The System #2 (32 page)

“Thank you, generator,” she said. “Let there be light!”

“Have a seat,” Ethan instructed and he pointed to a white upholstered chair at the table. She sat and folded her hands in her lap. Ethan rolled over across from her and picked up a lighter, leaned over and lit a series of candles in the middle of the table. The flames danced and licked at the air.

“You should have been a producer on those dating shows that all my friends used to watch,” Ainsley said. “You’ve got a knack for ambiance.”

“New reality show. Post-apocalyptic dates.
The end is just the beginning.
” Ethan replied as he waved his hand over the tablescape; complete with cut flowers and fine china. With the entire neighborhood at their disposal, they had spared no expense. The empty houses were always the best ones to steal from—it still felt wrong to take something from somebody when their body was in the next room. Ethan hadn’t done any of the actual procuring, but he’d directed well from his wheelchair. And it gave him something to focus on, something to temporarily numb him from the increasing fogginess.
 

Ainsley picked at the corner of the tablecloth. “What about…
Not if You Were The Last Man on Earth: When Dating Meets Doom
.”

“That’s a good one,” Ethan said.

“
Love is a Battlefield
.”

“In our case, love is just a barren wasteland of dead bodies.”

“We really should have capitalized on this idea sooner,” Ainsley added.

They were interrupted by their waiter.

Darla had dressed Teddy in a cute white jacket and a black bowtie. He ambled up to the table and held his head up high. Then he spun and shouted back up to the porch, “What was I supposed to say?”

Ethan and Ainsley turned to see Darla and Doctor Krause standing in the shadows; the Christmas lights sprinkling them with dim light.

Teddy rushed back and Darla crouched down and whispered in his ear. Then the child scampered back and cleared his throat. “Good evening. I am your server. May I start you with a glass of juice?”

“Juice?” Ethan scoffed. He looked across to Ainsley, “I’m sorry. I heard good things about this place…I didn’t know it was a dry restaurant.”

“Doctor’s orders,” Doctor Krause called from the porch.

“Are we seriously going to have an audience all evening? I feel like I’m participating in dinner theater and I’m the entertainment,” Ainsley called to her mother with a withering look.

Doctor Krause put up her hands in surrender and disappeared back inside.

Teddy looked back and forth between Ainsley and Ethan. “Juice?” he asked again. And the duo nodded at him and he ran back up to Darla. “They want the juice, Mom!” Darla handed him two cups and he tiptoed back, watching the dark liquid closely, careful not to spill. They took their drinks and Teddy rushed back.
 

“I did it, Mom!” he screamed, with unbridled giddy excitement.

Ethan raised his juice and leaned forward. “To surviving. To doing things that feel normal. To fake dates and nights that make us forget that we have to start all over again in this world tomorrow morning.”

Ainsley cleared her throat, “To midget waiters.”

They toasted, clinking their glasses together.

“Tell me about your best date,” Ethan said as he sipped the juice. He swallowed it down, wishing it were something harder. He’d been inspired by everyone else’s stories and it seemed like a good icebreaker.

Ainsley stared at him. “A real date?”

“Yeah. Tell me I’m doing okay with this…”

“Sure, I mean,” she looked down and tapped her fingers against her glass. “I’ve never really…I had a boyfriend in high school. Do dates with him count?”

“Of course.”

“Glow in the dark mini-golf?”

“That was your best date?” Ethan asked.

“We toilet-papered his ex-girlfriend’s house once. That was fun,” she said with a sly smile.
 

“So, he was a romantic?” Ethan laughed.

Ainsley laughed; she tilted her head and flashed her wide-mouth, full of white, straight teeth. “He was fine. Nice. Attentive. Even our breakup was boring.” She took a sip of her juice. “I’ve wondered about him…where he was…when the virus hit.”

“New rule,” Ethan said, putting his glass down on the table. “No virus talk.”

“Even your toast—”

Ethan reached out and touched Ainsley’s wrist from across the table. “
New
rule.”

They watched as Teddy approached the table. “Your dinner is served,” he said and then he turned to Darla and beamed. Teddy ran back to his mom, who handed him white bowls, and the child delivered them, struggling to lift them to the table. Liquid splashed the tablecloth. Ethan bent down and sniffed at the red and brown mixture.

