The Leftovers

red. And that wide-screen LCD HD-TV— It’s a Wonderful Life was on, of all things—they’d bought that at Costco a couple of months before the Rapture, thrilled by the lifelike clarity of its picture. They’d watched reports of the catastrophe on that very screen, the anchors visibly freaked out by what they were saying, the footage of traffic accidents and bewildered eyewitnesses playing over and over in a mind-numbing loop. And this man standing in front of them, grinning nervously, that was her husband.
    “Wow,” he was saying. “This is quite a surprise.”
    Kevin had seemed a bit flustered to find them standing on the front porch, but he’d recovered quickly, ushering them into the house as if they were invited guests, hugging Laurie in the hallway—she tried to avoid it, but it was impossible in that narrow space—and shaking Meg’s hand, telling her how pleased he was to make her acquaintance.
    “You guys look chilly,” he observed. “You’re not really dressed for the weather.”
    That was an understatement, Laurie thought. It was hard to find really warm clothes that also happened to be white. Pants and shirts and sweaters weren’t a problem, but outerwear was another story. She felt lucky to have a white scarf she could wrap around her head, and a heavyweight cotton hoodie with an unobtrusive Nike swoosh on the pocket. But she needed better gloves—the cotton ones she had were ridiculously thin, the kind you wore to make a surprise inspection—and a pair of boots, or at least real shoes, something a little more substantial than the beat-up sneakers on her feet.
    “You want something to eat?” Kevin said. “I can make coffee or tea or whatever. There’s wine and beer, too, if you want. Feel free to help yourself. You know where everything is.”
    Laurie didn’t respond to this offer, nor did she dare look at Meg. Of course they wanted something to eat; they were starving. But they couldn’t say so, and they certainly couldn’t help themselves. If he put some food in front of them, they would be more than happy to eat, but it would have to be his call, not theirs.
    “Better not look too hard,” he added as an afterthought. “We’re not eating as healthy as we used to. I don’t think you’d approve.”
    Laurie almost laughed. She would have been happy to devour a couple of hot dogs straight from the package to let him know where she stood these days on the subject of healthy eating. But Kevin didn’t give her the chance. Instead of heading into the kitchen like a good host, he just sat down in the brown leather recliner Laurie had bought at Triangle Furniture, the chair she loved to read in on lazy weekend mornings, no lamp necessary, just the sunlight streaming in from the south-facing windows.
    “You look good,” he said, examining her with alarming candor. “I like the gray hair. It actually makes you look younger. Go figure.”
    Laurie felt herself blushing. She wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed on her own account, or because Meg was sitting right next to her. Still, though, it was nice to receive a compliment. Kevin hadn’t been as tight-lipped as some of her friends’ husbands, especially in the early days of their marriage, but the praise had definitely gotten sparser in recent years.
    “I’m going a little gray myself,” he said, tapping himself on the side of the head. “I guess it goes with the territory.”
    It was true, Laurie realized, though she hadn’t noticed the change until he pointed it out. Distinguished, she would have told him if she could. Like a lot of men of his generation, Kevin had seemed boyish long after he’d had any right to, and the gray hair—what little of it there was—added a welcome touch of gravity to his appearance.
    “You lost a lot of weight,” he continued, casting a wistful glance in the vicinity of his own belt buckle. “I’ve been working out, but I can’t seem to get below one ninety.”
    Laurie had to make a conscious effort not to think too hard about his body. It was a little overwhelming seeing him up close after all this time, being confronted with his actual physical self, experiencing the subtle pride of ownership that had been one of the sweeter undercurrents of their marriage: My husband’s a good-looking man. Not handsome exactly, but appealing in a broad-shouldered, friendly sort of way. He was wearing a gray zippered sweater that she used to borrow on rainy days, very roomy and soft to the