Though I’m well aware my father extols my abilities to a fault, his words bolster my confidence. If I’m half the parent Pop was after Mom’s death, I’ll count it a success. “On the roof, before everyone woke up, Ethan said he didn’t worry about the kids when I’m with them. Maybe he already knew what he was going to do.”

  “He’d probably thought about it. I know I did.”

  I recall the pure love in Ethan’s expression before he left the roof. The way he never faltered as he lowered himself to the ground, despite knowing it’d be the last time he ever kissed or held or saw our babies. Tears flood my eyes, and the sobs I’ve held back finally break through. I cry for him and the kids, for his strength and their heartbreak, and even for me, because that Ethan was the man I loved.

  Eventually, the tears fade to sniffles, and I wipe my face. “Sorry, I just…”

  Pop rests a hand on my knee. “You loved him, Rosie. And he loved you, all of you, more than himself.” His voice quavers, and he presses his lips together, reining in his emotions. “I’d worry if you didn’t cry for him. No matter what happened between you, there were so many good times. It’s okay to remember and mourn them. To mourn him.”

  I blow my nose with my last boob tissue, then reach for the tissue box I’ve kept handy. I wish my emotions were clear-cut, black and white, but I’m a shades-of-gray person no matter how I try. “Thanks, Daddy.”

  “Sure thing, baby doll.”

  We sip our coffee in silence. The hollow, guilty feeling in my stomach has lessened, replaced with something like forgiveness. For Ethan. For me. After years of anger and resentment, I welcome the peace. I’m glad I’ll always love the man I laughed with, cried with, and built a life with.

  I inhale, then slowly let out my breath. “I was thinking of going to the main house to check on everyone.”

  “I should come.”

  “Daddy, the house is a hundred feet away.”

  “Hundred-fifty,” he mutters.

  “You can watch me walk.”

  Pop’s eyes twinkle over his mug. “Well, I do have backup once you’re there.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Tom’s looking out for you. I made sure of it.”

  I groan from behind my tissue, face fiery. I may be the mom with the no-holds-barred sex-ed lectures, but I’d like my father to believe I never have—nor have I ever had—sex. “Oh, God. Please tell me you didn’t say something embarrassing.”

  “I only asked him to look out for you.”

  “Right, because I’m incapable of surviving without a big, strong man to protect me. I hope you also gave him a packet of smelling salts in case I swoon.”

  I glare, unable to be truly annoyed but attempting a good show. The truth is that I like people looking out for me just as I look out for them. If some of those people happen to be strapping and formidable, all the better.

  “Sorry, baby doll, I can’t help it. But he’s only backup. You grew up in New York City in the ’80s. Nothing scares you for long.”

  I kiss his cheek. “You redeemed yourself a little, old man.”

  In the kitchen, I pour my coffee into a travel mug, then transfer the rest of the carafe into a thermos and start a new pot. Once I’ve thrown my coffee supplies into a cloth bag, Pop stands at the door while I step into the clearing with Willa. It’s cool, almost cold, and the surrounding woods are quiet but for soft rustlings and a bird or two. It’s a good sign: if undead are nearby, wildlife noise ceases. Though Willa would be little protection against an attacker, zombie or otherwise, she senses what I can’t. The way she trots happily through the tall grass, stopping to pee on every other blade, eases my fear of a surprise attack.

  Barry’s house is built into the top of the slope. The front entry is on the west side, and the walkout basement, with its large windows and glass doors, faces south. Above the basement, a deck wraps around the main floor before it hits ground level and extends east, likely to take advantage of the view. The house’s clapboard exterior is light brown, with forest green trim and roof that match the fir-covered butte rising behind it. Something could stumble up the driveway or through the forest to the west, but it’d take a zombie forever to stagger over that 5,000-foot-high butte.

  As far as I can tell, everyone is either asleep or inside. Jesse isn’t in sight. “Want to check out the view?” I ask Willa.

