July 26

I went to the garden by myself today. I told Mom that I was going to be gone for an hour because Charles needed me at the garden.

"And he's going to be there?" Mom asked.

"Yeah," I said. "He's there every day."

"Tell him to stay indoors more," Mom said. "And be back soon."

Today was another quiet walk to the garden that was interrupted by a loud honk from a distant car. Another person gone, probably fleeing to Texas or Mexico, where life is better and less ashy. I could hear the soft rumble of waves and the rustle of the falling leaves. The sweetgum trees lining our roads have been shedding their leaves like it's autumn, cluttering the roads with bright reds and oranges, shining bright in this gray world.

There was a note on the fence to the entrance of the garden.

Be more generous with the watering. I came here yesterday, and the soil was dry. Charles. PS. I've figured out number two. Make sure to bring boots on Thursday.

Boots? I'm not sure why we'd be using boots when sneakers would work just fine, but I have a strong idea about where we'd be going. There's only one place wet enough to need boots. The beach and all those abandoned mansions.

Why'd he want to go back to the beach? Especially after last time and the body that we found. But it's his wish, and I can only hope that it's worth it.

There was a watering pail next to the faucet and a pair of gardening gloves near the base of the shed. I checked the inside of the gloves to make sure that there weren't any spiders or insects crawling around. Watering the plants was an easy, menial task that felt strange considering that the world is crumbling around us. Maybe that's why Charles loves gardening because it's an escape from our chaotic times.

I put on the gardening gloves and started weeding, but there wasn't much to do. The lack of sunlight is even killing the hardiest plants in the world. I went and checked the shed. There was a lock on the door, but it turns out that the lock was broken, and there was a wealth of insecticides, fertilizers, and tools inside. We could use a lot of these, especially the fertilizer, for the pseudo greenhouse that we're trying to build in the garage.

But I decided not to take it. I know there's a part of me that is telling me to take it. It'll help our family and someone else will eventually find out about the shed and take those supplies away. But I can't take it. For right now, It feels wrong to steal things that are supposed to be community supplies. If things get worse, then maybe I'll change my mind.

When I came back home, I was greeted by the clanging of dishes and pots. I walked into the kitchen and saw jars and boiling pots of water.

"What is happening here?" I asked.

"Canning," Mom said. "Leon knows how to do it, and now's a great time to get it done."

"I thought Dad does the cooking stuff," I said.

"Dad is hiding in his room," May said. "He's supposed to be doing some 'important business.' I think he just doesn't want to be around Leon."

"Do you guys need me for anything?" I asked.

"Yeah," May said. "They're making bread out—"

"Bread? Aren't we splurging a little."

"No," May said. "Might as well make it now while we still can."

"You know, because of the gas situation," she added. "They'll teach you how to knead the bread and stuff."

I walked out, and saw Leon and Mira kneading the bread. They were pretty engrossed in their conversation, and I didn't want to interrupt them, so I just walked around awkwardly until they finished whatever they were talking about, probably something about college.

"Oh, Neal. You're here," Mira said when she turned around after I waited for a solid five minutes.

"You can just give me the dough, and I'll just knead it in the living room," I said. "Not to disturb your conversation."

"You should stay," she said and turned to Leon. "I believe you two haven't met yet."

"No we haven't," Leon said.

"Well. This'll be a perfect time for an icebreaker," she said. "I'm going to leave my favorite boyfriend and my favorite brother—"

"I'm your only brother," I retorted.

She ignored me. "—here to bond with each other. I'll be in the kitchen, helping Mom and May," she said, and I tried shooting daggers from my eyes at her.

Leon and I were stuck in the same room. He moved over next to me with a bowl filled with dough. My heart started beating faster, and for some reason, I started sweating. I think it was because I hadn't spoken to a new person for two months now.

"I'm Leon," he said and put out his hand.

"Neal," I said and shook it.

"So," he said. "The basics for kneading bread are that you want to stretch out the bread a bit. It's alright to be a bit tough on kneading. You want to use the heel of your palm to do most of the pushing, and you want to fold the bread often. When the bread is firm enough for it to hold its shape, you can stop kneading."

"Okay," I said.

I pushed at the dough and rolled it around a bit on the counter. "That's good," he said. "You're pushing a little hard, but, yeah, you're doing fine."

