Chapter Six

Reset

“Do you like volcanoes?” Will asked, flipping through his book.

“I suppose it depends on what kind,” Reid responded from the seat beside me.

“Why should that matter? Oh, you mean like a stratovolcano, cinder cone, shield, or a fissure? I like the stratovolcano…no wait, the cinder cone. They’re not as massive though. We climbed one in Craters of the Moon in Idaho. Finn ran ahead of us all the way. Uncle Brandon chased after him. Mom and I took longer. So which kind?”

With an indirect glance, I saw a smile crack Reid’s face.

“He won’t stop until you answer. Once you humor him, there’s no going back.” As I said it, I was surprised to find the trace of a smile part my own lips and work underused muscles. I coughed and flinched at the pain in my throat as I fought the truth that a cold was upon me. With a jittery hand, I grabbed the water bottle and took a few sips to abate that thought.

“Well, I like cinder cones, too. Interesting that we both like the same kind.”

Will pulled out a fresh piece of paper and clipped it to his clipboard. “What are you going to call it?”

Reid searched my face for help. “All volcanoes have names,” I clarified, lifting an eyebrow.

“What do you name yours?” Reid asked.

“Mine have all different names. Mantumbo, Punoko…,” Will said. “Finn makes up funnier names.”

Reid glanced at the Peregrine’s Atlas I had wedged between the seats. “Peregrine Cone. How’s that sound?”

“I’m not sure if there are falcons there.”

“Huh?” Reid asked.

“You need to watch animal documentaries, Mr. Gregory,” I said lightly. “Peregrine falcons.”

“I suppose I do. And it’s Reid. Don’t need to feel my age.”

“Okay, we’ll use it anyway and pretend there are falcons there. Mom doesn’t like volcanoes anymore.” Will lapsed into silent drawing mode.

I tried to not pass too many inquiring glances to our new travel companion. What were the appropriate conversation topics for this type of journey? A guy I’d just met was riding in my passenger seat.

A stranger was in my car as passenger and copilot.

A gosh-darn stranger.

And here I’d thought I’d wised up after the robbery, gun altercation, and the thugs in the red pickup. Yet…this guy seemed different. Perhaps I was being a hopeful romantic, or I believed in goodness in humanity. My radar beep just didn’t go off with this man. God, let me be right. Let me trust again. What was a world without humanity and trust? I had to start somewhere. I had to believe.

Waves of wheat and cornstalks lined the highway as I drove, lost in a pool of thoughts.

Reid speaking shook me to the present a short while later. “I think we should stay south on Route 57, then go west on 60.” The Peregrine’s Atlas lay open across his lap.

“Isn’t that out of the way?” I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. More detours?

He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Chicago was bad. St. Louis may be the same or worse. We’re getting closer.” He cast a look upon the fields that surrounded us. “We should avoid populated cities until we can’t, even if it seems like it’ll take longer. If that sounds like a good plan with you? Your car, your decision.”

“Yeah. Sounds like a good plan.”

“I’ll tell you more about Chicago later,” he added in a whisper.

Well, if that didn’t make me shiver, I wasn’t sure what would.

“I heard you!” Will said.

I shared a resigned look with Reid. “The cities aren’t the only places with unrest, though,” I added, my stomach coiling in remembrance.

“Yeah!” Will said. “We got robbed at a gas station, and some guys tried to break into our car while we were sleeping.”

I focused ahead of us, feeling a flush of shame cross the bridge of my nose and flood my cheeks.

Reid’s voice lowered. “I’m sorry that happened. You guys okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine.”

“Mom drove really fast!” Will said.

I grimaced at Reid.

His eyes said it all. “And a popped tire. Bad luck.”

“Yeah, you can say that.”

Grayness hung in the air, and it quickly suffocated my spirit like a smothering cloud. We now drove through what might as well have been a soggy and foreboding charcoal wall. Even with the closed windows, it engulfed me. Rain slowly splattered the windshield, and I turned on the wipers. My blood pressure escalated. I’d hated rain before Harrison’s car accident. Now…

I tightened my grip on the wheel in hopes to alleviate the tingles in my fingertips. I turned on the headlights.

Only two pills left now. As sorely as I wanted one, I couldn’t take it now, and not in front of this stranger.

Because I had listening ears in the back seat, I ventured a neutral conversation with Reid. “Where are you from originally, Mr. Greg—Reid? Did you grow up in Colorado?”

He rubbed his chin and cleared his throat. “I was born near West Point, New York, but my parents moved around a lot and settled in Colorado. Army brat who became an army grad.”

