“Elise—”
“You have zero proof, Michael. Zero. What do you want to do? Do you want to get rid of him? Huh?”
“I don’t know.”
“He didn’t kill Andrew.”
“He’s done this before.”
“He was defending our home then.”
“He still thinks he is.”
She waved her hand, shook her head, and stormed past him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Haven’t from the beginning.”
“He’s not the same man you married.”
“He’s exactly the same man I married,” she said, turning back to him.
“He’s not.”
“What would you do with him?” she whispered, eyes narrowed. “Huh? What would you do?”
“Come on, Elise.”
“What would you do?”
“Stop asking me that.”
“Be a man. Say it.”
“Elise, will you quit asking—”
“Say it!”
It looked like the words sat at the precipice of his tongue, just behind his lips, ready to explode out of his mouth. But he said nothing. She pressed her teeth together and said, “You need to get out of my sight.”
Michael rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger and said, “Elise, I was wrong. About a lot of things. I was wrong.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m not now. Believe me, I’m not now.”
“He has done nothing but be generous with you. Did you know that we had a plan if a disaster like this were to happen? We had a plan. If anyone came to our door—anyone—we would turn them away. But we didn’t. All that food you’ve been eating your fill of, all the warm showers you’ve had. Warm fires, blankets, sleeping bags—they were ours to use. Do you get that? That was for my kids and me and Sean. Not you. Not Kelly. Not Andrew. And we were prepared to turn away anyone who was going to come by our home because we needed to survive.
“And then you and Kelly got mixed up in all this. Andrew too. And we changed our plans. For you. We risked everything so you could live too. Sean allowed the thing he valued most—the survival of his family—to be put on the line so your ungrateful ass could live too. How have you repaid him? By questioning everything he does. By accusing him of murder.”
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.”
“Come on.”
“He’s just preserving what is most valuable to him, right? You said it yourself.”
“Michael, just stop.”
“Think about it. With Andrew gone, there’s so much more food. One less mouth to feed. What happens when I die next? Or what about Kelly?”
“That isn’t what’s happening.”
“What happens if you’re in the way of his survival?”
“Michael,” she said, more agitated.
“What happens to Aidan?”
A knot moved from her gut into her throat and it burned like acid. Sean’s a good man, she told herself, he would never hurt Aidan. He would never hurt Elise like that. Yet, she thought for a moment maybe he was right. Maybe there was something…
She jolted her head to the side as if to expel the thought. “You’re wrong.”
He threw his hands out in desperation. “You have to see what’s going on here.”
“I see exactly what’s going on here. You’re trying to turn me against my husband.”
“Elise, please, I’m—”
“Enough,” she yelled. Her limbs burned, the anger sinking into her muscles. Her entire body filled with pressure, and she exhaled to keep from exploding. “Go find my son and then do me a favor and stay out of sight for a while.”
“He’ll never let us live—”
“Get out of my sight,” she said, not able to look at him any longer.
She listened to his footsteps fade away from her. The sound of small feet emerged from the same direction a moment later. Aidan. She got down on her knees and pulled him into a tight hug. She rubbed the back of his head and settled herself so she wouldn’t cry.
“Did Andrew die like Molly?” he asked.
At least she tried. The watershed of tears broke. “Yeah.”
“He was my best friend.”
“I know, sweetie.”
“Are you and daddy going to die too?”
The question pulverized her heart. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about, let alone speak. She had never considered what might happen if both of them died. She had always considered that Aidan’s conditions would take him first, but she never considered the possibility they might die before him, leaving him alone.
She pulled her son back into an embrace and closed her eyes. “Not for a very long time,” she whispered.
DAYS HAD PASSED since Andrew’s death and the uneasiness in the house hadn’t subsided. Many times, dinners were eaten in almost complete silence. Michael refused to eat anything he didn’t watch being prepared. He washed his own dish before serving any food. His behavior reminded her of Sean’s. She wondered if maybe the reason they had never gotten along was that they were so much alike.
She sometimes found herself looking out between the boards on the windows at the dead landscape, dreaming of green trees and the fresh scent of cut grass. The smell of burnt wood was continuous. The air tasted like used charcoal. Each glance outside reminded her of the new normal that had come upon them, without any option for escape. As far as she could see, the snow that was supposed to be white and pure was grimy, and the sun never shone. Nothing could change it.
And there were terrible dreams, always involving Sean, or at least some form of him. There was something different about him, in those dreams. It was as if she could see inside of him, saw his heart beating, but it was shriveled and the blood coursing through his veins was filled with a sickly, dark gray plaque. His eyes were black. Everyone was circled around the fireplace. Sean would brandish his pistol and aim down the sights. It was always Michael first. Right in the chest. Then he would shoot Kelly. Elise would rush toward Aidan as Sean aimed the gun at him, but she was always too late. She watched her son exhale his last before looking up to see Sean pointing the gun at her. She winced, shutting her eyes, and the light from the muzzle flash would pour over her closed eyelids, and she would wake up. She knew it was just a dream, but the emotion lingered into her waking hours.
Her stomach leaped when she saw Sean enter a room or if she spotted him with his axe coming in from chopping wood. They would lay next to one another at bedtime, and he would reach out and rub her back and neck. While her body enjoyed the sensation, her mind kept imagining him reaching up around her throat, taking it in his hand, compressing it. She tried to ignore the thoughts, but the harder she tried the more intense they became.
One morning, she watched Sean get up before dawn and dress himself to get the wood for the day. As soon as he was out the door, she rose, bundled up, and snuck out the garage door.
The garage was quiet except for the wind brushing against the siding outside. Her fogged breath swirled around in the still air. She considered turning back, talking to him at another time, like when he didn’t have a sharp weapon in his hand. She pressed on.
Each step signaled to her brain to turn around. She pulled the door open. The icy wind blasted against her face but died down. She took a few steps into the path Sean had shoveled out and patted down with his boots. It hadn’t snowed in a week, but it was perpetually cold and dreary. The sun hid behind low clouds.
A grunt rose in the distance followed by a dull, smashing thud. Her husband brought the axe down onto a log, and the two split pieces cracked open and flew in different directions. He lined another chunk of wood onto the block and slammed the blade through it.