After the Ending (2 page)

Zoe

Rushing into the small, outdated bungalow, I threw my
messenger bag on the russet, suede couch with excessive force. I was instantly
irritated that Sarah, my roommate’s closest friend, was there…again. Eating
my
food.
Why am I not charging her rent?

“Where’s Jordan?” I snipped, unwinding my black, cashmere
scarf and charcoal, knee-length pea coat, and tossing them over the back of the
couch.

“She’s in the shower. You hungry?” The curly-haired
freeloader twirled noodles on her fork, utterly oblivious to my annoyance.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself before
speaking. “Thanks, but I’m rushing off to the bar for my night shift.” I eyed
the plate of spaghetti in front of her. “Someone’s gotta buy the food around
here,” I added.

Hurrying down the hallway to my bedroom, I slammed the
door behind me. I barely had time to remove my sweater before my cell phone
vibrated in my pocket. Sighing, I answered, “Hey Dad.”

“Hi honey, how are you?” He muffled a cough on the other
end of the line.

“Getting ready for work. Other than that, I’m fine.” I
unzipped my knee-high, black, calfskin boots and flung them into the corner.
The brisk air in the room was a reprieve, cooling my legs which had been
fermenting in their leather confines.

“I thought you just got
off
work?”

“Yeah, well, I’m
always
working. That’s the joy of
having two jobs.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot.” He cleared his throat.

“How could you forget? I’ve been working at the gallery
and
Earl’s for like…ever.”

“Well, that’s the joy of getting old,” he teased, but he
sounded exhausted.

“You sound horrible, Dad.” I pulled off my brown pencil
skirt and laid it across the bed.

“Gee, thanks. You sure know how to make your old man feel
good,” he bantered.

“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta worry about you.” Trying to
lighten the conversation, I asked, “What kind of mischief have you gotten into
lately, anyway? I haven’t talked to you in a while, so don’t tell me ‘nothing’
‘cause we both know
that’s
not true.”

He chuckled and sighed, “Nothing, I promise…Well, there
was—”

I laughed, interrupting his admission with feigned
exasperation, “I knew it! What’d you do now, Dad?”

“I
tried
to re-landscape the backyard—” He was cut
short by a coughing fit.

I grimaced. “Are you sure you’re okay? You really
do
sound bad.” I grabbed some jeans out of the closet and shook them out.

His cough persisted, and I grew increasingly worried.
“Dad…”

“I’m fine. It’s just a lingering cold. Charlene’s sick
too. I probably caught it from her when I was helping weatherproof her windows
last week.”

I was immediately sidetracked by the knowledge that he
was spending time with his beautiful, single neighbor. I wished, more than
believed, he might be coming out of his shell. My dad hadn’t dated much since
my mom’s death. According to my older brother, my dad had never really been the
same in general. However, his scatterbrained lack of focus was all I’d ever
known, and even at the age of fifty-seven, he still needed me to look out for
him. “At Charlene’s, huh? How…interesting.”

“Oh, stop it. You know we’re just friends.” Joking aside,
his voice was agitated, as it normally was when I tried to encourage him to
date.

“She’s been after you for how many years now? I think
it’s time you gave her a break, Pops,” I said, switching to speakerphone and
tossing my cell onto the bed.

“I was just helping her out.”

“Oh, trust me,
I know
.” I hopped around, tugging
on my faded jeans and almost falling over.

“Knock it off, Zoe.” His fatherly voice always emerged
when I goaded him in the areas of love and affection.

“You’re right. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.
Probably not a good idea,” I said bitterly. He continued scolding me, and I
tuned him out as I pulled a green Earl’s t-shirt over my head and gazed into
the mirror.

Envisioning my usual gallery attire paired with the
conservative hairstyle I still wore, I wasn’t surprised I was habitually
single.
I look like an uptight school
marm
, I
observed regretfully.

