Deliberacy

Some of you are aware that I’ve been working on a collection of short stories/vignettes set in the post-apocalyptic-globally-warmed-and-flooded earth of a somewhat near future that creates the backdrop for my novel Candy Land. These stories are bits and pieces that never quite fit into the novel, additional information about some of the folks Candy meets along her journey, and totally new characters and situations that have occurred to me since completing the novel.

After suffering a serious case of “no time” combined with total writer’s block, my recent enrollment in a writing class got my fingers back to their familiar keyboard. This is the first of several After the Ice Breaks stories I’ve been working on. Hope you like it.

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Fault Lines

She’d always loved that one—the picture of her and James, hand-in-hand and windswept, with smiles the size of quarter moons. Her, wearing the yellow floral print dress only fit for beach excursions. Susannah lifted the silver frame closer. After nearly two-decades she could still feel the warmth—sunshine on her face; hot, gritty sludge between her toes and James’ hand resting on her hip, waiting for the private moment when gauzy fabric would no longer form a barrier between their skin.

Susannah pressed the photo to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut, not sure if she wished to prompt or staunch the flood of memories welling in her mind.

“Mum, can I have a biscuit?”

The question cut short Susannah’s reminisces.

“Course you can, Immy,” she said returning the frame to its place and running the feather duster over it.

“And milk too?”

Susannah stiffened but recovered before her daughter noticed.

“Half a cup. Here, I’ll get it.”

Sliding the milk from its place in the nearly empty fridge, Susannah poured a bit into Immy’s favorite cup, making sure she’d left enough in the jug for the next morning’s breakfast. She glanced at the digital clock on the hob, but it flashed green zeros at her. Daily rolling power cuts rendered all the electrical clocks useless. Susannah sighed and placed Immy’s snack on the counter.

Immy munched happily.

“Can I  listen to your radio program ‘til Dad gets home?”

Afternoon sun danced in patches on the windowsill. Susannah gestured to the back garden. “Why don’t you play on the swing, luv. The fresh air will do you good.”

Immy shrugged and after making an ordeal of pulling on her wellies, now nearly a full size too small, she pranced out singing to herself.

She really needs a new pair, Susannah thought with a twinge of guilt. She should have let the child listen to the old radio discs. But Susannah hated the angst elicited by hearing her former professional self. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of children used to hear her stories. Back before the Ice Breaks, when kids listened to the radio while being shuttled back and forth to dance lessons or football practice; or while they helped their parents prepare meals in well stocked kitchens with uninterrupted electricity.

That was the way life had been, a different world altogether. It still amazed Susannah that she’d had no premonition things would suddenly change, no sense of foreboding or vague unease. For perhaps the millionth time she recalled the weeks before the Ice Breaks.

James returned from his research trip to Turkey captivated by some lost and forgotten myth. After several hopeless attempts to retell the story himself, he’d asked Susannah to try. But she had no interest in some ancient tale of goddesses or their human lovers. Anyway she’d been plenty busy taping the Children’s Story Hour not to mention, caring for Immy. It had been her idea for James to contact Sandy or Candy or whatever the agent’s name was. That had been just before the hurricane struck New York City. Susannah remembered him fretting over his new-found agent acquaintance. Then the floods hit. For a while just getting by required all their effort. And now things were the way the were.

Life changes, she thought, humming to herself as she scoured the sink,  and you either bend with it or break. A pang squeezed at her insides, but Susannah pushed it away.

James arrived home late that night, carrying a few parcels under his arm. Susannah met him as he entered the kitchen, freeing him from his burdens as their lips brushed in greeting.

“The bloody queues are longer in the evening,” James complained. “But the selection is better.”

Susannah spread the items of the counter and inspected them—a  small roasting chicken, several strings of sausages and firm golden-red apples in a paper sack. She smiled appreciatively at James.

“And I have a surprise for Immy,” he added with a grin and pulled a banana out of his coat pocket.

Susannah beamed. “She’ll love it, James. She’s still out in the garden, but it’s quite late, so bring her in—then we’ll eat.”

Immy insisted that each of her parents take a bite of the banana, before she devoured the rest. She rewarded James with a gooey kiss and a smile that lasted till bedtime.

“How long till they shut it down?” James asked, indicating a lamp near the sofa where Susannah sat knitting as he returned from tucking Immy into bed.

Susannah chewed her lip, attempting to recall the schedule. “I think on Wednesdays we have power till 9:00. Is Immy asleep already?”

James nodded and dropped the notebook he’d been carrying on a narrow corner desk in dismay. “It’s hardly worth getting started then,” he said. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll ever get this translation finished.”

Susannah did her best to hide the her amusement. Once, that translation could have made her husband’s academic career, and perhaps someday it still would, but for the time being the only soul in the world who was interested in a lost city’s ancient secrets was James.

“You’ve got an hour,” she said.

“It takes me that long to get my rhythm for the language back.”  He rubbed his stubbly chin. “It’s not easy to shift gears from running a JCB all day to playing doctor of Antiquities at night.”

