Chapter Eleven
Jim Livingston had spent another restless night, sleeping in fits and starts. Not being able to sleep annoyed him but out
of habit he rolled over easy, hoping not to wake Mary Alice. He’d had trouble sleeping since the sun storm had knocked out
the power, but she hadn’t missed even one night’s sleep. She’d always been that way, sleeping through thunderstorms and worrisome
times of their lives. The only time he’d known her to lose sleep was after their son Danny had died. That had led to sleepless
nights, and a lot of heartbreak, for both of them. He’d gone off by himself to cry so he wouldn’t upset Mary Alice, but she
always seemed to know anyway, and would hug him extra hard when he returned.
That was what kids did: they took a piece of your heart when they were born, and you never got it back. Even now, thirty-odd
years after Danny died, Jim still missed him and mourned him. From time to time he grieved that Danny had never married, never
had kids of his own, but then he’d been just in his twenties when he died. Jim and Mary Alice were alone, no daughter-in-law
and grandchildren to love and spoil and protect, almost all of their families already gone and the ones who weren’t so distant
that he didn’t know their names and wouldn’t recognize them if they came knocking. A lot of their old friends had already
passed, too. Mary Alice keenly felt the lack of people who belonged to her through kin or friendship.
He’d thought a time or two that Danny was the reason Mary Alice had been so drawn to Ben Jernigan. Danny had been in the army,
too. Not that Danny and Jernigan looked anything alike, and though no one seemed to know anything for certain about Jernigan
it was obvious that he was a military man through and through. It was in his walk, those long ground-eating strides, the way
he carried himself, and the “don’t fuck with me” look in his eyes. Both he and Danny had willingly joined the military, were
willing to sacrifice their safety and comfort for others. Danny had made the ultimate sacrifice. Jernigan had survived, but
carried ghosts around with him.
But Mary Alice hadn’t seen any of that, other than maybe sensing that he had a military past. She’d cottoned to him immediately,
like the way she’d invited him to dinner, when they first met. Now, Mary Alice was friendly to a fault, but that was fast
even for her. Look how she’d lit up when he’d stopped by. He suspected if she had her way, she’d have Jernigan moving in with
them. Good thing Jernigan wasn’t likely to want to move in with two old people.
Restlessly Jim changed positions again, his thoughts moving on to what Janet had told them about Carol Allen breaking her
leg yesterday. That was bad, not just that Carol was injured, but she’d been elected community leader and she had a way of
getting people moving. Basically, she bulldozed them. He wondered who’d take her place. Her niece, Sela, was a sweet thing
but never put herself forward; maybe the new leader would be someone else—
Creak.
Jim froze, his thoughts suddenly focused, every muscle tense. If he’d been asleep, he wouldn’t have heard the unusual noise.
If the power had been on—with the heat or air running, the refrigerator humming and occasionally making that noise that Mary
Alice had told him for months needed to be fixed but he’d never gotten around to doing—he wouldn’t have heard it. But the
power wasn’t on, no sound, no light, and he’d definitely heard something. His heart was suddenly pounding as he went on alert.
Moving cautiously, he eased from the bed and reached into the bedside drawer for his pistol and a small flashlight. He crept
around the bed to the bedroom door, turned on the flashlight and pointed the beam down, blocking most of the light with his
fingers. If the house hadn’t been so dark he wouldn’t have needed the light at all, but even so he had an advantage over any
possible intruder, because he’d lived here for over forty years and knew this house like the back of his hand.
As dim as the light was, as quiet as he was being, Mary Alice still woke up and stirred. He immediately said, “Shhh,” hoping
she heard the soft hissing sound and recognized him, hoping whoever was in the house hadn’t heard it and realized they were awake.
He held up his hand toward her, signaling her to stay put, then put his finger to his lips.
She’d never listened all that well, but then, after all these years had he really expected her to do what he said? Hah. She
was quiet, but she slipped out of the bed and positioned herself behind him. When they heard another sound, a creak from down
the hall, she placed her hand gently against his back.
Their bedroom door was open; they lived alone, no reason to close it. In normal times, before the power went off, he’d have
dialed 9-1-1, then closed and locked the door and taken Mary Alice into the bathroom and locked that door, too, to shelter
until the cops arrived. He was eighty years old, and while he owned a pistol he hadn’t shot it more than a handful of times.
