All of which was a lot more on my mind than Romeo and Juliet when Matt and Syl got back.
“The mayor wasn’t there,” Matt said. “Mr. Danworth said he’d tell him to come next Monday, so we’ll go back then.”
“What about food?” I asked. “Will they give us an extra bag?”
“Not this week,” Matt said. “Maybe next week if there’s enough. It doesn’t matter. Syl and I can share my food.”
“No,” Mom said. “Syl’s a member of this family, so we’ll all share.”
“That’s fine, Mom,” Matt said. “But I don’t want you eating less so the rest of us can have more.”
“Share and share alike,” I said, picturing what that would be like once the fish supply runs out. Oh, well. I’m used to being hungry.
“We could go back to the river tomorrow,” Jon said. “Matt and Syl and me, and catch some more fish.”
“We should,” Matt said. “I don’t know how much longer the shad will be running, but we should get as much as we can. Syl and I will go. Jon can stay home with you and Miranda.”
“I never get to go anyplace,” I grumbled.
“Jon, you go with Matt,” Mom said. “Syl will stay home with Miranda and me so we can get to know each other better.”
“Mom,” Matt said, and he sounded exactly like me. I guess whining is a family trait.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Syl said. “Besides, you’ll catch more fish if you aren’t distracted.”
Jon snickered. Matt looked like he couldn’t decide who to kill first.
“We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “And get back Wednesday night.”
“No,” Mom said. “Stay until Friday. Jon’s algebra’s a lost cause, and the longer you’re there, the more fish you’ll bring home.”
“Mom,” Matt said, “could you and I talk about this privately?”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Mom said. “You and Jon do the hunter-gatherer thing. Syl and Miranda can roam around the neighborhood looking for boxes of rice pilaf. I’ll stay home and worry about all of you. That’s the appropriate division of labor.”
Syl burst out laughing, but when none of us joined her, she stopped.
“Come on, Matt,” Jon said. “We’d better catch lots of fish before we start chopping firewood again.”
For a moment I felt sorry for Matt. In an ordinary world he wouldn’t have to leave his wife of four days to go fishing with his kid brother. Then again, in an ordinary world he wouldn’t have exchanged vows with a strange girl the day after meeting her. At least I assume not.
“Tomorrow morning,” Matt said. “And back Friday. After that Syl and I will never be separated again. Is that understood?”
“Nobody’s suggesting otherwise,” Mom said. This time Syl knew better than to laugh.
So tomorrow Matt and Jon will be leaving again. Who knows. Maybe when they get back, Jon’ll have a wife of his own.
Syl and I went house hunting right after breakfast. I guess she was glad to be away from Mom. I know I was.
“Matt tells me you keep a diary,” Syl said as we biked down the road.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s only for me, though. No one else reads it.”
“I know,” Syl said. “It’s just funny to think of someone writing about me.”
“Didn’t you ever keep a diary?” I asked.
“For school once,” she said. “But I made up stuff.”
“Why?” I asked. “Were things going on you didn’t want people to know about?”
“Nothing was going on,” Syl said. “Nothing ever went on. But I felt if I put my thoughts down on paper, they wouldn’t belong to me anymore.”
I’d never thought of it that way, and I didn’t think I wanted to. Mom, Matt, and Jon have always respected my privacy, or at least the privacy of my diaries. We don’t have any other privacy. It feels strange sharing the sunroom with Jon but not Matt. Less crowded but more intimate somehow.
“I can’t get over your hair,” I said. “How long it is. How pretty.”
“Hair is an asset,” Syl said. “You should grow yours.”
“Maybe someday,” I said. Someday when water isn’t gray.
We rode silently for a while, and I waited for Syl to ask me questions the way Jon said she did. But I guess I wasn’t as interesting as baseball.
It didn’t matter. Once we started breaking into houses, I could see how good Syl was at things. At Mom’s insistence we entered each house together, but thanks to Syl, there wasn’t a wasted moment. We went through a dozen houses, top to bottom, inch by inch, garages and sheds included. We didn’t find that much, and we didn’t celebrate when we did find something. No bursting into song over half a roll of toilet paper.
We did find two electric space heaters, though, one for each of us to bike home with. Now, if we ever have electricity, we’ll be able to warm up the kitchen and the dining room.
When we got back home, I went up to my room and hid all my diaries in the back of my closet. They’re my thoughts and I want to keep them that way.
I wish Syl hadn’t said anything about my diary. I can’t blame Matt for telling her, but I really wish he hadn’t.
I’m writing this entry in the kitchen using one of the flashlight pens Jon found for me. Mom’s asleep in the sunroom, not that it ever mattered before. I’ve written in my diary with her and Matt and Jon in the room for months now. But even though I know Syl’s in Matt’s room probably asleep, I feel like somebody’s looking over my shoulder.
Last summer Dad and Lisa were here, on their way out west. With six of us in the house I felt more private than I do right now with just three of us here.
Not that I have anything to write, except to say these diaries are mine, for my eyes only.
Today’s the first anniversary of the asteroid hitting the moon.
A year ago I was sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school. Matt was in his freshman year at Cornell and Jon was in middle school. Dad and Lisa had asked me to be godmother to their new baby. Mom was between book projects.
I know I’ve gained a lot in the past year, but I woke up this morning and all I could think about was everything I’ve lost. No, that’s not right. Not everything, everybody. Everything doesn’t matter, not really. After a while you get used to being cold, and hungry, and living in the dark.
But you can’t get used to losing people. Or if you can, I don’t want to. So many people in the past year, people I’ve loved, have vanished from my life. Some have died; others have moved on. It almost doesn’t matter. Gone is gone.
I was lying on my mattress in the sunroom, thinking about how today was the first anniversary and whether I should mention it to Mom. I know dates because of my diary, but calendars vanished along with everything else during the past year. Somehow I felt the anniversary was like the mound of bodies, the kind of thing you keep to yourself.
But the one thing I’ve gained this past year is a sister-in-law, and over breakfast this morning (a shared can of sweet potatoes, not the breakfast I had a year ago), Syl brought up the subject.
“Today’s the first anniversary,” she said.
“Of what?” Mom asked. “Oh, it’s been a week since you and Matt exchanged your vows. Well, he’ll be back tomorrow and you can celebrate then.”
“No, Mom,” I said. “Today’s the first anniversary of when everything happened. It happened a year ago today.”
“Has it only been a year?” Mom asked. “Time sure passes when you’re having fun.”
“May 18th,” Syl said. “I’ve been keeping track of the days for a while now. I felt I should do something significant on the anniversary day.”
“Significant like what?” I asked. “You got married a week ago. It’s hard to be more significant than