"Thanks," I said and continued folding and stretching out the dough.

We worked in silence for a bit. It was a peaceful silence, only interrupted by the clanging of dishes in the kitchen and the slapping of dough on the wooden boards under the flour balls. "So what do you like to do in your free time?" he asked.

"Read," I said and shrugged.

"That's cool," he said. "Any favorite genres."

"Anything's fine," I said. "Don't really have any preferences."

"None?"

"None," I said.

We didn't really talk a lot after that other than asking to pass some flour or dough. It was very awkward between us. This is the exact reason why I hate being stuck in the same room as someone that I don't really know. It feels impossible to hold a conversation. I hate being so socially awkward.

It feels like a miracle that the rest of the day went along better. For dinner, we all had fresh bread with canned baked beans along with some peas. Mom and Mira and Leon seemed to be getting along well, and they were sitting at the dining table long after Dad ran off to his office for his "official business," and May and I went to our room.

We just stared at the wall until we got tired. There was nothing much to do.

July 27

I had bread with some peanut butter today. It was a little bit crusty, but it tasted like heaven. I guess this is what eating canned food for days and days does to you.

All the adults were working on trying to make the whole greenhouse thing work. The biggest issue right now is heat. Every single day is getting colder and colder. Mom and Dad have brought out old blankets and dusted off some of the lint that was building up on them. We've got an old heater in the garage, but it takes a lot of power to use, and with the sun out, we've got no ability to generate a significant amount of electricity.

Dad was being a little snarky today. I don't know what his anger at Leon is about. It all seems to be irrational and pointless. Mom agrees with me too, but she's too tired to argue about this with him.

"We need more batteries," Dad said. "If the sun comes out, we want to store as much electricity as we can for winter."

"None of the stores are open," Mira replied.

"We can drive around and see," Dad said.

"No gas," Mom said. "Driving is too dangerous. Attracts too much attention."

"We need all the batteries that we can find," Dad said. "At this rate, the ground is going to be frozen by mid-September, and the heaters need a lot of power to work."

"Why don't we just use the fireplace?" Mira asked.

"Think about it, Mira," Dad said. "How are we going to be able to keep the plants warm all night? Fireplaces are too hard to maintain."

Mira didn't say much back.

"Lucky for us," Dad said. "We do have a car here with gas."

He nudged his head to Leon, and everyone stared at him. "I— The car— I need— I haven't got enough gas in the car."

Dad looked at him skeptically. "You had enough to get here. I'll go check. There should be plenty."

"Dad," Mira said. "What's your problem?"

She turned to Leon. "You don't need to listen to my Dad."

"No," he said. "I mean it's fine. But I think we could harvest car batteries from the unused cars. And we could build some pedal electricity generators with the bikes."

"Does anyone here know how to remove car batteries?" Dad asked, and no one responded. "That's what I thought."

"We should work on this some other time," Mom said. "We're not getting anything productive done. Hopefully, a breath of fresh air will help everyone work better."

So Mom and Dad left the garage, and Leon and Mira took off their gloves.

"So long for that wish," Leon said.

"What wish?"

"Your Dad not hating me," he said. "I can literally feel his contempt."

"Dad is being a jerk," Mira said. "It's infuriating. You know he still treats me like I'm some teenager or something."

"I've always said you were young at heart," Leon replied and Mira glared at him before breaking into a soft chuckle.

"But I mean, it's so frustrating," Mira said. "I feel like when we get along best is when I'm doing the listening and he's doing the talking, but as soon as I want to do something, all of a sudden it's just unacceptable."

"I mean, it's our parents," he said. "That's what they do. When my older brother— have you met him?"

"I don't think so," Mira said.

"Phillip. He's taller than me, darker hair."

"Definitely not."

"Oh," he said. "But anyway, when he went to college, my parents literally stalked him."

"Like literally stalked him?" Mira asked. "Or figuratively?"

"Literal stalking," Leon said. "They called at least twice a day and cyber-stalked his social media accounts and friends. Once every week, they'd drive up north to meet him, and they'd have lunch and—"

"What's the point?" Mira asked.

"Our parents are overprotective," he said. "They feel like their decisions are best for you even though you might not agree. Sometimes independence scares them. No, most of the time, it scares them."

"But how can I make this overprotectiveness stage pass quicker," Mira said.

