Last Survivors 01 - Life as We Knew It Page 9

  "Maybe there'll be more," I said. "Maybe this is the start of better times."

  "Let's hope so," he said. He gave me one more kiss and then he started back to his house.

  I took Mrs. Nesbitt's bag and we began walking back to the gas station. I couldn't get over how excited Mom was going to be when she saw I was bringing food.

  It was about a half-mile walk to the gas station, and the gentle rain had become heavy with distant thunderstorms. I told Mrs. Nesbitt I wished I had an umbrella for her, but she just laughed.

  "I won't melt," she said.

  When we got to the gas station, we couldn't find Mom's car, which meant she was already on her way to the second gas station. That added another five blocks to the walk, and Mrs. Nesbitt and I were drenched by the time we finally found her, but it didn't matter. Rice and beans and powdered milk and salt and boxed soup mix and dehydrated vegetables and corn flakes and lime Jell-O.

  Mom only had a ten-car wait by the time we got there. I was so wet anyway, I volunteered to get out and pay, which I did. It feels so funny to go into the convenience store and see completely empty shelves and signs saying, cashier is ARMED AND TRAINED TO SHOOT.

  I guess Mrs. Nesbitt told Mom all about the food and the line while I was paying for the gas. All I know is Mom was in a great mood before I left the car, and she was very quiet by the time I got back in.

  I don't know if Mom felt 6 gallons was enough for one day or if she wanted to get Mrs. Nesbitt home because she was so wet, but we drove straight back and dropped Mrs. Nesbitt off. Any effort Mom might have made to seem social while Mrs. Nesbitt was still in the car ended as soon as it was just the two of us.

  "What?" I said when we were finally alone. "What did I do this time?"

  "We'll discuss it inside," she said. Her teeth were so clenched she could have been a ventriloquist.

  We walked into the kitchen and I flung the book bag and the grocery bag on the table. "I thought you'd be happy," I said. "We have all this food now. What did I do wrong?"

  "Sometimes I just don't understand you," she said, like I was the mystery creature. "You saw everyone standing in line, and what did you do?"

  "I got in the line," I said. "Wasn't that what I was supposed to do?"

  "You left Mrs. Nesbitt and went to get Dan," Mom said. "That seems to be the part you're forgetting."

  "Right," I said. "I ran to get Dan and then we got right in the line."

  "And what if they'd run out of food by the time you got back?" Mom asked. "What would have happened then?"

  "Then we wouldn't have gotten all this great stuff," I said. "Rice and beans and lime Jell-O. I didn't know they were going to run out of food so soon. Besides, what difference does it make? They didn't run out of the food and he got food to take home and so did I and so did Mrs. Nesbitt. I don't see what you're so mad about."

  "How often do I have to explain this to you?" Mom asked. "Family is all that matters. Dan has to worry about his family and you have to worry about yours. And before you even begin to say something about Peter, he's brought us food every time he's come here and the least I could do is give him some bread in return."

  I would have brought up Peter, too, if she hadn't. Even I knew better than to say Mrs. Nesbitt wasn't family.

  "There was enough for all of us," I said.

  "Pure luck," Mom said. "I will not have Jonny or Matt or you starve because you want to include a friend. This isn't the time for friendships, Miranda. We have to watch out only for ourselves."

  "That's not how you brought us up," I said. "Whatever happened to share and share alike?"

  "Sharing is a luxury," she said. "We can't afford luxuries right now."

  For a moment, Mom seemed terribly sad instead of angry. I saw an expression in her eyes I remembered from when she and Dad split up.

  "You think we're going to die," I said.

  Any sadness immediately evaporated and rage took its place. "Don't you ever say that to me again!" she yelled. "None of us is going to die. I will not allow that to happen."

  I actually reached out to comfort her. "It's okay, Mom," I said. "I know you're doing everything you can for us. But Dan and I have something wonderful. Like you and Peter. Something special. Otherwise I never would have told him about the food."

  But Mom was anything but comforted. There was a look on her face, a look of horror, almost like the way she looked that first night. "Are you sleeping with him?" she asked. "Are you lovers?"

