by Julia Shupe
That night they’d meandered from US-441 and stopped just short of Knoxville, turned down residential streets, and followed dirt paths to more remote areas. Thankfully Jeremy had packed a United States atlas in the cart some years before, and he now plotted their course with a purple marker. They’d come across the residence by accident. Jeremy was fully ready to find a flat expanse of earth and hunker down beneath the stars. They had tent flaps and poles, and could set up anywhere they wished, but they’d found the house instead, and they’d taken advantage.
“So how about it?” he urged, pulling her attention from the celestial patterns, visible from a small square high in the ceiling’s loft. “Twilight? Perhaps the Hunger Games?”
He watched her finish her soup and lay down on her side. Soundlessly she curled into herself and he startled as he realized just how much weight she’d lost. He could clearly see the outline of her spine through her thin shirt, her vertebrae a small, humped outline that ran the length of her back. Grief, he managed to assuage himself. It was just the grief. Her sugars were fine.
With a sigh he rose from the couch and stamped out the fire in the hearth. He stretched out beside her and clasped his hands behind his head. Even though the house boasted many bedrooms, he and Sam found solace together in the living room. Without so much as a word, they’d simply set up the sleeping bags here, as if neither could manage a single night alone.
He peered at her slim form, the light of the moon silhouetting her in silver piping.
“Sam, you’ll have to speak to me at some point. I know you blame me for what happened to your mother.” He sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps it really was my fault. I did open the door for them, right? And I didn’t do my job. I wasn’t able to protect her. I’m the one who failed you both.”
She didn’t respond and he took a ragged breath. For some reason he wasn’t able to stop the emotion from creeping into his words, found that he didn’t even want to. Not tonight. He hadn’t the energy to pretend. His voice shook with un-shed tears.
“I suppose it’s me that really needs to hear your voice. I’m the one who misses you, Sam. I’m the weak one, the one who needs to hear inane chatter about silly vampires and magic wands.” He pulled the blankets up to his chin. “I miss you and I feel alone. I wish you’d talk to me is all. For my sake. Sometimes it’s easier to weather the storm as a team.”
She rustled in her blankets but didn’t speak. Well, that was it. He’d tried everything to reach her. He’d laid his emotions bare. That was the best he could do. He blinked into the darkness. Was it? Was it everything? No. That was almost it. He’d tried everything else he could think of to lift her from her protective shell, and so he figured to try this one last thing, this final Hail Mary. He’d been thinking of it for several days now but worried that it might not be the right thing to do. He certainly wouldn’t win any parent-of-the-year awards, but if it could possibly succeed in bridging the gap between them, then it was worth a try. Similar experiences often did that.
“Sam, I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I remember it well. It hurts like nothing else I can explain. It leaves a scar, deep and jagged, one that never fully heals, I’m afraid.”
She scoffed and the noise startled him. He’d become accustomed to his own ramblings of late and the sound seemed somehow alien. Her voice came ragged and low, but it came. “No you don’t,” she whispered hoarsely. “You have no idea what it’s like. Not at my age you don’t. Your parents lived to be old and gray. They died of natural causes. It’s not the same thing and you know it.”
With that she settled back into her blankets and shut him out completely.
“I only wish that were true, Sam, but it’s not. The grandparents you thought were my parents actually weren’t. My parents died.” His belly did a nauseating flip as he took the risk. “My father shot himself in the head when I was only three.”
She flinched and rose fluidly from her blankets, her body stiff and straight in the moonlight. She sat still a moment, her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her, clearly pondering what he’d said. She lay back down on her blankets, her voice softer, yet no less accusatory. “You’re lying to me. I know what you’re doing. I’m not stupid. You’re trying to make our situations the same but they’re not. What you’re saying doesn’t even make sense, Dad. It’s disgusting actually.”
He shrugged into the darkness. “I’m not lying, Sam. And I think you’re old enough to know the truth. Blame and condemnation are adult concepts. If you’re going to hold fast to them, if you’re going to nurture, build, and shape them, then I’d like you to know the entire truth of things. Adults make informed decisions, but to do so they need all the facts. So if you’re going to alienate me permanently, then I’d like you to know everything about me before you do it.” He turned his back to her and closed his eyes without another word. Let her ponder on that for a time.
The next morning was bright and warm, and together they set out for the library. She hadn’t said anything since breakfast, but he could sense her controlled restraint and the pressure that was building beneath it. He’d set a fire within her last night, he knew. He also knew that the best way to stoke those flames was to ignore her.
“We’ll go first to the library,” he began casually, “and then I’d like to rummage a few of the town’s convenience stores to see if we can find any items of use that were left behind.”
His hand found the shape of his gun, holstered at his waist. They hadn’t seen many others since they’d lost the cabin and he didn’t really expect that they would. Without a source of water, these lands were useless. He figured there must be a few families hunkered in these hills where fresh water could still be pumped from deep wells, but they weren’t likely to happen across any today. But still.
