Elizabeth Shirley

After

Elizabeth Shirley

Becca closed her eyes and felt the rush of crisp air on her face, the coldness of it both exhilarating and anxiety inducing. She took her feet off the pedals and let them spin freely for a moment, though she was careful to mind the brake. The small trailer she was towing didn’t handle well at high speeds; she’d found this out the frustrating way early on. The trailer was one of the little tow behind types that parents stowed a toddler or two in when they took the family out for an afternoon ride, though there were certainly no toddlers in it now. She let her eyes drift open as she neared the bottom of the small hill and looked up towards the sky, a dense, matte gray today. She suppressed a sigh. “Hey Becs, slow up, I think the turn is coming!” called a voice from not far behind. Becca rolled her eyes but braked nonetheless and allowed Caleb to catch up with her. He peddled up beside her and gave her a quick smile, his superbly straight, white teeth, at odds with the dreary environment surrounding them. “You really flew down that hill!” he laughed. “Don’t forget what happened before, back in Connecticut.” He laughed again, but when she didn’t join in he let his smile fade and they peddled on in silence. The smooth black roadway arrived at an intersection. Becca and Caleb slowed to a halt, mindful of the rickety trailers they both towed.

“Stowe Creek Trail,” Caleb read off the faded sign staked at the crossroads. “This has gotta be the byway that will take us to the coast. We’re not far now.” “Why don’t you pull out the map?” Becca suggested. “I don’t need to pull out the map. I looked at it this morning while we were breaking down camp, and what’s the use? It’s not like

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the thing has any road names anyway.” Becca sighed and forgot to suppress it this time. “Can we please just take a quick peek? I know it’s mostly squiggly lines, but we can’t afford another wrong turn. I don’t want to end up lost or in another backwater town. Plus, it looks like snow.” She threw in a pleading look for good measure. With Caleb, you could usually get what you wanted with a little well-timed grovelling. “It’s too early in the year for snow, but fine, a quick look at the map. It’s time we took a break anyway," he replied dismissively. They both dismounted their bikes. Caleb's once-sparkling Trek had a kickstand that he employed, but Becca’s ancient Schwinn required a little more help. She walked it over to the road sign, the gentle click click click of the sticky back brake accompanying her, and rested it against the metal base. She turned to find him seated directly in the middle of the intersection. The world still revolved around Caleb Harding it seemed, minor apocalypses notwithstanding. Seeing him seated there, intently studying the much creased map, drinking from his Nalgene, gave her a queer feeling in her gut, one that came over her more and more often these days. The whole scene was, well, kind of normal. They could be two regular friends out for a weekend ride, taking in the late autumn New England scenery. But life wasn’t normal. And they weren’t really friends. Caleb Harding and Rebecca Haas had both been fulfilling their residency requirements at Mount Sinai West in Manhattan but might as well have worked on different planets. From the outside, Caleb seemed the standard American golden boy: uncomfortably handsome, unshakably convicted, and insufferably charismatic. He walked the halls boasting the brand of confidence that comes with the New England pedigree he so obviously possessed. Becca was glad they worked on separate floors, if only just to avoid the nurses, both male and female, who swooned over the new, young doctor. The one or two times she had been forced to commune with him at the hospital, they chatted uncomfortably about the only thing they shared:

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an upbringing in Maine. It was that small, shred of a shared past that had brought him to her apartment door weeks after everything went dark. “Uh, Becca...?” Caleb called, forcing her out of the memory. “You want some water? There is enough to get us through today and into tomorrow if we conserve.” She sat down beside him on the chill pavement and accepted the water with a small nod of thanks. “You okay? You looked a little lost there. I know it’s been a hard two weeks, and maybe I’m pushing us too hard…” he started. “No, it’s not that,” she interrupted him mid sentence. “I was just...thinking of the hospital.” Becca saw the shadow fall over Caleb’s face before he turned away from her. “Sure, well, let’s pack up and keep riding north. The map seems to indicate this is the right turn, and if we ride quickly we’ll make the coastal road before evening and can find somewhere to camp earlier than usual.” When he looked at her again the shadow was gone, but the sparkle hadn’t returned to his eyes. They hadn’t spoken much about what happened back in Manhattan. His evasiveness was typical, and his mood seemed to darken when she tried to bring it up. She guessed Caleb was coping with it in his own, focused way, but she couldn’t just ignore the glaring evidence all around them. Naturally, they had shared an unspoken hope that the outage was confined to the city, but as they travelled further away, they had yet to encounter even a single home with access to the grid. In the first few days of their journey, they had chanced upon a few farms with a generator still up and running, but as the days rolled into weeks the world around them was growing dark. Becca could feel her hope dimming right along with electricity. She double checked the hitch connection on her travel trailer before mounting up and settling into the saddle for another long

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peddle. Caleb was already moving away from their resting place and traveling down “Stowe Creek Trail” at a clipped pace. Watching him pedal away, Becca found herself fervently hoping they were headed in the right direction. So far, their journey was taking days longer than they expected, and with each passing day, the first snow of the season threatened. Anxiety bit into her. Snow in Maine didn’t stop once it started, and the idea of trekking the many miles to her dad’s cabin outside of Machias in knee deep, unplowed drifts was daunting, though not impossible. What really was tying her stomach in knots was the possibility of her dad stranded, alone, throughout the long, dark winter. He was a life-long outdoorsman and fiercely independent; he had raised her by himself after all, but at sixty-nine he was no spring chicken. Last year, he’d had a knee surgery that had left him sporting a limp, making it more difficult for him to answer the rigorous demands of life on a rural farm. She hadn’t been able to reach him once the cell towers stopped communicating, and all she could do was hope he’d know she was on her way home. She had grown up poor, but what they lacked in financial security they made up in love and loyalty. Abandoning her only family to the whims of fate was a non-option. The day Caleb had shown up at her apartment those weeks ago, she had already been planning on trying to leave the city and attempt the trip back to Maine. His brisk knock on the door had startled her but, after peering through the peephole, her fear transformed to confusion. He had stood at her door, a stuffed overnight pack slung over one shoulder and a hefty bike chain clamped around his waist. She had already gone as far as packing her apartment up and gathering supplies into a large overnight camping backpack she’d bought at REI on impulse a few years back. The backpack sat by the door for days daring her to take the first steps, but something kept her stuck behind the relative safety of the bolted door of her walk-up. Caleb’s unexpected appearance, and subsequent suggestion they make the journey back to Maine together by bike, felt like

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the sign she had been waiting for, or at least the nudge she needed to force her out the door. He had crashed on her floor for three days, telling her about his family’s estate on Mount Desert Island, a posh coastal retreat in central Maine home to Acadia National Park. Apparently meeting at the estate was part of his grandfather's “doomsday” plans. He’d been an eccentric, Caleb explained, and had forced the family to agree to all kinds of emergency scenario protocols before his passing. Becca had wondered if all aged, wealthy people had nothing better to do than fantasize about the potential of a dystopian future, though she kept that thought to herself. The second night, while drawing up a route north by the light of a vanilla scented candle, she had asked Caleb why he sought her out, why not just make the trip alone. “Do you remember that double bypass we assisted six months ago?” He’d asked. Of course she did, it was one of the two times they had been on the operating floor together. “Your calm and attention to detail was unparalleled. I was shaking through the entire procedure and you just stood there with nerves of steel. You asked all the same questions I would have if I could have focused on anything other than trying not to appear a wreck. I really admired you that day. When the blackout happened and I decided to head for Maine, I remembered you telling me you grew up in Machias, so I looked your most recent address up in the Sinai staff directory and took the chance, hoping you’d still be around.” His honesty had surprised her then; she assumed people like Caleb Harding wouldn’t admit their fears so freely. His admission had inspired her to tell him about her own concerns about her father. It was then he offered to accompany her to the property in Machias after checking in on his own family on Mount Desert. They could then try to convince her father to return with them to the estate and wait out the winter. She agreed, and they formulated a

