The Nuclear Catastrophe (a fiction novel of survival)

by Billig, Barbara C. Griffin

  Althea noticed his shuddering, put the crutches firmly against the floor, and stood up. No matter that they had only a moment ago selected this spot to await their flight. “We must find a warmer place to sit,” she said. “Neither of us needs to end up with a cold, do we?”

  He grabbed the bags and moved off behind her, several chairs away. “All right, now?” he asked.

  Althea smiled. The chill had been invigorating to her, but he was shivering. “Sometimes I think I’m hardier than you, Cecil. To me, the nippy air is refreshing. But of course, you’re still wearing a summer raincoat.”

  “I know. I know,” he replied. “I need someone to help me decide what to wear. I need a woman’s touch, I guess.”

  “How is your headache?” she asked. “Did you take something for it?’’

  Over the past few days their relationship had taken on tones of something more than mutual interest in each other. Just as he had developed a deep concern for her, she, in turn, had quickly adapted to his sensitivities. He smiled, remembering, that for a continuing cough in his chest she had treated him with a special concoction designed to end the hacking.

  “Here,” she said, removing two aspirin. “I want you to take these.”

  He dutifully gulped them down.

  The holiday season was just getting into full swing, travelers passed back and forth, their arms loaded, as they searched for their departure gates, or met incoming planes. Cecil had watched them as they carelessly stepped near Althea’s bandaged feet. He had seen the awful wounds, and was concerned that someone would unwittingly mash into them, causing her pain. He leaned forward and extended the nub of the crutches slightly, a caution to strollers. “You know,” he said, “I’ve given some thought to your insurance problems, Thea. Before we land, I’m going to tell you what to do once the insurance agent arrives.”

  “All right, Cecil,” replied the woman.

  “And if he gives you any static, you call me.”

  “Yes,” she answered. Then after a moment she continued, “It’s very kind of you to help me. I honestly don’t know what I’d have done without you. From the day you came into that house....when that man....” her voice drifted off.

  Cecil had been watching her, but at the mention of Carter, he turned away and pretended to observe the people in the terminal.

  Finally she spoke in a soft voice. “It’s odd, don’t you think, that we have never discussed him?”

  Although he knew perfectly well to whom she referred, he asked, “Who? Carter? The man I found attacking you?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  Aware that she observed him, Cecil continued to look about at the people. Why was he unwilling to discuss Carter? It was not as if he had forgotten the man. Or his foot between Carter’s shoulders, or the snap of the man’s neck. He had certainly felt no exhilaration in what he had done to the scarecrow, but he’d had no regrets, either. Carter’s death was simply a consequence of his action—and of the times. “What’s to be said, Althea?”

  She worried with the handle of her purse for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Then in a nervous tone she said, “I’ve wondered if you were ever questioned about his manner of death, Cecil.”

  At last he turned to her and looked deep into her eyes. “My report explained how he died, Althea, in rescuing you. Did you expect more to be made of the incident?”

  “I hoped not,” she replied, meeting his gaze directly. “I really hoped not.”

  As he returned his attention to the passers-by, he heard her gently sigh. There would be no further mention of the wicked, drooling man who had beaten her practically senseless, then had attempted her final humiliation. He took a long draught of air and said, "You know, Thea, the best part of these past two months has been in finding that once again I have control over my life. Do you know what I mean?”

  She laid her hand on his arm, “Yes, I know. During that week of White Water none of us could do anything but be swept along in its wake.” She paused, “Yes, it is nice to think that we are again our own masters.”

  They sat silently for several minutes, watching the crowd.

  “I wish you’d come to San Diego, Thea. It’s such a beautiful city.”

  “No,” she answered. “I make changes very slowly, Cecil. I’ll stay on in San Mirado.”

  “You’d like it there in San Diego,” he said. “I’d find you a little place next to my apartment. We’d be together a lot.”

  She slowly shook her head, making no reply.

  After awhile, he asked, “We get along all right, don’t we, Thea?”

  She smiled. “Yes. We get along fine, Cecil. But I won’t make myself a burden on you. I won’t allow you to be my guardian any longer.”

  The loud speaker announced their flight, putting an end to the conversation. Cecil paused momentarily, as though wanting to say more, then reluctantly got to his feet. “That’s us.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Six Months After White Water

  It was over. Finished. Everybody had gone except for the two of them. Theirs had been the last case on the docket, but instead of rushing out as had the others before them, they had heard the pronouncement, and remained in their chairs until the chamber emptied. After fifteen years, they had developed mutual habits, similar methods in reacting to situations, which even now, still bonded them together. A single declaration by a man in a black robe couldn’t undo the routine which had become second nature over the years.

  He walked over and sat down beside her.

  “Well, that’s it, Paula. Are you happy now?”

  “It had to be done, Frank. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I guess, since you had obviously already decided on it.” He was bitter, and it showed in his speech.

  “Did you hear what the judge said?” asked Paula. “He said ours was the most amicable interlocutory he’d ever granted. The next time we’re here, it’ll be for the final divorce decree.”