“Have you served overseas?”

“Two tours.”

“My brother was in the air force. He does security work now and lives in California with his wife and daughters. They’re near San Diego.”

“Ah, nice. Never been, though we moved a lot.” Reid closed the atlas and sipped his water. “My father was originally from Pueblo, Colorado. My mom was from Poza Rica, Mexico. She came here when she was twenty. Met my dad while in college in Colorado,” he said casually. “They moved to New York, where my sister and I were born, and then they lived in Texas near Fort Hood. They eventually retired in Denver.”

“Lots of moving for you guys.”

He shook his head. “Yeah. The army shuffle. Sorry, you didn’t need to hear the entire Gregory family history there. I got carried away.”

“Nah, that’s okay. So, you know the Denver area well?”

“Pretty well.”

“Then I’m lucky you needed a ride, huh?” I said lightly though my pulse quickened with his affirmation.

“Perfect timing or amazing coincidence,” he added.

And hopefully not more crummy luck. “I’m not one to put much stock in coincidence. I’m more of a fate gal.” Did I really just say that? More importantly, did I really believe that?

Reid scratched at the coarse stubble on his chin. “Your son is there? Your brother is with him?”

“That’s the ironic thing. We just returned from a family trip, yeah. Our flight had been overbooked and delayed, so my brother stayed behind with my other son, Finn. They were supposed to have boarded a plane in Salt Lake City, and the first layover was in Denver. I think they made it as far as Denver at least before it all went to shit.”

No reprimand came from Will, although I knew without a doubt he’d heard me swear.

I continued, “Perhaps they’d likely be in one of FEMA’s shelters or a mobile hospital or maybe an air force base?” I sighed. I couldn’t remember any of the bases in Colorado. Perhaps a few were listed in the atlas. All of Brandon’s talks in his heyday of the air force, and I couldn’t remember a damn thing. I swear all the information inputted into my brain before kids had been emptied into abyssal trashcans somewhere, unable to be retrieved.

“Yeah, my thinking, too. It depends on how fast FEMA sets up the shelters and where the mobile hospitals are located. I know a few of the shelters based in the area, too. How old’s Finn?” Reid asked.

I swallowed. “Seven.”

“Man…a little guy,” Reid said. “Where’d you last hear from them?”

My grip tightened on the wheel. “Salt Lake. Brandon texted that he and Finn were boarding. It was several hours before the eruption.” I traced a thumb on my throat and coughed, my memory sluggish, yet I knew the details all too well. “The flight—mine and Will’s—was at eleven a.m., but that’s Mountain Time. Brandon and Finn’s flight was two hours later, at one o’clock. It took them to Denver, with an arrival around three and then a departure at four to a second layover in Dulles, and then on to Portland, Maine.” Saying it aloud made my head spin. That was a lot of layovers for my Finn. “I should’ve heard from Brandon by seven or eight that night, Eastern Time, when they got into Portland on that day. But…”

Reid finished for me. “The eruption began around three thirty, Mountain Time. Right when they were at the Denver Airport?”

“Yeah,” I said, miserably. “A substantial quake hit the Denver area. The news showed the airport…” I stopped, not wanting to go into the gory details around Will.

He was immune to it anyway. “It got wrecked!” Will chimed in with sound effects of explosions and wild hand gestures. “Now that I think of it, Mom, I don’t think Finn would’ve seen the eruptive column from there. It was too far away. Ash fall though for sure. Lots of damage from the quake!”

I tuned out Will’s enthusiasm and calculated again what time Brandon should have returned to Portland. “I’ve never been to Denver. I’m not sure where to start.” For a planner, I was still working on that plan.

“Then it’s definitely convenient you found me, huh?”

I turned to him. Friendliness glimmered in his face. I lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed.”

Reid’s voice was gentle. “I’m sorry about your son. Denver’s airport is solid. I saw the news, too, though.” He paused for a moment. “I have a few ideas. We can check churches and schools that are designated to be disaster relief stations, as well as military bases and hospitals in the region. You think your brother and son are definitely there? In Denver, I mean? You don’t know if they caught their connecting flight to Dulles?”

I shrugged. “I’m not certain. That’s the kicker. Maybe his plane took off from Denver and landed elsewhere? They would’ve been grounded in a safer area if they’d taken off. He would’ve been able to get through to me though. My last message from him was when he boarded the flight to Denver…if he even got on that flight. They could still be in Salt Lake City.” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel with that verbal admittance.

“Perhaps there will be information on the radio as we get closer. We can start with Colorado Springs and work our way north to Denver if—” he said, but cut himself off.

