If Darkness Takes Us Read online

  “That was nice of him,” I said. “Good to know there are still decent people out there. Did you run into any trouble?”

  Their faces clouded over. Eddie’s mouth opened wordlessly, while Pete cleared his throat and looked away. I flicked my eyes between them. They glanced at each other quickly, until Pete again averted his eyes.

  “Lots of hungry, desperate people out there.” Eddie sighed and closed his eyes. “A whole lot of them.”

  “I can imagine,” I said, waiting for them to tell us whatever they wanted to tell.

  Pete swallowed. “Someone stole one of our blankets while we were skinny-dipping in a stream.”

  “That sucks,” Keno said.

  I had a sick feeling this was not the worst thing that had happened to Eddie and Pete. It was what they chose to tell in front of the kids.

  “Yeah, but we shouldn’t have left it unattended,” Eddie said. “At least they didn’t rob us blind, and they could have. They probably needed the blanket pretty bad.” Eddie’s eyes teared up, and he breathed loudly for a moment. He struggled to get out his next words. “People kept asking us for food, Mom, but we didn’t have enough for ourselves.”

  I patted his shoulder. “You couldn’t help it, honey.”

  “I know.” He shuddered. “I hated it, though.”

  I hugged Eddie hard. “Of course you did, because you’re so good.”

  Eddie sighed. “I can’t stand to think of kids with no food.”

  The big-eyed grandkids watched Eddie and pushed away their empty plates.

  “I’m glad you’re here now,” Tasha said.

  After the kids were asleep, Pete, Eddie, and I drank Merlot on the back patio, bundled up but glowing with the warmth of being together.

  “Man, this wine is good,” Eddie said. “I can’t believe I’m drinking it.” He ran his hand through his thick brown hair. He was still muscular, despite his thinness.

  “I know, right?” Pete said. “It’s great.” He sniffed at his glass, then took another sip of the full-bodied wine. His dark hair was cropped in a raggedy way. He’d always been tall and lean, but now he looked taller and leaner—wiry, like Keno.

  “It’s my post-apocalyptic treat for you,” I said, and we laughed, a little grimly.

  I told them about the tanker wreck in Waco. They were very upset, of course, but I felt they had to know.

  “Eddie,” Pete said, “we should go up to Waco and look for them.”

  “But it’s so far!” I said.

  “We already walked twelve hundred miles, Mom,” Eddie said. “It’s only a couple hundred more round-trip.”

  “I guess you’re right. But you just got here. I can’t bear the thought of you leaving again.”

  “But we gotta find Dad and the rest of them, Mom.” Pete scowled at me. “Why didn’t you try to find him?”

  “Find him? What was I supposed to do? Walk to Waco with a bunch of kids? Think what you’re saying.”

  “You coulda sent Keno to Waco.”

  “Pete! You guys just told me it’s crazy out there. I can’t send a seventeen-year-old boy on a solo trip to Waco. It would be a suicide mission.”

  I knew Pete was grieving over his missing father and brother, but he was completely irrational—a normal response to grief, but still. And he was triggering all the guilt I felt about surviving without the rest of them. Blood pounded in my head.

  Pete looked off into the night sky, dark shadows dancing on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It just doesn’t seem like you care much about Dad. You told him those huge lies. You’re just going on like everything is great.”

  “Pete, I care so much that I am numb from caring. I’m just putting one foot in front of the other and trying to survive, trying to stay hopeful for the kids. I can’t think too much about the rest of them or it will ruin me, and we won’t live through this.”

  Pete dropped his head.

  “We gotta go look for him, Mom,” Eddie said, with an extra dose of kindness. “You understand that, right?”

  “Yes, but will you please stay a couple of weeks before you go—to regain your strength, re-equip yourselves, fix up road food, all that?”

  “Of course.” Eddie glared at Pete until Pete nodded his reluctant assent.

  “I’m going to bed,” Pete said. He patted me on the head and went inside to crash on the couch.

  “Eddie,” I said, “what happened to John?”

  “John didn’t want to come with me—with us.” Eddie watched the wine swirl in his glass. “Said he had to stay in Arizona for his folks.”

