Until the End of the World (Book 3): All the Stars in the Sky (45 page)

I expect to find the cabin empty, but Peter kneels at the woodstove feeding logs into the fire. He spins and looks at me expectantly.

“It’s a girl,” I say. “Everybody’s fine.”

“Wow. That was fast, no?”

“Believe me, Penny isn’t complaining. Why are you here?”

He tosses another log in. “I didn’t know when you’d be back. I thought you’d be cold.”

“Where’d you get a crazy idea like that?” I ask. “Thanks. But it’s almost midnight. You might’ve missed it.”

“I was just about to head back. Do you want to go now?”

“I have to change first. I can meet you there.” I want to tell him how beautiful it was to see something come to life that wasn’t dead. Instead I blurt out, “They named her Anamaria.”

I expect to see grief settle on his features, but he stands and brushes his hands on his jeans with a soft smile. “That’s…perfect. I always thought I’d name a daughter Jane.”

“Eric,” I say. “A son, I mean.”

He laughs. “I figured. Go change, I’ll wait.”

I throw on the shirt Patricia loaned me and abandon my original plan to apply makeup. One glance in the dresser mirror makes it clear that saving my frozen and thawed hair is hopeless if I want to make it there for midnight. And I do—I’m going get my New Year’s kiss.

“You look nice,” Peter says when I’ve entered the living room.

“This is as good as it’s getting.” I wipe my now sweaty palms on my jeans and make a joke so he can’t tell how nervous I am. “Wait, was that the automatic you-look-nice reflex?”

“Yes.” He moves closer and brushes my hair behind my ear with feathery fingertips. “It’s always automatic. Because you’re always beautiful.”

I would deflect the compliment if I weren’t breathless from his words and his touch and the desire on his face. The distant blare of music stops abruptly and a multitude of voices begin to count down from ten.

“We’ll never make it,” he says. I shake my head in agreement because I can’t say a word.

I count along silently, keeping my eyes on his. I know by now that life is messy, filled with doubts and guilt and conflicting emotions, but I have no doubt he’s going to kiss me. No doubt that he’s ready. My stomach churns out warmth that travels to the tips of my fingers.

“Four,” I whisper. “Thre—”

Peter brings his mouth to mine, pulling me close with a hand wound in my hair. Nothing about his lips and tongue is tentative, and there’s nothing tentative in the way I respond. I’m done with saving things for later.

His hands are as capable as ever. Somewhere along the line both our shirts disappear, and I moan when he runs his mouth along the swell of my breasts. He must take it as a sign of protest because he asks, “Is this okay?”

“Are you kidding?”

Peter’s breathy chuckle on my neck sends a shiver to my toes, and I start to work on his jeans in case my answer wasn’t clear enough. A low groan rises in his throat, and when he breaks our kiss to grab the lantern, my moan
is
one of protest. I yank him to me, fitting his hips to mine, his lips to mine, his free hand to anywhere it wants.

“Bed,” Peter growls into my mouth. I allow him to seat me on the edge, where he kneels to remove my boots. After a minute of struggle he looks up, breathing hard. “For someone who can’t tie shoes, you can knot them just fine.”

I fall back on my elbows and crack up at the half-amused, half-exasperated expression that’s become so familiar. It doesn’t ruin the moment. If anything, it tells me that Peter’s along for the ride to wherever we’re heading. He smiles the way he used to—soft but cautious, like I had the answer to a question he was scared to ask. Maybe he wanted to know if I could love him, if he was visible.

He was always visible. And maybe I could have loved him then, or maybe it took the end of the world to make this possible. The words stay on the tip of my tongue—I’m fearful to be the first to speak them. I kick off my boots and pull him to me, hoping he can feel what I don’t say. The old chemistry is there, although those times when I’d thought we’d connected were nothing compared to this. There’s no going back, but I don’t ever want to.

***

Afterward, the fear creeps in and whispers that I’ll most likely lose him. My heart could be re-broken and never grow back—I’m not sure how many times the tail can regenerate before the lizard allows the missing piece to become a memory. I chase the thought away; I have faith it’ll be all right. Peter didn’t promise nothing bad would ever happen, but he’s shown me how to make the best of it.

