Mark Tufo - The End ....

“You had better be a pizza or a candle delivery service.” I yelled.

Tommy walked in thinking that was his invitation. “Hey Mr. T, how you feeling?”

“Hurting a bit buddy. What’s up?”

“Mrs. T thought I should hang out with you because I’m feeling a little purple.” He said with a long face.

Even on pain pills it was not difficult to realize his meaning. “Blue, Tommy? You’re feeling blue?”

“Isn’t that what I said?” He asked truly puzzled.

“Hell you might have. What’s the matter? Why are you under the weather?”

“We’re all under the weather Mr. T, of course, unless we’re in a plane really high.”

I laughed, and that hurt like shit. So I was somewhere in the midst of a ‘Ha – ha and ooh – ooh.’

Tommy looked ultra-concerned. “Don’t worry about it.” I said patting him on the leg. “Could you get us both some water and then come sit down?” The majority of my pain had eased as he sat down handing over a tall glass of Coke. I didn’t think we had any Coke but I wasn’t going to turn it down plus there was no piss Nazi to tell me I wasn’t drinking enough of the right kinds of fluids. “Thanks.” I said raising my glass.

Tommy stared diligently at a condensation droplet.

“Alright Tommy, out with it. I can’t stand anything but an extra wide on you.” (And by that I meant smile).

He looked up at me with tears in his eyes, my heart was breaking. “I miss my parents Mr. T.” He said looking back down at that droplet, trying his best to not cry. Screw it, I did. I mean not your full out bawling, but between the pain and the pain meds I was already raking the coals of my emotions.

My tears sent Tommy over the edge. He let go. I don’t know how long he had been holding onto his grief but if the pure pain that poured forth from him now was a hint then this was the first time. I got up and used my arm to hug him as tight as I could. His heaving body sent shock waves through my injury. That pain, however, was preferential to what he was doing to my soul. After a half hour or so and a small puddle on the floor later, Tommy had finally got to the bottom of his reserves. There was the occasional sob and I’m sure that he had a sinus headache that would rival any migraine. Images of Porkchop began to pop into my head. It took me many clouded moments later to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Tommy.” I said as I stepped back a pace.

The bleary teary-eyed face that stared back at me had absolutely nothing in common with the boy I had come to know and love.

“Yeah Mr. T?” He said using his sleeve to wipe his dripping nose.

“Why don’t you start calling me Dad?”

“What?” Tommy asked as he snorted.

“Let me run it by Mrs. T, Tommy but if you’ll have us I would love to adopt you.”

I don’t know how it happened but Tommy’s face fell even further. A heretofore unknown untapped reservoir of water sprang a leak. ‘Stupid Talbot, always know how to say the wrong thing at the right time.’ I was only beginning to berate myself when Tommy took a momentary respite.

“You would really do that? You would really become my dad?”

Holy shit, now it was my turn to spring a leak. At first I thought he was crying because I had been so presumptuous as to think I could possibly be a stand-in for his real father when all along he was crying because of his thankfulness. I should have known better, Tommy is a better person than I could ever hope to be.

Tracy came in at some point. “What’s going on?” She asked as she pulled the leash off of Henry.

“I want to adopt Tommy.” I told her amidst my blubberings.

“I was wondering when you were going to get around to that.” She said nonchalantly as she hung the leash up on a peg. “I was going to suggest it once you got better.” She added coming over to us.

Tommy beamed as he hugged us both. “I love you both, Mom and Dad.” Henry broke up the party as he began to lick the salty tears off of the floor.

One thing that’s nice about the end of the world, it really cuts through the old administrative red tape. The next day we were able to make the adoption official in the eyes of the tattered government and hopefully some other higher power. The Talbots, plus BT (maybe I should adopt him too) and the Bakers attended the small ceremony. Next came the Feast of the Cakes, as Tommy liked to call it. It was his party and therefore his request had been granted.

As the soiree was coming to a close I pulled him aside . “Hey Tommy.”

“Hey Mr. Dad.”

“Maybe we should just stick with Dad.” He smiled sheepishly. Chocolate cake and strawberry frosting lined his chin like a beard. “Listen Tommy, I just want you to know, I’ll never be your father.” His brow furrowed. “But I’ll always be your Dad.” His cheesecake lined smile was all the confirmation I needed that I had made the right decision. The hug he administered was just the cherry on the top.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 12 -

I was itching in a couple or three different ways. I had an itch to get back on the road and away from sanctuary, call me crazy. Maybe I was becoming an adrenaline junky, I needed the drama of action in my life. No, that was crap, the simple fact of knowing that my family was safer now than at any time since the zombies came, was comforting. I had massive itching going on around my shoulder, but this was a deep tissue itching. No matter how desperately I tried to rake through the top layers of my skin, I was not going to get that satisfying sweet spot. You know, that point when you finally get at a difficult location on your body and just scratch that itch into oblivion. Oh, it is such sweet, sweet delight.

That wasn’t to be my lot. I had flakes of epidermis piling up under my fingernails. It was actually kind of gross. Doc Baker had become so concerned he had even placed me back on my blessed pain meds. Hey, I’m not an addict, but I like a good high as much as the next guy. I had another itch too, well maybe more like a tickle, a psychic tickle. It was way back in my head but it was ominous and it kept telling me to get long gone. I would have heeded it too, no matter what my wife said, but every extra day I could give BT and myself to heal up improved all of our chances of survival. Besides my true life ‘shit’ forecaster (Tommy) didn’t seem in any rush to leave. Of course that might have more to do with the 24-hour chow hall and the truly unbelievably delicious apple turnover they made here, than with any inherent danger that may or may not be coming.

When I got up for the 47 thtime and jammed my shoulder into the corner of the door using it like a large scratching post, Tracy had had enough.

“Get your jacket.” Tracy said.

“But it’s freezing out.” I replied lamely.

“Hence the jacket.” She retorted.

I was moments away from a not so manly whining. Tracy could sense it coming and was having none of it.

“Now, Talbot.”

“Fine.” I answered like a petulant 8-year old. Again not a finer moment for me, but even the Percocets were doing little to eradicate the discomfort of my healing shoulder, and Tracy will attest to the fact that I am a horrible ‘sick’ person.

“Where are we going?” I asked, resigned to the fact that we were going out no matter what.

“The beach.”

“The beach? You say that like this is Hawaii. It’s gotta be 10 degrees out there with a wind chill of something like 10 below.”

“Yeah, I know that.” She answered flatly.

“You hate the cold.” I was trying desperately to get out of this field trip.

“I hate you getting up a couple of hundred times every hour, more.”