I keep telling myself it isn't like I've been comfortable in my bedroom. It's freezing in there, so cold sometimes I lie in bed shivering, unable to fall asleep. But it's been the only space I could call my own. I have my candles, my flashlight, and no one tells me not to use them. I can write or read or just pretend I'm someplace else.
I guess it's better to be warm.
I want to weep. And I feel like I have no place left where I can.
October 14
Matt still goes to the post office every Friday to find out if there's any news. He came in while Mom and I were washing clothes at the kitchen sink. He gestured to me and I followed him into the pantry.
"I have bad news," he said. "Megan's on the dead list."
That's what they have now, the dead list. If you find out someone is dead, you write their name on the list. Just the local people, of course, since there's no way of knowing if anybody in the rest of the world has died.
I guess I didn't say anything because Matt kept talking. "Her mother is on the list, too."
"What?" I said. "Why?"
"I'm just telling you what I know," he said. "They were both on the list. I didn't see their names last week, but that doesn't mean anything. You know how the list is."
"Megan's dead," I said. It's funny how weird that sounded. Megan's dead. The world is dying. Megan is dead.
"I asked at the post office, but there were only a couple of guys there and neither one knew anything," Matt said. "Lots of people are dying. It's getting harder to keep track."
"Megan wanted to die," I said. "But I don't think her mother did."
"People aren't necessarily choosing anymore," Matt said. "Anyway, I thought you should know."
I wonder if I cry whether my tears would be gray.
October 15
I got up this morning and realized Reverend Marshall would know what happened to Megan and her mother. I told Mom where I was going and she asked if I wanted Matt to come along. I said no, I'd be fine. Actually I didn't care if I was going to be fine or not. What difference does it make?
It took me a half hour to get to Reverend Marshall's church, and by the time I got there, I was wheezing. I don't know how Matt and Jon are managing outdoors. I felt like ice and I was glad to find the church had heat.
There were a few people praying in the church. I haven't seen anyone other than family since the library closed. It felt strange seeing people, hardly more than skeletons, really. I had to remind myself how to speak, how to ask questions, how to say thank you. But I managed and someone told me Reverend Marshall was in his office. I knocked on his office door and went in.
"I'm here about Megan Wayne," I said. "I was her best friend."
"Her best friend on earth," Reverend Marshall said.
I didn't have the energy to argue theology with him so I just nodded. "She's dead," I said, like he wouldn't know it. "And her mother, too. I thought maybe you could tell me what happened."
"God took them," he said. "I pray for their souls."
"Megan's soul is just fine," I said. "Her mother's, too. How exactly did God take them?"
Reverend Marshall looked at me like I was a mosquito he wanted to swat. "It's not our place to question God's decisions," he said.
"I'm not questioning anyone except you," I said. "What happened?"
"God chose the moment of Megan's death," he said. "What the earthly cause was we'll never know. Her mother summoned me one morning and we prayed over Megan's remains. She asked me to bury Megan in their backyard, but the ground was frozen and I knew I couldn't do it alone. I went back to the church to ask for help and when we returned to the house we found Mrs. Wayne had hung herself."
"Oh God," I said.
"I suppose she felt we'd bury the two of them together that way," Reverend Marshall said. "But of course we couldn't touch her impure remains. We took Megan to the churchyard, and buried her here, if you want to say good-bye to her."
I'd said good-bye to Megan a long time ago. And I couldn't bear to be in that man's company a moment longer. I said no and turned around to leave. But as soon as I did I realized there was something that was bothering me. I turned back and stared at him.
Reverend Marshall had never been overweight and he wasn't now. But he hadn't lost any weight.
"You're eating," I said. "Your congregation is starving and you're eating. Do you make them give you their food?"
"My congregation chooses to bring me food," he said. "I merely accept what they offer."
"You're despicable," I said, and I don't know which one of us was more surprised that I even knew the word. "I don't believe in hell so I'm not going to say I hope you end up there. I hope you're the last person living on earth. I hope the whole world dies before you and you're left here healthy and well fed and alone. Then you'll know what Mrs. Wayne felt. Then you'll know what impure really is."
"I'll pray for you," he said. "As Megan would have wished me to."
"Don't bother," I said. "I don't want any favors from your God."
I guess people heard me because a couple of men came in and escorted me out. I didn't put up any resistance. Frankly, I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
I biked over to Megan's house. The front door was wide open. The house was so cold I could see my breath.
I was scared I'd find Megan's mom but her body was gone. The house had been ransacked, but that's to be expected. Whenever a house is deserted, people come in and take everything that can possibly be used.
I went up to Megan's bedroom. Her bed was still there so I sat down and thought about what she'd been like when we first became friends. I remembered fights with her and going to the movies and that stupid science project we worked on together in 7th grade. I thought about Becky—how Megan, Sammi, and I would visit her and how we'd laugh, even though Becky was so ill and we were so frightened. I sat on Megan's bed until I couldn't bear it anymore.
When I got home, I went straight to the pantry and closed the door. I guess Mom wasn't worried I'd eat anything because she left me alone in there until she needed to get food out for supper.
It made me sick to eat. But I ate anyway. Starvation was Megan's way out, not mine.
