Citizens of Logan Pond Box Set

by Rebecca Belliston

  Touch barrier officially crossed.

  “Braden Earl Ziegler!”

  He blinked and released her hand. With an apologetic smile, he stood. “Coming, Mom.”

  Mrs. Ziegler shot Amber a dark look before giving her son a job that could have been done by anyone, anywhere, anytime. Amber glared right back.

  * * * * *

  After a quick drink from the well, Greg went back to sorting. They were making good time. Piles dotted his grandparents’ driveway.

  Curious, Greg stopped behind the corner of the house and watched. Carrie and Oliver continued to work side by side on the truck bed. Despite Oliver’s age, they made a nice-looking pair. Oliver was tall and thin. Carrie was short and thin. What was left of Oliver’s dark hair was turning silver at the temples. Carrie’s hair shined gold in the sun. Both were quiet and generous and—if Greg was right—completely clueless about the opposite sex.

  Terrell passed Greg with an armful of blankets. “Oliver just made my life a heckuva lot easier. If I weren’t a married man, I’d kiss that guy.”

  Greg’s head snapped up. Married?

  His thoughts raced. There were four yellow cardies in the clan. Three were too old and tired to do anything with their citizenship. But if there were others…and if Oliver wasn’t married…maybe there was another way to get a few more people legal, or at least one more. A young, energetic woman desperate to get her perfect America back.

  Greg wasn’t exactly sure how the marriage laws worked now, but he had a hunch Miss Carrie Ashworth was one proposal away from citizenship.

  And if she was legal…

  He waited for the right moment. When Carrie climbed out of the truck, Greg hopped up.

  “Want some help?” Greg asked.

  Oliver’s eyes hardened, which Greg translated into a firm, No! The patrolman was as transparent as Carrie, but unfortunately for him, he was also as polite.

  “Fine,” Oliver grumbled.

  Greg and Oliver worked quietly for a moment. Greg picked up a box and examined the label. New Day Flour. He was sure that box had never been in Logan Pond before. Not only had Oliver found their stuff, he was supplementing it as well? Impressive.

  “How’d you get our stuff back?” Greg asked.

  Oliver hefted a sack of rice down to Braden. “I don’t know.”

  “Money?” Greg ventured.

  Oliver didn’t answer.

  “Bribes?”

  Still nothing.

  “A trade? You steal it? I’m just curious.” Greg motioned to the government-produced flour. “It couldn’t have been easy gettin’ all this.”

  Oliver paused to wipe his brow. “This stuff is theirs. They deserve to have it back—or at least what I could find of it.”

  Theirs. Greg didn’t miss the distinction. Oliver still didn’t consider him part of the clan, nor did he like him much. Considering Greg’s marital status and Oliver’s blatantly obvious crush, that wasn’t surprising. Greg reached out a hand anyway. “Well, this is amazing. Thanks.”

  Oliver shook his hand skeptically.

  Greg nearly hopped out of the truck, but with Carrie distracted, he figured it was worth a shot. He lowered his voice. “You ever gonna ask her out?”

  Oliver jerked up so fast he tripped over a box of shoes. “What?”

  Transparent.

  “Well, are you?” Greg said. “‘Cause I think—”

  “Hey, Oliver,” Carrie said, coming back with a box identical to Greg’s. “This isn’t ours.”

  Oliver stared at Greg, looking just shy of a heart attack. “It…it is.”

  “Are you sure because I think this is…” Carrie opened the lid. “Flour? There are ten—no wait, twelve bags of flour in here.”

  Oliver looked plenty happy to leave Greg. He climbed down and closed the lid of her box. “It’s yours now,” he said softly.

  “Oliver…”

  Carrie looked at him. He looked back. She shook her head only to have him nod his in return. With a sigh, she went back to sorting. Oliver went back to staring at the back of her head.

  Greg left the truck, deciding to give them some space. But he didn’t go far. He shuffled some utensils, peeking over his shoulder every second or two. Oliver became Carrie’s little shadow, following her from pile to pile and receiving little notice in return. Greg waited for him to make a move—talk to her, compliment her, anything to show interest—but he didn’t. And just that fast, Oliver became the most pathetic man alive. Carrie kept sifting through the piles, totally unaware the guy was memorizing every strand of her hair.

