“I have a scale for how the air feels on my skin,” she remembered spouting off to him the day they met. “Ten is blistering hot, one is freezing, and seven is perfect.”
“Since when is seven half of ten?” he had challenged.
She hadn’t bothered explaining, but in the months following he’d often scoffed, “What’s the weather today?”
Now he’d seen for himself. Every last embarrassing day from the past six years. Maybe he’d picked it up thinking he would find secrets scrawled about himself, his name with giant swirly hearts or something Amber-esque. That would have been less embarrassing.
She snatched up the notebook and cracked open the pages just to check. All still there. Weather charts. Graphs. Even smiley faces next to sunny days. He was never going to let her live this down.
Sighing, she flipped to the last page to see when it had rained last. Two new entries had been written in different handwriting. Male handwriting.
FRIDAY:
Morning: partly sunny
Afternoon: scattered cumulus clouds
“Cumulus?” Carrie said aloud. Did Greg even know what a cumulus cloud was? Intrigued, she kept reading his tiny script.
Evening: windy
Daytime humidity: Are you serious? How am I supposed to know a thing like that?
Peak temperature: 7 (Based on your previous entries, you’d probably give today a 9, but being an honest man, I couldn’t. It gets a heckuva lot hotter in Carolina. Sorry.)
She smiled in spite of herself.
Greg’s next entry looked more hurried.
SATURDAY:
Morning: Rainy
Daytime humidity: 100%, I guess
Afternoon: Hot and muggy
Evening: I can barely breathe, your room is so hot. But you won’t stop shivering even though I’ve dumped every last blanket I can find on you. You’re scaring me, Carrie girl. You gotta get better. Come on. Fight it.
Please get better.
Please.
She stroked the words etched into her history.
His entries stopped there, leaving the last two days unaccounted for. She could have backlogged them to keep up her perfect streak, guessing the weather while they’d been in the hospital. Instead, she closed it and hugged the small book for a long moment.
Greg.
Setting it aside, she headed downstairs, gently working her way down each step. With Amber awake and cooking, Carrie could get her medicine early today. Each hour on the medicine would bring increased strength, which was good because she needed to hit life at full speed.
Twelve hours to garden.
Twelve hours to figure out how to make David Jamansky tell her where Oliver really was.
But two steps into the family room, Carrie stopped. Amber wasn’t in front of the fireplace. In fact, no one was tending the crackling fire, but Greg was sprawled out on the floor in front of it, dead asleep. His deep breathing filled the room. A small basket of eggs sat next to her dark fry pan, glowing orange with firelight.
A smile spread through her all over again. Amber wasn’t the early morning cook. He was.
Greg looked so peaceful, mouth hanging open, muscled arm draped over his eyes. Unlike her, he hadn’t cleaned up yet. Dark stubble ran along his jaw, his brown hair went every which way, and his favorite light blue UNC shirt looked rumpled. But she loved it—loved him. He’d come to make her breakfast and conked out while waiting for the coals to heat up. He’d probably filled her water buckets, too.
She thought about kissing him on the cheek—or better yet, the lips—but not only did she lack that kind of boldness, he needed to sleep.
Creeping across the room, she held her palms out to test the fire. It felt hot enough, so she sat on the warm tile and grabbed the first egg, wondering how Greg liked his eggs cooked. It seemed like she should know that already. While she worked, she kept her back toward the fire to dry her hair faster.
A sudden thought made her cheeks flush as hot as the flames. She’d wandered out of the bathroom in a towel without realizing she had company. She didn’t think Greg had seen her, but apparently, he no longer felt the need to knock on her front door. The man really didn’t—
“Good morning,” a soft voice said.
Carrie whirled around, pulse spiking.
“Sorry,” Ashlee Lyon said. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Greg said I could stay here last night. He said you offered. Is that okay?”
Resetting her heart, Carrie smiled. She’d completely forgotten about Ashlee, nor had she heard her approach. “Of course. Did you sleep well?”
