If Darkness Takes Us Page 13

  Darla only had a few low-rent properties. The high rent she was forced to pay on her trips around the board had depleted nearly all her cash. Then she got sent to jail, where she languished in increasing discomfort, trying unsuccessfully to roll doubles. She couldn’t afford to bail herself out. It was depressing to watch her play out this sad metaphor for her actual life.

  “Darla, why don’t you mortgage a property to get yourself out of jail?”

  “I ain’t never done that before,” she said. “What is it?”

  “Ain’t? You said ain’t,” Mazie said. “We’re not supposed to say that.”

  Darla looked mortified. So did Keno. Tasha smirked.

  “Hush, Mazie. Here, Darla, I’ll help you.” I could barely get Darla’s attention. She had retreated into her head. But I explained how to mortgage New York Avenue, and we turned over her deed, got Milo to fork up cash from the bank, and bailed Darla out of jail.

  “Don’t I get a house now?” Darla asked.

  “No, honey. Did you think you’d get one?”

  “Well, yeah. When my grandpa got a mortgage, he got a house.”

  Tasha spat water straight out of her mouth. Milo started cackling. And Darla, shaking all over, pushed back her chair and rushed out the back door, with Keno right behind her.

  “I’m ashamed of you kids for treating Darla that way!” I grabbed a tea towel and started wiping the Monopoly board, then I flicked the towel to Tasha. “You clean it up. You laughed at Darla after everything she’s been through.”

  “I don’t care. She’s stupid,” Tasha said, rising to her feet.

  “She is not stupid. She hasn’t been educated, and it isn’t her fault.”

  Tasha started to rush away.

  “Don’t you dare leave this room. Clean this mess up!” I stayed on Tasha’s case until everything was cleaned and put in its place. “Now, go to your room. Candles out!”

  “Fine,” she said and sashayed away.

  Milo and Mazie were lolling around in the living room.

  “I’m not happy with you guys, either. Cackling at Darla like loony birds. And, Mazie, you’ve got to leave her alone about how she talks. She hasn’t been taught, and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “My mama told me people who say ‘ain’t’ are white trash,” Mazie said.

  “White trash? That is an offensive, very mean thing to call someone, and you are not allowed to say it as long as I’m responsible for you.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Milo asked.

  “It’s making fun of someone for being poor or uneducated, and when you’re privileged like we are, it’s just wrong.”

  “But you said the Beldings are rednecks.”

  Did I say that? I had certainly thought it, but I didn’t realize I’d uttered it aloud. “Well, if I said it, I shouldn’t have. It was bad of me, and I’m sorry.”

  “I think my mama’s right,” Mazie said.

  “Go to bed, kids.” I couldn’t take another minute of them.

  Mazie and Milo took their sweet time slouching their way up the stairs. I blew out the downstairs candles, except for one by the back door. Then I sat in Hank’s rocker in the near-dark, fuming at the boorish behavior of my grandkids.

  Soon Keno and Darla crept inside through the back door. “Good night.” Keno patted Darla’s shoulder.

  “Night,” she said, flinching at his touch.

  Keno locked the door and went upstairs. I waited until Darla was breathing like a sleeper, then I blew out the candle and headed to bed.

  I gave Darla a few more days to grieve, but I ultimately had to put her to work due to our circumstances. Yet, understandably, she didn’t have any initiative. If I asked her to do something, she did it without argument, then she sat and stared out the window. I didn’t know how to comfort her. She wouldn’t let me get close enough.

  Every night I listened to the short wave and worried about my missing family.

  Rick said lots of his neighbors around Clifton had water wells, but the electric pumps weren’t working. Hand pumps had fallen to rust, so only a few good pumps remained.

  Still, they owned chickens and goats, horses and cattle, hogs and milk cows. And they had gardens and fields full of crops. A lot of them owned old farm equipment—plows and reapers and such—that could be pulled by horses, but they were short on the kinds of horses they needed for such heavy work. And the people weren’t used to that sort of hard labor either. They, same as city folks, were accustomed to comforts—like milking machines, or tractors and harvesters with air-conditioned cabs. Yet, some had old tractors that still ran, as long as they could find diesel fuel. And they had water in creeks and ponds, even stocked ponds full of catfish.