“I love you,” I say, and fight the urge to protect my heart by looking away. I’m rewarded with a smile I’ve never seen—it could be I’ve answered his question.

“I love you,” he says, face so tender that my chest flutters.

I can see it in the liquid depths of his eyes and in the gentle curve of his lips, can feel it in the way he touches me, but I still ask, “Really?”

“Really,” Peter says softly. “I love the way you talk to inanimate objects. I love the way you tie your shoes like you’re five. I love the way you joke about anything and everything, even if it does drive me out of my mind.”

He traces my lips when I laugh, and then he says, “Promise.”

The flutter in my chest becomes a loud thrum. “You promise all kinds of things.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But I always keep them.”

He does—every single one.

I grab the toddler just before she hits the puddle on Main Street with both feet. “Caught you, you little stinker!”

Anamaria shows me her twelve teeth and bats the lashes that frame her big, brown eyes. She has Ana’s ability to flirt her way out of any situation and a bit of a wild streak, but she’s as sweet as Penny—when Penny’s not pregnant.

“That doesn’t work on me.” I plant a kiss on her nose and take a hit of her toddler scent before handing her to Nelly. “Here, go see your uncle.”

“Uncoo Newwy,” she says, and pats his cheek with her chubby hand.

Nelly sighs at me over her head. “Did you really have to teach her that?”

“That’s your name, don’t wear it out.”

“A whole generation of children will be calling me Uncle Nelly.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to be the gay uncle.” He grumbles at me, but he secretly loves it.

“Hey,
Nelly
,” Adam says. “They want you inside.”

Nelly places Anamaria on the frozen ground and lifts her chin with his finger. “Stay right here, okay?”

She nods like an angel but takes off the second his back is turned, only to stop and watch Bits and Jasmine raise their faces to the sky and stick out their tongues for a snowflake. There’ve been flurries all week, but it hasn’t stuck. Anamaria opens her mouth and leans so far back she lands on her diaper. Bits picks her up with a laugh and shows her how it’s done.

Bits is still small at almost eleven, but she already has a gangly teen look about her. She reminds me of a newborn colt trying to find its legs, especially with the long, shiny mane of brown hair she always wears loose. She’s kind and smart and beautiful. Hardly anything scares her now.

Hank stands behind them, hands in pockets, and glances around before he sticks out his tongue. He’s growing into his dreadlocks and glasses. We’ve managed to inject a little silliness into him, or at least a willingness to catch snowflakes and make the occasional wish.

Bits leads Anamaria my way. “Cassie, we’re going to the library to work on our comic during the meeting.”

“We have a deadline to meet,” Hank says. His twelve year-old voice is deepening and sounds a lot like Henry’s, but he’ll be taller than his dad for sure.

“Home for dinner, though. Jasmine, I know Jamie and Kyle want you home, too.” I wave a hand. “Go forth, my children.”

They allow me to kiss their cheeks after they ensure the coast is clear of anyone their age or, God forbid, older. They still have a business selling their comics to the other kids. Commerce around here generally involves homemade goodies, books and favors, although Peter was thrown for a loop when Bits traded for some old makeup last week. He doesn’t want her to grow up, but I love every stage, even this awkward one. Every year that passes is another year we’re alive. I can’t help but be thankful for that.

“Now, where’s your mama?” I ask Anamaria.

She points to where Penny and James stand by the entrance to the brewery. James motions at the train tracks while Bernie and Terry nod. Part of today’s annual fall meeting is about James’s grand plans for rail travel, and I have no doubt he’ll get whatever scheme he’s cooked up to become a reality. The other part concerns our food stores, which are going strong, and the latest news from survivors outside Alaska. I was on the radio earlier, when we received one of our rare calls instead of the usual static. Sometimes it’s bad news or someone looking for help we can’t give from afar, but today it was news I’m delighted to share.

I make sure Penny has Anamaria in hand before I let go. The kid is fast, like her namesake. “Thanks for babysitting,” Penny says. She’s pregnant again and feels no better than the first time.

“Anytime. She had a great time with the old radios. Did you get any rest?”

She nods, but she looks like she could use a month of sleep. “I can’t believe I did this to myself again.”