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rough, weather-dependent plan over the next day. The morning of October 22nd had dawned bright and bitter with a flawless cornflower sky that bid them to make their break. They had brewed the last of her good coffee, shrugged on their packs, aired up the bike tires, and locked the door behind them. Getting out of the city had been more trouble than they expected. They hadn’t assumed to ride directly out with ease, but the roads were clogged with recently abandoned cars, and they were frequently required to climb over a sedan or two to reach a clearer path. It had taken an entire day just to get out of Manhattan. As they made their way slowly through the normally bustling thoroughfares of New York City, Becca had been seriously freaked out by the number of people they didn’t see. She wasn’t exactly sure how much time had passed, but it couldn’t have been more than a month since the power went out, yet the city streets were eerily silent. The people they did see were mostly huddled together in groups or fleeing like them, but no one was talking or communing, and the atmosphere was weighed down by suspicion and fear. When they crossed the state line into Connecticut two days later, Becca had felt immensely relieved to be leaving the city and its population behind her. They had agreed then to avoid as many metropolitan areas as they possibly could for the remainder of the trip, which is what had led them all the way out to the middle-of-damn-nowhere New Hampshire. The sound of Caleb’s Trek skidding to a forced stop directly in front of her interrupted Becca’s thoughts and forced her attention forward. “Look! Ha! I knew we couldn’t be too far off!” He was unnecessarily shouting beside her. He gestured for her to look further down the road at a small, green road sign that was tucked unassumingly between some evergreens. PORTLAND, ME 21mi “Once we get to Portland, we can’t be more than a solid day’s ride from Mount Desert Island,” he continued. “I vote we push

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20 or 30 miles past Portland today if we can, so we make it to the estate before it gets dark tomorrow. What say the lady?” He turned to Becca expectantly. “Let’s go for it; it’s just past noon now...I think...” Becca glanced up at the sun hoping to glean the secrets of time from it’s position. “Assuming we have enough daylight left, should we take time and try and make a supply run around Portland before we push for Mount Desert?” “Nah, once we get to the estate there should be more than enough for us to resupply. That is if my brothers haven’t pilfered every useful thing yet!” Caleb laughed. “Wait till you see this place. I loved summering here. It will have everything we need to get through this winter, at least!” Becca marveled at this brief glimpse of the glamorous childhood he must have had. Words like “estate” and “summered” didn’t exist in her normal vocabulary, though she allowed herself a fleeting glimmer of hope at the thought of a true, if temporary, safe haven. Two weeks of being exposed and alone in this new dark world was starting to take its toll. She turned back towards Caleb and nodded, “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get moving, Caleb, I don’t want to be out here biking after the sun goes down. New Hampshire kinda gives me the creeps.” Hours later, Becca unrolled her sleeping bag and flopped down on top of it, exhausted. They had ridden over eighty miles today, their longest haul yet, and every part of her body was protesting consciousness. She had foolishly assumed her limbs would acclimate to the ceaseless rides, but each evening her backside still bore the characteristic soreness of a too narrow bike seat, and her calves ached from the constant uphill, downhill topography. The saving grace of rural New England was the excellent layer of pine needles that covered the ground this time of year; neither her nor Caleb had sleeping pads, and the many nights of sleeping on concrete on the outskirts of cities had been merciless. She rolled around on her bag

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and stretched out, listening for the tell tale signs of Caleb setting up for dinner. They switched off nights setting up “camp,” and it just so happened that their last night eating al fresco for a while would be his responsibility. She propped herself up on her elbow and turned toward him. “Hey, let’s heat up three cans of soup tonight. Just to celebrate a little you know?” Caleb raised one eyebrow in feigned suspicion. “Wasting resources in the name of a celebration? That doesn’t sound at all like the frugal Rebecca Hass I’ve been travelling with.”

