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chapter thirty-two

Emily

We enjoyed an incredible dinner of vegetable stew and bread baked over the firepit, and for a brief few hours, the world felt almost normal, if a bit primitive. I’d spoken to Tuck earlier about appreciating the quiet. And the simple but delicious dinner with Tom and Jane and their boys made me realize too how little time I’d made to slow down and enjoy what was now so precious: good food, kind people, a feeling of safety, and later, a warm bed and walls surrounding me.

I’d had all those things, and never really paused to appreciate any of them, so focused on attaining goals that were somewhere beyond where I was in that moment. I would have done anything to snap my fingers and fix the current state of the country, but even if I could, I would take lessons from this experience. It’d only been a week, and I already felt changed in ways I was sure I’d be discovering for a long time to come.

Jane opened a bottle of wine, and we shared it as Tuck and Tom talked, Tom pointing things out here and there around the property. I sighed, the alcohol and the fire making me feel warm and woozy. I looked to my right where I could see their garden off to the side of the house. “Is anything still growing?” I asked.

Jane followed my gaze. “A few things. I brought them inside earlier like Tuck suggested. We also have a cellar of preserved food. If we’re very careful, we can make it until spring.”

Spring. That word opened a small window of hope inside of me. Although…even when the weather turned, how would farms plant and harvest without trucks delivering the supplies they needed to do so? I’d grown up on a farm and knew that as much as the earth provided, we depended on gas to run our equipment, and a hundred other things that came from sources outside our operation.

“Is this farm how you make a living, or did…do you and Tom do other work?”

“Nope, this is our business. We’re considered a specialty farm. We grow pumpkins and horseradish, primarily.”

“Did you grow up on a farm?” I asked.

“No. No, my father was a lawyer, and I grew up in the lap of luxury in Chicago, actually. Tom and I met and married there. But it’s been eighteen years since we moved.”

“You just picked up and left Chicago to start a pumpkin farm?”

“Seems like a strange choice, right?” She laughed, but I didn’t sense any offense. And honestly? It might have seemed like a strange choice last week. But certainly not now.

“But we love it. It’s simple, and most days are slow, but once you live a life like this, you begin to understand how all those things you used to believe were real, just…aren’t. I don’t think we were meant to live in a rat race. How many people spend their lives going to jobs they hate only to barely pay their bills? Coming home to stare at a television set that rots their brain while eating food that makes them sick?”

I thought about that. I didn’t disagree with her. Even if that particular existence, for the time being, wasn’t likely being lived by anyone. Now the Midwest was in survival mode. But I got her point because I hadn’t wanted that life either. I never had. I had wanted more than that. I wanted to be rich and famous and adored by millions. I wanted to eat organic produce and grass-fed animals. Who didn’t, if they had the choice? Who wanted to worry about bills or money or losing their property the way my parents were?

And I could see wanting to be surrounded by the great outdoors. I liked nature. I’d grown up in one of the most beautiful places in the country, natural beauty all around.

“What did you do before this?” I asked. We were skating around the fact that the world was changing drastically, but honestly, I needed a few moments—at least that—to pretend that life was somewhat normal. We’d been stranded. We were on a road trip and depending on the kindness of strangers tonight for a meal and a roof over our heads.

“I was a corporate executive, and Tom worked in finance.”

“Wow. You really did live the rat race.”

“Oh, we were deeply entrenched in the rat race. We were rich by most standards. Young and fashionable. We were invited to all the right parties. We wore all the best brands. And we were miserable, numbed out on pills, and on the verge of divorce.”

“So, you decided to give it all up and move out here in the hopes of saving your marriage?”

“In a nutshell. It wasn’t just our marriage that needed saving though. It was we as individuals. We had everything society had told us would make us happy, and yet we were miserable. Why? What were we missing? We needed to figure it out. And then I listened to this radio show about a couple who moved to Maine and bought a blueberry farm, and they seemed so happy. At peace in a way I’d never known anyone to be. The next day, I looked up farms for sale and this one was listed by an older couple with no children who had decided to retire and downsize. Pumpkins, I thought. Pumpkins it is.”

