The Things That Keep Us Here (23 page)

THIRTY-THREE

W
HAT ABOUT POWDERED MILK?” PETER SAID
. Ann shook her head. “There are only two jars of baby food. After that, it’s sugar water.”

Jacob rubbed his face against her shoulder. Ann patted his back and murmured in his ear.

Peter folded the paper in his hand and tucked it into his pocket. He’d find a way to tell Ann about its contents later, when they could grab a few quiet minutes alone. He went to the den window. The rain was slashing down. “Do you think they have any more?” Ann came up to stand behind him.

The porch light next door burned through the mist. There was a faint glow from an upstairs window.

“The lights are on,” Peter said.

“They came on with the power,” Ann said.

They looked at each other.
Of course
. “The stores are probably open,” Peter said, deciding.

“Do you really think so?”

“I’ll go check.”

Ann nodded and stepped back, biting her lower lip, holding the baby and bouncing him. “We need baby food, too.”

“Got it.” He shrugged on his coat. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

————

A LONG LINE OF PEOPLE STOOD AGAINST THE WALL. BEHIND
them, light shone around the planks of plywood nailed here and there across the windows. The store was open.

Peter found an empty spot along the back, then got out of the truck and hurried through the cold drizzle.

Two men stood at the store entrance, arms crossed. Men and women, some children, huddled in their coats and hooded jackets, like moths drawn by the light. Many of them wore masks. No one looked at him. It felt strange to see a crowd, especially one that was so quiet. Peter pulled up his mask and joined them.

“Do they still have anything in there?” he said to the woman in front of him.

She turned. She was round and dark-skinned, with a red bandanna stretched across her nose and mouth. The only thing that was doing was keeping her face warm. Above the fold of cloth, Peter saw her eyebrows pinch together in a frown.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m out here, aren’t I?”

He tried to see around the lengths of wood fitted across the glass. Was there enough of everything in there for all these people out here? He looked back to the line. There had to be at least sixty people in front of him. “How come we’re not moving?”

“They’re letting people in five at a time. I been waiting an hour already.” She crossed her arms as if to say,
Don’t even think about butting in front of me
.

Time passed. People drifted into place behind him. Peter stamped his feet to keep warm. The rain drilled the awning overhead, splashed onto the pavement. It stopped, then started again.

Down the line, there was a raised voice, then some shouting and pushing. The people in front of him hurriedly edged back. Someone stumbled to the curb and the line reassembled.

“What was that about?” Peter said.

The woman in front of him didn’t answer.

He leaned back against the wall. Another eighteen minutes crawled by. At this rate, it’d be dawn before it was Peter’s turn. They might be out of everything by then. The store door opened. The line straightened, then arced as people at the end moved out to see what was going on.

Out came a woman, pushing a shopping cart in front of her. A man walked beside her, hand on her elbow. Plastic bags sat heaped in her cart. Peter strained to see what they held. There were some long, narrow boxes of what could be pasta. A fat jug of water. Maybe a loaf of bread balanced on top, baked somewhere where there were still ovens that worked. The line shuffled forward.

Peter leaned out of line and called to the man holding the door. “Excuse me.” It came out muffled, so Peter pulled down his mask.

“Sir.”

The man stopped and looked down the line. He had the name of the store and the word
Manager
embroidered in red over his pocket. He also had a nasty black eye.

“Can you tell me if you have any baby food?” Peter said.

“Wait your turn.”

“But you do have formula?”

“Get back in line, sir.”

The other man had returned from walking the woman to her car. He shook out the umbrella in his hand, then walked over to the manager. The two of them went back into the store, leaving the first two outside guarding the door. Peter shoved his hands into his pockets. This place couldn’t be the only option. He thought about Jacob squirming in Ann’s arms, crying with hunger. How long could he wait for food? Now that the power was on, maybe other stores had opened up, too. He pulled his car keys from his pocket and stepped out of line.