“Not really.” Ashlee tiptoed around Greg’s sprawled-out body to join Carrie by the fireplace. “No offense, but I’m not used to sleeping on the floor, and your house is so hot. I don’t know how you live without air conditioning. Your sister let me sleep in her room, which was nice, but my mind kept racing, worrying about David and Oliver and everything.” She stared into the dying fire. “What time is it anyway?”
“Maybe five-thirty or six. The sun rises early this time of year,” Carrie whispered, trying to keep her voice down so Greg could sleep. Clueless, Ashlee kept going full-voice.
“You don’t happen to have a phone, do you? I’m supposed to be to work by eight. Not that I’d know what to say if I called. I mean, what would I say? ‘Hey, David, are you done beating me up?’ And do I want him knowing where I am anyway?” Her shoulders slumped. “Never mind.”
“Sorry,” Carrie offered.
Ashlee looked down at Greg snoring softly. A tiny smile lit her beautiful features. “I’m so glad he’s not dead. I totally bawled my eyes out when the federal patrolmen told us. Of course, David just laughed. He said Greg wouldn’t survive basic training. I guess Greg gets the last laugh now, huh?”
Carrie nodded.
“He sure is a hottie, too,” Ashlee went on. “Even when he sleeps. Maybe especially when he sleeps, because his tongue is sharper than a knife. But I think he knows it. Do you think he knows he’s a hottie?”
Carrie froze, cracked egg in hand. “Um…maybe. I guess.”
The immature side of her wanted to say, Back off. He’s mine! But considering he’d only been “hers” for less than a week, she had no real claim to his affections.
Her eyes flickered back to Ashlee. Not only was the woman beautiful, but she looked healthy, with curves, unlike the starved twigs the rest of them were. Someone had given her an old t-shirt and Chicago Cubs sweatpants to wear that she’d cinched around her waist. She had flawless skin and bright red nails, in contrast to Carrie’s nails that were usually dirt-crusted and cracked from working in the garden.
Carrie suddenly remembered how Greg had sweet-talked his way into citizenship. That had been Ashlee Lyon, the township clerk who had fallen for his charms enough to ignore his illegal past.
Ashlee seemed to notice Carrie’s reaction and waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry. Greg never gave me the time of day. But he sure is some nice eye candy, isn’t he?” She sighed. “Definitely glad he’s not dead.”
Awkwardness filled the room. Carrie was even more grateful Greg was sleeping so soundly. His ego didn’t need any boosting.
She grabbed the last brown egg—the eighth, which was two more than their standard allotment for her and her siblings. Greg had brought his own. With her returning health, Carrie was starving, but Ashlee probably was, too. She doubted Greg had eaten much in the last few days as well. Eight eggs for five people. A small breakfast, but it would have to do.
Ashlee stared at the dwindling fire, gaze far away. “David knows I’m gone by now. I bet he’s torn my house apart looking for me. What will he do when I’m not at my parents’ place either? Burn down my house?”
Carrie turned. “Would he?” Then again, Jamansky had ordered Oliver to burn down Scott Porter’s house in the Ferris clan.
Ashlee shrugged. “Hopefully not. The government owns my house, and David stays there half the time anyway. But I bet he’ll go on a ramp
age and have the whole precinct out looking for me.”
“Well, you’re safe here. Stay with us as long as you’d like. We’re happy to have you.”
Ashlee stared at her, looking somewhat surprised, eyes still puffy and red from the day before. “Thanks. Is there somewhere I can clean up?”
“Sure. Use the upstairs bathroom. There’s still some water in the bucket next to the sink. Soap, too.”
“A bucket?”
“Yes. Sorry. There should be an extra towel in the cupboard. Oh, and even though we don’t have running water, you can still use the toilet. There’s another water bucket next to it for refilling the tank. Just lift the tank lid to fill it after you flush. There’s also a small basket of leaves on the floor for…well…”
Ashlee grimaced. “Toilet paper? Is it too much to hope that you have makeup?”