I nodded. “Yeah. If it is all still there.”

“It is. Denver was in the outer blast zone. It sustained damage from the quake, but not from the eruption. It’ll be okay. Communication may be disabled, but the city is not.”

Salt Lake City is, I wanted to say but didn’t. Not a word from Brandon in the past five days. I nodded nonetheless. “You really don’t have to help us once we get there. I can drop you off and you can point me in the right direction…”

“Nah, consider it payment for the ride. My legs will be eternally grateful. Besides, I’m a savvy tour guide.”

I cleared my throat and mind. “So, your sister. She lives there, too?”

“Yup. The Gregorys have a soft spot for the Rockies. It’s a pretty area year-round. Lily lives near Pueblo. I live in Colorado Springs. I had to travel east for business last week, and then, well, then it all went to shit.” He gave me a light smile as he mimicked my words.

I released a “hrmmmph” of acquiescence. “I’m sure she’s okay, too. Like you said, that area, south of Denver, seems to be okay.” I didn’t fully believe the words myself. I’d read one too many chapters in Will’s volcano books about the aftereffects of eruptions: telecommunication disruptions, blown power transformers, halted transportation, clogged drainage and sewer systems, soiled water supplies, downed cell towers, collapsed roofs, destroyed crops, and horrible health concerns especially for those with lung or asthmatic issues…and death. So many dead.

I wheezed as if on prompt. Then I coughed. Ouch, pain. I hyper-focused on the lozenges in my first aid kit…that was buried in the car somewhere.

I looked at Will. Not a hint of lung distress in him. Yet.

“Where’s a woman named Anna June from?”

“Not even close,” I said with a grin. “Pennsylvania Amish country originally.”

He raised a thick eyebrow. “Like horses and buggies? Didn’t know the Amish could drive SUVs.”

A lightness and ease danced in my arms at his airy humor. “New amendment to the rules,” I teased.

“I visited Hershey Park once as a kid. Smells like chocolate.”

“It does. And manure.”

He laughed. I suppressed a chuckle.

Did I just laugh?

“Eww!” Will interjected.

“I now live in Maine.”

“Sweet. Never traveled there yet. On the bucket list.”

“Oh, you should. They don’t call it Vacationland for nothing. Lobsters, lupine, and endless shoreline. Our mountains may not rival the Rockies, but Katahdin can give you a run for the money.”

“Sounds lovely. I like a challenging hike. The Appalachian Trail finishes there, right?” He shifted, rubbed his knees.

“Yup.”

“Someday, then. I always wanted to do the Pacific Crest Trail but never found a buddy to take it on. Never been sailing either. Colorado’s a bit landlocked.”

“That it is. We live south of Portland, in Cape Elizabeth, near the coast. Closer to civilization. The area is an outdoors hub.” I blinked. The cold must have been screwing with my vision. I blinked again. Nope, it was still there. I nodded toward the windshield. “This rain is gray.”

“Yeah, it’s dark,” Reid said, craning his neck to see the looming clouds above us.

I flipped the wipers to a faster setting. Thunder rolled as distant lightning flashed. I jumped but loosened my grip on the wheel.

“No, I mean it’s gray.” I pointed toward the windshield. The drizzle smeared across it, and instead of being clear droplets, the ones bubbling on the surface were tinged with gray. I turned off the wipers and stared at the windshield briefly.

“Ash!” Will said what my mind thought. I heard the click of his helmet going on. “Need to be prepared for lava bombs!”

“Will! This is not—” My voice broke. I wheezed, paused, and put on my best supportive, understanding mom hat. “Yes, this is exciting, but we’re not close enough for lava bombs. You know that. And the volcano has stopped erupting.”

“Here.” Reid offered me my water bottle from the cup holder. I tossed a glance in the rearview mirror.

Will traced a finger on the window, following the path of droplets that rolled backward. “A new vent could open! That supervolcano hot spot is gigantic. You never know. There could be another eruption!”

I downed a substantial gulp of water.

“We’re in the ash-fall zone now,” Will continued. “No, wait, it’s probably air currents and a cold front bringing it this way. They said ash only fell into Kansas with the initial blast, right? Well, the fatter particles fell first in this zone and then the smaller ones will drift eastward,” he said, lifting a drawing on his clipboard and tapping it. “See?”

I half looked to see three concentric color-coded circles over half of the country on his drawing. Ash-fall zones, of course. They were like a drawing I had seen in one of Will’s many Yellowstone volcano books and amazingly accurate in comparison to the hypothesized drawings that had been broadcasted on the news stations. I wouldn’t expect less from Will.

