all that far away, and what had happened there and in other cities wasn’t going to get better.
Carol clapped her hands and said, “Show’s over, let’s get back to work. Tomorrow I’ll set this up in the big field, so more people can listen.”
How different their days already were, Sela thought as she watched the crowd disperse. She, Carol, and Barb planned to spend part of the day working on quilts in preparation for winter. Olivia and a friend from down the street were helping an older couple with the last gasp of their garden. The girls were lost without their phones, and the physical activity did them good. Sela had even caught Olivia reading a time or two, and she had also joined in with the quilting—for a short while. She didn’t have the patience for the craft. Sela stifled her own impatience, because the chore needed doing.
They settled into their activities, and as Sela stitched she thought of Ben. Did he have enough covers to keep him warm? As soon as the thought ran through her mind she scoffed at herself. Of course he did. Of all the people here, he would be the most prepared for whatever happened. He was fine. No looter would dare to bother him, and if they did, well, too bad for that looter. But just because he was prepared didn’t mean he had everything. He had no neighbors to share or commiserate with, no fresh-tomatoes-for-recently-thawed-chicken trades to make—not that she could imagine him commiserating with anyone. Still. Being totally alone wasn’t good. What if he got hurt? Living as isolated as he did, no one would know if he was injured and needed help.
Though maybe he could perform field surgery on himself.
Instead of being comforted by that idea, she suddenly felt like crying, and she ducked her head so the others wouldn’t see her damp eyes.
She wished she had reached out to him before, not that he’d ever given any indication of wanting her, or anyone else, to reach out. Her retiring personality had undermined her. Why had she been so shy around him? Why hadn’t she ever smiled and asked him how he was doing, those times when he’d come into her store? Likely he would have grunted a non-reply, but maybe . . . maybe he’d have talked to her a little. And maybe eventually they might have—
She was bedeviling herself with too many mights and maybes. She couldn’t change the past. The future, however, was something else. Seeing these missed opportunities was giving her a lot to think about. What a time to realize that maybe there was more to life than work, her aunt, and her young cousin. She’d been marking time, playing it safe, living in a bubble of her own making.
The thing was, bubbles were made for popping.
Chapter Eight
Ben stepped out onto his porch into another fine, warm morning, but for a change there were low clouds in the sky that hinted at changing weather. The world had gone dark just over a week ago, which meant no weather predictions. September was prime hurricane month, though, so who knew what was brewing in the tropics. At any rate, rain would be welcome, because so far they’d been hot and dry for too long.
After his unplanned meeting with Sela he’d kept to the mountain, and stayed busy by chopping wood, doing some hunting and fishing so he wouldn’t have to dip into his canned or dried food supplies before winter set in. His solar panels provided what light he needed at night, conserving his lamp oil and candles. The atmosphere had settled down some and he’d gotten the ham radio up and going again, but so far transmissions were spotty and limited in range. Maybe in another week he’d be able to get some worthwhile information over the airwaves.
He had his breakfast with him, some fish he’d cooked the night before, and settled down in a chair with that and his coffee to kick back to enjoy the bright morning and the simple food. The cup was almost empty and he had one strip of fish left, when in his peripheral vision he spotted movement off to the right about forty yards away, on the left side of the driveway. He turned his head a fraction of an inch, focusing on the movement. Could be deer, bear, turkey—any kind of wildlife. Turkey would be nice; he could smoke some, dry some for jerky.