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  Gina unconsciously backed up a step and tried to keep her voice steady. “I just went for a walk.”

  “Do you always dress like that when you go for a walk?”

  “Well,” Gina faltered slightly, “Actually-”

  “LIAR!” Dirk roared, charging forward. Gina gasped and stumbled backwards, tripping over the dining table. Dirk dropped the bottle, shattering it on the floor. He grabbed Gina’s shoulders, lifting her small frame up off the ground and slamming her into the wall. “Where were you?” He snarled. The smell of alcohol on his breath was overpowering. Gina opened her mouth to say something, but words refused to form. “Answer me!” He shook her before dropping her back to the ground. “You were with that damn Crawford boy again, weren’t you?”

  “I – I –” Gina looked to the floor for answers.

  He grabbed her face and jerked it up, forcing her to meet his bloodshot eyes. “I want an answer!”

  “Yeah I was!” Gina cried, Dirk’s grip burning her face. “But nothing happened, we broke up!”

  He dropped her immediately, his entire demeanor changing.

  “So that’s how it is, is it?” Dirk took a few steps back, face unreadable behind his scraggly red beard. They stood in silence for a few torturous moments before Dirk spoke again, low and serious. “You better not have got yourself pregnant. I ain’t gonna take care of two of your mama’s mistakes.” He gave Gina one last heart-stopping glare before turning and storming toward the living room. “Also,” he added over his shoulder, “That damn dog was stuck in the house. If it happens again, I’ll shoot it.”

  As the door slammed behind him, Gina bolted for the hallway before he could think of something else to berate her for.

  Chapter Three

  Yonkers, NY

  Thursday, Week One

  When the man came to, he was lying in a hospital bed with a killer headache. He pressed the nurse call button and a doctor came in, carrying his chart.

  “How are you feeling, Mr. Housely?” The doctor raised the bed up slowly until the man was in a sitting position. “I’m Doctor Mitchell. You’re at Yonkers’ Mercy Heart Hospital with a broken leg and head trauma. You’ll need to be in here for a few days. We obtained your personal and insurance information through the contents of your wallet. I hope that’s alright.”

  “Yeah. When can-” Housely started to say, but stopped, raising a hand to his head. “Ohh… I’m dizzy.”

  “That’s perfectly normal after fainting. We ordered some bloodwork, and found that you were severely anemic and dehydrated, which could have contributed to you passing out and crashing. We’re giving you a blood transfusion and fluids now.”

  Housely looked from the tubes in his arm to the bag hanging next to him and nodded dazedly. “Can I go back to sleep now? I’m really tired.”

  Dr. Mitchell frowned and moved closer, pulling something from his coat pocket. “You shouldn’t still be…you’ve been out for almost twelve straight hours.” Housely yawned as the doctor shined a flashlight into his eyes. “The transfusion should have replaced enough platelets to give you your energy back…” Dr. Mitchell backed away suddenly, face unreadable. “I’ll be right back.” Housely looked over to the metal pole that the blood bag was suspended from to catch a glimpse of himself. Staring back from the distorted reflection was a pair of yellow eyes sunken into a deathly pale face.

  “Right back” was less than truthful; Dr. Mitchell didn’t return for over an hour. A nurse came in to check Housely’s blood count and found him deep asleep. She ran the test anyway, and found that even with the transfusion, the number was dangerously low. The doctor ordered an emergency transfusion to try and stabilize the still-dropping count. He conferred with some of the other doctors in the hospital, but they were just as baffled about the mysterious disappearing blood cells.

  At the nurse’s station, Marianne Nanton – the graying nurse that had originally admitted Housely – absentmindedly stared at the wall, mentally prepping for the upcoming family reunion at her sister’s house on Saturday. She’d been asked to bring pie, and debated silently if she would make them from scratch or give up and buy them from the store. One of her fellow nurses finally told her to just go home, that they’d cover her shift. She thanked them all and left, stopping by the 24-hour grocery store on the way home. There, she purchased 5 family-sized frozen apple pies and paid with three $20 bills, but not before habitually rifling through all the magazines at the end of the checkout stand. Some of the pages stuck together and she licked her thumb absentmindedly to separate them.

