The Things That Keep Us Here (22 page)

THIRTY-ONE

M
ADDIE LEANED AGAINST THE LAUNDRY ROOM DOOR
and thumped the back of her heel against the wood. “But I don’t
want
you to go.”

Peter rolled up a pair of jeans and shoved them into his duffel bag. “I won’t be far, honey. I’ll just be a few minutes away.”

Twenty minutes or ten miles. Somewhere along the way he’d stop and get some supplies. He might chance upon an open grocery store, or perhaps a convenience store. Even a gas station would do. There were several between here and his place. He didn’t need much. He could manage a long time on peanut butter and candy bars. If those didn’t pan out, well, surely he’d figure something out. He zipped the bag shut and glanced over at Maddie. She had her mouth turned down and was blinking rapidly to keep the tears back. He came over, knelt, and took her small hands in his. “As soon as I get settled, you can come for a visit.”

“Why can’t I come now?”

Kate spoke from the doorway. “Because he doesn’t want you to.”

Peter looked up. Kate’s face was pinched white with anger. “Kate,” he began, but she whirled around and stormed off. A moment later he heard her say something, heard Ann’s muted reply.

“Is that true, Daddy?”

He gripped Maddie’s hands tightly. It had been hard enough leaving them the first time. He looked into her eyes. “Of course I want you and Kate to stay with me, but you’ve seen my place.”

She pushed out her lower lip. “It only has one bed.”

“Right. I have to get things set up. Hey, I have an idea. Why don’t you draw me another picture to put up on my walls? How about a sunset?”

She kicked the door some more, then slipped her hands from his grasp and trudged off.

Peter pushed in a shirt and zipped the duffel closed, then dumped the bag on the floor outside the laundry room.

Ann glanced up from where she sat on the couch, Jacob on her lap. Kate sat hunched and scowling on one side of her, Maddie on the other, her box of markers opened in front of her.

“I think that’s everything.” Peter picked up Jacob’s blanket, his teething ring and picture book with the gnawed corners.

“You’re not planning to take the baby?” Ann said.

He straightened and looked over at her. It was a strange thing to see Jacob in her arms. All babies looked alike, soft and sweet and generally bald, but there was something about the way she was holding him that made Peter think of William. Maybe it was the blue cap fitted onto the round little head. Maybe it was the way she held his little hands in hers. “Well, sure.”

Maddie lifted her head from her drawing. “That’s not fair, Daddy.”

Kate said, “What about when Libby comes back for him?”

Ann glanced at Kate. “Right. Jacob should stay here.”

He looked at her with surprise. All those memories that Jacob had to be churning up for her, too—was she truly ready to wade through them and take care of the baby for who knew how long?

Maddie scowled. “If you’re taking Jacob, you have to take me, too.”

“Now
that’s
a good idea,” Kate said.

“Shut up,” Maddie said. “Please, Daddy.”

He rested his hand on Maddie’s head and kept his gaze trained on Ann. “You sure?”

Jacob rocked back and forth in Ann’s lap, and she lifted him up to stand on her knees. He chortled with glee and clapped his chubby hands together. She pressed her cheek to the top of his head and looked at him. “I’m sure.”

Something had changed for her. He wondered when.

Maddie was looking from Ann to him. “Does that mean you’re still going?”

“That’s right, honey.” He set down the things in his hands and glanced at the fireplace. “But I think I’ll scrounge up some firewood first. You guys are pretty low.”

Ann shook her head. “You shouldn’t be on the road when it’s dark.”

“That’s hours away. I have time.”

“Kate, take Jacob, please.” Ann kissed the baby and placed him in Kate’s lap, then stood. “Can we talk for a minute, Peter?” She led the way into the den and closed the door. “Shazia wants to go with you.”

He was surprised. “Really?” She hadn’t said anything to him. In fact, he wasn’t even certain where she was right now. He’d been looking for a chance to talk to her before he left, but she’d made herself scarce all morning. Last he remembered, she’d been closeted in the upstairs bathroom.

“I don’t think she should.”

“Agreed.” He wasn’t at all comfortable leaving Ann alone to care for the children. It was safer for all of them if Shazia stayed. “I’ll talk to her.”

“She’s made up her mind.”

Was Shazia worried she’d outstayed her welcome? “She’s a smart girl. She’ll listen to reason.”

