by James Sperl
“Did we do something?” Jon continued. He approached within a few feet of Andrew. “Did we overstep our bounds? Do something we shouldn't have? If we did, we apologize. Just tell us where we went wrong, and we'll fix it.”
“There's nothing to fix,” Andrew replied. “It's just a matter of simple math. There're too many people here now. I didn't set myself up to take in a bunch of random strangers.”
Clarissa was in his face in an instant.
“Now hold on, right there,” she said forcefully, stomping a path over to him. “That's complete bullshit, and you know it! You've got enough food downstairs to last months. Months! If we're careful, we could make it last a lot of months, so don't go hiding behind that bogus argument.”
“That's right!” Andrew shouted, startling everyone. The response was instinctual, but the anger that rode with it was born from the innate need to defend himself. He would debate himself later whether that need and the degree to which he expressed it was justified. “I do have enough food to last months, and if it were just me eating it, that same food would last years!” He sought out everyone's eyes. “Now I'm sorry none of you in your daily lives felt compelled to plan for anything beyond the following day, but that's not my problem. It's not my fault you never considered the failing state of the world, and it certainly isn't my responsibility to step in and save you.”
“No one's looking for handouts,” Jon said. “We're all willing to contribute.”
“Contribute? What can you contribute? Did you bring medicine? Water? Food beyond what was in your pantry before you left?” He met everyone's soul-crushing gaze in the absence of a response. “Do you know how rapidly stores will be cleaned out if they haven't been already? Pharmacies? Markets? Food will become something you grow. Something you hunt. Not something you clip a coupon for. Are any of you gardeners? Do any of you know how to track and kill game?”
Several moments of toxic silence hung in the air when Jon broke through the noxious moment.
“No, but you could show us,” he said. “Teach us how. Show us how to hunt. Show us what to plant and where and when to plant it. With so many of us here, we could double, maybe even triple the garden's output. Don't count us out.”
He hadn't intended to have this conversation from a place of anger. He found himself slipping further and further into a quagmire of conflicting emotions, and the ones present of malice inched that tug-of-war rope ever closer to all-out rage.
“You're missing the point!” he shouted. “I didn't move out here to take care of a bunch of people who didn't have the good sense to plan ahead. I'm done feeling sorry about this. My decision is final. I want you and your group to be on the road before sundown, and my advice would be to make that happen sooner than later.”
Jon fumed. His hands clenched into fists, and his jaw tightened, the muscles there spasming as if something were under the skin trying to get out. “Look, Andrew,” he began, “I don't know what the hell happened between last night and this morning, but if you think for a minute that we—”
“We'll go,” Sean said, cutting Jon off at the knees. “Thank you for your hospitality, Andrew. You've been more than kind. We'll be gone by noon.”
Jon whirled on his husband, his eyes ablaze with incredulity. “What the hell're you talking about? This is first class bullshit of the highest order. He can't just arbitrarily decide to—”
“Jon!” Sean said curtly. “We're going.”
Evan exhaled, the breath a puff of disgust. “This is such bullshit.”
“Agreed,” said Cesare. He fixed a stare of utter disappointment on Andrew.
“What's our alternative here?” Sean said, turning to address his group. “Fight him? Try and take what he's spent his own time and money preparing? We're not those sorts of people. Andrew's right. This is his place, so it's his call. A man should be allowed to change his mind, and I won't fault a person for being honest.”
“But he's kicking us back out into all of that,” Cesare said, flicking his hand past the trees toward the rising cloud of carcinogenic black, which had replaced the fireball orange. “What kind of person does that? What kind of person gives people refuge only to yank the carpet out from under them? It's not right.”
Elenora tugged gently on her grandson's arm and stroked his bicep.
“It doesn't matter now what's right or wrong, amore, it only matters what is. Andrew has made his position clear. Sean is right. We'll go.”
Sean looped an arm around Evan's shoulders and pulled him close. He gave his son a reassuring smile before he found Jon. “We of all people should know better than to stay somewhere we're not wanted.”
Jon could not quell his seething. He looked from Sean to burn a hole into Andrew with his eyes. “Fine,” he said after an intense moment, then he marched into the house. Cesare followed with Elenora, but not before he delivered Andrew a final glower. Sean offered up a sad smile, as he escorted a scowling Evan.
Andrew felt like shit, not that anyone would believe him. He hated to throw such a seemingly good group of folks back out into the collapsing world, but he knew it was the lesser of two evils even if no one else understood that. He had something else to consider: Travis's impending war party notwithstanding, where did it end? What happened when another group of weary and seemingly trustworthy individuals rolls onto his property? Was he obligated to give them shelter too? Was it up to him to take them in and feed them as well? When did everyone else's problems become his? No, he needed to cut the cord now and get into the habit of turning people away, even though doing so made him feel worse than he had in a very long time.
Clarissa just stood there and looked at him, her lips twisted into the guise of a wrecked smile. Valentina and Rachel had wisely chosen to keep their opinions to themselves, but even if they hadn't, Clarissa had loaded hers with enough vitriol for the three of them.