He was glad to have it for protection, but—shooting someone? He’d never seriously thought he might have to.
Another sound, a soft click as if a drawer had been eased shut. From the direction of the sound the intruder was in the kitchen.
What food they had was there, of course. He didn’t want to shoot someone who was driven by hunger, but—they didn’t have much,
and they needed what they had. If their food was stolen, they’d have to rely on friends and neighbors, none of whom had a
whole lot themselves. Down the road, any loss could mean the difference between surviving or not.
He’d scare them off, that’s all he’d do. When they realized the house wasn’t empty and that he was armed, they’d run.
His bare feet soundless on the cold tile, he slipped down the short hall, Mary Alice close behind him. Another sound in the
kitchen, like another drawer being opened and closed. Jim thought about calling out, trying to scare away the looter, but
what if whoever that was already had a bag packed and took it with him? What if he came into the narrow hallway with a weapon
of his own? They’d be sitting ducks. So Jim waited until they were in the kitchen doorway before he barked, “Stop right there!”
as he raised the flashlight and shined the beam full into the face of the surprised intruder.
He got the fast, blurred impression of a middle-aged man, no one he knew. He expected a look of shock, expected the guy to
bolt for the back door. Instead the looter spun toward them, reaching down to jerk a pistol from his waistband. But Jim’s
pistol was already in his hand, and Mary Alice was standing right behind him. Knowing he had to protect her wasn’t really
a thought, it was something much faster and more basic than that, something that had him pulling the trigger almost before
he saw the pistol in the intruder’s hand.
The intruder fired, but he hadn’t brought his hand all the way up and around, and the bullet hit the wall to the left. Mary
Alice screamed, and Jim fired again.
The intruder fell, overturning one of the kitchen chairs, knocking over the trash can.
Mary Alice kept screaming, though she slapped both hands over her mouth. Jim turned and put his arms around her. To his surprise
he was shaking like a leaf, worse even than she was, and carefully he reached out to place the pistol on the countertop before
he dropped it. Then he held on to his wife, and they shook together.
Sela had spent the night at Carol’s house, to help take care of her. Barb didn’t need to be going up and down the stairs at
all hours of the night to check on Carol, and if Carol decided to do something stupid—like try to get up by herself—Olivia
wouldn’t be able to stop her. That left Sela to sleep on a pallet on the floor in Carol’s bedroom.
Not that Carol didn’t protest; she did, vociferously and often. Sela said, “If it were me lying there with a broken leg, where
would you be?”
Carol scowled at her. The expression was kind of funny, because Carol was loopy on pain medication and instead of a real scowl
she looked more as if she had just bitten into a crab apple. Sela swallowed a laugh as she turned out the light and tried
to make herself comfortable on the pallet. Her makeshift bed wasn’t terrible; she’d put Carol’s yoga pad down, then a sleeping
bag, then a quilt folded in half lengthwise. She had her pillow. The door was open so the heat from the fireplace could come
through. No, it wouldn’t be a restful night, but she’d get some sleep.
She turned on her side and got comfortable; she was even beginning to doze off when Carol started up again. “I’m perfectly
all right by myself. I know I can’t get up and go to the bathroom. There’s no way you’ll be able to sleep on the floor—”
“I was almost asleep when you started talking again,” Sela said, and followed that with a firm “Hush.”
There was a muted grumble from the bed. Sela listened, and in a few minutes Carol’s breathing had slowed and deepened. Tired
from the stressful day, Sela dozed off. She didn’t get any deep sleep, of course, and three times during the night she got
up to put wood on the fire. Once she had to help Carol to the portable chair toilet they’d placed by her bed. The patient’s
restlessness told her the pain medication was wearing off, so she gave her another pill.
Because she didn’t sleep well, she was up well before dawn, and put the kettle on the fire to make coffee. She got dressed
as quietly as possible, then sat at the table and made notes about getting classes organized for the kids. It occurred to
her that, when Carol could get around better and wasn’t in so much pain, in a few weeks, one of the classes could be held
here. Having something to do would keep her aunt out of trouble, and the kids could help her. It was a win-win.
She had drunk half of her instant coffee when heavy footsteps pounded up the steps. Her heart leaped and she jumped for the
door, before whoever was out there could pound on the door and wake Carol. “Who is it?” she demanded, leaning close to the