Technically Carrie wasn’t a mother, but she felt like it with Zach and Amber. Watching them suffer after her parents’ deaths had been agonizing. But she’d never thought of Greg like that. Hurting. Scared. Broken. It was so…human. So full of emotion.
A sudden disturbing thought cut through the rest.
Did Greg see Kendra when he saw Carrie?
They were only a year apart in age. Maybe seeing Carrie alive, happy, and basking in his grandparents’ love, made him see the life his sister could have had—should have had. Did he, on some level, resent Carrie for it? That very first time he’d seen her in the kitchen, standing next to his mom and grandma, he’d stiffened with anger. Carrie hadn’t even said a word and he instantly hated her. But how must that have looked to him, having her there in Kendra’s spot?
Without meaning to, she was sitting next to Mariah on the edge of the couch, practically begging for more details of his life.
“I’ve asked myself a million times if leavin’ North Carolina was the right thing for Greg. I hoped if he got a fresh start at life, he’d find himself again.” Mariah smiled lightly. “Don’t spoil it, but my boy still thinks we came here for me.”
“He does?” Carrie said. “I mean, you didn’t?”
Mariah wiped her tears. “I wanted to see my parents again, sure, but I’d never considered leavin’ North Carolina until I saw him on that curb. It was the only way to get him back to a family who’d love him unconditionally like I do and become his support once I was gone.” Her shoulders lifted. “So I lied, convinced him I wanted to come home, and here we are.”
“Wow. I had no idea.”
Mariah patted her hand. “Well, it’s our little secret now. And I’ll tell you one more. I think comin’ here has been the best thing for him. He’s found somethin’ to conquer again. There have even been a few times I coulda sworn he was downright happy.” Her face brightened. “I never dreamt the good Lord planned so much for us, but it’s nothin’ short of a miracle that the one person Greg bonded with is the same one I did. Like Richard was meant to be part of our lives.”
Carrie thought about pie with Richard. It was the first she’d ever seen the spark of something different in Greg, a spark of the old Greg, perhaps. And now Mariah and Richard were getting married, making Richard a permanent part of Greg’s life.
Her heart swelled. Mariah had risked her life to travel across the country to save her son. Even now, when Carrie came to lift her spirits, Mariah was lifting hers.
And she was dying.
Like everyone else.
Carrie’s throat burned. Why Mariah? Why now? Another friend lost. Another mother gone. Her breaths came faster, and she felt a hot flood of tears building behind her eye lids.
It wasn’t fair.
Not Mariah.
Like all good mothers, Mariah sensed her need and pulled her in for a long hug.
“It’s alright, darlin’,” she said, stroking her hair. “It’s gonna be just fine. You’ll see.”
That only made it worse. Mariah’s arms felt too familiar, like a maternal whisper from the past.
Carrie squeezed her eyes shut and slowed her breathing. This wasn’t about her. This was about Mariah. About Greg. Still, it took another moment to pull herself together.
“Richard will be wonderful for both of you,” Carrie managed softly.
Mariah smiled. “He already is. Just the kinda man to help Greg cope after I’m gone.”
Carrie flinched. Mariah was so casual about her impending death, it was unbearable.
Mariah sat up with a huff. “Look at me, carryin’ on like I am. I’m sure this was way more than you ever wanted to know about my Greg, but…” Suddenly she stopped and took both of Carrie’s hands in hers. “Listen, Carrie. One of these days, my boy’s gonna wake up and realize he’s in love with you.”
Carrie jerked back. “What?”
Mariah smiled again. “It’s just a hunch, or maybe a wish, but sometimes moms know these things before their kids. My only hope is that he doesn’t ruin things with you before he figures out how to break down some of those walls of his.”
“No. It’s not…it’s not like that with us.” Carrie’s face went hot. “Me and him—I mean, Greg and I, we aren’t…he doesn’t…” She couldn’t form a coherent sentence.
