Chapter 27
It’s Eric’s birthday. The past days have been somber affairs, especially after Guillermo and Eli came to inform us they lost five people to a mob on Sixth Avenue. I didn’t know them, but it was still depressing, and it’s left SPSZ with fewer people to scavenge. Eli said Indy’s been in hiding since Jayden and Vinnie died, and she doesn’t seem likely to come out soon.
I was going to wear Ana’s pretty tank top and apply makeup for Eric’s arrival, but the idea fizzled out sometime in the last twenty-four hours. I’m clean, and one of our inadequate baths and a batch of cupcakes are as much effort as I’m willing to put into a situation that no longer seems real. The cupcake trays are in the solar ovens—we now have two—when I remember I haven’t torn a single page off the calendar.
I hurry into the bedroom and grab it off the desk. Our word for the day Eric left was sylvan, and I ball up the page to put in the compost. The next day’s word was couloir: a steep mountain gorge. Underneath the definition is Eric’s handwriting, which I recognize from his various project notes, and he’s written: I would climb a couloir to reach you.
My breath catches. And then I laugh because underneath that, it says: Eric +1
The next day is posthaste: as quickly as possible. His sentence reads: I will return posthaste. Again, he’s given himself the point. I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop smiling.
Extemporize has two definitions: improvise, or to get along by making do. Not sure how I’ll get along without you, but I guess I’ll extemporize.
Florilegium, a collection of writings, becomes: I could write a florilegium about your beauty (and craziness).
“Craziness?” I ask aloud. “You so do not get a point for that one.”
I scan the rest of the calendar pages. He’s done it for the entire two weeks of words. Even otology: the science of the ear and ear diseases. I would study otology and cure your ear disease, if you had one. (Sorry, that was terrible. But still my point.)
I bring the calendar to my chest. Maybe he did it so he would be here in spirit every day, or because he’s silly that way, or, possibly, so I wouldn’t do what I’ve done—decide none of it happened the way I thought it did. Eric knows I tend toward crazy, obviously, having used it in a sentence.
The final word is blithesome: cheerful, merry. We will have a blithesome evening on my birthday. (Get started on those cupcakes!)
“Way ahead of you,” I say, realize I’m talking to a calendar, and set it down with a laugh that’s probably more like a giggle. I store the torn-out pages with my candy in the underwear drawer, and then I pull out that tank top.
***
Grace’s concerned looks grew more frequent as the day passed. By late afternoon, they were one every minute, and, now that the sun is down, it’s a semi-continuous stare. Probably because I was happy, then somber. At present, I’m a step away from tears, and she knows it. We sit around the table after eating birthday dinner without Eric. Or they ate. I sat and listened for sounds of arrival that didn’t come.
“Are we going to eat the cupcakes?” Leo asks. He doesn’t look excited about it, and I couldn’t eat a cupcake if you paid me.
“You may as well,” I say.
I stand from the table, walk to my bedroom, and curl up on the bed. I was so sure he’d come. He’s probably dead, and I’m wearing makeup in the apocalypse like an idiot. People keep dying, and there’s no reason why he wouldn’t, too. I’m glad I didn’t pine for him the past two weeks. A day was more than enough.
Footsteps pad down the hall—Grace coming for a therapy session in which I don’t want to participate. She perches on the edge of the bed and sets a gentle hand on my hair. “I’m sure he’s okay,” Maria says, and I roll over in surprise. “You know how it goes out there.”
I smile, trying for nonchalance, though I don’t think I nail it. “I know, it’s fine. You should go eat cupcakes.”
Maria watches me, a line between her brows, and makes no move to leave. “You know how I said you remind me of Ana sometimes? It’s because she’s a fighter, like you. She doesn’t back down from people—the opposite, in fact—but she’s been scared to love them ever since her father died. She pushes them away, pretends she doesn’t care, but she does.”