Ann had her hands on her hips and was staring at the floor. “Peter.” She breathed in some air and let it out. She brought her gaze up and looked at him. “I know about the baby.”

“Okay.” He said it slowly. “The baby’s healthy. Just like Libby said.”

She shook her head. “Not Jacob. Shazia’s baby.”

“Shazia has a baby?” He stared at her. Shazia had gone straight from college to graduate school. When had she found time to start a family? And why hadn’t she once mentioned it? And where was this child? Ann had to be mistaken. “She’s going to,” Ann said grimly.

“She’s pregnant?” He stared at her, dumbfounded. “She told you that?”

“She didn’t have to.”

He scrubbed the back of his neck. Jesus. Now what? “How far along is she?”

“Early. I’d say first trimester. She’s barely showing.”

All the risks Shazia had taken. He’d never have allowed her to work with the die-off samples if he’d known. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Peter.” She crossed her arms. “But I bet that’s why she wants to go with you.”

He nodded. “I’ll talk to her,” he said again. Shazia was pregnant. That changed everything.

THE RAIN WENT ON, AN IRRITABLE DRIZZLE THAT SWITCHED
from sleet to water to sleet again. Peter was thoroughly soaked by the time he arrived home. He spread the wet branches on the floor of the garage, stripped off his coat and hat, and hung them over the handlebars of the wheelbarrow.

Ann stood at the sink, washing dishes. She wore layers of clothes, all somber colors that covered every inch of her but her head and fingers. Still, she looked cold. She glanced over at him. “Any luck?”

“Everything’s too wet to burn. I left the wood in the garage to dry. I checked next door. No one answered.”

She turned off the water and picked up a dishtowel. “Did you look in the windows?”

“I walked all around. The fire’s out in their family room, but there’s candlelight coming from upstairs.”

“Okay.” She exhaled. “That’s good.”

“It’s getting dark. I’d better go soon.”

She nodded.

Maddie and Kate sat before the fire with Jacob, Shazia cross-legged beside them. They were playing some sort of game that involved running a toy truck through the folds of the blankets. Jacob chortled and smacked his hands down, leaning forward and almost toppling over.

“Whoa,” Kate said, grabbing his shirt. “Look, Jacob. Look at the truck.”

Peter had a sudden flash of little Kate leaning over William’s crib, reaching out to make the mobile dance. “Look, baby,” she’d said. “Look at all the pretty flutter-byes.”

Maddie glanced up at Peter. She’d been crying, her eyes swollen and pink. “Why do you have to go, Daddy?”

“That’s what Dad does,” Kate said. “He leaves.”

That pierced him to the core. Was that what she really thought? And was she wrong? “Kate,” he said, but she refused to meet his eyes.

“Jakey,” she said instead, “don’t you want your truck?”

“Stop, Kate,” Maddie said. “I had that first.”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

Ann had come in behind him. This protracted leave-taking was agonizing for all of them. Better to just go. He glanced at the fireplace. The fat log he’d wrestled onto the grate just that morning was now a smoldering lump, just a few flames licking its surface. He could already feel the chill gathering in the room. “That fire’s going to go out pretty soon.”

“It’s getting late, Peter,” Ann said, worry in her voice.

Shazia started to rise. “Peter?”

“I know we need to talk,” he said to her. “Let me work on the fire first, okay?”

Shazia sank back down. “All right.” Her tone was puzzled. She knew something was up.

He still hadn’t decided how to broach the subject with her. How did you talk about something like that?
So, I hear you’re going to have a baby
.

The flashlight was in the server drawer with the candles. He pushed the button, checked the light.

The basement was dark; the feeble daylight barely penetrated through the small windows set high. He shone the beam of light around the storage room. He couldn’t use anything precious. Not the disassembled crib upright in pieces against the wall or his father’s battered Army trunk. Nothing painted. It might release toxic fumes. So Maddie’s dresser was out, unless he manually sanded the white paint off first. That would take a while, though, and there wasn’t much daylight left. He held the flashlight beam steady on his parents’ old oak dining room set. That might work, though he’d have to saw it up into usable pieces. The beam of light played over something that threw back pointy shadows at him. The stack of Ann’s frames. So many that she’d never used. Some of them were gilded. None of those would do. He came closer and something squelched beneath his shoe. He backed up and directed the flashlight beam to the floor. What now?