“Excuse me, waiter?” Ethan asked and Teddy stopped and smiled. “What are we having for dinner tonight?”

“MOM!” Teddy yelled to Darla. Then he lowered his voice to a loud whisper, “What are they eating?”

“Taco soup,” Darla answered and she wandered to the table. “Canned tomatoes. Black beans. Kidney beans. Pork and beans. Corn. Taco seasoning. Dinner of champions. Pantry soup. You complaining to the management?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Good sell,” Ainsley said and she dipped her spoon in and brought it back up, watching the red liquid run down the silver.

“Three different kinds of beans. On a date,” Ethan added and he nodded to Darla. “Thanks, Mom.”

She smiled. “Fake date. And hey…the butcher was fresh out of steak. I thought I was being fancy.”

“You’re dismissed,” Ethan said and he waved his hand.

“Jeez,” Darla said under her breath and she rolled her eyes. “The peons and I are going to have our soup inside.”

Ethan turned and watched as everyone crowded inside. Dean stopped to pressed play on an old stereo, which was also hooked up to the generator. One of his dad’s old Frank Sinatra CDs started playing and Ethan smiled softly. He remembered his father playing Sinatra in his den on quiet summer nights; during the rare times he’d allow himself a cigar. Something in the music wiggled into him. The punctuated rhythms of the horns, and the swooping strings, and Old Blue Eye’s lyrics dripping with romance—Ethan didn’t want to be lonely.

He didn’t want the world to feel so empty.
 

Darla set down a bowl of soup in front of Dean. He bowed toward the warm liquid and inhaled; when he came back up, he was beaming.

“A warm meal,” he said. “Makes the running around for this silly little thing worth it.”

“You’re welcome,” Darla answered. Teddy rushed through, his bowtie askew, heading for the screen door. “Where are you going, young man?” she asked and her child halted in his steps.

“To eat with Ethan,” Teddy answered.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Darla snapped her fingers. “The waiter eats inside. Go on. Get. Leave them alone.” Teddy slumped his shoulders and retreated to the den, where his toys awaited him. Peering out of the dining room window, Darla spied outside, with the shades drawn, she and Dean had a perfect view of the glowing backyard and the young couple slurping their soup and engaging in cheerful banter. Ethan and Ainsley both smiled—an act that seemed rare compared to the duo’s grumpy way through life.

“To be young,” Dean replied, catching Darla’s gaze and turning over his shoulder to look outside. He turned back to her and grinned, “You want a beer with your soup?”

“Cold?” Darla asked with incredulity.

He nodded. “Lukewarm. I hooked the mini-fridge up to the generator and ran an extension cord into the kitchen.” He hopped up and returned a few seconds later with a barely cold beer can.

“Not much of a beer drinker,” Darla started, but she cracked open the top, “but I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“Ethan shouldn’t have all the luxuries tonight, right?” Dean said and he tipped his can against hers.

“I’m impressed,” Darla said, sipping her soup slowly. “You’re a good sport, with all of this.” Someone outside said something funny, and the laughter carried inside. “I figured you to be aloof. You know, withdrawn.”

“Don’t lump me in with your other middle-aged houseguest,” Dean replied and he set his drink down with a smack. “I have no ill-will. Just trying to live, you know? Hoping to reunite with Grant…”

It was the first time Dean had really mentioned his son. She paused, debating about pressing further. She was reassured to hear him say his son’s name. Grant had been a kind kid, in the short time she spent with him, and she’d been fond of him—he was polite, eager to help.

“The morning they took off in the balloon…” Darla started, unsure of herself. She watched Dean’s face, looking for a reason to just shut up and leave it be, but he waited and watched for her to continue. “Didn’t you hear it? The fan?”

“I’m not proud of it,” Dean answered. “I was self-medicating. Look, I thought Grant was dead…first my wife, then my son. I was a mess. And I was afraid, you see. What kind of life is left when everyone you love is gone?”

“None. No blame there.”

“Thinking I lost Grant messed me up. When I saw the balloon…I don’t know,” Dean ran his hand through his hair, and he sighed. “He didn’t come in, you know? Didn’t check. We both thought we were the only ones left. I figured…this is what letting him go feels like. It’s numbing.”