I shrug, but I don’t dispute her statement. One, because I’ll cry. And two, because we both know it’s true. Maria rests her hand on my shoulder. “Sylvie, if you let people in, some are going to disappoint you. That’s life. I think you know that better than most, and I’m sorry for that. You deserved better.”
A noose tightens around my throat at the empathy on her face and in her voice. I say I didn’t care about my mother, but I did. I wanted her to love me more than I wanted anything else. Even when I hated her. Even when she did terrible things. Even when she let me pounce like a starving dog on the scraps of kindness she tossed my way. After my grandma died, I was hungry for love for so long, until I concluded it was a lost cause. Then I closed up shop rather than be disappointed once again.
A sob sneaks out. My throat lets go. I swore I would never cry over Ruth Rossi again, but these tears aren’t for my mother. They’re for the little girl who made up stories starring a father who wanted to rescue her but couldn’t, when in reality he just didn’t care. For the eight-year-old who mastered the art of indifference because no one comforted her when she cried. She was smart and sweet and funny. She had so much to give but no one to give it to, and I love her even if nobody else did.
Maria strokes my hair, murmuring softly, until my tears turn to hiccups and I sit up with a sniffle. She hands me a box of tissues and says, “But I promise some people won’t disappoint you. They might leave you, even if they don’t want to. And it hurts. But they’re going to love you along the way, and that’s what makes it worth it.”
In my quest to be as unlike my mother as possible, I’ve turned out similar in the worst respect. But I don’t want to be as stingy with love as she was. I don’t want to die as she did—alone, even with me in the room. I want to be loved along the way. Loss can’t be worse than a lifetime of loneliness.
“When my husband died,” Maria continues, “I had my girls, so I kept on living. And, if they…I still have all of you. I’d do my best to go on.” She plucks a tissue from the box and wipes her damp eyes. “Great, now you have me crying.”
I sniff-laugh and pat her arm. Maria’s just given me more than my mother ever did, in one-millionth the time. Even if it’s a month later than he said, it’ll be worth it if Eric returns with good news for her. I’m going to have faith he will return. It’s Eric, for crying out loud. He traveled through two cities, crossed a bridge on a beam, and made it here while half-dead from an illness that would’ve killed anyone else. Somewhere deep down I suspect he’s invincible.
I attempt to speak, though only air escapes. Maria touches my cheek with a tender hand. “What is it, sweetie?”
I want to say that I wish she were my mother. I wish my mother had joked around and lovingly reprimanded and danced across the living room in time to music only she could hear. And I wish, most of all, that my mother had loved me the way Maria loves her daughters.
“Gracias,” I whisper.
The gold in her eyes sparks with her laugh. “De nada, mamita. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Maria kisses my head before she leaves. I inspect myself in the mirror. Puffy and hideous, but I feel better. I touch the picture of Cassie, Eric, and their parents on the dresser. I left it there because this is Cassie’s room, although it feels like mine, too. I don’t mind sharing if she doesn’t.
If she’s alive, I hope she appreciates she had people who loved her along the way, even if they left her long before they wanted to. I hope she still doesn’t want to scream FUCK THIS at the world. I don’t think I do.
Chapter 28
Eric
This was more than I bargained for. The mob arrived that first evening and didn’t move for three days
. We spent the time building walls and reinforcing fences. If I wasn’t enclosed in such a large space with other humans and plenty of food and water, I might’ve lost my mind to be trapped again so soon.
Hundreds of people live here, but the grounds are quieter than Sunset Park. Everyone is shell-shocked. They keep to themselves, and they want Kate’s opinion on all topics. She issues instructions through Louis, though I have a feeling Louis is the creator of those instructions and she signs off on them. It doesn’t matter to me—Louis is smart, skilled, and an all-around good guy.
Today, we managed to get some solar panels off the building north of us, which was nothing short of a miracle. A miracle that involved a lot of rope, a few broken panels, and plenty of swearing. Now, in late afternoon, I sit surrounded by wires, boxes, and batteries that were scrounged from the nearby marina—no boats, but a small store with a battery section. And, in a stroke of luck, an environmental education center by the river provided other components we needed.
