by A. M. Geever
“For fuck’s sake, Rupert,” Walter snapped, color high in his cheeks as they approached. The breeze riffled his thinning hair. “Who am I supposed to write to in Rome? I released him from his vows, and now I’m going to say the Mass and marry him.”
Both men saw him and froze. Rupert glared at Doug as he skirted by and entered the church by the door Doug had just exited.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Walter said. “You know how Rupert is.”
When they reached sacristy door, Doug said, “Hold on a sec.”
Walter looked up at him, a question in his eyes.
“I’m sorry that I’m leaving all of this to you, Walter. I never meant to leave you stuck or anything. It’s just…there was Skye, and before I knew it, she was all there was.”
Walter smiled at him, affection brightening his eyes and smile. “Our lives change. Who we are changes. You’ve been by my side for seven years. You’ve been devoted and loyal, and you’ve loved God as much as anyone. You kind of fell down on keeping your vows at the end,” he said, sounding rueful. “But that’s between you and Him.”
“Your theology is more forgiving than Rupert’s.”
“He means well. He’s just a know-it-all,” Walter said. “Now. I have a wedding to perform, unless you want to keep the bride waiting.”
Doug gulped. “I don’t.”
Five minutes later they were assembled at the altar, Miranda by Doug’s side as his best woman. Pillar candles on tall stands were lit along the first ten pews, as were the giant candelabras above the altar, making the large church feel cozy and intimate. The seats were packed—there were even people standing in the back. A detached part of Doug’s brain thought this would be the perfect time to attack SCU. Thank God the mob after Mario wasn’t that big.
The doors opened, the twilight beyond them offered the barest of silhouettes. A moment later, Violet—the maid of honor—appeared. Her eyes were huge as she took in the people. Doug wiggled his fingers at her and she smiled. She walked to them with purpose, hesitating at the end of the aisle, looking unsure of where she should go. She searched the faces of the Portlanders and her new family in the first row until she found her dad. Mario grinned and pointed to Walter, which got her back on track.
The massive doors at the front of the church closed. The last of the sunset’s reflection on the hills to the east vanished.
In its place was Skye.
A lump formed in Doug’s throat as she drew near. They’d done something with her hair to make it wispy, pulled off to the side in a swoop across her forehead. Karen had applied a little makeup that made her blue-gold eyes shimmer, and mascara that made them more prominent. The fabric of her dress looked like it was woven from a glittering spider’s web, the style so simple it almost looked like a floor-length slip. It draped close to her, the shine of the fabric moving and rippling with the motion of her body. He felt mesmerized, her graceful movements casting a spell, for she looked like her laugh—shimmering and magical.
Skye grinned at him, the loose bouquet of the last of the campus roses an explosion of color and scent. He grinned back, still not able to figure out what he’d done to deserve her. Miranda nudged his elbow.
“Quit staring and take her hand,” she whispered.
Startled, he held his hand out to her. “You look beautiful.”
“You look pretty snazzy yourself.”
Walter beamed at his former brother-priest, then at Skye. “We’re only delighted that you’re joining our family, Skye.”
“Me too,” she said. She glanced sidelong at Doug and said, “There’s still time, if you want to back out.”
He must have made a face, for she laughed. It only strengthened the illusion that she was made of starlight and moonbeams. Doug’s heart swelled, full to bursting.
“Not a chance.”
Walter cleared his throat. He said, almost severely, “If you two can pipe down…”
His stern countenance gave all of them—Violet, Miranda, and he and Skye—the giggles. When they showed no signs of subsiding, Skye said to Walter, “Maybe you should just start? We’ll stop…I think.”
Walter shook his head, looking happily exasperated. Doug took a deep breath, trying to get hold of himself, wanting to remember everything—the softness of Skye’s hand, its warmth and strength, and how right it felt in his. Her smile as it arced to her blue-gold eyes, their kaleidoscope of colors shining with love. The silvery-blond hair framing her face like fine, spun silk, and how it brushed her neck while she tried to stifle her giggles. And the way she had moved coming down the aisle, soft as a breeze, and so beautiful his heart ached.
