The City Series (Book 2): Peripeteia

  I stomp the snow off my boots and enter the house. Grace and Eli sit on the couch chatting, with Grace’s feet in Eli’s lap. “How’d it go?” he asks.

  “Fine, except I let Paul drive.”

  “That was brave. And tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow we hog-tie Paul and toss him in back. He’s out of control.”

  Eli laughs his laid-back laugh. “Right on.”

  “Is Sylvie here?”

  “She’s next door with Micah,” Grace says.

  Sylvie has taken Micah under her wing since Carlos died, a death which affected her more than I thought it would. She makes sure Micah eats and has roped us into several games of Pictionary. Her drawings are remarkably terrible, but they make him laugh, which I think is the point. I sit in a chair and lean forward. “Will you please tell me her birthday? Did it already pass?”

  “Not yet.” Grace tugs at her lip. “She’ll kill me. I can’t.”

  “This is ridiculous. I looked for her license in her bag, but it’s not in there.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell you this much—her wallet is in her underwear drawer.”

  Eli lowers a brow at Grace. “You know that’s the same as telling him.”

  “Plausible deniability,” Grace argues.

  “That’s not at all plausible deniability. It would never hold up in court.”

  “So sue me, Your Honor,” she says. “The girl has never had a birthday party. Well, not since she was six, when her grandma was alive. By the time I met her, she hated her birthday so much she wouldn’t let my parents celebrate it when she lived with us.”

  “Really?” I ask. My family was crazy for birthdays. Cake and presents and an entire day of doing whatever the birthday person wanted. I imagine a disappointed seven-year-old Sylvie, and all the years after where her birthday meant nothing to anyone, and I want to make it right.

  “She doesn’t like the day for other reasons, too, which you’ll see when you find her wallet. But if she’ll forgive anyone for celebrating, it’ll be you.” She claps her hands. “I’ll help!”

  “Good luck with that plausible deniability defense,” Eli says.

  “Shut up. You’re helping, so you’re an accessory.”

  Eli squeezes her foot. “You got it.”

  Grace shoos me with two hands. “Go, look quick. If she comes home, I’ll keep her busy until you’re done.”

  She wants to celebrate Sylvie’s birthday as much as I do. I head upstairs and pull open the drawer feeling like a spy, and not in a good way. Besides underwear—which I try not to think of as my sister’s—I find the brown bag of candy she still hasn’t eaten and the calendar pages I wrote on when I left to find Cassie the first time.

  Suddenly, my snooping feels a bit more virtuous. She has the things I’ve given her tucked away like treasures, and I have to hope she’ll accept this as one more. Her wallet holds the usual contents—cash and credit cards, health insurance card, and so on—along with a faded, laminated photo of an older woman and a dark-haired little girl. They sit on a couch, shoulders touching, and the little girl, Sylvie, wears a flowered dress. The woman’s face is in profile, with salt and pepper hair that falls in soft waves to her shoulders, but there’s no mistaking her resemblance to Sylvie or the affection in her smile as she gazes down. Sylvie looks up, caught in mid-laugh, her arms splayed to the side as though she’s given in to her hysterics.

  That’s who I’m doing this for. No matter how she protests, that joyful little girl is still in there—I’ve seen her—and she wants a damn birthday party. I pull out her license and check the date, and then I laugh.

  Chapter 78

  Sylvie

  The scritch-scritch sound of pencil on paper wakes me, and I open my eyes to find Eric in a chair by the side of the bed, pad in his lap. He sets down his pencil, and I don’t like the satisfied gleam in his eyes, though he can’t know what today is. Only Grace does, and she also knows I’ll murder her if she tells.

  “Good morning, my sweet,” he says. “Do you know what today is?”

  My stomach flips. “No.”

  “Valentine’s Day.”

  I let out my breath and ignore the tiny flash of disappointment that he doesn’t know it’s my birthday. I’d never tell him because he’d think I want him to make it a big deal, when I don’t. But I also wish, just a little, that he knew.

  “Okay, but aren’t we supposed to go out with the trucks again? You should’ve woken me up hours ago.”