He was standing in a puddle. He cast the beam upward. No rusty filigree traced the ceiling tiles. The water wasn’t coming from there. Back to the floor, where a faint line spidered the outline of where the water had stood for a while then retreated, leaving dampness behind. The puddle shimmered.

He went upstairs. “Ann?”

She turned around from the kitchen sink.

“We have a problem.”

She frowned at the flashlight in his hand and reached for the faucet.

“When was the last time you were in the basement?”

She snapped off her rubber gloves. “Two days ago, I guess. I was looking for games for the girls.”

He held the flashlight beam on the stairs so she wouldn’t stumble. She followed him into the utility room.

She stopped and stared at the puddle, then started to laugh. “What’s next, a plague of locusts?”

A smile twisted his mouth. “I was thinking the same thing.”

She pushed her hair back from her face with the flats of her hands. “How did this happen?”

“It’s the rain. With the sump pump off, all that water has nowhere to go. We’ve got to move everything out and mop the floor.”

Together, they worked the dresser through the doorway of the utility room and into the main room beyond. The flashlight lay on top, rolling this way and that and throwing up crazy angles of light. The trunk, heavy with the smell of mildew. The tall mirror, the old lamps, the rolled-up rugs. Now the cartons, the cardboard soft and crumbling.

“All our books,” she said sadly.

Not all of them. But her old books, the ones she’d been saving for the girls, and the old board books that he knew she’d been saving for future grandchildren.

“At least the Christmas ornaments are okay.” He pulled the plastic bin away from the wall.

“What’s that?”

He was carrying out an armload of curtains. “Hmm?”

“That humming noise.” Ann straightened. “What is it?”

“Mom?”

“Hold on,” Ann called.

Now he heard it. He turned around, searching for the source.

Ann said, “I think it’s coming from over here.”

She walked to the corner by the sump pump. Peter went over and looked down.

“It’s working,” she said. “Maybe it’s on battery power.”

Sure enough, he could see the water moving at the base of the pipe. “Could be. Maybe something came loose and we accidentally pushed it back into place.”

“But we haven’t been over here yet.”

There was a sudden burst of light. Blinking, he turned to see Kate in the doorway, hand on the light switch.

“Look.” Sudden darkness, sudden brightness. Kate stood there, hope naked and shining on her face. “Does this mean it’s over?”

THIRTY-TWO

A
NN PRESSED THE CHANNEL BUTTON, SKIPPING PAST
faces, test patterns, and bright colors.

“Hold on.” Maddie sat cross-legged with the baby in her lap. “I like that show.”

“In a minute. Kate, find my cell phone and plug it in.” Here was CNN. Ann stood back. The regular anchorman was gone, replaced by someone Ann didn’t recognize, an older man who kept clearing his throat and looking offscreen. What was he saying, something about riots? She watched jerky footage of a military vehicle rolling past the Watergate Hotel. She recognized the place instantly. She’d driven past it a million times on her way to the Kennedy Center. She’d gotten her wedding cake from the bakery on the first floor. Now below the familiar curving line of windows was the strange sight of running people and burning cars. The camera halted and showed a man cracking a bat through a store window, glass splintering everywhere.

It was impossible to gauge what was going on from what she was seeing. Words scrolled across the bottom of the screen. A fire raged uncontrolled in Hong Kong. New York City was storing its dead on barges. A governor had committed suicide. A preacher had convinced his congregation, all two hundred of them, to swallow cyanide. This was all happening now? Kate had come close and was reading the same things she was. Ann reached for the channel button. “Did you plug in my phone?”

“Uh-huh,” Kate said. “It says, ‘searching for service.’”

The system could come back on at any moment. “Keep an eye on it for me, will you?”

“Okay.” Then Kate said with sudden urgency, “I’ll be right back. I’ve got to see who’s online.”

Ann stopped at a cartoon. “Here you go.”

“I’ve already seen that one,” Maddie said, but she scooted over with Jacob in her lap. “Look, Jakey. TV.”

In the den, Peter and Shazia tapped away at their laptops. Ann was glad to see the relaxed concentration on the girl’s face. Whatever demons plagued her now seemed quieted.

“Based on the numbers, though, wouldn’t you say we’re cresting?” Shazia leaned back in her chair.