He scratched his head and looked out the window in awe. “Ash! And if it’s an El Niño year, the track can change.”

I turned the wipers back on. Screw the ash. I didn’t want to see it. Tiny particles of jagged rock and volcanic glass that the earth had spewed in its wrath now fell on my car and would eventually work their way into both my and Will’s asthmatic lungs. A cough seized me.

Reid whispered, “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” I simmered as I took another gulp of water, my dry mouth not abated.

Will asked, “Can we stop? I need to collect ash.”

I clenched my teeth. It didn’t help the headache building in the right side of a sinus cavity. I sighed. The volcano had erupted. It was his moment. I couldn’t fault him for that. Some kids dreamed of amusement parks; he wanted a cool eruption.

“There will be enough ash for us when we reach Colorado.”

“Good. I brought a few containers,” he said.

I kept my gaze forward, wondering what Reid thought of this interchange. He was quiet and, thankfully, distracted by looking outside. I had stopped apologizing aloud for Will a while ago. Still. That hefty pill was lodged halfway down my throat. Let it go, Harrison whispered to me. Or as my girlfriend Siobhan always said, Let that shit go. I repressed the urge to spiral into the list of never-gonna-happens. That list was omnipresent and long. I had moved past the verbal apologizing, but I clung to the feeling that sat like an obstinate mule within me. He was still Will. He was that unique boy who loved volcanoes and thought and felt differently than others. He was the boy who brought brightness to my days.

“You’re sad, Mom. We’ll find Finn. Don’t be sad. Maybe he already collected some ash.”

“Maybe,” I said, turning my lips into a half smile for his sake.

****

We didn’t get far.

“I’m sorry,” I said. The headache raged in my skull.

“Really, no need to say that,” Reid repeated for the third time.

I longed for a hotel bed, but I needed to stay thrifty so camping it was. It was a step up from sleeping in the car again. I watched, bleary, as Reid set to work on the tent. Although I’d become a pro at assembling the two-person tent quickly, it was a welcome to have assistance instead of having Will “help” by playing with the stakes and poles.

I blinked and took in the surroundings. This campground was not as crowded as the previous one. My feminist instinct deplored allowing Reid to take the lead on setting up camp, but I was grateful to have a guy with me. Sure, I had worked my way through a field dominated by men, seen other females pave the path for our generation, but when it came to it, with the current state of our country and where it was likely heading…and especially after the last few days, I felt safer having another person with me. Regardless of gender. I had to be more guarded. Yet, here I was giving a lift to a stranger.

Reid worked, unfazed by the muddy ground.

He knew the area. He was an asset, my mind reasoned. And he was friendly…

“Will, please gather a few branches. Stay where I can see you,” I said.

“Okay, Mom.”

I found myself amused. He fought me tooth and nail on homework, baths, chores, and a laundry-list of responsibilities, but nature, that he loved. He was a true naturalist like his mom and dad. Perhaps this new chaotic world would be better for him. The eruption certainly did open his wishful career path as volcanologist, I thought wryly.

Will hummed as he paused in his collecting to create some sort of structure. “Will, those are for the fire.”

He didn’t acknowledge me, aware yet oblivious. So much for his help. “No worries. There’s more,” Reid offered, gathering a few decent-sized logs on the forest fringe.

“I should have brought my cooking stove and canisters. Fires are so old school,” I apologized. I hadn’t been able to locate Harrison’s cooking gear stash in my packing.

“Nah, it’s classic and versatile,” he countered.

“It certainly limits our food choices,” I added.

Soreness rose in my legs. As I paced the campsite, the pinching in the middle of my forehead caused me to stumble, and I grabbed a nearby tree trunk.

Reid stopped in his work and laid a fleeting hand on my back, then dropped it. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Headache. I’ve got a cold and haven’t been sleeping well.” I’m also weaning off an anti-anxiety med, I wanted to add.

“Why don’t you rest? I can handle this. Need to earn my keep.”

“Thanks.” I breathed through it. It wasn’t like my usual migraine. Those took a full day to subside. Something was wrong in the air today, too. Well, something was wrong. Ash. The rational scientist in me told me this was not triggered from the ash. My mommy intuition agreed with that deduction because I’d had more illnesses than I could count since having kids. That would explain why Will wasn’t affected yet, and I was a stumbling fool. A cold with withdrawal effects made a nasty combo. Toss in asthma-triggering ash, and it wasn’t the best recipe.

I sat at the picnic table, sipping tepid water. I rested my head on my arms, pacified by Will’s humming and traipsing around with sticks and such.

