“So what did you used to do, Teale?”
“I was a lobbyist for the Marijuana Policy Project. It was a group working to legalize marijuana nationwide.”
Gill burst out laughing. “Well, it looks like you succeeded. People are free to smoke as much weed as they want.”
It had seemed important work back when things were normal. She’d believed in it. Now it seemed meaningless, like so many other aspects of pre-plague life. When ninety-seven percent of the population was dead or in a catatonic state, a lot of things that had once been important became meaningless.
“How about you? What did you do?”
“Most recently I was a stay-at-home dad. Before that I was a high school substitute teacher and girl’s tennis coach, and before that I worked for a cable company. I’ve had a lot of jobs.”
The sign welcoming them to Gunnison, Colorado proclaimed it the home of Western State College, which must have been a tiny college given the size of the town. As they cruised down Main Street, which would have been quaint if not for all the broken windows and the nodding virus victims in white body bags stacked along the curb, Teale stopped scanning for a replacement vehicle, and instead studied the town itself. It was the epitome of small-town USA. Maybe this was far enough from Denver.
An old woman in a blue tracksuit walking along the sidewalk paused to watch them pass. Teale waved; the woman raised her hand before turning to continue.
She spotted a Holiday Inn up ahead, on the left. “You know what, Gill? Why don’t you drop us at that Holiday Inn? I can find a new car later.” Gill, who’d been cruising slowly while taking in the town, put on his turn signal.
“You letting the squirrels know you’re turning left?” Teale asked.
Gill chuckled. “Habit.” He pulled up to the front doors of the hotel and twisted to look at Teale. “I’m wondering if you’re thinking the same thing as me, that this would be a good place to settle down for a while.”
“Great minds think alike, I guess.”
“Cool. It would be nice to know at least one of my neighbors.”
“One of your four neighbors, probably,” Teale joked as she climbed out of the SUV.
The door into the lobby was unlocked. Teale looked around in the dark lobby until she spotted a luggage cart.
“You going to find a place and move in right away?” Teale asked as Gill helped her load Wilson onto the luggage cart. She would have to wheel her family to a room one at a time.
“We’ll probably do the same as you: crash somewhere for the night, and scout for a permanent location tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you stay here, then?”
“You sure?” Gill said. “If you guys want some space, there are plenty of other hotels.” He gestured down the street.
“I’m guessing my family likes seeing new faces for a change.” And so did Teale. Especially a face that could talk back to her. Sometimes her family’s silence left her feeling more lonely than if she’d actually been alone.
Teale held the cup steady while Wilson drained the heavily-spiked eggnog in a half-dozen pulls on his straw, as Nat King Cole crooned White Christmas on the stereo.
Her throat was one big knot. Her glands hurt from holding back tears. The flood of memories from past Christmases kept tumbling out, leaving her raw.
Had it been just last year that Chantilly and Elijah tried to stay up all night on Christmas Eve, only to fall asleep at four or five and sleep until noon on Christmas Day? And five years ago today, Wilson donned a Santa outfit and ran across the snowy backyard, into the woods, while the kids watched from the upstairs window, shrieking with excitement at glimpsing Santa Claus?
The song ended. “Whose turn is it to pick the music?” Teale asked in a strained-cheery voice.
“Arial’s, I think.” Gill sprung up, exuding good cheer and energy, his smile terribly stiff. He put on some boy-band’s Christmas CD. As he stood facing the stereo for much too long, Teale noticed his shoulders bobbing slightly, and realized he was crying.
He slipped into the kitchen without turning around.
“You want some more eggnog, hon?” Teale lifted the empty cup from the coffee table and headed into the kitchen.
She found Gill on the floor, clutching his stomach, sobbing silently. When she put a comforting hand on his shoulder he looked up, his face wet, eyelids ringed red.
“I miss them. I grieve for them, but I feel guilty for grieving, because they’re still here.”
“I know. I know.” She sank down beside him, her back braced against the cabinets.
Gill pulled on a towel draped over the handle of the stove, wiped his cheeks and eyes, his breath still ragged. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. I’m terrified that if Season could speak to me one last time, she’d say, ‘I’m in hell, let me go.’”
Teale didn’t answer. She’d wondered the same thing many times, but she didn’t want to think about it.
“I can’t, though,” Gill said. “How could I, without knowing it’s what they want?”
The tears she’d been holding back for the past three hours started to flow. “Have I told you Elijah has ADHD?”
Gill shook his head.
“Before the virus he couldn’t sit still for a minute. It must be absolute torture for him, to be like this.” The pain of knowing her kids might never move again hit her, fresh and new. “I can’t stand seeing them like this. It hurts so much.”
“But you don’t want them to see you hurting,” Gill said.
“That’s right.” She was having trouble taking a breath; it felt as if there was an anvil sitting on her chest. She wanted that damned boy-band to stop singing. “I also don’t want them to see how much I hate them sometimes.”
Teale’s own words startled her. She covered her mouth with one hand, turned and pressed her forehead into Gill’s collar, sobbing.
He rested a hand on her head, whispered, “Yeah. That too.”
It had been lurking down in the darker places of her mind, the resentment, the revulsion she felt at their helplessness. It wasn’t fair that she felt it — it wasn’t their fault — but she felt it, and hated herself for feeling it.
“I wish we’d ignored Christmas and pretended this was just another day,” Teale said into Gill’s neck.
“I’m sorry. If I hadn’t kept track of the days, we wouldn’t have known.”
“It was my idea to celebrate Christmas. We could have ignored it.”
Teale raised her head, intending to sit up. When Gill’s face brushed close to hers, she leaned in and kissed him.
She felt a rush of warmth, of comfort, as she kissed this near-stranger. It was the first time in forever she’d felt something other than pain and fear.
When their lips parted, Teale rested her head on his chest. They stayed that way as Ding Dong Merrily on High gave way to Jingle Bell Rock.
“We’d better get back in there.” Gill’s voice was tight.
“Okay.”
Gill hung back a moment, as if not wanting the others to see them go in together.
After she’d put the food away and put everyone to bed, Teale went for a walk to clear her head, to think about what had happened in the kitchen. She felt sick about it, guilty as hell, but also alive in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. Kissing Gill had been the last thing on her mind until the moment she’d done it; it had been like lunging for a life preserver as she was going down for the final time.
Were you depressed if you felt hopeless and sad but had good reason to feel that way? Teale didn’t know. It probably didn’t matter what she called how she felt. Call it “depressed,” or “sad,” or “the new normal.”
“Hey.” Gill was leaning on his SUV, one foot on the bumper. A thrill went through Teale. She tried to tamp it down, wondering if Gill had come outside hoping she would, too, or whether it was just coincidence.