Page 51 of Homestead

After dinner, Jimmy does the outdoor chores while I wipe down the kitchen. I’ve rested all afternoon, but I still feel exhausted now that it’s time for bed.

Maybe tomorrow will feel different. Maybe there’ll be some needed distance between me and the unexpected trauma of today.

Jimmy stands at the back door with his shotgun while I use the outhouse. He’s never done that before, but I don’t question it. I give him a little smile as he steps out of the way for me to walk back inside.

I’m still wearing his big, raggedy T-shirt, but I take it and my shorts and panties off before I wash up and brush my teeth.

He finishes locking up and comes to the bedroom as I’m walking across the room toward the bed.

He clearly understands the significance of my being naked. He jerks to a stop and says, “We don’t gotta have sex tonight.”

I turn around. “You don’t want to?”

His eyes make a quick, automatic trip up and down my body but then focus urgently on my face. “I thought you wouldn’t want to after what happened.”

“Oh.” I think about that. We always have sex. I can count on four fingers the number of evenings we haven’t, and those were when I accidentally fell asleep before Jimmy came to bed or when I really felt bad from my period. “I… I don’t know.”

“Okay.” He stares some more. Shifts from foot to foot. “Well, we’re not doin’ it unless you really want it.”

I nod, taking his muttered declaration seriously.

The truth is I have absolutely no idea what I want.

I enjoy having sex with Jimmy more than almost anything else in my life. I don’t have recreation like I used to as a kid—time spent purely to have fun. I work and eat and rest when I can and go through the basic routines of life. Sometimes they’re hard. Sometimes they’re tedious. Most of the time there’s a satisfaction to fulfilling the role that’s been given to me—that I’ve chosen—to the best of my ability. But, since we’re not trying for children, sex is the only part of this life that’s main purpose is for us to feel good.

But I understand why he’s surprised. I was violated physically. Not all the way. Not as completely as I could have been. But still… Maybe the expected response for a woman in my position is to protect her body from opening up to anyone—even her man, the one she trusts.

I really don’t know how I feel as I get into bed, stretching out with my head on my pillow and pulling the covers up over me.

Jimmy makes quick work of washing up since he took a bath earlier and comes to bed wearing his boxers.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, turning his head to look at me over his shoulder for a minute. Then he reaches for the lantern, leaving the bedroom in darkness.

He lies down. Turns over on his side to face me. “You okay?” he asks very softly.

“Yeah. I think I am.”

“You don’t gotta bury it away somewhere. I’m not expectin’ you to jump right back to normal.”

“I know you’re not.” I stare in his direction, but it’s too dark to see much of his face yet. “Do you feel bad about having to kill that man?”

There’s a kind of surprise in his silence. “Why would I feel bad? He hurt you. He was gonna hurt you even worse.”

“I know. I’m glad you killed him. Thank you for doing it. I just meant is it… Is it hard having to killanyone?”

“Oh.” This time he’s silent because he’s thinking. “It was at first. Before Impact when the world went to shit, I never killed anyone. I was… I was just a farm boy. I got a job in HVAC—fixing and installing heat pumps and furnaces.”

“I didn’t know that.” I actually know very little about his life before now. He’s never told me, and I’ve always been nervous to ask for fear of sounding nosy or intrusive.

“Yeah. I coulda worked for my dad, but I wanted some… independence. So I did my own thing. I made okay money. Me and Mary had a house about thirty miles away. Didn’t move here until things got bad before Impact. Anyway, I’ve hunted all my life, but I’d never killed a person. Not until we had to start holdin’ off attacks. And by then it all felt so… so necessary that it didn’t tear me up too bad. If they’re gonna hurt or kill my people, I’m gonna kill them.”

“That makes sense.” I reach out and stroke his beard lightly. “I think I’d probably feel the same way. But Grandpa kept me away from all that. He never wanted me to be around violence. He wouldn’t even let me hold a gun.”

“I can see that.” He reaches up to cover my hand, which is still playing with his beard. “You shouldn’t have to deal with all that.”

“Everyone does now. Why shouldn’t I deal with it too? It’s not like I’m different or special.”

He’s breathing heavily, holding on to my hand. He doesn’t say anything.

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