Chapter 13
When the asteroid hit, the impact was so devastating that the initial shock wave wiped out Germany and most of the countries surrounding it.
That alone would have led to social collapse since the mass exodus out of Europe in the month or two beforehand threw every other part of the developed world into chaos.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the asteroid also sent up catastrophic amounts of dust and ash into the atmosphere, which blocked much of the sunlight for years afterward, leading to famine and widespread lung disease that killed as many as the initial impact did.
My mother was a child during the Fall. For my entire childhood, she had a chronic cough that got better or worse depending on the weather and how often we needed to use the woodstove.
It’s the same lung disease that’s killing her now.
I’m not really sad. Definitely not shocked or surprised. But I’m hit with a heavy reluctance as I walk into the house.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to do this.
Ben is right beside me, and he moves his hand to my back again. He doesn’t appear aware of the gesture, but it’s implicitly supportive. Comforting.
Looking down the hall toward an open bedroom door, I take a deep breath. Summon my will.
“You want me to go in with you?” he asks, leaning down to murmur into my ear.
I shake my head. “No. I’ll be okay.”
“Then I’m gonna walk the perimeter. This is obviously real. It’s not a setup. But I wanna make sure no one approaches.”
“That’s a good idea. Thank you.” I’m not sure why, but my hand lifts and my fingertips brush lightly against his stubbly beard.
I drop my hand quickly, and Ben heads back outside.
Teresa is across the room, but she’s been watching. When Ben leaves, she comes over and asks softly, “So you’re together now?”
“We’ve been together for years.” I’m not being defensive. For a moment, I genuinely don’t understand her question.
“I mean… together. A couple.”
“Oh. Sorry. No, we’re not a couple. I mean…”
I have no clue what I mean.
Teresa’s eyes are sympathetic. Incredibly kind. She’s always had a soft heart and deep empathy. More than me. More than anyone I’ve ever met. “But something has changed?”
I swallow. “Yes. Something has changed. I don’t know what yet.”
“Okay. Now’s not the best time to work it all out.”
“No. I guess it’s not. How… how are things with you?”
“We’re good. Really good. Happy.”
Despite the exhausted weight on her face, I believe her. Her life is good. Her life is what she always wanted it to be.
“Anything new with Lorraine or Aria?” My mouth quivers in slightly bitter humor. Lorraine was our stepmother, and Aria our stepsister. They made both of our lives miserable, but I left home sooner than Teresa did.
“Oh.” A glint awakens in her blue eyes. “Big news. Aria got married. To Franklin, the administrator’s clerk.”
My eyes widen. “But isn’t he—”
“Old. And pompous. And fond of giving lectures. But the two of them couldn’t keep up their market stall once I stopped doing all the scavenging for them, so Aria needed to accept a proposal.
I guess his was their best choice. Lorraine couldn’t keep up her house on her own, so she moved in with them.
“Oh. Oh my.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like to be a petty person, but if anyone deserves that unpleasant situation…”
“It’s definitely them.”
We share a brief smile, connected by understanding and amusement and a lifetime together.
But then reality returns like a smothering blanket.
“You ready to go see her?” Teresa asks softly.
I’m not ready. But I’ll never be ready, so I might as well get it over with.
She looks old.
So much older than I expected.
They say that, before the Fall, it was common for people to live into their seventies, eighties, and even nineties, but no one does anymore. Growing up, Old Henderson was always the oldest person in our village by almost a decade before he even turned seventy.
It’s not that people don’t get gray hair and wrinkles now, but most of them die before those are the dominant features of their appearance.
Mother is only in her early fifties, but she looks old and frail—ancient—in the big bed. Her hair is almost entirely gray, and her shriveled face is unrecognizable from the strong, rosy-cheeked woman she used to be.
My heart drops into my gut and keeps dropping. I take quiet steps into the room until I reach the chair beside the bed, and then I sink into it.
Her eyes are closed, and her breathing wheezes loudly. I assume maybe she’s asleep.
Teresa is standing in the doorway, her face twisting briefly until she manages to smile at me. She mouths, “Come get me if you need me,” before she disappears down the hall.
So now I’m alone with our mother. I just sit there.
What else can I do?
I sit for a long time—maybe it’s not long, but it feels that way—until she starts coughing.