“Just like that?”

She smiled. “If you understood the depth of my misery, you would understand the lack of fear. The decision was made in desperation, but it’s been the best thing we ever did.”

I took that in, not as surprised as I might have been had I heard the same story a few weeks ago, especially in light of what I’d been thinking about regarding happiness and gratitude and taking simple pleasures for granted.

Jane and I were both quiet for a few minutes as we sipped our wine. I stared at Tuck, deep in conversation with Tom as they now stood nearby, Tom pointing into the distance. Tuck wavered through the flames, his shifting form somehow making him all the more beautiful.

“He’s very handsome,” Jane said. I glanced at her to see her eyes on Tuck right before she gave me a smile.

“We grew up together,” I said, turning my gaze back to him. Funny how his form was still familiar to me even though he’d grown from a teen to a man in the time we’d been apart. He still had that particular stance though, and he still cocked his head just so when he was focusing on something. Or someone. “I used to watch him through windows like this when I was a little girl.” I’d had such a deep crush on him.

“You’re a beautiful couple.”

“Oh. No. No. We’re just…friends,” I settled on. Was that the right description of our relationship? Yes, yes, I thought so. We’d grown closer in the past few days, an understanding developing between us, forgiveness being sought by both.

“Oh. Really?” She frowned. “I didn’t get that impression. You seem…close. He watches you constantly.” As if he knew we were talking about him, or to prove Jane right, Tuck glanced over, his eyes finding mine.

“Tuck and I are complicated.”

She took a drink of wine. “Situations like the one we’re in tend to clarify things rather quickly.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “Maybe. Or maybe things just get more muddled.” I took a sip of wine as well and looked back over at Tuck, the fire crackling between us making him seem like nothing more than a memory. “You know how you think that if your childhood crush showed up, you’d realize he was just that and nothing more?” I murmured. “And you even think that maybe you had really bad taste back then that has nothing to do with the woman you became?”

Jane smiled. “Yeah. Sure, honey. It’s usually true. I used to have a thing for the Karate Kid. He was it. He was the goal.”

I laughed, but it turned into a sigh. “But then, you see the boy you used to dream about, and even though you’re years older and everything about you has changed, and even though you’re in a town full of the most beautiful people on the planet earth, he still makes you feel the same way you did back then—even more—and part of you hates it so much, and part of you doesn’t at all.”

I glanced over at Jane, but instead of looking sad for me, she was smiling. “I wouldn’t be so quick to hate that. If the way he looks at you is any indication, he feels the very same way.”

I practically stumbled up the stairs behind Tuck an hour later after Jane and I finished every last drop of the bottle of wine. I wasn’t exactly drunk, but I was plenty tipsy. Tuck set the candle Jane had lit for him on the dresser and I fell onto the bed and let out a moan of pleasure. “Beautiful mattress,” I whispered. “I love you.”

Tuck gave me a crooked smile, sitting on the edge of the bed and removing his shoes. Then he placed them by the door and sat down on the floor where I now saw he’d rolled out his sleeping bag. I came up on my elbow. “Tuck, you don’t need to sleep on the floor. There’s plenty of room in this bed.”

“It’s fine, Emily. I’m good down here.”

“Oh shut up. We’ve been walking for a week and sleeping on the ground. I’m not going to not share this bed. If you sleep on the floor, I will too in protest of you giving up a mattress, which is just dumb. No martyrs allowed.”

“I wasn’t being a martyr. I was being polite.”

“You? Polite? Please. Why make such a drastic change to your personality now?”

“Funny.” He still looked a little torn but stood and walked to the bed and sat down. “Are you sure?”

I patted the pillow next to me and scooted over. “Very.”

