“The asteroid, yes, I know. Now I’m starting to think maybe the supermarkets started the rumour…”
“Pa…”
Bob held his hands up. “All right, all right. What do we need?”
Tom scratched his stubble and looked around as well.
“Non-perishables, I guess. Water. Canned food.”
“Grandma doesn’t like cooking with canned food much though Tom. She prefers it fresh. Or at least frozen.”
Tom repressed a sigh.
“Do you have a generator?” Tom asked after a moment.
“No.”
“Well, if the power goes out, then you won’t have a freezer, and if the stores close you won’t be able to get any fresh food, so cans it is. Actually, maybe we should get you a generator too.”
“I suppose we can always donate it to Goodwill when the madness has passed.”
Tom didn’t reply, just pushed the cart down the tinned food aisle.
Twenty minutes later, he had a cart full of non-perishable foods: flour, rice, pasta, cans upon cans of different fruits and vegetables and more. He hoped it would be enough to last them, and that Uncle Sam would help them out too.
The line-up for the check-outs was long, but they eventually got through. Pa helped him load the groceries into the car.
“Your grandmother is going to think I’ve gone mad,” Bob muttered as they piled the last bag in and shut the door.
“Look Pa, I really do hope you’re right, and that this will all blow over in a few days, I really do… but just in case it doesn’t, now you’re not going to starve. Like you said, if it’s all a big mistake then you can donate the food to a homeless shelter or something.”
Bob just humphed and climbed into the driver’s seat. They drove back up to the house in silence. They pulled into the garage and Bob turned to Tom as he turned the ignition off.
“Thank you, Tom. For worrying about us.”
Tom nodded. “Here, let me help you unpack. You could keep it all out here if you don’t want to stress Grandma out yet.”
“Mmm, I might just do that. Let’s put it all in the tool room. She doesn’t go in there very often.”
After they’d put the groceries away, Tom followed his grandfather back into the house and spent the rest of the evening talking about the family. His grandparents asked questions about Tom’s two little boys and told stories about Tom’s mother and uncles and aunts as children. They didn’t turn the television on.
“Traffic’s probably died down by now,” Bob said after a lull in the conversation and a particularly large yawn.
“Yeah.” Tom looked at his watch. It was almost 10:30 p.m. “I should let you get some sleep. Thanks for dinner and the nice evening,” Tom said.
They all stood up. Bob grabbed his car keys, and Vera opened up her arms for Tom. He bent down and gave her a tight hug, holding the old woman longer than he usually would.
“Love you, Grandma.”
“I love you too, Tommy. Take care of yourself. Give our love to Claire, Noah, and Tristan.” She kissed him noisily on the cheek. “Be careful out there, Bob.”
“Of course. I’ll be back soon.”
Tom followed his grandfather out to the garage. He stared at his grandmother as she waved from the front steps, wondering if he’d ever see her again.
The hot water hit his back and trickled over his body. It was comforting, in a way. He rested his head against the tiles, and took a deep breath, trying to hold the panic in. He wasn’t sure whether it was comforting or terrifying that everyone was in the same boat.
He thought about people who are diagnosed with some deadly disease, and told they’ve only got a week, a month, a year, whatever the time limit was. How different it was when it’s the whole planet that’s been given the diagnosis. Only in this scenario, there’s no doctor to turn to, no bucket list to complete.
His boys wouldn’t get the chance to grow up.
Tristan had only just started talking.
Noah wasn’t even in school yet.
No first day of school.
No first kiss.
No falling in love.
No little girl for him and Claire.
Why now? Why them? Why their lifetimes?
There was still so much he wanted to achieve, to accomplish, to experience. They’d been talking about moving to Australia for a couple of years, to be closer to Claire’s family while the boys were young, and to give their kids an experience of both their parents’ cultures. If this whole asteroid thing turned out to be true though, then they wouldn’t get the chance.
Damn it.
What happens when you die? Tom had never given it much thought before. He didn’t want to find out any time soon either.
The room swam around him, the steam making him feel light-headed. He slumped down in the shower, sitting on the tiles like he used to when he was a kid and let the water run over him.
He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but eventually he got out and wrapped himself in one of the fluffy robes. He really wanted Claire. He pulled out his phone and sent her a text. It was pretty late in Toronto, and he wasn’t sure if she’d be awake. She called back almost straight away. He answered the phone in relief, just wanting to hear her voice.
CHAPTER FOUR
Claire
CLAIRE wasn’t entirely sure when she slipped into sleep, but she woke with a start when her cat, Lancelot, jumped on the bed and batted her face with a ginger paw. She batted him back and he jumped off the bed with a reproving meow.
She realised with a tinge of guilt that she’d forgotten to feed him last night.
“Sorry, boy. Shall we go and get you some breakfast?” Lancelot kept up a one-sided conversation while Claire pulled on her warmest dressing gown and a pair of the thick possum merino wool socks her mother had sent over for Christmas. She followed the cat down the hallway and downstairs to the kitchen. She yawned. It was still dark outside. Claire felt even guiltier when the cat dove into his food bowl with an enthusiasm he didn’t usually display. She hadn’t spared a thought for him last night. She cocked her head, listening. The house was quiet. Not a peep was coming from the boys room. She checked the clock on the wall before remembering that the battery had stopped a few weeks ago. She kept meaning to buy a new one for it. No point anymore.
Claire left the cat to his meal and went back upstairs to grab her phone. It wasn’t quite 8:00 a.m. Sighing, she sat down on the edge of her bed, rubbing her head. What to do? It was midnight in Australia. Too late to call home now. She’d have to wait. It was almost 5:00 a.m. in Vancouver too, so no new messages from Tom. She wondered if he was actually sleeping, or just tossing restlessly. He wasn’t a very good sleeper at the best of times. Claire had seemingly inherited her father’s ability to sleep through anything. It hadn’t bothered her at all when they’d lived on busy roads, or near both a hospital and a fire hall in Vancouver, but it had driven Tom nuts. Even when the babies were little, it was usually Tom who first woke up to their cries. He’d have to nudge her awake so she could go and feed them. She’d often wished, especially at 3:00 a.m., that men could breastfeed as well.
She was surprised that the boys were still sleeping. They’d had a rather late night last night, she reasoned.
Claire stood at the sink, looking out over the small backyard. The winter sun was creeping over the horizon and painting the yard in a pink glow. She filled up a jug and watered her potted herbs on the window sill. Thyme, coriander, basil, parsley, oregano, and mint. After growing up on the farm with parents who liked to grow as much of their own food as possible, Claire had always tried to maintain at least a small garden. Herbs were easy, even when she’d lived in small apartments. She ran her fingers through the thyme and then leaned over and smelled it. With her eyes closed, she could almost imagine she was a small girl at home, sitting in the middle of her mother’s herb garden. Safe.