She said nothing as they ventured down the dirt path that led back to town. The gravel beneath their shoes, and the breath, heavy from their open mouths, were the only sounds for what seemed like miles, and he found himself imagining a world that might contain only them. A shiver ran through him as he considered the distinct possibility that they might never lay eyes on another person again. Well—another decent person, he clarified. One with whom they’d actually foster an acquaintance. Over the past few weeks, what few people they did see were small gangs of miscreants roaming these hills. To avoid encounters they’d hidden behind houses or run to the woods until the small bands of pillagers passed them by, but they were yet to cross paths with decent folk.
Her voice split the silence. “So are you gonna to tell me then? Or just leave me to wonder?”
He raised a mocking brow. “To wonder? About what?”
She scowled and stopped in her tracks. When he turned to face her she’d planted her feet a foot apart and was standing, arms akimbo, a look of exasperation twisting her delicate features. He knew that look. Oh, how like her mother she truly was.
“I mean it, Dad. You said that just to get me talking. I’m not stupid. So I’m here. Talking. Now you owe me an explanation. What you said makes no sense. Your mother was Olivia and your father was Liam. Either you’ve been lying to me my entire life, or you’re lying to me now. Which horrible one is it?”
He turned from her and began walking again. “They weren’t my parents Sam. They found me. They found me, saved me, and adopted me, but they weren’t my true parents.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to me? You didn’t think it was important?” she asked as she matched his strides. “Wait.” She shook her head “No. You’ve got to be lying. That can’t be right. Grandpa had diabetes like me. You guys always said I inherited it from him.”
“You didn’t. Strange, I know. But sometimes—as they say—truth is stranger than fiction. And yes, it’s completely unlikely that he’d suffer the same condition as my mother, but it’s true just the same. Your biological grandmother, my mother, also suffered from diabetes. You actually inherited it from her.”
He gave her time to reflect on things a
s they walked, and soon he began to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his back. It was a lot for her to digest. Hell, it was a lot for anyone. Susan had known, of course, but there’d never been a reason to tell Sam. They hadn’t meant to keep it a secret from her. It just hadn’t come up. Liam and Olivia were more than just adoptive parents to Jeremy. To him they were parents in every sense of the word. They’d loved him and he them in every way that ran just as deep as shared biology.
He couldn’t remember much of the day he’d met them. Flashes of red, the touch of his mother’s cold hand, the roundness and firmness of Olivia’s belly, and the bright red stippling of blood that feathered the policeman’s cheek. Other than that, the memories were similar to impressions, more akin to sensations. They were smells and colors, and bursts of sound. But to Jeremy, that wasn’t the day his life ended. It was the day it was saved.
Sam pressed him further, but her tone was gentler. “So you said your father killed himself. Shot…shot himself in the head.”
Jeremy nodded. “He did.”
“Dad…that’s…it’s horrible. Can you remember it?”
He sighed. “Not really. I remember Grandma Liv and Grandpa Liam more.”
He saw her brow furrow. “But what about your mother? So your father killed himself. How did you end up with Grandma and Grandpa instead of your real mother?”
He stopped and turned to her, caught the edge of her sleeve. This was truly the reason he’d brought it up in the first place. He swallowed past a lump in his throat.
“My father killed himself because my mother died in our car. Grandma once told me that she thought he must’ve felt culpable for her death. He may have even been somewhat culpable. We’ll never know. But Sam, my mother died of her diabetes. Back then, the way Liam and Olivia tell it, only the wealthiest of people could afford the best treatments. Society was crumbling then, and it was becoming harder and harder to find the means to treat her illness. People were beginning to raid stores and flee farther inland, away from the oceans. People were beginning to turn on one another, to steal from one another to serve their own needs. It was an ugly world. Many millions died of simple starvation, while scores of others died from diseases left untreated. Cancer, diabetes, heart disease—these are all death sentences if improperly treated.”
He suddenly sat. He didn’t know why. Just dropped hard to his rump in the middle of the street, as though he were a heavy stone cast into a pond.
Sam glanced to the right and then to the left as if someone might notice. “Dad, get up! You’re sitting in the middle of the road.”
“Oh I’m sorry. Am I embarrassing you? Do you think some cars are coming?” He crossed his legs and pulled her down beside him. “Sam, we need to make pledges to one another. But first, we need to see past this silence between us. Guilt and disgrace, though not illnesses, can be death sentences too. Look how they destroyed my biological father.” He took a breath and captured her reluctant hands, smoothing them inside his own. “Sam, I know you blame me for the death of your mother. I blame myself too.” His voice threatened to break as he pictured Susan’s face. “Damn it, Sam. I never should’ve opened that door. I never should’ve allowed your mother to put down that weapon. Perhaps I shouldn’t have made an acquaintance with Doctor Jack in the first place. Sam, don’t you see? We could play the ‘should’ game or the ‘what if’ game till the cows come home, but it won’t do us any good now. The only choice we have is to move forward as best we can. It all comes down to a choice. Either we choose to get up every day and move forward, or we choose to curl up in the shadows and live in the past.”
She pursed her lips and then opened them and spoke softly. “Move forward? How can you say that? Dad, I’m not just going to forget about her.”