A short while later, I awoke. I yawned, the painful scratch of a sore throat befalling me as I found the campsite empty. I had fallen asleep?

“Will?”

I looked around. No Will. No Reid.

I hurried to the tent and ducked my head inside. Nope. Dusk loomed, and the scent of cooking dinners and smoky fires filled the air. Too much water in my stomach sloshed. “Will?” I said louder. “Reid?” I pressed a hand to my mouth, willing the nausea away.

My gaze skimmed the area, and on cue, palpitations took hold of me, but oddly my fingers didn’t prickle with their usual wary concern. Regardless, my mind’s paranoia began its downward spin. No, no, no…

“Here! Here, AJ.” Reid approached at a quick gait from a cluster of oaks on the far end of the campsite. Will lollygagged beside him while carrying a muddy cat.

I groaned. I hurried to them and brushed a hand through Will’s disheveled hair. “Will…”

He ignored me and stroked the cat, a marbled brown and black furball. “The cat crossed our site, and I followed it. He crawled into a bush over there—” He paused with a flick of his chin to behind him. “—and got stuck! I had to save him. It was a prickly bush!”

I shared my best pissed-off glare with Reid.

He quickly said, “I’m sorry. I tried to wake you. You were passed out. Will’s kinda fast though. Didn’t want him to wander out of sight. We came right back. Didn’t want you to wake up and worry…like you just did. My bad.” His wide, cordial smile disarmed me but didn’t settle my racing pulse.

“We were gonna check and see if the camp manager knows whose cat this is. See, look? Tags,” Will said. “Maybe if we can’t find his home, he can come home with us. Snow needs a friend.”

“I was going to wake you before we went to the office,” Reid added.

I tried my best thank-you look with Reid. A short while later, after depositing the cat with the clerk, we enjoyed, if one could refer to it as such, a shared can of chili with bread we purchased at the camp store.

“I need it warmed with butter,” Will moaned as I handed him a piece.

“Don’t have any. Plain bread will do.”

Will wrinkled his nose. “I never eat bread without butter. That chili smells gross! I like yours better, Mom. You’re making that slurping sound when you eat it.” He pouted, dimples appearing high on his cheeks.

Now was not the time for me to push on the eating front. “Have a banana and pepperoni instead.”

Will dug through our bin of food and found what he needed. An evening breeze blew past me, and I shivered despite wearing a thick hoodie. Will stoked the fire with a branch, and I shifted closer to it.

My diamond wedding band twinkled back at me as I twirled it around using the tip of my thumb. The light of the fire cast shimmers of blue and yellow in the simple princess-cut facets. Reid’s glance fell upon me. “Is your husband in Denver, too, with your brother?”

“No.” Bread caught in my throat, as I swallowed another bite of the awful truth. I never pretended it didn’t happen. I blocked it the best a widow with two spirited, challenging sons could.

Instead of eating, Will moved on to collecting stones to create miniature cairns. “Dad’s in heaven.” He paused in his collecting, handing me one of the rocks. “For Finn, Mom.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, and an ache clutched my heart at his indifference. Will had come a long way in the past year with accepting Harrison’s passing.

“I’m sorry,” Reid said, his expression pensive, his words sedate.

I waved a glib hand but said, “Thanks.”

“Were you visiting your brother in Salt Lake City, then, for vacation?”

I realized belatedly that I’d never elaborated upon that part. “Oh, yeah, my brother met us there. He flew from San Diego, and we met him for a family vacation.” I sipped my water, the feel of the bread, although long since swallowed, lingering in my throat.

“Ah.”

“We went to Yellowstone!” Will added.

Reid swiped a hand through his hair. “No way?”

I nodded. “Way.”

Will interjected, “Yeah! We were there right before it went kablooey!” He tipped one of his cairn piles for effect.

“Wow,” Reid said. He shuffled a few logs around to encourage the fire, which had trouble keeping a strong flame.

Will restacked the rocks. “We also visited a bunch of other parks—the Tetons, Craters of the Moon, Mount St. Helens, and Crater Lake. It was a volcano vacation!”

Reid’s gaze passed between an excited Will and my certainly dour expression.

Will rattled on, “I guess some of those aren’t there anymore, huh? Well, the Tetons and Craters of the Moon for sure. Not sure about the others. I don’t think Washington or Oregon were impacted as much as Idaho and Wyoming. Yellowstone is not there! Did you see the pictures on the news? Obliterated!”

Reid nodded, his attention now focused solely on Will. “I did.”