  She gives me a doggy grin of approval. We walk to a wooden staircase on the side of the deck. I give Pop a thumbs up. He blows me a kiss but doesn’t stop watching until Willa and I have climbed to safety. With the house on my left, the rectangular pool house sits ahead, its long side adjacent to the deck. It must be incredible to have a pool of your own, one you don’t have to step outside to use. I’ve always wanted a pool. Or, better yet, a hot spring pool. It’s the main reason I loved that fancy lodge in Idaho, whose listing I kept push-pinned to my office corkboard. I wonder if anyone currently lives there, soaking in their private hot spring and reveling in their geothermal power.

  The decking extends east like a pier. I walk that way, past a shed just outside the tree line. Its south wall and roof are windowed like a greenhouse, and I remember Barry saying his wife was a gardener. Though late in the season, it might prove useful before winter sets in.

  At the end of the deck, two wide steps lead to the grassy top of the rise. It runs level for thirty feet before turning to gently sloping meadow that meets with trees 500 feet below, where I glimpse the small pond and guesthouse half-hidden in the foliage. Except for the meadow, we’re surrounded by forest. The eastern buttes are dark green, the lines of their highest treetops limned with gold by the rising sun. Beyond these, the peaks of the Three Sisters mountains stand over 10,000 feet high, their craggy gray-brown summits streaked with white glaciers. Through a break in the northeast trees, I spot Mount Washington’s pointed top. It’s a view I could happily look at forever.

  Ethan would’ve loved it. Maybe he’s here watching us, loving us. I want to believe there’s an afterlife, and I close my eyes, trying to sense his presence. Ethan, help me do this right, I think. Help me keep them safe. I don’t get an answer, though I do feel better. He’ll help if he can.

  I open my eyes, take in the view afresh, and whisper, “Wow.”

  “I know,” Tom’s voice comes from behind me. I cut off a shriek and wheel around clutching my chest. “Sorry, I thought you heard me coming.”

  “So much for that situational awareness you’ve been trying to beat into my head.”

  Tom laughs. He’s lit with the same gold as the trees. It gilds his bronze skin and gives his dark irises a golden cast that reminds me of Holly’s and Ethan’s eyes. I remember how I felt last night, what Tom said—Anything for you, Red—and reach for his hand. “Sit and watch the sunrise with me? I’ll give you coffee.”

  His fingers, solid and warm, close around mine. “Fine, but only for coffee.”

  I smile and pull him to the steps, then dig in my coffee bag. “Creamer? I have sugar, too.”

  “Creamer, thanks.” He sits with one leg bent and one outstretched, scratching under Willa’s chin while she gazes at him adoringly. I fill a mug and watch him sip the hot brew. He closes his eyes in pleasure when he swallows. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. Sad, but okay.” I turn to the Three Sisters, feeling his eyes on me. “I’m sorry if I was weird last night.”

  “Red, there’s no need to—"

  “I want to explain.” I pick at a string on my jeans, then look at him. “This is just…hard. I felt guilty because Ethan was his old self the last few days, and I loved that person.” I rest a hand on his forearm for reassurance, though he doesn’t seem upset. “I don’t regret ending things. At some point, it was too far gone to fix. But after…the roof, I could remember the good things so clearly. I felt shitty, like I was acting as though he meant nothing to me. I didn’t know how to tell you he did mean something without hurting you.”

  Tom covers my hand with his. “You wouldn’t hurt me by saying that. I already knew.”

  I nod. “I realized I wasn’t giving you enough credit, and then I worried that you felt the same about Sheila. I don’t bring her up because I don’t want to upset you or make things awkward, but I don’t want it to be awkward. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t mention her. You always can, even if it’s just to say you miss her.”

  My chest releases after my words, expanding with something that feels honest and true. Tom wipes my tears with his thumb. “You didn’t make me feel that way, Red. Don’t cry.”

  I dab my eyes with yet another tissue. I brought the extra boxes from my house, and if I don’t stop crying every ten seconds, I’ll use them all today. “It’s not because I’m sad. My mom called them heart tears. When your heart feels so full that it comes out as tears.” I wave my tissue. “It all has to go somewhere, you know. That’s just science.”

