Milo looked up at Hannah with a pleading expression. “Mom? Can I have it? Can she train me to be an awesome slingshot sniper?”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll have a revolt on my hands if I say no, so I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
Milo gave an enthusiastic fist pump. “Yes!”
Quinn grinned. Her features were tinged with sadness, but a bit of her old spark returned. A light in her eyes that would not be dimmed.
“With Quinn at the helm, what could possibly go wrong?” Liam quipped from behind them. With every step, he leaned on his cane, pain lining his rugged face.
Quinn rolled her eyes. “Is that an approximation of a joke, Wolverine? If so, keep trying.”
Liam hobbled to Hannah’s side. She slipped her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder.
Milo shoved the slingshot and ammo in his overalls pocket and opened Quinn’s second gift. Inside a simple wooden frame was an exquisitely rendered charcoal drawing of Milo’s father.
Awestruck, Milo held it reverently in both hands, staring at the image of his father like he could drink it up.
Quinn had captured Noah at his best—the tousled dirty-blond hair and chiseled jaw, his eyes twinkling in anticipation as he grinned, believing the world was as good and perfect as he wanted it to be.
Without a word, Milo dashed toward their house to put it in his room, tucked amongst his most valued possessions.
Oreo let out a loud bleat and scampered after him. She was starting to think she was a human child.
“He says thank you.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “Manners. You’d think he’d been raised by wolves.”
“I, um, made this for you, too.” Quinn held out the last gift with a sheepish expression. Two red spots of embarrassment appeared on her cheeks, but she was beaming.
A second drawing. This one an accurate rendering of Charlotte Rose as a newborn—her rosebud lips, apple cheeks, downy skin, and seashell ears.
Quinn had begun the sketch days after Hannah had returned to Fall Creek, when Charlotte was a few weeks old. Already, she’d grown so much.
They’d had nothing by which to remember those early days.
Now, they did.
Emotion swelled in Hannah’s chest. “This is—it’s beautiful, Quinn.”
Quinn blushed.
“You have a gift, Quinn,” Hannah said. “Truly. We need things like this as much as we need bullets and Band-Aids.”
Quinn dug her boot in the grass, suddenly bashful. “Gran said something like that. No one needs charcoal and paper to survive.”
“You’d be surprised,” Liam said.
“I imagine people would trade for drawings of their loved ones,” Hannah said. “Most of us don’t have photos anymore, only memories. And memories fade.”
A shadow flitted behind Liam’s eyes, a reminder of everything he’d lost. “I’ll be your first customer.”
“Deal. But I charge difficult customers extra.” Quinn shot him a devilish grin. “That makes you double the price.”
Liam gave a pained smile. “You strike a hard bargain.”
She grinned back. “It’s the apocalypse. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
78
Hannah
Day One Hundred and Thirty-One
Hannah watched Milo return to Molly’s yard. He dashed across the porch, leaping over the Great Pyr’s snoring form and disrupting Loki’s nap on Ghost’s rump.
The cat meowed his displeasure before settling back into his nest of fur.
Milo flopped to the porch beside Ghost and scratched his furry head. Without opening his eyes, Ghost whined, his tail thumping in sleepy satisfaction.
Hannah squeezed Liam’s arm. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
Hannah made her way through the throngs of her neighbors and friends and settled on the porch steps next to Milo. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“Are we okay?”
Milo scrunched his nose. “What do you mean?”
She leaned over and brushed the unruly mess of curls off his forehead. The structure of his face was changing, lengthening and slimming. A version of Noah’s face emerged beneath her son’s disappearing baby fat.
She still sang him to sleep at night, though sometimes he asked for stories from Quinn or Liam. Liam was surprisingly good at it, his voice deep and resonant. He added descriptive details to imaginary battle scenes that Milo ate up like peanut butter.
“You and me,” she said. “I haven’t spent as much time with you as I’ve wanted to.”