Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky

by Sarah Lyons Fleming

  “Where’s James?”

  “I made him go get me food. He was hovering.”

  “Are you okay to be alone? I’ll go get Peter’s watch or my phone.”

  She puts a hand on my leg. “I’m fine, Cass. Take your time. Sorry that it’s starting now. You can go to the party if you want.”

  “Are you crazy? I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Are you sure Glory didn’t give you drugs? How are you so calm? It’s scaring me.”

  “I’ve been waiting so long that I’m not worried anymore. I just want it to happen.” She goes back to her book and barely takes notice when I leave.

  I find Peter at the brewery helping set up for tonight. “Hey, Penny’s in labor and we need your watch.”

  He sets down a chair and hands it to me. “I know. I just saw James. He’s freaking out. How’s Penny?”

  “Eerily calm.” The lights of the restaurant flicker on and classic rock blares from the overhead speakers. Cheers from the workers drown out Peter’s next words. “What?”

  He pulls me into the kitchen. “So you might not be here tonight.”

  My weeklong daydream of a New Year’s kiss is going to remain just that, but I’m too excited to be disappointed about missing something that might not happen. Between night shifts on guard and the kids watching Groundhog Day with us, it’s been friendly and cozy but nothing more. I’m trying very hard to remember patience is a virtue.

  “Probably not,” I say. “Have fifteen beers for me.”

  “Fifteen? You’re a lightweight. That’d kill you.”

  “All right, four.”

  “You never know, maybe you’ll get here late. I’ll save you your four beers.”

  “Better make it five,” I say. He laughs, but he looks disappointed. It pleases me more than it should. “Okay, I should get back.”

  “You’ll let us know when the baby’s born?”

  “Of course.” I give a little wave and spin right into Terry, who drops the boxes he was carrying.

  “Sorry!” I help pick them up and restack them in his arms.

  “It’s all right. I heard about Penny. Tell her good luck from me.”

  “I will. I’m on my way back over there now.” I pull his sleeve carefully so I don’t send his load down again. “So, who are you kissing at midnight?”

  “Why?” Terry asks with a wink. “Are you looking for a kiss?”

  “It’s tempting, but I value my life far too much,” I say. He looks mystified. “Patty would kill me.”

  Terry makes a pshaw noise. “She doesn’t date. She told me that once.”

  “I think she might have meant she doesn’t date anyone but you. Trust me. Right, Petey?”

  “You’re missing out, man,” Peter agrees.

  I do an excited dance when Terry walks away with a spring in his step. I think Patty’s going to be surprised come midnight. “Okay, now I’m really leaving. My work here is done.”

  “What work?” Peter asks.

  “I’ve got people to hook up, babies to deliver—”

  “Boxes to knock over.”

  “Ha. I’ll see you later.”

  “I hope so.”

  I look into those dark eyes. He knows how I feel, and I don’t try to hide it. I’d swear he feels the same. “Me, too.”

  CHAPTER 67

  By nine o’clock, Penny is not as serene as she was, but she’s calmer than James at the contractions that have grown increasingly powerful. She plows through each one the way she did in school—focused and with determination to get an A. It’s quieter and less messy than I thought it would be until the very end, when Penny gives a final yell and a push that results in all sorts of gunk along with a tiny, slimy baby.

  Glory sets it on Penny’s chest and rubs it with a soft towel. “Beautiful,” Glory says. “A beautiful little girl.”

  Penny rubs a finger along the baby’s tiny cheek, looking exhausted and overwhelmed and completely enamored of the person we’ve been waiting to meet. I wipe my eyes, but not because I don’t want to cry; these are exactly the kinds of things I want to cry about. I kiss the happy parents’ cheeks and clean up while Glory deals with the afterbirth, which I’ve decided I don’t need to see in detail.

  “I’m going to leave you guys alone,” I say when everything’s been put to rights. James and Penny are tucked into bed, gazes riveted on the tiny bundle in her arms. “I’ll be back tomorrow to annoy you.”

  “Do you want to hold her?” Penny asks.