  In that one trip to the store, she left microscopic gifts for 76 people that would be grocery shopping the next day. One of those people was Kendra Bennett, lead counselor at nearby Camp Sunshine, an overnight camp for girls aged 10-18. Camp Sunshine was renowned for its unique activity offerings, and housed around 250 girls from all across the nation in one-week blocks. Kendra went to the store early that morning to buy ice cream for closing ceremonies that were to be held that afternoon before the girls went back to their respective homes. She bought six 3-gallon tubs of ice cream and a tabloid magazine from the end of the checkout lane. By the time Kendra was done hosting closing ceremonies, nearly every camper plus 20 or so of the staff was infected.

  Chapter Four

  Watertown, NY

  Monday, Week Three

  “Yoo-hoo, Zach!” Connie, Zach’s bubbly neighbor, had an unmistakable sing-song voice that now called to him as he entered to the trailer park. The older woman smiled and waved from where she was watering her plants outside her tin double-wide. Zach returned the smile and walked over to say hello. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you!”

  “I guess it has. How’ve you been, Ms. Connie?”

  “Pretty good, pretty good.” She beamed. “This new fertilizer I got from the Home Depot is doing wonders for my Begonias! How’s your mama?”

  “Good. She changed doctors again and is feeling a lot better.”

  “Oh, good. I got real worried about her when that ambulance came a while back,” Connie said sympathetically. “That must’ve been so scary for you.”

  “It was a rough couple of days for sure. Thank you again for that casserole, it was delicious.” Zach glanced down the road toward their home. The maroon beater wasn’t in its usual parking spot. “But you know Mom, she doesn’t let anything keep her down for long. She’s on her feet again and back at work now.”

  “I’m so glad! Is she still working at the laundromat?”

  “Yes ma’am, they’ve got her on nights right now.”

  “I’ll have to stop by sometime and say hello!”

  “I’m sure she’d like that.”

  Connie smiled and reached up to move a stray strawberry-blonde hair out of her face. “Out of curiosity, would you be going to see Shannon later?”

  “Shannon…” Zach frowned, confused. “Oh! Right.” It had been a long time since Zach had heard someone use Oleson’s first name, and for good reason. The old man forbade most people from using it, saying that it made him sound too much like a lawyer. “Yeah, I was headed over there now, actually.”

  “Oh, good! Can you take him something for me?” Connie disappeared into her house without waiting for an answer. Zach glanced around at the flowerpots surrounding her walkway. Connie was back almost as soon as she left, carrying a pie dish. Her blue eyes lit up as she held the pie out to him. “I felt like baking this morning but I don’t need the calories in the house, so I thought who better to give it to than Shannon Oleson!” Zach adjusted his backpack and took the pie from her.

  “Thanks, I’m sure he’ll like it. Are you sure you don’t want to give it to him yourself?” Zach raised an eyebrow and smiled.

  “Oh, no,” Connie giggled, putting a hand to her cheek. “I can’t do that right now.” Her rosy cheeks deepened in color.

  Zach chuckled. “Well okay. I’ll let him know that you made it especially for him.”

  “Thank you, Zach. And if you feel like p
utting in a good word for me, I’d appreciate it!” She winked at him and turned to go back inside.

  “Will do,” Zach said and turned to leave. As he approached Oleson’s trailer, a boisterous laugh erupted from inside. What’s he got himself into this time? Zach knocked on the door and pulled it open.

  “Bub! C’mere!” A gnarled hand shot up and motioned over the backrest of the tall swivel chair in front of the radio station. Zach stepped up into the trailer and set the pie on the counter next to Oleson’s minifridge. The trailer was old, but the old man patched up any holes that appeared in the wood panel interior throughout the years with brown duct tape. Zach dropped his black backpack to the floor.

  “Hey, Dave. Would you mind holdin’ for just a moment?” Oleson spoke into his microphone.