So had I. A magma chamber of grand proportion that had bubbled beneath Yellowstone had unleashed a fiery storm in the blink of an eye. “Will, how big was the magma chamber?”

“Twenty-five by fifty miles, Mom. The chamber can fill ten Grand Canyons.”

Tremendous ground drop and collapse. All those magnificent mountains—gone, swallowed into the belly of the earth. Several vents had erupted lava and ash into the air. Lahars had rushed down the larger mountains and destroyed thousands of acres of woodland. Rivers, lakes, wildlife—gone. All those entrancing rainbow hot springs—gone. People. So many people—dead. All of it wiped away within minutes and hours. It had not been a slow eruption. Violent and quick. The world caught unaware. Not supervolcanic level, but…

I rubbed my forehead. The smoke from the fires in the campground was especially permeating, and my head wasn’t any better after eating. My throat throbbed. The facts were daunting. I felt like shit.

Will came over. He sat beside me on the log and lifted my hand. He then kissed it with tender affection. I smiled. “Thanks, honey.” Just as quickly, he ambled to his cairns. He began to construct a bridge with sticks between two cairn piles.

Reid quietly watched us but said nothing. I caressed a thumb on the back of my hand where Will’s wet lips had been. When he was younger, he used to go up to strangers and kiss their hands or rub their bellies as he spoke to them. I’d chalked it to his curiosity and the way he communicated with people—he loved to touch. Perhaps it was his way of connecting with them when he couldn’t on the same neurological level. When he’d kissed a random stranger’s hand while we were at the dry cleaners one day, it had finally signaled a trigger of unease in my mind. It wasn’t usual for kids to do that. He’d been four years old then.

He had quirks I’d disregarded for years.

My head grew foggier, and I coughed.

“How are you doing?” Reid asked.

“Not so hot. A cold. Migraine.” Medication withdrawal, I didn’t add again.

I glanced at my watch. It was only seven p.m., but I was spent. “Will, let’s get you ready for bed.”

“Aww, Mom. You said I can stay up later in the summer.”

“I’m tired today, Will. We can have an early start tomorrow.”

I gave Reid a questioning glance. He nodded. “I’ll stay awake and wait for the fire to die. I’ve got a sleeping bag here.”

“Thank you.”

I then tucked Will in, curled next to him, tire iron in my hand, my head roaring. Will wiggled and insisted that I sing. After, he spoke in a happy whisper.

“I like this guy, Mom. He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.”

“No, he doesn’t,” I mumbled, but tightened my grip on both Will and the iron nonetheless. “No wandering off after more cats, okay?”

“But—”

“William…”

“Okay. Night, Mom.”

****

My body may have been tired, but my mind certainly hadn’t gotten the memo. I awoke sometime in the middle of the night for fresh air. The rain had not abated the muggy Midwest August heat. I stepped out of the stifling tent, swimming through the dark, damp air and into more mugginess.

I gasped. Reid was leaning against a tree with a headlamp on and was thumbing through a thin paperback.

“Sorry. Trouble sleeping?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, a hand pressed to my startled heart. I closed the tent flap while I recovered myself. “I never sleep well while camping.” I turned to face him. “You’ve been lugging around books in that thing?” I pointed toward his large pack.

He laughed quietly. “Ah, yeah, a few. Going across the country can be a lonely process. Too much time with my own thoughts.”

“You’re telling me.”

He added, “Why not read someone else’s instead?” The fire had long since extinguished, and he had the look of a spelunker with the headlamp on.

I shielded my eyes from its glare.

“Oops. Sorry.” He removed it and placed it beside him, the light’s beam angled away from my face. He reached into his pack, withdrew a lollipop, and unwrapped it. “Want one?”

He stood, shuffled over, and clicked on my lantern that I’d left on the picnic table.

“No, thanks. Sweet tooth?”

A full smile parted his lips. “You bet. A man’s gotta have his vices, right?”

I pointed to the book. “Learn anything profound?”

“Nothing I didn’t already know.” He raised the flappy paperback, and I squinted to read the title.

“The Great Divorce? Heavy reading,” I commented, recalling the other C. S. Lewis works I’d read in college. I scratched my head, grasping for the theme of this one.

My unconvinced look must’ve reflected my questions as I sat across from him.

“It’s about a man’s journey between heaven and hell.” His mouth curved with a weighted sadness. “My sister always liked Lewis. I decided it was time I read his work and find out why. I’m a late bloomer with books. I can see the allure now.”

“Deep philosophical reads are your way of diving in? Why not start with some thrillers or suspense?”