He made the sign of the cross by rote as the Mass began. Walter said, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit, be with you all.”
But all Doug saw and heard was the sparkling, fairy-dust woman beside him, and the tinkling sound of her laughter.
Miranda slid her hand through the crook of Father Walter’s arm. Everyone else was on the helicopter. Miranda shivered, chilled by more than the cold evening, for it was time to go.
They halted twenty feet from the helicopter. Victor was in the cockpit, helmet on, his hands moving over dials and clicking levers. Through the side door she saw a flash of blond hair, Emily or Skye helping the kids get strapped in.
“I wish you could come with us,” she said.
“You don’t need an old man like me,” Walter said, affection filling his voice.
She turned to face him. “More like an old man like you is needed here, to make sure things are done right this time.”
Father Walter gave her a wry smile. “They’d get along just fine without me.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“Ach, Miranda… d’you have to swear all the time?”
“Sorry.”
She looked at him, committing to memory the shape of his face, the sweetness of his shy smile, the well of compassion and kindness behind the sparkle in his hazel eyes. He’d been her father for so many years. He always would be.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said, her eyes welling with sudden tears. “Maybe in a couple years we’ll get sound defenses everywhere, and you can come visit us at LO.”
She didn’t want to leave him behind. It felt as if she was crossing a personal Rubicon that once forded, she could never retreat across again. She’d gone back to college all those years ago, not knowing she was going nowhere else. Not knowing it would become her home, and the people who survived, her family. There’d been so many things she hadn’t known then, and she learned most of them the hard way. Father Walter had been the one constant, a fixed point in time and space. He still will be, she told herself, but leaving this time wasn’t the same. This time, it felt final.
“That would be grand altogether. Now don’t cry, there’s a good girl,” Walter said, not taking his own advice. He jutted his chin to the helicopter. “Let Mario look after you. And could you both try to not bollocks it up this time?”
Her bark of laughter was almost a sob. He pulled her close, rocking her as he held her tight. “I love you, Miranda ágra.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
He gave her a final squeeze, then held her at arm’s length. “Go on now,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. Tears slipped down his cheeks, but his smile was warm. “Give Delilah a tummy rub from me.”
“I will,” she said, forcing herself to smile through her tears. If this was the last time she saw Father Walter, she wanted him to remember her being able to smile.
A quick peck on his cheek, another whispered ‘I love you,’ then she climbed into the helicopter. Father Walter stood on the tarmac, a slight, slim man, his graying hair blowing away from his face. His hands were jammed deep in his pockets, but he raised one over his head in farewell. Miranda kissed her hand, then blew it away, and was rewarded with one last smile.
She found the empty jump seat between Tessa and
Mario and slid into it, grateful she didn’t have to hold herself upright. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to.
“Ready?” Tessa said.
Miranda nodded, but she didn’t feel ready to leave her home for good.
“You okay?” Mario asked her. His hand closed around hers like a warm coat.
She started to answer, then paused. Maureen sat on Mario’s other side, watching her with a worried expression. Beside Maureen sat Violet, who leaned to look under her seat at the pet carrier strapped beneath it. Sean, who sat next to Violet, creased his brow at her antics. Then Violet sat upright and said, “Mister Bun Bun says it’s okay, Miranda.”
“Is that right?”
Violet nodded.
Sean laughed, and said something to Violet that Miranda didn’t catch. Emily, Michael, and Anthony sat across from them on the other side of the helicopter. Beside them, Doug and Skye radiated a newlywed glow. Another pet carrier was strapped beneath Anthony’s seat for three kittens he hadn’t been able to find homes for on purpose. Michael’s guitar case took up the space beneath his and his mother’s seat. Emily flashed Miranda a smile. She looked nervous, but excited, too.
