“Sorry,” Peter said. “I didn’t mean that. Look, what if I throw in my watch?” His father’s old Omega. But watches could be replaced. The baby needed food now.
“Do I look like a pawnshop? Get outta my store.”
“Come on. One can of formula.”
“Get out.” He pulled out a package of diapers and turned to add it to the growing pile behind him. Things started to tumble, and he reached out a hand to catch them.
Peter stood there. His pulse raced. He stared at the two bags on the counter. Another moment and they’d be empty, too. He reached out and grasped the neck of one of them.
The clerk whirled around at the rustling sound. “Hey!”
Peter pushed through the door and into the rain. He fumbled for his keys and pulled them from his pants pocket. He pressed the remote.
The door banged open behind him. “Stop!”
Peter fell into the front seat, slammed the door, and shoved the gear into reverse. He accelerated backward. Raindrops mottled the windshield. He couldn’t see.
“You son of a bitch!”
Peter roared out of the lot, squealed onto the highway and toward a pair of headlights. A car horn blared. Peter swerved. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor. His heart pounded. He couldn’t swallow. He switched on the wipers. The highway carried him up and away. He lifted his foot, slowed to sixty.
He took the first exit, pulled off the road, and sat there in the dark. Rain pattered overhead. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on his steering wheel. What had he done?
With shaking fingers, he reached for the bag he’d thrown onto the seat beside him. He held it open and looked inside. In the dim alien-green glow from his dashboard, he saw what he’d gotten. Beef jerky and chocolate bars.
THIRTY-FOUR
MADDIE CLAPPED HER HANDS TO HER EARS. “MAKE him stop, Mommy.” Jacob smacked the spoon. Food sprayed across his face, and he howled.
“She’s trying,” Kate snapped. “Don’t be such a brat.”
“Mommy—”
“Hush!” Ann wiped the baby’s face with a cloth. Jacob couldn’t help it. When babies wanted a bottle, that was what they wanted. She picked up the bottle and lifted him from where he leaned in Kate’s lap. “Let’s try this again.” She cradled him and rubbed the nipple of the bottle against the baby’s lower lip. Jacob hiccuped and opened his mouth. A tentative suck, then a look of horror crossed his face. He reared back, pushing at her with tiny fists.
“No, no. Give it a try.” She coaxed the bottle’s nipple back into the baby’s mouth and tickled his tongue with it. Again he spat it out. “Come on, sweetheart. Hold on. Just a little longer.”
Peter had been gone for well over an hour. Surely he wouldn’t be much longer.
She held the baby firmly in the crook of her arm and pushed in the nipple. Jacob stiffened and twisted his head. He automatically swallowed. Another suck, another swallow. He squirmed, then brought up his hand and put it on hers as she held the bottle. “Good boy,” Maddie said.
Everything depended on whether or not Peter had found anything open and how long the lines were. She’d feel much better knowing exactly what the situation was. She wished she could just call him. She wished she could just hear his voice. How easy it used to be—pick up a cell phone and press buttons.
Jacob’s arm fell to his side. His mouth stopped working. She held up the bottle and checked the level of fluid remaining. He’d managed to finish half. Worn out from struggling against the bottle, he’d fallen asleep before he was anywhere near full. “Turn the TV down, honey,” she said to Maddie. “The baby’s sleeping.”
Ann lowered him onto the pile of blankets. She crouched there, placed a cupped hand to the baby’s head. How long would sugar water satisfy a baby?
“Kate.” Ann went over to stand behind Kate, who was sitting at the kitchen table. “Show me how to IM.”
Kate gave her a sidelong frown. She’d taken her shower and her skin was rosy, her wet hair combed back from her face. “Why?”
“Let me talk to someone’s parents.” The power had come on, but the phones were still out.
“Mom.”
“Just for a minute.” Ann pulled out a chair.
A heavy sigh. “Hold on.” Kate tapped the mouse pad and a rectangle popped up. She typed POS then hit return. “Like who?”
Ann knew what that meant. Parent Over Shoulder. “Ask Claire if her mother or father can talk.”