  “That’s understandable. His parents are pretty old. It’s a shame, though.”

  “Yeah, but we weren’t getting along anyway. I think he’s in love with someone else—someone he couldn’t leave behind. So . . . he made his choice.” Eddie looked at me with a firmly set jaw and rueful eyes.

  “Well, it’s his loss.”

  “Then how come I feel like it’s mine?”

  “Aww, honey. . . .”

  I gave Eddie some time, then got up to pour the last of the Merlot. “When you passed all those wind farms in West Texas, were the turbines running?”

  “A few were. Most were dead still—like they were locked down. But a couple of clusters were turning pretty fast. We saw a guy on top of one, then another guy on a second one a ways off. Guess they were trying to fix them.”

  “You didn’t talk to them?”

  “Naw. When we got into a walking rhythm, we didn’t want to stop.”

  “I see.”

  Eddie came over to sit next to me. He took my hand.

  “We had to steal sometimes to eat,” he said.

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Yeah, but we broke into a barn and stole some home-canned food, a chicken, and some eggs.”

  “Well, honey, you had to eat.”

  “But what about our souls, Mom?” Eddie smoothed his shaggy hair then re-gripped my hand. “Do you think God will forgive us for stealing someone’s only food?” This was the sort of question only Eddie would ask. He’d always searched for moral truths, unlike Pete, who ran on instinct.

  I blew out a gust of air. “I don’t know, honey. This is all pretty soul-crushing. I’m hoping things will get better once people get used to our circumstances. They’ll grow more food, find more ways to take care of themselves. But I do know that the best way to forgive yourself is to help others, so you can repay the universe for the gifts you’ve been given.”

  “Or stolen?”

  “Yes, or stolen.”

  “Mama Bea.” Eddie took a deep breath, searching my eyes by the light of the kerosene lantern. “Pete shot a man near El Paso.”

  “My God! Why?”

  “The guy snuck up on us in our sleep and pulled a knife on me. Held it to my throat. I froze. Nearly shit my pants. Next thing, I hear a loud click, then, ka-boom!”

  “Shit. What did you do? Was he dead?”

  “Probably. We took his knife, scooped up our stuff, and took off running. We ran as much as we could for the next two days.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I know,” Eddie said. “Pete’s been kind of an asshole ever since. I’ve been trying to cut him some slack.”

  “Of course.” I wrapped Eddie in a hug while he shook with silent sobs. We sat together until he started nodding off.

  What about our souls? It was getting harder and harder to remember that we had them.

  Later, I was heading indoors when Chas stopped alongside our fence.

  “Miss Bea?” he called, stepping from one foot to the other. Agitated, but not necessarily jerking like a speed freak.

  “What is it, Chas?”

  “Is Tasha feeling better? I saw her outside today.”

  “She’s a little better, but she’s still sick. Anyway, I told you to leave her alone.”

  “Can’t I even ask about her?” he whined.

  “She’ll be fine,” I said. “But you have to stay away.”


  Chas shook his head and slinked off down the road, probably calling me a bitch in his head.

  FORTY

  PETE AND EDDIE spent the following day outdoors, so they didn’t seem to hear Tasha vomiting upstairs. They cleaned their rifles, then sorted their belongings, cutting up most of their clothes for rags and washing the rest. They found a couple of pairs of shoes apiece in our stashes of clothes, then took their hole-filled, broken-soled sneakers around the corner to the dump.

  Milo and Mazie watched their uncles with fascination, hammering them with questions all day. Eddie and Pete seemed to enjoy the kids’ company, so I didn’t interfere.

  I sat inside making calculations about our food stores. The rice wasn’t going to last longer than two or three more months, especially if we didn’t harvest some other high-carb foods soon.

  Through the bay windows, I watched Pete and Eddie in my peripheral vision. It was so comforting to lay eyes on them. Whenever Sonja came near the back windows, Pete watched her pass. I thought about telling Pete that Sonja was married, but she hadn’t mentioned her husband lately. So, I didn’t interfere with Pete’s admiration of Sonja either. I figured she could handle him herself.

  Jack came in the backyard mid-afternoon and chatted with my sons. Before long, Pete stuck his head inside.