PETER PEERED THROUGH THE SLANTING RAIN, WATCHING FOR
a lighted storefront. He slowed at one, saw that it was a liquor store, and drove on. Here was a gas station awash in activity. Cars were lined up for the fuel pumps, going all the way to the road. That little store wouldn’t carry anything but cigarettes and snack foods, anyway.

The drugstore where they got their prescriptions sat in darkness.

There were lights on at the next intersection. Peter turned into the lot jammed with parked cars. He came to the end of an aisle and saw the crowd mobbing the door. He rolled down his window. Rain splattered in with the noise of their shouting. Glass shattered and a siren shrieked.

He took the highway. He turned the wipers on high and fiddled with the buttons on the radio dial. Maybe the radio had come back on with the power. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Then a blip of sound surprised him and he skipped back. The music came through, a song from his teenage years. He hadn’t liked it all that much then, but now it sounded fantastic. He hummed along.

Here was the exit for the small plaza where he got his hair trimmed. A fast-food restaurant, a dry cleaner, and yes, some sort of mom-and-pop place. He’d noticed it as he’d walked past on his way to the barber’s. There were always hand-lettered signs taped to the windows offering deals on shampoo or cheese curls. There weren’t any cars out front.

A bell chimed as he stepped into the store. A man stood behind the cash register. A white mask covered his lower jaw. “Good evening.”

Peter smiled back, stamped the water from his shoes, and brushed it from his sleeves. “Glad to see you’re open.”

“You looking for anything in particular?”

“Baby food.”

“Aisle three.”

There was music playing. It sounded like the same station Peter had been listening to in the car. Peter pulled a cart from the line by the door and headed down the aisles. Here was the baby section, and there was plenty of formula. The cans stood in rows, powdered and liquid. He scanned the shelves and recognized a yellow label. He reached for several cans and piled them into his cart. Jars of strained peas, applesauce, pears, squash, green beans, a couple boxes of baby cereal.

He turned into the next aisle. Diapers. What size? The packages were labeled. Stage 1, Stage 2. He couldn’t decipher what those meant. Crawlers, Walkers. Okay, these made better sense, but where was the one for a baby who could only sit up and roll over?

He pulled one from the shelf, turned it around in his hands. Ah, it went according to weight. How to estimate Jacob’s weight? He tried to think of how much babies weighed at birth. Seven pounds? Ann would shake her head at his ignorance. Boys were probably bigger. So, say eight pounds. He’d told Shazia that Jacob was six months old. Babies probably doubled their weight by that point. Did Jacob have the feel of a sixteen-pounder? He held his arm crooked around an imaginary baby. No. More than that. Jacob had to weigh closer to a turkey. Say twenty pounds.

He reached out and selected two of the blue packs.

He turned into the food aisle. Everything looked good. He put whatever he could think of into the cart. Beef jerky. Crackers. Tuna. A bag of chocolate bars. Maddie loved potato chips. Ann didn’t like them in the house, but that was then. He set a big bag on top of everything else. Kate was fond of grape jelly. He put in a jar of that, too. Ah. Coffee.

The pet aisle was up next. Adult, midsized breed. He lugged a big bag of kibble onto the bottom of the cart, went up to the register, and began placing things on the counter.

“Find everything?” the clerk said. He held a scanner to each item, set each can into a plastic bag.

“And then some.”

“Big storm we had.”

“I’ll say. Good to have the power back on.” A nice, normal conversation, nothing doom-and-gloom about it. Inside this warm, bright place, Peter could pretend it was an evening like any other and he was just stopping by to pick up a few things on his way home. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “How much do I owe you?”

The clerk punched a button. “That’ll be three hundred and eighty-two dollars and fifty-nine cents.”

Surely he’d heard that wrong. Peter glanced down at the digital display and saw the line of glowing numerals. “Three hundred and eighty-two dollars?” he repeated dumbly. “How did it get to be so much?”

The clerk put a hand on one of the bags. “Let’s see. Tuna’s nine bucks.”

“Nine bucks?”

