This World We Live In (The Last Survivors, Book 3) (11 page)

Lisa hadn't been particularly religious that I could remember.

"I saw some textbooks, Miranda," Alex said.

"Julie's in eighth grade. Would it be al right if we used some of your books?"

"They're ninth grade textbooks," I said, like that would make a difference. "Sure. Jon's stopped using them, at least for the summer."

"We have a Bible," Lisa said. "Julie can read from that."

Alex smiled at her. "Yes, she can," he said. "Julie and I read from our missal. But it would be good for her to review

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spel ing and grammar and math. She was a very good student when she went to Holy Angels."

I was starting to see what Lisa was up against.

Alex reminded me of Matt, only a 100 times more protective. Then again, Alex and Julie didn't have a mother watching over them.

What were their lives like? How could they endure without parents? How had Syl?

No matter how awful I'd had it, I realized how lucky I was. Even now, back in my freezing cold closet, the only light coming from my two flashlight pens, I do understand that, in spite of everything, I'm one of the lucky ones.

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***

Chapter 9 June 3

If you'd asked me a week ago what it would take for me to feel better, I would've said knowing how Dad and Lisa and the baby were, meeting a boy my own age, and running water.

Now I have al three. I guess I must feel better.

Dad and Matt got the water running again, which, with ten people and a baby in the house, is a real y good thing. Al that snow and rain have final y paid off, and the sound of the toilets flushing is music to everybody's ears.

Gabriel isn't exactly Baby Rachel, but I think he's screaming a little bit less. Mom says Jon was colicky also, but I don't remember. Charlie is great with the baby. I think the only times Gabriel isn't crying is when he's nursing and when Charlie sings him lul abies.

Alex may not be the teenage boy of my dreams, but he is a teenage boy. He's eighteen, and if things had stayed normal, he'd be graduating high school this month and preparing to go to Georgetown. Julie told Jon, who told Mom, who told Matt, who told me.

If Alex isn't the teenage boy of my dreams, Julie seems to be the teenage girl of Jon's. Or maybe he's just as desperate

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for someone his age as I was. He and Julie always seem to be sitting next to each other and talking, even playing chess. I guess Alex approves of Jon and Mom approves of Julie. I know Mom approves of Alex, who stands up every time Mom enters a room and says please and thank you and may I help you. He's definitely Mom's dream of a teenage boy.

With al this happiness going on, you'd think I'd be happy, too. Or at least not as obsessed with how long the fish is going to last.

Except we al are. Nobody says so, because that would be rude. But today, instead of fish and a quarter can of vegetables each (except for Lisa, who gets double portions of everything), we had fish and a whiff of vegetables.

It's amazing. I never used to like red cabbage, but now when I get only a teaspoon of it, it's al I can think about. How lovely. How tasty. How not fish it is.

Pretty soon the fish is going to be not fish also.

Charlie eats the least of us, and I have to admit I thought he was sneaking into the garage and stealing shad until he told us a bit about himself.

"I used to weigh three hundred and seventy pounds," he told us over a quarter teaspoon of red cabbage. "I was scheduled for weight loss surgery on May twenty-third. Instead I went on a starvation diet, with lots of walking and biking for exercise." He laughed. "This is the best shape I've ever been in."

"It's an il wind that doesn't blow anybody some good," Syl said, and we al stared at her.

"My grandmother used to say that," she said.

That got us laughing, and then we came up with clichés that used to mean something. The early bird catches the worm. Big fish in a smal pond.

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The best one was half a loaf is better than none at al . I thought we'd never stop laughing after Dad came up with that.

But then Gabriel started yowling, and Lisa nursed him for the 87th time that day and that quieted al of us.

"I've been thinking," Dad said. "It's been wonderful staying here, and Laura, you have no idea how grateful we are, but this house was never meant for ten people."

"I think we al know that," Mom said.

"Julie and I won't be staying much longer," Alex said. "We shouldn't have stayed as long as we have, but she needed the rest."

"You did, too," Julie said. "You're the one who col apsed last week."

"Julie," Alex said.

"We al needed the rest," Charlie said. "Laura, you-- wel , al of you have saved our lives."