“What in the fuck are you doing?” she said, glancing once into the house to make sure no one heard her. “What in God's name is going on inside that skull of yours? How could you do that to them? Now of all times? It's not safe out there, and you know it.”
“I know.”
“Then what the hell, Andrew? I thought we covered this already. They could be useful in a number of ways, not the least of which is with Travis. I know you know that too, just like I know you know that without them we don't stand a chance against him. So what gives? Why are you about-facing all of a sudden?”
Andrew crossed his arms, defiant. “It's like I said. It's nothing personal. It just comes down to simple math and self-preservation. The more people there are, the less chance any of us has of making it.”
Clarissa chuckled, but nothing was funny. “So is that it? We're in a dictatorship now? All subject to the law of Andrew whenever he so chooses? These people stay, but these people go?”
“Clarissa,” Valentina said, her voice surprisingly soothing against Clarissa's harsh rail. “Let's just forget about this, okay? It's not our decision.”
“No, it's not okay, Val. It's not okay at all. Are you serious? He can't just pick and choose who he wants to keep here like we're all livestock or something.” Clarissa pointed a finger at him. “Once the Sound happened, and you made the decision to bring us here, any rules you may have established for yourself were summarily rendered null and void, just like they were for everyone else in the world who had a plan and thought they were going to live their life a certain way. Whether you want to admit it or not, you need people. You needed us, and now you need them. You're just too blind and pigheaded to see it.”
Andrew was doing everything he could to keep from unleashing a tirade. He completely understood why Clarissa was angry, but it was getting more and more difficult to restrain himself. He was well aware what it looked like on the surface, but if he came across as anything other than a hardened asshole unswayed from his position, Jon and the others might wriggle their way back into his home through a crack in Andrew's pity. He couldn't allow that to happen. They coul
dn't see it, but he was helping them. They appeared resourceful. They'd find another place to lay low. So he would accept their scorn, for what he was doing was for their own good.
“The world's an unfair place,” he said finally. “And it's about to get a whole lot more unfair. People should start getting used to that.”
Clarissa rocked onto a hip and crossed her arms. “And here I thought I was just starting to get to know you. But you know what? You're right. The world is unfair. I guess we should have learned that right out of the gate that day in the parking lot when you took us but left everyone else there to fend for themselves. It's interesting, though.” She pretended to consider what she was saying by cupping her chin. “We weren't part of your plan. Well, at least until it became necessary for us to be part of it. Right? After all, your house, your rules. You can change them whenever you want to, and no one but you has to answer for it, do they?”
Clarissa took a step forward and leveled her gaze at Andrew, any hint of playfulness gone. “But maybe I don't want to live under that sort of hypocrisy. Maybe I'd be better off taking my chances with them than to stay here with you. Then your precious food could be all yours again.”
Before Andrew could respond, Clarissa spun on her heels and stormed into the house. Valentina and Rachel each offered a meek gaze before following behind her, leaving Andrew to stand alone on the porch.
He put his hands on his hips, inhaled, and contemplated everything that had just played out. He fought against doubt, which pushed mightily against conviction, but he pushed back. What he had done was necessary. Not desirable, just necessary, though that didn't make accepting it any easier.
Voices rose in subdued passion from inside the house. Andrew cast a glance at the door and recalled how he had picked it out because walnut was Olivia's favorite type of wood. How fitting it was, that door. To be the portal that allowed passage into a place designed with such warmth and love, the house a museum of memories dedicated to someone who would never see it. But Andrew saw it, just as he had every day since first breaking ground on the place some odd years ago. He always had the intention of creating a living, livable monument so he would never forget, not that he ever could. The house was where his heart resided, yet it was full of people who hated him. Now that he had firmly cemented himself as a heartless villain, he found that home was the last place he wanted to be.
CHAPTER 27
“That guy's a fucking asshole!” Evan hollered.
“Hey!” Jon scolded.
“Evan,” said Sean. “Language.”
“Sorry, Dad, but he is. He's got this big fu—” Jon cocked his head: watch it. Evan shook it off. “He's got this big house and apparently buttloads of food. If he didn't want us to stay then why did he ask us in the first place?”
Sean shook his head. “I don't know, Ev.”
Cesare busied himself with cleaning dishes. “It doesn't matter why,” he said. “My nonna's right. This is our reality now. Better to get on board with what is than fight it. We'll find somewhere else.”
Evan sneered. “You hope.”
“No. I know. We just have to do the best we can to stay positive. There're other places out there. We just need to find one.”
“Are these other places of yours going to be stocked to the rafters with food like this one? Because if not, we may have to start deciding which one of us we'll eat first.”
“Evan!” Jon barked. “No frickin' way. Apologize. Now.”
But Cesare shook his head and showed Jon the palm of his hand before Evan could get a word out. “No apology necessary, Jon. Really. Evan's just upset like the rest of us. We're good.”
“Sorry, Cesare,” Evan said.
“As my grandmother would say, non ti preoccupare.”
“Actually, I'd just say 'don't worry about it,'” Elenora said, deadpanning. “Americans don't speak much Italian.”