  God, catfish.

  I tried to listen to everything Rick said. I didn’t want to miss a thing. But whenever I stopped bustling about, I welled up with grief and pictured Hank’s face. Or I envisioned my two daughters as tiny girls running down the street, carrying helium balloons and laughing. I saw my three stepsons lined up for a photo, making devil horns behind each other’s heads.

  It was about to break me, this grief.

  Finally, after I’d listened for several nights straight, Rick talked about Waco.

  “Like I told y’all the first time I broadcast, there was an awful bad wreck over on I-35 in Waco when this thing happened. A tanker truck exploded. We saw the fireball all the way over here in Clifton, thirty miles away. They had to carry hurt people to hospitals, and it wasn’t easy, believe you me. The hospitals didn’t have power, and they ran out of water and medicine real fast.

  “I don’t know what happened to all those hurt people. I figure a bunch of ‘em probably died. Damn cryin’ shame. We think my Uncle Dave was one of ‘em, because he went to Waco that day, and none of us have heard from him since.”

  I didn’t realize how much I was crying, listening to this, until I put my hand to my chest and discovered that my shirt was wet.

  I did not tell my grandchildren about the wreck on the highway near Waco.

  EIGHTEEN

  DAY 43, and still no sign of my missing family. God-All-Freaking-Mighty!

  Things were getting vandalized. Somebody spray-painted dirty words on my back fence where it faced the side street. The next night, they dumped out my trays of tomato and pepper seedlings, though I was able to save a few of them. Worst of all, someone rode a bike through the potatoes and other root vegetables in the Mint garden.

  I talked to Jack Jeffers about those kids. I found him in his front yard. He said he and his patrollers would see what they could do. Then he glanced around the neighborhood. No one else was nearby.

  “What’s going on with you and that house, Bea?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

  “What do you mean by that?” A gush of bile clogged my throat.

  He stood in front of me, towering over me. “Come on. I’ve been watching you go in and out of that house since before the EMP.”

  “What? You were spying on me?” I said, preparing to lie to him, then realizing I’d already blown it.

  “It’s not exactly spying to look across the street and see you sneaking around. Is that where you store all your food? In that house?”

  “What makes you think I have food?” This nosy bastard. What could I say?

  “Come on. You’ve been dropping hints left and right.” He pushed his sunglasses tighter against the bridge of his nose.

  “I’m sure this is none of your business, Jack.” I wanted to scream at him, but I tried not to.

  “So now you call me Jack when you’re pissed off? I think it’s damned insulting that you won’t call me Jack.” He lowered his head to my level and glared through his dark, oval sunglasses, reminding me of an annoyed traffic cop.

  “I find it insulting that you’re so freaking nosy. What do you care about me and my house, anyway?”

  “It is your house! I knew it!” He flicked his hands at me backwards.

  “Yes, it’s mine. So, what are g
onna do? Go tell the whole neighborhood? Isn’t that what you do—spread the news like a gossipy old fool?” I tucked my hands under my arms to keep from wagging my finger.

  “You know better than that.” He snatched his hat off his head and scowled at me, lowering his voice. “You damn well know better than that.”

  “So, you won’t tell?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, okay then.” He dropped his arms to his sides.

  “Well, okay.” I glowered at him, boiling inside.

  “I guess you’ll keep those potatoes for you and your kids then?”

  “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” I spun around and started home, incensed with a head full of curse words for Jack Jeffers and for myself. But I did believe he wouldn’t tell. Then I made a snap decision. I whirled back abruptly, catching him still staring at me.

  “Why don’t you organize the neighbors to dig up some of that food and share it? The half that’s closest to the street should be ready to harvest. The rest will have to wait. Tell the neighbors you checked the plants or something.”

