Page 34

chapter thirty-three

Tuck

“You’re kidding.” But I could clearly see she wasn’t. Holy shit. We’d come across a bounty. I’d been ravenous all day in more ways than I wanted to think about, not able to satisfy any of my myriad cravings. Walking had been a constant torture considering my serious case of blue balls.

I hadn’t even realized how much I was suppressing my attraction to Emily while Charlie was around. Because the moment he went away, and even in the midst of danger and uncertainty, I couldn’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to kiss her and feel her softness beneath me.

Emily ripped open the sleeve of crackers and shoved one in her mouth. Then she tossed one to me and leaned her head back as she squirted the cheese into her mouth.

I laughed and she gestured for me to do the same, so I tipped my head and opened my mouth. Emily grinned as she squeezed a generous serving of cheesy goo onto my tongue. Oh God, that was so good. Not as good as the dinner we’d eaten the night before with Tom and Jane and their family, but it’d been a long twelve hours with only a handful of almonds to fill our bellies, and so this was an unexpected windfall. Before I’d realized we’d turned in the wrong direction somewhere, I’d been thinking about snares and wondering how long it’d take to catch something for dinner.

“Wait,” I said, knowing how easy it would be to gorge ourselves on this. “We need to ration. Who knows if we’ll find anything to eat tomorrow.”

She nodded, her mouth too full to speak for a moment. “I know, I know. Okay. Just one more squeeze.”

We each enjoyed another mouthful of cheese and a few crackers and then regretfully packed them away in my backpack. But it was a relief to know that we had something for tomorrow too. Emily lay back on the wooden floor of the fort and smiled up at the canopy of trees. The sun was setting, the resplendent yellow sky filtering through the tree boughs. Everything looked mildly smudged and slightly out of focus as though we’d found ourselves in a make-believe forest. I lay down next to her, our hips touching as we stared upward. “This light,” I said, “it reminds me of the hayloft at Honey Hill.”

I didn’t look at her, but I heard her mouth move into a smile. “Magical,” she said. “That’s how I think of Honey Hill Farm. That’s how I remember it.”

“Golden,” I added. I felt unexpectedly choked up. “My memories of those years are gilded.”

She did look at me then, and I turned toward her. “It’s the first time you’ve talked about Honey Hill to me.”

Our faces were so close. I had this urge to pull away, worried that my body would act on its own accord regardless of what my mind told me was best. But I’d spent the day struggling to move my mind from the way Emily had felt snuggled against me the night before and couldn’t seem to do it anymore. It was exhausting because all I wanted to do was relive the memory of how we’d fit together so perfectly, how silky her skin was, and how, even though the only shower we’d taken in a week had been far too short and extremely frigid, to me, she still smelled like sunshine. “It’s hard for me to talk about Honey Hill,” I admitted. “It…hurts.”

Her eyes filled with empathy. This woman. She was made up of so many different shades. One minute she was irritating me, the next turning me on, and then she looked at me in a way that pierced my damn heart. It was difficult for me to understand her sometimes because I was so black-and-white. And she fascinated me too, just the same way she always had. She was silly and reckless and reactive and strong and fearless and gentle and sweet. And I never knew exactly which version of Emily would appear and it made me crazy, but I also couldn’t get enough.

The sun lowered, the hush of coming night falling over the woods. Emily reached out and used her thumb to smooth the space between my brows. I blew out a slow exhale, relaxing my face. I hadn’t even realized how tightly I’d been holding myself until she touched me in just that spot.

“I thought you were angry,” she murmured. “When your mother died.”

I blinked, surprised by her words. What had been on my face that had reminded her of my mother’s death? Her expression was wistful, slightly sad.

“But you weren’t mad,” she said. “You were sad but also…you were afraid.” She paused, and I couldn’t move, caught in her gaze, rendered mute by this version of her. Sweet. Tender. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see that. I thought you were angry…at life, at me, at everything. And so, when I didn’t get an immediate response, I ran from you. I left you alone because I thought it was what you wanted.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. But I felt captured in her gaze. Seen when I hadn’t experienced that for years, and certainly hadn’t known enough to miss it. And maybe it meant all the more that it was her gazing at me with such knowing depth. Clearly, I cared far more about her opinion of me than I’d allowed myself to believe, mostly because I’d assumed she found me lacking. The gentleness in her eyes made me want to fall into her and never come up for air. I hadn’t felt that type of kindness in so long. I reached out and put my hand over hers, needing so desperately to touch her. “I didn’t even know what I wanted, or needed, back then, Em. How could you have known?”

