As We Know It

by Carrie Butler

  After a moment, he grumbles, “Pussyfoot millennials…”

  “Thanks, Francis.” Vincent shoots a dark look at the curtain. “Helpful as always.”

  “He’s not wrong,” I say, toying with my bottom lip. “I asked you to stay with me before, and the offer still stands.”

  “Well, since Seaside’s in ruins, and my brother is a… what did you say?”

  “Capullo.”

  “Yeah, since he’s a capullo, I guess a change of scenery wouldn’t kill me.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I mutter. “I look forward to spending more time with you, too.”

  “Well, that’s a given.”

  “Be still, my heart.”

  “Come on…”

  I give him the stare. He might as well get used to it.

  “You’re going to make me say it in front of Francis?” Vincent looks genuinely disarmed now, which is borderline hilarious.

  “You don’t have to. I’m just sayin’ you have to have cojones before you worry about keeping them intact. That’s all.”

  His jaw tenses. “Elena.”

  Nothing says I care for you like insulting a guy’s manhood.

  “Fine,” he grits out. “I want to be with you, okay? But you gotta realize, you’re trading one disaster for another. When I had to leave you behind in that park, it hurt me in a way I’d never hurt before. Every minute away from you worried the hell out of me, and it seemed like we’d never make it back to each other. I thought, maybe life doesn’t give second chances. Maybe, my attempt to spare you was really an attempt to spare myself the pain if something happened to you. I didn’t know what I was gambling with until I almost lost it. So, yes, if the earth hasn’t swallowed your place whole, I’ll gladly share it with you. If it has, I’ll be just as happy in a cardboard box on the corner, so long as you’re with me.”

  My cheeks spread warmth across my face. Did we just have a moment?

  “Big cojones,” Francis mutters behind the curtain.

  “I… want to be with you, too,” I finally admit aloud as I reach for his hand. “And I understand why you felt like you had to go alone. Truth is, you couldn’t have left me in better hands. Red became a dear friend who accompanied me as far as he could. Without him, I don’t think I would’ve had the courage to climb down the side of that bridge.”

  Vincent nods toward my arm. “Was that before you dislocated it?”

  “During.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah… .” But that wasn’t the part that hurt the most. I’ll have to tell him sooner or later, so I may as well get it over with now. “Red—”

  “Didn’t make it,” Vincent fills in softly. “I know.”

  My mind scrambles for a memory of telling him but comes up lacking. “How…”

  “Your eyes.” He gives me a humorless smile and squeezes my hand. “I recognize the look. You’ve got that haunted, wistful stare that says your mind’s replaying tragedies to fill the lulls. You’re still questioning your choices, taking inventory of anything that might’ve changed the outcome. But deep down, you know. You couldn’t have done anything more than you did.”

  Tears spill from my lashes—not just from the truth in his words, but from the raw, personal experience they speak of. He’s gone through this before. He’s still going through it. It was bad enough losing Red, and he was ready for it. This friend of Vincent’s, this Sanchez, helped shape the man he is today.

  “Look at me,” he demands, his intense stare piercing mine. “I’m not going to say you won’t carry that around for the rest of your life, because you will, but day by day, it’s going to get lighter. The best way to honor his memory is to live your life. Experience the things he never got to.”

  My chair screeches as I push it back and throw my good arm around him, finally letting go of the emotional dam I’ve spent so long building. I sob into the crook of his shoulder until my lungs ache and I can’t breathe.

  Vincent whispers warm words of comfort into my ringing ear and rubs my back, never once judging me for the overdue display. Even when I steal his bedside table’s tissues and collapse back into the chair, muttering about what a mess I am.

  After a few minutes, he leans back on his pillow. “So, tell me more about this house of ours…”

  CHAPTER 25

  I can’t believe we’re finally home.

  The hospital connected us with a team of volunteers flying stranded patients out of Redmond. We made it as far as Yakima before we had to depend on a series of vehicles running shuttles along select, cleared routes. Two weeks removed from the megathrust has afforded them time to get organized, and it shows. When they dropped us off at Green Lake, we couldn’t thank them enough.