  "Mom!" I said.

  "Because if you are, you'd better never see him again," she said. "I'll forbid you to go to the pond. I won't let you leave this house alone again. Do you understand me? I can't let you risk getting pregnant." She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to an inch of her face. "Do you understand that!"

  "I understand!" I yelled right back into her face. "I understand that you don't trust me."

  "If I don't trust you, I certainly don't trust Dan," she said. "The two of you cannot be left alone. I forbid it."

  "Just try to forbid it!" I screamed. "I love Dan and he loves me and nothing you say or do is going to stop us."

  "Go to your room now!" Mom said. "And don't think about coming out until I tell you to. NOW!"

  I didn't need any encouragement. I raced to my room and slammed the door as loud as I could. And then I cried. Big howling sobs.

  I'm not Sammi. I'm not an idiot. Sure, I'd love to make love with Dan. I'd love to make love with someone before this whole stupid world ends. But even though I told Mom that Dan and I love each other, I know we don't. Not the kind of love that I want to feel for the first man I make love with.

  Half the time I can't even figure out what Dan is feeling. I would have thought he'd try to go further with me, but he hasn't. We kiss, we hug, that's it.

  And there's Mom acting like we're animals in heat.

  It's so unfair. I haven't seen Sammi or Megan since school ended. Dan's practically the only friend I have left in the world. Even if we aren't lovers, even if we aren't boyfriend and girl-friend, he's still the only person I see who isn't family or Peter. I laugh with him. I talk to him. I care about him. And Mom makes it sound like that's something bad, like I can't have friends anymore, like family is the only thing that matters from now on.

  If that's how the world is supposed to be, I hope it does end soon.

  I hate Mom for making me feel this way. I hate Mom for making me feel that for every good day, there have to be 10 or 20 or 100 bad ones.

  I hate Mom for not trusting me. I hate Mom for making me even more scared.

  I hate Mom for making me hate her.

  I hate her.

  June 25

  Except for going to the bathroom (and I only did that when I thought no one would see me), I stayed in my room all yesterday. I kept the door shut, and in a fit of rebellion even I realized was dumb, I read by flashlight for four hours.

  Matt knocked on my door this morning. "Breakfast is ready," he said.

  "I'm never eating again," I said. "More food that way for you and Jonny."

  Matt entered the room and closed the door behind him. "Stop being a baby," he said. "You made your point. Now go to the kitchen and eat breakfast. You might want to kiss Mom good morning while you're at it."

  "I'm not talking to her until she apologizes," I said. It's funny. I was still angrier than I was hungry. Or maybe I just knew that even after breakfast I'd still be hungry, so what was the point.

  Matt shook his head. "I thought you were more mature than this," he said. "I expected better from you."

  "I don't care what you expect," I said, which was a total lie. I care desperately what Matt thinks of me. "I didn't do anything wrong. Mom attacked me for absolutely no reason. Why aren't you telling her you expected better from her?"

  Matt sighed. "I wasn't here," he said. "I only have Mom's version of what went on."

  "Did she happen to mention that she was horrible?" I asked. "That she acted like I was some kind of criminal? Or did she le
ave that stuff out?"

  "If you mean did she burst into tears and say she felt terrible for all the things she said to you, then the answer is no," Matt said. "But she did say how terrible she felt that you were going through all this. Miranda, Mom is holding on by the skin of her teeth. She has the three of us to worry about and Mrs. Nesbitt. And you know Mom. She's worried about Dad, too, and Lisa and her baby, and Peter. She's worried sick about Peter. He's working twelve-hour days, seven days a week, and she has no idea if he's eating anything."

  I thought I was going to start crying again, which I didn't want to do. "Mom thinks we're all going to die," I said. "Doesn't she? Do you? Is this all for nothing? Are we all just going to die?"

  "Mom doesn't think that, and neither do I," Matt said. I could tell he'd thought about it a lot, and that it wasn't just a glib answer. "That's not the same as saying the worst is over, because I don't think it is, and Mom doesn't think so, either. If things stay the way they are, then we have a real chance. All the scientists are working on making things better. That bag of food yesterday proves that things are improving."