I'll live. We'll live. I will never make Mom face what Mrs. Wayne faced. My existence is the only gift I have left to give her, but it will have to do.
October 18
I dreamed about Megan last night.
I was walking into homeroom and I realized it was my 7th-grade homeroom. And there was Megan and she was talking with Becky.
I got very confused. "Is this Heaven?" I asked. I hated 7th grade and the very idea that it was Heaven was upsetting.
Megan laughed. "This is hell," she said. "Can't you tell them apart yet?"
I woke up then. It's funny sharing the kitchen with Mom. I feel like she knows what I'm dreaming, like even my thoughts aren't private anymore.
But she slept through my dream. I guess she has dreams of her own.
October 21
Matt came home from the post office today and said unless they had volunteers they were going to have to close. So he's volunteered to work there on Fridays.
"Why bother?" Jon asked. "We're not going to hear from Dad."
"We don't know that," Mom said. "I think working at the post office is a good idea. We all should be doing more than we are. It isn't good for us to sit around and do nothing. We need to be out, doing things for other people. We need to have a reason to be alive."
I rolled my eyes. I bring in kindling and visit Mrs. Nesbitt and wash our clothes and clean Horton's litter. I mean, that's my life. Sitting in the kitchen with Mrs. Nesbitt with neither of us saying a word is the high point of my day.
"All right," Mom said. "You don't have to say anything."
"Who, me?" Jon and I said simultaneously, which really was pretty funny.
"This isn't fun for any of us," Mom said. "Matt, I'm glad you'll be working at the post office. Jonny, Miranda, do whatever you want. I'm past
caring."
There's a part of me that almost wishes she meant it. But most of me is scared that maybe she really did mean it.
October 24
The temperature was 17 this morning, which practically constitutes a heat wave nowadays. If you looked up at the sky hard enough you could almost make out the sun.
"Indian summer," Mom said when the thermometer reached 29. "No, I mean it. I bet if the ash weren't so thick this would be Indian summer."
We keep the thermostat at 50 degrees, so it's always cold. I figured I might never see 29 degrees again.
"I'm going skating," I said. "The pond's been frozen for a month by now. Mom, are your skates still in your closet?"
"I suppose so," she said. "Be careful, Miranda. Don't take any chances with the ice breaking."
"I won't," I said, but I was so excited I hardly cared what she said. Mom's shoe size and mine are close enough that I knew her skates would fit me fairly well. I went upstairs and found her skates in no time. I'd forgotten how beautiful ice skates are.
I haven't been to Miller's Pond since I stopped swimming. I spend a lot of time in the woods around our house, but this was the longest I'd walked in them in months. The path was covered with dead leaves, but I didn't have any trouble following it.
The strangest thing about the walk was how quiet things were. I'm really used to quiet by now. No TV, no computer, no cars, no noise. But this was the first time I noticed how the woods were quiet, too. No birds. No insects. No squirrels rustling around. No animals scurrying away at the sound of me crunching the leaves. I guess all the animals have left town. I hope Kansas lets them in.
I could see from a distance that there was someone already skating. I had a rush of excitement. For one totally ridiculous moment I thought it was Dan.
But as I got closer, I could see, whoever he was, he actually knew how to skate. I stood still for a few moments, and watched as the skater landed double axels.
For a second I thought I should just go away. But I was too excited. I practically ran the rest of the way to the pond to see if I could be right, if it really could be Brandon Erlich.
It was. "You're alive," I said as he bowed to my applause.
"I may be, but my quad sure isn't," he said.
"We thought you were dead," I said. "I mean your fans did. You were training in California. We didn't hear anything about you."
"I was touring," he said. "We were safe and sound in Indianapolis. It took a long time to get word to my parents and it took even longer to get back here. But I've been here for a few months now. Do you skate, too?"
I looked down self-consciously at Mom's skates. "I used to," I said. "I used to take lessons with Mrs. Daley."
"Really?" he said. "She was my first coach."
"I know," I said. "Sometimes she'd tell us how you were doing. We all rooted so hard for you. I bet you'd have medaled at the Olympics."
Brandon grinned. "My mom still thinks that's going to happen," he said. "Like suddenly everything's going to be okay by February. Were you any good? Did you compete?"
"A little bit," I said. "On the intermediate level. I had most of my doubles and I was working on a triple toe when I broke my ankle. Not even from skating. Just one of those dumb accidents. I took up swimming after that."
"Swimming," Brandon said. "That's a lost art form. Put on your skates. Let's see how you do."
"They're my mother's," I said. "I haven't been on the ice in a long time." It felt funny lacing up the skates while Brandon was watching.
"Don't try any jumps," he said. "Just do some stroking. Let me see how your edges are."
So I skated and he skated alongside me. I was wobbly at first, but then I got my feet under me and it felt almost natural being there.
"Not bad," he said. "I bet Mrs. Daley was sorry when you stopped skating."
I'd forgotten how glorious it felt to be skating, to glide across the ice. I never wanted to stop. But in just a few minutes it was hard to breathe.
"The air," Brandon said. "I've been at it for a couple of weeks now and I've been building up resistance. Don't push too hard today. Give your lungs a chance to adjust."