  Seattle’s taken a hit, but it’s not out for the count. Even though our skyline has changed with a few collapsed skyscrapers, icons like the Space Needle are still standing tall. The driver for the last leg of our journey explained that, while the tsunami made it this far north, save for a few islands, the city’s geography buffered most of the blow. The Sound sloshed around, a few feet of water surged in, but that was it. The real damage came from the shaking, landslides, and liquefaction.

  Speaking of which, a few of the buildings up here seem to have succumbed to the latter. Mostly those closest to the water. They’re leaning at odd angles and wedged into the now solidified soil.

  “Told you your place would make it,” Vincent grunts, crutch-hopping up the stairs.

  “First off, it’s our place now.” I set down a squirming Gizmo to find the key. “Second, it doesn’t count if you make the guess five minutes out.”

  “Sounds like someone’s a sore loser.”

  “Uh-huh,” I twist the key in a lock I never thought I’d touch again. The door swings open to a powerless living room—no shocker there—but it’s the sound of muffled voices that has my nerves on end.

  Vincent’s expression melts into something lethal as he thumps past me, undaunted by his obvious disadvantage as his trusty fur ball sidekick scurries close behind. “Who’s in here?”

  The conversation cuts off, followed by quick footsteps down the hall. I swipe a vase shard off the floor with my good hand, adrenaline spiked and ready to go. As soon as that sorry, squatting hijo de puta comes around the corner, he’s in for a world of hurt. He chose the wrong couple to mess with.

  Unfortunately, he spots me before I spot him.

  “Lardy, lardy, look who’s home!” Brent laughs, taking a swig of what has to be lukewarm beer. “Where’ve you b—ahh!”

  He bends over, clutching his eye where Vincent rammed the tip of his crutch. “What the hell, man?”

  Gizmo barks.

  “Show a little respect.”

  Brent’s forehead crinkles in angry grooves as he raises his voice. “You want to step outside?”

  Vincent doesn’t flinch. “Do you?”

  I could jump him right here and now.

  Naturally, Brent backs down, angling for a cheap shot. “Where’d you find this guy, Laney? You paying for him, too, or did you finally find a chubby chaser?”

  Oh, he knows exactly how to set me off. I’m about to get upset and defensive, playing right into his hands, when Vincent slams his crutch against the wall, separating us. “Listen up, Trent.”

  “Brent.”

  “You overestimate the number of shits I give.”

  Brent starts to protest, but Vincent’s glare shuts him up.

  “You are going to put your hands on your head, and you are going to walk out that door without looking back. Because if I see your face again, if you ever as much as look in this direction, I will find you.” He pants through gritted teeth, heaving his shoulders. “And I will wrap my hands around that chickenshit neck of yours and—”

  “Brent?” A skinny little waif with short dark hair wanders out of the bedroom, my bedroom, wearing one of his old t-shirts. “Who are these people?”

  Oh, no. Oh, hell no.

  “Now,” Brent starts, thrusti
ng a finger in my direction, “before you get all bent out of shape, remember I got squatters’ rights. Tony’s apartment isn’t inhabiti… inhabita… livable, at the moment, so I told her we could crash at my old place.”

  It hits me then that he wants me mad. He wants me irrational and miserable and under his control. As much as I want to shiv them both with this jagged piece of ceramic, I’m not going to let it show. I’m going to be calm, gracious, and too busy living my life to worry about theirs. “That’s fine.”

  “It is?” he and Vincent ask at the same time.

  “You’re welcome to stay in the garage with the other garbage tonight. I’ll even throw in the sheets, since I was going to burn them, anyway. But then you need to find a shelter. I’d hate for you to walk in on us and lose that confidence of yours.”

  Brent reaches for my hand, frustrated, and I jerk it back. “Where’s your ring?”

  “I used it to barter for a truck in Hillsboro.”

  “Right. You’re such a lying—ahh!”

  “Respect!” Vincent reminds him with his crutch.

  “Why are you like this now?” Brent cries, holding his other eye. “What happened?”

  “An earthquake.”

  Tony is looking anywhere but at me, and I almost feel bad for her as I usher them to the door. Almost.

  “Don’t feed me that,” Brent spits. “Things like that shatter people like you.”

  I click my tongue in mock pity. “Oh, Brent. Hasn’t anyone ever told you? You don’t know what you can survive until you have to.”

  “Whatever.”

  They leave with a door slam so loud it would have jarred things on the wall, had they still been there. Buh-bye.