“Moving forward doesn’t mean forgetting. Sam, I loved her too. I loved her since the day we met. But I’m not going to do to you what my father did to me. I wouldn’t do that. If I give up and quit trying, where does that leave you? If I roll over and refuse to speak, refuse to act, or to eat, then what happens to you?”
The lines above her brow smoothed and he hoped she was beginning to understand. She took a steadying breath and squeezed his hands. “Dad, you’re wrong. I don’t blame you for her death. Not necessarily. I’m just angry and I miss her. But what your father did to you was wrong. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
He nodded. “It was wrong. On so many levels. He gave up on me, but even more than that, he gave up on himself. He didn’t trust in his own ability to persevere. But sometimes when we persevere—sometimes when we push through the darkest of times, we find the brightest of lights at the end. I’m not saying that our lives will ever be better than they were with Mom. I’m only saying that if we don’t give up, they could perhaps be good again. Right? Good in a different way.”
She dropped his hands and stared at her open palms. “I can’t imagine things ever being good again, but I understand what you’re saying.”
“That’s all I can ask for.”
She lifted her gaze. “I’m sorry dad. I still wish you would’ve told me everything before this, but I’m sorry to hear about your parents. I think your dad should’ve tried harder.”
He held her gaze with the fierceness of a lion protecting his den. He didn’t want to scare her, but this was important.
“Samantha, part of trying hard and of soldiering on is having a proper plan. That’s the best lesson I ever learned from Grandpa Liam. He planned for every occurrence, every possible outcome. He was systematic and methodical in his approach to life and I think it was these qualities more than anything else that are responsible for our lives here today.”
He lifted his hands to his head and massaged his temples as he pieced together his thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is that you and I need to develop a plan. Together. And the core of that plan needs to center around your illness. We lost so much in that fire. Your mother passed me the only disks she had in her pocket, and although we’d packed several more in the cart, they won’t last us forever. So I need you to cooperate with me. I need you to understand why I do what I do. I’m developing a plan for us, but I need your help. Sam, I would go to the ends of the earth to protect you, but I can’t do it alone. I need your help to persevere. Can you do that?”
He saw her eyes well with tears that didn’t spill. She rose up on her knees, leaned across the divide between them, and circled her arms around his neck. “I will, Dad. I will persevere. For Mom.”
He released a sigh. “Good. Now, let’s go to the library. I assume you still want to put me through the mental torture of the Twilight series?”
She pushed herself to her feet and dusted her kakis. “Yes, I suppose we can pick those up. But I really think I want to read Harry Potter all over again. Do you mind?”
He smiled. People often did that. Often they tried to recapture a moment by recreating it. It was a healthy part of the healing process, and one that he was happy to oblige.
“Yeah,” he agreed with a nod. “I think I’d like that.”
Humans could never accept the world as it was and live in it. They were always breaking it and living among the shattered pieces.
—Robin Hobb, Blood of Dragons
Chapter 10
October 2nd, 2176
Memphis, Tennessee
1,777 miles to San Diego
“How you holding up Seth?” Jeremy called out from his position at the rear.
He watched the boy’s feet pedal furiously. The bike wasn’t set to the correct gear, and for some reason it refused to shift properly. He’d have another look at it tonight when they stopped for sleep. Yes, another blessed kiss of the fates had seen fit to deliver them a third bike. Well, Jeremy had always held the belief that once you committed to looking for something specific—once you were focused on that one thing, it would appear faster, but this was just his opinion. They’d found the third bike at one of the neighboring houses on Seth’s street, in the garage to be exact. It was a bit s
mall for his frame and had needed a bit of work. The tires were flat, but thankfully whole, and the chain had begun to rust, but a bit of oil and elbow grease was all it had taken.
“Merlin,” Seth corrected over his shoulder. “It’s Merlin. And I’m doing fine.”
Sam’s scoff was audible above the whirring of their spinning tires. “No. We talked about this. It’s not Merlin. It’s Marlin. Merlin was not a kind of fish.”
“But I like Merlin!”
Jeremy groaned. He was tiring of this familiar conversation. “Pike, number please.”
She lifted her arm and peered at the inside of her wrist. “Eighty-eight.”
He pedaled faster, fell into place beside Seth, and rubbed his sweaty forehead against his shoulder. Although he’d planned to address them casually, his pulse was thundering in his ears.
“Okay guys. So we’ve passed into Memphis. Another mile ahead, I-55 North is going to cross the Mississippi River. Do you both feel up to doing it tonight or would you rather camp somewhere on this side and then bike across tomorrow morning?”
As he’d expected, Sam’s excitement couldn’t be contained.
“Today!” She glanced at the sun, low in the sky. “We’ve at least another two hours before dark. I think we should do it!”
Contrary to Jeremy’s expectations, Seth was more reluctant. It was unusual that he’d disagree with her. In the short week they’d spent together, he’d come to idolize Sam, and typically, whatever she wanted to do, he was right behind her, nipping at her heels like a puppy. But not this time. This time he was hesitant and his voice shook with alarm.