Pulling my dark hair from its bun, I watched it cascade
past my shoulders and settle just above my waist, uncreased despite the twisted
knot it had been in all day. I tried to imagine what I’d look like with Dani’s
wild curls and rolled my eyes. Wondering was pointless. My hair was boring and
straight, but contrasted nicely with my light skin and blue-green eyes.

 My dad had blue eyes, but not quite the same color
as mine. They were paler, and his hair was so much lighter.
I must look more
like Mom…

“Zo? You still there?”

 
Whoops
. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Anyway, it’s nothing,” Dad sighed.

“It’s been over twenty years, Dad. Are you gonna be alone
the rest of your life?”

His voice softened the way it always did when he was
attempting to reassure me. “Don’t worry about me, hon. I’ve got you kids.” He
cleared his throat. I couldn’t help but scoff at the idea of having us “kids”
as suitable companions. He and Jason were still trying to rebuild their
relationship, and I was on the other side of the country.

“Speaking of you kids…” Dad’s voice brightened. “Jason
called me yesterday. He’s doing well and likes Washington more than Colorado.
Said he’s moving up in rank real quick.” He paused for a second, and when I
didn’t say anything, he continued, “Eleven years as a Green Beret and he’s
finally getting where he wants to be.”

“I didn’t know he’d left Colorado,” I said quietly. I
couldn’t believe my brother hadn’t told me he was being reassigned…or whatever.

“Oh…I’m sure he’s been busy and doesn’t have much time to
talk. He probably assumed I’d fill you in.” Dad prattled on, but I was more
focused on the realization that Jason and I had drifted even further apart.

Sarah’s sudden coughing fit in the living room pulled me
from my thoughts. Upon hearing one gag after the other, I promised myself I’d
make time to get a flu shot soon.

1 SENT TEXT MESSAGE:

TO: D

Tried calling you, but got your voicemail. Is Callie doing
better? Dad’s sick too. Can you ask Grams to check on him? I’ll call you after
work.

December 5, 5:15 PM

Date: December 5, 2:24 AM

From: Zoe Cartwright

To: Danielle O’Connor

Subject: :(

D,

I tried calling you again, but you’re probably asleep. I
hope Callie’s doing better. I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you. I’ve
been super busy covering shifts at the gallery AND at Earl’s. I hadn’t realized
how many people were sick until last night…one of my co-workers died. Can you
believe it?! Maxine was so healthy and young...it’s all so scary. It feels like
I was just joking around with her yesterday, and now she’s gone.

BTW, Jason’s apparently stationed over in Washington now. Of
course, he didn’t tell me himself; I had to find out from my dad. I bet Jason
doesn’t even know you’re in Seattle.

Oh, and of course...HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY! Did you even get
to celebrate? Sorry I couldn’t be there, but we’ll make up for it when we see
each other for Christmas. I promise. I’m gonna get some sleep before I have to
wake up and head to the gallery…again. Happy late 26th!

Hasta la vista,

Zo

After putting it off for a day and getting no sleep thanks
to Jordan’s fitful night of coughing and vomiting, I finally took the time to
go to the doctor for a flu shot.

Walking into the clinic, I felt like I was entering a
prison. The walls were white and sterile, and fluorescent lighting illuminated
the bland space. Glass barriers separated the sick from the healthy. Patients
stood in zigzagged lines throughout the waiting room like inmates, their
medical paperwork in hand instead of eating trays and wrist shackles.

Near the door, a security guard handed out surgical
masks. Eyeing the mass of people, I groaned and grabbed a mask before getting
in line. My attention was immediately captured by the two women in front of me;
they were talking about the Center for Disease Control.

“Well last night the CDC
finally
addressed the
issue nationally,” said the red-haired woman. She clearly thought their
involvement was overdue.

“It’s about time.” Her brunette friend seemed
relieved. 

“They aren’t even sure if the vaccine works yet. The
Virus is spreading so quickly…it’s like they can’t keep up with it.”

“I heard they think it’s airborne—not that it’s
surprising.”

