January 10

They’re sick.

It started with Mom. She tried to get off her mattress this morning and couldn’t. “Something’s the matter,” she said. “Don’t let anyone come near me.”

Matt and I went over to the side of the room and whispered so Mom wouldn’t hear us. “We can’t move her out,” he said. “She’d freeze in the kitchen. We’ll just have to take our chances.”

But then Jonny screamed. It was the most horrifying sound I’ve ever heard. We ran over to him and saw he was delirious, crazed with fever.

“Aspirin,” I said, and I ran to the pantry to get the bottle. Matt put a pot of water on the stove to make tea.

Mom was close to unconscious when the tea was ready, but we lifted her head up and forced the tea and aspirin down her throat. I was afraid she would choke on it, but after we saw her swallow, we put her head back down. She was shivering terribly, so I took one of the blankets off my mattress and draped it around her.

Jon was harder. His arms were swinging around so wildly that he hit me in the jaw and knocked me over. Matt got behind him and held his arms down while I pushed the aspirin into his mouth and poured the tea down his throat. Then I ran to the bathroom and got the rubbing alcohol. Matt turned him over and pinned him down while I gave him a back rub. He was burning with fever and kept tossing off his blankets.

“We need help,” I said. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right.”

Matt nodded. “I’ll go,” he said. “You stay here and look after them.” But as he got up he began to sway. For one awful moment I thought he was going to grab onto the woodstove to keep from falling, but he came to his senses and sank onto Jon’s mattress instead.

“I can do it,” he said and he crawled from Jon’s mattress to his own. “Don’t worry.”

I didn’t know if he meant he could make it to his own mattress or to get help, but it was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere. I handed him a couple of aspirin and poured another mug of tea.

“I need you to stay here,” I said when he gestured that he could get up. “Mom and Jon are helpless. You have to make sure the fire doesn’t go out and Jon stays covered. Can you do that? I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “Go. Peter will know what to do.”

I kissed his forehead. He was hot, but nowhere near as bad as Mom or Jon. I put a couple of pieces of wood in the stove, and put on my coat, boots, scarf, and gloves. The skis were in the front hallway, so I got them, then closed the front door behind me.

The weather wasn’t bad, but I’d forgotten to put on the extra socks I need for Dad’s boots to fit, and I fell a dozen times as I made my way to the hospital. I fell into snow on top of snow, so I never bruised myself, but of course I got soaking wet. It didn’t matter. Each time I fell I got back up and started again. No one else was going to rescue us. It was all up to me.

I don’t know how long it took me to reach the hospital. I remember thinking I should have eaten something before I’d left, so it was probably close to noon when I got there. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting help.

Unlike the last time I’d gone there, the outside of the hospital was completely deserted. No guards to prevent me from entering. I had a moment of pure terror that I’d find no one inside, but I pushed the front door open and could hear sounds in the distance.

The lobby was empty so I followed the voices. I’d never heard a hospital so quiet before. There weren’t any lights on, and I wondered if their generator had finally stopped working.

If the hospital wasn’t functional, what chance did any of us have?

Eventually I found the source of the noise. It was two women—nurses, I assumed—sitting in an empty room. I charged in there, relieved to see them, terrified of what they were going to say.

“I need Dr. Elliott,” I said. “Peter Elliott. Where is he?”

“Elliott,” one of the women said, and she scratched the back of her neck. “He died on Saturday, didn’t he, Maggie?”

“No, I think it was Friday,” Maggie replied. “Remember, Friday we lost ten people and we thought that was the worst of it. Then Saturday we lost seventeen. But I think he was on Friday.”

“I’m pretty sure it was Saturday,” the first woman said. “Doesn’t matter, does it? He’s dead. Just about everyone is.”

It took me a moment to realize they were saying Peter was dead. Peter who had done all he could to protect us and care for us had died.

“Peter Elliott,” I said. “Dr. Elliott. That Peter Elliott.”

“Dead just like everyone else,” Maggie said, and she kind of laughed. “I guess we’ll be next.”

“Nah,” the first woman said. “If we’re not dead yet, nothing’s going to kill us.”

