would have argued about in person.
He sighed heavily. He loved Gran, second only to his father, but he was still pissed she made this decision without even warning him. He felt the instant flood of guilt. What the hell kind of thinking was that? You don’t love your family in order, he told himself harshly, and it was her decision to make, even though it was dead wrong. He wondered for a moment if it really was the wrong decision.
Mike shut down that train of thought and brought his mind back to the situation at hand. They would leave. Gran and the shooters from the night before made it clear they wouldn’t be safe at the farmhouse for long. But Mike was still torn over whether to head for Fort Knox or one of the shelters FEMA was supposed to be setting up. The television had gone dead before any shelter locations were revealed, but they would almost certainly use local schools or churches. There would be people there, and some kind of order of law. That would probably be safer than approaching the armed guards outside of Fort Knox, who were bound to be a bit trigger-happy.
Mike frowned. Gran seemed so certain, though.
He sighed, looking at her silent face, trying to bury his anger. He would decide later. For now, he would get her cleaned up and wrap her in her quilt. Then he would call Jenn and ask her if she wanted to help him bury Gran in the snow next to Poppa. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but he wanted his sister to have the choice about how she said goodbye.
It took longer than he thought to wash the visible parts of his grandmother’s body, and longer still to work up the nerve to take off her nightgown and replace it with her favorite church dress. The blue fabric of the dress accented her eyes and the skirt almost covered Gran’s atrophied legs. She’d received regular compliments whenever she’d worn it, and while she always scoffed and said she didn’t go to church to be looked at, the compliments pleased her. She wore the dress often. Somehow, it looked different with her lying so still. Gran couldn’t have weighed ninety pounds, but it was hard to manipulate her stiff limbs. Unlike Poppa, rigor mortis had set in already.
Finally, close to 10:00, Mike knocked on Jenn’s door. Justin Bieber stopped crooning, and Jennifer opened the door, looking at him. Her eyes and nose were red, but she had stopped crying a while ago.
“May I come in?” Mike asked, his voice uncertain and formal. Jenn nodded and pulled the door wider, stepping aside. Mike was careful not to step on any of the Barbie dolls – when had she gotten so many? – as he moved over to the side of her twin bed and sat. Jennifer stood in front of him, watching him solemnly. For a second, he wished she would throw a tantrum; that Jenn was familiar to him. The sister in front of him was too … old. She’d been shocked by tragedy, perhaps one time too many, for her childhood to survive intact.
“When Gran didn’t answer her door this morning, I went into her room,” Mike said, his voice quiet and gentle as he watched his little sister’s face. “I’m sorry, Jenni. Gran died last night.”
Jennifer nodded solemnly. She had figured it out already. If Gran were all right, she would have made pancakes long before now. “How did she die?”
Mike looked at his sister steadily, holding her eyes as he lied to her. “I’m not sure, sweetheart. I think she maybe had a heart attack in her sleep.”
Jenn ignored the “sweetheart.” That was a dad thing to say, not a Mike thing. “So, it wasn’t those ships – the aliens?”
Mike blinked at Jenn’s question. He’d been thinking terrorist attack more than aliens, but something about Jenn’s idea just … sounded right. He shook his head. “No, she wasn’t attacked by anything. She wasn’t in pain.”
Jenn nodded, and Mike swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling like a tennis ball. “I’m going to wrap her in her quilt and take her to the rose trellis,” he told his
He sighed heavily. He loved Gran, second only to his father, but he was still pissed she made this decision without even warning him. He felt the instant flood of guilt. What the hell kind of thinking was that? You don’t love your family in order, he told himself harshly, and it was her decision to make, even though it was dead wrong. He wondered for a moment if it really was the wrong decision.
Mike shut down that train of thought and brought his mind back to the situation at hand. They would leave. Gran and the shooters from the night before made it clear they wouldn’t be safe at the farmhouse for long. But Mike was still torn over whether to head for Fort Knox or one of the shelters FEMA was supposed to be setting up. The television had gone dead before any shelter locations were revealed, but they would almost certainly use local schools or churches. There would be people there, and some kind of order of law. That would probably be safer than approaching the armed guards outside of Fort Knox, who were bound to be a bit trigger-happy.
Mike frowned. Gran seemed so certain, though.
He sighed, looking at her silent face, trying to bury his anger. He would decide later. For now, he would get her cleaned up and wrap her in her quilt. Then he would call Jenn and ask her if she wanted to help him bury Gran in the snow next to Poppa. He wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but he wanted his sister to have the choice about how she said goodbye.
It took longer than he thought to wash the visible parts of his grandmother’s body, and longer still to work up the nerve to take off her nightgown and replace it with her favorite church dress. The blue fabric of the dress accented her eyes and the skirt almost covered Gran’s atrophied legs. She’d received regular compliments whenever she’d worn it, and while she always scoffed and said she didn’t go to church to be looked at, the compliments pleased her. She wore the dress often. Somehow, it looked different with her lying so still. Gran couldn’t have weighed ninety pounds, but it was hard to manipulate her stiff limbs. Unlike Poppa, rigor mortis had set in already.
Finally, close to 10:00, Mike knocked on Jenn’s door. Justin Bieber stopped crooning, and Jennifer opened the door, looking at him. Her eyes and nose were red, but she had stopped crying a while ago.
“May I come in?” Mike asked, his voice uncertain and formal. Jenn nodded and pulled the door wider, stepping aside. Mike was careful not to step on any of the Barbie dolls – when had she gotten so many? – as he moved over to the side of her twin bed and sat. Jennifer stood in front of him, watching him solemnly. For a second, he wished she would throw a tantrum; that Jenn was familiar to him. The sister in front of him was too … old. She’d been shocked by tragedy, perhaps one time too many, for her childhood to survive intact.
“When Gran didn’t answer her door this morning, I went into her room,” Mike said, his voice quiet and gentle as he watched his little sister’s face. “I’m sorry, Jenni. Gran died last night.”
Jennifer nodded solemnly. She had figured it out already. If Gran were all right, she would have made pancakes long before now. “How did she die?”
Mike looked at his sister steadily, holding her eyes as he lied to her. “I’m not sure, sweetheart. I think she maybe had a heart attack in her sleep.”
Jenn ignored the “sweetheart.” That was a dad thing to say, not a Mike thing. “So, it wasn’t those ships – the aliens?”
Mike blinked at Jenn’s question. He’d been thinking terrorist attack more than aliens, but something about Jenn’s idea just … sounded right. He shook his head. “No, she wasn’t attacked by anything. She wasn’t in pain.”
Jenn nodded, and Mike swallowed, the lump in his throat feeling like a tennis ball. “I’m going to wrap her in her quilt and take her to the rose trellis,” he told his
Similar Books
