"Do you need anything in your room? More towels?"
"No. Thank you," he answers calm and confident. "Everything is fine. Thank you again for keeping me here—and for all you did for Tom when he came here. He talked about you all day."
Matt looks at me again, and I can only imagine all the info Thomas has given him about me. An unfair imbalance of knowledge lies between us. I know nothing about him.
I dig through my memory of those days with Thomas here at the Inn and try to remember if I did or said anything horribly embarrassing. I think we spent an entire afternoon making fart sounds as conversation. What are the chances that Thomas left that out of his Ivy account?
Ugh.
Aunty ushers Matt upstairs for the night, leaving me standing alone and self-conscious by the front door.
Chapter Nineteen
My Butt Hangs Out
I am snuggled under my covers, trying but failing at falling asleep. Could he be interested in me? Is it any compliment if he is? He's a zombie. He's probably interested in anything that wears a skirt. Even if I was super ugly, I'd still be more attractive than a zombie girl—by virtue of having uninfected, unspotted skin.
Stop thinking about him Ivy. Stop!
I toss and turn in frustration, looking for a comfortable position. I should be exhausted. I've been up since 5:00 a.m., and I've had a long, emotionally exhausting day. I wish I hadn't drunk all the milk. Warm milk would be nice right now. Maybe some tea.
I climb out from under my faded rose colored comforter and feel goose bumps breakout on my arms and legs. The furnace gets turned down at night, and the house gets very cold. I thought we were past the worst of winter; but, the way the temperature continues to drop, I wouldn't be surprised if we see snow tomorrow. Slipping my pink holey bathrobe on, I tiptoe to the kitchen. I'll just put on the tea kettle and make myself some of Ellen's homemade chamomile tea. That'll help me sleep.
There's a soft light seeping under the kitchen door. Aunty must've forgotten to turn the stove light off. She really is getting old. Pushing the door open, I'm once again shocked to find Matt sitting at our kitchen table. Last night my shock was revulsion. Hatred. Tonight, it's excitement, nervousness, confusion; and, mostly, extreme awareness of how ugly I am in this ratty bathrobe.
"Why are you down here?" I blurt from the doorway, my flustered self sounding—flustered.
"Hello to you, too."
I cringe. I did it again. At least he doesn't seem to get offended every time I speak—because let's be honest, he should.
I take a breath, purse my lips and try again, "Hi."
Pulling my ugly bathrobe tighter around me, I bravely step in to the kitchen. He's reading. That's interesting. I didn't expect him to be a reader.
"You read?" I ask with too much surprise.
"Yes, Ivy. Me read," he says in a tired, cave man voice.
An unauthorized giggle bursts out, and I follow it up with a sheepish smile.
He smiles that half smile back at me. "I know you don't talk to anyone outside of your angelic town, but I'm guessing you don't have a lot of conversations with guys in God Town either. You don't seem very good at it."
He's insulting me. I feel deflated, and I ready a spiteful comeback.
"Don't get me wrong, it's actually kind of cute," he says before I can throw out something rude about him having only whores for friends.
He called me cute.
That repairs most of my hurt feelings.
I return his half-smile; and, cautiously, sit down across from him. "What are you reading?" I ask.
"I borrowed it from the bookshelf in my room. Little Women," he says holding up the large book with a beautiful scene on its cover. "Every other book on the shelf was religious. I'd rather get in touch with my feminine side than read about imaginary feelings of loyalty and self-righteousness. You really need some Tom Clancy or Dean Koontz."
"Who?"
"Never mind," he flashes that disarming, somewhat condescending smile.
Is it possible that this zombie is more well-read and more educated, than me? I'm sure his education and mine would have very little in common. I ignore his jab about the foolishness of my faith and change the subject.
"Do you want some tea? That's why I came out here. For tea."
"Sure. Thanks."
Standing up to fill the kettle, I remember that the biggest hole in my bathrobe is right over my butt. I turn quickly back around and find him looking down at his book and hiding a chuckle behind his gloved hand. I have pajama pants on underneath the robe. It's not like I'm indecent. Still though; so embarrassing.
