Glimmering

“There wasn’t anything I could do.” She began to cry. Jack drew her to his breast, holding his injured hand out stiffly behind her. “She—it was twins. A boy and a girl. It would have been hard no matter what, she was so young, she was malnourished—”

“Twins? Did they—”

“They’re okay.” Emma laughed brokenly. “Can you believe that? Two mouths to feed. But I brought some Similac—there are cases stockpiled at the hospital—and Keeley found some old baby clothes…” She started to cry again.

“Emma, Emma…”

Jack pressed his face against her scalp, smelled her unwashed hair, the sharp scents of disinfectant and isopropyl alcohol. He glanced up and saw the blond boy walking hesitantly upstairs. Emma took a deep breath and drew away from him.

“Enough. You should go lie down, too, Jack. Right now.”

“Me?” He shook his head. “What about you? What about—what happened with Jule?”

“I don’t know. Dennis was able to get through on the phone for a while, but the lines are dead now. They’re supposed to be sending his body here, but—”

She waved a hand at the window, where skeins of purple and gold and red threaded across the sky. “Who the hell knows. Dennis and I—we buried the girl outside. But dogs kept trying to dig it up, and when Dennis went out to chase them off they came after him. The body’s gone.”

She looked at him, her eyes haunted. “What else could we do, Jackie?” she whispered. “What else could we do?”

“Nothing,” he said, his voice cracking. “You’ve done everything, Emma. You’ve done more than any human being could possibly do. Now you have to rest.”

He walked with her upstairs. On the second-floor landing he stopped and kissed her forehead.

“Where are you sleeping?”

Emma gestured at his uncle Peter’s old room. “There. Dennis is in the other bed. Your grandmother and Mrs. Iverson are in there—” She pointed at Keeley’s closed bedroom door. “And the babies—”

A sudden wail rent the air. Jack smiled in spite of himself, craned his neck to peer down the hall into Aunt Susan’s room. The sheets had been stripped from the canopied bed. Two bassinets lay side by side on the empty mattress, and between them the blond boy sat, staring into one of them.

“I think I know where the babies are,” said Jack. A second wail rang out. Trip leaned over, carefully picked up one of the babies, and awkwardly cradled it against his chest.

Jack shook his head. “Hey—”

“Hush.” Emma said. “He won’t hurt them. And I’m too beat right now to take care of them, and you shouldn’t do anything till you’re cleaned up. So just leave him, okay?”

Jack watched as the boy reached into the other bassinet for the second infant, straightened with them both in his arms.

“Is that doctor’s orders?” Jack asked.

“Absolutely.” Emma patted his good arm. “Go try to sleep, Jack. That’s the best thing any of us can do right now. Just try to sleep.”

He stood on the landing, watching as the boy sat with the babies. “Doctor Emma said there’s some formula downstairs,” he called into the room after a while. Trip looked up. His face broke into a smile.

“They’re so tiny,” he said. “But they’re really, really cute.”

Jack smiled back. “Yeah, well, be careful. They’re brand new. Maybe you could figure out how to feed them.”

The boy nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Jack turned away. Outside his grandmother’s door he hesitated, then peeked inside. Keeley and Mrs. Iverson lay side by side on the bed, mouths open, snoring loudly. Jack shut the door, and went upstairs to his room.

Somehow he had expected a seismic change, the roof caved in, bedclothes strewn anywhere. But no. Only the window had been opened, and the door leading onto the morning balcony. He closed the window, hesitated, then stepped out onto the balcony.

After the city’s rain of ash, the freezing air felt pure as spring rain: it washed away the stale smell of Leonard’s limo and the sickroom scent of the house beneath him. From downstairs he heard first one of the babies shrieking, and then the other. Then Keeley’s voice crying out for Emma, Emma calling back wearily, and Mrs. Iverson exclaiming, “Poor things!”

Then a deeper tone, Trip’s voice commanding them all: “Shhh, hey, everybody be quiet—they’re just hungry. I’ll take care of them.”

The wails grew louder but, miraculously, Emma and Mrs. Iverson and his grandmother were silent. Jack shook his head, imagining the boy pacing around the bedroom, trying fruitlessly to calm the infants. But after a few minutes the babies quieted. Lazyland grew still again.