What Survives of Us (Colorado Chapters Book 1) (2 page)

BOOK: What Survives of Us (Colorado Chapters Book 1)
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Scott had headed out to putter at his workbench in the garage, but not before he’d slid his hand slowly and lovingly down her spine and dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck.  Naomi smiled.  He was consistent, maybe even predictable, but the upside of that was anticipation.  Twenty-three years, and that slow smile of his could still rev her up.

Macy had a 4-H project spread out on the kitchen table, and was humming softly to herself as she worked.  Her hair seemed to glow in the soft light, a shade exactly between her father’s red and her mother’s blonde, the purest strawberry Naomi had ever seen.  She’d once asked a stylist if she could match it – Naomi’s blonde had been maintained in salons for years now – but the stylist had shaken her head.  “That color is a gift from the gods,” she’d said.  “You’d end up with orange or pink.  Better just enjoy it on your daughter.”

And Naomi did, smoothing her hand over her daughter’s shining head, as she had done thousands of times before.  Macy was in her second year of sewing, and was piecing together a simple quilt from scraps Naomi had given her.  Naomi sat down beside her, and Macy handed her a piece.

“This one?”

Naomi smiled, and fingered the Black Watch plaid.  “A shirt I made for daddy when we were first married.  The sleeves weren’t quite long enough, but he wore it anyway.  He just rolled the sleeves up, even in the dead of winter, and he never said a thing.”

Macy smiled.  “That’s just like daddy.”  She handed her another scrap, a tiny mint-green gingham check.  “This one?”

“A little jumper I made for Piper, when she was just tiny.  I made one in every color of gingham they had.”  She reached across the table, selected pink, yellow, blue.  “I called her my rainbow baby.”

Macy took the piece back, rubbed it between her finger and thumb, then held it to her cheek.  “I miss her.  I wish she would come home more often.”

“I miss her too, punkin.”  In so many ways, Naomi thought.  She missed those easy baby years, when she’d been the bright center of Piper’s world, instead of a source of discomfort, strain and disappointment.  Her oldest daughter was finishing up her junior year at the University of Northern Colorado – not all that far away, but she didn’t choose to visit home very frequently.

Piper had been almost twelve when Macy was born, a surprise tag-a-long.  She had adored her baby sister on sight, and that adoration continued to be mutual – Macy was convinced her older sister hung the moon.  Naomi always thought of Macy as the magical glue that held her family together.  Her birth had come along just as Piper decided her mother was an
embarrassing throw-back to the 1950’s, possessed no discernible ambition beyond being “Suzy Homemaker” and rescuing stray animals, and therefore was a failure as a modern woman and role model for her daughter.

When she gave voice to her criticisms, she came up hard against her beloved father’s disapproval.  Scott rarely stepped in to discipline the girls, but he’d made it perfectly clear that he would brook no disrespect for Naomi.  Piper might not have given a rip for her mother’s feelings, but her father’s good opinion meant the world to her.  She had never spoken of it again, but her disdain for Naomi and the choices she’d made was clear.

Naomi had tried to bridge the gap, of course.  She’d reached out, read books, attended seminars, but nothing she’d learned or tried had worked.  In the end, she’d reached the conclusion that time was the only healer.  When Piper knew herself better, when she understood her own value as a woman, she’d be more accepting of the choices her mother had made.

“I have an idea.”  Naomi looked at the clock, and calculated.  They might just catch her before her Friday night social life revved up.  “Let’s Skype her.  We should find out what her plans are for Easter.”

Macy’s smile dazzled.  “I’ll get the laptop!”

Ten minutes later, that same dazzling smile shone on Piper’s face via the computer monitor.  “Hey, bitty bean!  Are you rebelling at last, breaking the weeknight ‘no electronics’ rule?  Better not let Mama Bear catch you – she’ll put you on pooper-scooper detail for sure.”

Naomi leaned over Macy’s shoulder and smiled warmly in spite of the pinch to her heart.  “It was Mama Bear’s idea,” she said lightly.  “We missed you.  Are you getting ready to go out?”