  He swallowed. “You want to call all that attention to your house?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I needed more adult conversation to keep my head straight.

  “We have to do something, don’t we? Just don’t tell them I own that house.”

  “Are you sure about that? The neighbors are already suspicious of you. It might be a good idea to make peace with them.”

  “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

  “They’ve been wondering why you don’t go scavenging—”

  “I don’t have the health for that.”

  “They know, but they think you should send your grandkids. They wonder how come you’re always cooking when they don’t have much to cook. They’re convinced you’re hiding food.”

  “Are they?” Their suspicions were well-founded. I sank into an internal pit of gloom.

  “Bea,” Jack said, taking my arm. “What do you want me to do?”

  I snapped my head to shake myself alive. “Harvest the food, but don’t tell them.”

  “I won’t.” As I hurried away, I peeked back to see him shaking his head.

  The harvesting began that very afternoon. Jack Jeffers brought us a pillowcase full of potatoes, a grocery bag of sweet potatoes, and another of carrots, garlic, and onions.

  I let Tasha answer the door. I didn’t feel like facing Jack Jeffers.

  “Nana,” Tasha said after he left, a puzzled look on her face. “It’s weird. They’re over there digging up our food, and he brought some of it to us.”

  “He certainly did, my love.”

  Later when the Mint harvesting crew was breaking up to go home, Tasha was puttering in the Pico garden, supposedly digging holes for tomato plants. But she wasn’t putting her back, or her heart, into the work. She was merely using the tip of the shovel to toss aside bits of already loose soil.

  From my perch at the barbecue, I saw Chas, bare-chested, in the Mint garden, wiping his face on a T-shirt in his hand. As he lifted his head, he turned to see Tasha. Man, did his face light up.

  “Hey, Tasha, need some help?”

  Tasha startled and looked toward Chas, her face turning red.

  “Uh... Yeah, sure,” she said.

  Chas jumped over the big hedge—not an easy feat—and landed smack in our yard, loping toward Tasha with a grin wide enough to split his face in two. Tasha gave him a more restrained smile but began digging enthusiastically.

  “Whatcha doin’?” he asked as he reached her.

  “Digging holes for those tomato plants.” She pointed at the dozen or so plants lined up beside the garden.

  “How about I dig and you plant?”

  “Okay, cool.” She handed him the shovel, smiling as she backed away. I watched her like a mother bear.

  For the next little while, they conferred about their planting endeavor, worked briskly, and made eyes at one another until the plants were ensconced in the garden, standing tall and ready to bear fruit.

  And now I knew the secret of getting Tasha to enjoy gardening. Stock the garden with a strapping, handsome boy whose bare chest and arm muscles would bulge, slick with sweat. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? But why did it have to be this questionable boy? The kid smelled of trouble, and I didn’t trust him one bit.

  I turned away to see Keno scowling at Chas.

  NINETEEN

  I STILL COULDN’T SLEEP worth a flip.

  My most recent cause of sleeplessness was my mind-breaking worry about nukes. There was a noticeable uptick in the Geiger counter readings for gamma rays. The increased readings were slight, but increases were serious bad news. Radiation was leaking into the environment from somewhere. Something had exploded or melted down. We had no way to know what happened or where, or how much danger we were in. Distressing beyond belief.

  On this particular night, I was so agitated that I went downstairs, lit a candle on the dining table, and drank a shot of vodka. In spite of the dangers, I stepped out to the patio, thinking the magnificent Milky Way might calm me down—put things in a more cosmic perspective, perhaps. I brought the near-full bottle of vodka with me, and I sat there, brooding and sipping, sipping and brooding, relieved that nothing was glowing out here.

  Footsteps on the sidewalk jolted me alert. A human silhouette. A dim flashlight. Shit. I held my breath and tried to blend in to the house. But when I leaned back an inch, the chair made a loud creak.

  The footsteps halted. “Who’s there?” a man shouted. Was it Jack Jeffers? “Identify yourself! I’ve got my pistol drawn!”

  “Jack, it’s just me!”