He gave her an inquiring look. She returned it with a flat, level stare. “Okay! Celebration it is, but if you keep being this jovial I’m going to start getting concerned. Let’s check the pantry.” He hopped up and strode to his trailer; it had been decided he would carry the canned goods because they weren’t sure Becca’s decrepit Schwinn was up to the weighty task. Rummaging through he announced, “Looks like we have two cans of Chicken n’ Stars and a few cans of Alphabet left.” “Just mix whatever together and hand me a spoon,” Becca replied. “I’m toast.” “Wish we had some toast.” “Yeah, me too.” For a few minutes, Becca laid there and listened to the now familiar sounds of Caleb setting up the camp stove, the hiss of the gas and subsequent whoosh of combustion. Her thoughts returned to the brief interaction they had earlier that day about New York. She sat up, the nylon bag crinkling beneath her, and positioned herself to face him. “I think we should talk about this, whatever ‘this’ is.” He stiffened but didn’t face her. “I know it’s been on your mind too. We can’t go on pretend-

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ing like we are on some scouting trip and when we get to your place everything won’t be what it is. The world around us is changing, something horrible could be happening here...could have already happened. I can’t shake off this constant dread. We haven’t seen a single light on for nearly a week, there are hardly any cars left on the roads, and when we do run into another group of people we are more compelled to hide than ask for help. I know you don’t want to have this talk, but I need to.” She gave him a look she hoped was both patient and compelling. He sat in silence for a minute, before shrugging his shoulders. “Of course it’s been on my mind. I’m not blind but, look, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if it even matters. We just need to focus on getting to Mount Desert.” “It matters,” Becca pushed. “That last week at the hospital was chaotic at best but could more accurately be described as horrific. I know you were there when we lost power.” Becca shut her eyes in an attempt to ward off the memory, but the action was in vain as the night of the blackout came rushing back.

It had been her third night shift in a row, around 4am, and the last before her period of days off. The overhead fluorescents barely flickered before the hospital was plunged into total darkness. She had been pouring a cup of coffee and spilled the scalding liquid directly on her hand before dropping the glass carafe onto the cold tile floor of the break room. When the emergency generators whirred to life and the lights blinked back on with a click, Becca had run to the third floor nurses station only to find it already deserted. Her first instinct was to check in on the life support patients, but she needed the third-floor nurse to tell her if the units were operational. She had picked up the intercom phone and checked for a dial tone. Silence greeted her on the line, but the sound of clipped footsteps on linoleum made her lift her head. A group of nurses rushed down the hall, gesturing frantically, concern etched on their faces. Becca

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stepped out from behind the desk and rushed to catch up. “Excuse me! Can anyone tell me what just happened... please. And where is Nurse Ramone?” She gestured at the vacant nurses station. An older nurse with greying hair was the only one to reply. “No one’s quite sure, but it seems the entire hospital is running on the backups now. Maintenance has been called in, but it could be a few hours. I’m sure they’ll get it straightened, but what a mess! And right before shift change too!” She smiled at Becca before stepping through a pair of pale blue swinging doors and disappearing into the post-op ward. The back-up generators could power the entire facility for ninety-six hours in the event of an emergency, but Becca had been assured by the Chief Operating Officer they would never have need for that-this was New York after all, epicenter of prosperity and production. At forty-eight hours, they had gone down to emergency power levels, turning off the primary heating and cooling elements of the hospital and cutting half the lights. The details were a blur in her mind now, but she recalled the anxiousness that had set in once the heat had been shut down. The ever present chill of a hospital now becoming truly cold. At seventy-two hours, all the lights were shut off, and all non-life support machines were silenced. This had included the refrigeration in the morgue. Becca had felt the real panic settle in when this decision was made. Fear had gripped the remaining staff. By this time, it was clear that it wasn’t just Manhattan without power, but all of the city. The days and nights bled into each other. Her phone had died back on the second day, but her small wristwatch helped her maintain a loose grip on the quickly unraveling hospital rotations. By now, Mount Sinai was being kept afloat by a skeleton crew of nurses and doctors that hadn’t left yet. Most had returned to their families to ride out what was being called an “outage,” but Becca, being without even a cat to go home to, had stayed on. Caleb had stayed on too. She remembered glimpsing him

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rushing through the corridors on several occasions, a blur of white coat and blonde hair. “Why did you stay?” “Why did I stay where?” Caleb asked. “At the hospital, in the days after things went dark I saw you. You could have left for Maine then, so why did you stay?” “Honestly, leaving crossed my mind every hour.” He replied. “But it was like watching a car accident. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t leave. Who would have taken responsibility for my patients?”