Mariah patted her hand again. “Let’s just say his grandma’s not the only one who thinks you’re perfect for him.”
Carrie was mortified. Yet in typical Trenton fashion, Mariah kept saying exactly what was on her mind with no regard for the other person whatsoever.
“Not that you don’t drive him crazy, ‘cause you do. Real crazy. But it’s in a good way, you know? He talks about you an awful lot.” She winked at Carrie. “Enough to give me hope.”
“Mariah, no. You don’t understand. That’s not how things are between us. At all. Like not even a little bit.”
“Then tell me somethin’. Why’s he pushin’ you so hard to be with Oliver?”
“So he won’t be…” Carrie looked up. She was about to say arrested, but then she remembered: “I’m not illegal, Carrie. Neither’s my mom.”
Or his grandparents.
Mariah grinned. “See? It’s just another wall. So I’m just hopin’ he’ll shape up and become the kinda man who’ll be perfect for you, too.”
This was what Carrie got for not leaving when she should have.
She stood.
“Ah, darlin’, I’ve gone and embarrassed you. I’m sorry. I just wanted you to understand why Greg is the way he is. Maybe then you’ll forgive him for his awful behavior—or at least understand it some.”
“I do,” Carrie said softly.
“Good. Who knows. Maybe someday you’ll figure out why he still shaves.”
That startled Carrie enough to distract her. “You don’t know why?”
“Oh, I have a hunch, but I don’t think it’s a conscious thing he does. But he’s never missed a day shaving in the last five years. Not a Saturday, not a nothin’—which is really somethin’ considering the livin’ conditions we had comin’ north. It’s gotta mean something, but I’ll leave that question to you.” She winked again.
Just like that, they were back to a place that didn’t, wouldn’t, and couldn’t exist. A place where Greg loved her—or even just tolerated her.
“It’s a piece of paper, Carrie. Nothing more! If there was somebody else, I’d do it. But you’re the only single female I know.”
Mariah stood. “Alrighty. Enough yapping. What’d you say we go outside and scout out a place for the wedding? I was thinkin’ somewhere by the—”
Mariah swayed suddenly, eyes going wild. Her hands flew to her stomach and her face clenched.
“Mariah?” Carrie jumped up and grabbed her arm. “Are you okay?”
With a low moan, Mariah closed her eyes, bent in half, and rocked back and forth. Her skin went from pale to white, and she started wheezing. Hard. Loud.
Carrie panicked. “Mariah? What can I do? Please let me help. Do you need to sit down or lie down or…Mariah?”
When there was still no answer, Carrie spun to the window. “Greg!” she shouted, even knowing he’d never hear. But she needed help. She needed something! What if Mariah started coughing up blood again? Or worse, fainted?
Mariah’s breathing was labored. She continued to rock, hands clutching her stomach. Carrie held her around the waist to keep her upright.
“Mariah?” she kept whispering.
“Just need…” Mariah wheezed. “…minute…”
Slowly, almost painfully, each breath came slower and slower, until with a raspy sigh, Mariah’s eyes opened. There was no color in her cheeks, no life left in her green eyes, as if the episode not only took her strength, but a part of who she was as well.
“Maybe…” Mariah said tiredly, “we outta discuss the wedding from right here.”
thirty-eight
EVERY TIME OLIVER PULLED INTO Logan Pond, his heart leaped in his chest. He
had far more important things to worry about than some clan disappearing without him knowing, but all he could think about was Carrie and the builder of Carrie’s well.
As he pulled into the South Entrance, the very man who caused his stomach to knot ran out to meet him. Oliver clenched the steering wheel, wondering how much time the strapping, young Greg spent in Carrie’s backyard working on her well, working on her heart…
Oliver slammed on the brakes. Without meaning to, he’d passed Greg by ten yards. Greg ran to catch up to him. The guy was young enough that Oliver didn’t feel too badly.