Louis, Julie, Chris, and Roger have become my students, and we sit on the ground in a circle while I draw a schematic of the system on a pad. “This system was connected to the power company, so while it’ll give you power when the sun shines, it won’t power your lights at night unless you store the energy. That’s what the batteries are for.”
They nod, with me so far. I continue, “The simplified version is we set the panels at the best angle for the sun based on your location, tie them together, run that to the controller, then the batteries and inverter. Then we attach it where you want it.”
“I think we all know what’s most important,” Roger says. “My guitar and amp.”
Julie lets out a huge sigh. “Go on, Eric.”
Roger mouths Go on, Eric in a prissy fashion and folds his hands in his lap like a schoolgirl. Louis ignores his antics, which is probably the best course of action, and says, “The first floor of that building.” He points to the building that has a ground-floor cafe facing the oval, and, I’m guessing, is where everyone will want to live in the future. “We’ll move the electric stoves to the café. After the refrigerator, hot water and lights are most important. Laundry would be good.”
“Washers take a lot of energy, but you might be able to swing it. You can also add to this once I’m gone. If you can get the rest of the panels, and more batteries and wiring from that solar store crosstown, you could have a big system.” I wax on about charge controllers, inverters, and kilowatts, then jump to my feet when their eyes glaze over. “It’s probably better to show you.”
They’re hard workers—including Roger, when he’s not prancing around wearing excess wire as a wig—and we get a good bit done, but the sun starts its descent behind the buildings and leaves our workspace in shadow before we’re close to finished. Building the frames to hold the panels was slow going without power tools, though another dozen people helped. I stretch my back, which is tight from the labor and the tension that’s increased with every passing minute. At a minimum, it takes days to set up something like this, and I’m attempting to do it in one.
“I’ll be up at dawn to finish,” I say. “Anyone who wants to join me, feel free.”
“There’s no rush,” Louis says. “We’ll finish it soon, and the insulin should be fine in cold water in the basement.”
“It’s not just that. I promised someone I’d be home tomorrow.”
This catches the interest of Chris, Julie and Roger. “Why tomorrow?” Chris asks. “Special day or something?”
“It’s my birthday.” I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want them to think I hoped for a celebration. No one feels like celebrating after the other day.
“Who’s the someone?” Julie asks.
“My girlfriend, Sylvie.” It’s strange to say her name aloud to strangers, and to label her as my girlfriend. It’s possible she doesn’t want to be my girlfriend after these two weeks. It’s possible something terrible has happened. There are so many possibilities, and I won’t know until I’m there.
“Well, then we’ll get you home.” Chris pats his blowout, offers Julie his arm, and clicks his heels together. “Time for bed if we’re going to be up at dawn.”
“You gonna tuck her in, Chris?” Roger calls after them. Julie raises her middle finger but doesn’t turn.
Louis surveys Roger over folded arms. “Why do you have to be like that? Always bothering everyone.”
“I like bothering everyone,” Roger says with a toss of his bleached locks.
“One day you’re going to bother the wrong person.”
“Hey, man, chill. If it bothers you so much, I’ll stop. No one has a sense of humor around here anymore.” Roger swaggers toward his building, hand in the air. “See you bright and early.”
“Roger seems like…a lot,” I say once he’s out of earshot.
“He’s a pain, but he works hard when he has to. One of the guys with Hugh was his brother. He’s overcompensating.”
“By being a jerk?”
Louis chuckles. “That’s the way Roger does everything. We’ll get it finished.”
I thank him and wander back to my temporary one-bedroom apartment to load my pack in the remaining sunlight. I’m almost finished when there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” I say.
Kate enters. Her blue eyes are faded and her laugh lines sag, though she manages to curve her lips upward. “Mind if I sit?”
“Of course not.”
