Aurora(51)

“Did you tell him to stop?”

“Nah, we don’t talk like that. I just give it to the first homeless guy I see. Makes his day.”

Aubrey gestured to the duffel bag. “If your brother sent you that during a blackout, would you keep it?”

“Well, of course I would. I’m not an idiot. No offense.”

“Who could possibly take offense at that?”

“I’m leaving early in the morning. Gives you some time. Why don’t you think about it overnight? No sweat either way.”

She smiled. “Would I freak you out if I said I liked your style, Patrick?”

“You would not.”

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving.”

“Peanut butter and jelly OK?”

“Peanut butter and jelly is a dream come true,” Brady said, and he meant it.



Half an hour later, the dusky light was shining through the kitchen window as Aubrey, Brady, Scott, and Celeste sat down to a dinner of PBJs, once-frozen peas, and tap water. The teenagers, who’d deigned to come downstairs from Scott’s room for the meal, had the clingy, blissed-out look of a young couple who had recently discovered the joys of premarital sex, and Aubrey thought she needed to somehow, someway, find a supply of at least a hundred condoms. It was going to be a long blackout, and she had no intention of taking the Little House thing all the way to giving birth to a step-grandchild on her dining room table.

“Should we do gratitudes?” Celeste asked, just as they started to eat.

The others looked at her. Outside, a car’s engine roared as someone came down the street, too fast.

“You know, gratitudes,” she tried again. “We go around and everybody has to say one thing they’re grateful for, even if it’s hard to think of. Especially if it’s hard to think of, that’s kinda the point. My mom used to have us do it every night during COVID, but then—well, we don’t anymore.”

Scott’s arm moved, and Aubrey could tell he was putting a reassuring hand on her thigh. Condoms. Gotta get condoms. Outside, a car door slammed.

Brady brightened, looking at Celeste. “Great idea. Can I go first?” Nobody objected, so he did. “I’m grateful to be here with you all. I realize I busted in, and here you’re feeding me and sheltering me, and, well, that means a lot to me.”

Celeste slapped him lightly on his bulky arm. “You took mine.” She turned to Aubrey. “Thank you for having me here. Very much.”

“I’m grateful for bread,” Scott said inelegantly, through a mouthful of it. “How much more bread do we have? Is there even gonna be bread anymore? When’s the—”

“Helloo?”

They all turned, and from the kitchen table they could see all the way down the center hall to the front door, which was open. There was a silhouette in the screen, somebody cupping their hands to block out the light so they could get a look inside the house.

Rusty.

“Hey, you guys, what’s up?”

Scott turned, furious, his eyes burning a hole into Aubrey’s. “What the fuck, Aubrey? He has to stop just coming here whenever he wants. I thought you fucking talked to him about that.”

“Not crazy about the language,” Brady said.

“Who asked you?” Scott snapped.

“Nobody. Just voicing an opinion.”

“What are you guys doing in there?” Rusty yelled, from the doorway. “You gonna let me in or what?”

“I’ll handle it,” Aubrey said, getting up from the table. Scott turned away, so he couldn’t make eye contact with Rusty, and now it was Celeste’s turn to try to comfort him. God, Aubrey was going to get sick of that us-two-against-the-world dynamic real quick, but one problem at a time. “Excuse me.”

She headed for the front door, making a conscious effort not to force a phony, accommodating smile onto her face. She was done with that shit with Rusty. She reached the door and stopped, pointedly, on the other side of the screen, not opening it. “What’s the matter, Rusty?”

He looked at her and frowned, held his hands up in confusion. “What do you mean what’s the matter? You asked me to knock first. I knocked.”

“I mean why are you here?”

He scratched his neck, too hard, and gestured to his truck. “Came to juice you up.” Again, he’d backed into the driveway, his truck hanging out into the street this time, since Brady’s BMW was already parked beside the house. Aubrey could see the yellow generator in the back.

“Who’s Mr. BMW with the California plates?” he asked.

Aubrey was in no mood for his bullshit. “No, thank you.”

“What do you mean?” Rusty asked.

“I mean I don’t want power right now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna be over this way for another four or five days, so it’s kinda now or never, honey.”

“That’s a chance I’ll take.” She started to close the front door, but Rusty leaned in, right up against the screen.

“What’s your fucking problem?”

“Do you need some help here?”

Aubrey turned. Brady, all six foot four and two hundred twenty pounds of him, was standing just behind her, a little to one side.