“Hey,” Greg said at his window. “You got a sec?”
Oliver had a meeting with his new, arrogant boss in twenty minutes, and he was seventeen minutes away which only gave him three minutes to talk to Carrie. “No.”
Greg opened his door. “It’s important. Follow me. I need to show you somethin’ in the woods.”
Oliver scanned the woods to the left with a new concern. It happened all the time. A patrolman went out for a simple sweep and came back in pieces. But Greg was part of Carrie’s clan now. He should be safe. Still, Oliver kept a hand on his gun as he followed Greg.
No sooner had they stepped into the woods than Greg started to explain: building a natural barricade, blocking off the road, and creating tornado-type damage to keep cars from entering the South Entrance.
“What do you think?” Greg asked when he finished.
I think you’re nuts! Not only to plan this, but to have the gall to ask how to block off Oliver’s only access to the neighborhood. He was smart enough to realize why Greg was doing it. He wanted Oliver out of Carrie’s life—or was it the other way around? Was Carrie sick of Oliver bugging her?
“Of course we’ll leave the North Entrance open,” Greg amended. “I hope you don’t mind using that one from now on.”
“Oh.” Oliver scratched his receding hairline. As fast as he’d spiraled down the anxiety train, he climbed his way back up. Normally he did this several times a day, which explained why he popped a dozen antacids as part of his daily routine.
He had issues.
He glanced at his watch. Two minutes late. Jamansky was going to kill him. But if Greg wasn’t blocking off both entrances…
“Why are you doing this exactly?” Oliver asked.
“Fall back. If there’s ever a time you can’t help us.”
“That time might not be far off,” Oliver muttered.
Greg looked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oliver thought about his dilemma. Jamansky wasn’t bluffing, but Oliver refused to re-steal the clan’s stuff. Yet, if he lost his job, no amount of food or clothing would make up for the clan’s—or Carrie’s—impending arrest.
“What’s goin’ on?” Greg said.
Oliver really didn’t want to discuss this with Greg, but then again, Greg had been out in the world. He knew the realities of life outside of the clan.
“I might have a slight problem,” Oliver said. “Or actually, a really, really, really big problem.”
Greg nodded carefully. “This about Carrie?”
“No!” Oliver snapped.
“Sorry. What’s up?”
How dare the young punk bring up Carrie with Oliver, as if he had a right to talk about her? Greg folded his arms, unapologetic for throwing Oliver’s thoughts off kilter. He was waiting for an answer and, unfortunately, Oliver was out of ideas.
“I guess in a roundabout way it’s about Carrie,” Oliver said. “It’s about the whole clan actually. I’m, uh…” He scratched his forehead again. “I’m in a lot of trouble.”
* * * * *
Greg crept silently across the wet grass, stalking his prey. With the heavy morning fog, he didn’t have a shadow, and with the slight breeze, all sound was carried away.
It was too easy.
When he was two feet behind Carrie, he called as loudly as if he’d been across the street, “What’s the weather?”
Carrie and her handful of weeds went flying. She whipped around and laid a hand over her heart. “Greg!”
“Is it a three?” he asked innocently. “No, too warm. Your arms have goose bumps and your lips are purple. A two? How exactly does this scale of yours work? I haven’t quite figured it out.”
“Why do you do that?” she said. “I hate it when you sneak up on me.”
He grinned. “Then quit workin’ with your back to the road.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
She turned back to her weed patch, avoiding him like she had since their walk to Ferris. She had come late to the adult meeting last night and left early, but the curiosity was eating him alive. Oliver had stayed at her house a whole five minutes yesterday. That was more than enough time to make a move.
Greg bent down and examined her bucket filled with flowers. All he saw in her old flower beds were weeds, weeds, and more weeds, but somehow Carrie had found flowers. Pretty ones, too.
“For the wedding today,” she explained.
“And those?” he asked, motioning to the pile of weeds on the other side of her. “I thought you weren’t supposed to weed. You know, go for the whole deserted-house look?”
