Aurora(79)

Celeste, for her part, had taken an early and intense interest in the art of fire creation and maintenance. For the high-heat, low-flame cooking fire they’d need that night, she’d had to get things started early and proceed with great patience. Back in May, Celeste had dug her first fire pit out back, but it was too deep, too big, too exposed to wind, basically too everything. She’d refined and refocused her efforts over the weeks that followed and had spent four or five days choosing rocks alone. At first, she’d started with sandstone and limestone chunks, which were the easiest to find in the holes she dug in the back yard. She was operating on the theory that they were lighter and more permeable, and therefore would conduct heat better. It was a theory she’d been disabused of after the first couple fires. They were light and permeable, all right, but that meant they filled with moisture easily and were prone to bursting at high temperatures. Exploding rocks will put a damper on any chef’s work.

Undeterred, Celeste regrouped, asking around the neighborhood for advice, and learned that hard, dense rocks like granite, marble, or slate were safer and more effective. Those were impossible to find in the area without serious mining, but she’d hit upon something even better at the first abandoned house they’d torn down: fire-rate brick. Once the house’s skeleton had been revealed, she found an ample supply of brick in some of the exterior walls. With it, she built a restaurant-grade fire pit in Aubrey’s backyard. They used it almost every night.

Tonight, the kitchen table was set, the salad had been tossed, and Aubrey had a moment to herself. From where she sat, she could watch Scott, working away at the cutting board, and with just a turn of her head she could look out the window and see Celeste, fussing over the fire pit. They both worked quietly, without complaint, and without having to be asked. They knew their roles and took pleasure in playing them. They’d become an impressive young couple, good at sharing work, full of energy and an eagerness to please, and so far unburdened by resentment.

Normally, in these moments of quiet, Aubrey would have let her fears and anxieties play out. She usually went to the same ones: Norman’s health, their food supply, the potential for violent social upheaval. In her darker moments, she’d think about the coming winter. The inevitable and brutal Chicago cold was a frequent subject of discussion on the block, but no one had any genius ideas about how to survive it. Aubrey had considered heading south, or west, to try to find her brother’s place if she could, but any plans were still amorphous and overwhelming to contemplate.

Tonight, watching the teenagers work, Aubrey felt none of those concerns. Instead, she had an unfamiliar and welcome sense of peace. Tonight, the house was warm and safe, tonight, they would eat well, and tonight, the three of them, this odd and pleasant unofficial family, would be tranquil. Aubrey closed her eyes, listening to the sound of Scott’s knife on the cutting board and smelling the sweet pine of the burning wood as it drifted through the open window.

She was content. Her entire life, she’d been told to be happy, either by herself or with her family or her friends or the whole goddamn world, but she knew now it had been impossible to achieve all along. It was an absurd goal. You can’t find happiness; happiness finds you. We are completely passive in the act of our own contentment because it isn’t an act. It’s a result. For the first time in years, she was living an uncomplicated life, and happiness had resulted.

The evening sunlight slanted across the kitchen table, adding another visual to her sensory delights. Aubrey squinted out the window and guessed it was around six-thirty, based on the angle of the light. She figured she’d wander over to Phil’s house for the cake in a few minutes. Phil had a gas oven and had somehow lucked into service that morning. He’d told Aubrey about it immediately, thrilled, because today was Celeste’s sixteenth birthday. Mrs. Chen had flour and sugar, and if they could scare up a few eggs from anywhere in the neighborhood, that had meant they could bake her an actual cake. Aubrey and Phil had set off as on a scavenger hunt and come up with the necessary ingredients, and the smell of the cake had wafted out onto the street about an hour ago. Butter for icing had proven to be an ingredient too far, but Aubrey was certain Celeste would be delighted, nonetheless.

Now, Aubrey figured, it was time to go get it. She pushed her chair back from the table.

There are some events in life that mark the dividing line between “before” and “after.” That’s the bombing of Pearl Harbor for one generation, 9/11 for another, COVID for nearly everyone alive on the planet today. They are the moment or event that defines the boundary between life as you used to know it and life as you came to know it. For better or worse, but usually worse, people come to regard themselves as separate beings, judging everything they did “before” in one light and every action they took “after” in a different one.

For Scott, Celeste, and Aubrey, “before” meant the time prior to the knock on the door that came at that moment.

Aubrey, already turning in her chair, stopped. She hoped Phil hadn’t misunderstood and brought the cake over early, despite their fairly explicit plans for the surprise. If so, she’d better head him off before Celeste saw anything.

“I’ll get it,” she said.

Scott kept chopping, Celeste fed the fire, and Aubrey went to the door.

She opened it. Rusty smiled, and she could smell the rot of his teeth through the screen.