Beneath the Shadowlanders

Chapter Twenty-Two: Abigail

When I get home, mom is the only one awake. She's pacing across the living room, a trickle of cold sweat running down her forehead. Her eyes flick back and forth, filled, I know, with anxiety. When she sees me come through the door, she stops and straightens, attempting to appear calm and aloof. She knows that I'm the good kid, that I must have some explanation for being so late. I do, of course. I tried to invite Terrance in, but he bowed out, promising he'll come in next time, but for now, he really must be heading home. I guess it's just me and mom tonight. And Orion, apparently, sleeping on the couch for some reason.

"Hey, Bee. Where have you been?" Despite its quietness, her voice betrays her concern.

"UHC hired me as an intern. They put me through orientation tonight," I share in a conspiratorial whisper, so as not to wake Orion. I'm practically glowing.

"Congratulations!" She's obviously still a little nervous about the curfew violation, so I try to ease her nerves.

"Don't worry, they sent me home with a curfew escort." I decide not to mention the CEO escorted me personally. "No violation."

She visibly relaxes. I take a good look at her. Her black hair is pulled into a loose bun – we all got our hair from our father – and a few strands are falling out around her face. I watch as she tucks one behind her ear, returning to her position in the kitchen. It seems like she's always in the kitchen. This time, she's washing dishes, dipping her thin hands into the soapy water and withdrawing one of the small handful of plates we're so lucky to have. She methodically runs the sponge in a spiral, starting from the edges and moving into the center. When she's finished, she inspects it, giving any remaining spots a second scrub, then places the wet dish on a small towel on the counter.

I move over to the sink and start drying. We stand there in companionable silence for a few minutes. Her washing, me drying. It's almost like we're back home on the surface. I'm lost in a memory when she finally speaks.

"Orion found a way to bring him home," she says evenly, as if commenting on the weather or the time of day.

"Bring who home?" I respond. And then I realize, "Dad?" I put down the towel and turn to face her. Oh, no. She's finally lost it.

She stops as well, staring into the swirling soap bubbles. She doesn't even look up when she says, "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a child who still believes Santa Claus will bring me a puppy for Christmas." She sighs and sinks into a chair at the kitchen table. The next sentence visibly pains her. "I know," she murmurs, dropping her head into her hands. "I know, I knew from the minute they told me."

I sit down next to her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"I know he's probably dead. But some part of me isn't ready to admit it. Some part of me still thinks he's out there." She looks up at me earnestly, tears pouring in tracks down her porcelain face.

Has she always been this pale? I take her hand, my own tears stinging at the backs of my eyes. "I know, mom. I feel it too. But logic says he's dead. No one can survive on the surface that long."

She looks me in the eye. "But that's what I'm trying to tell you. Someone can."

I furrow my brow in puzzlement. "What?"

"Your brother found someone. Two someones. A boy and a girl. They're asleep upstairs. They've been living on the surface for three years."

"But... how? Why didn't they join the migration?" I can't process this. The surface is uninhabitable. Everyone knows this.

"They were orphaned. They didn't want to be split up. They've been living in an abandoned bomb shelter, scavenging food from nearby houses." The life is slowly crawling back into her watery blue eyes. "If they could do it, why couldn't your father?"

"Mom, dad disappeared during an attack. No one survives that."

"But they did."

"What?" That's not possible.

"They survived. They know how to survive." She sniffles, wiping some of the dampness from her cheeks with a watery smile. "And if they figured out how to survive, why shouldn't your father?" Her eyes fall to the threadbare apron in her lap. "I know it's not much and it's not likely, but it's something. It's hope. And I can't lose that hope. You understand, right?" She looks up at me, eyes pleading for confirmation. "He was my everything. Without hope, I have nothing left."

"Thanks, mom." I nudge her shoulder sarcastically and smile.

She gasps. "Oh, of course, I have you guys. I didn't mean..."

"I know," I interrupt, and I do.

"He was the love of my life."