Kate typed quickly. Ann read the response. BRB. Be Right Back.
The cursor blinked. My uncle’s here, came the message.
Kate said, “Is that okay?”
“Sure.” Ann had never met the man. Who cared? “Ask him if he knows whether any grocery stores are open.”
Kate typed. A moment passed. The answer box appeared. They both leaned forward to read the response.
Don’t know. Phone service spotty. 70 and 75 closed. Curfew 9 PM throughout city.
How did he know these things? “Ask him—”
“Can’t you use your computer?”
“Yes, but you’re the only one who knows how to IM.”
“Shazia knows how. She can show you.”
True. Shazia had gone up to take her shower after Peter left. Surely she’d be done by now. Ann tilted her head, listening for the rush of water in the pipes, and didn’t hear anything. She pushed her chair back. “Anyone know where she is?”
Maddie said, “Gone.”
Ann looked over. Maddie knelt by the television set, pressing buttons. “What?”
“She’s gone.”
“Don’t wake Jacob. Come over here.”
The baby murmured, and Maddie looked down. She stood and came over to where Ann and Kate sat. “She went out.”
Out? Out to stand on the porch? Out to check the mailbox? No—it was pouring out there. But maybe she’d just wanted a few minutes alone. “When did she do that?”
“When you were busy with Jacob. She just said goodbye and went.”
Kate pulled the laptop toward her. “She said it to me, too, Mom.”
People didn’t say goodbye just to go stand on the porch. Ann stepped out quickly onto the cold, damp concrete of the front porch. Shazia wasn’t there. Ann looked all around and saw empty streets glistening beneath the streetlights.
Upstairs, Shazia’s bed was made. A navy suitcase stood against the wall. Shazia had had two. Where was the other one? Ann checked the closet and under the bed. A picture frame lay facedown in a puddle of broken glass on the nightstand. Ann turned it over and discovered a small heap of shredded paper beneath. The photograph of Shazia’s parents, Shazia’s mother gazing up at Ann from her small bit of paper, accusing.
The small counter in the guest bath was clear, bare of the toothpaste and toothbrush Ann had glimpsed there earlier. She’d noticed the foreign brand, had wondered what sort of flavor the little yellow leaf on the tube indicated. And here, against the back of the counter, lay a thermometer. One of hers, the one that had gone missing from the first-aid bin. Why had Shazia been checking her temperature?
She headed for the den. Shazia’s laptop no longer lay there on the desk. Her long coat was missing from the hall closet.
“Girls,” she called, coming back into the family room. “What exactly did Shazia say?”
“We told you,” Kate said. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “She said goodbye. Oh, and thanks.”
Goodbye and thanks. What else could that mean? “She didn’t say where she was going?”
“No.”
But she’d been looking at MapQuest.
“I’ll be right back,” Ann said, and Kate nodded absently. Maddie returned to sit close to the television.
The rain was pelting down now in fat, angry drops. Ann pulled her coat firmly about her and went to the edge of the porch to peer down the street. “Shazia?”
House lights gleamed through the foggy sheets of rain, a friendly sight after so many weeks of darkness. She went down the steps and
onto the dark front path. Raindrops spattered the hood of her coat and tapped her shoulders. A gust of wind splattered cold water against her pant legs. Streetlights shone steadily. Here and there glowed a bright square of window or a lit patch of driveway. She tried to see beyond the shimmering lights and through the rain for a dark moving shape, but it was impossible to see anything clearly.
“Shazia!”
Ann walked to the curb. Water streamed toward the gutter. The trees shivered in a gust of wind. How long ago had she last seen Shazia? Maybe twenty minutes. Thirty, tops. Long enough that she’d be well out of sight by now, especially if she was moving purposefully.
Ann should take the car and go look for her. She had a full tank from when she’d stopped on the way home from school, the last time she’d gone anywhere. She could at least make sure the girl had a plan and that she knew what she was doing, that she wasn’t going to thumb a ride with a stranger or attempt to walk all the way out into the countryside.
