Paul Curtin - Gray Snow

Movement. She sensed the flashlight tipping off the side of the sink. The light flashed across the wall as it started to fall. She took in a sharp breath, reaching out and bumping the cabinet, and grabbed the handle with her fingertips just as it was about to crack against the ground. She exhaled and heard the rattling of a pill bottle falling onto the floor. “Crap,” she said, expecting there to be pills everywhere.

Instead, just one bottle lay on the floor, unopened. She sighed with relief and bent down to pick it up. A prescription bottle. She had expected it to be Sean’s sleeping pills, which they kept in the cabinet, but it wasn’t.

She flashed the light on it, peering into the clear bottle from the back. Aidan’s seizure medication. She said a silent prayer that he would not need to use them again and paused. Her heart leaped, and her stomach dropped. Six pills. There couldn’t be just six left. She opened the cap as quietly as she could and looked into it.

Six.

She thought hard to Aidan’s last seizure. She was sure there were seven left. Seven . She was misremembering. Had to be. She forgot numbers sometimes. But she remembered talking with Sean in the basement afterwards. He said there were seven.

Seven .

Her head pounded even harder. Her legs wobbled like she was standing during an earthquake. Wincing, she turned the label over. Read it. She sealed her inner elbow against her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. Her eyes widened, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

The label explained what the doctor had told them: Don’t take a pill unless Aidan’s had a seizure. Side effects if taken at any time other than during a seizure: major organ failure and swelling of the throat.

Suffocation.

ELISE WAS BUYING it. It was important that she did. Life would be a lot harder if she didn’t. They needed stability, firm ground on which they could navigate into the future.

Sean wanted her to see his dedication—his willingness to do what was necessary to keep his family alive, his love for her and Aidan. He took great pains to spend more time with them, which he enjoyed, but kept him from doing other vital tasks. She needed to see that they were his priorities. Sure, he needed to quantify the food supply and chop more wood and do repairs around the home and sort seeds and start projects, but she needed to know he was focused on them. Focused on keeping his wife on his side.

Not that he fully trusted her. The key to the gun safe always stayed in his pocket and the shells for the shotgun were all empty. He was no fool. The security camera for the rifle in Aidan’s room still ran every moment he was outside. She was on his side, believing his dedication to her. But there was no point in taking careless risks.

He spent the afternoon shoveling away snow from his raised garden beds and planting mason jars filled with water into the soil—a technique that might allow them to grow food even with winter weather. If the sun ever came out to warm the ground. He came inside to a quiet home. Eerily quiet. Reached around his waistband for his gun. Edged closer to the living room. The fire crackled and the smell of steak, a familiar but almost forgotten scent, grew stronger.

He leaned his head into the living room to find his wife bent over the fire with a cast iron skillet set atop the smoldering coals. The rich scent of butter and pepper wafted toward him and filled his nostrils. It was steak.

“What is this?” he asked, his jaw dropped.

“What does it look like?” she said, straightening up.

Her clothes were nicer than usual. While she had matching under-layers and no exposed skin except her hands and head, she wore a red cotton dress that cut off just above her knees. She had on two sparkling earrings, and a gold necklace hung from her neck. With the fire backlighting her hair, she looked dazzling. “Wow,” he said.

She smiled. “Thanks.”

He looked back and forth from the food to his wife. The feeling was foreign. While the air was cold and a little smoky, it was as if he had stepped back in time, before the chaos happened. To a time of luxurious smells, of calm assurance. She dipped back toward the fire, slipping a mitt on her hand before pulling the skillet away. She removed the steaks, butter bubbling across their surfaces, and put them on plates.

“Where did you get steak?” he asked.

“I’ve been keeping a frozen packet under the deck since we lost power,” she said.

“You’ve been hiding food?”

“Just this. I thought I would save it for a special day.”

“A special day?”

She smiled. “Sean, it’s our anniversary.”

He rubbed his bearded cheek and chuckled.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to know what day it is.”

He had looked at the farmer’s almanac every day to reference the temperature. He knew what the day was—God, early May. His anniversary hadn’t even registered.

“Stop frowning,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to remember.”

“Where’s Aidan?”

“I sent him upstairs to play. I set up the last propane heater to keep him warm and told him not to come down unless he was bleeding or the house was burning down.”

He smiled, though his mind was so busy analyzing his next move it was shutting down from the traffic. So when she spoke, her voice seemed to emerge out of nowhere. “You all right?”

He didn’t plan for this. “I just feel like an idiot.”

“I just cooked us steak in butter. We should enjoy it.”

“Babe, this is too extravagant.”

“We need to feel normal for once,” she said, her voice catching. She wiped her eyes. Genuine emotion there. Genuine love.

All he ever wanted from her.

He thought of what he might get out of the evening, looking down at the steak, pulling Elise into his arms. A good meal. Maybe a little action. His loins stiffened at the thought. That would be better. The best was that she trusted him. He needed that more than anything.

She motioned for him to take a seat at the coffee table. He pulled a pillow from the couch, set it on the ground, and planted his knees on it. He watched as she went back and forth from the kitchen. First, she set out a few napkins. On the next trip out, she carried two clear water glasses.

His stomach sank, but he didn’t show it. She placed one in front of him and another next to her own plate, and he smiled back at her. “This smells amazing.”

“Thanks,” she said and disappeared around the corner.

His smile faded as soon as she was out of sight. If this was a game, it wouldn’t work. He swapped the drinks. That would not happen. Not now. Never again.

A second later, she rounded the end of the couch, setting salt and pepper shakers on the table, grabbed her own pillow, and got on her knees in front of the food. He downed half the glass from his new water and smiled at her, just to let her know he trusted her.

Always multiple steps ahead.

She extended her hand out to him, and he took it. Another prayer. He didn’t understand how she couldn’t see that there was no God anymore. He was gone. Only a sadistic being would leave His creation without sunshine so that everything would eventually die and everyone would starve.

But he took her hand anyway. Appearances . She bowed her head and thanked her God for the steak. He bowed along just so she wouldn’t say anything about it. When she finished her prayer, she clapped her hands together and said, “Let’s eat.”