Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  Greg said nothing. He knew his mom, he knew the fight, and he was tired of losing it.

  “The closest medical unit is in DeKalb,” Richard continued. “Maybe we could track down Oliver to drive us.”

  Overhearing, his mom turned back. “No, Greg. No hospitals. No doctors. Nothing!”

  Greg knew where her obstinacy stemmed from. The scars from Kendra’s death ran deep. “I’ve tried more times than you know, Richard. She refuses to go.”

  “Why, Mariah?” a soft voice said. Greg turned and saw Carrie in the front door. “You have your yellow card now. There’s no reason not to go.”

  “There most certainly is,” his mom said. “The doctors won’t do a darn thing except dope me up and rack up medical bills nobody can afford.”

  “We can afford it,” CJ said.

  “Dad, you can’t even afford to turn on a light. No. I’m not bendin’. You wasted enough money on our taxes. No hospitals. None.”

  “What about another clan then?” Carrie asked. “Greg and I were just headed to Ferris to find someone with medical knowledge.”

  Turning slowly, his mom glared daggers at him. “You said you were findin’ Terrell. You promised, Greg. You promised me no clans, no doctors, no nothin’.” She coughed and lay back down, looking more exhausted than she’d ever admit. “I don’t need it. I don’t want it. You promised.”

  He stared at the floor.

  She coughed louder and harder, a wet cough, which made his grandma cry louder and harder.

  Richard rubbed her arm. “Okay, love. No doctors.”

  When she quieted, she looked at Greg again, eyes filling with tears. “Don’t you see? I got what I wanted. You brought me home, and now look what I found.” She squeezed Richard’s hand.

  His grandma buried her face in her shoulder. “This can’t be happening. Not now. I just got you back.”

  “It’s okay, Ma,” his mom whispered. “We’re together. That’s all that matters now.”

  * * * * *

  “Simmons!”

  Oliver stopped mid-stride, surprised to see his boss still at work. Chief Dario stormed down the hallway toward him, looking far from happy.

  “In my office. Now.”

  Oliver followed him through the mess of desks, trying to remember the last sit-down meeting they’d had. Probably back when his boss asked—halfheartedly—if Oliver wanted a partner. Oliver wasn’t sure who was more pleased when he declined. There weren’t many on the force that would be sad to see Oliver knocked off in a raid gone bad.

  When he rounded the corner to the chief’s office, he stopped. David Jamansky sat inside. Jamansky turned and smiled at him. He grinned, actually. The chief motioned for Oliver to sit as well.

  A thin sheen of sweat broke out on Oliver’s forehead.

  “I’m restructuring, Simmons,” the chief said without preamble. “I feel you’d be better suited in a level 3 position.”

  Oliver felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

  “Level 3? May I ask why?” Though he could already guess. Jamansky looked quite pleased.

  Chief Dario’s eyes narrowed. “Letting a clan of that size settle in your territory cost you one level. Letting them slip through your fingers cost you another. I just glanced over this month’s numbers, and it looks like you might end up at a level 2 before the first of May.”

  “I won’t, sir,” Oliver said. “I’ll pull extra shifts.”

  “You better believe you will!” Chief Dario bellowed. “Without pay. I want five people detained by the end of next week, or you’ll be cleaning toilets in Chicago’s lowest penitentiary. Understood?”

  Five arrests?

  Oliver’s areas were dead. Where was he supposed to look next? But he nodded.

  “Understood.”

  Jamansky was obviously behind this, but Oliver didn’t know why he got to witness it.

  The chief read his mind. “Meet your new boss, Simmons. Jamansky was the one who found that clan. Because of that, I’ve promoted him. You’ll report directly to him from now on. You’re both dismissed.”

  Oliver felt ill as he rose. Jamansky stood, too, barely hiding his smug smile. He motioned for Oliver to follow him out.

  “It’s going to be good working directly over you now,” Jamansky said as they headed down the hallway. “Let me know when you have those five detainees. I’ll be in my new office.”

  Oliver muttered an answer. Jamansky was younger than him and far more brutal with illegals. How could Chief think this was a good idea?

  “Oh, and Simmons,” Jamansky said, “I expect a return of all that other stuff by the end of next week as well. Who knows. I might be able to get you restored to Level 4. If not, well…” Jamansky’s smiled turned dark. “There is no if not. I will get that stuff back. Every last bit of it. Are we clear?”