  “Shit, Bea. You scared the crap out of me. What are you doin’ outside?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Looking at the Milky Way settles my nerves. Why are you out?”

  “Goin’ home from patrol.”

  “Wanna have a drink with me? I’ve got vodka.” A peace offering after our quarrel, I thought. I needed an adult friend, and he was the closest thing I had to one.

  “At two in the morning?” He took a loud breath. “Well, I can’t turn down a rarity like that. Sure you want to share it?”

  “If you get here before it’s gone.” As he approached the patio, I asked him, “Did you ever think we’d find ourselves in a situation like this?”

  “Can’t say that I did.” He sat in a padded chair next to me, and I handed him the vodka. “Takin’ it straight, are ya?” He examined the bottle in the candlelight through my window, then knocked back a swig. He shuddered a bit, and held the bottle toward me.

  “No, take more,” I said. “I’d invite you in and pour you a glass, but Darla’s asleep in the living room.”

  He swigged again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why can’t you sleep, Miss Bea?”

  I fixed my eyes on the stars beyond the patio roof. “Oh, about a thousand reasons. I could keep a dozen psychiatrists employed for years. Did you know, for instance, that the gamma ray levels are rising?”

  “Shit. Are they? How bad?”

  “Not horrible, but any increase is bad. More cancer. I’m trying to figure out what caused the uptick and whether it’ll get worse. What if we had a nuclear EMP after all, instead of a solar pulse?” I pushed my hair off my face. “The feds told our mayor it was solar, but maybe they’re trying to avoid a panic. Maybe that glow in the sky was from bombs. Maybe they’re covering up some stupid accident.”

  “Take a breath, Bea.”

  “If I was calm enough to take a breath, I’d be calm enough to sleep.” But I did take a breath—a few of them—wondering what my grandkids would think if they found me out here in my nightgown, getting sloshed with Mr. Jeffers. “Anyway, we’ve been told that if a nuke bursts at a high enough altitude to black out the whole U.S., there won’t be fallout, but that could be another lie.”

  “Jesus. Have another swig.”

  I
took the bottle and slugged down a mouthful, cringing as it burned its way down.

  “I don’t know if fallout’s the source of this uptick or something else. I hope to God a nuclear missile didn’t launch.” I closed my eyes and pinched myself between them.

  “No shit.”

  “Right? But nuclear reactors... they’re another matter.”

  “Well, there’s nothin’ you can do about it, so why worry so much?”

  “Because,” I turned to face him, “because I have a houseful of developing kids. Radiation can damage their genes and their children. It’s a nightmare, is what it is.”

  “Christ Almighty.” He ran his hand through his thinning hair, making it spike like a halo in the hazy candlelight. “Now I’m wide awake, too.”

  I leaned in closer and lowered my voice. “No one tells us the truth about any of this. They just lie, they lie, they lie.”

  Jack stared, slack-jawed. I gulped more vodka, which hit my stomach and threatened to come back up. I wished he would stop gaping at me.

  “So, Mr. Jack Jeffers, I think . . . I think, if a Texas nuke melted down, the radiation here would be higher. But a far-away nuclear ‘accident’—if you can call such a—”

  “Bea.” Jack laid his hand on my arm. “Is there anything I can do to comfort you? Something to make the kids safer?” He looked sweet and sincerely concerned. I dropped my eyes to gaze at his hand on my arm.

  Tears filled my eyes. “I can’t protect them from this, Jack. How can I protect them from this?”

  Jack frowned, his eyes glistening. “Maybe you can’t,” he said, and I let out a moan. He stroked my arm, smoothly taking the vodka from my hand. “I believe you’ve had enough of this.”

  “And then there’s that god-damned wreck.” I stood up and immediately sat back down, wracked with a loud sob.

  “What wreck is that?”

  My whole body shook with involuntary sobs. “You know. The tanker truck—it exploded. Jesus, it exploded!”

  Jack stooped before me, searching my face, his forehead wrinkled with concern. “What tanker truck? What explosion?”