"I don't know," Leon said. "I'm the second child, not the oldest one."

"So you told me a whole story, and then you can't even help me with this problem," Mira said. "You're terrible at giving advice."

"It's why I never wanted to be a counselor," he said, and they both laughed.

The rest of the day went by pretty quietly except for when Mom and Dad duked it out in their room. May and I could hear it. Luckily, Mira was still hanging out in the garage with Leon, so I didn't hear much.

"What is going on with you?" Mom asked Dad.

"Nothing. Nothing is going on," Dad said.

"Don't lie to me," Mom said. "You've been harassing Leon ever since he's gotten here."

"What am I supposed to do if some boy just comes in and proposes to my daughter?" he asked. "I haven't even met the kid."

"Don't you trust Mira's judgement," Mom said. "She's an adult. She has a right to choose whoever is best for her."

"If this boy is going to be a part of our family, then I have a right to get to know him."

"Getting to know him is fine," Mom said. "But you don't need to be cruel. You can ask him about his family or his childhood or his favorite whatever, but you don't need to put him on the spot and force him to do something he clearly does not want to do."

"Mira's not your baby girl anymore," Mom said. "If she wants to get married to Leon, then she'll get married. We'll clap and be happy for them, and if she wants to leave, then we won't stand in her way."

"So you're just going to let her leave," Dad said. "We might never see her again."

"But if he leaves, Mira might never see him again. And if he stays, he'll never see his family again," Mom said. "Someone is going to lose something, and we'll have to be selfless enough to be the ones to make that sacrifice."

Dad began to breathe heavily. Was he crying? "You know that I love Mira."

"Of course," Mom said. "You two have always butted heads. Both of you guys are stubborn as bulls."

"And I'll love her," Mom added. "Even if she chooses to leave."

Mom and Dad began to talk in quieter voices. If I wanted to, I could've taken a glass to their door and listened, but it felt wrong. Some things are best kept as secrets.

I managed to find some old hiking boots in the closet for Charles' trip tomorrow. They don't fit that well since they were from a couple years ago, but I think I'll be fine. I'll only be using them for a couple of hours anyways.

I'm trying not to think about the body by the ocean, but I can't help it. Every time someone turns on the water, I can't help but to think of the waves rolling and crashing by the beach houses and that rotting body. Every time the tide pulls closer to our house and the stench of the rotting seaweed of the ocean wafts into our house, I think of the drooping flesh and grayish carcass. I've been able to suppress these thoughts, but after Charles' note, I can't stop thinking about it.

Hopefully the nightmares don't come back.

July 28

The sky was blue and gray, and the day was cold. I met Charles in the garden.

"We're going to the ocean, aren't we?" I asked.

"Yep," he said.

"Why?"

"Just because..." he said. "I'll tell you later."

"Alright," I said, and we walked towards the ocean.

There was a thin mid-afternoon fog creeping in from the ocean, and the sky was dim and faded. We passed by abandoned homes with roofs caked with gray, and tall sycamores shedding their leaves for winter even though summer hasn't ended. The air was salty, and as we neared the beach, I could taste the briny air of the sea. It made me feel a little nauseous.

No one was outside. Except for the woods and the food gathering on Saturdays, everyone seems to have disappeared or retreated into their homes. Charles and I talked as we walked down cracked sidewalks to the beach, but it was in hushed whispers to keep the eerie silence around us.

"You want to go first?" Charles asked when we reached the tattered yellow tape marking the disaster zone.

"You can go ahead," I said. "I hope your ocean visit is worth it."

"It will be," he said and gestured around. "Trust me."

He stepped under the caution tape, but I stood back.

"C'mon," Charles said. "We should get moving before the tides start rolling in."

"It's too dangerous," I said. "I don't really want to go."

"It's safe," Charles said. "Do I really need to pull out a chart of the tides and wind patterns of our local beach along with a weather almanac to check the probability of there being a storm surge in the middle of summer?"

"That was rhetorical," Charles said. "The tides are going to be going down for another hour. We won't get caught in the waves."

"I don't understand why you'd want to come back here," I said.

"You'll see. Do you really want me to force you to come with me? I will if I have to."

"Screw you," I said and stepped under the tape and into the abandoned neighborhood.

The asphalt was still damp— the tides must've recently retreated— and there was kelp and seaweed scattered around the smooth sidewalks.