Piper grimaced.  “Sort of.  Study group at the pub.  Hopefully we’ll get something done before too many ‘adult beverages’ have been consumed.”

“Well.  Good luck with that.”  Naomi straightened.  “I’ll let you girls chat for a bit.  Macy, don’t disconnect until I’ve talked to her, please.”

She puttered around the kitchen, listening to Macy talk about her life, about the things that shaped the world of a 10-year-old:  4-H, the horse camp she was desperate to attend this coming summer, school.  And she savored the patience and warmth in Piper’s voice as she responded to her little sister; oh, these girls, they were her whole wide world, the breath in her lungs.

“Mama,” Macy hopped up from her spot at the table, and gestured to the computer.  “She has to get going.  Better ask her about Easter.”  To the screen:  “Please come home for Easter, Piper, we could do eggs, it would be so fun.” 

Naomi took Macy’s place.  “So, do you have plans for that weekend?  Easter’s on the 8
th
this year.” 

As she spoke, Ares strutted into the kitchen, stretched, sat down on his pudgy kitty behind and yowled for his supper.  Piper laughed.  “Sounds like you’re still starving Ares to death, poor boy.”

Naomi scooped him up and snuggled him, the only human afforded that privilege.  Ares was a rescue, like all their animals, and even though he’d been with them for years, he would permit no one but Naomi to touch him.  “Easter?” she prompted.  She was tempted, oh so tempted, to play the “Macy would love to see you” card.

“I’m not sure, mom.  I’ll see how my big project is going and let you know.”  Piper was majoring in Sociology, and loved
everything about her course of study.  People fascinated her.  “Hey, big excitement down your way tonight, huh?”

“What do you mean?”  But Naomi knew.  She knew.  A cold fist of fear tightened in her chest.

“That Safeway we always shop at, on Nevada – you didn’t hear about that woman dying, and the officials quarantining the place?  Oh, yeah.”  Piper’s lips twitched in a sneer she didn’t bother to hide.  “No media on a weeknight.”

“They quarantined the store?”  Naomi didn’t realize she had clutched Ares to her chest until he let out a snarky meow and struggled to get down.  “Why?  Did they say why?”

“I told you – a woman died.  Must have been some kind of terrible disease – they’ve called in the CDC and CNN says they’ve got the National Guard on alert just in case.”

“In case what?  Why would they need the National Guard?”  Lord, should she have stayed?  Had she brought home some sort of contagion, endangered her family?  She was nearly panting, and could hear hysteria pushing through in her voice.  Piper frowned, and Macy looked up from across the table, small face wrinkled in concern.

“What’s wrong, Mama?”

“Yeah, geez, take it easy, mom.  I’m sure they’ll get the whole nasty mess all cleaned up before double coupon Tuesday.”

Naomi took a big breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled the hurt Piper’s snotty tone had lodged in her heart.  She tilted her head to the side, and examined her daughter’s delicate face, that darling, tilted nose Piper hated – too cutsey – the waterfall of fine, straight blonde hair she’d inherited from her mother – hot pink streaks this week, Naomi rather liked them – and her father’s green as moss eyes.

“You’re so pretty.”  Piper hadn’t tolerated compliments on her beauty since she was 15, claiming she intended to use her
brains, not her looks, to achieve her goals.  For once, Naomi didn’t care about inciting her daughter’s wrath.  “I know you don’t like it when I say that, but you are.  And as beautiful as you are, you’re 100 times as smart.  I love you, honey.”

Macy, bless her sensitive little heart, chose that exact moment to drape herself over her mother’s shoulders and beam at her sister.  “I think you’re pretty too, Piper.”  Her smile took on a crafty slant.  “Will you bring me a present?  When you come for Easter?  Pleeeaaaaase?”

Piper’s face was soft.  “We’ll see, bitty bean.  I’ll do my best.”  Her face stayed tender as she met her mother’s eyes, and Naomi’s chest ached with warmth, delight, love at the rare softness from her daughter.  “I love you too, mom.  Have a good night.”