He lay down, a sigh escaping his lips. We both got under the covers, and I turned his way. The moon was shining in through the open window above us, the candlelight flickering and again, I felt vaguely like I was in a waking dream, the blurriness of the wine only enhancing the sensation. I let my gaze move over the beautiful proportions of his profile. I itched to reach out and run my finger over his brow and nose, down to his chin and jaw, outlining the movement of my gaze. He turned his head and looked at me, our gazes catching and though I felt plenty woozy, I still felt the charge that sparked in the air.

I got the sense that his muscles had tightened slightly but couldn’t say how I knew. A subtle shift maybe, or something else I was too tipsy to distinguish. What I did know was that the almost indiscernible movement of his body made my own respond. My nipples pebbled and a distant throbbing took up in my blood, made heavy and slow by the alcohol.

He blinked as if suddenly taken off guard, and then tipped his head back to look up at the moon. I did too, only able to see half of it from where we lay. “It seems like it’s peeking in at us,” I whispered.

He let out a soft chuckle and I smiled sleepily, my eyes al ready half-closed. The bed was so warm and comfortable and there was a roof and walls protecting us from harm. Tuck and I were so close, and I could smell the scent of his skin, making me feel equally comforted and excited. Candlelight flickered, and oh, how I wished I could stay in the moment for longer than a single night. Clouds floated past the moon, dimming its light, and I stared up at it again feeling a moment of uncertainty as if the laws of nature had changed and the moonlight might blink out like the rest of the world.

“The whole world feels different,” I whispered, my words slurring. “Not just the power, but everything seems so uncertain.” I lifted my arm and waved it toward the window. “I mean the planet itself. It’s like whatever catastrophe shut everything down also made the earth unstable. You know like it might just start crumbling all around us.” And it made me want to reach for him, to grab on and hold tight. Because I had this feeling that even if the world crumbled, somehow Tuck would figure out a way to survive. The comfort I’d just felt took on a shade of fear, and I scooted closer to him.

He turned toward me, so our faces were only inches apart. “No, Em. Whatever’s going on, the earth will be okay. This planet has survived shifting plates and ice ages, volcanoes, tsunamis. The earth will be fine and so will we.”

“Will we, Tuck?”

“I promised you I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?”

I felt the ghost of a smile hover over my mouth. “Yeah, but even you can’t protect me from everything.”

My words blended together. I couldn’t feel my lips anymore. And the last thing I heard before I drifted off to sleep was, “Watch me.”

Day Nine

I’d woken tangled with Tuck, his breath soft against my temple, and something decidedly hard against my belly. My body had come instantly awake even if my mind was still half-asleep. I’d felt Tuck stir, and I’d known the moment he realized the situation, scooting out of bed so quickly he’d practically fallen off the side. I’d felt momentarily offended, and definitely frustrated, and pretended to keep sleeping until he’d shaken me “awake,” saying we needed to get on the road.

We left the Pritchards before the sun had fully risen, our breath pluming in the chilly morning air. I looked back only once, trying to memorize the place where, for a moment in time, I’d felt safe and welcomed. And I said a silent prayer that their family would be okay.

Around midday, Tuck scored us a bag of almonds from an abandoned car, and we counted them out by the side of the road, Tuck pouring my half into my open palm. I popped one in my mouth, moaning as I chewed. Tuck’s eyes lowered slightly and then he looked away. He’d been quiet for much of the day so far, and perhaps a little tense. It was fine. I had a lot on my mind too, and I lost myself in the music in my head, melodies and lyrics flowing through me like a waterfall. Part of me wished I had something—anything—to write them down on, but another part knew that I wouldn’t forget. These weren’t fleeting notes that I was trying desperately to catch. These songs were already deeply ingrained as if they’d existed inside me all along, and it’d only taken a worldwide catastrophe and a multistate walk to jar them loose.

Plus, the slight hangover I had didn’t exactly make me feel chatty. As much as taking the edge off my current circumstances had felt good in the moment, I decided I wasn’t going to drink my way through this.

We finished the almonds and drank some water and started walking again. Hours later, the sun drifting low, Tuck stopped and held the map up, swearing softly.