"Alex and Julie have places to go to," Dad said.

"But now that I have my children back, including Syl, who I didn't even know about before, I don't ever intend to leave you."

It's funny how relieved I felt when Dad said that. I'd been trying not to think of his going away again.

Even though I'd know he and Lisa and Gabriel were alive, it would stil be awful not to have them with me.

"The problem is we can't be sure you'l get any food," Matt said. "It took a fair amount of convincing before they'd give Syl any."

Dad nodded. "That's been my concern, too. We can't keep eating your food, and we can't be sure they'l give us some."

"But you're our father," I said. "That should count."

"Maybe for me," Dad said. "But there's Lisa to consider

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and Charlie, and Alex and Julie for as long as we can get them to stay. I do have an idea, though, that might solve a lot of problems."

"Go on," Mom said.

"Mrs. Nesbitt's house is empty," Dad said. "But if her son came back, his family should be entitled to food. What was his name again?"

"Bobby," Mom said. "He lived in San Diego. Mrs.

Nesbitt never heard from him ..." She didn't finish the sentence. We never do. Some sentences don't need to be finished.

"Then no one knows if he's stil alive," Dad said.

"I'l go into town on Monday and say I'm Bob Nesbitt, that I brought my family back to see how Mom was doing, and we'l be moving into her house. Which we'l do anyway, since that way we won't be underfoot. It's me and my wife, what was her name?

"

"Sal y," Mom said.

"Me and Sal y and our two kids, Alex and Julie, and the baby and my brother-in-law, Charlie. Who's going to know different?"

"Why should they believe you?" Matt asked. "I was there to vouch for Syl."

"Then I'l take one of you with me," Dad said.

"Miranda? How would you feel about coming along and swearing I'm Bob Nesbitt?"

"Hal, I didn't bring up the kids to lie," Mom said.

"No," Dad said. "But you didn't bring them up to starve, either."

"I don't mind," I said, because I hated the thought of Mom and Dad going after each other. "If Syl's entitled, I don't see why Dad shouldn't be. And it would be great having everybody at Mrs. Nesbitt's."

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"There's a woodstove in the kitchen," Matt said.

"You'l need firewood. And some space heaters."

"We can look for those," I said. "And toilet paper and everything else they'l need. Oh, Mom, it'd be so great to have Dad there."

"Where's Mrs. Nesbitt's?" Alex asked, and Julie asked, "Who's Mrs. Nesbitt?" at the exact same time.

That got us laughing again. "She was our closest neighbor," Matt said. "Her house is right down the road. You can't see it from here, but there's a path through the woods we used to take."

"Then we're agreed?" Dad asked, although it wasn't exactly a question. "Miranda and I wil go into town on Monday and see if they'l give us food. We'l spend the next few days here, until we can get set up at the Nesbitt house. Maybe if we can get food, we can convince Alex and Julie to stay a little longer."

"Please, Alex," Julie said.

"We'l see," Alex said.

Julie smiled, and suddenly I understood why Jon likes her so much. Her smile made you forget everything that's happened in the past year.

"We might as wel give it a try," Mom said. "If Miranda is wil ing."

"I am, Mom," I said. But I don't think my smile made anyone forget anything.

June 4

I was in my bedroom, trying to decide what would be the absolutely safest place to hide my diaries, when I heard a knock on my door and Alex softly saying, "Miranda?"

Even though I hadn't touched a thing and my diaries

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were as hidden as they ever are, I instantly decided I needed to find an even better place for them. That was after I finished jumping at the sound of a strange boy's voice.

"Yeah," I said, which didn't come off quite as friendly as it should have. "I mean, hi, Alex. What do you want?"

He stood in the doorway until I gestured for him to come in.

"I hope I'm not bothering you," he said. "I was wondering if you might have some clothes Julie could borrow. Just for the time we're here."

"Oh, sure," I said. "Julie's smal er than I am, but we can work something out." Syl already has half my wardrobe. Julie could have the other half.

"Thank you," he said. "It'l mean a lot to her."

"Do you want me to ask Matt if you could borrow some of his clothes?" I asked. Why should I be the only naked one in the house?

