Paul Curtin - Gray Snow

“Hey,” Elise said, standing over him.

He said nothing for a long while. “I’m sorry, Elise.”

She brushed off a spot on the floor and plopped down next to him. She reached around his back and rested her head on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that angry.”

“I’m so sorry.”

She pulled him closer, said, “It’s okay,” in such a way that he knew she didn’t mean it.

He smiled, but it drained from his face immediately. “When I saw that food gone, it was like I—”

“You want to provide for us. I get that,” she said. “But Molly—our family—is not a threat. Even if she was stealing half the food, she’s your daughter.”

“I know.” She joined him looking at the food, breathing a sigh. Maybe she had expected a fight from him, and now wasn’t getting one. So, they sat quietly for a moment before Sean said, “A month ago we had enough food for you, me, Molly, and Aidan to last for two-and-a-half years. We’re now down to one year and one month with Andrew around.”

She rubbed his back, the tension releasing from his muscles but returning almost instantaneously. No way out. No relief coming. The temperature continued to drop. They could plant crops again with the organic seeds they had in the reserves—he even had a technique that might work in the winter—but the sun never broke through the oppressive cloud cover outside.

“We’ll be fine,” Elise said.

“If it were just us, we would be.”

“But it’s not just us.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure that’s what it works out to? What if we cut back on our rations?”

“We might have to.”

He didn’t want to ask his next question, but it nagged at him, his mind already running through the worst case scenarios. His imagination couldn’t be any worse than the truth. “How long has he been here?”

“You want to know?”

He paused, then nodded.

“Apparently, the night all this started.”

“Climbed up the ladder to the roof outside Molly’s window?”

Elise nodded. “He and Molly had been—” She stopped.

“Just say it.”

“They’ve been intimate for a while. The night before the eruption, they had a sleepover.”

The words sunk into him like daggers.

“When they woke up that morning,” she said, “the ash was already here and then you locked down the house. His family had abandoned him, so he stayed.”

“How could she do this?”

“Do what?”

“All of this. Why not just tell us?”

She looked at him as if to ask whether he really didn’t know. He covered his face.

“She’s really broken up about it.”

“Maybe she should be.”

Elise pulled away. “She should be what?”

“Broken up about it. She’s sixteen years old. She shouldn’t have been having sleepovers. Period.”

“Maybe, but she needs to know her father is going to love her regardless.”

Tears lined his eyes. “How am I supposed to even start that conversation?”

“You can start by hugging her and telling her you love her.”

He nodded and sniffled. Elise pulled him into her chest and it was as if a dam had burst. He wept. Wept like a man who had lost control of everything.

SEAN TAPPED ON Molly’s door and waited. No response at first. His guts turned. If he found Andrew in there with his daughter, he might just kill him.

He frowned. He wasn’t there to instigate. The doorknob clicked and Molly opened the door wide, her eyes red, hair tossed around at all angles. “Were you sleeping?” Sean said. “I can come back.”

She kept one arm crossed over her midsection, her eyes glued to the floor, and extended her arm outward as if to invite him in. Sean took a couple steps forward and shut the door behind him, watching her sit on the bed. He looked at the walls, trying to choose something eloquent to say. Nothing came to mind, so he just said, “I’m sorry.”

She stayed quiet for a while, hugging a pillow. “You must hate me.”

“No, no, no,” Sean said and kneeled in front of her. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me hate you. Ever.”

Tears fell onto her cheeks, and his heart shattered. He sat on the bed next to her, and she cried into his shoulder. Sean cupped the back of her head and kissed the top of it. He said, “There was no excuse for how I acted, Molls. No excuse.”

He felt her tears soak into his sleeve, and he rested his head on top of hers. Her body shook, and he closed his eyes.

But when they opened a moment later, he was still very aware that Andrew was in his home. That little worm. Andrew wouldn’t get any of his love. None of this would have ever happened without that pissant coming into his home, eating his food, playing house with his daughter. Even thinking about him touching Molly made his skin crawl.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Molly whispered.

He closed his eyes again. “I love you,” he said. All would be forgiven for Molly.

But only her.

IT HAD BEEN three weeks since Andrew had slept in Molly’s bed—and two months since the ash started. He tossed and turned on the fold-out couch, often reaching across the cushion half-asleep only to find no one. After weeks of snuggling every night, he had gotten used to her warmth. Every night was cold in comparison, even with the living room fireplace only a few feet away.

They had found opportunities to be together, though not frequently. When Molly’s dad was around, they had to act asexual. One time, he was rubbing Molly’s back, touching her without thinking while they did a puzzle in the living room. The look Sean gave him when he had walked in—hell, Andrew pulled his hand back like he’d been caught with his hand down her pants. Andrew fantasized about pulling Sean aside and telling him how it was—he loved Molly and he would not act like nothing had happened. But that would only make matters worse. With tensions in the house already high, creating more conflict was a terrible idea.

Elise had done her best to welcome him into the home. They had talked shortly after he was discovered. He was leaning against a kitchen counter when she came in to start dinner. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You all right?”

He shrugged and said, “Sure.” Truth was, Molly wouldn’t look at him in the days after the blow up. He wasn’t fine, not that he wanted to make waves by saying so.

She stood in front of him, leaned closer, and said, “He’ll come around.”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’ve been married to him for a long time. I know. When he gets to know you, it’ll be all right.”

“Doesn’t feel that way.”

She swatted the idea away with her hand. “You know, he and Michael have been going at it for years.”

“They still don’t get along.”

“But they’re both stubborn. Won’t admit they’re wrong. Almost ever. If one of them did, though, it would go a long way. I’m just saying, if you pull your weight, help out around here, he’ll warm to you. Not overnight. Not saying that. But give it time.”

He doubted that time would help.

He rolled over on his back and sighed. Across the room Michael was snoring. People had started sleeping in the living room when the ancillary rooms grew frigid. Some days, Sean conserved energy and didn’t run the furnace, so everyone would roll up in sleeping bags near the fire. It was communal but claustrophobic, everyone so close together. Sean always slept between him and Molly—with a loaded shotgun next to him. That night it was just Michael, Kelly, and Aidan. Aidan slept in his aunt’s sleeping bag, the little player.