The redhead nodded. “I know. And they want us all to stay
indoors. Real practical.” Her face soured in disgust as she surveyed the
crowded room.

I followed her eyes, taking in the number of people with
pallid skin and runny noses. My skin crawled as I thought about the orgy of
germs I’d walked into. The idea of being in a room swarming with the ill,
breathing the same recycled air as the rest of the throng, made my stomach
curdle.
Great
.

Just as I was debating the quickest exit out to the open
air, a platinum blonde shuffled through the door. Her skin was unnaturally
tanned, her face caked with makeup, and she had bubblegum pink fingernails.
Taking a second look, I noticed the heavy make-up was a desperate attempt to
cover the cold sores around her mouth and the black half-moons under her eyes.

Blondie stopped dead in her tracks. She took one look at
the line drawn out before her and started complaining. “This is ridiculous,”
she spat and marched her way to the front of the line.

“Hey! You have to wait in line like the rest of us!” a
waiting patient called out.

“Miss, you need to get to the back of the line. There’s
no cutting.” My eyes zeroed in on the guard touching the girl’s shoulder.
Shouldn’t
he be wearing gloves or something?

His eyes widened as he listened to an announcement in his
ear piece, then he started speaking again. “If you’ve had H1N1 before, form a
line over here please!” He pointed to the far left wall. “If you’re showing any
flu symptoms, please stay in the original line.”

I found myself smiling at his words.
Thank God
, I
thought as I moved to the shorter line.
Maybe I’ll get to work on time after
all.

“Oh, that’s me,” Blondie simpered and smiled at the
guard. He eyed her closely as she hurried to my line. The exertion proved too
strenuous, and she began wheezing almost immediately.

My phone vibrated, distracting me from the commotion. It
was Sarah.

“Hello?” I couldn’t help the apprehension in my voice.

“Where are you?” she whimpered.

“At the clinic attempting to get a flu shot. Why?” I
waited for a moment. The phone was silent, and then I realized Sarah was crying.
“What happened?” Knowing it couldn’t be good news, my heart raced, and I tasted
blood on my tongue as I chewed the inside of my cheek.

“Jordan’s dead,” she sobbed. “I didn’t know if you knew.”

I didn’t know…I hadn’t even realized she was so sick. I’d
never been close with Jordan. We’d worked together at Earl’s and had been
roommates for two years, but we’d always been too different to be good friends.

“Did you hear me, Zoe? It’s so loud there—”

“Yeah, I heard you.” I stared blankly at the floor.
“Where are you?”

“I’m at your house. I took Jordan’s key. Is that okay?”
she asked timidly and sneezed into the phone. I thought the question was
trivial, but it was sweet that she’d asked all the same.

“Zoe Cartwright?” called a nurse.

When I didn’t respond to Sarah’s question, she choked
out, “Zoe? I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be home soon.”

I hung up and followed the nurse into the doctor’s
office. I had to wipe away a stray tear as I remembered the time one of the
many douchebags I’d dated left me stranded at some dive bar at two o’clock in
the morning. Jordan had come to my rescue, and we’d grabbed a late night coffee
before heading home.

1 SENT TEXT MESSAGE:

TO: D

Jordan’s dead…

Date: December 6, 8:45 PM

Dani

Z
oe’s roommate is dead.
With a shuddering sigh, I
leaned back against Cam’s body. His arms wrapped reassuringly around me,
interlocking just under my breasts. If only there was something sexual in his
touch. If only we had the energy for such distractions. His body burned against
mine, like he’d spent hours sitting too close to a fireplace. Staring out the
wide living room window into the grim winter drizzle, I watched as our combined
body heat slowly fogged up the glass.

“D, let’s go to bed.” Cam’s too-hot breath brushed my
neck as he spoke, worrying me.

“You go ahead,” I said, meeting his reflected gaze. “I’ll
be in soon. I just need to do a few things first.”