  "But this has to be the worst," I said. "How could things get any worse than they are now?"

  Matt grinned. "You don't really want me to answer that, do you?" he asked.

  We both laughed as I shook my head.

  "Mom's more worried about Mrs. Nesbitt than she is about us," Matt said. "Mom's asked her to move in with us, but Mrs. Nesbitt has it in her head that it would be an imposition. Which only makes things harder for Mom."

  "I know Mom doesn't want us to die," I said. I thought really hard about what I wanted to say so it would come out right. "But I think maybe she doesn't want us to live, either. We should just hide in our rooms and not feel anything and if we get rescued, great, but if we don't, well, maybe we'll live a little longer. If you can call that living. I know Mom tells you things she doesn't tell me, but am I wrong? Because I really feel that way more and more. I'd like to be wrong, because it scares me if Mom feels that way. But I don't think I am."

  "Mom can't guess the future any better than you or me or Mrs. O'Leary's cow," Matt said. "Horton could be on CNN, assuming there still is a CNN, and have as much of a chance of being right as anybody else. But she thinks, and I do too, that we're in for some very hard times. Times worse than what we're going through now. And the way she sees it, the better we take care of ourselves now, the better chance we'll have when things get worse. So yeah, she probably does seem over-protective right now. I know she's scared to send Jonny off to camp, but she's absolutely determined to do that, and not let him know how worried she is. So don't you tell him, either."

  "I won't," I promised. "Mom doesn't have to worry about me. I'm not stupid, Matt. But I don't want to have to stop feeling. I really think I'd rather die than stop feeling."

  "No one's asking that of you," he said. "And Mom doesn't want you to stop swimming or to stop seeing Dan. She's happy when you're happy. But she wouldn't want Dan to be the only friend you see under any circumstances. Why don't you visit Megan or Sammi? I could use some good Sammi stories."

  The truth of the matter is I hardly even think about Sammi or Megan. It's like they're a part of the world that's already ended for me. But since I'd just finished a big speech about feelings, I didn't think I could confess that. So I nodded and told Matt I'd get dressed and make things up with Mom.

  But when I saw Mom in the kitchen, I didn't feel like getting all kissy-kissy with her. And I could see she wasn't all that eager to get kissy-kissy with me, either. She and Jonny were both sitting at the table, looking kind of glum.

  Without even thinking about it, I said, "Jonny, you want to go to Miller's Pond with me this morning?"

  Jonny's face lit up and I could see I'd said the right thing as far as Mom was concerned. "That'd be great," he said.

  I have no idea why Jonny hasn't just invited himself along. It's not like I own Miller's Pond. But Jonny's been playing baseball or at least practicing with Matt. And Matt's been running when he hasn't been playing ball. Maybe they figured swimming was mine and they'd keep away from it.

  Jonny put his trunks on under his jeans while I was eating breakfast, and as soon as we were both ready, we walked together to the pond. With my luck, of course Emily and Karen weren't there, so Dan and I lost good alone time.

  But it was worth it to see how happy Jonny was in the water. There were a couple of kids he knew from middle school and the three of them played together. Then we all swam together, played water polo and imitation relay races. It was another one of those hot sunny days, so we all laid around after swimming and let the sun dry us off. Dan, it turns out, is a big Phillies fan, and he and Jonny talked baseball, which made Jonny even happier.

  I've been so involved in my own problems, I haven't thought much about what all this is doing to Jonny. Until I saw how excited he was talking with Dan about all-time great second basemen, I hadn't realized just how bored he's been. He's had Matt, and Matt's been great with him, but this time of year when Jonny isn't playing ball, he's watching it on TV, or following it on the Internet.

  Jonny's passionate about baseball the way I used to be about skating. I'm really glad his baseball camp is going to be open. He deserves a couple of weeks of doing what he loves best.

  I guess because Jonny was with me, Dan didn't walk me home. That was okay, because it gave me more of a chance to talk with Jonny.