  I’m not sure where we’d look for food, but we could always move cars for easier travel in warmer months. The temperature has held below freezing for almost two weeks, and we’ve been out every day since the first snowstorm, collecting whatever we can. I love food, but I’ve been halfhearted about it. Since Carlos and Gary died, it feels as though we’re tempting the universe to take more of us.

  “It’s a holiday,” he says. “No work today.”

  “Valentine’s Day is a fake, corporate-sponsored holiday that—”

  “Blah, blah, blah.” He stabs his pencil in the air with each blah and then goes back to his pad. “It’s a holiday, and we’re celebrating.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Drawing you while you sleep.”

  “And that didn’t strike you as slightly creepy? Why would you want to draw me with my mouth hanging open?”

  “Because, on this corporate-sponsored holiday of love, I was trying to be romantic. And your mouth wasn’t hanging open. You looked beautiful, and I wanted you to see.”

  He’s serious. I’m not really creeped out, and the sentiment is sweet, but I would rather he not stare at me while I do God only knows what in my sleep. I snicker at my next thought. “So, is this supposed to be like in the movies? Where you show me the drawing and I realize how beautiful I am and all my self-esteem issues fly out the window?”

  Eric drops his pencil with a dumbfounded laugh, then buries it under a glower. “You are the worst. If you looked up the word worst in the dictionary, it would have your picture next to it.”

  “Maybe it would have a sketch of me sleeping,” I say with a giggle, and he struggles to keep his frown in place. I reach for the pad. “Let me see.”

  He snaps it closed. “Nope. You’ve ruined my grand gesture.”

  “Please? You know I’m only joking. I want to see.”

  He studies me for a second and then opens the pad. “Almost done.” The pencil moves in heavy strokes, after which he holds the pad in the air. “My masterpiece.”

  A crude rectangle bed takes up half the paper, and the stick figure draped over top has a gaping circle for a mouth, lines for closed eyes, and a shock of dark hair standing on end. It’s obviously not his original drawing, and it’s probably exactly how I look. My laugh is loud enough that Bird scrambles from the blankets and races under the bed.

  Eric sets the pad in the drawer of his bedside table and slams it shut. “Don’t you dare peek. I’ll see you downstairs.”

  I wait for him to leave, crawl across the bed to the drawer, and flip to his sketch. Maybe he doesn’t draw as well as Cassie, but he’s captured my likeness with a minimum of simple lines and subtle shading. There’s no way I look this pleasant while I sleep, if ever. I trace the woman’s relaxed jaw, her fringe of eyelashes, and her soft lips. Corporate-sponsored holiday or not, this came from his heart, and it makes me feel as lovely as she.

  “Busted!” Eric shouts. I scream and drop the pad, then turn to find him in the doorway. “You like it?”

  I could think of a million jesting responses, but I say, “She’s beautiful.”

  “She is. And today’s her birthday, so get ready to celebrate.”

  He hoots at what must be my look of utter surprise and then bounds from sight. My mouth definitely hangs open now, and I don’t manage to close it until he’s long gone.

  ***

  By the end of my birthday breakfast, I’m almost used to having good tidings bestowed upon me. I lick my finger, dab it in the cr
umbs that remain of my baked good, and bring it to my mouth. “Thank you. Where do we have to work today?”

  “I told you, it’s a holiday,” Eric says. “Don’t be such a nerd.”

  “It’s not really a holiday.”

  “Yes, it is,” Grace says. Even she ate pastries for breakfast. “We decided we deserve one day out of here where we aren’t working. Go get dressed. We’re taking this party outdoors.”

  Eric winks at her. “A long spell outdoors.”

  They have a plan. “You promised,” I remind Grace. “You swore you wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “I swear I didn’t tell him the day,” Grace says, her wide eyes the picture of innocence.

  Eli chokes on his coffee. I spin to him, and he says, “She didn’t. I can vouch for that.”

  “But you did something.”

  “Of course I did something,” Grace says with a roll of her eyes. “Even doing nothing is something. Do you want to have a philosophical discussion or go with the flow and enjoy your freaking birthday for once in your life?”