Exhaling heavily, he held me more tightly.

I patted one of his hands and murmured reassurances.
“I’ll be quick. I promise.”

Cam kissed the top of my head, breathing deeply. “Mmm…D,
how do you still smell so good?” He took another deep breath. “Even after two
days. You smell…mmm…more like you. If I weren’t so tired…” He trailed off with
a husky chuckle. The distinct thread of desire wasn’t enough to push either of
us into action.

He released me and moved away. “Don’t blame me if I’m
already dead asleep by the time you crawl under the covers.”

Dead asleep. Ha. Ha.
I looked at him over my
shoulder and gave my least-amused, most-withering expression. He laughed as he
retreated to our bedroom.

I examined my reflection in the night-darkened glass and,
studying my diminutive height and build, pale skin, and long crimson curls,
gave myself the same death stare.
Nope
,
not scary at all.
My
flushed cheeks and feverishly glowing eyes, however, were a little unsettling.
I felt like crap and looked like it.

With a sigh, I plucked my phone from the window sill and
called my grandma.

“Hello?” the elderly Irish woman greeted with her usual
musical lilt.

I let out an unexpected sigh of relief. “Hi Grams, it’s
me.”

“Oh, Dani-girl. I’ve been meaning to call you to see how
the rest of your birthday went, but one thing after another kept popping up,
especially with all the sick folks. So, how are you, girl? How’s that boy of
yours? Did you have a good time on your birthday?” Her raspy voice eased some
of my anxiety, but there was just too much sickness and death to settle my
nerves completely.

“We’re both fine and…my birthday was…lovely,” I lied.
“How are you?”

“Oh…don’t you be worrying about me. These old bones have
weathered worse storms. Did you get the package I sent you? I overnighted it
yesterday.”

“
Uhhh
…I don’t know. I’ll check
the mail room tomorrow. What’s in it?”

“Medicines and herbs—things to keep you healthy.” She
paused for a moment. “Mind you, fetch that package first thing in the morning,
you hear?” Her steely tone welcomed zero argument, making me cringe.
Things
must be bad down there.

“Yes, Grams,” I replied. “Do you think you could check on
Tom? Zo said he’s sick. I think she’s really worried.”

“Of
course.”                           

“Thanks.
Zo’ll
be relieved
knowing you’re looking out for him.”

Grams breathed deeply before saying, “Now, I’m sorry, but
I really must cut this short. Promise me you’ll take extra special care over
the next few days, you hear?”

“Yes, Grams, I promise. You’d better do the same,
you
hear?
” I mimicked, receiving a gravelly laugh in response.

“I do love you, Dani-girl,” she stated earnestly, nearly
turning my sudden good humor to tears.

“I love you too, Grams.”

After the goodbyes, a heavy weight settled on my
shoulders, like all of my anxiety and fear had solidified and were threatening
to crush me. I thought I might understand what Atlas felt like…just a little.

I quickly scrolled to Zoe’s name and pressed call. While
I listened to five rings without an answer, I stared at the black Celtic knot
tattooed on my wrist, knowing Zoe had the same on her hip. Her recorded voice
greeted me after the sixth ring. “You’ve reached Zoe Cartwright. Please leave
me a message and I’ll call you back…maybe.”

Sighing, I waited for the beep and said, “Zo…I need to
talk to you. Like now. Call me.” I ended the call and quickly logged onto my
computer, pondering the email I was about to write.

How much should I
tell her? Should I tell her that Callie’s going to die like Jordan? Or that Cam
and I are definitely sick? Should I lie to her like I did with Grams? Maybe I’m
wrong. Maybe Callie will make it. Maybe Cam and I aren’t really sick. Maybe
none of
it’s
real.

A twisted version of myself added,
maybe telling her will make it real.

Date: December 6, 9:30 PM

From: Danielle O’Connor

To: Zoe Cartwright

Subject: What the hell is going on?