  Oliver swallowed. “Perfectly.”

  thirty-seven

  “WHAT DO YOU NEED?” Greg said in the doorway.

  Carrie fell back a step. Even though Greg lived there, she’d never actually seen him answer the Trenton’s door. Usually, he was off working somewhere—although he hadn’t shown up at her well since their walk to Ferris. She didn’t blame him, though. She didn’t want to see him either.

  “Looks like it’s gonna rain today,” Greg said, when she didn’t answer. “I didn’t figure you’d wanna head to the other clans in a storm.”

  So he still wanted to find the other clans. Worse, he still wanted her to take him. She couldn’t deny helping him find a doctor now, but her gaze dropped to the cement, ashamed of the question she’d asked him yesterday. After watching his agony as he’d knelt next to his mom, after seeing his open wound as he tried to explain to his grandparents, who was Carrie to question why he hated the world?

  Still, never had dark ominous clouds been such a welcome sight. But that wasn’t why she’d come.

  He glanced at the daffodils in her hand, daffodils that suddenly seemed like a bad idea.

  “For me?” he asked.

  “Yes. No. I mean…” She handed them over. “Here.”

  “How thoughtful. They’re real lovely.”

  His face remained stoic, but there was the tiniest glimmer in his eyes. He was teasing her.

  “Who is it?” Mariah called, coming up behind him. Greg’s mom was the second to last person Carrie expected to answer May’s door. Mariah should have been in bed, resting. Her skin was pale, her eyes heavy, yet she lit up when she saw Carrie. “Well hello, darlin’. Come on in.”

  “No, that’s alright. I just came to…” Carrie looked at the daffodils. “I wanted to see how you’re feeling today.”

  Greg handed his mom the flowers. “I think these are for you.”

  “Well, bless your heart, Carrie,” Mariah said. “They’re gorgeous!”

  Carrie took a step back, preempting Greg’s attempt to separate her from his mom. He had enough things to worry about without Carrie barging in on his family all the time. But then Greg moved onto the porch next to her.

  “I’ll leave you two ladies be,” he said. Tipping his Yankees baseball hat, he moved past Carrie down the steps to the sidewalk. He wasn’t headed toward her house, but she didn’t care. He’d left her alone with his mom. She couldn’t believe it.

  “Greg’s off to work on that barricade of his,” Mariah said. “Or at least, he better be. No more sneakin’ off to other clans!” she called.

  He waved in acknowledgment but kept going.

  “That boy,” Mariah said. “But come on in. Let me get these in water.”

  Carrie followed Mariah into the kitchen, where Mariah arranged the dozen daffodils in a glass facing outward like Carrie would have done.

  “How are you feeling today?” Carrie asked.

  “Wonderful. And you?”

  Wonderful? Not only did Mariah look sick, but Carrie felt sick knowing it wasn’t the first time she had. Even now, she could hear the soft wheeze of each breath.

  “I’m so sorry,” Carrie whis
pered.

  “Oh, no,” Mariah said. “Don’t you be startin’. Ma’s bad enough. She’s been cryin’ in her room all morning.”

  “I can imagine. This is hard on all of us, Mariah.”

  “Come now,” Mariah said. “You’re supposed to be the happy one, so let’s be happy together. Besides, I’ve got somethin’ wonderful to tell you.” She took Carrie’s hand and dragged her over to the couch. They were barely sitting before she announced, “I’m gettin’ married. To Richard!”

  Carrie smiled warmly. “I know. Greg told me. Congratulations! When’s the big day?”

  “Friday.”

  “Friday?” Carrie repeated. “As in this Friday?”

  Mariah laughed. “That’s the one. I know it was supposed to be planting day, but I figured you wouldn’t mind pushin’ it back a day.”

  “Not at all. But…so soon?”

  “Why not? I love Richard. He loves me. If I coulda had it my way, we woulda done it today, but Greg insisted we talk to Oliver first. Assuming all goes well, the wedding’s set for Friday!”

  Mariah’s enthusiasm was contagious. Carrie found herself smiling.

  “That’s wonderful. Do you need help with anything? Food or…” Decorations seemed impossible. Same with invitations.

  “How about more pretty flowers?” Mariah said.