  Tom’s smile is of the you’re-nuts-but-amusing variety. He draws me close, and I allow myself to absorb his comfort the way I couldn’t last night. I catch movement in the trees below and shield my eyes, relieved to see Jesse exploring down by the guesthouse.

  When the sun breaches the buttes, I bury my face in Tom’s shoulder. “What’s the matter?” he asks.

  “The sunrise is nice until the sun comes up.”

  “I thought you like sun.”

  “I do when I’m in the shade. But it makes me angry when it beats down on my head. Craig was right—it’s the worst overhead light of all.”

  “What’s wrong with overhead lights?”

  “They’re so glare-y.”

  Tom’s chest vibrates with his laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

  “What list?”

  “The list of your foibles.”

  I sit up in indignation. “I know you love yourself a good list, but I don’t have that many foibles.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “All right, jerk, what’s on this li—"

  The deck creaks with Clara’s approaching footsteps. She sits on the top step, arms hugging her knees. Her brown hair is loose and wavy, her face puffy and sad. I hand her my travel mug. “You look like you need coffee, sweetie. Finish it.”

  She offers a halfhearted smile of thanks and takes a sip. “It’s pretty here.”

  “It is. Is everyone awake?”

  “Everyone in the house is up. They’re discussing breakfast. Adele and Mitch are arguing.”

  I sigh. Those two get along like a detonator and C-4. “If you want to escape, you can go to the fifth wheel.”

  “I did. Holly’s still asleep. I didn’t see Jesse.”

  “He’s wandering. I saw him down by the guesthouse a few minutes ago.”

  “Is he okay?”

  If I had any questions about the depth of Clara’s feelings, they’re answered by the naked worry in her eyes. “I don’t really know,” I say. “He won’t talk about it. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”

  “Probably not.” She gazes down the hill shaking her head, though her body is poised to rise. “I can check on him, though. If you want.”

  “I’d really appreciate it.” It’s clear she’s dying to go; she just needs a reason. “Thanks, honey.”

  “You have weapons?” Tom asks. He nods permission when she displays the gun and spike on her belt. “Be careful.”

  Clara walks down the steps and weaves through the tall grass. I cover my face to block the sun, which I suspect is deliberately trying to blind me.

  “Let’s see what’s for breakfast before you burst into flames,” Tom says, helping me up.

  I squeeze his hand as we walk toward the cabin. “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Anything for you, Red.”

  “Is that your new thing, like how Westley from The Princess Bride says, ‘As you wish’? Does this mean you’re my farm boy, and I can boss you around?”

  “I can be your farm boy.” Tom’s sidelong glance is amused but still makes me wish I had a shower and private bed available, most definitely in that order.

  We enter the house to the sound of raised voices. The kitchen counters are laden with our provisions, and Mitch is in the center of the room with a large can of buttermilk pancake mix cradled in her good arm. Adele stands by the counter, face pinched with disapproval and fist resting on a can of dehydrated vegetable stew.

  “No one wants vegetable stew for breakfast,” Mitch says. “We want pancakes!”

  Murmurs come from the spectators in the living and dining areas. Gabrielle and her family are still in the RV, but everyone in the cabin watches with varying degrees of entertainment or annoyance, the latter of which is firmly directed at Adele.

  “It’s all carbs!” Adele argues. “Nothing healthy at all.”

  Craig stands at the doors to the pool house, where an easy escape is possible. Tom and I join him as the argument continues. “What the hell?” I ask.

  “Adele tried to take over, and Mitch got pissed,” Craig whispers as Mitch shakes her head violently at whatever Adele has just said. “Like Mitch was planning on cooking?”

  I snort, then catch sight of Hawk in the far corner of the room. He watches his mother with his teeth hooked over his bottom lip. I see his worry, his wish that everything wasn’t a thing, and I ache for him. Adele may be exasperating, but she’s a loving mother. The expression on Hawk’s face would flatten her.

  I brace myself and march into the kitchen. “Why don’t we have blueberry pancakes for breakfast?” I seize the container from Mitch, who lets go after my second tug, then turn to Adele. “We have freeze-dried blueberries somewhere. That’ll be fruit.”