“Flu,” Maggie said. “Past couple of weeks. It’s flying through town. People kept coming here, like we could do something, and all the staff came down with it, except for Linda here and me and a couple of others. We’d go home except we’re scared of what we’d find and besides we’d just make our families sick. Funny, isn’t it? We’ve survived so much and it’s the flu that’s going to kill us all off.”

“My family has it,” I said. “Don’t you have any kind of medicine? There must be something.”

Linda shook her head. “It’s the flu, hon,” she said. “It just runs its course. Only thing is no one has any strength left to fight it off.”

“It’s a bad strain,” Maggie said. “Like in 1918. The kind that would kill you anyway.”

“But my family,” I said. “What should I do for them?”

“Make them comfortable,” Maggie said. “And don’t bring them here when they die. We’re not taking any more bodies.”

“I gave them aspirin,” I said. “And an alcohol rub. Was that the right thing to do?”

“Honey, listen to us,” Maggie said. “It doesn’t matter. Maybe you’ll be lucky. Maybe your family’s stronger. Aspirin won’t hurt. Alcohol rubs won’t hurt. Pray if it’ll make you feel better. But whatever’s going to happen is going to happen. And it’ll happen fast.”

“You can try fluids,” Linda said. “If you have any food, try to make them eat. They’ll need all the strength they can get.”

Maggie shook her head. “Save the food for yourself, hon,” she said. “You look healthy enough. Maybe you’re like us and you’re resistant to this strain. Your folks would want you to live. Take care of yourself. Your family’s going to live or die no matter what you do.”

“No!” I said. “No. I don’t believe you. There has to be something.”

“There were how many people here last week?” Maggie asked. “A hundred, maybe more. We lost half of them the first day. Go home and be with your folks. Give them whatever comfort you can.”

“Sorry,” Linda said. “I know it’s a tough break. Sorry to tell you about Dr. Elliott. He was a nice man. He worked until the end, then he just collapsed and died. We’ve lost a lot of staff that way, working until their last breath. But maybe your family will make it through. Some people do.”

There was no point staying. I thanked them and started the journey home.

The wind had picked up and was blowing against me for much of the walk. I stumbled as much as I skied, and it was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears. Peter was dead. For all I knew Mom and Jon were, also. Matt might die, too.

I remembered how Jon had asked me what he would do if he were the only one of us to survive and how flippant I’d been. And now I was facing the same thing.

Yesterday everything was fine. By tonight I could be completely alone.

I told myself over and over again that I wouldn’t let that happen. We were strong. We ate, we had heat, and shelter. We’d been lucky so far. We’d stay lucky. We’d stay alive.

The sky was darkening when I finally made it home, but it looked like a snow sky, and I was sure it was still daytime. It took all the courage I had to open the door. But when I got to the sunroom I saw things were pretty much as I’d left them. Mom was so quiet I had to kneel by her side to make sure she was still breathing, but she was. Jonny was delirious, but he was covered and not flailing around so much. Matt was lying on his mattress, but his eyes were open, and he turned around when he saw I’d come in.

“Peter,” he said.

I shook my head. “We’re on our own,” I said. “It’s just the flu. We’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said, and closed his eyes. For the most horrible moment of my life, I thought he’d died, that he had stayed alive until I got back and then felt he could die. But he’d just fallen asleep. His breathing was shallow, but he was definitely alive.

I put some wood in the stove and collapsed onto my mattress. That’s where I am now. I don’t even know why I’m writing this down, except that I feel fine and maybe tomorrow I’ll be dead. And if that happens, and someone should find my journal, I want them to know what happened.

We are a family. We love each other. We’ve been scared together and brave together. If this is how it ends, so be it.

Only, please, don’t let me be the last one to die.

 

January 11

We’ve made it through the night.

Mom and Jonny don’t seem any better. It was harder getting the aspirin down Mom’s throat. She coughed a lot and threw the pills back up, so I dissolved them in tea.

Jonny alternates between delirium and stupor. I don’t know which is scarier.

Matt is the least sick of the three, and I really think he’ll survive. He sleeps most of the day, but when he’s awake he’s Matt.

I gave all of them aspirin and cold remedies every 4 hours and sponge bathed them and gave them alcohol rubs. It’s hard keeping the blankets on Jonny.

