Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky (15 page)

“Oh my God,” Ashley says from the doorway. “Look at all this stuff.”

She picks up lotion, sniffs it, and then squirts some on her hands. She rubs them together as she takes in the queen-sized bed with its black and white floral bedspread, the window seat behind white gauzy curtains and the state-of-the-art audio system that sits on built-in shelves below a flat screen TV. The closet has some clothes, probably all that Aubrey didn’t take to college, and Ashley pushes the empty hangers out of the way to see what’s left.

“It’s mostly summer stuff,” she says, and pulls out a black tank top that’s gathered on the sides. “This is nice.”

“Take it,” I say.

“Do we have room?”

“We’ll make room. Find some stuff you want. Think of it as a birthday present.”

Ashley wastes no time in opening the drawers. By the time she’s finished she has two pairs of jeans, three shirts, a couple of lacy bras and underwear. “Can I take the lotion and stuff?”

“Absolutely.”

I sit on the window seat while Ash dumps toiletries into a bag. The corner of an electronic device peeks out from under a pillow. I pull out an e-reader and press the button, thinking it won’t work, but it flashes to life. There have to be fifty or more Young Adult books on this thing. I search until I find the USB cord in the nightstand.

“What’s that?” Ashley asks. I hand it to her and she scans the screen. “Someone liked vampires, huh?”

“Just a little. I can charge it with my solar charger. Do you want it? I might borrow it if I get desperate for a book.”

“I never read the
Twilight
books. I was going to, but my mom said I had to wait and then…you know.”

She spins to survey the darkening room. It’s time to eat, find our sleeping spots and hunker down for the night.

“I think that’s it,” she says. “I wanted something, like, nice to wear, you know? It’s not like I think there’s going to be boys in Alaska or anything. I mean, it’d be nice…”

“I know what you mean.” I wave a hand at myself. “It’s hard to feel pretty in this getup.”

“I always thought you and Ana looked so good.” Ashley gives me a quick glance and continues when I smile at the mention of Ana. “Like tough and hot, you know? That’s why I wanted to do guard so bad.”

“Well, Ana may have felt gorgeous, but all I feel is dirty, bound up in too many layers and tired. And scared.” I turn her to the mirror. “Look. If you saw you, what would you think?”

She takes in her boots and tucked-in jeans, the quilted, fitted jacket that ends just above the knife on her belt. Her hair is in a French braid on both sides, accentuating the curves of her unblemished face with its full lips and rounded nose. She looks like a teenage warrior.

“I’d think I looked pretty cool,” she admits.

“That’s what Colin back in Winnipeg thought.” She smiles at the floor. “And so do I. When we get to Alaska, you’ll have a bath and dress up in your new clothes. Then we’ll go on the prowl for teenage boys. For me, of course.”

She giggles. I help carry her stuff and hope there’s a teenager of any gender in Alaska. A best friend is even better than a boyfriend, but I’m going to go for broke and hope she finds both.

***

Dinner is the remaining ramen noodles with the last of our wrinkly vegetables and green tomatoes fried in oil. Peter and I give Bits and Hank an extra bite of ours, which leaves us with five bites instead of seven, but I wouldn’t be able to enjoy being semi-full if I were full of guilt.

Kyle and Margaret take first watch. I set a lantern and water bottle by one of the sinks in the master bath and hand out floss.

“I like flossing,” Hank says, running the string through his teeth.

I gaze at him in the mirror and hold my hand to my heart. “Hank, you are the most awesome human being I’ve ever met.”

“Maybe you should be a dentist like Zeke,” Bits says.

“He’d teach you,” I say. “He’ll need an apprentice one of these days.”

“Maybe,” Hank says. “I can do electric stuff, too. My dad taught—”

The bathroom is quiet. Peter spits out his toothpaste and puts a hand on Hank’s shoulder. Hank leans in briefly, but his natural tendency toward self-control overrides taking any comfort, and he pulls away with a quick nod before he jumps in the king bed. Right before Peter shuts off the lantern, I catch Hank watching the ceiling, looking younger and more vulnerable without his glasses. Hank is so concerned with the details—knowing our route, how much gas and food are left, thinking about future careers—that it’s easy to forget he’s a kid.