"You really wanted to come back," I said and poked at the rotting pieces of seaweed. "This is just disgusting."

"I've got some stuff to figure out," he said and paused for a breath.

"Well, I hope it'll be worth it," I said and kicked a muddy stone.

The closer we got to the beach, the sharper the small of the ocean was. It was this sharp mixture of salt, seaweed, and dead fish that clung to the concrete sidewalks and the sand-streaked walls of the houses. All the trees lining the streets were dead along with the bushes and lawn grass. Algae replaced them, little bits and pieces clinging to rotting stairs and windowsills. There was even a car that washed up onto someone's porch. "How did this end up here?" I asked.

"God knows," Charles said. "The waves and tides did their thing, and it ended up there."

"I'm going to sit here," he said and pointed at a wet metal bench that was anchored to a cracked concrete slab. "Just for a couple of minutes to catch my breath."

"We're close by," I said. "It'll be a couple minutes to the beach, and we'll be back soon."

"You can go on ahead," he said. "I'll be right behind you."

"I'll sit here," I said and sat next to him. "No point in going ahead if this is what your bucket list is."

We sat next to each other, breathing in the briny ocean air. I noticed then that Charles didn't look so good. He was a little pale, and gaunt with this hollowness in his eyes. He looked sick or something. I wasn't sure. The wind blew and Charles looked at the sky. "You looking for the Sun or God?" I asked.

"Neither," he said. "I'm looking at the sky because I want to."

There was another silence between us. The waves crashed and roared in the distance, and the clouds overhead darkened.

"Is—" I said and hesitated. Charles looked at me quizzically.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" Charles quickly asked back.

"I don't know," I said. "Never mind."

"Things are fine," he blurted out. "As fine as they would be in this world. C'mon let's go now."

Something wasn't fine. I know this because I do this too, saying I'm fine and changing the topic as quickly as I can. I put my suspicions aside because we could figure this out on the way back, and we continued walking towards the beach.

The image of the dead body flashed through my mind. I shuddered, bile rising up my throat. All those nightmares began flashing back with the dead, rotting bodies lying in the shallow water, bloated and gray. I hunched over, breathing hard. "Everything alright?" he asked.

I took a few deep breaths and calmed my racing heart. "Yeah," I said. "Just get a little seasick at the smell of the ocean."

"We're almost there," he said.

The mansions a couple of blocks away from the beach were ruined. Piles of sand covered the roofs and mud smeared the walls. Everything smelled musty and the air was damp. Some of the wooden fences had barnacles clinging onto them, and in a couple of bird feeders and loose tires, there were small pools of sand and water with snails lying around them. Kelp was scattered all over the sidewalks along with mussel shells and sea stars.

"Look at that," Charles said and pointed to the left.

It was a sailing boat smashed through the giant windows of the mansion. Tattered pieces of cloth hung from the pole, billowing with the wind. The body of the boat was scratched and scarred, and there was some lettering on the side, though I'm not sure what it read. "What's the name of the boat?"

"C-A-S- something - O-P- and ending with something that has a diagonal," Charles said.

"Cassiopeia," I said.

"How do you know?"

"I read it in a book," I replied. "Cassiopeia was some rich, Greek queen that got punished by being put in the night sky. Or that's how I believe it went."

"This situation is totally not ironic," Charles said and gazed at the boat. "Let's go to the beach before the tides start to rise."

We trudged down the muddy avenue, sand crunching under the soles of our shoes. When we reached the coast side road, I could see the whole beach, a wide expanse of tan and brown, dotted with driftwood, clumps of kelp, and a sailboat sinking in the mud. There were large, dark stones protruding from the sand, and there were shallow pools of water in the dips and ditches formed by the receding waves.

Our beach was a thin sliver of sand before, barely expanding and receding as the tides went up and down. But when I looked at it today, it was vast, extending hundreds of feet into where the ocean used to be, and the waves crashed far in the distance, frothing white.

"We're heading down," Charles said.

"It'll be dangerous," I said. "There might be pits of quicksand or something. I don't know."

"The sand is too dry," he replied. "You can throw some rocks onto the beach if you want to."

I grabbed a couple of softball-sized rocks. They were damp and slimy, and I nearly dropped them as soon as I felt them. I took a couple of steps back and hurled one. It landed in a shallow pond of sand with a soft thud and then swiftly sank under the sand.