  “Jealous?” somebody said.

  Greg flinched. Richard O’Brien stood behind him.

  “What?” Greg said. “No. Just curious. Do they ever spend time together beyond this?”

  “I doubt it. Why?” Richard smiled. “Are you finally interested in her?”

  “Shhh! Would you keep it down?” Greg grabbed Richard’s arm and pulled him down the driveway. One overheard word, and Oliver was a goner.

  Richard laughed. “No problem, but I say go for it. Carrie is an angel. You would be a lucky man.”

  Greg liked the older professor. A lot. In the last few days, they’d spent hours discussing Greg’s ideas. Now Richard knew them as his own. Richard had an analytical mind that kept Greg on his toes, challenging him to really think through every detail. Not much had been able to do that lately. Up until that moment, Greg respected the guy. Now he just wanted to slug him.

  “Would you lay off?” Greg hissed. “I’m not into Carrie. I was just curious if she’s interested in—”

  Somebody grabbed Greg’s arm and spun him around.

  “Stay away from her, pretty boy,” Jeff Kovach said in his face. “Carrie is off limits.”

  Greg shoved his hand away. “So’s my arm. Next time you eavesdrop, clean the wax from your ears. I wasn’t talkin’ about me.”

  “Then why was she all googly-eyed at the game?” Jeff said. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way she watched you. Or the way you two hung back after. The last thing we need is Oliver running away now. Carrie is spoken for, so stay away.”

  Greg nearly leveled Jeff right there. If it wouldn’t have attracted Oliver’s attention, he would have.

  “Back off,” Greg warned.

  Jeff didn’t move and instead looked pure beast with his puffed-up chest and scraggly beard. Jeff Kovach liked to use his brute size to intimidate others. Greg rocked forward on his toes to let him know it wasn’t working. Carrie and Oliver hadn’t noticed the little skirmish, but it wouldn’t take much to get their attention. And complicate everything.

  Finally, Jeff backed off, but not before adding, “I’m watching you, Pierce. Don’t go playing where you don’t belong. She’s Oliver’s now.”

  Greg sighed. “Let’s hope so.”

  “Oliver’s?” Richard said, watching Jeff storm off. “You’re playing with fire—both of you. I suggest you leave it alone.”

  Richard went back to work, but Greg stayed put. Googly-eyed? So it wasn’t just him who had noticed. Even worse, Greg realized Carrie had interrupted his date conversation with Oliver. Greg didn’t get the chance to say, “Go for it. Ask her out.” Something to show his complete lack of interest in her. To any normal guy, it might have been in implied, but with Oliver, Greg couldn’t leave it up to chance. Oliver was too skittish.

  So was Carrie.

  Greg grabbed a box of clothes and headed back to the driveway. Pretending to sort, he crouched a few feet from Oliver and Carrie.

  “Carrie,” Oliver said. “Why won’t you let me—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “Thank you, but this is great. Terrell’s heading out to get supplies tomorrow. He’ll get everything else.” It was a lie. Greg didn’t see a single mattress or gun on the driveway, but she went on. “We’re fine. Don’t worry about us. You’ve already done too much.”

  “Okay,” Oliver said. “But if you change your mind…”

  “We won’t,” sh
e cut in again. Then she glanced around to see if anybody had heard. She completely missed Greg. “But thanks.”

  Oliver’s shoulder’s fell. “Okay. Oh, and happy birthday by the way. I meant to say that earlier, but…well…yeah.”

  Finally. Girls loved it when guys remembered that sort of thing, and Greg could tell that Carrie did. She perked up with her broad smile.

  “Thanks. It has been a great day.” Her eyes danced, and she almost looked as happy as she had after the game.

  Almost? Greg’s thoughts skidded to a halt. Googly-eyed?

  Not good.

  “And I forgot,” Oliver said. “Your shoes are in the smaller box over there. They’re right on top.”

  Birthday, nice. Shoes, even better. Now’s your chance, buddy!