He shook the thinner, flimsy book, and said, “It’s lightweight for travel and keeps my gears turning. Good book-club material. Besides, we have suspense around us right now.”

Except it was not fiction. Both of us knew his attempt at lighthearted banter wasn’t working.

Instead, we sat, adrift with our thoughts.

I coughed, wishing I’d brought my water bottle out of the tent with me. A yawn reminded me I needed to sleep, but then Reid spoke. “Your son, Will, he…” He scratched his chin as if he didn’t know how to raise the subject.

“He’s autistic. Well, technically it’s Asperger’s syndrome, but that label’s obsolete now since his diagnosis,” I said matter-of-factly, too tired to tiptoe around the subject.

Reid nodded. “Ah. I see.”

More introspective silence came from my companion. At least he didn’t give me the pity look or the “I’m sorry” or the “It’s a blessing” bullshit. My headache inched up the base of my neck toward my skull. A wave of dizziness assaulted me. I breathed through it and grappled with what to say next. Small talk with adults felt alien. The usual parent-to-parent conversations with carpool moms had become stilted these days.

“Do you ever ask why things happen?”

All the time. I brushed a hand over my face. “Why what things happen?”

“Why the eruption? Why autism?” he said bluntly.

Well, if seeing him reading a classic C. S. Lewis book in the night had surprised me, this nearly floored me. My brain wasn’t on prime functioning mode right now. “We’ve all had times when we’ve asked why. Just spare me the pity.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not one to pity another. Life throws a lot of shit at us.”

My hands grew clammy, and I licked my lips. Fatigued and intrigued, I leaned forward. “Okay, I bite. Why?”

“What if the eruption was God’s way of resetting man? And—” He paused, looking at the tent for the briefest of moments. “—autism is God’s way of resetting humanity. Time for a redo.”

I must’ve looked skeptical and if I had my water bottle, I would’ve snorted the water. “You’ve been taking your Lewis to heart. The volcano is science. Period.”

He continued, “You’re not a woman of faith?”

“I take it you’re a man of such beliefs?” I pointed to his book. I was no stranger to C. S. Lewis’s theological bent. I remembered that much.

He shrugged. “I’m the product of your typical Catholic upbringing. No shortage of icons in our house, weekly CCD classes, and routine confessions. My mom did a lot of charity work for church, tried hard to mold Lily and me into well-balanced, compassionate, caring people…,” he said, his voice fading. He cleared his throat. “I’ve traveled some long roads. Have had a lot of time to think…about stuff. Yeah, I guess I am a man of faith…of some sort.”

I swallowed, my mouth cottony. I still questioned life’s ultimate purpose, but my faith had always remained steadfast in the darkest of days. At least I thought it had. I was beginning to question that now.

There was a long moment. I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with the scrutiny his face held.

“I hate labels,” I finally said.

“Me, too. Sometimes kids need labels to get the help they need through our system.”

“They do.”

“He’s very borderline?” Reid said perceptively.

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “We live in the land of gray. People don’t know what to think about us.”

“I like the fringe,” Reid said with a kindhearted smile.

It had an appeasing effect on me. “You’re a rebel, huh?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’re familiar with autism?”

“My sister works with kids on the spectrum. Teaches a special-needs class.”

“Ah. So, God created autism to reset humanity? And the eruption…” There, I’d said both words. It wasn’t too hard, even if they felt like poison sliding off my tongue. “…was like the Great Flood, to reset man?” There were many parts in the Bible that I had trouble believing.

“Why not?” His sincere smile ruffled the lines around his mouth. “We—people—have become infatuated with technology, busy schedules, social status…all of it. It got to be too much. We’ve developed new idols. We’ve lost faith. Look at what’s happening. Wars of all kinds are contaminating our world. Then autism arises at an alarming rate. Certainly it’s existed for a long time, but the rate increased incredibly. Coincidence? No. And we know you don’t believe in that.”

I nodded. Reid was an exceptional listener.

“Genetics? Maybe. Vaccines?”

I grunted.

He laughed. “Hell no, right? Pesticides? I doubt it. God?” Long pause.

I shook my head. “God.”

“Yeah, God…”

“You’re going deeper than my brain can handle tonight, Reid.”

“Bear with me a moment…I’m on a roll here.”

I shifted, wary, drained. “Okay.” Faith. Fate. Coincidence. What did I believe?