“No makeup, but you can use my hairbrush,” Carrie offered lamely. “And we have extra toothbrushes in CJ’s garage. I’ll grab one for you when I’m done.”
Ashlee’s revulsion was hard to miss. Their life. Their lack of supplies. The poor woman wore Richard O’Brien’s old sweats, and Carrie couldn’t offer anything better.
She tucked some damp hair behind her ear. “Breakfast won’t be ready for another few minutes, so take your…”
She trailed off, hearing a muffled sound behind her. It almost sounded like footsteps coming up from the basement.
Startled, her heart kick-started. “Is someone here?”
Sometimes Zach slept downstairs when the upstairs grew unbearably hot. Other than that, she and her siblings rarely went into her basement since it was nothing but empty space and old memories. But it wasn’t Zach who emerged from the basement. It was Niels Zeigler.
“Good morning, ladies,” Braden’s dad said as if it was completely normal for him to emerge from Carrie’s basement at six in the morning.
“Hi?” Carrie said in a question.
Niels rubbed his thick, brown beard, still looking half asleep. “You two are up early. I know I’m not supposed to come upstairs, but Kristina asked me to check on Braden. Is it alright if I peek in on him? I promise not to touch anything.”
“Yeah, sure,” Carrie said. “Um…go ahead.”
As Niels headed up her second flight of stairs, she turned to Ashlee.
“What’s going on?” she whispered. “Do you know why he’s here?”
“Wow. You must be a deep sleeper,” Ashlee said. “Everyone freaked out after David’s visit and decided to sleep in your two legal houses: sick people upstairs, healthy ones downstairs. I can’t tell you how many people slept here, though. I feel lost enough.”
You and me both, Carrie thought.
She eyed her small pan. Eight eggs to feed how many?
Why all the extra precautions when David Jamansky wasn’t returning until evening? It had to be Greg’s doing. Not that she minded people staying at her house. She doubted Greg had slept downstairs with the healthy clansmen either since he was convinced he was immune from this G-979 virus—and he had acquired the habit of parking himself next to her mattress. She was too embarrassed to ask where he’d slept, but she kicked herself again for sleeping so deeply. And wandering the upstairs in a towel.
A house full of people.
How had she slept through it?
It wasn’t until she scraped the scrambled eggs from the bottom of her fry pan that she figured it out. If she’d slept with her good ear pressed to the pillow—which she usually did since she slept on her stomach—she wouldn’t have heard much of anything.
A shudder ran through her. She needed to hear. Night raids could happen anytime. Patrol dogs, shouts of warning. She had to hear to keep her siblings safe. Life was too dangerous to sleep through people wandering her house.
Rubbing her ear, she decided she’d have to learn to sleep on her back.
And never roll over again.
“Are you okay?” Ashlee said, peering at her.
A wave of depression washed through Carrie. “Yes. Sorry. Just not quite back to normal yet.”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but I gave your sister a shot of medicine. She’s not starting symptoms, but she’s been exposed to a lot of people. She’s not very careful either.”
“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
Niels Ziegler came back down to the main floor. “Braden looks the same. I guess it’s too soon for the medicine to kick in.” Yawning, he motioned to Greg. “How late was he out doing guard duty?”
Guard duty?
Had Carrie missed everything?
“I didn’t hear him come in last night,” Ashlee said. “Late, I guess.”
Niels nodded. “Well, I’m going to sleep a bit longer. It’s great that you have carpet downstairs, Carrie. A nice improvement from CJ’s basement.”
He headed back down, door shutting behind him.
Carrie studied Greg’s peaceful, sleeping face that hadn’t budged with all the noise. Had he made everyone pack up their houses, too? Maybe she should have explained Jamansky’s visit better. Greg had been furious after Jamansky left, but at the time, she’d hardly been able to keep her eyes open.
“It’s despicable,” Ashlee said.
Carrie turned. “What is?”
