“We can’t,” Don said. “Thank you for the offer, but we have something we need to see to before… well. Before.”
“Don’t you want to live?” John asked, that off look in his eyes growing brighter. “Don’t you want to prove everyone wrong and survive? Think about it. This thing—whatever it is—comes. What if it misses us? What if it causes damage, but not enough to destroy the world? What ifwecould somehow continue on?”
Don could tell by the look on Rodney’s face that he was almost at his limit. Don couldn’t fault John for his thinking. He was reaching for something to hold on to. But Rodney… well. Rodney didn’t suffer fools.
Don reached over and squeezed Rodney’s thigh. He sighed.
“Anything is possible,” Don said slowly, picking and choosing his words. “But—”
“I don’t want to die,” John said. “I don’t wantthemto die.”
“No one’s dying!” Megan said shrilly. “Stop it. Just stop it. I don’t want to hear about this anymore. Let’s talk about something else. Flowers. Don’t you just love flowers?”
“I have a garden,” Don said. Not had, have. It was still there. For now. “All different varieties of blooms. I—”
“Or baseball,” Megan said. “We could talk about baseball and hot dogs and those peanuts that come hot in the bag. We went to a ball game. Did you know that? About a year ago. Jamie got it in his head that he wanted to be a ballplayer. Don’t know where he got that from. John doesn’t like baseball, but Jamie must have seen it on TV one day, and it became his entire personality.” Her smile returned. It looked like death. “He learned all the rules, the positions. Read books. Looked up things online. We got him a mitt. A bat. Took him to batting cages and wouldn’t you know?” She slapped her hand against the table, causing the plastic flatware to rattle. “He wasgood. Heisgood. Has an eye. Watches the ball. Good grip on the bat. Nice swing. He has the follow-through. Fearless.” A tear fell onto her cheek. “We’re going to sign him up for a team next year. Get him a uniform. He already has cleats. They were so expensive. I mean, how could they cost so much? Especially for something he’ll grow out of in a few months. Do you have any idea how much it costs to dress growing children? It’s ridiculous!” She stood abruptly. “Sorry,” she said, too loudly. “I need to run to the restroom.”
Off she went, her pace hurried, shoulders hunched.
A long, drawn-out silence.
John said, “She’s… upset.”
Rodney’s leg bumped against Don’s.Careful, that movement said.Careful.
“Aren’t we all?” Don asked. “I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t be—”
John grinned, gaze sharp and wet. “Yeah, of course. You’re right. We should all be upset.” He chuckled, a sound that seemed to crawl up his throat and out his mouth. “She’s pregnant. A couple of months. We weren’t planning it. Two was enough, you know? Almost too much. Jamie was a handful, and Lauren, she…” He blew out a breath. “She came early. Two months early. In the NICU for weeks, and I told her I’m your dad. I’m yourdaddy. And I promiseyou, if you pull through, if you get out of here, I will do everything in my power to make sure you get the life you deserve. I swore that to her. And guess what? She came home. It took a long time. And it was touch and go more times than I care to admit. But she persisted. She grew stronger, healthier. Still so small, but she could breathe on her own. The day we took her home? The best day of my life. I cried! I cried becauseshewas crying, and I’d never heard such a crazy sound. It echoed around the house and I remember thinking,This is it. This is what I was made for.” John gripped the edges of the park table. “And she grew. They both did. Grew to have thoughts of their own, to have feelings about anything and everything. The two of them. From me. From Megan. Wemadethem, we brought them into this world, we gave them love and hope and joy and forwhat? For this? For it all to end like this? No. No. I refuse to believe that. I refuse to believe there won’t be a day when I get to see my son graduate high school. I refuse to believe there won’t be a day when my daughter comes to me and says, I’ve met someone. I refuse to believe that my unborn kid won’t get to take a breath of air. We didn’t plan on it, but now that it’s real, why should I let it be taken away?” He glared at them. “I have hope, but it feels like lying.”
They sat in silence, only interrupted by the sounds of Jamie, of Lauren, screeching toward the sky.
Don excused himself as Rodney and John began clearing up the remnants of their meal. He wanted to use the restroom before they got back on the road. The kids were eating grapes, tossing them up and trying to catch them in their mouths.
He nodded at the few people he passed by and was about to enter the men’s room when he heard a choking sound coming from the other side of the small building. He thought about ignoring it, but Megan had been gone for close to twenty minutes.
When he walked around the building, he found Megan leaning against it, hunched over, hair hanging down around her face. Her fist was in her mouth, her pale face pulled back into a silent scream.
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t know her and didn’t want to run the risk of comfort being misconstrued for something else. These were strange times. Instead, he mirrored her pose, leaning against the building, leaving a couple of feet between them. He didn’t speak, letting her decide how to proceed.
A minute passed, her breath hitching. Another minute. Then another. Then she said, “I hate this.” She sniffled, wiping her face with the back of her arm.
Don sighed. “I know. We all do.”
He didn’t think she heard him. “I’m tired,” she said. “Tired of putting on a brave face. Tired of holding this all in because there’s nowhere else for it to go. I look at my kids, and I don’t know what to do.” She looked at him. Don thought she was hanging on by a thread. “How do I tell them? How do I look them in the eye and tell them that they’re going to die?”
“I don’t know,” Don admitted. “Maybe you don’t have to. You heard your son. I think he might already know. Or, at least, have some idea.”
She took that in, let it simmer. Then, “It’s weird. Talking to strangers. It’s like therapy, almost. It’s easier to tell a stranger something hard than it is to tell someone you love. With strangers, you don’t give a shit how they look at you. You’ll never see them again.”
“I… suppose that’s one way of thinking of it.”
“You’re a stranger,” she said. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to make sense of all of this. Tell me how I’m supposed to act, what I’m supposed to say.”
Don hesitated. “The truth? Or some version of it. Or maybe you lie to them. Tell them that everything is going to be all right.One night, you’ll all go to bed together and you’ll tell stories and eat candy and remind each other that it was all worth it. All of it. Every bit, even when it hurt beyond comprehension. But is that right? Isn’t honesty more important?”
She put a hand on her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
“John said as much.” Though it was on the tip of his tongue, he managed to catch himself before he addedcongratulations.