For weeks, Becca had been avoiding thoughts of what became of the patients, the ones who’d never had a chance to be transferred to a larger hospital with longer-lasting generators. Not that it would have saved them now, she thought grimly. When the generators finally ran out of fuel, Becca had tried her best to get most of her charges to another facility, but in the end she’d run out of options. What more could she do if the power was well and truly gone from the world? She’d felt sick walking out of the emergency exit that final morning, a wave of anxiety-induced nausea washing over her. She’d been so caught up in her own head she didn’t notice the chaos swirling around her until someone grabbed the arm of her hospital coat. “A doctor!” the stranger shouted. “Oh my god, please-we’ve been waiting all week for admission. You have to help!” The woman was hysterical, pulling Becca’s arm by the sleeve, practically dragging her around the corner towards the front of the hospital building. “Ma’am, what, I’m sorry, who needs help? We can’t admit any more patients, the hospital…” Her words were cut off as they rounded the corner. Hundreds of people were camped outside of Mount Sinai. She abruptly stopped walking. “Let me go”

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“A doctor!” The woman shouted again. Waving her free hand in the air. Several heads turned, and people started moving in their direction. Becca panicked. “I can’t help all these people. I’m sorry, I can’t possibly,” she stammered. The woman wasn’t listening; she just tugged harder on Becca’s coat sleeve. The crowd around her was growing and the desperation in their eyes filled her with trepidation. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated and tore her arm out of the woman’s grasp. Filled with shame, Becca turned and ran. The crowd’s alarm and anger was evident in their screams. Tears streamed down her face as she sprinted down the block. Somewhere between the hospital and her apartment, she had balled up her white coat and tossed it into an alley. When she made it home, she bolted the door and didn’t open it again until Caleb knocked. Humiliation colored her cheeks as she relived the horrifying moment, her eyes filled, and she was tempted to allow the emotion to spill over. Instead, she inhaled sharply and steeled herself. “What do you think happened? To the power, I mean.” Caleb shook his head. “It’s impossible to know. No news, no digital communication of any sort. The last person we spoke to was completely off his rocker, so I doubt his government conspiracy theory held much weight.” He stirred the soup. “But again, what does it matter?” Becca started. “Seriously, why waste our energy speculating? If this is our new reality, which it may very well be, let’s try to move on with it. The soup’s hot; let’s eat and try to get some sleep. We have another long ride tomorrow, but at least we can look forward to a decent meal with my family and a comfortable bed.” Becca leaned over and accepted the soup, but her heart remained heavy. She couldn’t understand his avoidant attitude, and

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the hope he was fostering about his family worried her increasingly. What if something had already happened? What if his estate was abandoned? She hadn’t dared give life to these questions but felt sure Caleb was thinking them too. She blew on her steaming soup in silence. So much for celebrating. The day had dawned with a slate sky and thick cloud coverage; an icy wind blew through them as they pedaled feverishly up the coast. They had been following a rough oceanside path for most of the day, and the heavy silence of last night had accompanied them through the morning. They’d spoken only transactionally, but, as they crossed the bridge onto Mount Desert Island, Becca felt the mood lighten. She ventured a question. “How far are we now?” she called over the whipping wind. He slowed down to match her pace. “Once we cross onto the island, it’s only about fifteen miles to Seal Harbor where the estate is,” he shouted back. A smile lit up his face, a private memory perhaps. “I haven’t been back since college. Hard to believe I even remember how to get there. Hopefully the gate code hasn’t changed.” Becca snorted. “Well if it has I don’t think it would matter much what with the power being gone now. We’re going to have to go up and over regardless!” “Always keeping it light, Becs.” He laughed and rode ahead.