  Greg wanted to jump up and coach the poor guy, feed him a few lines. Carrie was cute enough that finding a compliment wasn’t hard, just something—anything. If Oliver had half the gumption Greg did, he’d take her to a nice restaurant for her birthday. Except that wouldn’t work. Carrie couldn’t go into public. And there weren’t any restaurants left. The Collapse had really screwed up dating.

  “There’s actually…” Oliver scratched his bald spot. “There’s one more thing. Here.” He went to the passenger door and pulled out another box, this one without a lid. Greg couldn’t see the contents, but he heard them. Lots of little peeps.

  Carrie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my gosh, Oliver! They’re so cute! Zach!” she called. “You have to come see this!”

  That caught everybody’s attention. The clan pushed in to see Carrie’s birthday present, and female cooing quickly ensued. Greg leaned forward and caught sight of a box of baby chickens, chirping and hopping around. He looked up at the awkward patrolman with newfound respect.

  “Nice touch,” Greg whispered.

  He wasn’t particularly fond of chickens. His job cleaning up chicken parts in Raleigh’s Third Municipality sealed his thoughts on that subject, but they were much needed and a great birthday gift.

  Carrie jumped up and threw her arms around Oliver’s neck. “Thank you so much, Oliver! They’re perfect!”

  Greg wasn’t sure who was more shocked by the hug. Oliver or Carrie.

  Or Greg.

  Oliver didn’t know where to place his hands. They froze mid-air. The second Carrie realized what she’d done, she backed off with a blush that was the most promising thing Greg had seen all day. Tucking a lock of gold hair behind her ear, she thanked Oliver softly. By then, Oliver was the one smiling. That was great news for the clan. Carrie blushed, and Oliver had smiled. For the space of one moment, everything was perfect.

  Then it all backfired.

  Oliver turned and spotted Greg watching them with excessive interest. Misreading Greg’s intentions, Oliver’s smile faded. He started backing up.

  “Well…I better go, Carrie.” Oliver’s gaze flickered to Greg again. “I have to get back to work.”

  No!

  Had Greg been able to split in two, he would have punched himself. Jeff probably would have done it for him, but it was too late. Oliver was leaving.

  People flocked around the patrolman one last time to offer their gratitude. Carrie did as well, but the mob pushed her out of the way. Not that she cared. She just went back to her box of baby chicks.

  Oliver opened his door and stretched up to see her over the crowd, but it was no use. Carrie was in her own little world. The guy saved her clan and bought her baby chickens for her birthday, and he didn’t even get a wave goodbye.

  By the time Oliver drove away, Greg was the one staring at the back of her head.

  twenty-five

  “NICE, JONAH. I LIKE IT.”

  Jonah smiled up at Carrie between rosy cheeks. He picked up another rock and chucked it into her pile of weeds. Ten feet away, Little Jeffrey plopped down on his belly and combed Carrie’s backyard for bugs. The boys were in heaven. So was she.

  Where they saw rocks and bugs, she spotted vines and new stems. The peas she had scattered around her yard were now an inch tall. Beyond them were the unmistakable stems of daffodils and tulips—the same ones she’d planted with her mom years ago—fighting their way through five years of dead weeds. Add to it the pair of cackling Canadian Geese chasing each other across the surface of Logan Pond, and there was no way people could deny it now.

  Spring had officially arrived.

  With one hand, she held Jonah, and with her other she grabbed her wet work shirt from the laundry bucket and examined it. Soap was something Oliver hadn’t replaced, and her dingy yellow shirt looked almost gray. No love lost there. Maybe it was time to experiment with lye again. They had tried making it the first year with wood ashes and ended up with a concoction that burned skin better than it cleaned clothing.

  She draped her work shirt over the clothes line one-handed. Jonah grunted and tried to pull free of her grasp. She relaxed her grip enough he could reach the next rock, but not enough that his shoes—back on his feet thanks to Oliver—could squish her peas. Or worse, take off for the pond, which is where the toddler usually ran. Throwing rocks in the water was more entertaining than weeds.

  Jonah’s little pug nose was pink and dripped down his lip. It wasn’t as warm outside as it looked. A stiff wind blew from the north. They might have to postpone their trip to see the baby chickens.

  Carrie grabbed a rag from the basket to wipe his nose. He squirmed and she tried harder. He wedged his feet against her and pushed with all his might, so she wrapped an arm around his waist to keep hold.