  “I thought it was called a dissolution,” Frank said.

  “Dissolution. Divorce. They amount to the same thing.”

  “I’m glad you waited,” he said. “At first I thought you wouldn’t.”

  “You wanted to talk, didn’t you?”

  A custodian stuck his head inside, saw the man and woman in conversation, and backed out.

  “You know something, Paula? I really believed in us, in our marriage. I never figured it would end this way.”

  “Yours is a blind faith, Frank, the kind that belongs in religion, not in a marriage.”

  “It carried us through fifteen years,” he reminded her.

  “People have to be realistic about marriage, though. There’s so much sharing to be done, that has to be done, that the more realistic two people are, the better their chances are for success.” She spoke firmly.

  “I’m not so sure I believe that. To face reality is one thing, but if you dig too deep, you may find some things in the other person that you just can’t live with. That’s what happened to us. Until then, until that mess at White Water, we were doing fine,” Frank replied.

  “White Water really brought it out in the open, didn’t it?”

  Frank laced his fingers together, the digits becoming antagonists, pulling against each other, as he worked out his inner tension. “Psychiatrists say that certain things become traumatic for people, reducing their capacity to cope. A marriage breaking up, loss of a job, having to relocate—these are very stressful occurrences to most people,” he said. “I guess we are no different.”

  “You’re right, I guess. In one single day we were hit with two of those, Frank. Your job, having to suddenly move. No wonder our nerves were rattled.”

  “And now the end of our marriage. I think the only thing worse that could have happened would have been death,” he said thoughtfully. “We’re lucky there.”

  “Yes, we are,” she agreed.

  “Say, on the way here, I went by San Mirado. Saw Cooter— they’re living in the same place a
gain. Can you imagine that?”

  “Did they ever get any of their belongings back?” she asked.

  “Naw. Had to buy everything to refurnish the house. Boy, was he sore! Said he should have barricaded his family inside the place and stuck it out instead of running.”

  “Didn’t he know how many died from the radiation?”

  “Oh yeah, but it doesn’t seem so bad to him right now.”

  “Cooter is stupid,” she said matter of factly.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I heard that Flo and her husband moved to Texas. Did you know that’s where they came from originally?”

  “No. But I really liked Flo. God, she could tell the funniest stories I ever heard,” answered Paula with a hint of sadness.

  “I wish now that I hadn’t let the house go to the mortgage company. If I’d kept up with the payments I’d have probably moved back to San Mirado, too,” Frank announced. “It was a nice place.”

  “Didn’t I try to tell you to either hang on to it or else wait for a sale? But once again, you never listened to anything I had to say.”

  He threw her a disgusted look. “It’s great for you to run around dishing out advice, especially when I’m the one who had to make the payments. In case you have forgotten, Paula, the money tree went out with Santa Claus.”

  “Even so, you should have tried to keep the house until it could be sold. Crap, no wonder the judge thought ours was a peaceful divorce, there wasn’t anything to fight over,” she snapped at him.

  “Except the kids.”

  “Oh well, why squabble over them? Children are always better off with their mother, there’s no question about what’s best for them. Besides, a father rarely wants the responsibility of the kids, anyway,” she said. “At least none that I’ve heard about.”

  “That’s not true. I told you that I’d take them. That I wanted them. But no, nothing doing.”

  “You know that they belong with me, Frank. With your appreciation for the female form, you’ll very likely be married within a year.” Her face broke into a tight smile at the barb.

  “For God’s sake, where did you get a hair-brained idea like that? I’ve never chased the skirts in my whole damned life,” he retorted. “Jesus! What a thing to say.”

  “Come on now. Are you telling me that you haven’t had any dates in the last four months—not even one?”

  “No, I haven’t. Not a date. I got together once or twice with this gal who works in Billy Joe’s office, but that was all.”

  “Huh. That’s pretty hard for me to believe.”

  “What about you? Have you been virtuous ever since that night in Washington?” he asked, forcing her to remember that last time.

  “What are you getting at, Frank?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Your innocence, Paula, your innocence. You didn’t exactly try to protect your honor when I spent the night with you.”

  She gave an exasperated snort. “How childish! We were still married and you did beg me to let you in.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve often asked myself why you did that. For me it was simple. I hoped we could patch up our differences. Yet—within two months—you filed for divorce. Why did you sleep with me, anyway?” he asked as he stared at her.

  “Curiosity, maybe. Or one last stab at making it work.”

  “Bull, you can be more honest than that.”

  “All right then. Maybe I was just in the mood, Frank, and you were convenient!”

  Her reply smarted. He gulped back the knot of anger rising in his throat, and fought to control his temper. This last conversation wasn’t going in the direction he had wanted. It wasn’t easy, sitting here in this big empty chamber, trying to reestablish some rapport with this woman he loved.

  “Here we go again,” he murmured under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Nothing.”

  “Frank, look, there’s no point in us badgering each other any more. It’s ended. From now on we are nothing more than two people who happen to be the parents of the same kids. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “Is that really the way you want it—nothing more than that?” Was it really this easy for her, he wondered.

