Authors: Camille Griep

1503951200 (38 page)

Eventually, the time came to start making decisions on how to rebuild. How to manage our resources fairly. Who would be in charge.

Syd and I hobbled to the hay cart and we let ourselves be wheeled to the social hall, where Linsey was serving up some manner of noodle casserole, which smelled and tasted like heaven. The old ladies of the Sanctuary kept telling me that they were thrilled for his help. There were so many people to feed.

I joked about Mama seeing me learning to eat once again, noodles all over the table. Len told me that she’d survived, but had been struck mute. Unable to recognize him. He’d sent her to a home in Meadow where she’d be kept comfortable.

That day there were greetings. I had already started to learn what everyone’s hands felt like—big, small, firm, clammy, warm, calloused.

“We’ve decided to gather today as a community,” Jayne began, “because it’s time for us to choose new leadership.”

Len nodded. “Now that we have a better understanding of how the Bishop used New Charity for the purposes of his own personal revenge, I think we—well, you—should make sure the Sanctuary, or whatever you put in place to converse with the Spirit, will be independent of your civic leadership.”

“What do you mean,
you
?” asked Tess. “Just where do you think you’re going, sonny?” I could hear the wink in her voice.

“After discussing at length with my sister,” Len said, “I’ll be returning to the City with Syd in two weeks’ time. We’ll be working to rebuild the road between the City and New Charity, restarting trade, aid, and even art, of the noncombustible kind, of course. I hear there’s a library project, and I’d very much like to be a part of it.”

“Anyone else who wants to come is welcome,” Syd said. “Rebuilding is needed on both sides of the mountain. Our two communities working together can achieve more together than we can separately.”

“We can build things back up again,” Len said. “Better. There will be hardships. Eventually your crops will look like they did fifteen, twenty years ago. But with the floodgate gone, the natural waterways will begin to restore themselves. Becky will one day have healthier fish to feed you. For everything there is a tradeoff, but this time we’ll collaborate to solve problems.”

I listened with pride. My best friends, risen from the ashes, keeping their promises.

Syd’s chair squeaked on the linoleum as she scooted it back from the table to stand. “Now back to the subject of leadership.”

Sheriff Jayne was named to the position of Mayor. Becky Purcell became the new Sheriff. Tess was put in charge of the food bank.

“It’s rare to pick a Bishop outside the walls of the Sanctuary,” Len said. “But since the Sanctuary itself is unusable, and I’m still technically an Acolyte, I’m going to break the tradition here. Casandra Willis, it is the parishioners’ wish that you take the place as head of the Sanctuary. Are you willing?”

“Wait,” I said. “What, me? I don’t have a gift. I don’t have anything.”

Len slipped his hand in mine and squeezed.

A sensation like warm water ran down my spine. The light behind my eyes changed from black to gray. When I prayed to the Spirit in that moment,
it showed me the road, paved and used. It showed the Mangolds, training the children of New Charity how to manage the power station. It showed the magic returning to the next generations of New Charity. Becky’s children and Syd’s.

It wasn’t the first time I’d felt the Spirit since that terrible day, but it was the first time I’d been able to feel its touch on my cheek. And it was then I realized what Len had just done. “Len, you can’t—”

“I never wanted it to begin with, Cas. I’ll be your eyes; you be my future. Together. Halves. Like always.”

My heart felt like a hawk on the thermals. A vision and a voice. “Yes.”

“All in favor of Casandra Willis as Sanctuary Bishop of New Charity, please stand.”

All I could hear was the sound of people rising to their feet, chairs scooting backwards.

“Cas,” he whispered. “It’s unanimous.”

EPILOGUE

Syd

The City, a month later, looks almost the same as I left it. I drive Cress, still extravagantly sculpted, but gutted of explosives, back over the pass. In the passenger seat sits Len, and on his lap my fully restored backpack, and one last gift from Becky, the rabies tag she picked up from off the floor of the Sanctuary.

There is no miraculous transformation. But the clinic does have lights and an influx of medications we’d scavenged from the New Charity clinic and sent ahead with Al Truax in Pi’s old barn-primer gray car while my leg healed.

My apartment has lights, too. Which means Mina and Buster stay up reading books until midnight. But I don’t mind.