             
In the years that would follow, Naomi would take this moment out and cradle it close, savoring it as a perfect moment, a gift, something she recognized as precious even as it was happening.  Her baby girl, gentle little arms wrapped around her neck, soft silky cheek pressed to hers.  And a warm smile from her beautiful warrior daughter, a young woman so full of strength and power, eager to take her place in a world about to change forever.

 

TWO: Colorado: The Next Day

 

Naomi followed the scent of coffee into the kitchen the next morning, and found Scott leaning on the counter, frowning.  He was watching the tiny TV he had mounted under the counter for her a few years back, and she felt again that awful sense of knowing what was coming before he spoke.  Instead of getting herself a cup of coffee, she sat down at the kitchen table, suddenly cold.

“Look at this, hon.” He gestured with his coffee mug.  “It’s all over the news, local and national.  That Safeway you shop at all the time has been quarantined.”  He shook his head, took a sip.  “That’s too close to home.  You could have been there, just as easy as those other people.”

              He moved to the sink, rinsing his cup and putting it neatly in the dish drainer.  Before she realized she was going to speak, Naomi was blurting.  “I was there.  Yesterday.  I saw her.”

             
Scott turned around, his frown deepening, not yet registering the full impact of her words.  “What?  You were – what did you just say?”

             
“I said I was there.  At the store.  I saw the woman who died.”  Naomi took a huge breath, trying to steady her shaking voice.  Crying was not going to help, but tears sprang to her eyes anyway.  “I was in line, at the self-check.  I saw her fall.  Well no, I didn’t, but I saw people gathered around her.  Then one of them moved away, and I saw her, and I put my things down and walked out of the store.  The police and fire trucks were just getting there as I left.”

             
Scott moved until he was crouched right in front of her.  He stilled her wringing hands with his big, warm calloused palms.  His eyes, normally so warm and gentle, were sharp and intense.  “How close did you get to her?”

             
“I don’t know - you know I can’t judge distance.  She was up by the cashier’s station.  I was still in line and there were a few people ahead of me.”  She bent her head and pressed her forehead to their clasped hands, giving voice to the fear that had woken her repeatedly throughout the night.  “What if what they’re saying is true?  What if she had some sort of disease, and I brought it home to you and Macy?  Oh my God, Scott!”

             
“Honey, you’ve got to get a hold of yourself.  Macy’ll be up any time, and you don’t want her to see you like this.”  He waited until she sat up, then cupped her face in his warm hands and wiped her cheeks with his thumbs matter-of-factly.  Naomi’s tears had always come easily, and Scott had stopped being fazed by them years ago.  “There.  You probably didn’t come any closer than 30 or 40 feet.  Do you remember hearing her, or anybody, coughing?”

             
Naomi closed her eyes, putting herself back in the store.  She remembered hearing a newborn’s cry – so distinctive – and noting, as she often did, how the catchy music probably made people linger as they shopped, so they could sing along.  And yes.  Someone coughing violently.  She opened her eyes and gazed at Scott, unable to voice the confirmation.

             
“Okay.”  Scott took a deep breath, and smoothed his hand along the side of her face.  She felt a spike of worry from him, as if it had stabbed her in the chest.  “It’s okay, honey.  It is what it is.  I really don’t think you got close enough to her for it to matter.” 

He straightened, then gazed out the window over the kitchen sink for a few moments, tapping his fingers on the table.  Then he nodded.  “I’ve got an errand to run.”  He leaned to give her a quick kiss, and a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder.  Her rock.  “Be back in a couple of hours.”