  Adele opens her mouth, then shuts it when I hold up a finger. “Vegetable stew for dinner, with dried potatoes for more calories, and rehydrated meat for whoever wants it.”

  “Potatoes aren’t paleo,” Adele mutters under her breath.

  “Pretty sure they were approved by the Paleo Foundation,” I say.

  Adele stares without a retort, surprised I’ve spouted off that paleo potato fact. Little does she know I’ve been on or researched every diet imaginable over the course of my life. I soak up calorie counts the way Holly soaks up medical information.

  “What about lunch?” Adele asks challengingly.

  I wait for someone to answer, then realize everyone watches me. I have no desire to be in charge. “I don’t know that we can have lunch if we want the food to last,” I say. “Maybe a snack for the kids until we take inventory?”

  This pacifies Adele. Hawk has come to her side, and she pulls him close with a generous smile that no one else in the room—or maybe the world—has ever received. “I’ll help with inventory.”

  “Craig and Tom will do it. They have a system already.”

  “I’ll start pancakes,” Lana offers.

  Gabe raises a hand. “I’ll help. Pancakes are my specialty. My mom and I made them every Sunday when I was little.”

  They open cabinets in search of pans or griddles. Barry enters, points them in the right direction, and I scurry out of the limelight. “Thanks for volunteering us for inventory,” Craig says when I return to the doors, though he’s smiling.

  “I’ll help. We’re taking one for the team, but at least we’re getting pancakes out of it.” I motion at Tom, who leans against the wall. “And Tom here just loves making lists, so he should be excited to do inventory.”

  Tom’s expression is not quite deadpan, due to the barest uptick at the corners of his mouth. “I do love my lists.”

  “Can you believe he has a list of my foibles?” I ask Craig.

  Instead of commiserating, Craig laughs. I hit him, which only makes him laugh harder. “How long is that list?” he asks Tom.

  Tom’s smirk swells to a grin. “Pretty damn long.”

  They chortle together like friends, and though they’re both jerks, it makes me happy.

  4

  CLARA

  Tall grass winds around my calves and slows my pace to the guesthouse. Not that I’m in a huge hurry, since Jesse will probably tell me to leave. I understand pushing people away—I spent years doing the same. Jesse’s remoteness hurt my feelings, but for the first time in the history of my love life, I care about someone else’s feelings more than my own.

  At the base of the hill, a stream runs down the butte into Barry’s small pond. I walk through the surrounding trees, circling to where water pours from the pond’s overflow pipe and becomes a stream again. It passes under the driveway and reappears in a clearing on the other side before it burbles into the forest.

  The guesthouse is just ahead: beige, one-story, set in a small clearing surrounded by trees. It has a wraparound deck that starts on the driveway side of the house, where a ramp leads to a side entrance. I search for signs of Jesse and zombies, then notice the house’s interior door is slightly open behind the outer storm door. Jesse’s inside. My palms immediately start to sweat, and I strip off my gloves while reminding myself to breathe. You’d think we haven’t spoken, haven’t slept together, with the way my brain screams abort!

  I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding these situations, and walking the ramp feels more like walking the plank. I enter the side door into a small utility room. The doorway straight ahead leads to a kitchen. A door on my right opens to a bathroom with a jetted soaking tub and a second door into a bedroom. The master, probably.

  “Jess?” I call, gripping my spike handle. It was dumb to come here alone. The fact that Rose encouraged it means she’s either extremely worried about Jesse or she wants me dead.

  “Yeah,” Jesse says from inside.

  I step into the kitchen area of a high-ceilinged great room. Past a long counter, a wood dining table sits beside sliding glass doors, and a hall beyond that must lead to the other bedrooms. To my right, the living area is furnished with a couch, comfy chairs, and a wood stove.

  Jesse stands by a chair, looking out the picture window. “What’s up?” he says, though he doesn’t turn. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine. I don’t know if you’re hungry, but they’re making breakfast. If Mitch and Adele ever stop arguing over food.”