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It should be an easy day, no work to be completed, no general expectation of productivity that usually comes with a Wednesday at mid-day. It should be a lazy summer day, quiet heat, loud joy, and yet all Maria could think of was who she had been forced to leave behind when she had returned home four months ago.
She longed for gentle fingers carding through her hair, weaving intricate little patterns against her scalp. She longed for those cool spring nights curled up by the fire pit, close enough that the flames danced in Anna's eyes, a reflection of all the life and love and joy within her, lost in the haze of drunken nights spent together before it all fell apart.
Home, this small town filled with too big now impossible dreams. This small town with its big walls meant safety, a calm before a storm of the tangible reminders of why it fell apart, of why Anna wasn't here anymore, of what Maria tried and failed to blame. The walls were a tangible stopper on the flow of anger and resentment that tried to fill her as she remembered what she could have saved. There was a leak somewhere, letting out careful streams akin to the mycelium that now crawled across the country.
A leak like a tap, small enough that it kept her longing and grief inside, yet that let out the hurt and anger that lapped in waves. Aimed at nothing, aimed at everything, aimed at herself, for coming home without Anna, aimed at Marlene, for not being there in time, when she had promised she would be.
It was irrational, she knew, but something drew her back time and time again while emotion welled up inside her, threatening her carefully crafted dam. Maybe it was the thought of the child that she herself had lost on that night six years ago, the night when everything changed. Maybe it was the thought of the child she would never meet, that Anna had loved so much, even when they were only the size of an pomegranate, right through to who Marlene described in the single letter she had sent.
'We got held up and by the time we reached her, Anna had been bitten. We couldn't risk them both being infected,' Marlene had written, 'It had to be done. I'm sorry Maria'.
Maria pretended she believed Marlene's apologies, believed the words written by a hand a little too steady, written by someone who hadn't even asked to speak over the radio to pass on the news.
She and Anna had met as children, summer camp or a shared class, she didn't remember the specifics anymore. Eventually, their friendship had sparked into lovers devotion. As the world grew harder, colder, the flame of their love kept them warm, safe.
Summer days turned into winter nights, hazy Wyoming mornings in a little farmhouse spent curled together, more one being than two, One soul to share between two bodies, the seasons changing, but their love never faltering.
"Oh Anna, I'm not sure that I could ever forget you," Maria whispers, turning away from the window to spy at the empty kitchen chairs, now devoid of laughter. Her gaze carried over to the photograph that stood like a soldier at attention on the mantelpiece, the reminder of what they had been forced into too young.
Years later, when Tommy's brother walked through the gates followed by a girl with the same green eyes and an all too familiar switchblade sticking out of her pocket, Maria realised that Marlene lied to her, that Anna's baby, the one she spent her nights singing to, was alive.
One day, she thought, she would tell Ellie about her mother, pass on the old photographs that sat in a box, or on the shelves, and maybe it was selfish, but for now, it still felt easier to keep those cards tucked close to her own heart.