I finish making the tea while turning myself at odd angles to avoid him seeing my holey butt. At the first chirp of the kettle, I pour our cups; hoping that Aunty didn’t hear the kettle’s whistle. I fill the small metal tea ball with fresh dried chamomile and tighten the little lid. Using the delicate chain that hangs from the strainer, I dunk the tea in his mug first and then in mine. My tea will be weak, but I don't want to waste any more of the tea. It's almost gone. Unlike my attitudes last night about the venison and the good china, I find that I don't mind giving him the better cup of tea tonight.
It's Christian maturity and nothing more, I tell myself.
"I think my brother is in love with you," Matt says with the crooked grin.
"Yikes," I say, sitting down across from him with my tea cup warming my hands.
"He talked about you all day long. I feel like I know you really well."
"I hope he didn't tell you everything."
"I assume you're referring to your hidden talent of making 'super cool fart noises'. His words, not mine."
I drop my head into my hands in horror and scrunch my eyes closed; I was so hoping Thomas hadn't told him about that. There is no way to control this blush. Matt could see my face glow red in the dark.
"That was really great of you," he continues softly, and I can tell he's trying to be serious. "I think you gave him more than you realize. He's happier than I've seen him in years."
"Umhphm," I mumble into my hands.
"Ivy." Matt's gloved hand is on my arm.
I jump in surprise and sit back, pulling my arms away and off of the table.
Matt just shakes his head at me. Apparently I'm hopeless and predictable. I need to get out of here before I make myself look any worse. If that's even possible. Tea in hand, I stand up and start backing towards the door—still trying to keep the big hole in the back of my bathrobe out of view.
"Well, goodnight," I say pleasantly, as though this has been a normal, completely un-embarrassing visit. "Enjoy your book. It's a good one," I say due to a complete lack of anything else to end my bungling banter.
"Goodnight," he says with his crooked smile.
I fumble with the doorknob behind my back and clumsily slip from the room.
Chapter Twenty
Eat My Heart Out
Today is so opposite from yesterday that it's hard to believe they fell next to each other on the calendar. I was thrilled when Matt beat Aunty to the kitchen again this morning and ready this time with a smooth "Good morning, I trust you slept well?"
Minimal blushing.
When Aunty arrived in her bathrobe a few minutes later she found us talking pleasantly at the table. No chairs overturned or anything. Aunty made eggs and toast and I enjoyed every bite while visiting almost easily with Matt at the table. After breakfast, he left for Thomas' house with Aunty as his escort.
*****
Left alone to do my chores, I am alternating between humming and singing as I vacuum the threadbare oriental rugs of our sitting room—filling the echoey parlor with melody and the clacking roar of the sweeper. The high ceiling makes my voice sound bigger and more operatic. I haven't belted out in song like this in ages. I can't quit grinning about this strange, joyful optimism that has taken hold of me.
Rubbing lemon-scented oil into the carved wooden mantle above the fireplace, I smile at
the curly haired, pink cheeked girl who smiles back at me from the ornate mantle mirror. Monday's horror is a fading memory—the only reminder is the scratch on my neck that seems a little infected today.
I keep thinking that I'm past the anxiety of the attack, but the cold fear continues to return when I see the souvenir welt in the mirror. The warm, puffy red cut stands out on my neck and brings back the terrorizing attack in all its horror. I'd avoid looking in the mirror altogether but—well I find myself wanting to make sure I look nice. I keep wanting to smile at myself in the mirror and then stare to see if I think the person looking back is worthy of my attention—or anyone's attention. Pulling myself from the mirror's hold, I give a focused burst of effort to the tasks at hand.
Aunty and I have been invited to Thomas's for lunch again today. I finish my chores in record time and have almost an hour to decide what to wear and how to fix my hair. Keeping the weather in mind, I put on a plush new sweater that is dark purple. The soft fuzzy weave falls almost to my knees. It would look best with tight leggings, but my old tennis shoes would ruin that look; so, jeans it is. I braid my long curls into pig tails and put a little sparkly eye shadow close to my lashes. I almost never wear makeup and I'm afraid that if I add anymore Aunty will see right through me.
