The wind spun the turbines until they could no longer make out their bright fins. There was no sound from the town below, only the lights in homes that people had left on before dying or trying to run from the wave of sickness that they had no chance of outdistancing. Frogs took up a chorus somewhere down the side of the hill, their throaty voices filling the night.
Ty sang them a quiet song while petting Denver’s broad head, the dog’s eyes never leaving the boy. They watched the clouds soar past while wrapped in blankets, their stomachs full for the first time in days. When Ty finished singing, they golf-clapped, and he stood taking a small bow.
“I think I’m going to lie down now,” Ty said, cuddling in the blankets on his chair. “Can Denver sleep with me tonight?”
“Honey, he’s too big,” Alice said, tucking him in. Ty drew his legs up leaving a long space at the bottom of his chair.
“There, now there’s room.”
“Ty…”
“Pleeeeaase?” The boy let the word draw out as he clasped his hands before him. Alice sighed. Ty smiled and snapped his fingers. “Denver, up.”
The dog rose from his place beside him and climbed onto the chair, curling into as small a shape as he could manage. His tail thumped as Alice surveyed them both.
“Unbelievable. It’s like I’ve got two kids now.”
“Thanks, mom!” Ty called before burrowing deeper in his covers. “Goodnight, Quinn.”
“Goodnight, buddy. We’ll get to Iowa tomorrow.”
“Think so?”
“I know so.”
Ty grinned and lay back on his pillow.
“Will we?” Alice said, coming back to the table. She refilled her glass of wine, taking a long drink from it.
“If tomorrow goes as good as today did.”
“Ha, now you jinxed it for us.”
“Hope not. You can really drive that car, by the way.”
“What, you think women can’t drive?”
“No, but you really seem to enjoy that one.”
“I do.” She paused, running a fingertip around the rim of her glass. “I thought about my dad a lot today.”
“I bet.”
“He would’ve loved cruising like that.”
The frogs became sporadic and finally quieted after a time. The clouds washed away from the moon, its light draping everything in silver.
“You ever thought about ending it all?” Alice asked, not looking at him. She gazed down into her wine glass, swirling it with one hand.
“Yeah, I have. More than once,” Quinn said. He’d only had one glass of wine, but his head buzzed with its presence. “But I only was serious after all this happened. I was going to jump off the cliff behind our house. I had nothing left. Everyone I’d ever really known was dead.”
“What stopped you?”
“Teresa’s…” he paused. “My mother’s words. She was the only mother I ever knew. I remembered something she said.”
“What was it?”
“To not let fear win.”
Alice turned her glass again and then stood, moving to the edge of the roof. Quinn followed and leaned against the rail beside her.
“How about you?” he asked.
“Every day,” she said staring straight ahead. “Ever since the night of the fire. I was basically an orphan from that day forward. I didn’t think I could be more alone, even in death.” She tipped her glass, slugging her wine in a few gulps. “I don’t believe in God. I think that beyond this life there’s just darkness.” She snapped her fingers, and he was reminded of his father saying how cruel the world could be. “We wink out, and there’s nothing left of us, just memories.”
He waited awhile, letting the breeze slip past them. Again, he was aware of her scent and how close she was, her arm brushing his at times.
“Can’t memories be enough?” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“My father and friends are all gone, but I remember them every day. They haven’t faded.”
She smiled sadly and tossed her wine glass into the darkness. It shattered on something hard below the house.
“Ty’s the only reason I keep going. Other than that...” She started to turn away, but he put a hand on her arm. She stopped, staring up at him.