 

~~~

 

             
As it turned out, Grace never had a chance to follow up on her mystery story.  She slept late Saturday morning, after a too-long-but-worth-it conversation with William on the phone, and then had to hustle out the door to make it to school to catch the track bus.  Normally, she would have caught a ride with William and his younger brother Quinn – the three of them were right in a row in school, with William a senior, Grace a junior, and Quinn a lowly sophomore – but she had promised her mother she’d drop Benji at the library.  The tiny local branch had brought in a program on robotics, and Benji was beside himself with geeky glee.  He talked non-stop all the way there about servos and touch sensors, oblivious to the fact that Grace didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about.

             
“Nerd.”  She scrubbed his head with her knuckles as she pulled up in front of the library.  “Just don’t forget me when your robot minions rule the world.”

             
He grinned, thanked her for the ride in his meticulously polite way, and was off like a shot.  Grace drove the rest of the way to the high school, parked, and jogged towards the waiting bus.  Hopefully William had saved her a seat across the aisle from him – in bigger schools, boys and girls often rode on separate buses, but Limon had only fielded 23 kids on the team this year, not enough to justify the gas and expense of an extra bus.  Instead, coach had the boys and girls sit on opposite sides, which always struck Grace as silly and frankly naïve, considering what some of these kids had been doing the night before.  She and William weren’t the only dating couple on the team, though they might be the only ones not having sex.

             
She’d been upfront with him from their first date on; Grace didn’t intend to raise a baby until she was good and ready, and no way was she taking the chance.  William had been a good sport about it, probably because she didn’t object to some wandering hands.  Secretly, though, she wondered what everyone got so lathered up about.  It felt good when William kissed her, and wonderful when he nuzzled and nipped at her neck, but she was nowhere near losing control.  Her girlfriends talked about getting carried away - “We just couldn’t stop!” - and Grace just didn’t get that.  To her ordered and logical mind, the risks just didn’t outweigh the thrill.

             
She bounded onto the bus, and spotted William immediately, sitting behind his little brother.  Well, okay, maybe not “little” – Quinn wasn’t quite as tall as his older brother, but where William was lean, Quinn was bulky, in a way that turned all the girls’ heads when he took his warm-ups off.  He was also as shy as his older brother was confident; Grace knew he struggled with some sort of learning disability, though William insisted Quinn was brilliant, in his own way.  His protectiveness and pride in his brother were some of the things she liked best about him.  And then there was that smile.

             
“Hey, gorgeous.”  His eyes were so, so blue.  Grace felt just a little swoony when he smiled at her, and those blue eyes lit up.  “I was afraid you’d miss the bus.”

             
Grace smiled back and plopped down in the seat he had, indeed, saved for her.  “Not a chance.  Mornin’, Quinn.”

             
Quinn mumbled an inaudible reply and ducked his head, his ears flushing a rosy pink.  William always made a point of speaking to Benji when he saw him, and Grace did the same with Quinn and their four younger brothers, who were all in elementary school.  Grace had known the Harris family her whole life – their ranch bordered Grace’s mom’s property to the north – and she’d heard her mother speculating that Mrs. Harris had started trying for that girl she wanted so badly when she had raised William and Quinn up old enough to help with the livestock.  Now that she’d spent time with the family, she didn’t agree – Mrs. Harris adored all six of her boys, though she did speak with great anticipation of a little granddaughter one day.

             
“Did you hear about that quarantine thing they’ve got going on in the Springs?”  William asked.

             
The puzzle, with all its empty pieces, flared to life in Grace’s brain.  She leaned forward, interest sharp.  “I did, last night.  Benji was writing about it for school, and I meant to follow up and check the news this morning.  What are they saying?”

             
“Nothing, that’s the thing.  They aren’t letting anybody out, and the only people going in now are wearing hazmat suits.  They even kept the first responders – the firemen and police.  And nobody on the inside has a phone or has been allowed contact with their families.”

             
Click, click, click.  Grace didn’t like the picture her puzzle was forming.  “Benji said they thought the dead woman was a soldier from Fort Carson – have they said anything about that?”

             
“Not that I know of,” William paused, then grimaced.  “My mom says she doesn’t want us to go into the Springs tonight.  You know, after we get back from the meet.”

             
Grace blinked.  “Wow.  She really thinks it’s that big a deal?”

             
“She’s trying to be all cool about it, but I can tell she’s scared.  So…”  He paused again, and gave her that heart-stuttering smile.  “If you want to come over for dinner, we could go for a ride after.  Bet we could even talk mom into popping popcorn and making cocoa when we get back.”

             
Grace grinned.  After the divorce, her mother had sold both hers and Grace’s quarter horses, saying they couldn’t keep up with the feed any longer.  Grace had understood, but oh, the misery was still sharp in her heart.  She loved to ride, and William knew her well.  “That sounds perfect.  Way better than a movie.  It’s a date.”

 

