Page 65 of Embers

Three months later,I’m back at New Haven Farm. I said goodbye to Maria and the others a few weeks ago, once I came to terms with the fact that constant travel isn’t for me. I don’t want to never put down any roots.

I’ll miss Maria and the women very much—particularly Anna—but I’ve also missed my friends here at New Haven. It’s nice to be back. It doesn’t feel like home. That will always be our cabin on the mountain for me. But the farm feels close to home, and I like that.

I’ve had a bed in one of the large bunkrooms in the main house ever since I got back. They used to be the prime positions here, but ever since they made private rooms in the outbuilding, the bunkrooms are for the newcomers.

It’s fine with me. I don’t need a private room since I’m not having sex and I’m used to sleeping near other people. I enjoy being part of the household. The community with the others who live here. I could be happy here—even if I end up staying for the rest of my life.

Maybe I’ll get restless and join with Maria again after a while. Or maybe something different will open up for me. Maybe one day I’ll get over Cal and decide I want another man, although I’ve decided right now to live as though that will never happen since it’s the only way I’ve found to stop longing for what I can’t have.

No matter what, I’ve got options now.

If Cal’s leaving me accomplished nothing else, at least it gave me that.

On a Friday morning, I roll out of my bottom bunk while it’s still dark. Most of the others in the room are still sleeping, but I’ve got early chores in the chicken coop, and I’ve naturally woken up at this time for years since it was always when Cal got up.

I pull on my jeans and a T-shirt and braid my hair as I walk toward the barn, waving at Faith and Jackson, who are up before me as they always are.

By the time I’ve finished my chores, folks have gathered to eat breakfast. We have a big group right now because volunteers have come in to the farm from surrounding areas to help with an upcoming mission, so several people are eating on the porch.

I grab my breakfast sandwich and sit down with them. Olivia, my friend who lives in the bunker about an hour away, moves over to make room for me on a bench.

The group is talking about our upcoming mission. That’s what Mack calls it—a mission—and I like the significance it places on the trip. There’s a town farther east that’s mostly made up of older people who weren’t in any condition to migrate and have completely run out of resources. They need help, so people have been donating as much food and supplies as we can get our hands on to bring to them.

Traveling is dangerous anyway. That’s why so few people do it anymore. But traveling with such a large amount of supplies is especially dangerous. It will make such a tempting target, and this trip will take two days to get there if we follow the safer back ways. So, in addition to donations, we’ve put the call out for as many volunteers as we can find to guard the vehicles.

I’m planning to go. That’s one of the jobs that Cal and I were particularly good at. As soon as we get enough volunteers and supplies, we’ll leave.

I’m having a good breakfast, chatting and laughing with the others. And I’m hit with the unexpected realization that it’s possible for me to be genuinely happy—even without Cal. It will never be the same without him, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be good.

I have friends here. Community. People who know and care about me. Safety and security and worthwhile work to do. And even if nothing else changes, that will be more than enough for the rest of my life.

It’s not a realization I expect to have this early on a random Friday morning, and it rocks me a little. I think I’m doing pretty well about hiding my emotional reaction to it, but Olivia turns to me quietly and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I smile at her, just slightly unsteady. “I’m good.”

She searches my face and nods, as if she believes me. “Good.”

If I believed in a divine force guiding human lives, the timing of what follows would make more sense. Random chance can’t explain the irony. Because it’s then—exactly then—that Faith walks over to the porch from the direction of the front gate.

“Rachel,” she says, a strangely tense expression on her face. “You better come.”

I stand up immediately at the urgency I see in her eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“We need you at the gate.”

I go with her without question, my heartbeat accelerating. It might not be a crisis, but it feels like one.

We’ve walked about halfway there when she says, “Listen, it’s entirely up to you.”

“What’s up to me?”

“Whether we let him in. He’s offering to help, and obviously we can use it, but you get to make the decision. Whatever you want is what we’ll do. Jackson and I are agreed on this.”

Despite the vagueness of her words, I know exactly what’s happening now. Exactly what’s waiting for me at the front gates of New Haven.

My heart is now hammering in my ears and my fingertips. My hands and feet have gone cold. But my stride doesn’t falter, and I don’t break down or fall apart, which is what I always assumed would happen if I ever got to this point again.

I hear his voice before I reach the gate. The same low, rough drawl I sometimes still hear in my sleep. “I’m not here to cause any trouble. Heard you needed help.”

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