Page 37 of The Last Stars in the Sky
The next day I tried again, as I made her breakfast oatmeal on the wood stove. “Would you like syrup on it, sweetie? Or brown sugar?” Not that we had much of either, but I wanted to give her a treat. I wanted her torespond.
She shook her head and took the bowl of oatmeal without anything on it, going to sit at the table, where she picked at it while Mattie fumed, struggling to hold on to her patience.
“Eat it, Ruby,” she snapped. “Food is precious.”
Her sister simply stared at her.
Now as we head back into the cottage, I tell myself I need to figure out other things too—like what to do about Kerry. Right now, she’s a mouth to feed and not much else. I need to get her to engage, but it’s hard when I’m more than a little bit scared of her.
“So, Kerry,” I say, as I see her sprawled on the sofa in the living room. I sound like a gym teacher telling off the girls who try to hide in the locker room, claiming they’re on their periods. “I thought we could take an inventory of everything, make a rationing schedule.”
She gives me a guarded look. “Okay.”
“I thought you could help.”
She lets out a long sigh and then swings her legs off the sofa. “What do you want me to do?”
Her acquiescence throws me, and I scramble for a response, which I can tell she notices. “Um, you could write stuff down?”
“No.”
To my shock, this refusal comes not from Kerry, but from Ruby. She was curled up in a chair in the corner of the room, reading as usual, but now she comes toward me, looking almost angry.
“No,” she says again, louder this time. It’s the first time she’s spoken in three days. I stare at her in surprise.
“I think, Mom,” Mattie says quietly from behind me, “Ruby wants to do the writing.”
Ofcourse,just as she did before.
“Guess I don’t have a job then,” Kerry says, with a smile for Ruby.
“You can still help,” I reply quickly. “There will be lots to do, and you’re—you’re part of this, you know.”
Kerry lifts her chin. “Am I?” she asks, a challenge, and I have no idea what to say. “Aren’t you just waiting for an excuse to send me and my mom packing?” Kerry continues. “I know what you’re thinking. Two more mouths to feed, and I don’t even know how to hunt. We’re both a waste of space as far as you’re concerned.” She speaks matter-of-factly, without bitterness but with utter certainty.
“That’s not true.” This from Mattie, sounding injured, certain. “We wouldn’t do that. We want to help you.”
Kerry merely lifts her eyebrows as she looks at me, daring me to contradict my daughter. To tell the truth.
“Mom.” Mattie tugs on my sleeve, insistent. “Tell her. We wouldn’t do that.”
“We wouldn’t,” I say at last, with not nearly enough conviction. Kerry lets out a hard huff of laughter.
“Mom.” Mattie looks at me, her expression a mix of accusation and hurt. “What are you saying? Did you ask Darlene and Kerry here just for…for what they could give us?”
I feel myself flushing. I’m exposed, and I’m humiliated to realize how lowered I have become in my daughter’s eyes.
“Hey, at least we brought the chickens,” Kerry remarks. “Although, full disclosure, they stop laying in winter.” Her chin lifts in challenge.
“That doesn’t matter,” I say stiffly, a beat too late. “I just want you to help out, like everyone else is doing.”
Kerry throws an arm wide, her eyes glittering. “Lead the way.”
For the next few hours, we work through all the stuff Kerry brought, as well as all the stuff we took from her uncle’s house. We go through my dad’s little tool room, with its clutter of odds and ends, and Ruby writes it all down, while Mattie collates the figures, seeming to enjoy the challenge, and Kerry helps me organize the supplies, her manner both calm and capable. Somehow, that tense little confrontation cleared the air, at least a little, and we work in surprising, brisk harmony.
“We have two bottles of white spirit from Grandad’s room,” Mattie says, “and four from the truck…what category does that go in?”
“Miscellaneous?” I suggest, and Kerry gives me a look.
