"You haven't spoken since we abandoned my car and walked back here. What's on your mind?"
"I was just thinking about all those people--at work, at the gym, at church--I'll never see them again. I'll never see my hole-in-the-wall apartment again. The remote control on my TV. It's worse than when my dog died."
She stopped in mid-stride. "Is it worse than when your parents died?"
Bill shifted position and scratched his head. "I don't know, to tell you the truth. I mean, when they died there was the shock and all that, but--well, it was kind of a relief, too. While they were alive there was always the idea that somehow I should try to get back on their good side. Family ties and all that. When they died, that solved one of my biggest headaches. I know that sounds crude, but it's true."
Molly sat beside him. "I know what you mean. It was the same way with my divorce. I didn't want it, but my husband--" She broke off and stared at the wall.
"Hey, if you'd rather not talk about it--"
"He was adulterous. And not just one woman. He had a whole flock. I had that same nagging about reconciliation and couldn't bring myself to file the papers. Finally, he did. I was so relieved that I could get on with my life--" She began to cry.
Bill waited. When Molly finished she tried to apologize. Bill said, "Don't. Never apologize for having feelings."
"Thank you," she said. "I didn't realize it still hurt so much to think about it. Excuse me."
She left the room and came back minutes later, her face freshly washed. She poured Bill some coffee and asked, "What will you do now?"
He shrugged. "I'm open to suggestion. Know anybody who needs a good journeyman mechanic? Back home they used to say I could fix anything on wheels."
"I know the avenues for finding someone who does. Where will you stay?"
"At the hotel, I guess. I can stay there until I find a job and then get a place of my own and start over."
Molly hesitated, then folded her hands in her lap. "I've been considering this all afternoon, and I won't hear of it. You can stay here. That will help stretch your funds and give you a better start."
He laughed. "Sure. And let your neighbors think you're entertaining a gigolo. No, Molly. It wouldn't look good. I appreciate the offer, but I have to refuse."
"My neighbors tend to mind their own business, thank you. I can spread the word that you're my nephew from the States. We really are related, after all. Sort of. And it seems that virtually everyone has a relative of some sort in the States."
Bill stood and started pacing. "You mean 'Had a relative.'"
"I stand corrected. At any rate, such an arrangement is better for you. Don't you agree?"
Bill paced.
"Bill?"
He paced. Molly stood and walked into his path. He paced around her. She grabbed his shoulders and stopped him. She turned him around and said, "Talk to me, my friend."
He looked into her eyes and sighed. "It's just weird. I mean, we're talking about this like it was a trip to the zoo or something." He shook free of her grasp and walked to the window. "You don't understand. I guess there's no way I could expect you to. You're home." He turned back to her. "You're where you belong, where your life is. My home's probably green and glowing in the dark by now. I'm in limbo. England isn't my home, it's a foreign country. And I don't have a place to go home to. I can't explain what that's doing to me."
She hung her head. "I'm sorry. Of course you're right. I can't understand how you feel. Please forgive me for seeming so unsympathetic."
Something in her voice made him aware that he had shouted at her. He walked to her and took her by the shoulders. "Hey. I'm the one who's sorry. You're trying to help me pull myself together and that's how I thank you. I'm a jerk."
She lifted her head and smiled. "Well, at least you're talking about it now. You had me worried for a moment."
He let his hands drop. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?"
Her eyes twinkled. "I'll never tell."
He laughed. "Oh, all right. You've got a deal. I guess I'd better get used to calling you 'Aunt Molly.' How does it sound?"
"Like a wrinkled old dowager with one foot in the grave," she laughed. "But I can get accustomed to it, as well."
In the weeks that followed, the story unfolded. Both superpower capitals were still too hot for human exploration, so Scandinavian scientists sent robot drones to gather information from the rubble, while remaining governments analyzed tapes of the final exchanges between Moscow and Washington that they had intercepted as part of the world's normal spying process.
President Masters delivered an ultimatum to the Russians: capitulate to his demands for reform or pay the price. His own Cabinet had known nothing beforehand of his intention to make such a statement. The Russian president responded by offering to educate America by force in the fine art of minding its own business. Masters took this as a declaration of war. Ignoring the requirements for Congressional approval, he launched a space-based warhead at Moscow. Russia countered by launching everything it had at the U.S. Masters now had his excuse for executing a full strike.
Masters claimed all along that God would protect America. He stayed in the White House Situation Room until the last moment, when his aides dragged him to the massive bunker under Washington. At the first impact the bunker, which had been designed to resist the smaller bombs of a previous decade, collapsed. Countless tons of concrete and steel folded under their own weight and absorbed the President and his staff into the landscape.
Out of sheer meanness, Russia fired one 200 megaton missile at Israel. Israel had never been part of any ABM treaty, and had quietly established a powerful arsenal of Anti-Ballistic Missiles. When the early-warning detectors registered the incoming missile, Israel launched one of its ABM's and destroyed it. As soon as the kill was confirmed, the Prime Minister went on Israeli television and hailed the "decisive victory over anti-Semitism" as the major reason why his party should remain in control of the Knesset.
