The cabin was beautiful. At least I remembered it being that way, I was certain it still was, but would have to wait to see for myself. I stayed behind with Tanner. Everyone but Burke understood my decision to wait. It saddened me to see my children go, but I knew they were in good hands, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was with them at the cabin.
Matty put it the best when she told Burke, “Tanner is part of us now. It isn’t right to let one of us stay behind alone. It’s not like he’s Dan.”
My daughter’s confidence in my choice, gave me confidence.
I did err when I volunteered to help out at the station. Without hesitation, I was recruited. By nightfall I was tired, and my throat was sore. I was deemed the new megaphone man. Twelve hours straight I called out the same thing, over and over. I swore I would hear those words in my sleep.
I was relieved of duty shortly before midnight. And told I earned a four-hour break—gee, thanks. There was a bright spot; they showed me where to clean up. After that, I was given fresh clothes, a hot meal, and the number of my assigned rest trailer.
Food in hand, reaching for the door to the trailer, I heard Tanner call out.
“Jo, wait up.”
I turned and looked. Tanner jotted my way holding his own plate.
“Thought I’d eat with you,” he said.
I smiled and opened the door. “You aren’t going to believe this.” I led the way inside. “I just… I just took a shower.”
Tanner laughed. “You’ll have that.”
“No, I haven’t. I took a shower. My hair squeaks.”
“So does your voice.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” I sat down. “You know I wondered why you were always so clean when I saw you.”
“You were clean.”
“I was sanitized.” I paused to look at my plate. “What is this I’m eating?”
Tanner shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. But I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You’re sure it’s fine?” I sniffed it. “Smells beefy.”
“Then it’s fine. If it smells sour, then I’d worry. Just eat.” Tanner began to delve into his own meal. “So, how are you handling things without the kids?”
“I miss them.” My fork played with my food. “I’m imagining them at the cabin. Matty probably found a tree to sit by and draw. Bet me Davy just ran. Ran from one end of the property to the next. Simon, he probably wanted to run with Davy, but Burke promised me he wouldn’t let Simon run. He said he’d put him on a leash if he had to. Of course… we wouldn’t have Simon running around if it wasn’t for you.”
“Trust me when I tell you, Jo, I wanted him to live as much as you did. He isn’t just your Simon, in a sense, he’s a bit of my son Simon, as well.” He paused peacefully. “So…” he exhaled. “Tell me about this cabin we’re going to.”
“You know, when we were in the shelter, I drew all kinds of pictures about it.”
“You did?” Tanner asked surprised. “Where are they?”
“Back at the shelter.”
“Well, I guess you’re going to have to give me all the details verbally then.”
“I guess I am.” I thought about what I would tell him, building a pictorial in my mind before I expelled it to him. “Tanner?”
“Yeah?” he looked up from his food.
“I want you to know, I really believe now, that there’s a better tomorrow. I really believe that.”
“I do too, Jo.” Tanner smiled at me. “I do too.”
27. One Last Look
My ‘I’ll be there notebook’. The wear and tear of its cover showed how much I opened that notebook in just over a month’s time. There were spills on it, some of the pages were bent, and the cover contained doodles.
It was my last entry.
Twenty-six AB. Dear Mona: Today I leave for the cabin. The rescue station is closed, and now we play a waiting game to see if the government rises from the ashes. I’m beginning to think at this point in time, all that is gone, will remain gone. You’re in my prayers, always. Jo.
It was my last entry for more than just one reason. That final entry to Mona was written on the final page of that notebook. How ironic. I didn’t plan it that way, it just happened.
I was back in my house. My house. In my dining room, seated at the dusty table, I stared at my notebook. I knew what I had to, and I knew what that notebook stood for. It had gotten me through so much. Many of my heartaches graced the pages of that book. But those heartaches, like my house, were things I had to put behind me. The future was what I had to face.
I made the decision to leave the notebook behind. Taking it was an option, but would I ever read it? Would I want to read it? Perhaps leaving it would be a symbol, or maybe someone down the road will find it, and learn. I knew it had to stay. There really was no reason to bring it. The entire intention of that notebook was to be a resolution of my friends. Closure to their fate. But did I do that? Had I felt that? Yes, I completed my notebook, but I hadn’t completed the list. The ‘I’ll be there list’ was not finished.
I reviewed the list of names. Every single one of them had either been circled, or scratched out. A date or comment was next it. Every name but Mona’s. Hers stood alone, untouched.
It was time to go, but I still stared at that list. I was moving on, moving forward, and I was putting to rest my way of life before the bombs. I would never be able to freely do so without putting to rest everything. It was time to do that task.
Pen in hand, heart breaking, in defeat I did something I never thought I’d do—I placed a single thin line through Mona’s name. I forced my own closure, and then I closed the cover to the notebook.
“Jo?” Tanner called out softly. “Ready?”
Slowly I stood from the chair, and pushed it into the table. “Yeah.” I took one last look at the notebook. “Yeah, I’m ready.”
The road to Burke’s cabin was always hard to find, but that day we found it with ease. Gone were the visions of crumbled buildings, scattered cars and decaying bodies. I was awakened with a renewed hope when I saw the trees that lined the gravel road to Burke’s property.
A summertime spring blossomed with the buds that sprouted on the branches of the trees. I could smell them; the scents of nature pelted me. The air was warm, but fresh. I wanted to stand in the moving jeep and raise my arms with an enthused scream. But I kept my excitement in check. I wanted to see my kids, the cabin; I wanted to see it all before I shouted to the heavens a humongous ‘thank you!’
My eyes stayed ahead, and I ignored Tanner’s continuous questioning of whether or not we took the wrong road.
“It’s only a mile or so. Only a mile.” I repeated.
Then, I saw it. No, I heard. The sound of laughter, Burke disciplining for them to ‘leave the water pump alone’. I beckoned Tanner to hurry, and he obliged without argument.
“Mommy!” a sopping wet Matty screamed my name when we stopped the jeep.
Davy delivered one more pump of water over Simon’s head, and then he spotted us as well. “Mom! Burke! Mom’s here!”
Simon finally joined my children in racing to greet me. My arms extended to them, wet or not, I needed to give them a hug. And I did.
The squeak of the screen porch door, caught my attention, and I looked up to see Burke stepping out.
“I’ll be damned.” Burked walked off the porch. “Look at you. GI Jo.” He reached out and embraced me, and extended a hand to Tanner as he did. “You guys look great.”
“I’ve been showering,” I said.
Burke sniffed loudly. “Yeah, you smell it.”