  The radio crackled. “No problem. Standing by.”

  Oleson turned the mic off and set it down. He swiveled his chair around to Zach with a toothy grin. “Hey, Boy! How’s work?”

  “Ah, y’know,” Zach said, leaning against the wall. “Crates and dead fish, the usual fun stuff. Who’s on the radio today?”

  “Some Canuck named Dave,” Oleson replied, leaning his chair back a ways and glancing at the clock above the sink. “We’ve been talkin’ for a few hours now.” He suddenly stopped and lifted his head. “What’s that smell?”

  “Dead fish.”

  “No, the not-usual one.”

  “Oh, yeah. Connie baked you a pie.” Zach pointed to the counter.

  “Who?” Oleson hopped out of the chair and scurried over to the source of the smell.

  “Connie. Our neighbor?” Zach paused, trying to figure out how to describe her. “The redhead who laughs a lot and has all those plants.”

  “Oh, her! Yeah, I know her.” Oleson stared at the pie, licked his lips, and fished in the cabinets above the counter. He pulled out two mismatched plates and set them on the counter. “Why’d she make me a pie?”

  “I think she likes you.”

  Oleson whipped around and gave Zach a bewildered look. “What? Now why on earth would she go and do a thing like that?”

  “Beats me. Maybe it’s your rugged charm,” Zach said, folding his arms. Oleson cackled and fished a knife and two forks out of his clean-dish-holder.

  “Ah, that’s a good’n. But I ain’t got time for women, Bub.” Oleson cut two generous slices of pie, put them on plates, and handed one and a fork to Zach.

  “Why not?” Zach slid into his chair next to Oleson’s at the radio station. The cherry filling oozed out of the golden crust, filling the room even further with its mouth-watering aroma. “What exactly do you do all day?” He asked as Oleson sat down.

  “Well, I tinker with my radio and go fishin’ and check the mail for my retirement check and go to The Diner and talk to radio people…” The old man went silent for a minute and picked up his fork. “Nope! No time for women!”

  “What if it was just Connie? One woman, not multiple women. Maybe just ask her to The Diner one day? Who knows,” Zach added with a smile, “It might be a good thing.”

  Oleson stuck his lower lip out in contemplation. “Eh. I’ll think about it.” The old man took a bite of pie and his eyes shot open. “Mmrrph!” A look of delight floated across his scraggly face as he swallowed. “Jumpin’ Jehosaphat!” He took another giant bite and chewed slowly, his eyes half-closed in contentment. Zach grinned and scooped up a forkful. Oleson finished the first slice in record time and immediately got another. “Y’know, Bub, maybe I should get to know Connie a mite better after all.” Oleson said, cutting another bite-sized piece with his fork. He reached over to turn the speaker back on and grabbed the mic.

  “K2OLS here. VY1FRD, you still around, Dave?” Oleson asked.

  “Sure am, Oleson.”

  “I’ve got my buddy, Zach, here, so he’ll be listenin’ in.” Oleson grinned at Zach. “But more important, we got some durned good pie!”

  Oleson and Zach talked with Dave for an hour. Zach learned that Dave was from Ross River, Yukon, and had been primarily using this frequency for about a year to try and run into the same people more often than not. Oleson and Dave talked at length about the importance of a good pie; Dave mentioned that his brother, who works in a morgue, used to compare their mother’s pies to the inside of a corpse. They agreed that a good handmade pie is hard to come by, and Zach and Dave persuaded Oleson to talk to Connie awhile next time he saw her. Finally, Dave’s wife called him for supper and he signed off.

  “I like that Canadian,” Oleson said with a yawn after keying the mic off. “Think I might add him to the Map!” Oleson gestured to his “Map of Friends” attached to the corkboard on the wall beside him. The map was spattered in tiny pins, each one holding a piece of paper with a callsign and name on it. The more interesting friends had a green sticker flag by their pushpin, and the least interesting had red flags. A running goal of Oleson’s was to turn all the red flags green.

  Zach stood up and stretched. “That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you befriend someone.”