"See?" I said. "Quicksand."

"Rocks will sink in wet sand, especially because you chucked it that hard," Charles said. "Anyway, even if you're right, we'll only be staying close to the stairs. The sand should be drier, and there won't be any quicksand."

So we walked down the concrete stairs to the beach. The cement was slick with seaweed and slimy with a smattering of shells all over the gray surface. Charles stood on the beach, and I stood behind him, breathing in the ocean air. I thought I'd see my nightmares of the dead bodies, but there was nothing.

Charles stooped down and started taking off his shoes and socks. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"I want to feel the sand under my feet," he said.

"What are we really doing down here?" I asked. "I just don't get the point."

Charles dug his feet deeper into the damp ground, tan sand squishing through the gaps between his toes. He took a deep breath. "You remember the body we found."

"How could I forget?" I replied.

He chuckled. "I wish I could forget."

"Don't we all wish we could forget," I said.

We stood there for a while, just staring at the sea. The tide was still receding, and the crashing of the waves became softer. Charles turned towards me. "This is going to be embarrassing, but I've been having dreams— no, nightmares— about the body. Like, I can't get the image out of my mind," he said. "Have you been seeing it in your sleep too?"

"Maybe," I lied. "I don't really remember my dreams that well."

"Lucky," he said. "You're real tough."

I felt guilty for lying. Charles sighed and looked out at the ocean. "You do remember some of your dreams, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "A couple."

"I know it sounds crazy, but have you ever had a dream that felt so real that when you woke up, for the first few moments, you can't tell the difference between what was real and what was part of your dream?" he asked.

"Yeah. Lots of time for school related dreams," I said, and Charles looked at me strangely. "What? I'm not judging you."

"Well that's been happening with the body and the ocean. Most nights I go to sleep, and my mind just can't help wandering to the body."

"So then why the beach?" I asked. "Why come back if this place is haunting you with nightmares?"

"Every time that I dream, it keeps twisting this place into something that is worse and worse until I don't remember what the beach and all this flooded area was like before," he said. "Because my dreams and reality just became one another. I came down here just to see— to prove— that it's not as bad as I dream about."

I didn't say much. It was so deep, maybe too deep. I don't think I had ever had someone just confess that much to me. Charles turned towards me. "You probably think I'm crazy?"

I shrugged. "We should get going," he said and started walking up the concrete stairs.

I took a deep breath. "Wait," I said. "I lied about not having nightmares of the body."

The ocean breeze picked up, and the beach echoed with the crashing of the waves.

"I had them," I said. "Still do, though not as much. I do think of the body. Whenever the ocean breeze wafts into my house the body passes through my mind. Whenever I hear the waves crash or think about the beach, it's there. And the nightmares. I've dreamed of a lot of people as bodies. My parents. My sisters. You."

I expected Charles to crack some witty joke then about me having dreams of him, but there was nothing.

"Why'd you lie then?" he asked.

"Because it's embarrassing," I said. "It's so just so embarrassing. I don't know why."

"Is it because you don't trust me?"

"No," I said. "I do trust you. It's just that I feel uncomfortable. I just have a hard time with these things."

"Look," I said. "Since we're telling each other the truth, what's going on with you?"

"There's nothing wrong," he said. "I'm fine."

"No you're not," I said. "You look sick right now. I know that times have been hard, but you look really sick. And all this pausing while you're walking and panting. You used to be the fastest guy in the class. We always competed for the best mile time."

"We need to head back. The tides are coming up, and I've got to tend the garden."

"And your obsession with gardening. That came out of nowhere," I said, and then I paused. All the dots began to connect in my brain. The constant gardening. His gaunt face. Him always bending down to take deep breaths. "Are you out of food?"

"Please," he said. "Let's head back. Waves are coming in and it's going to be dangerous."

"Please, just tell me the truth. Are you starving?"

Charles turned and faced towards me. When I saw the look on his face, I just knew that I was right. Charles sighed. "At the beginning, my parents thought everyone was overreacting. Sure the tides came in and ravaged our town, but the government was going to step in and fix everything. While everyone else was hoarding up food and raiding the supermarkets, we stayed at home and pretended like everything was normal."