  “Mom, is it okay if we take these kids to do some target practice with Mr. Jeffers?”

  “Can I go?” Cesar quietly asked his mother. I’d lost track of Cesar and didn’t realize he was reading a book in the living room.

  “Mr. Peter,” Sonja said, “can Cesar come along?”

  “Sure. But you can call me Pete.”

  “Okay, Pete. Thank you.”

  Eddie, Jack, and my grandkids waved goodbye to me. Pete and Cesar waved to Sonja.

  Over the next few days, my stepsons helped with heavy work at the Mint and in neighborhood gardens. Then Pete started noticing things that needed repair, and he set about fixing them.

  One warm day, Pete and Eddie took Keno to the roof to patch a few loose shingles. I dug some boxes out of my closet and called Tasha to my room.

  “Yeah, Nana?” My tall, leggy granddaughter appeared at my doorway in her cut-offs and skimpy T-shirt, looking exceptionally beautiful and particularly young.

  “My, you’re pretty,” I said, and she blushed. “Wanna come look through these old baby clothes with me?”

  Her face froze.

  I patted the bed beside me. “Come see, honey.”

  Tasha swallowed and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “These clothes belonged to your mama and your aunt when they were babies. They’re old, but some of them should still be good.”

  I pulled out a pile of baby T-shirts and onesies. I loved the feel of cotton baby clothes. I loved babies. As I unfolded each onesie and smoothed it on the bed top, Tasha grew more and more solemn.

  When I pulled out a stack of tiny blouses and dresses, Tasha said, “My mom used to wear those?” and she began to cry.

  “Oh, honey.” I squeezed Tasha’s shoulders, but that only made her cry harder. “Sweetheart?”

  “How can I have a baby when I don’t have my mom? Can’t I have an abortion?”

  “We haven’t found a place to get one. If we don’t find one soon—in the next month—it will be too late.”

  “I can’t do this, Nana. I can’t!”

  “Can’t do what?” Eddie was standing atop the patio roof, leaning toward my open window. “Everything okay in there?”

  Tasha covered her face with her hands. I held still, flicking my eyes between Eddie and Tasha.

  “What are y’all doin’?” Eddie asked.

  “Oh, going through some old things.” I turned my face away from Eddie and touched Tasha’s knee so she’d look at me. “Do you want to tell him?” I mouthed.

  “I guess,” she said, and kept crying.

  “You guess what?” Eddie said. “What’s up, you guys?”

  “Eddie, can you and Pete take a break and come to my room for a bit?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure.” He turned away and shouted toward the second-story roof. “Pete, Mom needs us inside.”

  I rearranged myself so I could give Tasha a better hug. “You don’t need to be afraid or ashamed. Your uncles love you.”

  She tried to stop crying. I stuffed baby clothes back in the box. Pete and Eddie came in, sweaty and smelly, and looking uneasy.

  “Is this gonna take long?” Pete asked. “We’re kinda busy.”

  “Tasha has something important to talk to you about. Tasha, should I leave the room?”

  She flashed me a look of panic. “No! Stay!”

  “What’s up, doodlebug?” Eddie asked, giving Tasha a big smile.

  Tasha glanced at her uncles, taking ragged breaths, then closed her eyes.

  “I’m, uh . . . I’m pregnant.”

  The beat of silence that followed was as pregnant as Tasha, and just as loaded with emotion.

  “Oh, Tasha,” Eddie stepped forward to grab her in a mighty hug. Tears ran down his face.

  “But you’re only—what—sixteen?” Pete said.

  “Calm down, Pete,” Eddie said.

  “I’m fifteen,” Tasha said, sobbing.

  “Fifteen? Jesus!” Pete plopped down on the loveseat along the wall.

  “Pete,” I said, doing my best not to yell at him. “Your niece loves her uncles, and she needs your love and support, please.”

  Tears welled in his eyes. “Sorry, Tasha.” He stood to hug her while Eddie gripped her hand. “That was a shock,” Pete said, laughing awkwardly.

  “Yes, well, we don’t judge Tasha because we were all young and impulsive ourselves once, and we’re going to take care of her.”

  “Of course,” Eddie said. “So, what’s the plan?”