She’d have to wake the baby, though, and take the children with her. Kate could hold Jacob in the back. Ann had never driven with a baby not strapped into a car seat. Could she really rouse him and drag him out into the wet cold, after he’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep?
She could leave him be and let Kate watch him. Kate was old enough to babysit, certainly, but she’d never taken care of a baby before. If Jacob happened to wake, Maddie could help distract him. The house was warm and the lights were on. They’d keep the doors locked, of course. They’d be perfectly fine. After all, Ann would be gone only a little while, just long enough to drive around the neighborhood.
She reached the front porch and her resolve trembled and disappeared. Of course she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t possibly leave her daughters alone. Not under these circumstances.
Ann turned around and stared into the shadows. She pictured Shazia hunched over, ducking the rain that came in curtains now, holding her suitcase in one cold, numb hand. She’d have stopped to put her laptop inside it, probably wrapped it up in her sweaters for added protection. Her laptop. Of course. There it was, the solution. Ann could email her and make sure she was okay. Just as she had this thought, the world fell dark. The streetlights vanished. Where the houses once stood, throwing out bright beacons of light and warmth, there was now complete darkness.
Everything was gone. Ann stared around her in disbelief. All that was left was the steady downpour of rain and the twin headlights of a car pulsing toward her.
THIRTY-FIVE
THE RAIN CAME HARDER NOW, POUNDING THE WINDSHIELD. The wipers swept across the glass and thunked back. Peter accelerated down the exit ramp and slowed to a stop at the red light.
He was a thief.
The store owner might have seen Peter’s license plates and jotted down the numbers. The police would find out where he lived and come pounding on the door. Ann’s door. How would he explain this to Ann and the girls? No. Ann would understand. In fact, she’d be furious at the shopkeeper. The girls need never know.
He gripped the steering wheel. He was overreacting, his guilty conscience imagining the worst. The police wouldn’t bother responding to such a minor incident. They had bigger issues to handle. Most likely, the shopkeeper wouldn’t even file a report, not if he wanted to avoid explaining his own behavior. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He had to get hold of himself. After all, what was he talking about, maybe ten bucks’ worth of stuff? Later, when this was all over, he’d pay for the things he stole. He’d pay double.
Just as quickly as the rain had built up, it fizzled. Fog filmed the windshield. Peter turned on the defogger to release a blast of cold air. The radio was playing another song from the seventies, something about being hopelessly in love. He felt like he was drowning in syrup. He needed some old R&B or even some of that urgent hiphop Kate loved. Peter jabbed the button on the dashboard and silenced it. The cab filled with the rhythmic swishing of his wipers.
The traffic light flared green, and he accelerated. He’d try the grocery store again. After all this, he couldn’t go home empty-handed. Better to stay out a little longer and come home with something for the baby. The clock on the dashboard read 8:23. He’d been out here for over three hours. He checked the gas gauge and was dismayed to realize he was down to a quarter of a tank. After the grocery store, he’d stop at that gas station he’d seen open earlier. The lines might be shorter by now. He wished he could phone Ann and give her a heads-up. He wondered how the baby was doing.
The store was just a mile or so away.
The windshield slowly cleared. In the tunnel of light his headlights threw out, he saw a figure materialize out of the gloom in front of him.
What the hell?
Peter pounded the brakes. Tires screeched. The truck swung one way, then the other. His headlights crossed the curb, swept across a pair of legs. He gripped the steering wheel. A long, slow arc, and then the truck shuddered to a stop. He stared through the glass but saw nothing in front of him. He’d felt no sickening thud of impact. Where had the man gone? Had he somehow fallen beneath Peter’s truck? Peter glanced through his side window and saw someone standing there in the rain, a man wearing dark clothes, his pale hands shoved into pockets.
The fellow came up to Peter’s window. He wore a hood pulled low over his forehead, hiding his eyes. Why was he sauntering like this? Didn’t he realize how close he’d come to being run over? Peter rolled down his window. Water dripped in.
“Jesus. I almost hit you.”