~~~

 

              Pastor Jack prided himself on being open-minded.  As a rule, he wasn’t interested in criticizing other religions or labeling their beliefs as wrong; Evangelism, he believed, was best accomplished by living a Godly life, and doing so in such a joyful way that people not of your faith would seek you out, asking for the Secret of your Joy.

Nor was he interested in dwelling on Satan.  People, he believed, had enough excuses for their poor behavior; the Devil made me do it had been worn as thin and flimsy as tissue paper.  From his personal, professional and spiritual perspectives, it was time for humanity to take full responsibility for its actions and decisions – enough with the blaming, either of mankind’s innately sinful nature, or of Satan and his demons.

“Get over it,” he would say to the youth he worked with.  “Satan tempts everybody – that’s just a cop-out.  You choose your path.  You decide who to be.”

These perspectives, of course, had brought him more than his fair share of criticism in seminary.  Too much of the World, many had said.  Heretical, a few had accused.  But Jack didn’t dwell on the disapproval of others.  His work
was
in the World, after all.  He was successful working with youth because they sensed what was in his heart:  He truly wasn’t interested in judging them – that belonged to the Lord.  As Mother Teresa had said, judging people left you no time to love them, and Jack lived every single day by this simple, powerful mantra.

With one exception.

Layla Karela.  She was three people ahead of him in the checkout line at City Market this bright and beautiful Saturday morning, and Jack caught himself keeping his face averted, praying she wouldn’t spot him.  She always wanted to chat about this or that kid, and the effort of maintaining a baseline politeness while conversing with her gave Jack a teeth-grinding headache every darn time. 

Layla taught English and directed the drama program at the local high school, and there was a lot of overlap between his youth group kids and the kids she worked with every day.  Jack had been hearing the kids talk about Ms. Karela for years, and he knew from them that she was a popular teacher, fun in class but committed to excellence and meticulously fair.  Parents talked about her, too – she was involved, dedicated, professional – all the things a community could wish for in a teacher of their youth, with the exception of the fact that she was a practicing Witch.

And she didn’t even have the courtesy to be subtle about it.  Jack shuffled ahead in the line, keeping his head down but straining to listen to her conversation with the checker just the same.  Everyone was buzzing about the quarantine in Colorado Springs, but not Layla, oh no.  She was talking about the upcoming metaphysical fair in Colorado Springs – she would be reading Tarot there as usual, he learned, and barely repressed a shiver of revulsion.  She and her ilk came close to making him reconsider his doctrine of non-judgment. 

They disgusted him, with their ridiculous costumes, their cards and crystals and fripperies and geegaws, their talk of past lives, Chakras and Spirits.  All that hoo-ha, of course, appealed enormously to the kids he worked with – always and forever, teens would be drawn to the danger, the mystery, the edge.  And that, Jack told himself, was what made their practices unforgivable:  The corruption of the kids he loved and counseled,
the peril to their very souls.  He knew all too well just how real that peril was.

The checker wished Layla a good morning, promising to look her up at the fair for a reading – Jack made a mental note to add the poor girl to his prayer list – and the line crept forward.  By the time Jack was leaving the store with his groceries, he had put the near-encounter with Layla out of his mind and moved on to a mental list of the tasks he hoped to accomplish that day.  This, of course, made Layla’s unexpected presence in the parking lot all the more unpleasant.

BOOK: What Survives of Us (Colorado Chapters Book 1)
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