  “You know I do.” I snuggle the baby to my chest and admire the face that’s squashed the way all newborn faces are. I can tell she’s going to be pretty, though. She has the Diaz features—small nose and not-too-full lips—and two tiny licks of hair that look to be closer to Ana and James’s lighter brown. I wish Maureen were here to see this, but I find solace in the thought that she may be holding her own granddaughter right now.

  “She’s so—” I begin.

  “Purple,” Penny says at the same time as James says, “Frog-like.”

  “I was going to say gorgeous.” I shake my head. “Maria, do you hear what they’re saying about you? Your auntie will always think you’re gorgeous, even when you look like a purple frog.” She mewls and opens her tiny mouth, eyes scrunched, so I hand her back to Penny to nurse.

  “Anamaria,” Penny says. “We decided to name her Anamaria.”

  “I love it. I really do.”

  Penny and I smile through our tears. There are times in life when things seem to come full circle. It doesn’t all suddenly make sense—how could it?—but it feels as if there might be something or someone out there that provides us with just enough good to endure the bad.

  James hands me Peter’s watch. “You can probably make it for midnight.”

  “I have to change first, but I can if I hurry. I’ll see you tomorrow, Anamaria.” It rolls off my tongue easily, not getting tangled up in the names of two people I loved who are gone. I kiss her soft head and get ready to leave.

  “Cass,” Penny says. She holds the baby to her breast in the golden light, a Renaissance painting of Madonna and child. “Go get your kiss.”

  I freeze with my zipper midway. “What?”

  “Go get your New Year’s kiss from Peter,” she says with a beatific smile.

  “I’m not…really sure—”

  “I have never seen anyone want to kiss someone more than that man wants to kiss you.” It’s a good thing she’s cut me off—I might’ve stood here stammering until midnight. I prickle with happiness that she’s given me her blessing and that she sees it, too. And then Penny leers in a way the Blessed Virgin never would. “Who knows, maybe you’ll hit a home run.”

  James laughs his ass off while Penny giggles. And although she’s torturing me, I blow her a kiss before I leave. I want them to always be this way—a family full of joy and promise, unafraid of the future. I trudge through the snow past the noise of the party and wonder what this world will be like when Anamaria’s grown. I believe we can give her a future that’s more than just survival, if we have the courage to keep fighting. Maybe it’s an act of courage in itself to believe there can be a future, to accept the challenge of protecting something so small and helpless. Maybe it’s an act of courage to love again and again, no matter how many times your heart has been shattered.

  CHAPTER 68

  I expect to find the cabin empty, but Peter kneels at the woodstove feeding logs into the fire. He spins and looks at me expectantly.

  “It’s a girl,” I say. “Everybody’s fine.”

  “Wow. That was fast, no?”

  “Believe me, Penny isn’t complaining. Why are you here?”

  He tosses another log in. “I didn’t know when you’d be back. I thought you’d be cold.”

  “Where’d you get a crazy idea like that?” I ask. “Thanks. But it’s almost midnight. You might’ve missed it.”

  “I was just about to head back. Do you want to go now?”

  “I have to change first
. I can meet you there.” I want to tell him how beautiful it was to see something come to life that wasn’t dead. Instead I blurt out, “They named her Anamaria.”

  I expect to see grief settle on his features, but he stands and brushes his hands on his jeans with a soft smile. “That’s…perfect. I always thought I’d name a daughter Jane.”

  “Eric,” I say. “A son, I mean.”

  He laughs. “I figured. Go change, I’ll wait.”

  I throw on the shirt Patricia loaned me and abandon my original plan to apply makeup. One glance in the dresser mirror makes it clear that saving my frozen and thawed hair is hopeless if I want to make it there for midnight. And I do—I’m going get my New Year’s kiss.

  “You look nice,” Peter says when I’ve entered the living room.

  “This is as good as it’s getting.” I wipe my now sweaty palms on my jeans and make a joke so he can’t tell how nervous I am. “Wait, was that the automatic you-look-nice reflex?”