First trimester, all right, though it was hard to be certain given all the layers the girl was wearing. That meant she’d conceived sometime in early fall. She’d just arrived at Peter’s lab. It must have been instant attraction. Right after that, Peter had asked for a divorce. The shock on his face when Ann told him about the baby had seemed genuine. Ann felt guilty being the one to tell him.

“If the numbers are right,” Peter said.

Ann turned on the desktop computer and reached for the button on the monitor. It buzzed to life. Four hundred eighty-seven messages sat in her mailbox, most of them junk. She rapidly weeded out the discounted mortgage rates, insurance quotes, bookstore coupons, offers to cure male impotence and hair loss—special deals on air purifiers and UV lights that promised to kill the flu virus on contact—and scanned the few personal notes remaining. Nothing from Beth. She was probably somewhere without power. That was the only reason her sister wouldn’t have written.
Not the only reason
, whispered a little voice. But Ann couldn’t think about that.

Peter said, “UCLA’s got something on a vaccine.”

“I see it,” Shazia said.

They were all hunched over their individual keyboards. Ann typed a message. She didn’t bother to check spelling or punctuation.
Beth—we’re fine. Please write ASAP. Love you
. She punched the Send button.

Crossing to the dining room, she turned the thermostat dial. A click, then a whoosh, as the heat came on. The sound was so wonderful, it brought tears to her eyes. She flicked on lights as she went, pushing back the gloom of the rainy day that pressed against the windows. Each pop of light felt like a small victory. She scooped up the sleeping bags and sheets from in front of the TV. Maddie scooted over to let her pull an end free. Kate sat at the kitchen table, her laptop opened before her.

“Who’s online?” Ann asked.

“Everyone but Michele and Hilary. No one’s talked to them.”

Hilary. Ann recalled a bright blonde who giggled at everything and worked once with Kate on a social studies project. Every teenager who was able was plugged into a computer right now, and still no word from Michele. Ann came up behind Kate and put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. She looked down at the screen, at all the white rectangles there, popping up one on top of another. “What’s everyone saying?”

“Claire’s at her uncle’s house. John’s got a bunch of strangers living in his basement. Scooter’s mom got sick, but she’s better now.”

Really? Sick how?
“Ask him what her symptoms were.”

“Mom, that’s weird. I don’t want to do that.”

Ann went into the laundry room and shoved sleeping bags into the washer, slammed the door shut, poured in detergent, and set the dial. Water sprayed across the washer window. It was all so lovely. Things were getting clean. The lights were on. Heat was beginning to seep through the vents. No more filthy fireplace and murky splatters of candle wax. No more feeling their way around corners at dusk.

In the kitchen, she pulled out the coffeemaker from beneath the counter.
Hello, old friend
. She tapped the remaining grinds from the bag into the filter, poured in water, and pressed the button. An answering hiss. The kettle went on the stove.

She pulled down the dishes and loaded the dishwasher. Everything was going to go through the sani-cycle. She pushed the button. A low churning sounded. Who’d have thought such a simple noise could be so thrilling? “As soon as the water heats up, I want both of you in the shower.”

“Scooter’s mother was throwing up a lot,” Kate said. “They think it was something she ate. Thanks for making me ask, Mom.”

Her voice sounded so much lighter. It was good for her to be online again, good for her to be chatting with her friends. Maybe one of them would know what was going on with Michele.

Ann glanced at Maddie sitting transfixed before the television set. She looked content. In a little while, Ann would roust her and suggest that she email Hannah.

The delicious aroma of coffee warmed the room. Ann couldn’t wait for the coffeemaker to finish brewing. She pulled out the pot, poured an inch into her mug, and sipped. Weak—she’d been sparing with the grounds—but definitely coffee. She took another sip. The house was beginning to fill with heat. She could feel her muscles relax. She’d had no idea she’d been holding herself so stiffly.

Her gaze fell to the floor. In the brightness of the overhead light, she could now clearly see the scuffed brown footprints and the streaks of soot along the walls. Everything needed a good scrubbing.

The washer beeped, signaling the end of the cycle. She pulled long, sopping nylon sleeping bags out of the washer and forced them into the dryer. Now a load of towels. She mopped the floor. As soon as she was done, she was going to scrub her hair and blow it dry. The house hummed with busy noise. She hadn’t realized how muted her world had grown.

On her way through the kitchen, she picked up her cell phone from the counter. The tiny lighthouse swept its beacon from side to side. Still no connection. The towers must be out.