She sighed. She was so beautiful, especially now, gauzy light shifting over her face. She’d expressed regret about that time, but I had regrets too, ones that I hadn’t even seen clearly until very recently. “In that car on the highway outside Springfield,” I murmured, “you said you’d survived me leaving you once before.” She frowned slightly and tilted her head. “I did. I did do that, Em. I left and barely said goodbye. That wasn’t right. It’s not what a good friend would have done.” I understood now too why I’d sensed something unsaid when I’d denied lashing out at her in the wake of my mother’s death. She’d agreed, but I knew now that she would have preferred that to the stony silence I’d given her instead.

“I should have written to you, Tuck. I should have called. I could have reminded you that you were wanted and loved. Instead, I decided to pretend you no longer existed. It was a coping mechanism, but it didn’t work quite as well as I hoped it would.”

I felt so damn close to her, my throat full with the knowledge that I’d earned something back I thought was lost to me forever. Emily. My sidekick, my friend.

“Do you remember when I asked you to the prom?” she said.

The prom? “No. When did you do that?”

“A few months before you moved to LA.” She looked up at the branches above, one finger twisting in her hair. “I had this stupid fantasy that if we went to the prom together, we’d have this moment on the dance floor where you’d wrap your arms around me and look into my eyes and… I don’t know. Somehow it would set the whole world back in place and we’d return to those magical, golden days.”

I hadn’t expected that. I hadn’t even realized she’d been thinking much about me at all during that time. She’d seemed so focused on her music and all her friends, living the life any beautiful seventeen-year-old girl should live. I’d distanced myself because I had no role in that sort of carefree existence. My life was falling apart as I watched each piece of my legacy dismantled and sold.

She turned her head, her gaze moving over my face. “You were in the barn working and I gathered all my courage and asked if you were going to the prom. You told me you didn’t have time for stupid dances and then you turned away.”

My chest deflated. “Shit. I’m sorry, Em.” I did remember that now. It had hurt me because I’d misunderstood it. “I didn’t know you were asking me to go with you. I thought your question was an indication you didn’t see what I was going through.”

“Maybe it was, partially anyway. Like I said, I thought you were angry and so I didn’t know how to approach you. I was confused and hurt too. And I was also seventeen. But see, Tuck, it was just a moment, a moment where either of us could have reacted differently—better maybe—but we didn’t, and so life moved forward the way it did. That’s what life does in the wake of our choices, good, bad, or in-between.”

My heart warmed. I appreciated the grace she was extending to me. I realized she was relating that moment, and perhaps several others between us, to that dreadful night Abel died. “Life moved forward with no dance-floor moment,” I said. “The one that would have righted everything.”

She turned her body and rested an elbow on the floor, sup porting her head in her palm. “Do you think it’s too late to try it now?”

“To dance?”

“To dance the dance.”

“Here?”

Her lips were so close, and there was a tiny smear of yellow cheese on the corner of her mouth. The need to lean in and lick it off and taste her was so strong, I almost moaned, swelling to life, my body so needy. “Well, maybe not here,” she said. “I mean, we’re horizontal right now and there’s no music. But…in general. Do you think there’s such a thing as creating a moment that rights everything that’s gone so horribly wrong? If one moment can ruin everything, maybe one moment can fix it too.”

The way she was looking at me, as if life itself hinged on my answer, made my breath hitch. And for some reason, whereas I would have immediately dismissed the whimsical idea before right now, something inside was tempted to say, maybe. Maybe there is such a moment, a few seconds that undo every wrong. Maybe. Only Emily could do that—help me see possibility and hope where before I’d seen none. Only her.

And right then, it felt like a form of magic. It felt like—together—we could find that moment if it existed at all.

The sudden boom of gunfire made us both startle, and I got on my knees, peering over the wall of the tree fort, my heart hammering. The noise had come from a short distance away, probably someone hunting in this small section of woods. “We should go.”

“Darn. I was hoping this was a good place to camp.”

“We’re essentially in someone’s backyard,” I said. “There’s a neighborhood right over there. And if folks are hunting nearby, it isn’t safe. Also, if there’s danger, we’d be cornered up here.” I turned and started down the ladder. “We’ll camp somewhere safer that’s close by and start off again in the morning.”