"That would be great, thank you," Alex said. "It's just for a few days, until Julie's rested up enough."

"There's no rush," I said. "I'l see what I can find."

Alex looked around my room. "You have a lot of books," he said.

"Not that many," I said. "And I've read al of them three times by now."

"I miss reading," he said, taking my copy of Pride and Prejudice off the shelf. "I miss learning useless things. Latin. Calculus."

"I miss friends," I said. "Friends. Family. Food.

The three Fs." I smiled, but Alex didn't smile back.

"I miss home," he said. "And the feeling you got in a library carrel, like nothing in the world mattered except the

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book you were reading." He put Pride and Prejudice back on the shelf. "I miss pride. The sin of pride."

"I don't think it's a sin to be proud," I said, looking at my skating trophies. "Not if you've worked to achieve your goal."

Alex shook his head. "You don't understand," he said. "It's different for you. You work to keep your house clean, and you take pride in how it looks.

That's not what I mean."

It annoyed me that Alex thought my only accomplishment in life was in the war against ash. "I take pride in lots of things," I said. "Like how my family has come together. How we've fought to keep alive. To keep our hopes alive. I take a lot of pride in that. Do you think that's a sin?"

"No, of course not," Alex said. "But that's not the kind of pride I'm talking about."

"Oh," I said. "You mean like vanity. Being proud because you're good-looking or rich."

"That's not it exactly, either," Alex said.

"Then what is it?" I asked.

He gazed out my window, at the perpetual y gray landscape. "Al right," he said. "Maybe you'l understand better if I tel you about the coin jar. We had to pay for our school uniforms, so my mother kept a coin jar. Every day we emptied our pockets and whatever change we had went into the jar. One day she caught my father taking out a handful of quarters. He was short on beer money. She went crazy. It was the worst fight I ever saw them have. My mother had ambitions for us. Every penny we saved was important to her." He paused for a moment.

"My father picked up the coin jar and threw it across the room. The coins flew al over. My mother got down on her hands and knees to pick

down on her hands and knees to pick

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up the change, but my brother, Carlos, shoved me onto the floor. It was my fault, he said. I was the one they were fighting over."

"That must have been awful," I said. Mom and Dad at their worst always let us know we weren't to blame for their problems.

"I vowed I would never feel shame again," Alex said. "But the shame wasn't because my parents fought over me. It was the shame of crawling on the floor, sweeping pennies and nickels into a pile to pay for clothes other kids took for granted. The next day I got a job, started working wherever I could, final y got regular work at a pizza parlor. I paid for my own uniforms after that and my books, too. No more coin jar. My mother found some other way to pay for my sister's uniforms. And I felt proud. Proud I was smart. Proud that people noticed me, respected me. Proud that I was ambitious. Proud that I was too good to end up like my parents. And now I beg for clean clothes for my sister. I beg for every bite of food we eat."

"You don't have to beg here," I said. "We're happy to share."

"No one is happy to share," he said.

Alex looked down then or I looked up. I don't know how it happened, but we made eye contact, and for a moment I was drawn into his soul. I could see everything, the depth of his sorrow, his anger, his despair.

I feel sorrow and anger and despair. I don't think there's a person alive who doesn't. I sometimes feel like my sorrow and anger and despair burn inside me the way the sun used to burn on a hot July day.

But that was nothing compared to what I sensed in Alex. His sorrow, his anger, his despair was like a thousand

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suns, like a galaxy of suns. It physical y hurt me to look into his eyes, but I couldn't break away. He turned his head first, and then he apologized, or maybe he thanked me. For Alex I think they're the same thing.

He bolted out of the room, leaving me to stare at my bookcase and think about the sin of pride and the sin of prejudice and al the other sins I'd left behind.

June 5

Dad and I biked into town today to talk to Mr.

Danworth. I don't think I've ever seen Dad on a bike before, although I remember showing off to him when I rode a two-wheeler for the first time.

I'd thought it would be great having some time alone with Dad. We haven't had any since he got back, and there was so much I wanted to tel him and so much I wanted him to tel me. But the weather was awful. Not raining, but cold with a harsh wind blowing in our faces. March weather in June.