Phineas appeared in the opening to the cockpit, his dark skin and white grin all that was visible below his helmet’s visor. “Victor’s going to fire her up. Is everybody ready?”
He looked them all over and nodded, apparently liking what he saw. He was almost in the cockpit when he turned back. “Don’t be moving in on my girl, Mario.”
Miranda heard Mario’s chuckle. She shook her head, a tiny smile lifting the corners of her mouth as she watched Phineas disappear back to the cockpit.
She said to Mario, affection in her voice, “That fucking kid.”
“Hey,” he said. He traced the back of his index finger along her jaw. A high whine sounded over their heads as the helicopter’s ignition sequence began. “Are you okay?”
Mario’s eyes were gentle, the love undergirding his voice and gaze steady and strong. She would miss Father Walter, and Karen, the community at SCU, even San Jose, as imperfect and unjust as it had been while she’d lived there. She hadn’t even bothered to track down Harold and kick his ass for selling them out when they’d fled to Santa Cruz with the vaccine, she realized. Contentment was making her soft. Harold hadn’t been conspiring with the Council while talking to Victor on the ham radio, but hadn’t come back inside the city walls yet. She hoped it was because he was afraid of her.
She looked at the others, the moment sharp and clear, every color ultra-bright as reality seemed to shift and rearrange itself. All of it beautiful in its way, and she open to it: the struggle and the work, the happiness and the pain, the beauty and the ugliness. Each played its part in life; they were all of a piece. Armoring herself against the pain had kept her from truly experiencing the joy. She’d sold herself short for so long, but not anymore.
Every single one of them, from Victor, who she’d once thought irredeemable, down to Violet’s rabbit and Anthony’s kittens, were starting anew. She knew there would be more hard times and pain, but also new joys and triumphs—more life.
She smiled at Mario, the bitter and the sweet of the moment holding her in a gentle embrace, and said, “Yeah. I think I am.”
Epilogue
Miranda squinted her eyes, shading them with her hand. They’d removed the Jeep’s canvas top last week to enjoy the sun, now that it had finally arrived. The brakes squeaked gently, then they came to a stop.
“This road gets worse every time,” Mario said.
As soon as he cut the ignition, the birdsong and the rustling trees above them filled the air. Miranda pushed the door open and levered herself out. She placed her hands on her lower back, groaning as she arched it. Delilah leaped from the back seat, like she wasn’t ten years old, and ran off to pee.
“Liley, wait,” Violet said, scrambling out from the Jeep’s back seat. She ran after the pit pull, all arms and legs and bright eyes, a little clumsy from the latest growing spurt that had added four inches to her height.
Delilah dashed away from Violet, beginning a game of chase. Mario walked around the Jeep, watching her, his delight at the antics of his little girl plain.
“We really need to get people out here to work on the road,” Miranda said.
“That’s what you said six months ago.”
She arched her eyebrow, pairing it with a withering stare, “Six months ago I didn’t have a boulder on my bladder.”
His grin faded, and he looked appropriately chastened. She reached into the back seat as Mario followed after Violet. Gently, she shook the small form sleeping in the back seat.
“Walter,” she said softly. “Walter, wake up.”
The boy whimpered, screwing up his face. His brown eyes glared at her through squinted lids. He scowled, not fully awake.
“We’re here?”
Miranda smothered a giggle. Walter didn’t like when you laughed at him for being grumpy. He was a funny little person, her son, a mixture of her spontaneity and Mario’s measured caution and patience. He assessed new situations until he was sure of them, where Miranda had thrown herself into anything new with abandon as a child. The fact that he was hers, and was so beautiful, always filled her with awe.
“Yep, we’re here. Come on.”
She took his small hand in hers. He jumped down from the Jeep’s open door, then beamed up at her, proud of his accomplishment, his sunny disposition already supplanting the grumpy wake-me-ups. Mario and Violet rejoined them.