She glanced at him over the clicking needles.

“Not that I’m ungrateful—all things considered we’ve done pretty well,” he said responding to her look. “When I think of what happened to most of Bristol…” he shook his head. “But even so, I miss my artifacts and translations.”

Susannah put her yarn on a creaky coffee table and patted the seat close to her. James plopped glumly into it and she failed to contain a chuckle.

“I know,” James sulked. “It’s a ridiculous waste of time.”

“No it’s not,” Susannah fibbed. “It’s just that you’re such a little boy about it.”

James arched an eyebrow at her and she laughed outright.

“There are fun things that one can do without lights, you know,” she said easing herself closer to James. “Not that I can hope to compete with some 900 year old manuscript.”

James ran his hands down her back, pulling her tight against him. “Don’t be precious,” he said his lips closing over hers.

Susannah lay on the living room floor, aware that her naked, sweat covered body had prickled with cold. Like a heat-seeking-missile she rolled closer to James. As she did, some recently discarded garment bunched up between them. Once they had fit together so perfectly, like two continents coming together and in doing so they fashioned something greater than either of them were alone. But their fault line had shifted, just the tiniest bit, and now she felt adrift.

James reached for a throw and tossed it over their bodies as Susannah pushed the lump of clothes away.

“That was amazing,” he whispered through the darkness into her ear, “you must have blown the power grid for the entire street.” He pulled her close, kissing her hair. “One moment everything was lit, then you did that crazy thing with your tongue and for a minute I thought I’d gone blind.”

“It was fantastic,” Susannah agreed.

James tightened at her tone. “That sounds like a but…”

Susannah placed her hands on his cheeks. “No buts. It was fantastic.”

James held his breath.

“I’m going to live with Joanie.”

“You’re what?!”

“Going to live with my sister.”

He pushed her hands away. “I know who Joanie is, Susannah. The question is why, not who.”

“Because.”

“Because? That’s it? We have a lovely normal evening followed by mind-blowing sex and then you tell me you’re leaving and the only reason you offer is because?”

Susannah brushed away a single tear. “I never imagined this could happen. It’s not what I want, James. It’s just the way it is.”

“Have you met someone else?”

She dissolved into real tears. “Please James, don’t do this. There’s no one else. Not now. But somewhere out there, I think there’s someone who I’m meant to find and someone who’s meant for you.”

“You’re the person who’s meant for me.”

“I know you love me James, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about passion. About fate.” She dropped her head into her hands. “God, James, I don’t know what the fuck, I’m talking about. But I know what I feel. And I feel like it’s time to go.”

“If you’re bored, I’m sure there’s something we can do. We could find a way for you to go back to work. There’s got to be a solution…”

“I’m not bored.” Susannah raised her face to his, her voice resolute. “But I’m not excited either. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way.”

James opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, pondering this sudden descent into reality. Everything she’d said was true.

“James,” she prompted.

“I’m just wondering if ending our relationship because it’s not exciting anymore is really the best choice.”

Susannah sat up, crossing her legs and forcing her back straight. “I never mentioned bored. And I never suggested we end our relationship. It can’t end, James. You’re a part of me, the father of my child. And I still find you funny and kind and attractive.”

He snorted, a strange mixture of doubt and relief, that’s release saved him from sobbing.

Susannah stroked his cheek in the darkness, tracing the jaw line she knew by heart. “I love you more than I can ever tell you.”

“But that won’t keep you from going? If you love me, isn’t that enough?”

“I love my parents, but I couldn’t stay with them forever.”

“I’m not your father, Susie.”

“I know you aren’t—I’m just trying to explain something I don’t really understand myself. Can’t you see, James. I don’t know why or how. It’s just different now. And if you’d stop feeling hurt and sorry for yourself, you’d agree with me about this.”

His impulse was to lash out but he couldn’t. “I don’t want things to be different.”

She let out a long breath.

“But they are, aren’t they? Despite love and the fact that I thought you were the only woman that would ever be a part of me this way,” James said. “And there’s no way to go back.”

“No, I don’t think there is.”

James heard the sorrow in her voice but also a note of hope. Her calm acceptance of this uncomfortable shift gave him courage.

Susannah nestled her head into the crook under his shoulder. “Thing’s will turn out for the best.”

James swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry. Best. Why had Susannah chosen that particular word.

Months, years, lifetimes had passed since Candy’s message first arrived in his inbox; the one that ended with best. Choosing to ignore the flicker of heat that best elicited, James had convinced himself it meant nothing more than the obvious—a polite wish of goodwill. He wrote off his inexplicable pangs of desire as some pathetic urge for youthful flirtation. She was a complete stranger after all.

Yet something primal had always recognized his attraction as more, as if the word best was the key to a place it had never before occurred to him to enter. A place he had intentionally ignored because of his feelings for and devotion to Susannah. A place, he now realized, he was destined to find eventually.

James ran his finger along Susannah’s soft skin and his mind drifted to a different woman. Candy, long banished from his thoughts, returned with such force that she might have been standing in the room with them.