The Last Tomorrow

EPILOGUE

Carl steps from the shower and dries off. He puts on slacks, a clean white shirt, and a coat. He combs his hair and looks at himself in the mirror. His cheeks are hollow, and his eyes tired, but he’s healthy and his mind is clear.

He almost never thinks of junk these days, and when he does he finds he can push the thought aside. Sometimes it’s difficult, but he can do it — and every day it’s easier than the last. He relapsed once, four months ago, but it won’t happen again. He won’t let it happen again.

He puts on a hat and steps into the October evening. It’s cool and crisp and wonderful. He inhales its scent and walks to his car. He gets inside and starts the engine. He drives toward Bunker Hill with his window down, the chill autumn air blowing against his face.

He parks in front of a small house where a blonde woman in her thirties lives alone. She’s had husbands, but her first left and her second was murdered. She’s given birth, but her son is missing and has been for months. She still reads the newspaper daily hoping to find him lurking between the lines in stories of burglary, armed robbery, and car theft. Sometimes she thinks she sees evidence that he was there.

On Saturday nights Carl drives to her house, picks her up, and they roll through the streets while she looks for him. Probably she’ll never find him, he’s just one small boy in a city of two million, but there’s a kind of bravery in her refusal to give up despite the odds, and there’s hope.

He’s learned a lot about that from her.

He steps from his car and walks up the path to her front door. He raises his fist, hesitates a moment, and knocks. After a while Candice pulls open the door. She smiles at him. He smiles back, kisses the corner of her mouth.

‘Are you ready?’

She says she is, and steps outside.