The stranger lifted his chin, revealing a soft mouth and nose, an uncertain beard. Not a man. More of a kid, really. Eighteen, tops. “Get out of the truck.”
“What?”
“Move it.”
Peter looked at him, disbelieving. What was this, a carjacking?
“Come on, come on.”
The kid bounced a little on his toes. Was he high on something? Two other people appeared on the road behind him, shadowy figures, malignant in the way they stood there.
Peter shook his head and reached to roll up his window. He didn’t have time for this.
“Let’s go, old man.” The kid’s voice had changed.
Peter’s passenger door opened. Before Peter could do anything, there was a boy leaning in across the seat. A soft snicking sound to his left, and Peter turned back to look through the window. Moonlight gleamed down on cold metal. The first boy was holding a switchblade.
So, this was to be a night of everyone for himself.
Peter leaned close. As if to oblige him, the boy leaned closer, too.
“Fuck you,” Peter said.
The boy blinked. Then he coughed, a deep phlegmy sound that bent him almost double.
Droplets sprayed across Peter’s face. He reared back.
The boy straightened, wiped the sleeve of his coat across his face. And smiled.
THIRTY-SIX
ANN STOOD ON THE PORCH AS THE HEADLIGHTS GREW larger. Peter? But even as she hoped so, she knew it wasn’t. The headlights were too oblong, for one thing. They were set too far apart. Sure enough, the car swung by without slowing. Someone else returning home, someone else’s glad reunion.
She turned to go back inside. In the disappearing light from the headlights, she caught sight of the folded piece of paper taped to the door. A note. She peeled it free and held it up, squinting to make out the words. But it had grown too dark to read. Then she caught herself. The girls! They’d been alone in the sudden darkness. Maddie would be scared.
She swung open the door and stepped into the blackness. “Maddie? Kate?”
“Here,” Kate called back.
Her voice sounded calm. There was a dim glow from the room beyond.
It came from a candle on the mantel. Another one burned on the buffet. Here were the girls, sitting on the floor with the baby.
“Look, Mom,” Maddie said. “Jacob woke up and he’s trying to crawl.”
The baby was on his hands and knees, rocking back and forth.
/> “Who’s a big boy?” Maddie crooned. “Who’s the big Jakey Wakey boy?”
Ann shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Did you find Shazia?” Kate said.
“No.” Ann sagged against the wall. Her first thought was relief, then something different. Sorrow. Her two little girls, who’d had to grow past the luxury of being afraid of simple things.
ANN FED ANOTHER DAMP BRANCH INTO THE FLAMES. IT WAS A thin and petulant fire, spitting hisses and pops.
The girls nibbled crackers as they played a game. Jacob sat cradled in Kate’s lap as she selected a card. Ann had fed him the rest of the baby food. She’d set aside some crackers to mash with water for later. She hoped it wouldn’t get to that.
“Why isn’t Daddy home?” Maddie said.
“He’ll be back soon,” Ann said.
“So what?” Kate slapped down a card. “He’s only going to leave again.”
There was no answer for that.
Ann wandered into the dining room. The rain was unceasing. Surely by now Peter had found a grocery store open. But still the niggling thought intruded—what if he hadn’t? What would they do then? She glanced back toward the children. Jacob was gripping a playing card and waving it around as Maddie giggled.
The house was growing chilly again. She would have thought the heat from the furnace would have lingered longer, but the warmth was running out as quickly as it had rushed in.
The girls got ready for bed. The house seemed so empty without Peter or Shazia. Ann tucked her daughters into clean, dry sleeping bags. Jacob sighed and settled on his mat of blankets. She’d dressed him in triple layers and pulled socks over his tiny fists to keep them warm.
Rising, she peered at her wristwatch in the candle’s glow. It was already ten-fifty, much later than she’d realized. She blew out the small flame and the room fell dark.
Peter, where are you? Are you all right?
It was possible that he’d run out of gas. He wouldn’t have any way of letting her know. He could have had an accident. The thought speared a blade of fear between her eyes.
The Things That Keep Us Here Page 26