  “Maybe that’ll be my new challenge, to see how fast I can friend people!” Oleson said.

  “I know who you could start with.” Zach nodded at the empty plate on the table in front of Oleson. The old man cackled and reached up to scratch his beard. He yawned again, setting off a coughing fit.

  “You okay?” Zach asked, slapping him on the back.

  “Yeah,” Oleson said, blinking and opening his eyes wide. “I’m just old and tired.”

  “Maybe you should sleep more.” Zach took Oleson’s plate from him and rinsed both plates in the sink.

  “Maybe so,” Oleson shrugged, swiveling his chair around.

  “Well, I’d better head home,” Zach sighed. “Gotta check on mom and deal with some stuff.”

  “Alrighty, Bub.” Oleson smiled blearily up at Zach. “See ya tomorrow!”

  When Zach got home, the car was gone and the house was empty. He dropped his backpack on the floor by the door and looked around the room. The mail lay opened on the kitchen table, and the TV across from the couch buzzed static. Zach grabbed the remote off the kitchen counter and hit the power button. Glancing at the refrigerator, he saw a note taped below the picture he’d drawn in fifth grade that’d never made it off the fridge.

  Gone to work. Thanks for the leftovers, the lasagna was good. Still some left if you want it. Love you, mom.

  Zach tossed the note into the trash can beside the closet that housed their washer and dryer. Opening the fridge beside him, he grabbed the cardboard container of store-bought lasagna. He removed the foil and tossed it in the trash, opting to slide the entire container into the microwave to reheat. Three minutes later, he sat at the table and stared into space, chewing and listening to the silence of the house.

  ***

  Isherwood, PA

  Monday, Week Three

  “Now boarding terminal 17, flight 210 to San Francisco.”

  “Hurry, quickly now, Timothy!” Nana was a good thirty feet ahead of Millie and Dad as they ran through the airport. “They’re boarding now!”

  “Remind me again why they haven’t recruited her for the Olympics,” Dad wheezed, awkwardly hugging Nana’s pink carryon to his chest. He ducked his head to either side to see around the questionably stuffed bag as he sprinted.

  “Forget the Olympics; at this rate she could just run to California,” Millie quipped. She shifted Nana’s heavy leather bag on her shoulder and dodged a small boy playing on his Nintendo.

  “Or replace an entire team of sled dogs in the Iditarod!” That mental image made them laugh so hard that they almost had to stop running altogether.

  When they finally reached the terminal, Nana was already in line to board.

  “About time, Timothy. I thought I would have to fly without my belongings!” Millie handed Nana her purse. “Thank you, Amelia. Keep this one in line while I’m away.”

  “I will,” Millie smiled, hugging her. “Have fun on your trip, okay?”
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  “I plan to,” Nana patted Millie on the back and the two separated.

  “Take lots of pictures,” Dad said, “And bring me back something shiny.”

  “Be good or I’ll bring you back lumps of coal!” Nana picked up her luggage and moved up in the line.

  “Then we could have a barbeque,” Dad mused. Millie swallowed hard to fight the rising lump in her throat as Nana handed her ticket to the flight attendant. Nana paused in the doorway and looked back at the pair. She winked and waved before continuing through the gate.

  “She’ll be back in no time,” Dad put his arm around Millie.

  “Yeah…”

  As they made their way toward the airport’s exit, Dad spoke up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in no mood to cook tonight.”

  “Me either.”

  “The one good thing about Nana being gone is she can’t get onto us for getting pizza delivered…”

  “I’ll order if you’ll pay.”

  “Deal!”

  Thirty minutes later, they were home and waiting rather impatiently for the pizza’s arrival.

  “I think I’ll dust off the old treadmill tomorrow,” Dad said, checking out the kitchen window for the third time. “Being outrun by an 80-year-old woman damages the ego something fierce.” He drummed his fingers on the granite countertop.

  “I don’t mind. At least I can out-violin her…kinda.” Millie replied, spinning around on the barstool. “You know, they say a watched pot never boils.”