In the After

which works out great because it runs super quiet. I think of Amber and realize how easy I have it. It is the end of the world and we have a dishwasher, not to mention all the other appliances I take for granted. Sometimes if it hasn’t rained in a while we have to go without washing clothes or taking showers, but never for very long.

Even though I don’t make a noise, Baby senses me behind her and turns.

What do you think? I ask her.

She’s so . . . Baby thinks for a moment. She shakes her head. She’s so loud! She throws her arms up to illustrate her point.

I know. We have to show her how to be silent.

Baby grins and I notice one of her baby teeth is missing, the front one that was loose. She must have lost it during the commotion. No tooth fairy for her, though. She wouldn’t understand.

Can she stay? Baby asks.

We don’t have a choice. But we do have a choice. We can send Amber packing. Good-bye and good luck. Don’t let the electric gate hit you on the way out. She can stay, I decide.

Fan. Baby holds her hand up to her face and waves, overjoyed.

I smile at her enthusiasm, but I can’t help but think, Fan-fricken-tastic. Please, don’t make me wrong about Amber.

CHAPTER TEN

I’m unsure about Amber at first, mainly because everything about her annoys me. She is the kind of girl I would have never been friends with Before. My friends and I competed in class. We went to poetry readings and volunteered for political candidates we were too young to vote for. We ran track and thought it was the only acceptable sport. So much of who I used to be was about being good in school and having friends who were also good in school. We were, to put it simply, arrogant little know-it-alls. But I miss that.

Amber, on the other hand, is the girl who hung out with the football players. She is the one who squeaked by with a D average and was thrilled to get the occasional C. She didn’t think about college, and probably never faced the eventuality that high school would one day end. I would have made fun of her behind her back, while I secretly envied her popular, carefree life.

But we aren’t in high school, and having to deal with a self-centered dimwit can have deadly consequences. I have to make her understand.

The first thing I show Amber is the electric fence and warn her not to touch it. I am a bit dramatic with that, pointing at the fence and then clutching my hands to my neck, my tongue hanging out. I am pretty sure she gets the idea. Then I show her the small area around the lock where it is safe to touch.

In actuality, the fence won’t kill her, or anyone. The shock isn’t pleasant, and if you hang on for long enough it will take you out of commission and leave you unconscious. I tested it out once when I was twelve and my arm was numb for a couple of hours. My dad totally freaked out on my mom then, told her he didn’t want us living in a “gold-plated prison.” I thought for a little while they were going to get divorced over it, but they made up eventually, like they always did.

The fence’s real purpose was to stop people from trying to break in. It was hooked up to an alarm system that alerted the police if someone touched it. There is no one to come running now when They try to get through, but the shock seems to stop Them, move Them on their way. Unless, of course, we are standing right in front of the creatures’ beady yellow eyes; then nothing can break their focus. I don’t want to test just how much damage the fence can take, so I still need Amber to be quiet.

We set her up in the basement with the couch as her bed. I let her wear my clothes at first, but I eventually allow her to raid my mother’s closet. Amber is beside herself. My mom had good taste and bought expensive things, but I’d always thought of it as “middle-aged fashion.” Amber loves it all, especially the Dolce & Gabbana skirts and the DKNY jeans. That is another thing that shows we would not have been friends Before. I would not have been caught dead wearing designer anything. My dad always assumed it was because I shared his eco-sensibilities, that I would rather spend the money to plant a tree or save a whale. Truthfully not all my friends were as wealthy as we were and I didn’t want them to know how much money we had. I didn’t want them to think I was a snob, especially Sabrina.

It’s weird to see Amber wear my mother’s shirts or scarves, but I find it strangely comforting too. I’ve avoided going through my parents’ closet for years; mostly I stay away from their room altogether. It’s all too painful, but giving Amber free range of my mother’s things breaks that spell.

After Amber picks out her new wardrobe, I show her the rooftop garden and she gets to work at once, which I am grateful for. The garden is a chore I never enjoyed, even though I recognize the need for fresh vegetables. Amber seems to know what she is doing and I leave her to it. She likes to be up on the roof, especially during the day. She comes downstairs, sunburned and glowing. Three years without any sunlight is a long time.

At first, I am afraid to leave her alone with Baby. I imagine every horrible thing that can happen. Amber accidentally letting Them inside. Amber convincing Baby to eat some questionable canned food. Amber letting it all get to her and going crazy, maybe trying to end her own life and not caring who she hurts in the process.

All these thoughts rumble around in my head while I watch Amber playing with Baby, eating our food, doing her chores. I pay close attention to how she interacts with Baby and even check on her when she’s sleeping. She curls on the basement couch, mouth open, breathing loudly. I’m glad we set her up downstairs because if she were in one of the upstairs bedrooms, her snores would bring Them.

After about a week, I start to relax. Amber doesn’t seem like she is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, in fact she is making an incredible effort, especially with Baby. Sometimes she looks out the window, staring at nothing. She was abandoned by her brother. I’d be a little depressed too.

I don’t know when it is exactly that I start to like Amber, but one day, I just do. It’s nice to have someone around who is about my age. She takes such pleasure in our life, in our home. She sits and watches the dishwasher run. She helps Baby make a pillow fort. She plucks a pigeon without complaint. I am especially glad that she gets the hint after that first night and stops talking. Well, mostly stops talking. We speak to her in a broken language: Amber sleep now, or Amber go up, eat now.

She understands more each day. Baby and I sign in front of her, trying to let her see as much as she can so she can learn to communicate with us. I show her which appliances are “safe” and which can only be used if all the doors and windows are shut, to lessen the noise. She falls in love with the shower and I have to limit her to only ten minutes a day, unless it is raining. Otherwise our water supply will run out and we’ll have to trek to the lake for drinking water.

It doesn’t take very long for Amber’s presence to feel normal. Baby loves her at once. She wants to be near Amber all the time. I am a little jealous at first, but I get over it. Baby is Amber’s shadow and signs to her constantly; explaining this or that, or sometimes just telling her stories she’s made up. Amber likes to watch Baby sign, though sometimes I notice she zones out. Baby doesn’t seem to mind, though, and continues signing, glancing at me every once in a while with a smile.

What this? she asks one day of the mark on Baby’s neck. Amber enjoys brushing out Baby’s hair, styling it into different looks. She studies the strange, barely perceivable diamond, traces it with her finger.

I shrug. Baby, show her your scar.

Baby grins and hikes up her skirt to show Amber the scar on the fleshy part of her thigh. Amber lifts up her face and shows us a fine white scar under her chin.

Was fallen . . . She struggles and goes to grab a pen and paper. Amber often writes me notes when she doesn’t have the vocabulary to sign what she wants to say, or when Baby’s hands are going a mile a minute and Amber is lost.

Cheerleading, she scrawls. I was dropped and needed five stitches, she adds proudly.