We put our backpacks on once we were on the ground and turned back the way we’d come. The sky dimmed another few shades, turning from gold to amber to twilight blue. It was a chilly night and our breath gusted from our mouths as we moved through the damp forest. We walked for thirty minutes or so, winding back through the park, toward the road where I was pretty sure we’d taken a wrong turn. A glow appeared between the break in some trees, and we slowed. “A fire,” Emily whispered, her teeth chattering slightly. The sound of a harmonica met our ears. “Music,” she said, the longing in her voice was deeper than it’d been when she’d mentioned the campfire.

We had matches, but lighting a fire was always risky, depending on where we were. It would draw others even if it was a necessary risk.

“They’re laughing,” Emily said. “And I hear women.”

“That still doesn’t mean they’re safe.” The way her voice rose hopefully though, told me she was excited by the possibility of more social contact. I’d seen the way she’d lit up each time there was an opportunity to experience fellowship and conversation. I’d always been a loner, happy to be left in my own head, while Emily flourished in a crowd.

“It’s a good bet, Tuck. Come on.” She pulled me closer, and we looked around the trees where we could see four people sitting on two fallen logs situated around a blazing fire. There were two women, a young man, and a teenage girl. I let out a slow breath. I could likely take all of them on if they threatened us. Unless they had a weapon. But I didn’t see one anywhere.

“A guitar,” Emily said, breathless. It wasn’t hard to hear the longing in her voice. Music was her gift, but also, it had always filled her own soul. Emily needed music like she needed air. I’d known her since she was a baby, and it’d always been the case.

“They might not want us to join them though. Everyone is rightfully suspicious right now,” I said. Because regardless of the longing in her eyes, her safety was still my job.

“Leave this to me,” she said as she pulled me from the trees.

The man stood when he saw us, his stance tense, expression wary. “Hi,” Emily said with a smile as she set her backpack down. “We were hoping we might join you.” She reached into the front pocket. “We have marshmallows,” she said, holding up the full bag like a hostess on a game show, displaying the grand prize.

The man’s shoulders relaxed and the women who had leaned together sat back where they’d been and smiled. “Come get warm,” the older of the two women said.

We took a seat and introduced ourselves. “It’s nice to meet you both,” the older woman said. “I’m Prisca, and that’s Vincent and Martha and Ady.”

“Where are you heading?”

“Home to Denver. We were on a cruise when the lights went out,” Prisca said.

“A cruise? Oh my gosh, what happened?” Emily asked.

“Well,” the man named Vincent said. “We were still close enough to port that the backup generators got us back to Galveston, Texas. We were lucky in that regard. We heard there are others out there who were too far away to make it back, completely stranded in the dark.”

My mind conjured a dark ship sitting in the middle of the black ocean, no running water, no flushing toilets. Limited food. What a fucking nightmare.

“You were very lucky,” I murmured.

The woman named Martha reached over and took Ady’s hand, and the girl gave a tremulous smile in return. There was something in the exchange that I didn’t know enough to understand, but I’d noticed it and figured that perhaps they hadn’t been as “lucky” as they’d hoped. “We’ve made it this far and we’re hoping to be home in the next week, depending on whether we can hitch rides. Well, you’re traveling too. You probably know all about that. Where are you coming from?”

Emily handed Ady the bag of marshmallows, and the girl smiled, taking it and removing one marshmallow and passing it on. Then Emily gave them a brief breakdown of what we’d been through, skipping over the worst parts as I assumed they’d done too. Perhaps it was a new unspoken rule that where there were marshmallows and a campfire and friendly souls, the bad in the outside world should be left behind. All of us knew that it would be waiting for us as we set off on our travels again in the morning. And to face it all again, brief respites were necessary. What we did know now, was that Texas was in the dark as well, all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. We weren’t heading in that direction, but the knowledge made me even more certain that California was likely dark too.

“You look familiar,” Ady said shyly to Emily as Vincent handed everyone sticks from a pile they’d obviously collected earlier.

Emily smiled as she took one of the sticks and skewered a marshmallow. The others had already done the same and the sweet scent of melting sugar rose in the air, the smell bringing with it nostalgia. How many times had I roasted marshmallows as a kid, and then burnt my tongue on the hot gooey inside? “Do I?” Emily asked. And then she shrugged. “I must just have that kind of face.”