  “Really? Oh, I’d love to! I saw the most beautiful flowers on my walk with Greg. They were this amazing shade of…” Carrie trailed off, noticing Mariah’s sudden frown. “What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

  “Greg told me what he said to you,” Mariah said. “About his new grand scheme.”

  “Oh.” Carrie dropped her chin. That.

  “Actually, that clueless boy told me everything he’s said to you lately, about Oliver and Jeff. Even himself, of all the ridiculous notions. Askin’ you to marry him? That boy!” she spat it like it was profanity.

  Carrie smiled, glad to know she wasn’t the only one struggling to keep up.

  “Is he too old to have his mama apologize for him?”

  Carrie laughed. “Yes, I think so.”

  Mariah settled into the couch. “I suppose you’re right. He wasn’t always like this, you know. He used to be a kind, thoughtful boy. But over the years he’s let life get the better of him. Now he’s just ornery and bitter. And stupid.”

  The last five years had been hard on everyone, but in Carrie’s opinion, it didn’t give them the right to take it out on the world. Jeff. Jenna. Greg. Sasha. Of anyone, Mariah had the most reason to be bitter, yet she always seemed to bring a smile to everyone.

  “Not that he doesn’t have every right to be angry,” Mariah said, disagreeing with her thoughts. “The Collapse wiped out all his dreams and ambitions. He lost his education and a chance at a great career. Then to top it off, he had to move back in with his ol’ ma, poor boy.”

  “He doesn’t seem to mind that too much. You two seem very close.” It was one of the things Carrie liked about Greg. He was fiercely protective of his mom. He’d do anything for her, even walk away from his life—and Nicole—to bring her back to her parents.

  “I suppose that’s one good thing that’s come of all this,” Mariah said. “If only I knew what do with him now.”

  You and me both, Carrie thought.

  Mariah’s gaze went to the window, looking as worn down as she probably felt. “It’s just that ever since my baby girl took a turn for the worse, my Gregory took a turn for the worse, too.” She looked at Carrie.

  “I offered to take Kendra to the doctors in Raleigh by myself, knowin’ Greg would feel like a caged animal in that municipality, knowin’ he’d never walk outta there a free man again. But he just carried Kendra those five miles, bullied his way through the gates, got us our blue cards, and started work in that chicken factory. The government didn’t want an old has-been like me, so everything fell on Greg’s shoulders. Every hour he put in the factory, Kendra got two in the hospital, which mighta worked, but every dose of medicine cost him another hour, and she needed four doses a day just to breathe.”

  Carrie had heard Greg talk about his time in Raleigh, and the only time he’d mentioned his sister was like a slap to the face.

  “My sister was nice and cute, and she’s dead.”

  Mariah’s green eyes glistened. “I’ve never seen a man kill himself like Greg did, sleepin’ two or three hours a night. He hated the work—absolutely loathed helpin’ the government in any way—but he worked himself to death to keep his baby sister alive.

  “After a week,” Mariah said, voice dropping, “he showed up at the hospital with a welt so thick his eye had swollen shut. They did somethin’ to his back, too, ‘cause anytime I came close, he just about jumped outta his skin.” A few silent tears slid down her cheeks. “To this day he won’t tell me what happened, but I’m guessin’ he mouthed off to his foreman, and they beat him somethin’ fierce. He hasn’t taken off his shirt in front of me since.”

  Horrified, Carrie remembered Greg at her well. What scars were bad enough he wouldn’t take off his shirt in front of the other guys? Or even his mom? A few weeks ago, the patrolman clubbed his shoulder with a nightstick, and he acted like it was nothing. Maybe it was nothing in comparison.

  “When Kendra saw Greg that day,” Mariah continued softly, “when she saw how beat down he was, what her sickness was doin’ to him, she just…gave up.” Mariah sniffed. “She and Greg were real close, and I think she couldn’t bear to do that to him.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Carrie whispered.

  Nodding, Mariah tried to push her tears back, but they seemed to flow faster. “Ever since, Greg’s blamed himself for being weak, for lettin’ Kendra see how broken he was. He blamed the rest of the world, too. First the doctors. He went off, yellin’ and hollerin’ that they hadn’t tried hard enough. Then he blamed the government for holding back Kendra’s medicine when his hours came up short. He even blamed his foreman for givin’ him the welts that put Kendra over the edge. But deep down, way down, I think he blamed himself most of all.”