*****
On the walk to Jose and Ellen's, I have to slow my giddy skipping steps to stay in pace with Aunty. She is walking slower than normal, and I wonder if it's just to frustrate me. Not even she can get me down today. I feel sure that God has brought Matt here for a reason—to save him. I know Matt will feel it too, and he'll decide to follow God and stay here with us. I just know it. I know it like I know that the cold sky is gray and the evergreen trees are just a shade darker than Matt's incredible eyes.
*****
Lunch was delicious.
I feel full, warm, and happy. Matt has winked at me several times in the last half an hour. I'm still glowing from Ellen's compliments when we arrived. Something about how "purple is my color and how gorgeous I look in my new sweater." Not that I remember it word for word and am replaying it in my head—or how when she said it I blushed and looked away, only to catch Matt staring intensely at me with that handsome half smile. I'll be honest, I don't know if I've heard a single word of anyone's conversation; I'm so lost in my own happy glow. My life is finally getting good.
Cue disaster.
The moment that I've been sure wouldn't happen, does. I am standing up to help Ellen clean up the table, when Matt clears his throat.
“I want to thank each of you for everything you’ve done for Tom and I,” he says.
My hands fall to my sides; I can tell goodbye is coming.
I imagine everyone has been dreading it, skirting around it with pleasant conversation. Hoping, like me that it just wouldn't happen. Leaning over, Matt whispers something to Thomas and the poor kid's face falls. We could tell it was coming and we can guess what was said. Thomas looks lost and confused. I guess he didn't know it was coming. He shakes his head "no" and looks to Ellen.
Matt says quietly, "We'll be leaving after lunch." Then he looks into Thomas' eyes again and says too cheerfully, "Tom, pack your stuff. Just what you came with."
Does he think that his upbeat tone will make everything better and Thomas will just run off at the request of his hero big brother? I'm sure that worked when Thomas was little, but it's not working now.
"Now wait a minute," Jose says sternly, as though he's a forty year old man when in reality he's just a few years older than Matt, "we need to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about. He is my brother, he comes with me. I appreciate how kind you've been to him. He hasn't had parents in a long time, and you've been awful good to him. Thank you. But blood is important, and he needs me. We are going back to Atlanta. End of discussion." He shrugs his shoulders as though that pronouncement covers all that needs to be said.
Matt looks at Thomas again and says more seriously, "Tom, I told you to go pack up bud."
Thomas looks to Ellen and she nods at him and smiles sadly, "Go ahead to your room, honey, and we'll be in to get you when we're all finished talking."
"Okay," is all Thomas says, and he looks like his little heart is breaking as he obediently leaves the room.
Aunty, always to be counted on when it comes to lecturing, speaks first. "Matthew, Thomas won't be safe in Atlanta. We shared with you what happened to Ivy and I out there. They are hunting people who have been cured. Have you thought about what life will be like with Thomas living amongst the rest of the sick ones? I am sure you would do your best to protect him, but you can't be with him every moment. You have to sleep, you have to get food. I don't know if you work somewhere or how you manage, but at some point they will take him."
"I can keep him hidden,” Matt says confidently. “He'll be safe with me. I'll keep a mask on him and no one will know he's different," Matt says without a hint of doubt, humoring her with his well thought out answer.
"What kind of life is that for him?" Aunty asks with the power of "The Force" behind her question. "Pretending to be sick, hiding from people? And if one person finds out, he could be gone before you even realize. Gone somewhere you can't follow and find him. We have no intention of keeping him from you. You are welcome here just as he is. We want nothing from him; we only want good things for him. We are hoping you'll decide to stay here with him."
I'm staring at Matt, weighing every response, looking for any clue that he'll consider staying. He meets my eyes and I see nothing behind his. They are cold and resolute. He has turned back into the guy we met two days ago. Emotionless. One of them.