“…or maybe it’s just a power greater than us. Autistic people tend to appreciate the details and view our world differently. The hidden gems that we neurotypicals miss. The beauty in that line of ants making for the anthill, the puddles filling with water, the curvature of rocks, the workings of gears…whatever it is. They’re attuned to their environment, their senses…the world. They don’t give a shit what other people think. They’re loyal, hardworking. Maybe they have deeper access to areas of the brain we can’t reach yet. They return us to the simpler things of life. How could that not be God resetting us? Maybe one day we’ll all have autism. They don’t know of a definitive cause. Maybe we’re evolving to a new way of being. I’m not a neuroscientist, so take all my musings with a grain of salt.”

For an avid talker, I was without words as I digested his reasoning. I blew a breath but nodded in resignation. “The eruption? It wasn’t big enough to…to destroy the world. It wasn’t a supervolcanic eruption. Life-altering for years to come, yes. Humankind-ending, no.”

“True. But life is going to change for decades to come. Perhaps it was time for another clean slate.”

“Another flood?” I concluded for him.

He nodded, pursing his lips. “Another flood. Just on a smaller scale.”

****

Despite my middle of the night rising and way too thought-provoking conversation with Reid, I slept solidly and, for the first time since news of the eruption, without a dream about Finn. A sweet, dark oblivion had detained my overworked brain.

Expecting to hear Will’s light snoring beside me, instead I found an empty sleeping bag and whistle beside it. Prickles of pain ran throughout my arm which had apparently become lodged beneath my body and the tire iron. I wiggled my arm and pumped my fist to encourage blood flow.

I had to stop waking like this. “Will?” I said, already reaching to unzip the tent flap. What happened to my rigid rule-follower?

“Here,” Reid’s voice broke in.

I hurried out of the tent. Panic thankfully didn’t have time to set in, for both Will and Reid strode toward our campsite, each carrying a steaming cup of—

“Coffee, Mom!” Will said, handing me the one he carried as if he were cradling a baby crocodile that might snap at him. His face shone with pride.

I gave Reid a stern look and then turned to Will. Oh my God, this child had to stop walking off! Or else I needed to give up on sleep. I’d become that mom, from movies, who didn’t keep a close eye on her kid while monsters or aliens tormented the living.

“Thank you, Will. Honey, please, don’t go off alone like that, okay?” Frogs, cats, and now off with a stranger. My heart couldn’t take more of this.

Will made for the picnic table.

“Will…,” I said, raising my voice.

“I wasn’t alone. I was with Reid. Look what I found at the sandbox near the playground!” He dug into his pockets and splayed his bounty, a rainbow of plastic Lego bricks. “Can I keep them?”

I gave him an “I love you but don’t do that again” hug. “Next time, take your whistle, okay?” I whispered.

“I was with Reid, and I didn’t need to worry about bears.”

“Will…”

“Okay, Mom. Okay.”

“Sorry, AJ. I didn’t mean to worry you. He woke up a while ago and popped out. I tried to keep him busy while you slept, but he got fidgety and he mentioned you love coffee.” He pointed to the flattened lollipop wrapper that sat under my water bottle near the opening of my tent. “I left you a note.”

I picked it up and read the few words scribbled with a permanent marker. A pursed my lips. “A pop wrapper?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Gotta use what I have.” His dark eyes held mine. “We grabbed some coffee from the store at the office. I shouldn’t have let him come along without asking, but I didn’t want to bother you. My apologies,” Reid said.

I waved his apology away. “It’s okay. Next time wake me, okay?”

“Promise. Sorry.” He sipped his own coffee. “Hey, so I glanced at your arsenal in the car.”

I lifted an eyebrow.

“Will showed me.”

I muffled a grunt.

“…you left it unlocked. You really are ready for the apocalypse.” His lips curled into a devilish grin.

“I left it unlocked?”

“Yeah.”

I puckered my lips. I swiped a hand through my hair. I must have been more out of it yesterday than I had thought. “One can never be too prepared. I had more than that before the jerks robbed me in New York.”

Will was already playing with the Lego bricks on the table. He dipped into his plastic bag of mini-figures and bricks, pushing them around to find the right one. A dozen yellow pieces were carefully lined up in a row on the weather-worn wooden table.

“I also love coffee. Thanks,” I said. I sighed with the first sip.

“Hey, so I’m sorry about last night.”

“What do you mean?”

“All that end of the world talk and stuff. Two in the morning is not the best time for deep philosophical questions.” He shifted his gaze toward Will.

“It’s okay. Really. And two a.m. is the perfect time. This kind of event makes us ponder the big questions.” A genuine smile creased my lips, and I momentarily forgot how tired and achy I was. I then called to Will, “Fifteen minutes, Will.” I turned to Reid. “Then we go.”