“Hey, you did it on purpose this time.”

She gazes down at Anamaria. “I know, right? How stupid am I?”

“Pretty stupid.” She kicks my shin, and I level a finger at her. “Why do you kick me when you’re pregnant? You’d better look out in seven months.”

The wind gusts and with it comes a swirl of white flakes. It’s time to whip out the puffy parka. I’d been putting it off, not wanting to concede to winter, but winter’s going to win this one. I lean into Peter’s warmth when he comes up behind me.

“Cold?” he asks.

“Just chilly.” My blood has thickened a little over the past two years. Not a ton, but enough that I don’t complain constantly, much to everyone’s delight.

“How’s my girl?” he asks Anamaria. She looks up from digging in the dirt with a stick and blows him a kiss. He catches it and makes
nom nom
noises. “How’s Mama?”

“Don’t ask,” Penny says.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” I hand her a bottle of ginger lemonade from my bag. She sighs in thanks. “The ginger went crazy this year and the lemons in the greenhouse are dehydrated, so you can have as much as you want.”

I think Dan would be pleased to know his concoction has helped several pregnant ladies. Except for Jamie, who’s in her fifth month with not a bit of sickness. He’d be even more pleased to know that I teach the kids astronomy as well as art. It’s always been useful knowledge, but it’s more important than ever now that they’re what are left to guide us.

Peter snuffles on my neck until I turn for a proper kiss and tuck my icy hand in his shirt. He doesn’t mind as long as I let him do the same with his warm one, which is never a bother.

“Get a room,” Penny mutters.

I laugh. “Pregnant Penny’s back. You really want to see me like that, Petey?”

“Nope,” he says, and grins at Penny’s scowl.

He’d like kids—a little Jane or Eric. I would, too, but I can’t bring myself to intentionally add another person I love to this world—one more person who could be ripped away so easily. Peter tells me it was always that way and that if anyone knows it the two of us do, but I’m holding out.

Nelly opens the brewery’s door. “You guys coming in or what? The rumors are flying fast and furious in here.”

James throws Anamaria over his shoulder and leads Penny inside. I turn to look at the streets that make up this tiny village I love. And although I’ll always miss Adrian and Ana—and all the others I loved who didn’t make it here—I’m exactly where I want to be.

“Everything okay?” Peter asks.

I touch his cheek. “Everything’s great. And I love you.”

“I love you,” he says. “Promise.”

He always says that, and he hasn’t broken a promise yet. I’m certain he never will.

“I love you more.”

He leans on the doorjamb, eyebrow lifted. “More than all the stars in the sky?”

“Well…” I twist my mouth and pretend to think. “I definitely love you more than salmon.”

“Thanks a lot, weirdo,” he says, and pulls me inside.

The building is full, kids playing quietly in the back. They’ve spent so much of their lives being quiet. I’m waiting for the day they can be as loud as they want without fear. And from what I just heard on the radio, that day might come soon. The survivors south of us, those who have eked out an existence on the peaks of mountains and other inhospitable places, say that the mold is winning. We’ve seen it, too, on the few who make it to our fences before the cold comes again. The survivors told me of millions of bodies that have collapsed into black dust and bones under the summer skies, and that the remaining Lexers aren’t far behind. They believe this will end next year or the one after that. It’ll be all right.

Maybe we’ll leave here one day. Head back east to more fertile soil and warm summer nights where the stars are visible. But, honestly, I don’t care if I never see the summer stars again. Not if I have the people I love more than anything—more than all the stars in the sky.

Sarah Lyons Fleming is a Laura Ingalls devotee, wannabe prepper and lover of anything pre-apocalyptic, apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic—or anything in between. Add in lots of humor and some romance, and she’s in heaven.

Besides an unhealthy obsession with home-canned food and Bug Out Bag equipment, she loves books, making artsy stuff and laughing her arse off. Born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, she now lives in Oregon with her family and, in her opinion, not nearly enough supplies for the zombie apocalypse. But she’s working on it.

Visit the author at
http://www.SarahLyonsFleming.com

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Once again, I have folks to thank for reading and editing and helping me get this book done.

As always, my parents, both in-law and not, who read and comment and find those pesky typos.