Masters had his own mean streak. Concurrent with the strike at Russia, he dropped a multiple-warhead device on Cuba. Unlike Israel, Cuba had no means to stop it. Castro's island paradise became the Caribbean version of the Philippine Trench.
Prevailing winds carried most of the fallout out to sea. Marine travel became impossible, and nearly all the fish, birds and sea mammals died of radiation poisoning.
War broke out in every corner of South America. Would-be dictators played musical chairs nearly every day. The continent became a nest of savagery. In Europe, people really didn't care.
In Africa, starvation conditions intensified with the disappearance of Western aid. Tribes all over the continent swarmed to the seats of governments and killed everyone who appeared to be white. What became of Africa after that, nobody knew. Spain flew several exploration teams down to see what the situation was. None returned.
Nobody knew what the status of the Far East was, and for the time being, nobody cared.
A week after the War, representatives from the established European governments and the fledgling democracies that sprang up in the 80's and 90's met in Geneva to discuss total unification. Within days, Europe became a single nation. Newspapers reverberated with the praises of a new Golden Age of Peace on Earth.
While the world rejoiced, Bill sat dejectedly on Molly's couch. Molly had searched for something to cheer him up, including Bible study and some American beer she had found. Nothing worked.
"Come on, Bill. Eat something."
"No thanks."
"Listen. I know it's been two months, but you can't give in. You'll find a job soon. But if you walk into a shop looking the way you do now, of course nobody's going to hire you. You haven't shaved in days and your clothes are so dirty they look like rummage sale leftovers."
"Do English women always nag?"
"Only when they care, Bill."
He looked up at her. "I'm taking it out on you again, huh?"
"Afraid so."
He leaped up and stormed about. "It's like they blame me for the War, just because I'm an American. I didn't even vote for that clown! Why punish me for his stupidity?"
"I understand. With all the talk about a new world, peace and tranquility and all that, you would think an American would be hailed as a hero. Instead, they despise you." She silently offered him a plate. He accepted it and sat again.
"I think I've figured out part of it," Bill chomped. "It's economics. European and British economy has been so dependent on American aid and trade--hey, I'm a poet--for so long, when it's cut off it throws the whole system off. It's like they have to try to execute their plays without a quarterback. That could cause some hard feelings, especially when--" He paused and took another bite of potato.
"Especially when what?"
His voice was a soft groan. "Especially when we shot first."
"If by 'we' you mean your country, you're wrong. A madman fired the first shot. It could as easily have been a middle-eastern or South-American terrorist for all America supported the action."
"But it wasn't a terrorist. It was the President of the United States. That means that, whether I like it or not, I'm involved in the guilt."
"But you said you didn't vote for him. It seems to me that you did what you could to stop him."
"I didn't vote at all." He rose with his plate and wandered around the room, chewing and talking. "I had to work late on Election Day and spaced it out. So I didn't even put my two cents' worth in."
She nodded. "Well, you did call him a fruitcake in front of a perfect stranger. That should prove something."
"Tell that to the auto shop owners."
"If you think it will help."
He smiled for the first time in days. "Never mind."
"Well, at least I finally got you to smile."
He stepped over and took her hand. He discovered too late that his hand had gravy all over it. "Thanks. I needed that." He put the plate down, took out his wallet and pulled out a $50 traveler's check. "Here's my share for the next week."
She looked at the floor. "I don't know how to tell you this. I probably shouldn't bring it up just now, but--well, I can't cash those any more."
"What? Why not?"
"Think about it, Bill. What's the name of the company that issued those checks?"
"American--oh." He rapped himself in the head. "How long has it been like that?"
"About two weeks."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I thought you were depressed enough without knowing you were penniless, as well."
"So instead of converting them for me you've just been giving me your money, right?"
She slowly looked up at him. "That's why I had to bring it up now. I'm out of money, as well. I'm sorry."
Bill stepped behind the couch and hoisted one of his suitcases. After fumbling a little, he produced a leather camera case and held it out to her. When she opened it, she gasped.
"This is magnificent. A Nikkon SLR with four extra lenses."
Bill nodded. "All top of the line. I wanted the best for my tour. You should have a good idea where you can get a good price for it."
Her mouth fell open. "Oh, no, I couldn't."
"You could and you will," he said as he slapped the suitcase shut. "I'm not a tourist any more. I've got to build a life of some kind, and I don't need that to do it."
She pondered. "Well, if you're sure. . ."
"I'm sure. I won't sponge off you, Molly. You've been 'way too kind already. Fact is, I've got a whole bunch of stuff in these bags we can sell. You wouldn't believe the junk I brought with me. If you think it's better to sell it all at once, I'll drag it out. Otherwise, just tell me when we're getting low and I'll haul out some other hunk of tourist garbage."
Her eyes filled with tears. She stroked the camera and said, "I think I know where we can get a fair price for this. Keep the rest of your accoutrements for now--"
"The rest of my what?"
"Your things," she smiled. "I promise to keep you informed if we need to sell more."