  Carrie couldn’t move. She could hardly breathe as a memory slammed into her. That day after lunch when Greg went off about Oliver.

  “You’ll never forgive yourself if somethin’ happens to your siblings. For the rest of your life, every single day, you’ll hate yourself for not stopping it.”

  The thought of losing Amber or Zach, not only watching them die but feeling responsible for it, was unbearable.

  Mariah’s voice dropped to a whisper. “When they took Kendra’s body away, Greg went crazy on me, Carrie. He threatened to set fire to the hospital, break outta the municipality, and start a revolution. He was a danger to himself and others. I’m lucky he only got us kicked outta the hospital and not somethin’ worse. But he wasn’t finished.” She pulled out a stained handkerchief and wiped her cheeks. “Outside he went on a rampage. He knocked over garbage cans and kicked a patrol car. I was terrified, absolutely terrified, so I took the biggest risk of my life.” Mariah waited until Carrie looked up at her. “I told him I was dyin’.”

  Carrie stared at her, lost in a world so horrific there wasn’t room enough for both of them. She wanted to leave Mariah alone to her grief, yet she couldn’t. She was rooted in place. Mariah sounded like a woman unburdening her soul, making Carrie think that she hadn’t told anyone else. Not these details. Not the whole story.

  “One of Kendra’s doctors had seen me have an episode,” Mariah went on. “Told me I probably had a tumor. But Greg hadn’t known I was sick until that moment. I’d been too scared to tell him. But I had to stop him, Carrie. I had to find a way to snap him outta his fit before he got us both killed. Well, I stopped him alright.” Her voice cracked, and for a moment she was too overwhelmed to speak. “I stopped him so bad he sat right down on the curb and stared at nothin’ for a full hour.”

  Mariah swallowed. “The look on his face…The look in his eyes…” She pressed her handkerchief to her trembling lips. “I killed
him that day. I was the final straw that broke his back. The boy I raised, the man he’d become, was as dead and gone as Kendra.”

  Carrie vividly remembered the moment she realized her mom was dying. It had happened on a dark November day in May’s ‘sick’ room. Carrie had raced through every future event she’d have to endure without a mom’s guidance—dating, marriage, babies—knowing full well there was nothing she could do to stop it. She understood a little of the pain Greg felt on that curb because part of her had died that November, too.

  For a time, she and Mariah were lost in their own grief. Then Mariah’s red eyes went back to the window.

  “For whatever reason, life’s been chiseling away at my Greg, person after person, dream after dream, until he had nothin’ left. A woman will never understand a man’s need to conquer somethin’, whether it’s a job, house, car, or even a stupid rabbit. But I knew, I knew lookin’ at him on that curb that he was the one who’d been conquered. No twenty-four-year-old, cocky know-it-all should ever look that defeated.”

  Carrie reached out and took Mariah’s cold hand. Mariah clasped it tightly.

  “But was I compassionate or caring like a mother should be?” Mariah asked, voice rising. “No. I was cruel. Horribly cruel. After losin’ everybody that ever mattered to him, I knelt in front of him and told him he had to lose North Carolina, too. I told him I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my parents before I died. So I asked him to walk away from everything and everybody.” She paused, watery gaze lifting to Carrie. “Even Nicole.”

  Carrie suddenly realized how intrusive she was being. This was Greg’s story, his extremely private life. She could guarantee he’d go ballistic if he found out his mom was spilling it out for her. She started to stand, but Mariah’s grip tightened, keeping her captive.

  “The crazy thing is, he and Nicole weren’t even that serious. To be honest, I was shocked when he asked her to come with us. Nicole was, too. I don’t blame her for turnin’ him down—not a bit—but Greg was devastated. It was like he was graspin’ for anything or anybody to hold onto, but in the end, he was just losin’ another person. So…” Mariah shrugged. “He just shut down. Now he doesn’t care who or what he offends. You. Jeff. My folks. It’s like he’s built a wall around that shattered heart of his, and anytime somebody threatens to break through, he throws up another wall to keep ‘em out.” She blinked back a fresh round of tears. “I can’t tell you what it’s like as a mother to see your kid hurtin’ like that.”