I heated beef broth and spoon-fed all of them. I had to hold up Mom’s and Jonny’s heads when I did. Matt was able to stay awake long enough to take a few swallows on his own.

That’s got to be a good sign.

When I went out this morning to clean the bedpan, I discovered it was snowing again. It probably started right after I got in yesterday. It was obviously dying down by this morning, but we probably got another 6 inches. Not that it matters.

I don’t have a fever. I’m tired from staying up and it’s hard to remember to eat, but I’m definitely not sick. Maybe I’m crazy, but I keep thinking if Mom and Jonny and Matt have made it this long, they’re not going to die. Linda and Maggie made it sound like everyone at the hospital died the day they got sick.

Mom’s moaning. I think I’d better check on her.

 

January 12

No change.

Matt’s a little weaker. Jon’s a little quieter. It’s getting harder for Mom to swallow.

There was an ice storm last night. The tree branches are all covered in gray-tinged ice.

 

January 13

Horton woke me up. He was yowling. I didn’t even realize I was asleep. I remember putting logs in the woodstove and lying down for a few minutes, and I must have fallen asleep.

Horton was yowling and I was coughing. Gut-wrenching coughing.

Then I realized the room was filled with smoke and we were all coughing.

I thought, The house can’t be on fire because that would just be too funny. I managed to turn my flashlight on, like I needed it to see if the house was on fire, but I didn’t see any flames.

I moved the flashlight around and saw the smoke was pouring out of the woodstove. It had backfired and was filling the room with smoke.

Smoke inhalation can kill you.

My first thought was to get the hell out of there, run outside, and breathe some real air. But everyone else was coughing, which meant they were all still alive and I had to get them out of there.

Mom and Jonny were far too weak to get up on their own. I didn’t dare take them outside. The kitchen floor was going to have to do.

I took my blankets and grabbed one off of Matt’s bed, waking him up in the process. I was half blind from the smoke, but I managed to get the blankets onto the kitchen floor. It took every ounce of courage I had to go back into the sunroom, but I did. Thank goodness Matt had enough strength left to help me pull Jonny first and then Mom into the kitchen. I told Matt to stay there, and I ran back in and got everyone’s pillows and blankets. Matt helped get them in place. He was gasping so badly I was afraid he’d have a heart attack, but he waved me off.

Next I went to the thermostat to turn on the furnace, but I didn’t hear anything go on. I remembered that Dad and Matt had jerry-rigged a battery cell to the furnace, and I would have to go to the cellar to turn it on. I went back to the kitchen where Mom, Matt, and Jonny were all still racked with coughing, and I opened the cellar door. At least the air was clear down there, but the temperature was probably close to zero and I regretted not having put my shoes on. I held on to the flashlight, and with it I raced to the furnace, took a moment to figure out what to do, and pulled the right switch. The furnace turned on almost immediately. We still had oil. I went back upstairs as fast as I could and put the thermostat at 65 degrees.

Horton had followed everyone into the kitchen so I didn’t have to worry about him. I went to the bathroom and found the cough medicine with codeine that we’d taken from Mrs. Nesbitt’s medicine cabinet. I gave Matt his first and his cough subsided enough that he was able to help me give the medicine to Jonny and Mom. I was afraid to take it myself in case the codeine put me to sleep. Instead I grabbed a washcloth and threw it into a water pot. Once it was thoroughly wet, I covered my mouth with it and went back into the sunroom.

Panic overwhelmed me. The room was filled with smoke and breathing was close to impossible. I couldn’t think what to do next. We were all going to die and it would be all my fault.

I got really mad then and that pushed me into action. The first thing I did was open the back door to air the room out. There was one piece of good luck: The wind was blowing in the right direction.

I stayed outside long enough to get some air back into my lungs. Good thing I’ve been sleeping with my coat on, but even so I couldn’t manage more than a minute since I didn’t have any shoes on. Still that was enough air to get me back into the sunroom.

I tried opening the skylights but there was too much snow on top of them. I cursed myself for not having gotten on the ladder to clear them off when the snow had started, but it was too late now. I pulled the plywood off one of the windows opposite the door and opened the window. The crosswind worked and I started to see the smoke lessening.