He looked at the horizon. "But the recovery took longer than what they expected and even though we were getting food from the food drives, it wasn't quite enough to live on, but it was enough to survive on. But when the volcanoes hit and the food packages started getting smaller, we knew that we were in trouble. Mom and Dad pawned away their rings and silverware and old necklaces for cans of food. We ration it, but we're running out and we've sold everything that we could sell."

"How many do you have left?"

"About twenty," he said. "We share two cans a week along with the eighteen we get in total from the food drive."

"Well why'd you not tell me?"

"Same reasoning as you," he said. "Too embarrassed. Too scared. I don't know."

"I can give you food," I said. "My family has got plenty—"

"Keep them for your family," he said.

"You're basically family," I said. "I'll sneak out a few cans every week from the pantry. May does that all the time and no one notices."

"Look, I really don't—"

"Just trust me," I said.

We stood there awkwardly for a couple seconds. "We should head back now," he said. "The tides are coming up."

"Yeah," I said. "Let's go."

We walked through the sand-streaked neighborhood. The sky hovered high above us, dark and gray, and the bare trees looked like salt-bleached skeletons. "Do you ever want to come back to the beach again?" I asked.

"Maybe," he said.

We didn't talk much afterwards. When we parted ways, I told him that I'd bring food every Friday.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," I said.

When I got home, Mom looked at me strangely. "Did you go down to the beach," she said. "You smell like the ocean."

"No," I lied. "We went to the border of the flooded neighborhoods. Charles wanted to use some of the seaweed as fertilizer, and last night, the tides rose pretty high and carried the kelp past the caution tape, so we never crossed it."

"You sure?" Mira asked and Mom gave her a strange look, but I knew what she meant.

"Yes," I said.

Was I really breaking the deal we made before? I don't think so. I haven't been honest, but I don't think that this situation would be important to her because it's something between me and Charles.

July 29

I went out to the garden with the bag of food that I promised to Charles. I grabbed the food in the morning before everyone else was even awake. Last night I didn't get much sleep, not because of the nightmares, but because I was nervous about taking food from the pantry.

When the sun was barely creeping above the horizon (I believe. With all the ash clouds in the sky, determining the sun's position is hard), I went into the pantry and grabbed five cans, two cans of mixed vegetables, two of brussel sprouts, and one of tuna, and changed up the spreadsheet. I wish I could've given him more food, but I can't take so much that Mom and Dad begin to notice.

When it came time to bring the food to Charles, I grabbed a backpack and stuffed the cans into them before heading out to the garden.

"What's with the backpack?" Mom asked.

"Charles says that we might be getting a harvest soon."

"Is the mask on tightly?" Mom asked.

"Of course," I said. "I'll be back in an hour."

The backpack felt heavy as I walked. The clouds laid heavy in the sky too, but not with rain, but with ash. The garden looked sad. Most of the leaves on the crops were stunted and short and some of them just wilted on the sides. Charles was bent over, pushing some soil around.

"I brought it," I said. "Do you have a bag?"

"Yeah," he said and grabbed a sack-bag from the corner of the garden.

I placed each can into the sack-bag, careful to not bend or break them even though I knew that they were durable. "Thanks," he said.

"No worries," I said and paused. "Do you need any help? The garden looks a bit sad."

"It's not all bad," he said. "The cherry tomatoes are growing well and so are some of the root vegetables. We might harvest them in a week."

"What about the cabbage?"

"Dead," he said. "Just not enough sunlight to sustain them."

"Do you need me to water anything?"

"No," he said. "You've done enough. You can go if you want."

"You sure?" I asked.

"You'll need time to think about your next wish," he said.

"We're still doing this?" I asked. "Seriously?"

"Of course. I'm not letting any apocalypse get in the way of summer," he said. "So next week you'll come up with something?"

"I'll try my best," I said.

We said our goodbyes and I left the garden early. A chilly breeze gusted through the thin wire fences, picking up leaves and throwing them at the fence. It felt like winter. Most of the trees were bare, except for the buckeyes, whose leaves were sprouting from bare branches.

When Mom asked if I had brought back vegetables, I told her that we might get vegetables next week. It felt like the only truthful thing I've said to anyone in my family over these two days. It's the nearly end of July, and the weather is getting colder and colder. I think we'll make it through— at least for a while— but I'm worried that Charles and his family won't.