He first walked into the kitchen. The sound of sobs rose from the floor, soft and distant. He thought it might have been coming from a vent, but realized it was Sean in the reserves. He almost reached out and opened the door, went down there to talk to him. Maybe they could just mourn together. He pulled his hand back and stuffed it in his pocket. Sean didn’t want to see anyone. His guilt and grief wouldn’t let him see comfort anywhere. Andrew knew that well.
He left the kitchen and climbed the stairs, but each step was excruciating. His feet felt loaded with cement. His tears were building up faster than he could dam them. He wanted to go to Molly’s room and smell her faint scent on her clothes and act like she was still alive.
He dragged his feet to her door and opened it. Elise and Michael were standing next to the dresser. They froze and looked back at him, and he darted his eyes away even though he wasn’t sure why. “I’m sorry. I can go somewhere else,” he said.
“No, come on in,” Elise said.
Michael shot a look to her, but she shook her head and invited Andrew into her arms. The dam broke. Elise was the only mom he had anymore. Her chest heaved too, and he felt her tears grace the side of his neck. Michael stood coolly behind, his hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples.
After a minute, she pulled back. He said, wiping his eyes, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re all right,” Elise said, smiling though tears fell onto her cheeks. “So, you were going to name him Lincoln?”
“We thought it was a good name.”
“It is. What if the baby was a girl?”
“Genevieve.”
Elise smiled. “That’s a pretty name.”
“We thought so.”
Michael said to Elise, “We need to talk.”
She turned to him. “You can’t even wait until Molly’s buried before you start talking about—”
“Come on, Elise. That’s not fair,” he said.
An uncomfortable sinking feeling came upon Andrew, an instinctual tingle that comes from being in the wrong place at the wrong time right before something happened. Elise may have said she was fine with him being there, but it didn’t feel like it.
Elise said, “He can hear what you have to say. He just lost the mother of his child and he lives in this home too. It affects him.”
Michael bit his bottom lip and grunted. “This concerns you a bit more.”
Elise looked back at Andrew. “Michael thinks we should—what was it you said? Take care of my husband?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what does, We need to take care of your husband, mean?”
Andrew took a step back. “Maybe I shouldn’t—”
“Don’t make me the bad guy here,” Michael said. “I’m trying to be reasonable about this and you’re making it seem like I’m the one with the problem.”
“What problem?”
“Christ, Elise. Really?”
“It was an accident.”
“An accident that happened because he was trying to kill someone else in this house.”
“He wasn’t going to kill anyone.”
“He said Andrew was a dead man. He was going for his gun—I was watching him.” He turned to Andrew. “Did you think he was going to do it?”
“I don’t know,” Andrew stammered. He had spent a lot of time thinking about it—about the look in Sean’s eyes. That terrible look.
“He was going to kill him, Elise. His hand was on the gun. If he thinks he can just kill Andrew, what’s to stop him from offing anyone else he doesn’t agree with or he thinks needs to go?”
“Why would he do that?” Elise said.
“Because he’s done it before. What about the people out front?”
“He was protecting the house.”
“Did he need to outright kill them?”
“Men broke into our home and stole our food. They let my son suffocate to make a point. And you have the nerve to ask whether what Sean has done is excessive?”
“Elise, this is different. Please, you’ve got to hear me. This is different. This is—”
“No, listen to me, Michael. You have doubted my husband for almost two decades now. You have planted seeds of discord all across our relationship. And what have you been right about?”
Michael rubbed circles on his temples with his fingers.
Elise continued, “Can you even name one thing? When he wanted to move us out here, you said he was crazy and delusional and that he was trying to separate me from my family. When we built the reserves, you said he was paranoid. Then what happened?”
Michael started to talk, and Elise waved her hand and shut him up. “And then you said he was being paranoid about boarding up the house and rationing the food. You said he was going crazy. Seeds. Of. Discord. You said he shouldn’t be trusted with a gun. You kept telling me something had to be done about him not sleeping. And what happened?”
“Elise—”
“No. Stop. I think it’s about time we stopped doubting my husband. He’s been right every step of the way and you’ve been wrong. You’re just too arrogant to admit it.”
“Molly is laying in a grave right now because of him.”
She slapped him so hard even Andrew winced. “How dare you?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“How dare you?”
“Elise, please.”
“How dare you?”
“I was wrong, okay? I was wrong. About everything. Is that what you want to hear?”
“I don’t want to hear anything out of you. It’s like you think every thought, every idea you have is gold. Listen here,” she said, pointing in his face, “this is not your home. You are here—fed, alive—because Sean has allowed it.”
“God, Elise. Don’t you see what’s happening?”
“You’re alive because he’s allowed it.”
“Elise,” Michael said, “he’s a time bomb.”
Andrew snuck back toward the door and slid out of the bedroom, Elise calling out for him to stop but Andrew ignoring it. He leaned against the door after he shut it. Closed his eyes.
A thought tickled at the back of his mind, a memory, and he almost turned around to express it out loud. About the look Sean had right before Molly died, his eyes bloodshot like a charging bull, seeing him touching the holstered pistol on his hip, thinking in that moment that Sean was going to kill him, that this man had snapped. Part of him thought Michael was right—that Sean was a danger to everyone. Molly was in the ground because of his behavior. But it was an accident. He didn’t really know what Sean had been planning to do.
He opened his eyes. Sean was at the end of the hall, his face veiled in shadow. Not a single muscle in Andrew’s body moved. He didn’t know how long Sean had been standing there, or what he had heard. Finally, Sean turned and walked down the stairs.
Andrew exhaled, reached out to steady himself against the wall, and broke down. Molly deserved better than to have her death used to drive a wedge among her family. Her memory, her legacy—the legacy of their unborn child—deserved more than that.
Chapter 28
WITH THE BACK of his head against the wall of the reserves, sitting on the cold, dusty concrete floor, Sean rubbed his eyes to drive the headache away. He watched his breath rise in a gray fog and then refocused on the dwindling supplies before him. The cans and jars, once packed tightly, now covered just a few shelves. He picked up the paper and pen and ran the math again.