I knew what I had to do next and that was get rid of the piece of wood that had caused the backfire. I went to the door, took a few deep breaths, then came back in and opened the woodstove.

The smoke was overwhelming. I raced back outside and grabbed a handful of snow to rub against my burning eyes. I swallowed some of the snow. Mom’ll kill me, I thought, drinking unboiled snow.

The thought made me laugh, and that got me coughing again. I laughed and cried and coughed and choked. But in spite of it all, I was damned if I was going to die and I was double damned if I was going to leave Matt and Jon and Mom like that.

So I went back into the sunroom. The smoke was still incredibly thick and I thought I’d cough my lungs up. I crawled over to the stove and put on the mitts. I reached in and pulled out the smoking log.

Even through the mitt, I could tell the log was wet. Hot and wet and steaming and smoking. I juggled it between the mitts, crawled to the door, and threw it out.

The log shouldn’t have been wet. We hadn’t had that problem with any of the wood Matt and Jonny have cut up until now. I realized the stove had to be wet. Snow or ice must have fallen through the chimney and made the entire stove damp.

I had to make sure the stove was dry or else the same thing would happen again. And that meant I had to get another fire going just to dry out the stove, and that meant more smoke.

My whole body began to shake. It was stupid, but I kept thinking how unfair it was. Why did I have to be the one? Why couldn’t I be sick and Matt take care of me? Or Jon? He’s the one who gets to eat. Why did he have to get sick? He should be healthy. He should be the one choking to death and I should be in the nice warm kitchen, all drugged with codeine.

Well, it was useless to dream. I looked around the sunroom to see what I could burn. A log wouldn’t do. It would just get wet and start the whole business over again. I needed to burn lots and lots of paper.

My first thought was the textbooks, but I knew Mom would kill me. If we all got well and she found we couldn’t keep studying, she would kill me. But I felt like if I had to go through all this, I should be rewarded by burning a textbook.

I left the sunroom and made my way through the kitchen. Everyone was still coughing, but not the way they had been. Matt looked feverish, but he waved me away when I tried to hover.

“I’m okay,” he whispered.

I didn’t have much choice but to believe him. I went upstairs and got a couple of the textbooks I’d taken home my one day at school. While I was up there, I changed into dry clothes and put on shoes. Just doing that helped.

I went back to the kitchen and freshened the washcloth. Then I crawled back into the sunroom. The smoke had lessened but once I reopened the woodstove, it poured out again.

I tore page after page from the textbook. With a shaking hand I lit a match and threw the burning paper into the stove. The smoke grew stronger and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to bear it. But I shoved as many pieces of paper as I could in there, and when I was sure the fire would last at least a minute, I let myself go to the back door and gulp in some air. Then I went back, tore more sheets out, and burned them.

I don’t know how long I burned paper, but I know I killed one and a half textbooks. If the school wants them back, they can just sue me.

Finally the stove stopped smoking. I tore some more textbook then piled on some of my kindling. When the fire was going good and strong, I put a couple of logs in and everything was fine.

I took a pot and filled it with snow and put it on the top of the stove to get some moisture back in the room. I waited about half an hour and then I closed the window. I waited another half hour after that, watching the fire and making sure it was burning clean before I closed the door.

I wanted more than anything to curl up on the kitchen floor and go to sleep. But I didn’t dare leave the woodstove untended. So I stayed awake and only left the sunroom to go into the kitchen a couple of times to check on Mom and Matt and Jonny.

The window I took the plywood off of has an eastern exposure. I can see the sky lightening, so I guess it’s dawn. It really isn’t January 13 anymore.

I’m going to leave everyone in the kitchen for the time being. I’ll give them their aspirin and let them go back to sleep. It’s taken hours for the house to get from below freezing to 65 degrees and they might as well enjoy it. Besides, the sunroom still stinks of smoke, and I really should open the window and the door and air things out. We’ll be sleeping on smoky mattresses for weeks to come.

Because if this didn’t kill us, nothing will. It’s January 14 and I can see the dawn and we’re all going to survive.

 

January 14

We’re all still alive.

I’m scared to leave everyone in the kitchen and I’m scared to move them back. What scares me most is I don’t think Matt has the strength to help me get them into the sunroom.

