We don’t say much, and I studiously ignore those around me as I scarf down my food, uncomfortable under the curious stares.
After, I’m shuttled off to the nursery. I’m a little petrified at the thought because I know nothing about kids and can’t see how this isn’t going to be a disaster. I can only hope I will be reassigned soon.
The nursery is now housed in a cleared-out gift shop, filled with more of the same Route 66 memorabilia, including images of Elvis Presley, James Dean, and a host of other 50s era signs.
When I enter and glance around warily, I find children playing in quiet groups on the floor. Toys, books, and crayons are strewn everywhere. The kids range in age from toddlers to six or seven years old, and my heart clenches painfully at the sight because this is what we fight to live for, and these kids, safe within the walls, have hope.
A young woman approaches me, and I realize with horror that it’s Cole’s new love. I school my features into indifference, relieved when she doesn’t falter. She’s wearing a long skirt and shirt, with her dark hair pulled back in a long ponytail and soft light brown eyes shining from thick black lashes.
“Hi, I’m Marie,” she says, holding out her hand.
“Lola,” I reply half-heartedly, returning the handshake with a limp wrist. I have zero desire to be in her presence, now or ever, but that’s fate or karma for you. The fucking bitch.
“So nice to meet you, Lola, and welcome,” she says with a soft smile.
Mutely, I nod because I have nothing to say, and I’m confused by her demeanor. She appears to be the exact opposite of Sissy, who made every effort to outshine those around her. Not only that, but I can’t tell if she knows anything about me, leading me to believe Cole hasn’t said anything. Is that good or bad? I have no fucking clue, but the constant seesawing of my emotions is getting old.
“Let me show you around,” she says before leading me farther into the building and pointing out the play stations and snack tables.
I’m introduced to a few other women who look me over with avid curiosity.
After, Marie leaves me to my thoughts and sits down with the kids, engaging them in conversation. Their eyes light up when she talks to them, and grossly I feel even more inadequate as I watch, wishing for the hundredth fucking time that I could just be someone who can talk to strangers without sweating uncomfortably and flushing like a moron.
As the day progresses, it’s obvious Maris is the Mother Theresa of wayward children, and I’m Satan’s spawn. I’m awkward with both the children and the adults, not sure how to reach either level of communication because making small talk with strangers who are adults is hard enough, but with little kids, it’s a stretch I cannot seem to surmount.
Instead, I busy myself with cutting up snacks and tidying up whenever possible to ensure I am out of the way and too busy to chat. But one daring child tries to speak to me, and I make noncommittal noises while he chatters away in my ear.
“Bethie says that brother David is gonna marry her dad.”
“Um, is that so?”
“Yeah, and then they can be a family, cuz Shepherd says family’s what’s most ‘portant.”
“I see.”
“Yeah, but Bethie’s mom is sad.”
“Is she?”
The conversation has my head spinning, but the kid can’t be more than six, so maybe he misunderstood something. I don’t know, but my skin is itchy and I want him to go play with the others before I say or do something to traumatize the poor kid.
Marie, the fucking saint that she is, must see something in my demeanor that screams my discomfort because she takes pity on me and leads the boy, Joshua, back to the group for storytime. Damn, I don’t want to like her, but so far, she’s been nothing but quiet and kind.
By the end of the day, I’m exhausted and cranky, which is why I make a quick exit and head toward the communal food building without looking back.
Now that I’m not reeling from shock, I take in my surroundings with a miserable stare, adding it to the information I gleaned from the women at the nursery.
This community has been quite busy building a sustainable living area, complete with livestock quartered farther into the small town, now residing in cleaned-out buildings with makeshift stalls. Additionally, generators were found and put to use allowing for hot water, electricity at certain times of the day, and hot meals, to which I’m not sad that we get real food sans meat after spending months consuming snack foods.
There are two main roads into the small town, both of which are checkpoints for those coming and going. To the east are the train tracks currently housing cars from multiple eras and forming a barrier to the outside.
Behind the main streets are homes, some of which are beyond the makeshift barriers. If I walked past those, I’d be smack dab in the wilderness, with no fucking clue where to go.
I don’t see Enzo in the crowd, which isn’t surprising considering the size of the group waiting in line to eat.
With a silent sigh, I resign myself to another awkward fucking scenario and grab a plate before passing through the line where a few women wearing hairnets and beleaguered expressions scoop food onto my plate. I sure hope my next gig isn’t in the kitchens because it looks like a fate worse than the zombies outside the wall. Feeding this many people, which I suspect numbers in the hundreds, cannot be easy.
Nodding my thanks, I turn, and, fuck my life, I almost bump into Cole. My chest tightens in exhilaration because he’s alive but drops to a painful ache when he stiffens. Faltering, I grip the tray tightly and fight a shiver at the chill he exudes, his demeanor unfriendly at best.