Thomas bursts into the room from where he has been disobediently hiding in the hallway, listening.
"Please Matt," he begs, "I love it here. I don't want to go. They said you can stay too and that's perfect! I'm learning to play sports, and I get to go to school and Ellen's the best mom—" He trails off sheepishly as he looks around at all of us. "I love it here," he says to Matt while he's looking back and forth from me to the floor, his cheeks a light shade of pink.
I am touched to realize that I'm one of the things he likes about being here. I hope it matters. I hope Matt will reconsider. Maybe I could be a reason for Matt to stay too.
"Please Matt? Please? I don't want to go back to Atlanta. Maybe you could bring Jesse here?"
Who is Jesse?
Please let Jesse be the family goldfish.
I can tell Matt is frustrated, his emotionless facade cracking slightly. His bushy dark brows are furrowed and his eyes have a green hurricane brewing behind them. We all sit still, waiting to hear what he'll decide. I suddenly realize that I'm holding my breath and I try to let it out slow and quiet without looking like a dork who's been holding her breath.
"I have a life in Atlanta, bud," he says softly. "I don't know anyone here. I don't have a job here or a place to live. It just doesn't make sense. I've always taken care of you and you've always trusted me. You gotta trust me on this one, ok?"
Crestfallen, I blurt out, "You could live at the Inn!"
Everyone looks at me and they all have a different look on their face. Thomas looks thrilled at this suggestion. Aunty has one eyebrow way up in the air with a look on her face that says, "Excuse me?" I don't know if she's shocked at my change of heart or just not okay with my offer. Ellen and Jose glance between each other and Aunty. I think they were hoping for just such an offer. But Matt's face is the one I'm really looking at, and he is staring at me darkly. It's very obvious that he's not happy with this suggestion that came from some madness within me.
Nervous and on the spot, I start to stammer. "I mean—if you want too—it's okay if you don't—uh—you know—whatever."
"I told you," he says through clenched teeth, "I don't need your charity. I have a good job and a nice place to live that I like just fine. We are going," and then, softening just a little, he adds, "Now."
I feel tears spring
to my eyes and Matt returns my watery gaze with a sad but resolute expression.
Jose starts to argue again and Ellen is crying softly. Aunty keeps trying to "talk sense" into Matt but he refuses to budge on the matter. At this point, what can we do? Matt is Thomas' real family. We can't hold Thomas here and risk Matt's threats of involving outsiders. That would be very bad for the community. We try really hard to go as unnoticed as possible by the outside world.
Matt walks Thomas to his room and helps him pack a small bag. Ellen and Jose follow behind like lost puppies at Thomas' heals, insisting that Thomas take the clothes and little things they had given him for Christmas. Somehow Jose had found Thomas an old Steelers jersey, signed by one of the players before football ended. Thomas told me about the special shirt once when he visited my office at the U.R. He holds the cherished gift now like a security blanket. Matt stands stoically by the door and, when the goodbyes seem to not be ending, he clears his throat and Thomas turns to go with him.
I am crying openly now. It all seems so wrong. I hate to think of the danger out there for Thomas. I feel so sad for Jose and Ellen. They really love Thomas and were making such a great life for him. I love Thomas too, and I know I will probably never see him again here on earth. And Matt—I like him—a lot. I'll admit it. If it would change anything, I would say it out loud right now. But I can tell by the way he avoids my teary eyes that it wouldn't. So I keep it to myself and only allow the truth to show in my tears.
As they open the door and step outside, the drop in temperature is shocking. It is even colder than it was on the walk over here, only an hour or two ago. The freezing air rushes into the house and makes Ellen cry harder. It's too cold to send her sweet boy out on a hopeless trek towards zombie town. The sky is noticeably darker, like a storm is coming, and big fluffy snowflakes are falling heavily. We all stand there for a minute, in silence but for Ellen's heartbroken sobbing, looking at the snow.
Matt voices what we were all thinking. "I had hoped for better weather. But we'll be okay. Our first stop isn't far from here."
INFECtIOUS Page 12