I’m just going to hope we have enough heating oil to make it through the night.

I stink of smoke and it hurts to breathe.

 

January 15

After I gave Mom her morning aspirin, I bent over her and kissed her forehead. It was just like Sleeping Beauty. Mom opened her eyes, stared straight at me, and said, “Not until you finish your homework.”

I burst out laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me, young lady,” Mom said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, trying with all my strength not to.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll make supper now.” She struggled to get up.

“No, that’s okay,” I said. “I’m not hungry.”

“Nonsense,” she said, but she fell back asleep. Her breathing was steady and I could tell her fever had broken.

She woke up a few hours later and seemed puzzled to be in the kitchen. “Is everyone all right?” she asked.

“We’re fine,” I told her.

She looked over and saw Jon and Matt sleeping on the floor. “What are we doing here?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“There was a problem with the woodstove,” I said. “So I turned the furnace on and you’ve been sleeping in here.”

“You look terrible,” she said. “Are you eating properly?”

“No,” I said.

Mom nodded. “Well, none of us are,” she said, and went back to sleep.

When she woke up this evening she was just about normal. She managed to sit up, and she asked how each of us was doing. I gave her the rundown.

“How long have we been sick?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve lost track. A few days.”

“And you took care of us all that time?” she asked. “By yourself?”

“Matt helped,” I said. I wanted to collapse by her side and weep and have her hold me and comfort me. None of which, of course, could I do. “The real problem was the woodstove, but that’s okay now. Maybe tomorrow you’ll move back to the sunroom.”

“When did you eat last?” she asked.

“I haven’t been hungry,” I said. “I’m okay.”

“You need to eat,” she said. “We can’t have you getting sick. Get yourself a can of mixed vegetables and eat all of it.”

“Mom,” I said.

“That’s an order,” she said.

So I did. And when I finished the can of vegetables I realized I was famished. I went back to the pantry and made myself a can of carrots and ate all of that. I probably haven’t eaten in a couple of days, so I guess I’m entitled.

Then I realized Mom was well enough to eat, so I heated up a can of soup and gave her some. Matt woke up and he ate along with her.

“I’m worried about Jonny,” Mom said when she finished her soup. “Do you think you should get Peter and have him check him out?”

“I’ve already been to the hospital,” I said. “I went the first day you all got sick. It’s the flu and the only thing we can do is wait it out.”

“I’d still feel better if Peter could see him,” Mom said. “I know you’ve been doing everything you can, but Peter’s a doctor.”

“It’s too late for me to go anyplace today,” I said. “Let’s see how Jonny is tomorrow, okay? Now go back to sleep.”

Thank goodness, Mom did. With everything that’s happened, I haven’t even thought how to tell her Peter died.

 

January 16

Jonny woke me this morning. I was sleeping in the doorway, head in the sunroom, feet in the kitchen.

“I’m hungry,” he said.

He was weak but he was Jonny.

“I’ll get you some soup,” I said. I got up, went to the pantry, pulled out a can of soup, and heated it on the woodstove.

He was able to sit up and eat most of it. While he was eating, Mom and Matt both woke up. I heated more soup for them and soon they were all sitting up, eating, and even talking.

“Shouldn’t we move back to the sunroom?” Mom asked.

“Later,” I said. “Let me change the sheets on your mattresses first.”

I went upstairs and got fresh sheets. I would have liked to flip all the mattresses over, but I didn’t have the strength, so I told myself it wouldn’t matter.

Once I got the clean sheets on the mattresses, I helped everyone get up. First Matt, then Mom, and finally Jonny. They all collapsed onto their mattresses. The walk from the kitchen to the sunroom took a lot out of them.

But after they’d napped, they woke up and I could see the difference in all of them. I heated up some vegetables and they all ate.

I gave everyone sponge baths, and then I took all their dirty sheets and pillowcases and spent the afternoon washing them. Since the house was still warm, I hung them all up in the kitchen and the living room. When the laundry felt damp, I turned the heat off. I probably shouldn’t have kept it on as long as I did, but it was so luxurious doing the wash in a warm kitchen.

Mom didn’t ask about Peter.