“This. All of this,” Ashlee said, staring at the closed basement door. “Forcing respectable people to live like this. The disease would have killed you all. It’s despicable. I can’t believe I’ve been part of it. Oliver was right to help your clan. I didn’t understand before, but now…” Voice catching, her eyes started to water. “He was right, and I…I was very wrong.”
“A lot of us have been forced into lives we didn’t choose,” Carrie said quickly. “We’re just trying to do our best. If it wasn’t for your help getting me legal, I might not be here right now.” Grave number nine. “I owe you so much, so don’t beat yourself up. We’re all doing the best we can with what life has given us.”
“You know,” Ashlee sniffed, “you’re making it really hard to hate you.”
“Hate me?” Carrie said in surprise.
The words felt like a slap.
“After what you did to Oliver, breaking his heart and all, I wanted to hate you. But I can’t, and I don’t, and I’m sorry I wanted to in the first place. I can see why Oliver loves you.” More tears slipped down her flawless skin. “You’re very nice.”
Stunned, Carrie didn’t know what to say. Especially as Ashlee’s crying increased to the point she covered her face. Her shoulders convulsed. Carrie rubbed her back, words ringing in her ears.
After what you did to Oliver…
“Gah, I’m such a mess!” Ashlee said after a minute. “I swear I’m never going to cry again!” With a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and squared her shoulders. “I’d love to eat now. Thank you.”
Standing, Carrie went to grab a plate from the kitchen. Her body—and heart—felt heavy as she wandered back into the family room to scoop up some eggs.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Ashlee said, taking the plate from her.
“I will in a bit.” Once Carrie saw how many people she had to feed. She grabbed the fire poker to break up the largest coals. With breakfast done, she needed to stifle any heat she could.
Ashlee took a few bites before speaking. “How do you get men to like you?”
Carrie cringed again. She wasn’t sure how much more of this bluntness she could handle. She barely even knew this woman.
“Oliver. Greg. Now David,” Ashlee said. “Not that you aren’t cute, but what’s your secret?”
“I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but Oliver and I have been friends for years. And Greg is…well, Greg. And David loves you, not me.”
“No, David used to love me,” she said, stabbing another bite of egg. “Not anymore—which bugs me more than it should. I mean, I totally hate his guts, but the fact that he hates me back gets under my skin. I want him to adore me so I can crush him like he crushed me. But he’s already moved on to you. Shallo
w, right? Stupid that I need attention like that, even from a jerk like him.”
Ashlee suddenly looked at Carrie, eyes blazing with hatred. “You just stay away from him, okay? He’s trouble.”
As if anyone had to tell her. Already she dreaded his return. Even the slight possibility of him being interested in her sent a cold chill through her. What would she say a second time? How would she get him to divulge Oliver’s whereabouts, or keep Greg from—
A loud click suddenly echoed through her house. First one click, and then a series of clicks, one right after another.
Carrie’s eyes darted around in time to see her family room light up. Not early morning light streaming in from the windows, but direct, overhead, artificial light. In an instant, her family room went from semi-darkness to noonday brightness.
Gasping, she fell back. Her knee hit the fry pan, knocking it onto the hearth with a loud clank. Scrambled eggs spilled everywhere.
Greg jolted upright. “What is it? What’s wrong? What happened?”
Carrie looked up, hardly believing it. Her lights were on. And more than just the lights. Soft air blew down as her ceiling fan started rotating. Little particles rained down on them, sending six years of accumulated dust flying off the rails. All through the house, soft buzzes and hums started up as her electricity sparked back to life.
“What the heck?” Greg said, looking up.
Shouts of excitement echoed from the basement. Even from the upstairs, Carrie heard Amber yell, “What? No way! This is so cool!”
Footsteps came tearing up the basement steps. Three people burst into the family room at the same time Amber ran down from her bedroom.
“What is going on?” Niels Ziegler asked.
“I…I don’t know,” Carrie said.
Whatever light switches had accidentally been flipped on in the last six years had flickered back to life. No warning. No reason whatsoever.
Carrie smiled. “But I think my power just came on.”
Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set Page 93