“Please don’t tell me we’re lost,” I said, looking around. We’d walked through a small town earlier and then into a park that had dog-walking paths and bike trails. But it seemed that we’d suddenly found ourselves in a stretch of woods that I’d hoped would let out onto a main road, but as of yet, had not. I put my hand on my forehead. “Oh my God, you got us lost.”

Tuck turned toward me, jaw tight. “Emily, do you want to lead the way? Maybe you could do a better job.”

“Maybe I could,” I bit back. I was hungry and thirsty, and I just wanted to lie down in a cozy bed again and instead I was tromping through some muddy woods. And I’d woken up pressed against Tuck and wanting him to kiss me so badly I still ached with it. And he hadn’t spared me more than a few words over the course of an entire day. And to add insult to injury, now he’d gotten us lost. Wonderful.

He turned, focusing his full attention on me. “Yes, you probably could,” he said. “Hell, if you don’t need me anymore, then maybe we should part ways.”

“It’s probably for the best,” I shot back, even if the very idea of parting from Tuck practically turned my insides to water. We came together, the heat of our sudden fight drawing me, and seeming to do the same to him.

He turned his head slightly, shutting one eye as though in consideration. “Then again, you have something I want and so I’m not going to let you go quite yet.”

Our breath mingled, bodies so close I could feel his heat. I wanted to be tangled with him again. I wanted to feel his hardness pressed against my stomach. And I wanted him to want me with the same white-hot intensity.

“I do?” I asked breathily.

He brought his face close to mine and then leaned toward my ear. “I want that almond you saved in your pocket.” He drew back and then his face blossomed in a grin, and though I was hyped up on anger and sexual frustration, I couldn’t help bursting out in laughter.

I pushed him away and dug the almond from my pocket. “Never,” I said, beginning to bring it to my mouth, my tongue extended. But he caught my wrist, and I let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a scream as he spun me around, fake fighting for the singular almond.

“Give it here,” he said, and I laughed again, tripping over something on the forest floor and flailing backward, landing on the soft backpack I was wearing and wheezing out another laugh.

“Never!” I repeated, attempting to bring the almond to my mouth again. Tuck lowered himself on top of me and grabbed my wrist, halting the almond near my mouth. We wrestled, fighting for the almond as I laughed and squirmed, the grin on Tuck’s face wolfish with excitement.

He pinned my arm and went toward the almond with his mouth as I laughed and struggled, both of us panting and writhing in ways that were dialing my sexual frustration up to a hundred. But I couldn’t deny that I loved it. Fighting with Tuck had always been thrilling, and apparently, I’d never grown out of it. And, if his flushed face and rapid breathing were any indication, he felt the same way. He bit off the almond and I let out a gasp of outrage before he brought his face up, the piece of almond between his straight white teeth. I lifted my hand, realizing he’d split it in half.

“Humph,” I said, and popped the other half in my mouth, both of us chewing and smiling stupidly at each other. “Consider that your payment for helping me get home,” I muttered.

“Paid in full,” he said. Then he chuckled and got off me and held out his hand to help me up.

“Good, now get us out of—” I spotted something over his shoulder. “Oh my gosh, Tuck, look.”

He turned, peering at the spot where I’d pointed. “A tree house.”

I moved around him, hopping over a rotting trunk and rounding a feathery fir, its branches tickling my cheek as I passed. The ladder looked sturdy and didn’t wobble when I shook it, and so I looked over my shoulder at Tuck who had arrived on my heels. “I’m going up.”

“Careful,” he said.

I quickly climbed the ladder, and then crawled into the small space that was a platform surrounded by four short walls that you could hide behind or look over. Just beyond, I could see a row of roofs, proving we weren’t so lost after all.

A cardboard box sat near the corner, and I moved toward it as I heard the sound of Tuck ascending behind me. I looked inside the box and let out a sound of glee.

“What is it?” Tuck asked.

I pulled one of the items out of the box and held it up. “Crackers,” I said and then removed a couple more things. “Spray cheese,” I squeaked, close to crying with joy. “And marshmallows. Beautiful, glorious marshmallows.”