 

January 17

Everybody was crabby and demanding. Get me this. Bring me that. I’m hot. I’m cold. It’s too bright. It’s too dark. Why did you do that? Why didn’t you do that?

I swear I hate them all.

 

January 19

I can see how much better everyone is. I’m worried most about Matt. He was never as sick as Mom or Jonny, but he’s still very weak.

I worry that when he helped me pull Mom and Jonny out of the sunroom he might have strained his heart.

Mom and Jonny both walked a few steps today.

 

January 21

I’m feeding everybody three meals a day. It’s probably suicidal, but it’s just so wonderful to see them eat.

Mom says tomorrow she’s going to be strong enough to do the cooking.

Jon asked for his baseball cards and he stayed up all afternoon organizing them. Matt asked me to bring him a murder mystery and he spent the day reading it.

This evening Matt told me not to worry about the fire. He’d make sure to keep it going during the night. I should just get a good night’s sleep.

I’m going to take him up on that.

 

January 23

I guess I slept for two straight days. I feel real groggy and hungry.

Mom’s making me a cup of tea. Matt and Jon are playing chess.

Even Horton is sleeping on my mattress.

I think we’re going to be okay.

 

January 26

I climbed onto the roof today and cleared the snow off. It’s been on my list of things to do since that awful night, but I wanted to make sure someone would be strong enough to rescue me if I got into trouble.

Jon’s getting stronger faster than Mom or Matt. By this afternoon, I figured I could take my chances. It was hard work, and I can’t imagine how much harder it must have been after the blizzard when there was so much more snow.

I’m actually doing everybody’s work these days: snow removal and all the laundry, etc. But tomorrow Jon’ll start doing the dishes. He’s eager to do stuff, but we all agree it’s better for him to take things slow and make sure he recovers fully. Mom wasn’t crazy about his being outside all the time I did the roof cleaning, but I worked as fast as I could and Jon doesn’t seem any the worse for it.

I’m more tired than I used to be, but I think that’ll pass. The important thing is I didn’t get sick and we all think if I didn’t then, I’m not going to now. Me and Maggie and Linda. I hope they had as good luck with their families as I did with mine.

 

January 27

I was in the kitchen doing laundry when Mom joined me.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I said. “Go back to the sunroom.”

“I will in a minute,” she said. “But this seemed like a good time to talk.”

There was a time when that tone would have meant I was in trouble. Now it just means she wants some private conversation. I smiled at her and kept scrubbing.

“I want you to know how proud I am of you,” she said. “There aren’t words to say how grateful I am. We would have died without you and we all know that. We owe you our lives.”

“You would have done the same for me,” I said, staring at the dirty underwear. I knew if I looked at Mom I’d start crying, and I didn’t want to do that because I worry if I start crying I’ll never stop.

“You’re a very special girl,” Mom said. “No, you’re a very special woman, Miranda. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Is that it? Because if it is, you really should go back to the sunroom.”

“There is one other thing,” she said. “I’m confused about something. Those first few days—well, everything is hazy in my mind. Was Peter here? I think I remember you going to get him, but I don’t remember seeing him. Did you get to see him? Did he know we were sick? I know it’s close to impossible to get from here to the hospital, so I don’t even know if you made it. But did you try? I’m sorry. I’m just trying to put all this together and make sense of it.”

This time I looked away from the laundry. I dried my hands off and turned to face Mom. “I made it to the hospital,” I said. “That first day. Matt was too sick to go, so I went. Basically I was told what I already knew, that you all had the flu and you should be kept warm and given aspirin and made comfortable until you got better. So I came back and did all that.”

“Did you see Peter?” Mom asked.

“No,” I said. “I spoke to two women there, nurses I think.” I turned away from her and willed myself to be brave. “Mom, Peter’s dead,” I said. “The nurses told me. The flu decimated everyone at the hospital, patients and staff. You got sick on Tuesday and he’d died the weekend before. I don’t know for sure, but I think a lot of people in town died. Maybe people all over the country. It was that kind of flu. We were incredibly lucky you all pulled through. Well, not completely because of luck. You’ve seen to it we’ve had food and water and shelter and heat. Even Matt making us move into the sunroom when we still had heating oil probably saved your lives because when we needed the oil, we still had some.”