“Hank,” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re here with us.” Silence. I slide an arm under his shoulders. His narrow chest rises quickly and he sniffs a few times. I don’t want to make a big deal of his crying, but I want him to know I care. “It’s okay to talk about it. I know you miss your dad. We all do.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Hank whispers.

“Say anything. Say you’re sad or even angry, say you miss him, say how he was a brave man. He
was
a hero, just like in your comics, you know that?” I feel his head bob. “You don’t have to say anything, but I want you to know you can.”

“ ’Kay.”

I hold him until his breathing deepens and his body relaxes against mine.

***

Peter wakes me sometime in the night, the lantern on the floor so as not to wake the kids. My arm under Hank has gone completely numb. I extricate myself and clench my teeth as the blood rushes back.

“Our turn for watch,” Peter says. “I have toothbrushes.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, slip into my boots and rest my head in my hands. I have to get in on the first or last watch shift of the night because this broken sleep every night sucks. “If you said you had donuts it would be much more thrilling.”

I force myself to stumble out of the room. I hit my knee against a table on the landing and curse. “Wait a second, will you?” Peter says. “I’m right behind you.”

Nelly and Adam rise when we hit the living room, and I don’t even have the energy to bother Nelly about the fact that he finally has his own bedroom. I give my teeth a brush and curl up beneath a blanket on the couch. If it’s not in the high thirties then it’s damn close.

Peter makes sure the thick curtains are closed and sits under his blanket. We don’t want anyone to know we’re here, whether they’re alive or dead. I stare at the curtains and strain my ears for anything moving in the darkness, but even zombies are smart enough to be asleep right now.

“Thanks for talking to Hank,” Peter says. “I’ve tried, but sometimes it’s easier to talk to a woman.”

I grunt and continue staring at the fireplace. A lit fireplace would be heaven. I would lie in front of it in my blanket and soak in the warmth. I would cook up a hamburger and then make s’mores.

Peter says something, but I’m so busy eating my imaginary feast that I miss it. “What?”

“I said it’s usually easier to talk to a woman, except for you, right now.”

“Sorry. I’m tired and hungry and blah blah blah. I’m tired of hearing myself.”

Peter stretches an arm along the back of the couch. “What do you want to eat?”

“I was thinking about hamburgers and s’mores. How ‘bout you?”

“Steak, chicken, more ramen noodles. I don’t care.”

“If you want ramen noodles, you must be hungry,” I say, and he chuffs out a laugh.

“Let’s make tea,” Peter says after a minute.

“We can’t!”

He lifts an eyebrow. “We can. C’mon, there are a lot of tea bags, and we’ll reuse them. Your teeth are chattering. You know you want to.”

I should object more forcefully, but I follow him to the food bin in the foyer with my mouth watering. The popping of the lid seems as loud as a gunshot. Peter raises a finger to his lips and pulls out a box of tea, then tiptoes dramatically to the single burner camping stove on the entryway table.

He mimes moving the table, and I lift one end so we can walk it to the cracked window, although we leave the curtains closed. It’s doubtful the fumes from a tiny stove in a big house will kill us. He takes a lighter from his pocket and lights the stove with a flourish, like they do in fancy restaurants. Peter’s not always so silly, except maybe with Bits, and I stifle a giggle.

I hold my hands near the flame. I wish it took longer, but the water boils quickly and my precious heat source is extinguished. Peter drops in a single tea bag while I root out cups. By the time I’m back, the water is a lovely brown. I take a sip from the mug he hands me. It’s not the best cup of tea I’ve ever had, sans milk and sugar, but it has flavor and sends a line of heat down my core. I can pretend it’s food. I take another gulp—there’s no sense in savoring it if it’s going to be cold in five minutes.

I manage to arrange my blanket without spilling any. “Thanks. Think they’ll be mad?”

“Why would they be mad? We used one tea bag. It’s everyone’s tea.”

“I guess.”

“Stop worrying,” Peter says.

“I’m not worrying.”

He assesses me over the top of his mug with a smile. “Yes, you are. You have on your worried face. No one will care, and if they do, we’ll tell them I drank it all.”

“I won’t let you take the fall. We’ll go down together.”

He’s right. It’s ridiculous to get all bent out of shape about a tea bag. I wouldn’t be mad if someone else had a cup. My next sip is a good bit cooler, so I guzzle it down before it will do no good. The warmth lasts a full two minutes before I start to shiver again.