Zo,

I just spoke to Grams. She said she’d head over to your
Dad’s soon. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything. Don’t worry about my
birthday—it’s really not important right now. There’s too much other crap going
on for it to matter.

I’m SO sorry about Jordan. I don’t even know what to
say…only that I’m sorry. Was it the flu? I just assumed…

Cam and I just got home from visiting Callie in the hospital
again. One of our pseudo friends, Jamie Jenks (I think you met her, she
is
was the super girly bitchy one), also died this morning. I said some stuff to
her—bad stuff—at the pub the other night. Sometimes it’s like I just lose
control of my mouth. And now she’s dead. At least Callie is only in a coma. The
doctor isn’t sure if she’ll come out of it. I called her parents, and they’re
on their way. Her dad said the government is trying to blockade all of the
state borders for quarantine or something. Not that it matters, everyone
already has the damn virus.

And Jason is stationed near me? No, I don’t care. Seriously.
I’m just surprised I didn’t already know we were living in the same state.
Whatever. Is he coming home for the holidays? I sort of hope not. Every time I
even
mention
your brother around Cam, he gets his sour, jealous face. I
can’t blame him. I sometimes wonder if it’s just a natural male reaction to
Jason. He’s just too...I don’t know… everything. Whatever.

But honestly, I feel pretty crappy, so I’m off to bed. Don’t
worry…I’m probably just feeling the aftereffects from the big night out and
spending too much time in hospital waiting rooms. I’ll let you know about your
dad as soon as I hear back from Grams.

Dani

Callie’s dad cleared his throat for the
dozenth
time before saying, “It happened early this morning and, well, we know how
close you two are…were…and we just thought you should know.” The horrible,
wrenching strain in his voice pulverized my heart just a little bit more.

The two-bedroom apartment suddenly felt empty—more than
empty, like a vacuum—without Callie’s bright energy. She’d always filled the
rooms with singing and excitement. Her touches were everywhere, from the spicy
orange scent of her favorite candles to the photos of the Seattle skyline she’d
taken over the years and placed on the living room and hallway walls. It was
her
sun-faded couch that I currently sat on and
her
olive-green angora throw
that was currently warming my legs. All of these things were
hers
, or
had been, but I didn’t want any of them—I just wanted to see Callie again.

“Thank you for telling me.” I sounded hollow.
How can
she be gone?
“You’re welcome to stay in her room if you’d like…if it’s not
too hard…I mean…I…I’m so sorry…”

Mr. Roberts coughed. “Thank you, but no. That won’t be
needed. We’re staying at the hospital, unfortunately. We’re not feeling well.”
Oh
no…

“Okay, Mr. Roberts, feel better. Just let me know when
you’d like to come get her things.”

He choked out, “Of course.”

The call ended with mutual well-wishes. I tossed my phone
on the cushion next to me and hoisted my aching body off the couch. I felt like
I’d been trampled by a herd of wild horses. As I hobbled over to kneel beside
Jack at Callie’s bedroom door, I wondered how my joints weren’t creaking
audibly.

When we’d returned home from the hospital the previous
night, I’d closed off Callie’s room. Jack kept sitting at her door, trying to
lean his furry body through the hollow, fake wood. Except it suddenly felt like
the heavy stone entrance to an undisturbed tomb—opening it would break the
seal, and with a whoosh, the ancient, stale air would escape to swirl with its
modern counterpart.

Steeling myself, I opened the door, finally letting Jack
enter the room containing the last vestiges of one of his best friends. I hung
back in the doorway, and Callie’s scent washed over me—sustaining and
suffocating.
She’s never coming back.

Some strange urge drove me further in, forcing me to
stare around at all of her belongings—things she would never use again.
She’s
never coming back.

Standing still, I focused on a blank spot on the wall in
an attempt to stop the room from spinning. I was losing it. Emotional control
was slipping through my fingers like desert sand.
Why isn’t Callie here
right now?
I collapsed on the floor on hands and knees, fighting back
sudden nausea.
She’s never coming back.

