Pax said, “What did she argue with them about?”
“Everything,” Rainy said.
Sandra nodded. “Pretty much.”
“It’s hard to be smart,” Rainy said. “Lots of people want things to be the same as they always were, but they can’t. You can’t do things the old way, not after the Changes. Life is different than it used to be.” She sounded like she was quoting. “You have to take a stand. You have to follow your own moral compass.”
“That’s true,” Pax said. “You have to do the right thing. Even if it’s hard.” He looked at Sandra and said, “If you’re scared of someone, if you’re afraid to speak, you can tell me, I can protect you.”
Rainy turned around, looked at his face, his arms. “You?”
———
The girls packed up their things about 1:00 p.m. and vanished into the woods, promising to return with more food. Pax set himself the goal of walking down the driveway to the mailbox. He hadn’t gone twenty yards before he’d broken into a sweat. He felt ancient, and something was wrong with one of his ribs; whenever he stepped a certain way pain shot up the right side of his chest, paralyzing him for a few seconds.
He heard a car pull into the drive and he stepped off the driveway, readying himself to—what? Fight? Run? He could barely walk. Then he saw it was Deke’s Jeep, and he put a hand against a tree and waited, trying to catch his breath.
Deke stopped the car and climbed out. He looked distraught. “Sweet Jesus on a stick,” he said.
Pax smiled tightly.
“I tried to call,” Deke said. “You don’t answer your phone.”
“My cell phone’s dead. I forgot to pack a charger.”
“I mean both phones.” Pax didn’t say anything, and Deke said, “Anything broken?”
“My ribs hurt like hell.”
“I’m so sorry, man.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. “You should go see Dr. Fraelich.”
Pax snapped a wedge of bark from the tree, tossed it into the underbrush. “What are you doing here, Deke? If you’re trying to help me out you’re a little late. Wait, maybe you’re here to take my report? Track down the bad guys?”
“I’m not a real cop, Paxton.”
“Then what good are you?”
“They said you tried to break into the Home. They were going to shoot you.”
“Wait a minute—I’m supposed to be thankful?”
Deke looked at the ground. “They had no right to do what they did,” he said slowly. “No right. But P.K., you can’t just …” He took a breath. “Listen, this thing you’re struggling with, this stuff from your father. I don’t know why it’s hitting you like this, but it must be pretty damn strong. But it’s just a drug, man. You just need to clear your system. If you need some money to—”
“I don’t need your money.”
“You have a chance, here, man. Right now.”
“A chance for what?”
“To get out of here. I’ll drive you back to Chicago myself. Right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere without my father.”
Deke sighed. “Listen, I know you think that sounds all noble—”
“Saving my father sounds noble? Noble? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“This isn’t you, Paxton.”
“Fuck you.”
Deke looked at him.
“Yes,” Pax said. “Fuck. You.”
Deke shook his head. Then he turned back to the Jeep. “Just call me, okay?”
The girls returned to him for every meal, and some days they spent hours with him. They refused to talk about their mother’s death, or what enemies she might have made among the Co-op community; whenever he raised the topic, however obliquely, Rainy changed the subject, or Sandra discovered that he must need something, or else they simply announced that they had to leave.
Pax and the twins lived off the food that had arrived Monday noon. A trio of charlie ladies, all women of the church that he’d known growing up, had appeared at his doorstep like a clutch of enormous hens. They carried enough food to host a small party: a tray of deli meats and cheeses, a bag of Kaiser rolls, macaroni salad, two three-liter bottles of Diet Coke, a family-sized bag of Doritos, glazed doughnuts, and a glistening slab of pineapple upside-down cake as heavy as a radiator. They bustled into the kitchen and started unpacking boxes and bags, somehow managing not to bump into each other, and without once suggesting that he needed this stuff or even wanted it. He tried to thank them, but they wouldn’t have it. Oh it’s nothing, they said, nothing at all, and even apologized for disturbing him, as if the pounds of food were the result of some shipping accident and they were just grateful he could take them off their hands. They didn’t mention his bruises or cuts, or even seem to see them. They didn’t ask about his father. The women enforced a no-fly zone of southern politeness: Every unpleasant thing was known, or if not known then assumed, and therefore beneath comment.
They asked to say a short prayer before they left. Mrs. Jarpe, who’d been his piano teacher for three years before Paxton’s mother finally admitted that her son had no talent for the instrument, took his hand in hers and asked for the Lord’s strength, and for blessings on Paxton and the Reverend Martin. A-men, the ladies said, and then they were gone in a wash of perfume and hairspray.
TDS had changed everything and nothing, he thought. The three women were bloated by the disease, but they were still southern ladies, still Christians with a tradition of offering food like a sacrament, the same women who’d loved him and watched out for him when he was a boy. Who were watching out for him even now. That request for strength had stung and warmed him at the same time.
When he began to feel better he began to make the twins meals, though they didn’t like it. “We can be the moms,” Sandra said. But on Wednesday afternoon he set out three settings and served them all little sandwich triangles held together with toothpicks. The girls, judging from their voices if not their faces, seemed delighted.
After supper Sandra said, “Tell us another story about Mom.”
“About when she got pregnant with us,” Rainy said.
Pax looked up, measuring Rainy’s gaze. “Girls,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve been coming here. You’ve helped me a lot. But I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea. Your mom and I …”
They blinked at him. Did he want to do this? They weren’t his daughters—he knew that now—but he couldn’t help but think of them as his girls. Nieces, perhaps. But that was just fantasy. Playing house.
Finally he said, “You know I’m not your father, right?”
Sandra tilted her head, then looked at Rainy. Rainy said, “Betas don’t have fathers, Paxton.” Her voice patient.
“I know that. I was just afraid that maybe you girls were thinking … I don’t know.” He breathed out, smiled. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Now tell us about Mom,” Sandra said. “Was she happy when she found out she was pregnant?”
“Of course she was,” Pax said. “She was … overjoyed.”
“You can tell us the truth,” Rainy said.
“She was scared, sure. No beta had had a child yet, so nobody knew what to expect. But she was excited.”
“Really?” Sandra said.
“She didn’t think we had ruined her life?” Rainy asked.
“What? Of course not,” Pax said. “Listen, the first time I met you two, your mom put my hand on her belly, and one of you kicked back—thump. She was so happy to feel you moving.”
“I bet that was Rainy,” Sandra said. “She kicks in her sleep.”
His walks in the afternoon grew longer. He went into the woods above the house, following the tracks he’d carved out with his ATV when he was a kid. Sometimes he’d burst into tears. Not from pain—though sometimes pain triggered it—but from a flash of memory, an image of fists or the sound of bone on flesh. Sudden fear would blindside him, leave him stumbling around bleary eyed and sobbing.