diaper bag as pillows. We each eat another vegeprote bar and Halla and I settle in the middle of the room, back to back, blankets wrapped around us. I slip Little House from my messenger bag and lay it close, where I can rest a hand on it. The floor is hard, unyielding under my shoulder. I’m bone-weary but sleep doesn’t come. I sense Halla is still awake, too.
“Halla?” I whisper.
“Hm?”
“How did you know you were in love with Loudon? Enough to, you know, want to—?”
She gives a sleepy giggle. “Oh, Everly. We just knew. It wasn’t like we weighed the pros and cons or gathered data. Being in love is not like a lab experiment.” She giggles again at the idea, and the sound makes me smile. “We’d been friends for so long, and the love thing crept up on us. He knew before I did, I think. He said it first. As soon as he did, I knew I loved him, too, knew that I’d loved him one way or another for years. Making love was just the perfect way to express how we feel about each other. ‘The two will become one flesh,’ it says in the Bible. I miss him so much.”
“And the baby?” I’m not sure what I’m asking—if she was happy about being pregnant from the start, if she’s scared, something else.
She doesn’t answer right away, and I think she’s fallen asleep.
“When I first realized I was pregnant, I was scared, of course. Really, scared. I mean, Loudon was already gone by the time I knew, and well, I was just scared. But then . . . I’m not sure I can really explain it to you, to someone who’s never been pregnant. You probably think of Little Loudon as a collection of genes and chromosomes, biological bits and pieces, but to me he’s this beautiful little soul Loudon and I made together. He’s a treasure, a gift. Giving him up would be like . . . like . . ..”
She apparently can’t think of a comparison significant enough. “Ooh, he’s kicking. Want to feel?”
I’m curious. I roll so my stomach is against her back and let her place my hand on her belly. It’s rigid, with less give than I expect. The baby’s kicks move my hand. “Feels strong,” I say. He’ll need to be. I expect her to answer, but a whiffly snore tells me she’s asleep.
I ponder the joy in her voice more than her words and finally drop off, oddly comforted by the sight of Wyck silhouetted against the window opening by the setting sun.
Having stood the last watch, I shake Halla and Wyck awake at first light, anxious to put more miles between us and any searchers. They come fully awake quickly, as if the change in circumstances has changed something within, flipped a survival switch that knows a few seconds of lost alertness might be the difference between catching dinner and being dinner. We discuss our plan for the day.
“We should check the well for water—” I start.
“And see if we can find some clothes,” Halla adds.
“And food,” Wyck says, “although what are the chances it hasn’t all been looted? You start with the houses, Halla”—Wyck points —“and I’ll try the store.”
With a mock salute, he shoulders his bag and heads out. Halla drifts toward the nearest house carrying her bag, and I go to inspect the well. It takes only seconds to figure out we won’t be getting any water from it. When I drop a stone, it clatters when it hits the bottom. Dry. I head back to “our” house and meet Wyck returning, shaking his head.
“Not a crumb.”
It’s what I expected. “Okay. Let’s check the map—”
A scream cuts through the still morning. Halla! Wyck and I exchange a glance and race out the door. Another scream pulls us to the largest house in the cluster. It has faded to gray, like the others, but has a wraparound porch and the remnants of gingerbread along the eaves. Wyck hurdles the steps to the verandah, and his foot cracks one of the boards. I ascend more gingerly, help him pull his foot free, and push the door open. Without thinking about it, Wyck and I enter
“Halla?” I whisper.
“Hm?”
“How did you know you were in love with Loudon? Enough to, you know, want to—?”
She gives a sleepy giggle. “Oh, Everly. We just knew. It wasn’t like we weighed the pros and cons or gathered data. Being in love is not like a lab experiment.” She giggles again at the idea, and the sound makes me smile. “We’d been friends for so long, and the love thing crept up on us. He knew before I did, I think. He said it first. As soon as he did, I knew I loved him, too, knew that I’d loved him one way or another for years. Making love was just the perfect way to express how we feel about each other. ‘The two will become one flesh,’ it says in the Bible. I miss him so much.”
“And the baby?” I’m not sure what I’m asking—if she was happy about being pregnant from the start, if she’s scared, something else.
She doesn’t answer right away, and I think she’s fallen asleep.
“When I first realized I was pregnant, I was scared, of course. Really, scared. I mean, Loudon was already gone by the time I knew, and well, I was just scared. But then . . . I’m not sure I can really explain it to you, to someone who’s never been pregnant. You probably think of Little Loudon as a collection of genes and chromosomes, biological bits and pieces, but to me he’s this beautiful little soul Loudon and I made together. He’s a treasure, a gift. Giving him up would be like . . . like . . ..”
She apparently can’t think of a comparison significant enough. “Ooh, he’s kicking. Want to feel?”
I’m curious. I roll so my stomach is against her back and let her place my hand on her belly. It’s rigid, with less give than I expect. The baby’s kicks move my hand. “Feels strong,” I say. He’ll need to be. I expect her to answer, but a whiffly snore tells me she’s asleep.
I ponder the joy in her voice more than her words and finally drop off, oddly comforted by the sight of Wyck silhouetted against the window opening by the setting sun.
Having stood the last watch, I shake Halla and Wyck awake at first light, anxious to put more miles between us and any searchers. They come fully awake quickly, as if the change in circumstances has changed something within, flipped a survival switch that knows a few seconds of lost alertness might be the difference between catching dinner and being dinner. We discuss our plan for the day.
“We should check the well for water—” I start.
“And see if we can find some clothes,” Halla adds.
“And food,” Wyck says, “although what are the chances it hasn’t all been looted? You start with the houses, Halla”—Wyck points —“and I’ll try the store.”
With a mock salute, he shoulders his bag and heads out. Halla drifts toward the nearest house carrying her bag, and I go to inspect the well. It takes only seconds to figure out we won’t be getting any water from it. When I drop a stone, it clatters when it hits the bottom. Dry. I head back to “our” house and meet Wyck returning, shaking his head.
“Not a crumb.”
It’s what I expected. “Okay. Let’s check the map—”
A scream cuts through the still morning. Halla! Wyck and I exchange a glance and race out the door. Another scream pulls us to the largest house in the cluster. It has faded to gray, like the others, but has a wraparound porch and the remnants of gingerbread along the eaves. Wyck hurdles the steps to the verandah, and his foot cracks one of the boards. I ascend more gingerly, help him pull his foot free, and push the door open. Without thinking about it, Wyck and I enter
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