“I can’t imagine losing Teddy,” Darla shuddered. She closed her eyes and the images of Grace, her love, her life, and that moment in the airport when she realized she was losing her forever, danced before her. It didn’t feel like she was gone. It felt like she was away, on vacation. Everything about their lives had been so disrupted it was easy to pretend that in a few short days she and Teddy would pack up, head back to Southern California, and everything would be as it was.

“I had time to prepare for my wife’s death. I can’t decide which is worse…to know or not to know.”

“Does it really matter?” Darla asked him and she pushed her bowl of soup away. She was no longer hungry.

“No,” Dean answered. He tapped his fingers against the can. “No.” He sniffed. “Loss is loss.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Darla replied and she leaned back in the dining room chair. A breeze blew in through the kitchen. The CD Dean had plopped into the player carried a song into them—something soft and romantic, something that didn’t match her feelings. She listened to Teddy in the den, his imagination taking him to far off lands. She couldn’t wait for the next part of Ethan’s evening; she couldn’t wait for something to feel normal.
 

They ate their soup with occasional lulls in speaking; the music filled in the silences. Then Ethan stopped, mid-bite, and looked up. The twinkle lights in the trees caught Ainsley in a perfect glow—her hair falling into her right eye. She looked up and caught his glance, and she slowly she tucked her hair behind her ear and narrowed her eyes.

“You’re staring,” Ainsley replied and she slurped a noisy bite of soup off of her spoon. It was an exaggerated unladylike action. He knew she meant it as a warning. “Seriously. Stop.”

Ethan put his own spoon down. And he blurted before he could help himself, “You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

“No,” Ethan said and he shook his head. “You really are.”

“Beautiful is not a word that boys like
you
say to girls like me. Unless we’re the only ones around, right?” She took another bite and rolled her eyes.
 

“Hey now,” Ethan grumbled. He put down his spoon and looked at her. “It’s not like that.” It wasn’t. “And what do you mean boys like me?”

“Boys. Like you. With girlfriends and charm.”

“You think I’m charming?” Ethan asked and he pointed a finger at his own chest. Then he laughed straight up to the sky. “Funny, Ainsley. Real funny.”

“Okay,” she said simply. And then she sat back and looked at him. “I am beginning to feel like this is just some big joke to you.”

Ethan looked crushed. He opened his mouth to say something, but he felt a stab in his stomach and a pain travel across his chest. Buckling over, he slapped his hand over his mid-section and let out an involuntary gasp. Spots traveled into his sight and he tried to blink them away. In an instant, Ainsley was on her feet. She rushed over to him and spun his chair away from the table; kneeling down he put her hand against his forehead.

“You’re hot,” she said.

Ethan raised his head. His skin went clammy and he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. “Shut up,” he said back.
 

“You are burning up,” she reworded. “You’re the worst patient. You can’t decide if you want to yell at me or hit on me.”

The pain subsided and Ethan slowly sat back up. “Probably just the beans,” he said and he took a deep breath. “Sit down. Finish eating.”

“It could be anything. A heart attack, blockage…”

“Really, I feel better. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. I should get my mom—”

“No!” Ethan snapped and he grabbed Ainsley’s arm. She looked at him to his hands and he released her. “Please? I want to finish this. I want to enjoy the rest of this night. It matters to me.”

They paused and the music played in the background: The soft undertones of saxophone, the crooner singing smoothly.

“I’m worried about you,” Ainsley said in a soft voice. “Do you see how everyone worked their tails off today to make this happen? That’s because they’re worried too.”

“I thought it was because they believed in true love.”

“Ethan—”

He lowered his head. “The joking is just because…” he paused and looked back up. “How else am I supposed to go on like this? With everyone waiting around for me to die?”

Ainsley didn’t say a word.

“Are you done with dinner?” he asked, changing the subject, and he struggled to sit up. Once he was upright, he took a large breath and gave her an A-okay sign.

She nodded. “Yes. And I’m done with the juice too. Let’s go in. You lay down. Thanks for dinner.” She made a move to leave, but he stopped her.

“That’s not it,” he said. “What a lame date. Music and taco soup.”

She bowed her head and took a deep breath. When she raised her head, her eyes were pleading, worried. “Here’s the thing, Ethan. I like you. I believe in you. And I want you to live, dammit. This scares me. You’re not well.”