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loss, so Mike would be forced to acknowledge both but with more pity than joy. I’d used the technique on my mom a few times before. Like telling her the good news and the bad so they kind of canceled themselves out.
    Mike would have a hard time feeling jealous or envious when he also had to see we had bad things happening to us as well.
    His emotions sprinted across his features, joy and despair. “We have extra supplies. Stay here as long as you like. And oh man, congratulations. Did you marry them?” Mike stood, opening his arms for a hug.
    I leapt into them. The man was really a large teddy bear, the kind you could win at a fair. He squeezed me tight, rocking us back and forth. “That’s real good, you two, real good.”
    Bodey joined us and together we moved in a soft swaying motion as he reveled in our good news. Happiness rekindled for our day, even amongst the ashes of so much loss.
    “If you’re leaving tonight, Mike, do you mind if we stay on for a day or two? We need to rest after the last couple weeks we’ve had.” John moved beside us, clapping Bodey’s shoulder.
    We pulled apart. I’m sure my outfit was explained by then, but did anyone care but me? I still wore my wedding dress. I wanted to be close to my husband. Oh wow, husband – I had a husband – and I was only nineteen.
    My birthday might have a bed in it.
    “Of course, you don’t need to ask. Take whatever you need or want. We were going to eat some lunch and then leave. Want to get there before they decide not to take anyone else, you know?” He placed his hands on his hips. “Let me tell Mary you’re here and we can all eat something together.”
    “Sure, thanks, brother.” John shook Mike’s hand. Once our host left to climb the stairs, John turned toward us, a partial smile warming me. “We’re going to eat something besides bark and sleep on an actual bed tonight.”
    Like Before.
    Now that was a happy birthday.
    Chapter 6
    Eating with Mike and Mary dug a hole in the center in our happy day. We couldn’t find any topic which didn’t make Mary or Mike didn’t know something about everything. They really had changed in the few months since we’d last seen them.
    Their house had lost something with the death of their two children. Shadows stretched from the corners and sadness stalked us as we walked from table to living room to the outhouse to the rooms they had for us.
    Mary and Mike didn’t finish their refried beans and rice, actually pushing their plates to the center of the table to stand. Waste wasn’t common and I watched the plates to make sure they weren’t some kind of illusion.
    Mike spoke, his cheeks pale and eyes deadpan. “We’re going to leave. Thank you again for visiting. Make yourselves at home. We won’t be back.” He nodded briskly, walking away from us.
    His wife didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge us as she walked away from the table. She stopped at the chair across from me, a black plastic booster seat propped on the cushion. Her long fingernail scraped over the textured surface and she whispered. “I don’t ever want to see one of these again.”
    The door closed behind them without even another goodbye.
    John chewed in silence, taking a second serving from the stainless steel pots resting on bamboo trivets in the center of the table.
    I shoveled more food into my mouth. Getting full wasn’t hard. One bite maybe two and I felt like I could roll from my chair. Consistent hunger will do that to your body, shrink your stomach. The rest of me wouldn’t stand for the stomach’s weakness. The too-full sensation was ignored and I continued eating. The discomfort of “full” was more welcome than the sharp pangs of hunger and permanent emptiness.
    Things seemed more hopeful.
    In between mouthfuls, Bodey pointed his fork at John. “Why can’t we go to the community? They asked us along with them. That might have been fun, different, you know?”
    John finished chewing. He swigged some