by Mic Roland
Susan was watching, but trying not to look obvious about it. She was not finding the pods’ zip fiber. Her attempts merely broke the pods, which she then had to pry apart and dig within to extract the dry beans. Margaret’s pile of dry beans was four times the size of Susan’s. Rather than looking discouraged, Susan was focused intently on Margaret’s hands, trying to learn her ‘secret’.
Martin felt it best to leave the two women working together peacefully. He quietly walked past them to the smaller bedroom. He planned to go back out in the woods and scout for deer signs. He was pleased at trading some salsa for a salami the day before, but he doubted such trading would be a reliable resource. Whatever food supplies were cached in the homes of Cheshire, was a finite resource and dwindling as people ate it. If deer were in the backwoods, it would be a new input to the supply, not just a transfer.
He doubted he would see anything, but reasoned that if he did see a deer while scouting, it would be a tragic waste of opportunity to not have a gun ready. That meant installing the slug barrel on his shotgun. For that, he had to find it first.
While he rummaged through the safe and adjacent cabinet, the women at the table resumed the conversation he interrupted. Their voices carried down the hallway.
“Sounds really nice, to me,” Margaret said.
“Oh, it was, in some ways.” Susan’s voice lacked enthusiasm.
“I always dreamed of a life like that,” Margaret said. “Restaurants, live theater, museums. It must have been marvelous living right in the city.”
“Seems like you have it great right here,” Susan said.
“I guess.” Margaret lacked enthusiasm. “It was a nice safe place to raise the kids, and it’s quiet. Sometimes, I think it’s too quiet.”
Susan chuckled. “The city was never quiet. Even at 3 a.m. there were traffic noises, honking, rowdy college boys. I’m starting to appreciate quiet. You have a very nice home here.”
“Thanks. I try to keep it up nice. I must confess I wasn’t too thrilled when Martin showed me this place. We talked about moving, but I was picturing something closer to the city, not farther from it. We haven’t seen a live play or a concert since we moved here.”
During the awkward silence, Martin noticed that he was no long looking for his slug barrel. He was simply listening. Were Margaret and Susan ‘bonding’ (or whatever it is women do)? He had no idea what ‘bonding’ sounded like, but it was fascinating in its own right that the two of them were having a regular conversation.
“When I was a little girl,” Susan said. “I used to dream about living in a little cottage in a dark mossy woods.” She chuckled. “Maybe I’d seen too many Disney movies.”
“When I was a girl, I used to dream about living in a big city: lights, bustle, energy. So, this place wasn’t really on my dream radar. Still, Martin was right. It was a great place to raise the kids. We didn’t have to worry about them playing outside.”
“Such different dreams, huh?” Susan said.
“Yeah, so when Martin wanted to raise chickens, I was against the idea. ‘Next thing, you’ll be wanting cows!’ I said. He eventually persuaded me to do the chickens, but I told him the butchering and cleaning were all his job. I’m not doing that anymore. And I drew a firm line: no cows — ever!”
Susan chuckled. “He wanted a cow?”
“I don’t think he did, but I wasn’t going to leave the door open. The rule is: no cows.”
“Why no cows?”
“Oh, I’ve had my fill of them, let me tell you. I grew up on a farm. It wasn’t one of those fancy modern farms either. We milked by hand, hauled milk cans by hand. We had to herd them too — and cows can be so blasted stubborn sometimes. They just go where they want to go. A 60 pound girl doesn’t have a lot of clout with a thousand pound cow. While I was out in the meadow, keeping those stupid cows from running off into the woods, I used to dream about a nice clean life, with dresses that stayed white and didn’t smell like manure. Bright lights, good food, clean smells. So no. No cows. I’m not doing cows anymore.”
“Wow, I had no idea.”
Martin found the slug barrel and got it mounted. He lingered by the door, still curious what bonding sounded like, or just to hear more of Margaret’s thoughts. He recalled her refusal to have a cow — which he was never seriously entertaining anyhow. He knew she disliked her childhood on the farm, but had never heard about her dream of city life.
“I had the city life,” Susan began. “And I thought I liked it. But it turned out to be…well, not so much when it turns out that someone…and what you’ve got here…is…you’ve got something really special…”
Martin was not certain why, but he felt he needed to interrupt. Was he worried they were getting too personal? Was he afraid she was going to talk about him? Was he afraid Susan was going to talk about her ex-boyfriend? He still had a strong distaste for that Mark character and how he treated Susan. He certainly did not want him being discussed. Or, was it something else?
“Well, I’m all set,” he said, striding quickly down the hallway.
Margaret had the leftovers of a puzzled gaze at Susan, which he interrupted. “Where are you going with that?” she asked.
“Gonna go scout the woods some more. Maybe find something bigger than a squirrel.” The women did not talk while he pulled on his heavy coat, boots and cap.