It’s a hoarse, choked, painful hacking, and the spasms rattle her entire body.
She reaches a hand out blindly. When I notice a glass of water on the side table, I grab it and hold it to her mouth. She tries to take it out of my hand as she gets a couple of swallows down, and she ends up slopping it down her chin and neck.
There’s a hand towel on the table too, so I use it to pat at the moisture.
She makes a disgusted face and swats me away. She lies limply and wheezes until she recovers from the coughing fit. Then she finally raises her eyelids into a squint and peers up at me.
“Oh,” she rasps after several seconds. “It’s you.”
“It’s me.”
“Where’s the other one?”
The other one.
I have heard and witnessed that, near death, the mind stops functioning like normal.
Words and names and habits as familiar as our own reflections start drifting down into a dark void.
Even personalities can change. The kindest of souls might get angry and bitter. The strongest of wills might give up.
But that’s not what this is.
I honestly believe that Teresa and I have always been no more than that one and the other one to her.
“Teresa is resting. I can get you whatever you need.”
“You can’t make it up to me right at the end.”
I should simply ignore this. No good can come from having this conversation right now. But restraint has never been my instinct or my habit. “Make what up to you?”
“Dis—” She’s wracked by another coughing fit. It goes on a long time before she finally finishes. “Disloyalty.”
My spine stiffens. I should hold it back. I should shut up. If Ben or Teresa were here right now, their presence would give me the strength to do so. But all I can do is keep my voice mild as I say, “You’re the one who left us.”
“You know—” More coughing. “You know why. At least Teresa got herself an impressive man and prosperous life that’s a credit to… to me. You gave yours up for nothing.”
I bite my lip as she coughs some more.
“You… you’re no better than your father. Putting all of us in danger with your foolish whims. You’re a disgrace. A disgrace! You’re not my… my daughter.”
My hands shake. I twist my fingers together to hold them still. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
Her face contorts until it’s ugly. “What did I ever do to deserve this? Abandoned by my family and stuck with only you at the end?”
Well.
Isn’t that a lovely thing for her to say?
Why did I even bother coming?
I have a flicker of instinct to lash out, to turn the knife, to make her hear how terrible a person and mother she’s been, to tell her she’s getting more than she deserves by my presence here.
But that feels mean and petty, and I don’t want to be that kind of person. All that’s left here is me—who I am—since this woman will never change.
And the person I am matters to me, even in this.
“Let me know if you need more water or anything. I’ll be here.”
Mother dies in the middle of the night.
There’s no climax. No final resolution or moment of bonding at the end.
She starts coughing. It continues. Then she can’t stop.
And somewhere in the middle of the hacking spell, she stops breathing and never starts again.
Teresa and I are both in the room with her—a grace she doesn’t deserve but we give her anyway.
Maybe it means something to her in her final moments. Probably not.
But Teresa is a good person, and I’ve always tried to be one too. So while the new family she thought would keep her safe and secure abandoned her when she needed them most, Teresa and I are still here.
It’s a relief when it’s over. Teresa is crying, but I don’t think it’s from grief. It’s a kind of emotional closure for her, and she’s always processed her emotions through tears.
I never have. My eyes are dry, and so is my throat.
I’m incredibly glad it’s over.
“I’ll get the village medic to come in the morning,” Teresa says, standing up with a wince, as if her back is sore. She’s got her youngest in her arms, a healthy, round-faced baby girl who is currently sound asleep.
“Okay. How are you planning to get back home?”
“I’ll send a message to Mason. We got an old motor a few years ago, and he’ll come pick up me, Bill, and Rayna.”
“Oh, that’s great. I guess Ben and I better leave in the morning, unless you need us to help with anything.
I wish we could come visit, but it’s a precarious time.
We’ve gotten attention, and it’s been risky enough to come here.
I don’t think we should even get a ride from you just in case someone notices.
There’s no way I’m going to put you and your family in danger. ”
“I know. I agree. We’ll find another time to visit.” She moves Rayna into one arm so she can hug me. “Thank you for being here.”
“It was mostly for you.”
“I know it was. That’s why I’m thanking you.”
Ben has been outside with Bill, both of them guarding the perimeter as obsessively as a pair of watchdogs, so I go out to find him and drag him inside to rest for at least a few hours.
We’ll need to leave at dawn, but even a short sleep is better than nothing.