  “Who’s the father?” Pete asked, too loudly.

  “Pete, settle down. We’ll get to that.”

  Tasha and I explained our search for options. Pete was fairly outraged at the idea of an abortion, but I shut him down quickly on that count. He had no business upsetting Tasha, and I made sure he knew it.

  We didn’t tell them that Chas was the father. I was afraid Pete would kill him.

  For the rest of the time Pete and Eddie were here, Tasha sat with her Uncle Eddie on the couch every evening. I heard him talking to her about men and being sure they treated her right. Mazie often cuddled up on Eddie’s opposite side, and he gave her some good attention, too. He even took care of Tasha through a couple of bouts of morning sickness, cleaning up vomit without complaint.

  Though he seemed uncomfortable about it, Pete helped in his own way, bringing Tasha bowls of noodles, even washing and hanging her laundry. Helping with Tasha’s noodles also gave Pete an excuse to spend time with Sonja.

  Keno and another teen called Max took the opportunity to guard the water well out south for a few days, while his uncles were here to guard the family. My excuse to keep Keno home was gone.

  Over the next week or so, Tasha’s cheeks grew rosier, and her morning sickness slowly abated. Little by little, she took up her kitchen and gardening chores, and she didn’t complain. We carved out time to sort through baby clothes, and Tasha enjoyed it.

  “I can’t believe babies are so tiny,” she said. “So cute! I can’t wait to see my baby.”

  Wow.

  But Pete found me alone one night on the patio and lit into me.

  “Mom, how come you let Tasha get pregnant?”

  “Let her? You think I gave her permission?” My heart did a flip-flop inside my chest.

  “You let it happen. Why didn’t you supervise her?” Pete’s face reddened, and spit flew from his mouth.

  “Pete, honest to God! What was I supposed to do? Lock her up? And quit yelling!”

  He sighed, lowering his voice. “It just doesn’t seem like you care about anything. You didn’t hunt for Dad—”

  “Yeah, why didn’t I send him a tweet?”

  Pete’s face got grimmer.
“You don’t reprimand Tasha or punish her—”

  “Punish her?” I sat down fast. “Don’t you think she’s being punished enough by reaping the consequences of her actions? She’s been vomiting a blue streak. She doesn’t have her mother here. She is scared to death. She needs care and comfort, not scorn and shame. This isn’t the Middle Ages, son.”

  Pete looked away and shook his head.

  “Pete, when did you get so judgmental? Didn’t you have lots of sex as a teenager?”

  He jerked back. “You knew?”

  “I know the signs, Pete. I’ve had sex before. . . . Look, I didn’t tell your dad because I was afraid he’d beat you bloody. I’m different than your dad. I think if teenagers want to have sex badly enough, they’ll have it if they get the chance. The best a parent can do is to limit the chances, and teach your kids how to protect themselves. If I hadn’t made your dad lecture you guys about condoms—if I hadn’t bought condoms for him to give you—no telling how many girls you would have knocked up.”

  I wiped tears from my face and shifted in my seat while Pete continued to stare.

  “I’m seventy years old. I have a heart condition. I had four kids to take care of with no electricity or running water or another adult to help until Sonja came along. I had a neighborhood full of hungry, thirsty people who didn’t know how to survive. But I knew how, Pete. I knew! So, I had to help. I had way too many things to pay attention to, and I screwed up with Tasha. I screwed up bad. But don’t you ever—don’t you dare accuse me of not caring. I care so much it’s about to kill me!”

  Pete stepped toward me. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.” He leaned over to hug me. I let him do it, but I didn’t hug him back.

  “You hurt me, Pete. Being a stepmother is hard. Being a stepson is hard. But I thought we worked all that out years ago.”

  “God, Mom. I’m an ass. It’s just this whole—this situation—it’s freaking me out.”

  “Well, obviously,” I said. “We’re all freaked out. I’m so angry, I could kill people if I only knew who to kill to make it stop. But you have got to quit taking your anger out on the rest of us, because I can’t take any more of it.”

  “I’m sorry.” He squatted before me and squeezed my hand, his brow creased in distress. I took his scruffy-whiskered face in my hands. His green eyes glistened in the moonlight.