Free The Shade of the Moon by Susan Beth Pfeffer

domestics. Sarah might bandage grubs, but she’d never eaten
     with one.
    “It won’t be fancy,” he said.
    “It doesn’t have to be,” Sarah replied. “It’s family.”
     
    Saturday, May 30
     
    Jon knocked on Val’s door.
    “What is it?” she asked. “I’m leaving for the bus in a minute.”
    “I know,” Jon said, handing her two books. “I took these out of the library. They’re
     philosophy books. I thought maybe you’d like to read them.”
    Val looked the books over. “Aristotle,” she said. “William James. That’s quite the
     combination.”
    “The library didn’t have much of a philosophy section,” Jon replied. “I know we keep
     you pretty busy, but I thought you could read them before you went to bed. You can
     keep them as long as you want. The library works on an honor system.”
    “That’s very sweet of you, Jon,” Val said. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
    “Well, you want to keep your hand in,” Jon said, “so when they’re looking for philosophy
     professors again, you’ll be ready.”
    “Any day now,” Val said. “Thank you, Jon. I’ll start reading them Monday night. But
     now I’ve got to run if I want to catch the bus to White Birch.”
    It was funny, Jon thought. Monday night he’d be in White Birch.
    He didn’t think that all the philosophy in the world would make the evening any easier.

 
     
    Monday, June 1
     
    Jon had never taken a grubber bus before, and he hoped he never would have to again.
     It was an old school bus, and it was crammed with fifty or more grubs, their stench
     so strong he could hardly breathe.
    His claver ID badge indicated he had the right to sit wherever he wanted. He grabbed
     a seat, then offered it to Miranda, who took it gratefully. Jon stood, shoved between
     Alex and a burly grub who looked like he’d beat all the clavers to death if he ever
     had the chance.
    There was one guard on the bus, standing next to the driver. One guard with a semiautomatic
     to protect him against fifty grubs. Of course if he started shooting, Jon was as likely
     to be killed as any of them.
    Never again, he promised himself. One grubber bus trip in to appease Mom. After this
     he’d take a claver bus or not come in at all.
    The grubs stampeded out of the bus when it reached the White Birch terminal. Miranda
     waited until it had emptied before getting out. Alex helped her down the steps and
     embraced her.
    “How do you feel?” he asked. “Up to the walk?”
    Miranda grinned. “What if I say no?” she replied. “You going to carry me home?”
    Alex laughed. “Jon’ll do the carrying,” he said. “I’ll navigate.”
    “How far is it?” Jon asked. He had never thought about how the grubs got from the
     terminal to their homes.
    “It’s not bad,” Alex said. “About three miles.”
    “Three miles?” Jon said. “You walk that every day?”
    “Twice a day,” Alex replied.
    “You get used to it,” Miranda said. “It would be okay if the air was cleaner. Us pregnant
     women are supposed to get our exercise.”
    “You’re on your feet all day long,” Alex said. “When Carlos and I get our truck, you’ll
     stay home, Miranda. You and Laura. You’ll be ladies of leisure.”
    “What about that place Matt talked about?” Jon said.
    Alex shook his head. “Not here,” he said softly. “Not with so many people around.”
    “We haven’t decided anything,” Miranda said. “No decisions until the baby’s born.”
    “Do you have a boy’s name yet?” Jon asked.
    Miranda laughed. “Tell him your latest one, Alex,” she said.
    “Francis Patrick Xavier Mulrooney Morales,” Alex said.
    “What?” Jon said.
    “See,” Miranda said. “I told you, darling. It’s a ridiculous name. Worse than Harold.”
    “Father Mulrooney saved my life,” Alex said. “My sanity and my life. I owe him everything.”
    “You don’t owe him your firstborn’s name,” Miranda said. “It better be a girl.”
    “You really thinking