"Are your parents okay?" I asked after I caught my breath. "My mother knows your mother. You have enough food?"
"Does anybody?" Brandon asked. "We haven't starved yet, so I guess we're okay." He stroked around the pond to build up speed and did a camel spin. Brandon used to have the most beautiful camel in the world. "Come on," he said. "How was your spiral? Up to Mrs. Daley's standards?"
"No," I admitted. "My free leg was never high enough for her."
"Then it's a good thing she isn't watching," he said. "Show me your spiral."
It was an embarrassment. "Don't ask for my layback," I said. "I'm totally out of shape."
"Well, you're certainly not overweight," he said. "If you practice enough, you should be fine. We'll hold our own Olympics. You can win the gold and the silver and the bronze."
He reached out for my hand and we skated together, no sound but the sound of our blades (well, mine mostly) against the ice. I knew he was skating slowly to keep pace with me. I knew I was keeping him from practicing his jumps, his spins, his footwork. I knew the world really must have ended because I was skating with Brandon Erlich, the way I had so often in my fantasies.
It really was heaven until I started coughing.
"That's enough for one day," he said. "How about watching me? I miss an audience."
So I stood by the side of the pond and watched Brandon do footwork and spins.
After a few minutes, he started coughing, and skated to the edge of the pond. "It's cold standing here," he said. "Colder than the rinks."
"And darker," I said.
He nodded. "So you were a fan?" he asked. "Because I was local or did you really like my skating?"
"Both," I said. "Mrs. Daley was always telling us about you. I love how you skate. Your line. Your extension. You were more than jumps. I really believed you could win at the Olympics."
"I was a long shot," he said. "But I was aiming for gold."
"Is Mrs. Daley all right?" I asked. "I haven't seen her since all this happened."
"She and her husband left here in August," Brandon said. "They have a daughter in Texas."
"How about all the other skaters?" I asked. "Do you know how they are?"
He shook his head. "The ones on tour with me were okay when we split up," he said. "They were desperate to get home. I wasn't quite so desperate, but after a while I couldn't figure out any other place to go, so I made it back here. My father cried when he saw me. My mother always cries, but it was the first time I'd ever seen my father cry. I guess that means something."
"I've stopped crying," I said. "My best friend died and I just got mad."
"Come on," Brandon said. "Skate."
So I did. It was a nothing skate, just stroking and a two-footed waltz jump and a ridiculous Ina Bauer. When I finished I didn't feel mad anymore.
"Come back tomorrow?" he asked. "I'd forgotten how much fun it is to skate with somebody."
"I'll try," I said, unlacing my skates and putting my shoes back on. "Thank you."
"Thank you," he said. He went back on the ice and when I left him he was stroking around the pond, beautiful and alone.
FIFTEEN
October 26
Mom tripped over her shoes yesterday morning, by the side of her mattress. She fell at a funny angle and hurt her ankle again.
She wrapped it back up with the Ace bandage and said she wasn't going to baby herself this time; if she limped for the rest of her life, so be it. But she couldn't even manage to stand.
She told Matt that she'd be fine in the kitchen, that there was no reason to move her back into the sunroom and have the woodstove going just for her, but he insisted. But since the pipes would freeze if we didn't keep the heat on (it was 12 degrees this afternoon; I guess Indian summer was pretty short this year), he and Mom decided the rest of us would keep sleepi
ng where we had been.
Some of this I'm okay with. I wouldn't have been crazy about doing the laundry with Mom lying on the mattress in the kitchen. It's hard enough to maneuver around when she's in the other room. But at least this way if I step on a mattress, I don't have to worry that I'm stepping on her.
And I won't have any more housework to do. Mom gave up dusting and sweeping when we moved downstairs. The dining room is a lost cause, and it was too hard for her to get around the mattresses on the living room floor.
So the only real problem is that it's up to me to make sure the fire doesn't go out in the woodstove. It's the only source of heat in the sunroom so it has to keep burning all night.
I wake up a lot anyway. I just have to put a log or two on the fire every time I do. I made Mom promise if she woke up cold she'd yell to me to get up, but I don't know if she really will.
Matt says he wakes up, too, and he'll check on it, which means he'll walk through the kitchen to get there and probably wake me up anyway.
It would make sense for me to sleep in the sunroom, but the idea of even a little bit of privacy is so thrilling to me, I can't bear to give it up.
Mom and I have been alternating visiting Mrs. Nesbitt, so I'll just take over her shift. If nothing else, that'll give me an excuse to leave the house. But no more skating. There's no way I could leave Mom to go to the pond and skate. It doesn't matter. I spent a lot of yesterday trying to decide if it all really happened or if I just made it up. Me skating with Brandon Erlich. Us actually talking. Him being so nice.
I've made up stranger stuff than that.
He was probably just being nice when he asked me to come back. He probably prefers skating by himself rather than being stuck with some dumb fan-girl klutz.
Mom was upset that I wouldn't be able to go skating. She told me she'd be fine, but of course I couldn't leave her like that.
"When you're better, I'll go skating again," I told her. "The pond isn't going to thaw out anytime soon."