Now Mom is the one telling all of us that we have to leave.
Alex will come with us. He may not want to, but he will because I’ll tell him to and he loves me. And he’ll have to tell Carlos what happened. Carlos lost a sister, too.
There’ll come a moment, a day from now, a week from now, when Alex will ask me about the missal. Did I find it? Do I have it? That’s what’s on endless loop in my mind now: Alex asking me about the missal, the envelope, the passes, the pills.
I could lie to him. I could tell him I never found it. We’ll have our life together, not the one with Julie, but some kind of life based on family and love and lies.
Or I could tell Alex part of the truth. I could hand him the envelope and ask him to let Lisa and Gabriel and Jon use the passes. They were the people Julie loved the best outside of him and Carlos. Julie would want to know they were safe. She would offer them that gift if she could.
Alex would notice right away, though, that there are only four pills. “I took two the night after Julie died,” I’d say. “I’d lost Charlie, Julie, my home. I thought I’d lost you. I had to sleep but I couldn’t, so I took two of the pills.”
He’d believe me at first. He’d want to believe me, and maybe it wouldn’t have sunk in yet what Julie was like, that the moment he’d dreaded had come, when her death was preferable to life.
But I know Alex, in the way you can know someone only by loving him. He’ll ask me again and again about Julie’s last moments. How did she look? What did she say? Was she at peace with God?
Eventually I’ll let something slip. Or I’ll get so tired of the questions, I’ll shout the truth at him. In my anger I’ll want him to know.
Or maybe I’ll want him to know, need him to know, because unless he forgives me, I will never forgive myself.
Of course he may never forgive me. Not for killing Julie. He would have done that himself. But for not trusting that he would return, that he would live up to his responsibilities, that he would face his own damnation.
I wouldn’t tell him until after Jon and Lisa and Gabriel were safe. I can hold out until then. We’ll go together as a family, crossing Pennsylvania, making our way south to Tennessee. It will take months, but we’re strong, we’re all strong, and we have reason to live. If Alex asks me to marry him between here and McKinley, I’ll say no. I’ll say it’s too soon after Julie’s death, that neither of us is ready, that I’ll marry him only after he’s been to Texas and told Carlos what happened.
Maybe Alex will have guessed by then what happened and be relieved when I finally admit it. Maybe his love for me is deep enough to forgive me, to accept me. But if it isn’t or if he can’t, I’ll have made sure he’s free to seek solace in his Church. I have so little to give him, but I can give him that.
This is the last time I’ll write in my diaries. I’m choosing not to burn them. They’re witness to my story, to all our stories. If I burn them, it’s like denying that Mom ever lived or Jon or Matt or Syl. Dad and Lisa. Gabriel. Mrs. Nesbitt. Charlie.
Julie.
Alex.
I can’t deny them their stories just to protect mine. So when we go in the morning, I’ll leave the diaries behind. I’ll never write in one again. My story is told. Let someone else write the next one.
There’ve been times in my life when I thought I knew everything worth knowing, the sweetness of a robin’s song, the brilliance of a field of dandelions, the exhilaration of gliding across the ice on a clear winter’s day.
This past year I grew to know hunger, grief, darkness, fear. I began to understand how lonely you can feel even when all you want is to be alone.
Then the rain came. And I learned so much more.
From Syl came lessons of survival. From Gabriel, the message that despair can give birth to hope.
Charlie showed me friendship and family can be one and the same.
Without Julie I wouldn’t have remembered that the darkest sky is filled with stars, that the sun casts its warmth on the coldest day.
“Miranda?”
That’s Alex’s voice, Alex calling to me. I’ll put the diary away now, hiding it with all my others. I’ll go to him, stand with him, hold his hand as he takes his first steps toward life.
He taught me to trust in tomorrow.
“Yes, Alex,” I say. “I’m coming.”
A Letter from Susan Beth Pfeffer, Author of
Dear Amazon reader,
I love you.
No, I really do. I have loved you since the first of the Last Survivors trilogy,
Best,
(Photo © Marci Hanners)
Boston New York 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Susan Beth Pfeffer
All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
Harcourt is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
Text set in Spectrum MT
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-publication Data
Pfeffer, Susan Beth, 1948—
This world we live in / Susan Beth Pfeffer.