“Let’s double up,” Peter says.

“You want to play poker? Now?”

“That’s double down. And it’s blackjack, goofball. Let’s double up our blankets.”

Peter moves close, then layers our blankets over top before resting his arm on my shoulders. He’s so much warmer than me. I wouldn’t be surprised if I make people colder. I nestle into his side and bring my feet on the couch. It’s not like anyone is here to complain I’ll ruin the off-white damask.

“Better?” he asks.

I nod and listen to the nothing outside. Peter’s breaths begin to slow. I check to see if he’s fallen asleep and whack him with my temple hard enough to make him rub his jaw.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“Sorry, I thought you were asleep. And ouch, that half-beard of yours is sharp.”

“I always thought I’d look distinguished with a beard. What do you think so far?”

I pretend to consider but, honestly, Peter would look good in anything. He has high cheekbones, a straight nose and black eyes that match his hair. He was always handsome and well-built, but he’s acquired a rough edge that pushes him into swoon-worthy territory.

“Meh,” I say.

His head drops back with his laugh. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. Sorry about the stench.”

“I’m no better.”

“I meant you,” I say. He pinches me. “Fine, I meant me.”

“You have a good smell.”

“I have a smell? What kind of smell? It’s not like sauerkraut or anything, is it?”

“No, it’s—” he thinks for a moment, “like something green.”

“Like what kind of green? Frogs? Mold?”

He knows I’m messing with him, and he exhales noisily. “You know what I mean, Cassandra.
Green
. Leaves, cut grass, herbs. But a sweet green.”

I make a face even though I’m secretly delighted to be told I smell good. “Well, it’s not there now.”

“It’s your smell. I’m sure it’s there now.” He leans in and pretends to choke. “Somewhere under there.”

“Jerk.” I’m becoming accustomed to our stink, which is depressing and cheering at the same time. I pull out my phone to check the time. “Five more minutes. And then two glorious hours of sleep before the sun rises.”

James and Penny creak down the stairs a minute later. “Why are you doing watch?” Peter asks Penny.

“I’m pregnant, guys. That doesn’t mean I’m incapable of doing things. And, anyway, ever hear of pregnancy insomnia?” We shake our heads. “Yeah, I hadn’t either, but I’ve got it.”

“This pregnancy thing gets worse and worse,” I say.

“Right?” Penny agrees.

We tell them about our cups of tea and James gets to work while we head upstairs. Bits and Hank have moved to one side of the bed. I fall onto the cold pillow in the middle and move close enough to feel the heat emanating from Peter.

“I’m not trying to get all up in your face or anything,” I whisper, “but you’re warm.”

He grunts in amusement and throws an arm over me, knees fitting into the crook of mine. It isn’t awkward like it could be, especially after my little trip down memory lane earlier tonight. That old desire has been replaced by an affection that’s almost overwhelming in its intensity. He’s Bits’s dad, my shrink, the straight man to my one-woman comedy act and, somewhere along the line, he’s become my best friend. I catch a whiff of his warm, spicy scent and think about telling him that it’s not just me who smells good, but I’m far too tired.

The sky is the bruised purple-gray that comes before the sun makes its appearance. It’s time to rise and shine. Peter gets out of bed and puts on his jacket after handing me mine. I want to find something warmer, and I enter the spacious closet once teeth are brushed. The mother of this brood wore nothing but slacks and blouses and expensive ladies’ suits. No wonder she’s dead. I do find a cute silvery-brown down coat with a furry hood and instantly grow ten degrees warmer when I zip it up. Hank puts on his glasses before bounding out of bed, looking back to normal from last night. I remind myself to not always trust his self-possessed facade and to bring up his dad when it looks as if he needs to talk. Peter did the same for me this summer.

“Nice coat,” Peter says. He touches the fur on the hood. “That’s real fur, I think. Let me see the tag.” He whistles. “This coat was probably two grand.”

“I can wear it in the Bentley,” I say. “It’s so freaking warm.”

I didn’t wear real fur before, but I’m not planning to take it off ever again. Unlike leather, this coat is comfortable enough to sleep in. And it’s pretty. The previous owner would probably die all over again if she knew that it’ll be covered in something disgusting soon enough. I head downstairs in my new coat and clean underwear also courtesy of Mom. James and Mark are up to their usual map and phone book tricks, frowning in concentration.