Becca craned her neck. The gate was an excessive iron thing, ornamental in all the ways rich people preferred to make themselves feel important. “A family crest and everything huh? Subtle.” “My great-grandfather wanted everyone on the island to know a local boy had made it to the top, but the family doesn’t normally use this entrance. There’s a smaller, private gate around in the west side of property. Let’s go over there and check it out; I doubt we

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are lifting the bikes over this bad boy,” Caleb replied. The smaller, private gate turned out to be fairly mammoth as well, but someone had already forced it open by looks of things. Caleb brightened at the sight. “I knew they would be here first.” Becca wanted to share his optimism, but apprehension crept down her spine. They squeezed bodies and bikes through the gap and set out down the gravel drive that she assumed led to the main house. As they walked, she took in the grounds of the Harding Estate. Evergreens lined the winding, gravel drive, and small, shapely bushes filled in the empty space between the massive trunks-it was obviously all well taken care of. Perhaps Caleb’s family was here after all. As they rounded another bend, a sweeping, albeit brown, lawn stretched before them and led the eye straight to the focal point of the main house. Becca nearly stopped in her tracks at the sight. The house was enormous, not even a house, but a mansion. A multi-winged brick ode to another time. She’d seen some large houses in the Hamptons but nothing like this. It was straight out of a Jane Austen novel. “This is where you grew up?” she asked in a breathy voice. Caleb at least had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “Well, no. I grew up mostly in the city, but we spent our summers here when I was a kid. No one in my family lives here full time but there is...” Whatever Caleb had been going to say was drowned out by a sudden shrieking coming from the front door, if you could even call such an entrance a “front door”. “Caaaaaaleb, oh my lord, Caleb, is that you dear? Thank goodness.” A portly, middle aged woman came rushing full speed down the steps leading to the entrance. An apron tied around her waist flapping wildly as she made haste. “Mrs. Holly!” Caleb called, catching her petite figure in his

arms.

“Oh hunny, I’m so glad to see you, so relieved. It’s been hor-

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rible, I can’t even begin to tell you.” She sobbed with abandon, not bothering to wipe away her tears. Caleb patted her on the back and the entire scene struck Becca as profoundly heartwarming. He gently extracted himself from the older woman’s embrace and stepped aside and motioned for Becca to step forward. “Mrs. Holly this is Rebecca Haas. She’s also a doctor at the hospital where I work, uh worked, rather, I suppose.” He turned to Becca, “Holly Fletcher and her husband, Shep, have managed this estate since I was little. They live here year round and maintain the house and grounds. I consider her family.” He smiled warmly at Mrs. Holly. “Rebecca, dear, it’s so lovely to meet you. It’ll be wonderful to have company other than Shep. We’ve been so baffled by what’s gone on,” she replied warmly. “Wait, no one else is here?” Caleb asked, suddenly tense. “Not a soul love. Just Shep and I. Haven’t heard from anyone. You and Rebecca here are the first folk I’ve spoken to in weeks now.”

The silence stretched a beat too long. “That can’t be. I was certain Matthew and Harmon would have beat us here; they’re only in Boston. They would be here by now.” A pleading note entered his voice. “I’m so sorry Caleb. I just haven’t heard anything,” Mrs. Holly repeated, genuine sympathy on her kind features. Becca reached out and touched his shoulder lightly. “They are probably just delayed, it took us much longer to get here from the city than we anticipated.” False hope wasn’t usually in her narrative but seeing him so desperate made her wish her words could be the truth. “We can wait a few days before leaving for Machais,” she suggested, even though every part of her wanted to turn and leave now. Her Dad could last a few more days alone; he had to.

