“Earlier than that,” I say.
We laugh.
“And there’s nobody around.”
Her shoulders come together as a shiver passes through her.
“I used to come up a lot,” I say. “Mom didn’t know what to do with me in the summers anyway, so she sent me up to stay with my uncle. It’s a slower pace, but you would be surprised. Even coming from the city, it doesn’t take more than a day or two to settle into the rhythm. It’s all about just looking around and seeing the world for how it is instead of what we expect it to be.”
We fall silent again.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
I realize that my eyes are filling up. I wipe them away with my good hand.
“Can I…” she starts to say. A painful look crosses her face and then she puts it away. “I should go.”
“No,” I say. “You were going to ask me something, right? Ask it.”
I feel really close to Amber. Maybe it’s because we shared Mr. Engel. Maybe it’s because we had almost completely different experiences with our uncles. Well, it was my uncle and her great uncle, but it’s the same thing. Whatever the reason, I feel like Amber and I have a lot in common. I want her to ask whatever is on her mind.
“Please tell me to mind my own business if this is an impolite question,” she says.
“Go ahead.”
“You said you lost your hand in an accident.”
“Yeah,” I say. My nub is under the table, but it itches like it knows that it’s the object of our conversation. “The same accident that burned up the truck and knocked out the power.”
This is a slight exaggeration, but it simplifies the story.
“So… Is it…”
It’s clearly terrifying for her to ask the question. Her curiosity compels her forward.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Is it growing back?”
I laugh. It feels good—all that happy air bursting from my chest. Of all the things I though she was going to ask me, this question never crossed my mind.
“No,” I say when I catch my breath. “Of course not. It was so infected that they had to amputate it. Funny story—I never even got a clear picture on what the infection was. I mean, I know they had me on antibiotics through the IV. I’m still on pills now.”
Actually, I had stopped taking the pills, despite the doctor’s dire warnings to finish them.
“I’m so sorry for being nosey,” she says.
“No problem,” I say with a big smile. “I haven’t gotten used to it, but I shouldn’t be self-conscious, you know? It’s just funny that…”
She cuts me off with, “I guess I saw a shadow or something. There isn’t much light.”
“No,” I say. “Not until CMP gets their stuff together.”
I don’t mention that I have no intention of going back to electric light. After the last couple of days of communing with the darkness, I’ve come to enjoy it. Electric light would feel like a giant step backwards.
To set her mind at ease, I pull out my nub from under the table. I don’t know if this happens to everyone, but I’m really embarrassed about my amputation. It’s like some deep vulnerability that I desperately don’t want the world to know about. I like Amber, and it feels like I can trust her, so I raise the nub over the table, into the last of the dying light in the kitchen.
The tentative smile disappears from her face as she leans forward a bit.
“I’ve taken enough of your time,” she says abruptly. She’s on her feet a moment later, making her way towards the door.
I guess it’s going to be a long, long time before I let myself be vulnerable again.
“Thanks for coming by.”
She’s already showing herself out.
I watch her climb into her car. It’s a rental. I bet she got it from the same place that I got mine. The headlights flare and I flinch back from the light, retreating deeper into my kitchen. Even her taillights appear impossibly bright as I watch her car disappear down the road.
That reminds me—I have to get rid of my rental car soon. It’s probably costing me a fortune and I’m not using it at all. The details of the transaction seem impossible. How will I get back home?
I return to the table and slump into the chair. I just woke up a little while ago when Amber knocked. I’m still a little tired. I have the urge to go out and find more berries. Those perked me right up the last time I ate some. Nothing in the kitchen seems particularly edible. I might as well live off the land while it’s providing. Winter is going to be a long stretch of hunger, I imagine.
Before I head out, there is one thing I need to really consider.
I reach back and pull open the third drawer down. My hand comes back with a stubby candle and then returns to the drawer for a box of matches. The occupational therapy class at the hospital never covered how to light a match one-handed. Fortunately, I learned that trick when I was a teenager. I fold one of the matches over the end of the book and lay it on the rough strip. Then, aligning my middle finger and thumb like I’m going to snap, I strike the match. I snatch it up from the table before the whole book catches fire.
Even candlelight feels too bright to me.
If I’m being honest with myself, my eyes are the real problem with returning the rental car. The place is only open during the day. Even squinting through sunglasses, my eyes will never survive that long out in the sunshine.
I have to do one thing before I snuff the candle.
I have to really examine my nub and try to see it from the angle that frightened