  “Really? This is how it’s going to be?”

  “This is exactly how it’s going to be. Now shut up and go change.”

  I do as I’m told. Eric comes into our bedroom while I’m choosing warm clothes. “Are you mad?”

  “You gave me baked goods, how could I be mad?” I’m now trying to get used to the idea that this day is going to be a big deal. I might like it, and, even if I don’t, I’d be a jerk if I stomped all over Grace and Eric’s excitement. “But you have to tell me how you knew.”

  He squints, crease cropping up between his brows. “I looked in your wallet last week.”

  I laugh. Of course he did—I would’ve done it months ago if I were him.

  “You’re not mad?” he asks.

  I stand on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “No, today I go with the flow. You didn’t steal my money or go on a credit card shopping spree, did you?”

  “I restrained myself,” he says. “But I saw the picture of you. Was that your grandma?”

  The dreaded throat lump begins to form. I nod and busy myself with wool socks and long underwear. There’s a story behind that picture, but I can’t tell him it without ruining my birthday for myself, and I don’t want to ruin it. This is Year One of the new world, and it’s going to be different than all the other years.

  “Where are we going?” I ask to change the subject.

  “Operation Birthday Bash is none of your business.”

  “It has a name?”

  “Of course it has a name. Grace and I aren’t slouches when it comes to this stuff. She says you have a lot of birthdays to catch up on.”

  “She’s right,” I say.

  We finish dressing, and as we walk to meet the others, I make an excuse to go back to the room. I pull the laminated picture from my wallet. It’s the only one I have of me and my grandma, and if anyone deserves to come along on this day, it’s Bubbe. I give it a kiss and stick it in my back pocket.

  Chapter 79

  Fresh snow has fallen, enough to cover the pitted remnants of the previous snowstorm and turn Prospect Park into a winter wonderland of silvery trees and pristine white ground, which we’ve now partly destroyed with a plow and the caravan of people who followed behind. All I could think was that this is an outrageous expense of time and fuel for one person’s birthday, but after we exited our vehicles at the Long Meadow, I realized how much everyone needs something to celebrate after Carlos and Gary. The little kids may be most excited, but the teenagers are already pelting each other with snowballs and every adult is bright-eyed and smiling.

  I take in the rolling hills of the Long Meadow and the surrounding trees. The sky above is light blue, wide-open, and rolls out endlessly. This extraordinary sense of vastness—to be outside and free from fear—was once ordinary, and I think the chance to experience it again is another reason we’re here. People will take turns watching the surrounding area for threats other than zombies, but this is as fear-free as it’s going to get in the near, and likely distant, future.

  The Picnic House, a two-story brick building built a century ago, sits on a hill overlooking the meadow. It’s been appointed our warming center, possibly days ago, judging by the tables and hot plates set up in its second-floor party room. Off to the side of the building, generators hum to provide heat and cooking capabilities.

  “What do you think?” Grace asks.

  “I think you’re the best friend ever,” I say, and put my arm around her. “I guess I’ll keep you. Let’s see if Maria needs help.”

  We mount the outside stairs and peek inside the party room. Indy rushes at us, hands up to block our view. “Go away! And happy birthday, but mostly go away.”

  I haven’t seen her this morning, or Maria, who comes to kiss my cheek. “Happy birthday, mamita. Go away.”

  “Is this the latest thing in birthday greetings?” I ask. “Because, I have to say, it leaves a bit to be desired.”

  Indy spins me so that I face the door. “I’ll see you at the pond in a little while.”

  “The pond?” I ask, but she shoves me and Grace onto the balcony of the staircase. I ask Grace, “The pond?”

  “Yup, let’s go. Eric said they’d be done by now.”

  We walk the path past sledding children and veer right to follow it alongside two connected ponds. The second pond has a beach-like area leading to solid ice that’s been swept free of snow. A dozen people ice skate while others sit on a bench near a long row of skates, taken from the park’s ice rink, to gear up.