  “Yes.” He moves closer and brushes my hair behind my ear with feathery fingertips. “It’s always automatic. Because you’re always beautiful.”

  I would deflect the compliment if I weren’t breathless from his words and his touch and the desire on his face. The distant blare of music stops abruptly and a multitude of voices begin to count down from ten.

  “We’ll never make it,” he says. I shake my head in agreement because I can’t say a word.

  I count along silently, keeping my eyes on his. I know by now that life is messy, filled with doubts and guilt and conflicting emotions, but I have no doubt he’s going to kiss me. No doubt that he’s ready. My stomach churns out warmth that travels to the tips of my fingers.

  “Four,” I whisper. “Thre—”

  Peter brings his mouth to mine, pulling me close with a hand wound in my hair. Nothing about his lips and tongue is tentative, and there’s nothing tentative in the way I respond. I’m done with saving things for later.

  His hands are as capable as ever. Somewhere along the line both our shirts disappear, and I moan when he runs his mouth along the swell of my breasts. He must take it as a sign of protest because he asks, “Is this okay?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  Peter’s breathy chuckle on my neck sends a shiver to my toes, and I start to work on his jeans in case my answer wasn’t clear enough. A low groan rises in his throat, and when he breaks our kiss to grab the lantern, my moan is one of protest. I yank him to me, fitting his hips to mine, his lips to mine, his free hand to anywhere it wants.

  “Bed,” Peter growls into my mouth. I allow him to seat me on the edge, where he kneels to remove my boots. After a minute of struggle he looks up, breathing hard. “For someone who can’t tie shoes, you can knot them just fine.”

  I fall back on my elbows and crack up at the half-amused, half-exasperated expression that’s become so familiar. It doesn’t ruin the moment. If anything, it tells me that Peter’s along for the ride to wherever we’re heading. He smiles the way he used to—soft but cautious, like I had the answer to a question he was scared to ask. Maybe he wanted to know if I could love him, if he was visible.

  He was always visible. And maybe I could have loved him then, or maybe it took the end of the world to make this possible. The words stay on the tip of my tongue—I’m fearful to be the first to speak them. I kick off my boots and pull him to me, hoping he can feel what I don’t say. The old chemistry is there, although those times when I’d thought we’d connected were nothing compared to this. There’s no going back, but I don’t ever want to.

  ***

  Afterward, the fear creeps in and whispers that I’ll most likely lose him. My heart could be re-broken and never grow back—I’m not sure how many times the tail can regenerate before the lizard allows the missing piece to become a memory. I chase the thought away; I have faith it’ll be all right. Peter didn’t promise nothing bad would ever happen, but he’s shown me how to make the best of it.

  “I love you,” I say, and fight the urge to protect my heart by looking away. I’m rewarded with a smile I’ve never seen—it could be I’ve answered his question.

  “I love you,” he says, face so tender that my chest flutters.

  I can see it in the liquid depths of his eyes and in the gentle curve of his lips, can feel it in the way he touches me, but I still ask, “Really?”

  “Really,” Peter says softly. “I love the way you talk to inanimate objects. I love the way you tie your shoes like you’re five. I love the way you joke about anything and everything, even if it does drive me out of my mind.”

  He traces my lips when I laugh, and then he says, “Promise.”

  The flutter in my chest becomes a loud thrum. “You promise all kinds of things.”

  “Maybe,” he says. “But I always keep them.”

  He does—every single one.

  EPILOGUE

  I grab the toddler just before she hits the puddle on Main Street with both feet. “Caught you, you little stinker!”

  Anamaria shows me her twelve teeth and bats the lashes that frame her big, brown eyes. She has Ana’s ability to flirt her way out of any situation and a bit of a wild streak, but she’s as sweet as Penny—when Penny’s not pregnant.

  “That doesn’t work on me.” I plant a kiss on her nose and take a hit of her toddler scent before handing her to Nelly. “Here, go see your uncle.”

  “Uncoo Newwy,” she says, and pats his cheek with her chubby hand.