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Holly Fletcher perked up with renewed purpose. “That’s right dear, I’m sure they’ll arrive. Now. Let’s get in out of this frigid wind. Not that it’s much warmer in that drafty, old manse, but I’ve had Shep build fires in the main rooms, and we still have enough gas to light the stoves for now.” She looked up at the sky as they turned towards the house. “Snow soon, I’d bet anything.” Becca sighed and followed them inside. The days at Harding Estate passed slowly, almost languidly considering the circumstance that brought them there. They woke with the sunrise and spent most of the daylight hours scouring the house for anything that could be useful for the coming season. During these escapades, Caleb would regale her with stories of the summers he spent galavanting around the estate with his brothers, and she would tell him what it was like actually growing up in Maine. In the evenings, they would light the fireplaces in the main rooms and pass the time with card games or a chat over a glass of wine from the extensive cellar. All in all, it was a fairly enchanting way to begin the apocalypse. Despite the bucolic nature of their days, the nagging feeling of time being wasted crept back into Becca’s bones. Harding Estate was a place apart from the world, a place where one could lose themselves to the routines of coastal life. And that was a good life, but it wasn’t Becca’s life. One evening she was no longer able to ignore it. “Caleb, we need to leave soon. It’s been over a week, we had originally agreed five days, and I’m starting to feel like it can’t be put off any longer. Being here has been a welcome reprieve, and I’m grateful for it, but we can’t linger here and wait for the snow to fall. We’ll never get out to the cabin and back if it gets too deep.” Caleb set his wine glass down and considered. After a moment, he said, “I can’t go with you to Machias, Becca.” She stared at him. “You can’t go? Please. Explain.” “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I have to stay here. What if

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my family comes, and I’m gone? I can’t abandon them...or Holly and Shep. This is the Harding Estate, and a Harding needs to be here.” Becca took a deep breath and tried to level her voice. “Do not pull that lame ass excuse out on me right now, Caleb. This estate has gotten on perfectly well without you, or any Harding, for years and you know it. When you came to my apartment and asked me to travel to Maine with you, I agreed upon the condition you would help me get to Machias and find my Dad and try to convince him to come back here. I fulfilled my half of this deal, and now you’re backing out? We both witnessed how dangerous it was starting to feel out there, and you’re asking me to go it alone... now?”

“I just...I can’t leave, Becs. I’m sorry. I still want you to bring your Dad back if you can.” He lowered his eyes, not even trying to meet hers. Good, she thought, he should be ashamed. “Fine, stay, but know that I know it’s out of cowardice and fear, and I don’t blame you for that; just don’t feed me a lie about the estate ‘needing’ you. That’s weak and you know it.” She got up to leave. “I’m heading out in the morning; no need to get up and see me off. Also, don’t call me ‘Becs’; I honestly hate it.” She shut the door loudly behind her, leaving him to sit alone by the dying fire.

Becca set out down the drive, the sky leaden overhead, her bike tires crunching dead leaves and small rocks beneath them. She had left the trailer behind this time, knowing she may have to finish the last half of her journey on foot. Instead she’d strapped her backpack to the small cargo area over her rear tire. It made her bike wobbly, but it beat the trailer slowing her down. She’d also helped herself to a nearly brand new pair of Sorels that had been sitting in one of the downstairs mud rooms. The Hardings could consider

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it a reparation for their stupid son’s behavior. She was still feeling hurt and confused over last night’s argument, but she pushed the thought from her mind for now. She didn’t need emotional baggage weighing her down in addition to the literal baggage she was already hauling. As she approached the gate, a cold, wet flake landed on her forehead and disappeared on her skin. Becca looked sharply towards the sky as it finally gave way to winter. “Becca!!” Caleb’s voice sounded far away somewhere behind her. She turned to see him trotting along the drive with his Trek and a large, bulky object strapped to his back. She had half a mind to bolt, but being a fundamentally sensible person, she waited. When he reached the gate, he was out of breath, his cheeks bright red in the cold morning air. “Becca, I’m so sorry about last night... You’re right, I’m scared, terrified, I don’t know...how...to make...this okay I feel... like...I have no control...” She put her hand on his shoulder as he tried to catch his breath in the small spaces between his words. “Stop talking, Caleb. You can explain on the way, but for now, just stop talking.” He grinned. “One more thing?” “Sure, one more.” “It’s snowing.” Becca sighed. “So it is.”

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