  Eric is out on the pond, and he glides to shore as we near, then gracefully stops inches away in a shower of ice crystals. Of course he skates perfectly. I roll my eyes. “You are so annoying.”

  His resounding laugh could wake the dead, though not the icy dead. Mercifully, he has a sense of humor—he’d be insufferable otherwise. “Everywhere the snow is cleared is frozen solid. Get skates on and join us. Paul, Leo, and Eli are already out.”

  Paul and Leo glide back and forth, not expert skaters but staying on their feet. I look for Eli through the teenagers speeding around. “Where’s Eli?”

  Eric motions at someone I would never guess is Eli from a distance. This guy, instead of being smooth and coordinated, is moving like a three-year-old on skates for the first time, ankles bending in intermittently and arms circling the air to keep his balance.

  Grace covers her mouth, but I don’t have time to hide my surprised laugh. Eli windmills his arms and then hits the ice rump-first. Grace bends at the waist, then looks up at Eric while she wipes away tears. “Maybe you should help him. Oh God, I can’t—” She dissolves in a fit of giggles.

  Eric salutes her and skates toward Eli. I take Grace’s arm because with the way she’s laughing, she’s going down the same as her boyfriend. And he is her boyfriend, or live-in boyfriend. It started with a toothbrush upstairs, then his soap, then a towel, and then he had half the drawers in their bedroom and Lucky had his own room downstairs.

  “I would give anything in the world for a video camera right now,” she gasps.

  Eric extends a hand, but Eli waves him away and rises on his own, only to have his legs scissor open in a split. He manages to lock his skates to the ice, arms raised, and avoid another fall. Eric gives us a thumbs up. Eli sees us and flaps an arm our way, jerkily bringing his feet near each other.

  Grace waves, smile quavering with a held-in laugh. “Seriously, anything,” she murmurs without moving her lips.

  “It’s kind of endearing.”

  “It is.”

  “So, is it love?” I ask. She’s been surprisingly close-mouthed about Eli the past weeks, and while I don’t usually demand a million details, probably because I get them without asking, I need more.

  “It’s…” She tucks my arm close to her side and exhales. “It’s hard to talk about. I feel like I’m betraying Logan.”

  I press my head to hers. “That’s all you need to say. I just want to make
sure you’re okay.” I have no doubt Grace and Logan were happy, but Eli and Grace have some tantric thing going on in the way they look at each other.

  “I’m more than okay.” Grace scans the white-covered foliage that surrounds the pond. “Isn’t it pretty?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say. “And so are you.”

  Her cheeks are pink, eyes emerald, and her golden hair escapes her poufy angora hat to frame her face. But it’s not just that—she glows with tranquility, the way Eric’s drawing of me did, though she doesn’t have to be sound asleep in order to not be scowling at something.

  “So are you. So is everyone. So is the world.”

  “Here we go,” I groan.

  “On this, your twenty-eighth birthday, will you do me a favor?” she asks. “Let it all in. Because you can’t appreciate the intense beauty and happiness without acknowledging the pain. They’re two sides of the same coin.”

  I wave at Brother David, whose homespun brown robe lends him a dashing air and doesn’t seem to hinder his skating ability. “Well, you’re not a priest, but I suppose I’ll try it.”

  “Thanks,” she says wryly, then belly-laughs when Eli plummets again. “I’m going to have to rescue him. You ready to go out there?”

  We find our skate sizes in the pile. Once I’ve slid onto the ice, Eric swings past and takes my hand. “Don’t get all triple Lutz on me,” I say. “I’m better at this than dancing, but it’s pretty much straight lines and semi-wobbly arcs.”

  Eric follows me in circles. Eli drags Grace down with him, and she pulls him to his feet, rubbing her butt. Micah has made a playlist and plugged his phone into a speaker, and with the skaters and the music, it does feel like a party. Once Maria and Indy have joined us, Indy skates circles—literal circles—around her brother, and Maria and Jorge pass by holding hands like teenagers.

  “What are you smiling about?” Eric asks me.

  “I’m just happy.”

  “Even though it’s a fake, corporate-sponsored holiday?”