  “Of course. Why else would we have divorced?”

  “I can’t believe, Paula, that after all those years, two children, and all, we mean absolutely nothing to each other now. That’s incomprehensible, completely incomprehensible to me.”

  “To you, but not to me, Frank.” In a moment of weakness, she reached out and touched his arm. “I’m sorry, really sorry. I hope you’ll believe that. If the marriage, if our goals, or whatever, had just been big enough to include my own dreams, then maybe it would have lasted. As it is, it’s finished for us. Whether you’ll accept this or not, I am very sorry that it has ended this way.” She spoke with a rare, genuine warmth.

  Frank carefully examined the fair Scandinavian features, the blond hair, hazel eyes. “You know something, you even look like your father, Paula,” he finally said.

  “Is this another snotty crack you’re making?”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s a fact, and it kind of surprised me that I hadn’t noticed the resemblance before.”

  “In that case, thank you,” she answered shortly.

  “You and your old man ought to get along fine. You’re sure alike in more ways than appearance, too.”

  “Suppose we let this subject drop. I’m not interested in having a quarrel with you, Frank.”

  He straightened his tie and stood up. “Yeah. You’re right. We may as well call a truce, huh?”

  “Let’s do. Frank, Jerry said that you had asked him to spend the summer with you. I don’t feel good about that.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with a teenager spending the whole summer with his father?” he asked with annoyance.

  “He’s not a teenager, yet.”

  “He’s thirteen.”

  “Well, I don’t want him running wild while you’re working during the day. That’s the way a kid picks up bad habits.”

  “Hell fire, Paula. You can’t keep him tied to your apron strings always!”

  “And I won’t let you make a hoodlum of him!”

  The sound of the custodian brought a halt to their heated words. They waited expectantly for him to leave, but he did not. “I’m late, folks. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get my cleaning done in here,” said the old janitor.

  “Oh, we’re sorry we detained you,” replied Paula, showing her compassion for the tired old man and his weak watery eyes. “Come on, Frank. Let’s go so he can do his work.”

  Frank shoved the little gate aside, letting Paula precede him along the aisle. Once out on the street, they paused.

  “Where’s your car?” he asked, looking up and down the street.

  “In the lot. Where’s yours?”

  “By the curb.”

  They glanced toward their vehicles. It would have been too much of a concession for either to go to the other’s car to finish the discussion.

  “Getting back to Jerry,” said Paula. “Why do you want him with you when you don’t even have a home, Frank?”

  “Connie and Billy Joe would like to have him visit. They have already said that. Besides, as soon as I get on my feet I’ll be moving into my own place—probably before summer.”

  Paula scanned his face, “You haven’t mentioned Kim. How do you think she will feel when her brother goes to you and she hasn’t been invited? She’s going to be hurt, Frank.”

  He looked at her in mock surprise. “That’s the very thing I told you, Paula. I said this would hurt the kids, that they’d be the ones who’d suffer. And you reminded me that they expected divorce— that it didn’t matter.”

  “Well, I don’t like the idea of you taking Jerry and not his sister. That’s not fair to her.”

  It was a problem that defied solution, this matter of the children. “I guess it isn’t fair, but I can’t have them both at the same time. I’ll just plan on
taking Kim after Jerry returns here. Is that okay? Or have you decided to let him come to me at all?” Frank could tell by her expression that she had made up her mind. She always told everything through her face. “How about it?” he asked.

  Paula glanced toward her car, aware that it was late and she ought to be going. “Frank, you can have Jerry for the summer.”

  “Are you sure it’s all right?” he asked.

  “Certainly. You’re a fine father.” She patted him lightly on the cheek and hurried off to her automobile.

  He throttled an impulse to call after her. But instead, he watched her until she rounded the corner and was lost to sight. Sighing, he unlocked his car and slid into the seat. Summer. He’d see her in the summer.

  Cecil walked along the white sandy beach, keeping above the water line. It was a gloomy overcast day with a chill wind blowing in off the Pacific, a day that would attract no one, not even kids in shiny black wet suits, to the area. Normally, April would have brought out the teenagers and beach bums in droves, but not this year. The long stretch of sand was empty.

  He ducked under the frayed twine of a volleyball net, and continued toward the rocks. He hadn’t frequented the beach often, having always felt conspicuously out of place among the semi-nude, tanned healthy bodies that frolicked or lounged in the sand. His only other trip here had been made on the spur of the moment, and had left him regretting it. Not that he had any reason to regret it, but the shock of seeing the honey brown body with its two firm mounds of breasts bared had stunned him for a moment, and he had unwittingly been caught staring. The girl’s smart suggestion had sent him rushing off the beach.

  There were no signs of old campfires, no colored towels littering the view today. Sadly, the entire beach was a wasteland in need of warm bodies, surf boards, and life. Not too different from the rest of the countryside, Cecil reasoned. Huge fields, once lush with vegetables, were now pastures of wild grass, proliferating for the lack of tilling. But what was the use in tilling a field that couldn’t grow edible foods?