Mario pulled the day bag from the back seat, then said to Violet, “Did you remember your swimsuit?”
Violet nodded. “Uh-huh.”
She skipped ahead, familiar with the path. Mario took Walter’s other hand. Delilah followed them, but a little haphazardly while she sniffed the interesting places.
“Where is it, Mama?”
“It’s just at the end of the path.”
They walked, twigs snapping under their feet, Walter’s face upturned.
“These are the tall trees, remember?” Mario said.
“I thought…” Walter’s voice trailed. “I thought they were bigger than our woods.”
“They are,” Mario said. “They’re just different kinds of trees.”
The path wound down, and Walter pulled his hands away to run ahead. Delilah trotted after him.
“Be careful,” Miranda said, out of habit more than need.
Mario called, “Watch your brother, Violet.” She turned back and waited for Walter.
“She’s so patient with Walter and Maureen,” Miranda said, feeling grateful. “I’m too freaking big to chase after them.”
Mario slipped his arm around her, pulling her close. He set his other hand on her rounded belly. “Two more months. Then you can go back to being lithe and dangerous.”
“You know it,” she said.
Violet, Walter, and Liley followed the curve of the path out of sight. They caught up to find them standing in the middle of the trail. Walter regarded the blast door warily.
“That’s the bunker,” Violet said. “We’ll go swimming.”
They walked up the long ramp, memories of Phineas and the tiger on the day they stumbled across the bunker flashing through Miranda’s mind. They stopped at the blast door, under the straight, horizontal lintel that had given the bunker away all those years ago. Miranda looked up to the video monitor, still making its lazy back and forth sweep.
“Kendall,” she said. “We’re here.”
They waited a few minutes, long enough that Walter was getting fidgety, when Kendall’s voice came through the speakers.
“Hi, guys!” His voice was bright and animated. “Be right there.”
“What’s that?” Walter said, looking around when the door unlocked with a pneumatic hiss, followed by a deep clunk.
“That’s the door,” said Miranda. She held out her hand to him. “Come on.”
Delilah streaked ahead of them, but was with Kendall when they m
et halfway down the ramp. He looked the same as ever: dark hair slightly unkempt, his lean frame clothed in jeans and a tee shirt. The owl blink was rare these days, and a smile danced in his dark-brown eyes.
“Uncle Kendall,” Violet squealed, running to meet him.
Kendall scooped her up in a hug. “You’re almost as tall as me! What are they feeding you, kiddo?”
Violet shrugged. “Nothing very good like here,” she said.
“I might have some chocolate for you,” he whispered.
Violet squealed again, clapping her hands.
“You’re early,” Kendall said, giving Miranda a hug.
“Walter woke up from his nap early.” She looked him up and down when their embrace ended. “You look good.”
“You look enormous,” he said.
“Never heard that before.”
Kendall turned to Mario, greeting him warmly with a hug and a handshake. Then he squatted so he was eye level with Walter, who had retreated behind Miranda’s legs.
“Hi, Walter,” Kendall said. “Remember me?”
Walter regarded him solemnly.
“It’s Uncle Kendall,” Miranda said.
Kendall looked up at Miranda and grinned. “Six months is a long time for a four-year-old. C’mon, I’ve got lunch ready.”
The biggest difference in the bunker these days was how alive it felt. There was wear and tear on the furniture, and children’s paintings taped to the walls. The bunker felt like a home, not a mausoleum for an extinct way of life. Almost sixty people lived here now, and many stopped by while they ate to say a quick hello. A group of teenagers ran by, shrieking with laughter, before their noise echoed up the ramp to the surface. The inner airlock was usually left open now. Only the blast doors were kept closed all the time.
“God, they’re loud,” Miranda said. “How is that possible?”
Kendall snorted. “Being oblivious helps. They’re having a party, probably snuck out some booze.”
“None of yours, I hope,” Mario said.
“That’s under lock and key,” Kendall said. “I can only imagine them watering down the liquor.”