The sharp tone takes him by surprise. That’s clear. He pulls away, back pressed to his chair. Miranda doesn’t talk to him sharply. She doesn’t raise her voice. Yet, that’s exactly what she’s doing. As Miranda’s breathing slowly returns to normal, the silence between almost seems to ring and bounce off the walls.
Miranda can see Tom evaluating her, a clinical scan of her face that makes him seem cold. “What? Either tell me or tell me that you won’t tell me. One or the other,” she says.
He sighs deeply. “Alright, I will. I don’t know that there are women around, not in the real way. No one told me or anything like that. I just know. You understand what I mean?”
She nods tightly, not allowing herself to be soothed as she usually is by reassurances.
“It was the vegetables that did it.”
“What?” she asked, surprised back into a normal tone of voice.
With a chagrined smile, Tom says, “When I brought all those jars of vegetables to the group, I should have considered that someone would ask me how to do it themselves. I didn’t have a ready answer, now did I? I tried to redirect the conversation, to delay any answering until I could get back to you and learn how to do it myself, but I was sure I’d been caught out.”
Miranda sees how that might happen. The food industry all but collapsed right after The Dying began. Who knew more than half of all workers in the food processing industry were women? Everyone gardens now, or so she’s been told by Tom. But very few know how to safely preserve what they grow.
They’re learning on their own, of course. There are books everywhere and it’s not that difficult to learn. Books aside, there are details best passed on from person to person that no book can capture. That’s to say nothing of the fear of botulism, that old bogeyman of home canning. The men in his fellowship would probably have leapt upon any chance to learn the craft from another.
“And?” she prods.
“Well, I thought I’d managed to get clear of it for the moment, but after the meeting, George asked me to stay behind. George leads our group. I’ve spoken of him.”
Again, she nods but says nothing.
“He put a hand on my shoulder and got very serious and told me there are some skills best shared. Then he showed me the sleeve of his coat. It was a barn coat. Very sturdy, but I’d noticed it was rather beaten up before. I’d noticed the neatly done elbow patches, but never thought anything of it. He held it up and raised his eyebrows, like I’d understand what he meant.”
“And you took an elbow patch to mean he had a woman hidden away? That’s a big leap,” she says, then frowns at her choice of words. Possessive. A woman hidden away. Even she’s thinking like that now if she chose those words. She shakes her head to drive away those thoughts and says, “A really big leap.”
Tom shrugs, but his expression says he’s not getting through what he means. “It’s not just that. It’s the way he said it, the way he looked directly at me when he said it, like he was trying to make sure I understood what he was really saying.”
Silence falls again as Miranda considers Tom’s words, and the implications of those words. If there are other women hidden, then perhaps there are lots of women. Maybe there are fewer dead and more hidden. That could mean something. It might be bad or it might be good. There are many considerations.
Only one thing is clear. Until she can see and talk to other women, she won’t be able to decide what’s good or bad.
With more decisiveness than she’s shown in far too long, Miranda leans her elbows on the table and looks directly at Tom. “If he’s hiding someone, then you both have a lot to lose if you betray each other. That’s almost as good as trust when it comes right down to it. I want to meet her. Tell him I’ll show her how to can food, but only in person.”
Charlotte
Today it has been one year since she and her mother walked through the doors of the government facility. It’s been almost two and a half years since The Dying. So much time. She can feel her mother’s eyes on her more than usual today. She’s worried, which is understandable since this is the anniversary of them leaving their home. It’s also unnecessary. The pills work. Charlotte feels calm.
“Mom, I’m okay. I promise,” she says, then tosses the dice. Only a double. Yahtzee is a good way to pass the time, and it’s an easy game that requires no deep thought.
Tabitha looks away and dutifully records the score, then smiles. “Charlie, I’m your mom. It’s my job to worry sometimes.”
They play for a few more minutes, then Tabitha sweeps up the dice and says, “What about a walk? I could use the exercise. That sound good?”
Charlotte doesn’t answer right away. She frequently feels a vague lassitude, which saps her energy and leads to watching too much television. She knows it’s the pills doing it. Does she have the energy to fight that feeling and walk? Her mother’s expression says she needs to try.
“Sure. Let’s walk,” she says.
At the door to their module, which is what the facility calls the various buildings that house the women, the guards smile and duck their heads. The one called Freddy holds the door open for them and tells them rain is expected later in the day. Both guards glance at the wristbands she and her mother wear, making sure the tell-tale green light is showing, but they do it discreetly, as they do everything here.
The day is lovely. Not too warm and not too cold. The shift in seasons is happening gently this year.