“I wasn’t weeding. I was admiring.” Her dirty hands spread apart some weeds to reveal three green vines.
He should have known. If it wasn’t the weather with Carrie, it was plants. The other day, he’d finally figured out why. When the world fell apart, people scrambled for something to hold onto, something to anchor them to the past. Carrie chose plants and weather—probably unconsciously—because neither had been affected by the Collapse. It made sense now, which meant it no longer annoyed him.
Instead of giving her a lesson in Psych 101, he said, “Terrell got back late last night, but before you get your hopes up”—which was too late since she already leapt to her feet—“he just got the basics. He’ll take another load to trade in a week or two and get the rest. With the wedding today, we’ll divide up the supplies tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thanks, Greg.”
She knelt by her sickly vines again, ready to avoid him again.
He wasn’t letting her get off that easy.
“I’m headin’ out to catch some fish that don’t exist in that pond of yours,” he said. “My mom wants some for the wedding.”
“Oh. About that.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Thanks for all the fish. It’s been a welcome change in our diet. Zach’s loving it.”
Zach, my foot! She was loving it. He’d bet his lucky shirt on it.
“Care to…join me?” he asked.
Her brows shot up, but before she could slam him with another repulsed rejection—Marry you? Are you nuts?—his hands rose in defense.
“No grand ideas today. No marriage proposals. I just thought I’d teach you how to catch your own fish from now on.”
It wasn’t true. He was there for one reason only. He hadn’t heard anything since Oliver left, not even from gossip-girl Amber. Then again, he was dealing with Oliver and Carrie. Who knew how it had gone?
“I’d ask Zach to come,” he said, “but I’m guessin’ he’s still asleep.”
She looked up at the gray morning sky, not quite fully illuminated. A dense fog hovered low to the ground. Greg guessed it was barely 6 a.m. Probably why she expected to be alone with her weeds. It looked like they were the only two people awake in the world.
She stood and brushed the dirt from her hands. “Alright. What do I do?”
Only four homes backed Logan Pond. The Ashworth’s house happened to be one of them. Greg figured Carrie’s father had been a successful financial analyst because their home was one of the largest in the neighborhood.
He and Carrie headed down the slope of her backyard. The fog floated above the water’s surface, like smoke rising out of its depths.
Greg crept along the edge, searching for a small eddy where fish liked to hide in the morning. Carrie followed, rubbing her bare arms against the morning chill. W
ith the wind, Greg guessed it was around 40 degrees—maybe less—yet she wore short sleeves and no coat. His mom would probably insist on an outdoor wedding today. She didn’t mind the cold either.
“What’d you think of the meeting last night?” he asked, still searching.
“Seemed a little mild after last week’s,” she said. “No fist fights or anything.”
“Only ‘cause Jeff didn’t show up.”
Before Carrie could embark on a conversation about Jeff and ruin Greg’s mood, he pointed off to the left. “See those ripples there? The small ones by the reeds? Those are fish. A bunch of them. Doesn’t anybody ever pay attention to this pond?”
Her eyes found the ripples, but her thoughts looked far from them. “I was surprised to hear you say you’re moving out of May’s house.”
“Might as well now that my mom’s movin’ in with Richard.”
Bending down, he found a small, flat rock and sent it flying across the foggy surface. It skipped four or five times before sinking away. “I’m lookin’ forward to bein’ on my own again. It’s been far too long.”
“Which house are you moving into?”
He found another rock, but instead of skipping it, he offered it to her. “Wanna try?”
“Won’t I scare off the fish?”
“Nah, they won’t care,” he lied.
She took the rock, bent slightly, and sent it sailing across the water. It skidded effortlessly across the glass a dozen times before sinking away. His brows shot up. Not only had Carrie skipped it twice as many times as he had, but she’d thrown it twice as far. And the way she’d thrown it, too.
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 29