The guy shrugged. “Prices have gone up a little. I don’t know when I’ll get my next delivery.”

“Right.” Still, nine bucks for a can of tuna. He couldn’t even imagine what the coffee was going for. “All right, forget the tuna. How about I just take the baby food and the diapers?” He’d take them home to Ann and Jacob, then come back out and try their regular store for more groceries. A big chain like that wouldn’t do something like this. “How much is that?”

The man sighed heavily. Reaching into one of the bags, he pulled out a canister of formula and scanned it. “Thirty-five dollars.”

“Thirty-five dollars?” Peter took the canister from the guy’s hand and turned it around to see the small label affixed to one side. “But this says twenty-one.”

The man took the formula back. “Like I told you, prices have gone up a little.”

Peter could accept some fudging with the numbers in these circumstances, but this was outright gouging. “Gone up a lot, more like.”

The man’s expression darkened. Without a word, he pulled out a can of tuna, lifted the scanner to it, and pushed a button on the register. The numbers on the register flickered.

“All right.” No use arguing with the guy. “I’ll take it.” He slid a credit card from his wallet and held it out.

The man shook his head, pulled out another can and scanned it. “Cash only.” He turned and set the can behind him.

“I don’t have that kind of cash on me.” The bank website had been frozen all afternoon. The ATMs weren’t up and running, either. “I’ll write you a check.”

“No checks. No credit cards. Cash.” The man scanned a box of macaroni and cheese.

Peter watched with a sinking feeling. The girls loved that stuff. He looked into his wallet and fingered the bills. “Look. I’ve only got sixty dollars on me. Would you give me two cans of formula for that?”

“I told you. Formula’s fifty bucks.”

“You said thirty-five.”

A shrug. “Now it’s fifty.”

The man was making some kind of point. Peter had offended him. He’d crossed some invisible line. “Fine.” Peter worked at keeping the anger from his voice. “I’ll take one can of formula and whatever jars of baby food you’ll give me for sixty.”

“I changed my mind. Nothing’s for sale.”

Peter stared at the man, but he refused to look up.

Two jars of baby food, Ann had said. After that, they’d have to feed the baby sugar water.

“We’re talking about a baby,” Peter said, biting off each word. “We’ve run out of food. He’s going to starve. Don’t you get it?”

The man shook out a now-empty bag, pressed it back into its original folds, and placed it beneath the counter.

Peter stared blankly at him. “You’re crazy.”

The man halted. He put his hands flat on the counter and leaned over. Fiftysomething, dark wavy hair, cheeks plumped up over the white of his mask. Evidently, he hadn’t been missing any meals.

“Sorry,” Peter said. “I didn’t mean that. Look, what if I throw in my watch?” His father’s old Omega. But watches could be replaced. The baby needed food now.

“Do I look like a pawnshop? Get outta my store.”

“Come on. One can of formula.”

“Get out.” He pulled out a package of diapers and turned to add it to the growing pile behind him. Things started to tumble, and he reached out a hand to catch them.

Peter stood there. His pulse raced. He stared at the two bags on the counter. Another moment and they’d be empty, too. He reached out and grasped the neck of one of them.

The clerk whirled around at the rustling sound. “Hey!”

Peter pushed through the door and into the rain. He fumbled for his keys and pulled them from his pants pocket. He pressed the remote.

The door banged open behind him. “Stop!”

Peter fell into the front seat, slammed the door, and shoved the gear into reverse. He accelerated backward. Raindrops mottled the windshield. He couldn’t see.

“You son of a bitch!”

Peter roared out of the lot, squealed onto the highway and toward a pair of headlights. A car horn blared. Peter swerved. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor. His heart pounded. He couldn’t swallow. He switched on the wipers. The highway carried him up and away. He lifted his foot, slowed to sixty.

He took the first exit, pulled off the road, and sat there in the dark. Rain pattered overhead. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on his steering wheel. What had he done?

