Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
VIRGIL
“ E w,” Helen says, face twisting.
Luke frowns, pressing a hardened, crusty marshmallow between his chubby fingers.
“Are we supposed to eat that?” his sister asks, scrunching her nose and reminding me enough of Bryson that it puts an ache in my chest.
“No telling how long I’ve had those,” I admit. “Sugar’s gone back to grain.”
Luke shoves one in his mouth anyway, then freezes, face like a Cheshire cat as he crunches. Alarm fills his eyes, then something like pleasure. “They’re not bad once they soften up. Try one, sis.”
Helen’s gaze shifts skeptically toward the white crystalline mound of white. Reluctantly, she reaches out, grabbing one and chewing before her face relaxes. “Yeah, not as bad as I thought they’d be.”
The cabin goes quiet after that except for the sound of crunching and the crackle of the fire.
“You should help your mother,” I say, looking around, then gesturing. “Put things where they should go. Give her a break.” I motion toward piles of empty cereal boxes, kids magazines, and stuffed animals.
“No,” Clara says from behind us, startling me again.
“You have a way of doing that,” I say without thinking, running a hand through my hair.
“Of doing what?” Her forehead creases.
“Of catching me offguard.”
She shrugs. “Just wanted to make sure these two weren’t causing you too much trouble.”
“None at all. I’m talking them into helping around the place a little more. Maybe cleaning up after themselves.”
“Not yet. Leave it.” It comes out strangled. Our eyes meet. She shakes her head. “I know it sounds silly. But no more change. Nothing yet.” Her eyes go to the coffee table where an empty mug sits, a black film of coffee still staining the bottom. “His,” she says.
I nod once.
She looks down at her hands, twirling her wedding band around her finger. “I just never—” her voice cracks.
“I get it,” I say quietly. Not because I think I do, but because she’s dangerously close to breaking down again. Something I sense Luke and Helen need a break from. Even if it’s only momentary.
“Oh, Luke,” she scolds suddenly, staring past me. “How many of those marshmallows have you eaten?”
I clap a hand over my mouth, fighting the chuckle that wants to break through despite everything. The kid’s cheeks are puffed out like a chipmunk storing food for winter.
Helen shoves another in her mouth before meeting her mother’s glare.
“That’s enough for tonight. You two are going to be bouncing off the walls with sugar.” She shakes her head.
Guilt hits me in a wave. “Sorry,” I apologize. “Didn’t think about it like that.”
“You’re fine,” she says, but her voice and eyes are both far away. Like she’s gone again. I hear her soft footfalls retreat down the hallway before her bedroom door clicks shut.
I grab the bag of marshmallows, turning down the open edge of the bag and putting it in the back of a too-tall kitchen cabinet. At least too tall for kids.
That should do it.
When I turn, Helen asks, “What next?”
“What do you mean, what next?” I grumble.
She bites her bottom lip, looking toward the window and the black night outside. “Papa used to always tell us scary stories after dinner?—”
“Or we’d play games,” Luke chimes in.
“Games,” I frown, searching my mind. “Pretty sure I have a stack of playing cards somewhere back at my place. You have any?”
But Luke’s already halfway down the hallway to his room. “ Hungry Hungry Hippos and Don’t Break the Ice ,” he hollers.
Helen shakes her head, whispering to me, “He always wants to play those.” Then toward the hallway she adds, “What about Old Maid or Chutes and Ladders? ”
“No,” Luke shouts, and I can hear a brawl forming.
Before I can think better of it, I chime in with a deal. “How about one of each?” I immediately regret the grumpy question.
Great.
There goes another evening of peace and quiet.
Still don’t know how you did it, Bryson.
By the time I leave, laughter warms the cabin again. Luke and Helen have tied twice, and a weird sort of peace has settled over the valley.
Despite everything.
When I close my eyes, I can still see the gold of the candles at his vigil… how they flickered over Clara’s face, a portrait of devastation.
Like I do every evening, I put in a sat phone call to Roscoe and Ginger to see how the electricity’s moving up the valley and to find out about the rest of the community’s repairs.
“Should hear from them no later than week’s end,” the Ranger grumbles, one of the only people I know grumpier than me. “How are Bryson’s wife and kids holding up? You keeping an eye on them?”
“Yeah,” I say, trying not to make it a thing. “They’re fine. Just shell-shocked still, like you’d imagine. Maybe torn up about the inevitable, too.”
“The inevitable?” he asks.
“Yep. Deciding to leave. Putting this world behind them for good.”
“You think that’s what they’ll decide?” he asks.
“Have to,” I grunt. “Winter’ll be here before they know it. ‘Sides, what do they have to stay for?”
“Tough decision,” he says.
“Right one,” I answer.
“Glad you can be there for them in the interim.”
“It’s the least I can do,” I say, hand coming up to rub reflexively over my heart. “For a tried and true friend.”
“Uh-huh,” he grumbles.
“Though stupid or unlucky or whatever you want to call it,” I add ruefully, voice drifting off. This would all be so much easier if he hadn’t gotten swept away.
In the background, I hear a female voice. Then Ginger takes the phone, clearing her throat. “Virgil?”
“Hi, doll, how are you?” I ask, voice softening.
“I’ve just been wondering about what will happen to Luke and Helen when school starts in a couple of weeks. Do you know if they’re registered?”
I stab my fingers in my hair, scowling. “No clue. Never even thought of it.”
“Well,” she says, voice wandering off for a moment. “I know Clara and Bryson wanted to homeschool them and had been doing so with Helen. But under the circumstances… do you think she’s up for that?”
No more change . Clara’s words run through my head. “Don’t know if she’s ready for that discussion yet.”
“Yeah,” she says, pausing for a long moment. “I just feel like it might be good for them to get out, get away from the cabin and everything that happened. And it might give Clara some time for healing, too.”
“Maybe.” All I know is I’m the last person in the world who should broach this subject with her. I can tell she already thinks I’ve butted into her life too much. “Not sure how feasible it is until that road’s fixed.”
“Should be any day now,” she says. “If it helps, when it’s passable again, Roscoe and I will stop by to chat with her. Luke should be entering kindergarten this year and Helen third grade.”
“So, you’d be his teacher?” I ask.
“Not until next year, but I could keep an eye on him and Helen. Make sure they adjust okay.”
“Gonna leave that up to you,” I say.
“Just a thought. Trying to find ways to help and to support her.”
“We all are,” I mutter, another flash of anger hitting me. If only Bryson had checked the weather report. Heeded the warning. For God’s sake, it would have changed everything.