Black River Falls by Jeff Hirsch(69)

“Broccoli,” she said, pointing to a spot by the fence and then ticking off three more. “Radishes. Spinach. Cauliflower.” She slammed the book closed. “We’re planting for a late fall harvest, so no tomatoes.”

Everyone moved away to start digging in the spots Mom had indicated. She looked a little less thin than she had the last time I’d seen her. There was a roundness to her face. A glow to her skin.

“Honestly, Sara,” one of the women said. “I don’t understand what you’re even doing here this morning.”

“Just wanted to get my hands dirty,” Mom said as she knelt in the dirt.

“Yeah, but don’t you have to get ready?”

Mom ripped the top of a packet of seeds. “It’s a party. We’ve thrown a dozen of them.”

I moved into a stand of trees across the street and watched as she planted row after row and then gently covered the seeds with soil. Eventually, the rest of the crew insisted that she go home and get ready for a party that was happening later that afternoon.

Mom took her book and left the garden, strolling down the sidewalk. I made a slow count to twenty, then fell in behind her. She ended up in the yard of a small yellow house at the end of a cul de sac, the same one I’d broken into that night weeks ago. She crossed the lawn then disappeared into the backyard. It wasn’t long before others arrived, singly and in groups, and followed her. Some carried small boxes, others baskets filled with bread or bundles of flowers bound in twine. I watched them for a while, then started to leave. Before I could take more than a few steps, though, a group of men and women swept by me toward the house.

“Where ya going?” one of them called. “Party’s this way!”

“No, I’m not—I was just—”

Someone laughed and hooked her arm through mine, pulling me along, even as I protested. Before I knew it, we were in the backyard, and the group dispersed. I knew I should leave but the scene behind the house kept me rooted in place.

The backyard was full of people, dozens of them, mostly milling around a long table loaded down with food and glass pitchers of water with thick slices of lemon floating inside. Everywhere I looked, there were flowers. Daisies mostly, and sunflowers, bundled on tables and on the seats of mismatched chairs. A man with a guitar showed up and then a woman with a violin. The crowd cheered as they started to play. So many infected in one place triggered this bone-deep instinct—to turn and go, to run, to get away. But then I remembered that I was safe. Immune.

I found myself weaving through the party in a kind of dream. Even though my clothes were ragged and grimy from old sweat and ash and blood, the people who noticed barely seemed to care. It was crowded enough by then that my arm or shoulder kept brushing someone else’s. At first, I’d jerk away immediately, but they’d simply smile and go back to their conversations. Once, I passed by a man telling a story, and when he was done the people around him laughed so hard that I felt the rush of their breath against my skin and didn’t even flinch. And the smells! Without my mask, I picked out the scents of sweat and soap, of fruit and grass and flowers.

By the time I made it to the other side of the yard my head was spinning. I grabbed hold of the food table to steady myself. There was a pitcher of water nearby. I filled a glass and drank it in one long gulp. It was cold and sharp with the flavor of lemons.

“Mind if I join you?”

I turned at the sound of the voice. Mom was standing just behind me, fanning herself with a folded-up sheet of paper. She was in khaki shorts and a button-up shirt that was covered with embroidered flowers. Her deep brown skin was glowing with sun and sweat. She came up to the table and poured herself a glass of water.

“Did you get something to eat?” she asked once she drained it. “There’s plenty. More than plenty. Though, I hope you like tuna noodle casserole. There was so much canned tuna in the last supply drop, we have six of them.”

“Sara!”

Mom turned and waved at someone on the other side of the yard. “Jessica! Is Richard here?”

“He’s right behind me. He and Jack are lugging the grill.”

“He’s not going to throw out his back again, is he?”

“Fingers crossed!”

Mom laughed. I put down my glass and started to walk away. “I should probably let you—”

Mom grabbed my shoulder to stop me. “I hate to ask, but do you think you could help me with something?” She pointed up the back stairs to the porch door. “We’re giving one of our neighbors a chair we don’t need, and since you’re the only strapping young man currently present, I thought maybe you could help me carry it down.”

“I—”

“Nope! Won’t take no for an answer. Come on! It’ll earn you an extra slice of cake!”

She threaded her way through her guests and up the stairs. It was cool inside the house, but there was an odd musty smell that made me think of mothballs and lace. I flashed back to the last time I was there. Fred on the ground. Mom screaming. I looked to see if there was any trace of blood left on the floor, but it had all been wiped away.

“Can I get you anything?”

Mom had gone to the kitchen and was pouring herself another glass of water from the sink.

I shook my head. “No. I’m fine. Thanks. Which chair do you want to . . .”