  Nelly sighs at me over her head. “Did you really have to teach her that?”

  “That’s your name, don’t wear it out.”

  “A whole generation of children will be calling me Uncle Nelly.”

  “You’re the one who said you wanted to be the gay uncle.” He grumbles at me, but he secretly loves it.

  “Hey, Nelly,” Adam says. “They want you inside.”

  Nelly places Anamaria on the frozen ground and lifts her chin with his finger. “Stay right here, okay?”

  She nods like an angel but takes off the second his back is turned, only to stop and watch Bits and Jasmine raise their faces to the sky and stick out their tongues for a snowflake. There’ve been flurries all week, but it hasn’t stuck. Anamaria opens her mouth and leans so far back she lands on her diaper. Bits picks her up with a laugh and shows her how it’s done.

  Bits is still small at almost eleven, but she already has a gangly teen look about her. She reminds me of a newborn colt trying to find its legs, especially with the long, shiny mane of brown hair she always wears loose. She’s kind and smart and beautiful. Hardly anything scares her now.

  Hank stands behind them, hands in pockets, and glances around before he sticks out his tongue. He’s growing into his dreadlocks and glasses. We’ve managed to inject a little silliness into him, or at least a willingness to catch snowflakes and make the occasional wish.

  Bits leads Anamaria my way. “Cassie, we’re going to the library to work on our comic during the meeting.”

  “We have a deadline to meet,” Hank says. His twelve year-old voice is deepening and sounds a lot like Henry’s, but he’ll be taller than his dad for sure.

  “Home for dinner, though. Jasmine, I know Jamie and Kyle want you home, too.” I wave a hand. “Go forth, my children.”

  They allow me to kiss their cheeks after they ensure the coast is clear of anyone their age or, God forbid, older. They still have a business selling their comics to the other kids. Commerce around here generally involves homemade goodies, books and favors, although Peter was thrown for a loop when Bits traded for some old makeup last week. He doesn’t want her to grow up, but I love every stage, even this awkward one. Every year that passes is another year we’re alive. I can’t help but be thankful for that.

  “Now, where’s your mama?” I ask Anamaria.

  She points to where Penny and James stand by the entrance to the brewery. James motions at the train tracks while Bernie and Terry nod. Part of today’s annual fall meeting is about Ja
mes’s grand plans for rail travel, and I have no doubt he’ll get whatever scheme he’s cooked up to become a reality. The other part concerns our food stores, which are going strong, and the latest news from survivors outside Alaska. I was on the radio earlier, when we received one of our rare calls instead of the usual static. Sometimes it’s bad news or someone looking for help we can’t give from afar, but today it was news I’m delighted to share.

  I make sure Penny has Anamaria in hand before I let go. The kid is fast, like her namesake. “Thanks for babysitting,” Penny says. She’s pregnant again and feels no better than the first time.

  “Anytime. She had a great time with the old radios. Did you get any rest?”

  She nods, but she looks like she could use a month of sleep. “I can’t believe I did this to myself again.”

  “Hey, you did it on purpose this time.”

  She gazes down at Anamaria. “I know, right? How stupid am I?”

  “Pretty stupid.” She kicks my shin, and I level a finger at her. “Why do you kick me when you’re pregnant? You’d better look out in seven months.”

  The wind gusts and with it comes a swirl of white flakes. It’s time to whip out the puffy parka. I’d been putting it off, not wanting to concede to winter, but winter’s going to win this one. I lean into Peter’s warmth when he comes up behind me.

  “Cold?” he asks.

  “Just chilly.” My blood has thickened a little over the past two years. Not a ton, but enough that I don’t complain constantly, much to everyone’s delight.

  “How’s my girl?” he asks Anamaria. She looks up from digging in the dirt with a stick and blows him a kiss. He catches it and makes nom nom noises. “How’s Mama?”

  “Don’t ask,” Penny says.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” I hand her a bottle of ginger lemonade from my bag. She sighs in thanks. “The ginger went crazy this year and the lemons in the greenhouse are dehydrated, so you can have as much as you want.”