Len and Al eventually settle in, after some back and forth, moving into the three-bedroom at the other end of the hall of our building. Agnes is over the moon about Len’s assistance in her project. Al might join the police force or a road crew, anything for a change of scenery. One night, I drag Len out to the roof to watch the sunset, carefully explaining how he would have made the very best Mr. Danny.

News ebbs and flows from New Charity. Progress and setbacks. The women who lead the community now—Cas, Jayne, Becky—are busier than they’ve ever been. But they’ve got help.

Linsey herded the Survivor camp horses back to the Turner Ranch and set up residence in Pi’s house, with my blessing, of course. The ranch is now the Turner Ranch Mental Health Center. Linsey—since revealing he’d once been a practicing psychiatrist—has been treating folks since the accident. He’s helped Cas a lot. And even though she may never regain her sight, she seems better now that she has the Foresight back.

Len seems equally better without. He doesn’t drink as much. Al reports that he sleeps through the night.

I have no doubt there will be more unfathomable losses ahead for all of us. But for now we quietly celebrate. I am a different woman than I was when I left my City. I was a young woman ready to give my life for my sense of place. But I don’t think the me of today would feel the same, my heart now split between two homes. All I know now is that I’d do anything to protect the people I love.

This is especially true with Mina. I’m not sure how I got so lucky. To have a friend. A child, even. I’m not sure how to be a mother except to love her firstly. And I do. Watching joy erode her suspicion, bit by bit, as she matures alongside the City makes me proud in a way I can’t put words to.

Mina sees people, situations, with a clarity not unlike Cas’s. And I wonder. Maybe she’s the beginning of a new people, a better people, a hopeful people. A people my mom and dad and Danny would be proud of. Or maybe we’re all better people, in spite of ourselves.

I will remember to marvel at the small things, too. Streetlamps on the corner. Dim, yet ever-present stars. The road to redemption. Simple gifts of friendship.

Danny was right. Things will make sense someday. Going away. Coming back.

Home at last.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The concept of home is one that is constantly evolving in my own experience. I owe a debt of gratitude to the friends and family who have provided homes for me—spiritual and physical—especially my family, the Siefkers, my CMC crew, Bob Quam, and fellow Christikoners.

Heartfelt gratitude to Jason Kirk, Britt Rogers, Ben Anderson, Scott Calamar, Phyllis DeBlanche, and the entire production team at 47North, including Faceout Studio for this stunning cover. Thanks also to my editor, Caitlin Alexander, who once again challenged me to find the brave and honest truths buried deep within the story, guiding the process with boundless patience and enthusiasm. My thanks, as well, to my agent, Cameron McClure, for her intelligence, selflessness, and honesty, and for pushing me to be better, stronger, and truer to my own work.

I am grateful to Jill Seidenstein, Malia Kawaguchi, Carla Dugas, Isabella David McCaffrey, Caren Gussoff Sumption, Rashida “Eddie” Smith, Ashlee Peters, and G. G. Silverstein for providing support and guidance through the writing of this manuscript. The book would not exist if not for the beta reads by Lauren Roy, Haley Isleib, Casey Blair, Cheryl Kahn, Wendy Russ, Stephen Parrish, and Yi Shun Lai.

Life outside writing continues on because of the support of my friends. Your support means the world to me near and far. And though I can’t possibly list everyone, I’d be remiss not to thank Selena Treister, for introducing me to the magical combination of canned tuna and corn.

In this project, I took the liberty of using the name of my sister Cassandra, and I thank her for its use. The rest of my family has also been integral to my success, especially my grandmother, my mother, and the extended array of Grieps, Siefkers, and Kobers.

Though I didn’t force my partner, Adam, to eat SpaghettiOs during the making of this book, I did subject him to many, many nights of equivalently suspect takeout in the extended process. For his infinite patience, love, and support I am ever grateful.

And thanks to you, dear reader, for taking this journey with me.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Author Camille Griep’s writing career has involved industries such as real estate, corporate marketing, financial analysis, and more. Now, dedicated more fully to her craft, she continues to be published in dozens of fiction and nonfiction magazines, in addition to serving as editor of
Easy Street
and senior editor at the
Lascaux Review
. She has also written an epistolary fairy-tale novel,
Letters to Zell
. She lives just north of Seattle with her partner, Adam, and their bulldog, Dutch. She enjoys thunderstorms, chrysanthemums, gin, bad television, and bears. Discover more at
www.camillegriep.com
.

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