If the Fates Allow: A Short Story(7)

He was already taking a bite. “That’s the stuff,” he said.

Reagan took off her mask. She always had room for Jell-O salad.

“Is that pineapple?” he asked.

“Yeah. Pineapple, pecans and cream cheese.”

“And marshmallows.”

“You’ve got quite a palate over there,” she said.

“My grandma used to make this.”

“Mine, too.”

“God.” He was grinning at the bowl. “This stuff is like a time machine.”

Reagan was smiling at him. “I’m glad you like it.”

“She used to make the other one, too. With the um . . .” He squinted and snapped his fingers. “Pretzels.”

“With raspberry Jell-O.”

He pointed at her. “Yes!”

Reagan shook her head like he was being stupid, but she was laughing.

“I love that one,” Mason said, taking another bite. “My mom never makes anything like this. She says my grandma cooked everything with packets of Jell-O and cans of soup.”

“We used to give my grandma such a hard time,” Reagan said. “It cracked us up that she called this a salad. ‘You kids want some more salad?’”

Mason laughed.

“I couldn’t imagine Christmas without it,” she said.

He looked up at her, still smiling. He tipped his head a little.

Reagan looked away. “So do you still have friends around here?”

“Oh . . . ,” he said, “you know.”

“Not really.”

“Some of the people from high school are still here. But I see them more on Facebook than anywhere else. I’m not exactly hanging out at the Co-op.”

“I guess not,” Reagan said.

“What about you? You still have friends in Arnold?”

“I’m not sure I ever had friends in Arnold.”

He waved his hand, dismissing her. “You can’t lie to me about that—I remember you and your friends. I always thought you were going to marry Levi Stewart.”

Reagan curled her top lip. “Why’d you think that?”

“Everyone thought that.”

“Not me.”

He pulled his head back. “That’s harsh.”

“Pfft. Levi’s fine. He’s got a wife and three kids and fifty bison.” She still talked to Levi once a week, even though they broke up in college. (Reagan didn’t let many people into her life—but once she’d gone to the effort, she didn’t like to let go of them.) “Bison, huh? That sounds interesting.”

“You should friend him on Facebook, he’ll tell you all about it.”

Mason was finished with his Jell-O already. He was putting his mask back on. Reagan was sorry to see his smile go.

It was colder now that she was sitting on the deck. She shivered.

“Here,” Mason said. Then he tossed something onto her deck. Two somethings.

“What are those?” Reagan was squinting over at them.

“Handwarmers—I guess I should have asked if you wanted them. Are you worried about surface contact?”

“Um . . .” Reagan had hand sanitizer in her coat pocket. Mason watched her spray the handwarmers. He didn’t make fun of her. She slipped the paper pouches into her pockets. They really were warm—how did that even work? “Oh,” she said. “That’s nice. You sure you don’t need them?”

“Nah, I’m fine. I’ve been warming my hands this whole time.”

She sat down again, hanging her feet off the deck. “Just watching me suffer.”

“Exactly.”

Mason was sitting at the very end of his deck, leaning against the beam. Both decks looked like they’d been built by the same person. Unfinished cedar, with one railing. If you were a kid, you could fall right under the rail. Reagan and her cousins used to push each other off.

Reagan looked down at her feet. “Sorry I don’t remember who you were going to marry in high school,” she said.

“It’s okay,” Mason said. “I didn’t marry her.”

Reagan nodded, at another loss for words. What had this pandemic done to her? She’d never been much of a talker, but she’d always been able to find words when she wanted them. Now her head and mouth felt empty. She felt like she carried emptiness around with her, a six-foot radius of it.

“Reagan,” Mason hissed. “Look!” He was pointing away from the deck. Three mule deer were running through her grandpa’s yard. Nearly silent in the snow.

There were only two houses on this road, and they backed up to a field, with an old fence that stretched behind both yards. (This must have been one property once.) The first two deer got to the fence and sailed over it, out into the field. The third one stumbled. It stumbled and didn’t get up.

“Shit,” Mason said, sliding off his deck.

Reagan watched him run across the yard. “Careful,” she said, too quietly for him to hear. He was already closer to that deer than he should be. “Careful!”

She hopped off the deck and landed in the snow. Her hip twinged, and her knee hurt more sharply. “Fuck,” she muttered, still watching Mason. He was walking up to the deer with his hands out in front of him. Reagan followed—but hung back, staying well away from both of them. “What are you doing?” she shout-whispered.