Tramping down to follow the dry stream bed, he felt foolish with his interruption. What good did that one break do? They would simply resume talking after he left. He could not pinpoint what bothered him, so decided to put the thoughts away and concentrate on the task at hand.
Martin scanned the leaf litter for any kind of a sign that something had been there. He had no Indian tracker skills, but reasoned that even he could tell if the forest floor had been disturbed by something. He was not moving especially quietly. Even he knew deer would not be out and about in mid afternoon. It did not matter if his noise spooked a squirrel. He certainly could not bag a squirrel with shotgun slugs. There would be nothing left.
Climbing up the banks of little stream valley, he thought the noise he was making would be a good warning if there were any foraging college kids nearby. He certainly did not want any more heated encounters with Cupcake. If she got that angry over a .22, what would she do at the sight of a shotgun?
In a sandy patch of a clearing, he spotted a deer track. It was a smallish print, but proof nonetheless that he did have deer traveling through his backwoods. Judging from the crisp impression and direction of travel, he reasoned that it had recently come across Old Stockman Road from the Baldwin’s woods, followed his dry stream bed, then up through the little saddle to cross the fire trail.
He was about to follow the print to look for more when he heard his little generator fire up. He had run the generator only an hour earlier. The fridge and freezer were good for three more hours. Why are they running the generator? Part of him wanted to ignore the new sound and look for more deer trail, but the sound gnawed at him. Was something wrong? Had something happened that suddenly required power?
The deer trail would have to wait. He needed to get home and see what the problem was.
Martin started up the back walk, but could see Dustin and Judy in front of his car, and the generator at their feet. “What’s going on here?” Martin asked.
“Oh, Hi dad. The Beast’s battery was really low and I figured the generator would use less gas than running the engine.”
“What? Why?” This did not seem like an emergency to Martin.
“We’ve been listening to the radio a lot, you know, and charging up Judy’s iPod, so the battery…”
“You WHAT?” Martin shouted. He strode over to the generator and shut it down. “What’s the matter with you? Do you think we have unlimited gas? We need to save that for real emergencies — important uses.”
“But, Judy’s been…”
“Her entertainment addiction is NOT a real emergency!” Martin ripped the jumper cables off the batte
ry and slammed the hood shut. “We need that gas to get us through the winter…AND, if we’re really careful, maybe have some for the chainsaws in the spring. What freakin’ good will it do any of us that she’s been happily listening to her music all winter but we’ve got nothing for the chainsaws? Oh for crying out loud, Dustin. Where’s your brain?”
Judy ran off to the back door.
“Dad!” Dustin scolded. He jogged after Judy. Martin grumbled to himself as he put the generator away.
“What did you say?” Margaret demanded as Martin came through the back door. Her tone had that what-have-you-done reprimand to it.
Martin was in no mood for a scolding. “I told them we’re not wasting our gas on something as stupid as keeping that girl’s iPod charged.”
“Well, if you said it like that….”
“What difference does it make how I said it? We’re not on vacation here. We’ve got serious problems. There may not be any more gas for a long time. We need it for the freezer… as long as the food holds out. And who knows what else we’ll need it for, or for how long. Two months? Three? A year? That girl’s happy-entertainment-coccoon is a luxury none of us can afford.”
“Martin,” Margaret scolded again. “Not so loud. She’ll hear you.”
“So what? She’s got to hear the truth sometime. There won’t be any TV to sit in front of for a long time. There won’t be any internet games or social media for her to waste hours with. The sooner she wakes up to the reality the rest of us are living in, the better for everyone!”
“You just stay up here and calm yourself. I’m going to go see if I can repair some of your damage.” Margaret marched down the stairs.
All the while, Susan sat at the table with the wide eyes of an uncomfortable spectator. When Martin saw her eyes, it took all the wind out of his sails. He felt like his sail looked when had been sailing his dad’s little sloop in fickle winds. Sometimes things were good. The sail full and stretched tight with a firm breeze. The boat heeled over tightly, surging eagerly ahead. But sometimes, the wind just died. The sail sagged limp. The boat flattened out and coasted to a stop. That was how Martin felt.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Susan. “You shouldn’t have had to hear all that.” He sat with his head in his hands.
“That’s okay,” she said very softly. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes I do. That wasn’t the way to handle that. As you can see, I still have a knack for being a jerk.”
“We’ve been through all that,” she said gently. “Remember? We had a deal. You are not a jerk.”
“And you’re not a burden. I know. We had a deal.” He knew he could not look up at her or he would see her eyes. He could not look at her eyes at the moment. Superman does not enter a room he knows is full of Kryptonite.
“This has been a hard time for everyone,” she said. “You’ve been trying to take care of us. That has to be stressful.”
“That might be why I’m a jerk, but it doesn’t make it okay that I’m a jerk.”
“Tsk. Do I have to repeat myself? Why don’t you write it down on your invisible note pad. Not. A. Jerk.” There was a playful lilt to her soft tone.