Jack stopped his sniffling exploration and rushed to my
side, licking the backs of my hands. I wrapped my arms around him, clinging to
his warmth…his vitality.

“Hey Jack,” I breathed after a few minutes. “I’m okay,
Sweet Boy.” It was a lie, but it didn’t really matter. I unclenched my fingers
from his scruff and stood on shaky legs. “Let’s get outta here.”

Jack leaned against my right leg as I rushed out of the
room and eased the door closed. Click.
I can’t go in there again.

Date: December 7, 9:00 AM

From: Danielle O’Connor

To: Zoe Cartwright

Subject: Losing Hope

Zo,

Callie’s gone. I just…this is so surreal. I can’t think
about it anymore. But I can’t NOT think about it either. What happens now?

When I talked to Grams about it, she told me she hadn’t been
able to find your dad. But she promised to search around town. She also told me
she wasn’t feeling well. Sorry. Wish I had better news.

Yeah, so, it looks like Cam and I have the flu, too. Cam’s
been throwing up in the bathroom most of the day. We’d go to the hospital, but
there isn’t any point. The emergency broadcast said to stay away from all
hospitals and doctors’ offices. I honestly don’t know what to do. Too much
emotional crap. I need to go pass out now.

Dani

I woke with a jolt, immediately feeling like I’d taken a
dozen shots of rum. I crawled over Cam’s sweaty body and barely made it to the
bathroom before vomiting. Jack settled on the linoleum beside me, his head
resting on his front paws while he watched me.

The bloody, violent heaves seemed to last forever and
left me a shaking, cavernous husk. My insides were raw—like I’d swallowed
lighter fluid, lit a match on my tongue, and let the flames scorch my body from
the inside out. Though I attempted to drink a few sips of water before
rejoining Cam in bed, the most I could manage was to rinse out my mouth.

When I finally returned to our bedroom, Cam was awake and
curled up on his side facing the doorway. “D, I woke up, and you were gone. I’m
so tired. Stay with me?” he rasped.

“Of course,” I soothed as I unsteadily slid over his body
and into bed. “Go to sleep, my Cam. I’ll be right here. I love you,” I
whispered, snuggling behind him. But he was already in a deep sleep, and I was
trying not to vomit, again.

Hours later, the world resumed its lurching motion and
forced me to return to my worship of the toilet. My stomach muscles heaved and
contracted endlessly, nearly making me pass out from exhaustion.

Using the wall for support, I eventually made it back to
the bed. As I dragged my worthless limbs across Cam’s body, I became aware of
Jack’s incessant whining and froze.

Beneath me, Cam wasn’t breathing.
Cam? CAM! NO!!!

“Wake up, Cam,” I begged, rolling him onto his back and
sitting astride his limp form. “Come on, Baby. Wake up, please!” I touched his
face tenderly—kissed his lips, his eyes, his cheeks. I could smell him, so I
knew he must still be there.

“This isn’t happening. You can’t do this to me! You can’t
leave me! Please, Baby, just wake up! PLEASE!”

But every part of him was limp, lifeless.

“DAMMIT, CAM,” I screeched, banging on his chest with my
weak limbs. “You have to wake up! You can’t leave me like this! You promised
me…you said we’d grow old together! You PROMISED!” I gave one last scream
before collapsing on top of him. All of my sounds turned to sobs.

“Please, Cam, wake up,” I croaked.

He’s dead.

While I lay on his body, my mind flashed through all of
the things we should’ve shared. We’d planned to share. We’d wanted to share.

I saw Grams, acting
as my father and mother, walking me down the aisle. Toward Cam.

I saw our
children—a little boy and baby girl—both with dark red hair.

I saw family
vacations with Zoe and her shadowed husband and child.

I saw our children
grow up and marry and have babies of their own.

I saw myself grow
old and wrinkly with Cam after a life filled with love and companionship, like
he’d promised.