  “And que te folle un pez espada!” Vincent adds, shaking his fist at the door as we both crack up laughing.

  “You finally got it!”

  “I had a good teacher.” He hobbles over to the couch and tosses his crutches on the floor for Gizmo to inspect. It took some convincing, but he finally agreed to enroll our adopted fur baby in a program that certifies dogs to help owners with PTSD. Once things return to normal and she completes her training, she’ll be able to do things like wake Vincent up from nightmares and comfort him until he calms down. One of us is skeptical about the arrangement, but I know it’ll help both of us in the long run—especially if Vincent starts working at the library and needs to get on a schedule again.

  I lock the door. “Water?”

  He grunts in affirmation, and I run to the kitchen for a couple of bottles to toast with. The moment feels weighted in time, significant of both an end and beginning. It’s only right that one of us say something.

  I flop down and clear my throat, ready to highlight the strides we’ve made over the past two weeks. The impromptu speech is all but on my lips when Vincent leans over.

  “You know, I’d hate for them call your bluff,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against my pulse point. “Maybe we ought to busy ourselves in case they come back.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m kissing you.”

  “Vincent.”

  “What?” He looks up, feigning innocence.

  Gizmo takes her cue, scampering off to explore the rest of the house, and I shake my head. I can’t do it. I can’t have a serious conversation with this man right now. “The doctor said not to overexert yourself.”

  “Well, yeah but—”

  “So, let me.”

  He blinks, and a slow-spreading grin tugs at his features. “Yes, ma’am.”

  ❇ ❇ ❇

  As we lie sprawled across the worn couch cushions, mid-afternoon sunlight peeking through our broken windows, I can’t help but reflect on how things have changed. We didn’t simply survive the worst natural disaster in US history. That’s how we made it through our day-to-day existences before this. It took a wakeup call of epic magnitude to teach us how to thrive despite circumstance. To press on despite pain. To discover we have things worth fighting for, and we won’t go down easy.

  It’s true we’ve lost much in the Pacific Northwest, but we’ve gained something in return—proof of our own resilience. Whatever this world has to throw at us… somehow, we’ll be okay.

  THE END

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Thank you so much for reading AS WE KNOW IT. If you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving a review at your retailer of choice. Honestly, even the briefest of thoughts makes a difference. Not only will it help other readers make informed purchasing decisions, it will help the book gain visibility—which, in turn, will give me the blessed opportunity to produce more work for you. It’s the cirrrrrrrcle of life!

  Did anyone else sing?

  No? Just me? All right, then.

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  Lastly, this book is a work of fiction, but it is based on a real threat. If you’re interested in more information, please visit: www.carrieabutler.com/cascadia

  OTHER BOOKS BY CARRIE BUTLER

  Check out the award-winning series that started it all! Strength (Book 1)

  Courage (Book 2)

  Honesty (Book 2.5)

  Loyalty (Book 3)

  Available at most major retailers!

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  WHAT TO DO DURING THE EARTHQUAKE

  AS WE KNOW IT is a work of fiction, but it is based on a real threat and I’d be remiss not to provide at least a little safety information.

  As you might recall, Vincent spent part of a scene thumbing through a book by Sandi Doughton—that was a not-so-subtle nod to the author/journalist whose non-fiction title, FULL-RIP 9.0: The Next Big Earthquake in the Pacific Northwest, was what inspired me to write a book centered around Cascadia.

  It’s a fantastic resource, and I encourage anyone interested in the scientific aspect of things to check it out. With her permission, I’ve included seven tips on what to do during the earthquake:

  Drop, cover, and hold on.

  If you’re indoors stay there. … Get under a desk or table, or get on your hands and knees against an interior wall.

  If there’s no place to take cover, crouch down and cover your head and neck with your arms.

  If you’re driving, pull to the side of the road and stop.

  If you’re outside, move into the open.

  In the mountains, beware of the potential for landslides.

  If you’re on the coast, expect a tsunami and head for high ground.

  Excerpted from Full Rip 9.0: The Next Big Earthquake in the Pacific Northwest by Sandi Doughton, published by Sasquatch Books.

  NOTE: The appearance of this excerpt is not a scientific endorsement for AS WE KNOW IT. As with most fictional titles based on real life events, I had to take some liberties to keep the plot moving.