The room shared a round of much-needed laughter, brief as it was. Clarissa entered as it fizzled.
“Everyone,” she said, approaching with her arms raised in an attention-getting gesture. “I'm so sorry. Please, don't panic yet. I'll talk to him again. I'm sure I can convince him to change his mind.”
“Easy for you to say,” Evan spat, as he shoved a wad of unfolded T-shirts into a backpack. “You're not the one he asked to leave.”
“I don't think anyone will have to leave,” she began. “Andrew spoke before he fully considered what he was saying. We need you guys here. Andrew knows this. He's just being stubborn. He'll come around. I know it.”
“Clarissa,” Cesare began, “thank you, but it's okay.” He looked to everyone before continuing. “We've decided it's best if we go. Regardless.”
“Regardless?” she repeated, delivering astonished glances at everyone in turn. “When did you reach that consensus? In the past thirty seconds?”
Jon dragged a carry-on suitcase into the living room and plopped it down beside a bulging duffel bag. “We didn't hold a meeting if that's what you mean. We didn't have to. I think everyone here sees how unstable Andrew is. This is only the first of many issues he'd have with us.”
Clarissa attempted to wrangle her thoughts. On the one hand, Jon was right. She had seen for herself Andrew's inconsistent and sometimes contradictory decision-making in action. It was sometimes hard to know which way was up with him. But she felt his mistrust was due to a horrific reason no person in the world should ever have to go through. How could a person not be affected by having to bury a loved one so prematurely, and for reasons that were entire galaxies away from what is considered natural? Andrew was a broken man in a perpetual state of repair. He would never again attain the level of trust he once had for people, as limited as it was before. She thought a good and decent man was buried under all those layers of emotional detritus. She just needed to prove it to everyone else.
“Look,” she began, “I know what he said, and I know how he comes across, but...there are some things you just don't know.” She turned and looked at Valentina and Rachel. “Any of you.”
“And, so, what?” Sean said through a derisive scowl. “That's supposed to make it okay?”
“Of course not. It just means that I'm asking for a little latitude. Let me talk to him again.” Clarissa collected herself with a fire-extinguishing sigh. “Listen, we don't know you, and you don't know us, but I'm usually a pretty good judge of character. You all seem like good people, which is fast becoming a rarity these days. Our chances of getting through this are infinitely increased if we stick together. Don't let one misstep screw all that up.”
Jon exchanged glances with Sean and Cesare. “I don't know, Clarissa,” he said. “We'd need to talk about it. But even if we agree to stay, we'd need to have a sit-down with Andrew and find some common ground before we make a final decision. We like you guys too and feel we'd make a good team, but—and I'm fairly sure I can speak for all of us on this—we're not going to live under a despot.”
Clarissa pinched her eyes shut in agreement. “I don't blame you in the slightest,” she said. “Talk it over. Think about what I said. As soon as Andrew gets back, I'll do everything I can to convince him to come around.”
“We appreciate that, Clarissa. Truly.” Jon started to turn but stopped abruptly. “And Clarissa? If things, you know, don't work out the way we hope, and we end up back on the road, I hope it goes without saying that you and your friends have an open invitation to join us.”
Clarissa gaped at Jon with unblinking eyes. She felt the stares of everyone in the room upon her, though she didn't know why she was so shocked. The thought of leaving with Jon and his group had occurred to her. With them, she, Valentina, and Rachel—if they chose to go—would not only have a larger, more secure pool of people to pull from, they would be among determined individuals whose view of the world hadn't been tainted by harrowing tragedy. The icing on the cake? Everyone was also immensely likable.
Sean was clearly the goofball of the bunch, and Evan played his part as the angst-ri
dden teen vampire with aplomb. Cesare was a walking romance novel cover, and his swoon-worthiness intensified with every doting act of kindness he showed his grandmother, who was both mentally strong and plucky in equal shares. Jon, however, was a bit more enigmatic. He didn't fit neatly into a one-bin category. He was reserved and patient but still conveyed heaps of don't-mess-with-me attitude without coming across as menacing. Clarissa felt at ease around him. He was like the big brother every kid from a single-child household wished they'd had growing up. Yes, she would be very comfortable joining forces with him and his group. Still, words tumbled deliriously in Clarissa's brain until enough had formed to give a cohesive response.
“Thanks, Jon. I, uh, we...” She glanced over her shoulder at Valentina and Rachel. “We'll definitely think about it. Thank you.”
Jon joined Sean and Evan at the dining room table. Cesare abandoned the kitchen and lowered himself into a chair beside his already seated grandmother at an end. The group commenced a closed-door meeting in plain sight.
“Clarissa.”
It was Valentina. She nudged her head in the direction of the fireplace, which happened to be the farthest point from the dining room. Clarissa followed her over to it.
“What is it, Val?”
“Look, I've been thinking,” she said, her voice a skosh above a whisper. She peeked at Jon and the others to make sure no one could hear her before she continued. “Maybe, I don't know...maybe...”
Clarissa frowned. “What, Val? What is it?”
“I just—” she sneaked another glance into the dining room—no one watched her—“I just wonder if maybe...maybe this is for the best.”