Mindy McGinnis - Not a Drop to Drink

“I saw him.”

“Did you now?”

Lynn ignored Lucy’s raised eyebrow. “I imagine we’ll walk over there and introduce ourselves soon enough.”

“Sure could use a hand getting that piano out of the attic,” Lucy continued. “That’s the last thing to come down. The Bennet lady said she’d teach me, if I wanted to learn.”

“That’s a fine idea, but I’m not going to go inviting a strange man into the house for the sake of hearing you bang on a piano night and day.”

Lucy pulled herself into a sitting position, resting the rifle across her lap. They’d begun living in the upper floors of the house years ago, but Lynn only allowed Stebbs and Vera inside.

“I s’pose we could get it down ourselves,” Lucy conceded. “If we’re careful.”

“And I suppose I could let the Bennet woman come on over, if we can get it down without smashing it to pieces,” Lynn said, eyes still on the horizon. “It would be nice to hear music again.”

Lucy nodded but didn’t speak. The newfound safety of community had left Lynn with something she’d never known before: spare time. A few years earlier, Lucy had followed the ghostly notes of misplayed music up to the attic and found Lynn in front of the piano, awkwardly picking out a song that Mother had attempted to teach her on a rainy afternoon in the distant past.

The next tune Lynn had tried had brought tears to Lucy’s eyes as she recognized a song from her childhood, played by her uncle in the dying firelight of the camp as he tried to distract Lucy and Neva from the hunger pains in their bellies. Lynn’s fingers hesitated across the keys, and the notes had come out haltingly, played from a memory punctuated by more gunshots than melody.

Lucy cleared her throat. “I’m on watch for the first time tonight. East side.”

“Stebbs didn’t post you alone, surely? Isn’t Maddy or one of the other Johnson girls going to be there with you?”

“I imagine Carter will join me after a bit.”

“I imagine he will,” Lynn said. “You mind yourself.”

Lucy let go of the rifle long enough to cross her heart and wink. “Promise.”

There was movement in the yard, and Lynn squinted into the dying sun. Lucy peered through her scope. A massive coyote, old and frail, picked his way down the bank to the pond, placing his mud-caked paws carefully with every step.

Lucy aimed the rifle. “What’s the call?”

Lynn watched as he reached the pond, his long tongue hungrily lapping at the life-giving water. “Leave him be,” she said. “He’s just trying to survive. Same as us all.”