With shaking fingers, he reached for the bag he’d thrown onto the seat beside him. He held it open and looked inside. In the dim alien-green glow from his dashboard, he saw what he’d gotten. Beef jerky and chocolate bars.

THIRTY-FOUR

M
ADDIE CLAPPED HER HANDS TO HER EARS. “MAKE
him
stop
, Mommy.” Jacob smacked the spoon. Food sprayed across his face, and he howled.

“She’s trying,” Kate snapped. “Don’t be such a brat.”

“Mommy—”

“Hush!” Ann wiped the baby’s face with a cloth. Jacob couldn’t help it. When babies wanted a bottle, that was what they wanted. She picked up the bottle and lifted him from where he leaned in Kate’s lap. “Let’s try this again.” She cradled him and rubbed the nipple of the bottle against the baby’s lower lip. Jacob hiccuped and opened his mouth. A tentative suck, then a look of horror crossed his face. He reared back, pushing at her with tiny fists.

“No, no. Give it a try.” She coaxed the bottle’s nipple back into the baby’s mouth and tickled his tongue with it. Again he spat it out. “Come on, sweetheart. Hold on. Just a little longer.”

Peter had been gone for well over an hour. Surely he wouldn’t be much longer.

She held the baby firmly in the crook of her arm and pushed in the nipple. Jacob stiffened and twisted his head. He automatically swallowed. Another suck, another swallow. He squirmed, then brought up his hand and put it on hers as she held the bottle. “Good boy,” Maddie said.

Everything depended on whether or not Peter had found anything open and how long the lines were. She’d feel much better knowing exactly what the situation was. She wished she could just call him. She wished she could just hear his voice. How easy it used to be—pick up a cell phone and press buttons.

Jacob’s arm fell to his side. His mouth stopped working. She held up the bottle and checked the level of fluid remaining. He’d managed to finish half. Worn out from struggling against the bottle, he’d fallen asleep before he was anywhere near full. “Turn the TV down, honey,” she said to Maddie. “The baby’s sleeping.”

Ann lowered him onto the pile of blankets. She crouched there, placed a cupped hand to the baby’s head. How long would sugar water satisfy a baby?

“Kate.” Ann went over to stand behind Kate, who was sitting at the kitchen table. “Show me how to IM.”

Kate gave her a sidelong frown. She’d taken her shower and her skin was rosy, her wet hair combed back from her face. “Why?”

“Let me talk to someone’s parents.” The power had come on, but the phones were still out.

“Mom.”

“Just for a minute.” Ann pulled out a chair.

A heavy sigh. “Hold on.” Kate tapped the mouse pad and a rectangle popped up. She typed
POS
then hit return. “Like who?”

Ann knew what that meant. Parent Over Shoulder. “Ask Claire if her mother or father can talk.”

Kate typed quickly. Ann read the response.
BRB
. Be Right Back.

The cursor blinked.
My uncle’s here
, came the message.

Kate said, “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” Ann had never met the man. Who cared? “Ask him if he knows whether any grocery stores are open.”

Kate typed. A moment passed. The answer box appeared. They both leaned forward to read the response.

Don’t know. Phone service spotty. 70 and 75 closed. Curfew 9 PM throughout city
.

How did he know these things? “Ask him—”

“Can’t you use your computer?”

“Yes, but you’re the only one who knows how to IM.”

“Shazia knows how. She can show you.”

True. Shazia had gone up to take her shower after Peter left. Surely she’d be done by now. Ann tilted her head, listening for the rush of water in the pipes, and didn’t hear anything. She pushed her chair back. “Anyone know where she is?”

Maddie said, “Gone.”

Ann looked over. Maddie knelt by the television set, pressing buttons. “What?”

“She’s gone.”

“Don’t wake Jacob. Come over here.”

The baby murmured, and Maddie looked down. She stood and came over to where Ann and Kate sat. “She went out.”

Out? Out to stand on the porch? Out to check the mailbox? No—it was pouring out there. But maybe she’d just wanted a few minutes alone. “When did she do that?”

