stars.
“Vanessa thinks this pattern is too small,” Jenna said. “As if she’s the expert. She told me the three inch would have looked better.”
“That’s just like her,” Sasha Green said. “Nitpicking everything. She drives me crazy.”
“Now all I’m going to hear is, ‘You should have used the three inch, Jenna. The three inch!’”
The women laughed supportively. Carrie glanced over her shoulder. Vanessa Green was Sasha’s next-door neighbor—and incidentally, also her mother-in-law. Vanessa sat within earshot, but if she heard her name being slandered, she gave no notice.
“I think the blanket looks nice, Jenna,” Carrie offered.
“It’s a quilt,” Jenna said. “But thanks, Carrie. Maybe you should tell that to Vanessa. Or you can, Sasha, since I know how much you love Dylan’s mom.”
Another round of laughs.
Sighing, Carrie focused on the quilt itself. It wasn’t the prettiest one Jenna had made, patched together with red and orange scraps from the clan. But come winter, it would be warm and whichever family was slotted to get it wouldn’t care about anything else, including the size of the pattern.
Jenna leaned forward. “So…what do you ladies think of our newest clan member? All I can say is yum-my. You know you have to share, right Carrie?”
Carrie’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t notice Greg,” Jenna said. “You were the only one smart enough to dress up.”
Then she and the others launched into a conversation unfit for married women, discussing Greg’s physique head to toe. They paused once to ask Carrie’s opinion. She had none, leaving them to giggle in a way that would have made Amber blush.
It had been awhile since Carrie had been that miserable. She was about ready to hang out with Butterscotch and Chocolate, the two milk goats, when Mariah made her way over to the small group, stopping the Greg talk dead in its tracks and turning it safely back to quilts.
Three loud knocks on the front door interrupted them. The room went quiet. Three loud knocks was Oliver’s signal. In all the commotion, Carrie had forgotten it was Thursday.
“It’s just Oliver,” Carrie said to Mariah. “Our local patrolman.”
Mariah’s green eyes bulged. “Who?”
“Oh, no. He’s not like that,” Carrie said. “Oliver helps our clan. I know it’s strange, but he’s actually a good friend. He’s not like other patrolmen.”
CJ maneuvered through the people and opened the door. Carrie couldn’t see Oliver from where she sat, but she heard his soft voice greet CJ, a voice that seemed to echo in the now-silent house.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Trenton,” Oliver said. “Carrie wasn’t home, so I wondered if she might be here.” Oliver took a step forward, placing him in view. He wore his typical green uniform and beige tie, accentuating his tall, lanky body. His face, also long and rectangular, showed small eyes darting around the room nervously. “Looks like everyone’s here today.”
“Yes,” CJ said. “They are. Can I give Carrie a message for you?”
Carrie was struck by the edge in CJ’s manner. Normally he would have invited Oliver in for dinner, but CJ was nearly blocking the entrance. Then Oliver spotted Mariah in the crowd. Tensing, he scanned the room and found Greg as well.
“Who are they?” Oliver said.
CJ sighed. “My daughter and grandson have just arrived from North Carolina, Officer Simmons. We’re having a dinner to celebrate.”
Oliver stiffened. “Cards.”
Mariah grabbed Carrie’s arm. “Greg and I don’t have any cards,” she whispered.
“That’s okay. Neither do we,” Carrie assured her.
“Please, Oliver,” CJ pleaded. “They’re family.”
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said. “I need to see their identification cards and travel permits. Otherwise…”
His threat hung in the air.
Stunned, Carrie stared at him. The government required everyone to carry cards these days—required, and yet only three people in the clan actually did: May and CJ, who as fortunate homeowners were granted a yellow citizenship card, and Terrell Dixon, who kept his blue card current to sneak over the municipality fences for supplies. That was it. The other thirty-one had nothing. All of them were deemed illegal citizens of the United States, which Oliver fully knew.