  "I've been thinking about something," he said, and I could tell it was something really important to him. Right away that meant it wasn't anything good. "You know how I'm planning on playing second for the Yankees?"

  Since Jonny's been planning on that since birth, I wasn't exactly surprised to hear it, so I just nodded.

  "I know Mom's doing her best," Jonny said. "But I don't think I'm eating a well-balanced diet. Protein and stuff like that. I'm five five and I don't know how much taller I can get if I don't start eating hamburgers and roast beef."

  "We're eating better than lots of other people," I said.

  "Better than people here," Jonny said. "But what if there are thirteen-year-old guys in Japan or the Dominican Republic who are eating hamburgers and who are growing? I don't see how I can reach six feet on canned tuna. What if I end up five feet six?"

  I would have laughed except he looked so serious. Besides, I knew Matt wouldn't have laughed. Matt doesn't laugh at my idiotic questions.

  "You taking your vitamins?" I asked.

  Jonny nodded.

  "Well, they'll help," I said. "Look, Jonny, I don't know what things are going to be like tomorrow, let alone years from now. Even if things get back to normal and baseball is just like it is now, like it was last year I mean, players years from now may all be shorter than they used to be. Or maybe there'll be less competition for you because, well, because there just won't be that many second basemen around. I don't think things are great in the Dominican Republic or Japan. The guys your age may not grow to six feet, either, or have the time to work on their baseball the way you do."

  "You mean you think they're all dead," Jonny said.

  "Not exactly," I said, suddenly appreciating how well Matt's been handling me lately. "What I think is the whole world is going through rough times now, not just Pennsylvania. And there are probably boys in the Dominican Republic and in Japan who are worrying the same way you are. Only I don't know if they have vitamins or canned tuna. And I do know one thing. It's like Dad always says. The only way you can be the best at something is to be the best you can be. If you're the best second baseman you can be, you stand as good a chance as anyone at playing second for the Yankees."

  "Do you hate all this?" Jonny asked.

  "Yes," I said. "And I miss hamburgers, too."

  When we got home, I saw Mom in the kitchen, flour and yeast and measuring cups all spread out on the counter. The kitchen must have been 100 degrees between how hot it was outside and the oven being on.

  "Can I help, Mom?" I asked. "I'd like to learn how
to bake bread."

  Mom smiled at me. Really smiled. Smiled like I was her long-lost daughter, the good one, who she thought was gone forever. "I'd like that," she said.

  So we baked and sweated together. I like punching the dough. I told myself it was the moon and punched it senseless.

  Chapter Seven

  July 2

  Mom drove Jonny to baseball camp today. She came back really excited because she found a gas station near Liberty that was selling 5 gallons of gas at a time for $75. That's more than it costs here, but the stations here are down to a 2-gallon maximum, and Mom said it was worth the extra money to get so much gas at once.

  One of the things I don't ask Mom is how much longer her cash is going to last. Then again, the only thing left to spend it on is gas, so I guess it doesn't much matter.

  The temperature was near 100 and we haven't had electricity for the past 3 days. Matt decided it was time to chop down a tree. He sent me out to gather kindling. That seems dumb to me, but at least in the woods there was shade. And it's a lot easier to gather kindling than it is to chop a tree.

  After I'd gathered 4 bags I brought them to the house. Matt was still working on the tree. At the rate he was going, it's going to take a week to chop down that tree.

  I asked him if he wanted any help, and he said no.

  But I didn't feel like I could just sit someplace reading while he was working. And frankly there wasn't that much I could do around the house. I weeded the vegetable garden, since Mom does that daily, and I washed the dishes, and then just to prove I was good for something, I scrubbed the bathrooms and washed the kitchen floor.

  Matt came in and took a drink of water. "Very impressive," he said. "Got any other plans for the day?"

  I was a little scared to admit I didn't, so I just mumbled.

  "Why don't you visit Sammi and Megan?" he asked. "Have you seen them since school ended?"

  I hadn't. Of course they haven't come to visit me, either.

  But just to keep Matt from harping on it, I decided to pay calls. It felt very Jane Austen-y to do that. None of her heroines had phones or computers and nowadays neither do I.