He risked a peak between his fingers. She was smiling tenderly. He clamped his eye shut again. He knew he should not have looked. Kryptonite.
“Dustin has her calmed down,” Margaret said as she climbed the stairs. “At least she’s not crying anymore.” She sat in the chair beside Martin. “And it looks like you’ve calmed down too. That’s good.”
“I wasn’t out to make her cry,” Martin said. “It’s just that everything is more serious now.”
“I know, Martin. I know.” Margaret patted his hand. “You just have to go a little easier on her. She’s lived a pretty sheltered life, don’t forget. Her parents made sure she had everything she needed. Even Dustin has kept her pretty sheltered. He means well, but I don’t think it’s necessarily been all that good for Judy. Now she’s trying to grapple with a world that isn’t secure, where her needs aren’t automatically taken care of by someone else. She’s been hiding from that in her music.”
“I know all that,” Martin said. “But it doesn’t change things. We can’t spend precious resources to keep her bubble inflated. She’s going to have to cope with reality like the rest of us.”
Dustin slowly climbed the stairs, his face apprehensive. Margaret gave him a little nod. “Um, Dad, look…I’m sorry about the generator and all…”
Martin held his hand up. “I want to say I’m sorry too, but I’m not there yet. These are very serious times. We can’t afford to indulge in luxuries anymore.”
“I know,” Dustin hung his head. “It’s just that Judy is used to…”
“Why is everyone so willing to make excuses for that girl?” Martin began a rant. Margaret patted his hand again. Martin leaned back in the chair. “Sorry I cut you off. Go on.”
“I was going to say that she’s used to being connected to the world. It’s not like she really cares what’s going on in London or South Africa or wherever, but news from out there is like…I don’t know…reassurance that the world is still turning. Life is going on. Facebook with friends, texting, games, it’s all like threads leading from her out to the whole world. She was a part of the world that way.”
“Now, without any of that, it’s like she’s lost…floating in space, or something. I think it scares her. I tried to get some news on my car radio to help her, but it didn’t seem to help. It was too limited and too local. She just wants to know what’s going on out there…in the world…beyond New Hampshire or Mass.”
“And what if the news from outside isn’t good?” Martin asked. “Is she only expecting happy news? Because it isn’t happy. Remember what I was telling you that Walter was…” Martin felt an inner drenching of ice water. An idea was forming. “What if the news wasn’t good?” he repeated. “What would she do with that?”
Dustin looked pensive for a long moment. “You know, I think she’d be okay with the news being bad. It was bad during the wild fires, or that jetliner crash, or the bombings. As long as she knew what was going on out there, she seemed fine — even if it was bad.”
“Then I have an idea.” Martin stood up.
“What?” Margaret asked.
“Get her some news,” Martin answered. “Walter spoke of ‘working the skips’ — listening to distant broadcasts, whether it was ham or AM or what. That’s where he gets his news from ‘out there’. I say we take Judy to Walter’s and let her listen in on ‘out there’. We can’t do this every day, but maybe if she knows there’s a way to know, she’ll be okay not knowing for awhile.”
“You’d do that for Judy?” Margaret’s voice betrayed a mix of surprise and disbelief.
“Yes, darn it all,” Martin grumbled. “I might be a jerk…” (Susan frowned at him disapprovingly) “…but I’m also a hopeless softie. Not a good combination.”
“Go tell her we’re going to get her some news,” Martin told Dustin. “Both of you dress warm. We’ll be coming back very late tonight and it’s going to be cold.”
“Late at night?” Margaret asked. “If you go now, you could listen for an hour or so and be back before dark.”
“No. I guess ‘the skips’ don’t happen until after sundown. It’s an atmosphere radio wave thing.”
“What makes you think this Walter will be listening to his radio tonight? He would have to be conserving his generator fuel too, wouldn’t he?” Margaret asked.
“Hmm,” Martin mused. “Good point. He did just give his report yesterday, so he might not be planning to go on the air tonight. Still, it seemed like he went on the air every day, at least a few times. Guess I’m gambling.”
“Judy has her coat on,” Dustin announced. “She wants to go now.”
“Well, it’s not quite time to go yet,” Martin called down the stairs.
“If you guys are coming too, you’d better dress warm,” Martin said to Margaret and Susan.
“I don’t think I should go,” Margaret said. “Ruby said she wasn’t feeling well, something about a tightness in her throat. I’d better stay in case she needs something.” Margaret looked at Susan with a raised eyebrow as if to ask, ‘well?’.
“I’ll stay and take care of Ruby too,” Susan said.
They’re staying here together? Martin was not sure if that was a good development or not. He decided it was better that he and Susan were not off on some adventure together…again. Perhaps their conversation over shell beans meant the two women were less uncomfortable with each other. That was what his optimistic side promoted. Martin eagerly bought it.
“What you two can do, is get out the bikes,” Martin hollered down the stairs. “Yours and mom’s are probably good to go, but my old road bike is in the back of the shed.