So what’s two more?
Then it started.
Jeff Kovach stood, a man built like a bear with a personality to match, followed by others. Greg stood as well, feet planted, arms folded, with a cold, unbending expression, making his stance clear. There would be no arrests today.
Through disbelieving eyes, Carrie watched Oliver—quiet, shy Oliver Simmons, now outnumbered thirty to one—calmly square his shoulders, lay a hand on the gun she forgot he wore, and demand once more, “Cards!”
seven
CARRIE’S HEART POUNDED. Men around the room formed two groups, half in front of Mariah, the other by Greg. Mariah had a hand over her chest, breathing so heavily she was wheezing. Jenna and the other moms jumped up and shooed their kids from the room.
Something had to be done.
Fast.
“We can’t be…arrested,” Mariah said in between wheezes. “We can’t.”
Carrie laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. It will be okay.”
Then Carrie stood. People fell back to let her pass. Even CJ moved from the door so she could handle the situation.
As soon as Oliver spotted her, his gaze lowered. “Hi, Carrie. Sorry to bother your party.”
“Oh, it’s no bother at all,” she said cheerfully.
Grabbing her brown coat, she stepped past him onto the porch. Oliver didn’t move. She waited, holding her breath. In her opinion, this was all a misunderstanding. If she could just talk to Officer Simmons, get him away from the noise and crowds that always made him jittery, she might be able to resolve things peacefully.
The entire clan froze, waiting for something or someone to move.
Oliver still hadn’t.
Carrie’s pulse quickened. Arrest wasn’t an option. Not for May and CJ’s family. She owed them too much. Slipping an arm through Oliver’s, she tugged him down the front porch steps. He didn’t fight her and followed her down the sidewalk.
The further they got from the house, the less reluctant Oliver became. She stopped under a large, leafless oak, out of sight from the front window where she imagined three dozen faces pressed to the glass.
“How are you today?” Carrie asked, keeping things light.
Oliver looked down at her hand still tucked inside his arm. She pulled it out, feeling foolish for being so bold. The corners of his mouth turned up anyway.
“Good. It’s nice out.”
“Yes, it is.” Nice to have
someone agree with me, she thought.
When she turned back, Oliver was studying her over-done hair and blue blouse, reminding her how ridiculous she looked. She should have never indulged Amber. He quickly diverted his gaze to the yellow grass.
“Do you really need to see their cards, Oliver?”
“No one’s allowed to step foot in Illinois without citizenship papers,” he said softly.
“Yes, but…” None of them had cards.
She tried a different approach.
“Mariah and Greg aren’t here to beg the state for food. They’re staying here at CJ’s, so they won’t crowd the municipality shelters either.”
“They’re staying?” Oliver asked. “Permanently?”
“I think so. They’ve come a long way. I can’t imagine them going back.”
“But are they a threat to you—I mean, to the clan?” he asked. “Or to you, too? Because if so, if so…I, I can take care of it.”
The irony of the situation hit her: an officer of the law asking if two illegals were a threat to her. True, adding people into such a close-knit society could throw the balance off kilter. There were stories of government spies infiltrating clans like theirs only to turn around and arrest the whole lot. But that wasn’t going to happen.
“No. They’re CJ’s family,” she reminded him. “His daughter and grandson from North Carolina.”
“Right. Right. Family.” His gray eyes seemed to weigh everything as he ran a hand over his dark, thinning hair. “You know, I’m actually in a hurry right now. I don’t have time to check cards. I…I suppose I’ll have to check them some other time.”
Which Carrie translated to mean never.
She smiled up at him. Oliver Simmons was a good man trying to do what was right and not just what the law required of him. If it wasn’t for him, their lives would be a lot more complicated.
Which reminded her…
“You told CJ you were at my house?” she prompted.
“Yeah. There’s a sweep this Saturday. I’m scheduled again, so…” He shrugged. “Yeah.”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 5