  “Come on,” she said. “Just let me—”

  A sudden shadow crossed her vision at the same time something brushed her arm. With a startled cry, she fell back on the grass. Jonah landed on top of her.

  “Greg!” she yelled. But when she turned to glare at him, he was twenty long feet away, hands up in defense.

  “Hey, I wasn’t tryin’ to scare you that time,” Greg said. “I swear.”

  Tell that to her racing heart.

  She looked down and realized Jonah’s foot had brushed her arm at the same time Greg’s elongated morning shadow crossed her vision. Still, that man needed a cowbell. Although Greg had been good for one thing.

  With Jonah distracted, Carrie snagged the rag and wiped his little nose. Greg had a distraction of his own to deal with. Little Jeffrey tugged on his light blue UNC shirt.

  “Whoa there, little buddy,” Greg said. “What do you need?”

  “Taterbugs,” Jeffrey said.

  Greg looked at Carrie for a translation.

  “Potato bugs,” she said. “Roly-polies. You know those little round bugs that hide in the grass.”

  “Oh, you mean doodlebugs? That’s what we call them down south,” Greg told Jeffrey. “You find any yet?”

  It took Little Jeffrey some effort to get the right number of fingers up, which happened to be three.

  Greg ruffled his dark curls. “Very good, little man. Back to work.”

  Carrie marveled at the little interchange. It was odd, sweet, and extremely depressing. As far as she could tell, she was the only person on earth that Greg hated. Zach adored him, and after baseball, it was easy to think the feeling was reciprocated—at least somewhat. In fact, that game put every kid under a Greg-worshipping spell. Even she’d fallen under the spell for a time as she watched Greg become the older brother Zach craved.

  Admittedly not her best moment.

  But it wasn’t just the kids either. Between the raid, when Greg saved half the clan from arrest, and all his new ideas, the adults were raving about him, too. Richard. Terrell. Dylan and Sasha.

  Last night, at their first official adult meeting, the clan had voted in three of Greg’s four proposals unanimously. The only reason the last one didn’t pass was because people didn’t trust the other clans, medical knowledge or not. It had nothing to do with Greg. The crazy thing was, none of Greg’s four proposals benefitted him personally, something she’d realized halfway through the m
eeting. For an hour, she’d watched him discuss, converse, and not-glare at everyone else in that room.

  He wasn’t a smiley guy, but some people just weren’t. That was fine. Yet she couldn’t help but notice that there was another side to Greg, a decent side, an almost-nice side that emerged around everyone but her. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what she’d done to offend him. He had hated her before she ever said a word.

  She grabbed Zach’s new red shirt and slung it over the clothes line.

  “So…what are you doing here?” she asked. In my backyard. Invading my privacy.

  “Scoutin’ out a place for your new well,” Greg said. “Is that alright?”

  My well. That had been the worst part last night, the most confusing part.

  The adults decided the new wells should be the clan’s first priority. Richard O’Brien, who half-ran the meeting with Greg, recommended they start with one well to see how it faired in the first Oliver-less sweep. That led to everyone wondering who would get the first well. To Carrie’s utter shock, Richard said it was her. Them. The Ashworths.

  “Women without husbands get first priority,” Richard had explained. “Elena lives next door to the well here at the Trenton’s, which leaves you, Carrie.”

  Carrie had flushed with irritation. “What about Jeff and Jenna?” she had tried. Heaven knew they needed fresh water more than she did. But then Richard said the plan wasn’t his.

  It was Greg’s.

  She picked up Amber’s wet jeans. Greg wanted to give her the first well. Her. The woman he hated worse than Illinois. The whole meeting he avoided eye contact with her, so she asked—begged—Richard to reconsider. But Richard was insistent. So were May and the rest of the clan. Carrie hated being pitied. She truly and deeply loathed it. She was a big girl.

  Women without husbands, she repeated, wanting to gag.

  Greg watched her, still waiting for an answer.

  “If I say no,” Carrie said, “will you put the well in someone else’s yard?”

  He scowled. “No.”

  “Then why bother asking me?”

  “Good point. I won’t next time.” Greg eyed her basket of wet laundry. “Jenna ever give back your clothes?”