The coffeemaker wheezed behind her. She filled two mugs, made a cup of tea, and carried them into the den. “Anything more on the vaccine?”

“Thanks,” Peter said as she set his mug down on the desk. “I’ve emailed people at Hopkins and Harvard, but I haven’t heard back yet.”

Shazia was typing, her gaze on the laptop screen. Had Peter convinced her to stay? Ann would have to find an oblique way to encourage her to start taking multivitamins. There was a bottle in the cabinet. Not prenatal vitamins, of course, but they were better than nothing.

She put down the mug of tea. “Here you go, Shazia. It’s decaf.” Shazia moved the mouse and the MapQuest image slid away.

“Thank you.”

Peter lifted his mug and sipped. “I sent Mike a message, but Mom’s nursing home is offline. And I can’t get through to the bank.”

The last time Ann had talked to her sister-in-law had been three weeks before. Bonni had said Mike was okay, just out of range. Whatever that meant.

It wasn’t too alarming about the nursing home. They probably had more important things on their hands right now than checking their email. But the bank was another story. “Do you think they’re shut down?”

“I don’t know. I keep trying to access our accounts, but the system’s frozen. I have to keep rebooting.”

“Maybe too many people are trying to get in.”

“That’s got to be it.”

Shazia still hadn’t reached for her mug. “Everything okay?” Ann said.

“I don’t know.” Shazia sounded confused. “There’s a note here from my cousin. She says my parents didn’t make it to my brother’s.” Peter lowered his mug. “And my nephew is sick.”

“Oh, Shazia,” Ann said.

“But that was a week ago. I don’t know anything more.” She reached for her cup. “There’s a message from Harold.”

The name sounded familiar, one of Peter’s students Shazia had mentioned the other day. Ann glanced at Peter, who was looking interested.

“Floyd?” he said.

Shazia nodded. “He’s been on a farm. He’s learning how to milk a cow.” She smiled. “Can you picture it?”

A farm. That would have been a good place to stay. Fields of food, milk, no one around for miles.

Ann went to pull out armfuls of heated sleeping bags from the dryer. She dumped them on the family room floor. “You two spread these out to finish drying, okay? I’m going to put the towels in now.”

Slowly, both girls moved toward the pile.

Ann was making her bed when she heard the baby fussing downstairs. She went out to the landing and called down, “Is Jacob okay?”

“Yeah,” Kate called back. “Have you checked his diaper?”

“Ew.”

“Don’t forget your showers.”

The house was so toasty. She was going barefoot, digging her toes into the plush of the carpet. She folded clothing, fragrant and still warm from the dryer. She took Shazia’s things and laid them on her bed. At some point Shazia would be unable to wear her regular size. They could sew inserts into some of her looser pants. Shazia could wear Peter’s shirts.

Ann placed the last of Kate’s jeans in the dresser and pushed the drawer closed. Everything in the house had been scoured clean. She’d heard the girls troop up the stairs for their showers and heard them go back down again. Now it was her turn.

She came out into the hall and heard the baby crying fitfully. “Girls, what’s going on down there?”

“We don’t know,” Maddie called back.

He was probably hungry.

Maddie sat on the floor of the family room, trying to hold Jacob on her lap. She had his toys spread out in front of him, but he kept batting her hands away and sobbing.

Kate was at the kitchen table, tapping at her laptop.

“Give him his pacifier, Maddie, and I’ll heat up a bottle. Guess what, Jacob? You get warm milk today.” She opened cabinets. Where had Peter put the baby’s stuff? Not in the cabinet. There was nothing in the pantry. The counters were bare. She frowned. “Kate, where’s the formula?”

“I don’t know.”

Here were two solitary jars of baby food but no tall cans of formula.

She lifted the baby from Maddie. Walking with him to the den, she halted in the doorway. “Peter, where’s the formula?”

He stood staring down at a paper in his hand. “In the pantry.”

“Oh,” Shazia said. “I used the last of a can this morning.”

The baby was arching in Ann’s arms, wailing. Peter was focused on what he was reading. He needed to stop paying attention to whatever he was doing and start worrying about what was going on right here, right now. “Peter,” she said sharply.

He glanced up. His face was blank.

“Jacob’s hungry.”

He blinked, then frowned.

So there wasn’t any more formula. The look on Peter’s face told her he’d just realized it, too.