herself drifting off.
“—and that’s what confuses me.”
Casey blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Were you sleeping?”
She made a face. “I didn’t have the greatest night.”
“Yeah. I heard. But then, I guess you’re used to sleeping on the ground.” He looked at her expectantly.
“Sometimes. But their ground must be extra hard.” She didn’t need to tell him it wasn’t the ground that caused the problems. She glanced into the back seat, but Death wasn’t there. “So what were you saying?”
“That Ellen’s…death… That she wasn’t without hope. In fact, she was determined to get through it all. Had actually told me just the evening before that everyone would soon be working again.”
“At HomeMaker?”
“I’m not sure. But I thought that’s what she meant.”
“But how?”
He shrugged, his mouth forming a hard line. “She never got to tell me.”
They went around a corner and Casey pulled down the visor, the sun having momentarily blinded her. “Not a hint?”
“Just that things weren’t as bad for us as we all thought they were.”
Casey flinched. Well-meaning people—at least they thought they were well-meaning—said the same to her during those first several months. She wasn’t sure how they thought things could be any worse, but she never bothered to ask.
“So did she mean things weren’t as bad at HomeMaker itself? Or just within the town?”
“I really don’t know, except she wasn’t exactly happy about it. I mean, she was happy the town would be working, but something about it upset her.”
They rode in silence again, but this time Casey didn’t fall asleep.
“My dad never tells me anything,” Eric said.
“About work?”
“About anything. He used to.”
“Before you went away? Or before your parents got divorced?”
He flicked her a glance. “Some when I was little. But he seemed to think, later on, that HomeMaker was something I’d be interested in.”
“I thought you’d sworn never to talk to him again.”
He shrugged. “I was twelve.”
“So what he told you—did you want to hear it?”
He leaned to the side, resting his left arm on the door, driving with his right. “That’s the thing. The stuff he’d tell me…”
“Like what?”
“I’m sure you can guess. It was all about the money. It always was.”
“That’s not what Rosemary says.”
“What?”
“She says he started out funny and sweet. And something changed him.”
“Yeah. A whiff of the green stuff.”
Casey nodded. “Could’ve been that.”
“It was.” His face was still. Stony.
They were in town now, a slightly larger town than Clymer, boasting a whole row of restaurants, rather than the few Clymer had. The Pizzeria came up on their right, and Eric pulled around to the back of the building. “Want to help carry?”
“Of course.” Casey undid her seatbelt, and got out of the car.
Eric tossed his keys on the seat and popped open his trunk before rapping his knuckles on the metal back door of the building. It opened with a scrape against the gravel.
“Hey, Eric.” The woman, whose badge proclaimed her the shift manager, shoved a wedge under the door with her shoe. “We’ve got lots of pizzas for you today. A new kid came on board and can’t for the life of him remember what to put on a Veggie Special.”
“Well, thanks for hiring him,” Eric said, grinning. “Oh, this is Casey. She’s been helping out at Home Sweet Home.”
The woman put out her hand, looked at it, and brushed it against her pants, leaving a floury smear. Casey took it when she held it back out. “Good to meet you.”
“Likewise. So, come on in.” She led them to a large refrigerator, shelved with vegetables, meats, yeast, and what looked like an entire twenty pound wheel of cheese. In the back corner was a freezer section, and when the manager opened that door, they saw three stacks of large and medium-sized pizzas, waiting for a purpose.
Eric whistled. “Wow, you aren’t kidding. Your new kid must’ve been screwing up bigtime.”
“Enough for two meals for your people, maybe.”
“At least. We might have to throw a block party.” He held out his hands. “Load me up.”
The manager placed the first stack on his arms, almost up to his chin. “You got it?”
Eric mumbled something and did a three-point turn to exit the refrigerator.
Casey stepped up for the second load.
“You’re not the same woman he came with the other week, are you?”
Casey blinked. “No.”
“Didn’t think so.” She placed a few boxes on Casey’s arms. “She told me she didn’t think they’d be taking our pizzas for much longer. That I’d have to find a new charity. You know anything about that?”
“Seemed pretty sure of herself. Stopped talking when Eric came back in, and winked at me. Guess she didn’t tell him.” She gave Casey the rest of the stack.
Casey took out the load, lowering it gently to the trunk of Eric’s car, on top of a clean tarp. Eric returned with the final boxes. They eyed their treasures.
“The folks always enjoy our pizza suppers,” Eric said. “This week they might have it two days in a row.”
Casey wasn’t sure those people were in a position to actually enjoy anything, but she didn’t say it.
With a wave the manager closed the back door, and Eric eased the trunk shut. “Mission accomplished. Shall we take it home?”
Home Sweet Home.
They got back into the car and Casey strapped herself in. I’m almost getting used to this again. Riding in a car.
“Smells good, even frozen,” Eric said. “Make you hungry?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Yeah. Me, neither. I haven’t been…it’s been hard to eat this last week.”
Casey remembered those days. No appetite. Ricky and her mother begging her to eat. Dwindling down to skin and bones. When she finally realized Death wasn’t about to take her, she began to force it down. No taste, no appeal. Just sustenance.
“You do what you have to do,” she said.
Eric cast her a curious glance, but didn’t pry.
“You brought Ellen here,” she said. “To get pizzas.”
“Yes. Why?”
She told him what the manager had said.
Eric frowned. “So she really did think… Why didn’t she tell me the details? What was she waiting for?”
“Maybe she only thought she had things figured out, and was waiting for confirmation.”
“But what could it have been?” His voice was strained.
“Something with HomeMaker. It had to be.”
Eric clenched his jaw. “If something was going on, there’s at least one person who should know.”
“But will he tell you?”
He gripped the wheel, his knuckles white. “I’m not going to give him a choice.”
