Page 89 of Homestead

It’s the reality of the world after Impact.

Mack clears his throat. Leans over and murmurs something to Jimmy. Then Jimmy plays the opening bars to a song I recognize but can’t immediately name because it’s been so long since I’ve heard it.

It’s “Amazing Grace.”

The words come back to me as soon as Mack begins to sing.

Some of the others sing with him more softly, but his pure, powerful baritone sounds over the other voices.

And it’s haunting. Beautiful. Shattering. In the shadows of the evening and the flickering firelight, the familiar words about love and hope—about rescue and healing—take on an almost bittersweet poignance.

It feels like it’s breaking my heart.

I can’t hold back the tears, and I’m not the only one. Mrs. Hurley is sniffing and dabbing her eyes. Rachel has tears on her cheeks as she grips Cal’s hands.

I’m not even sure how to describe how powerful the moment is. As if Mack’s warm, rich, soulful voice as he sings a song laden with faith and history somehow embodies the world as it is now. After Impact. The brokenness. The loss. The instability. And the faint thread of hope that still holds it together.

It’s too much for me. When he gets to the image of a bright, shining future in the last verse, I start to choke.

For a moment or two, I try to swallow it down, but I can’t. Ican’t. I stumble to my feet and hurry away from the circle of firelight. When I’m far enough away, I finally break down in tears, but they wrack me. Utterly.

I choke again. Fall on my knees. Sob in painful spasms until I actually start vomiting again.

Partway through the heaves, I’m vaguely aware of someone else coming up behind me. Kneeling beside me. Pulling the loose strands of my hair back so I don’t throw up on them.

It’s Jimmy. I can’t see anything but the ground in front of me, but I know it’s him. When I’ve stopped vomiting at last, I fall into helpless tears.

He pulls me away from the place where I threw up and gathers me into his arms, on his lap. He holds me as I cough and sputter and weep all over his shirt.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Not until I’ve finally grown quiet and limp in his arms.

I need to sit up, but I’m not sure I can.

I’m so incredibly weak.

And devastated.

“Are you still sick?” he asks hoarsely, like his voice isn’t accustomed to being used. “I thought you were gettin’ better.”

“I’m not sick.” I start shaking again. Hide my face.

How much longer am I going to be able to hide what’s actually wrong with me?

“You threw up,” he murmurs, sounding worried and almost bewildered. “Was that just from bein’ upset?”

I can’t stop trembling. I can’t pull my face away from his T-shirt. The soft fabric and firm chest beneath it feel and smell so familiar.

After a minute, he gently pulls me away. Holds my head in both his hands and peers down at me. It’s not quite dark yet, but it’s close. But I know he can see me still. “Chloe, tell me what’s goin’ on. I know we had that fight, but there’s got to be more to it. You been sick for more than a week now. And you seem so tired, and you keep cryin’ and fallin’ apart when you never did before… and…” He sucks in a sharp gasp as he trails off.

I’m blinking up at him, so I can see a succession of emotions cross his face. Anxiety. Frustration. Recognition. Hope. Excitement. Confusion. A bewildered kind of pain. “Are you…? Chloe, are you…?”

I drop my eyes and nod. There’s no way I can keep this secret anymore.

“What… Why didn’t you tell me?” He’s even hoarser now. He sounds hurt.

“I didn’t know… I wasn’t sure how… I was scared.” I bite my lip, wishing I had a better answer.

“Why were you—?” He breaks off his own question. I sense the withdrawal inside him even before I see it in his posture and expression. “Oh. I get it. A baby wasn’t part of our deal, so you thought… What? That I’d kick you and the baby out?”

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