“When you were busy with Jacob. She just said goodbye and went.”

Kate pulled the laptop toward her. “She said it to me, too, Mom.”

People didn’t say goodbye just to go stand on the porch. Ann stepped out quickly onto the cold, damp concrete of the front porch. Shazia wasn’t there. Ann looked all around and saw empty streets glistening beneath the streetlights.

Upstairs, Shazia’s bed was made. A navy suitcase stood against the wall. Shazia had had two. Where was the other one? Ann checked the closet and under the bed. A picture frame lay facedown in a puddle of broken glass on the nightstand. Ann turned it over and discovered a small heap of shredded paper beneath. The photograph of Shazia’s parents, Shazia’s mother gazing up at Ann from her small bit of paper, accusing.

The small counter in the guest bath was clear, bare of the toothpaste and toothbrush Ann had glimpsed there earlier. She’d noticed the foreign brand, had wondered what sort of flavor the little yellow leaf on the tube indicated. And here, against the back of the counter, lay a thermometer. One of hers, the one that had gone missing from the first-aid bin. Why had Shazia been checking her temperature?

She headed for the den. Shazia’s laptop no longer lay there on the desk. Her long coat was missing from the hall closet.

“Girls,” she called, coming back into the family room. “What exactly did Shazia say?”

“We told you,” Kate said. Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “She said goodbye. Oh, and thanks.”

Goodbye and thanks. What else could that mean? “She didn’t say where she was going?”

“No.”

But she’d been looking at MapQuest.

“I’ll be right back,” Ann said, and Kate nodded absently. Maddie returned to sit close to the television.

The rain was pelting down now in fat, angry drops. Ann pulled her coat firmly about her and went to the edge of the porch to peer down the street. “Shazia?”

House lights gleamed through the foggy sheets of rain, a friendly sight after so many weeks of darkness. She went down the steps and onto the dark front path. Raindrops spattered the hood of her coat and tapped her shoulders. A gust of wind splattered cold water against her pant legs. Streetlights shone steadily. Here and there glowed a bright square of window or a lit patch of driveway. She tried to see beyond the shimmering lights and through the rain for a dark moving shape, but it was impossible to see anything clearly.

“Shazia!”

Ann walked to the curb. Water streamed toward the gutter. The trees shivered in a gust of wind. How long ago had she last seen Shazia? Maybe twenty minutes. Thirty, tops. Long enough that she’d be well out of sight by now, especially if she was moving purposefully.

Ann should take the car and go look for her. She had a full tank from when she’d stopped on the way home from school, the last time she’d gone anywhere. She could at least make sure the girl had a plan and that she knew what she was doing, that she wasn’t going to thumb a ride with a stranger or attempt to walk all the way out into the countryside.

She’d have to wake the baby, though, and take the children with her. Kate could hold Jacob in the back. Ann had never driven with a baby not strapped into a car seat. Could she really rouse him and drag him out into the wet cold, after he’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep?

She could leave him be and let Kate watch him. Kate was old enough to babysit, certainly, but she’d never taken care of a baby before. If Jacob happened to wake, Maddie could help distract him. The house was warm and the lights were on. They’d keep the doors locked, of course. They’d be perfectly fine. After all, Ann would be gone only a little while, just long enough to drive around the neighborhood.

She reached the front porch and her resolve trembled and disappeared. Of course she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t possibly leave her daughters alone. Not under these circumstances.

Ann turned around and stared into the shadows. She pictured Shazia hunched over, ducking the rain that came in curtains now, holding her suitcase in one cold, numb hand. She’d have stopped to put her laptop inside it, probably wrapped it up in her sweaters for added protection. Her laptop. Of course. There it was, the solution. Ann could email her and make sure she was okay. Just as she had this thought, the world fell dark. The streetlights vanished. Where the houses once stood, throwing out bright beacons of light and warmth, there was now complete darkness.

Everything was gone. Ann stared around her in disbelief. All that was left was the steady downpour of rain and the twin headlights of a car pulsing toward her.