She crosses the living room and lowers herself into a chair. “I wanted to say thank you. I’ve been…”
After a few moments, I say, “Out of commission?”
“That’s one way to put it. But I’m back in commission, or I want to be. Louis said you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“I won’t if the solar isn’t done.”
“Yes, you will. You’ll write down what we need to know and we’ll figure it out. I won’t be the one to keep lovers apart on a birthday, especially now.” Her eyes fill, but she blinks them away. “You get home and give Sylvie a big kiss for me. I’m sure you miss her.”
Longing pulls in my gut, and worry makes me want to throw on my pack and head out in the dark. “I miss her laugh the most. She’s funny as hell, but she gets a kick out of being teased.”
“I can see how much you love her.”
I shrug. Kate’s eyes crinkle the way they did two weeks ago, and her hand rises to her cheek like it hurts to be happy. I don’t doubt that it does. “If you could see your face, you wouldn’t shrug. De—” her voice breaks, but she pushes on, “Dex loved to tease me and make me laugh. I think that’s the best kind of love, where you make the other person laugh.”
“Me, too.”
“Promise me you won’t let it go without a fight.”
The idea that I would give up Sylvie for any reason is unthinkable, and I mean it when I say, “I won’t.”
Chapter 29
In the morning, Kate is outside with Louis. She has her usual ponytail, a wide-ruled notebook, and dark smudges under her eyes. “Happy birthday,” she says, and Louis echoes her words.
“Thanks.”
“Louis has walked me through this so far, and I think I understand most of it.”
“Louis has it down.”
Kate tilts her head his way, ponytail swinging. “Louis should be in charge.”
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Louis says.
“Don’t I know it. So, for now, Louis is the brains and I’m the heavy head who gets all the complaints and grief.”
“We agreed to co-counsel. But you still get the grief.”
He raises his eyebrows when Kate makes a face. “He’s half my age and twice as mature,” Kate says. “Thank God someone is. All right, let’s get started.”
We make good headway and we’ve got a basic system set up by noon, minus the final connections. Kate says, “Let’s break for a quick lunch, fire it up, and get you out of here.”
They surprise me with a pile of snack cakes, complete with c
andle on top. I thank them and we scarf down lunch, but a small fire, caused by a bad connection, sets us back. I shrug off Kate’s insistence that I go—they need that medicine kept cold, though I hate to think of what will happen to their diabetic resident when the insulin is gone. With the components that fried, their attainable power has diminished by half. It’s enough to run a fridge, the water pumps, some lights, and stoves, but not all at once.
Finally, in late afternoon, I buckle on my pack and say my goodbyes. “Take care,” Kate says, and gives me a hug. “Don’t be a stranger. If you need anything, you’re always welcome here.”
Getting to the bridge is easy. Over the bridge isn’t bad, either. The base of the bridge is tricky but manageable, and I step into Brooklyn by evening. Gone for two weeks, a year older, and I have absolutely nothing to show for it, but I’m so glad to be close to home that I don’t care.
Close, but no cigar. I go as fast and recklessly as I dare, but, in a move Cassie “Why Take the Chance?” Forrest would support, I admit defeat and stop for the night. I can’t see my hand or a Lexer in front of my face out there, and my bike light is a beacon for zombies.
I drink-eat a packet of baby food and a bag of nuts in the light of my flashlight. This small building smells of decades, maybe a century, of meals cooked for families. Irish, Finnish, Polish, Latin, and Asian cuisines all blended into one. It’s soaked into the plaster and lathing and linoleum, and it may still smell like this a hundred years from now. If it stands.
If any of this stands. Eventually, the city will crumble. Whole portions of Manhattan were built on garbage dumps and over rivers and streams and tidal marshes. Humans did to Manhattan what humans are best at doing to nature, not to mention other humans—claimed it, decimated it, beat it into submission, forced it to bend to our will. Now that humans are almost extinct, it’s only a matter of time before nature rises again. The water already has; just look at the subways.