Mom stood there stone-faced.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t wanted to tell you. The nurses said he worked to the end. He was a hero.”

“I wish we didn’t need so damn many heroes,” Mom said, and went back to the sunroom.

Me too.

 

January 30

Matt remains weak, which is really annoying him. Mom keeps telling him that people recuperate at different speeds and he should just not rush things.

But I think he’s never going to be 100% again.

Jon’s regained most of his strength and he’s impatient to be doing things, but Mom’s keeping him on a limited schedule. Except for that one day when I cleared off the roof, he’s stayed in the sunroom. Since he can wash the dishes in the old basin we found in the cellar, he doesn’t even have to leave the sunroom to do that.

Mom isn’t as strong as I’d like her to be, but I know she’s also sad about Peter. After I told her, she had me tell Matt and Jonny, too, so now everybody knows, but of course it’s Mom who feels it the worst.

Now that it’s been a couple of weeks since the fevers broke, I figure I can do some stuff on my own. This afternoon I took the skis and went back to the road to practice.

It was glorious being alone and outside and doing something other than nursing and housework. And since my trek to the hospital, I’ve been thinking how I really should get better on the skis. I don’t know when Matt will be strong enough to go any distance, and one of us needs to be able to get around. That leaves Jon and me, and I have a head start.

This is my time. I’ve earned it.

 

February 2

Mom must be getting better. She asked if I’d forgotten about schoolwork.

“It hasn’t been my highest priority,” I said.

“Well, we need to change that,” she said. “For all of us. Jonny, there’s no reason why you can’t go back to algebra. Matt can help you. And I’m going to forget all my French if I don’t start working on it. We don’t want our brains to rot away.”

“Mom,” I said, “I’m doing all the housework and I’m skiing. What more do you want from me?”

“I don’t want back talk from you, I can tell you that,” she said. “Now open up that history textbook and get to work.”

It’s a good thing I didn’t burn it. Or maybe it’s not such a good thing!

 

February 4

Matt needed something from his bedroom.

It’s hard for Mom to get upstairs since she fell the second time, so I go to her room if she needs something from there. Jon only started going upstairs last weekend. Up till then, I got whatever he needed, and of course I’ve been doing the same for Matt.

“Do you think you’re ready?” Mom asked him.

“Sure,” Matt said. “I wouldn’t do it if I weren’t.”

Mom exchanged glances with me, but when I started to get up to go with him, she shook her head ever so slightly.

Matt made his way out of the sunroom, through the kitchen, down the hallway to the staircase. I don’t think any of us breathed as we heard his lumbering steps on the staircase.

Then the sounds stopped.

“Go,” Mom said to me.

I ran to the staircase. Matt was standing 4 steps up.

“I can’t do it,” he said. “Damn it to hell. I can’t get up the stairs.”

“Then stop trying,” I said. “Just come down and try some other time.”

“What if there isn’t another time?” he said. “What if I’m a useless invalid for the rest of my life?”

“You may be an invalid, but you’ll never be useless,” I said. “Matt, has it occurred to you that the reason you’re so weak is because you pulled Mom and Jonny out of the sunroom that night? That maybe you sacrificed your health to save their lives and that’s something you should be proud of? They wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. You have no idea how much you give to us every single day. You think I liked nursing all of you? I hated it. But I’d think of how you do things, without complaining. You just do what has to be done, and I tried to be like you. So walk down those stairs and get back to bed and if you stay exactly the way you are now, you’ll still be the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

“It takes one to know one,” he said.

“Great,” I said. “We’re both the bestest people ever. Now tell me what you want upstairs and go to the sunroom before Mom gets hysterical.”

So he did. I watched to make sure he made it down the stairs, then I ran upstairs and got what he needed in the first place.

It’s going to kill us if Matt doesn’t get stronger. But he doesn’t need to know that.

 

February 7

Mom’s birthday.

Christmas, when Mom had shared her candy with us, I ate 2 of the 4 pieces I took, and saved the other 2.

So Mom’s birthday present was 2 pieces of candy.

Jon let her beat him in chess.

And Matt walked to and from the staircase 3 times.

She said it was the best birthday she’d ever had.