The girl smiled but looked unconvinced as though she was trying to place this pretty country girl with the long blond braid and winning smile.

Emily nodded over to the guitar as she turned her marshmallow over the fire, the outside turning golden. “Who plays?” she asked.

“I do,” Vincent said. “Or, well, I’m learning. It’s funny, I strapped that on my back as we started off, thinking I’d ditch it somewhere once I was sick of lugging it, but…”

“The music has been important to us.” Martha smiled at Vincent. “Even from a beginner. Do you play?” she asked Emily.

“I do.” I could practically feel Emily vibrating with the hope that they’d ask her to play, and so when Martha picked up the guitar and leaned around the fire to hand it to Emily, I was relieved on her behalf. Emily took it, running her fingers lovingly over the strings and then stood, walking to a spot near the front of the fire where she had room to hold the guitar without bumping anyone. She sat down on a smaller section of fallen tree and began to strum.

I felt the collective stilling as everyone realized how good she was, that dreamy look coming over her face that I recognized well.

She began to sing, and from my peripheral vision, I saw Prisca and Vincent lean forward very slightly, pulled toward her in a way I’d seen others react as well. The song was filled with soul and sadness, and I knew immediately it was one of her originals. Or maybe I’d heard it long before, floating on the breeze and mingling with the scent of citrus.

Did you hum it once, Emily? When you were just a girl, your head full of musical dreams?

She met my eyes through the flames, and I felt a lump form in my throat. I felt briefly hypnotized by the fire and the music, my heartbeat growing loud in my ears. The moment felt ancient and new, and scary in some way I couldn’t even define. And yet despite all my churning emotions, I couldn’t look away.

I was captured, by her beauty, but mostly by her spirit, and maybe it was me or maybe it was her, but I hadn’t seen her shine like this even when she was outfitted in sequins and glitter. She’d shrugged off the nails and the hair and the shimmery makeup, and yet somehow, she glowed all the brighter for it.

I was falling… God, it had happened quickly. Or maybe it had happened far too slowly. But either way, it made me feel both breathless and terrified. Like one of those ships floating alone in uncharted water.

Emily tipped her head slightly as though she’d sensed the minute change in my demeanor as I’d realized the depth of my feelings for her.

The night had descended, and a trillion stars blanketed the sky, the moon sitting on Emily’s shoulder as though it too was leaning in to listen. Her voice was rich and velvety and though I didn’t look around—couldn’t pull my eyes from her—I knew everyone else was as awestruck as me.

Every corner holds a story, every room a memory

Now the silence only echoes with where you used to be

Can we ever be ourselves again in that perfect place and time

The wishes and the daydreams when your promises were mine

I’m searching for a way back to the place I used to know

Because happiness can crumble fast and pain goes oh so slow

In the loneliest spaces, where the darkest shadows gather

I’d find you there, and I’d stay if you’d rather

If I could go back, I’d find you in the dark

If I could go back, I’d find you in the dark

Later, as the fire began to die, our bellies full of marshmallows, Emily strummed one last chord, the quiet of the night falling flat in the wake of her dwindling voice. Prisca yawned and Martha smiled down at Ady, who had fallen asleep on her shoulder, a gentle smile on the young girl’s face.

“That was incredible,” Vincent said quietly. “We’ll never forget it. I mean it.” He sounded slightly choked up as if she had just shown him that there were still good things in the world, and he’d clearly needed the reminder.

Emily looked tired, but peaceful and pleased and we said good-night to them as Emily and I made our way to a spot next to a grouping of pines. Our eyes met in the dim light of the stars and without discussing it, we zipped our sleeping bags together and then climbed inside, our jackets under our heads like pillows. She scooted toward me, and I wrapped her in my arms. “That was beautiful.”

She snuggled closer. “Thank you.”

Maybe the silent agreement to sleep together the way we’d done the night before was easier with the others sleeping nearby, because it offered an element of safety. I wanted her with a desperate aching neediness. But the fact that strangers were close provided limits that would be easy to break had we been alone. But even so, I knew in the last two nights we’d crossed a line, and that if one of us didn’t put a halt to it, it was only heading in one direction from here.

Day Ten

Again, we woke in each other’s arms and then left the others sleeping there in the early hours of dawn. Later, the sun, high in the sky, we heard the rattle of an old car approaching, and stepped off the road, weary from walking and needing a rest anyway. But when a tiny old woman and old man trundled by in the rusty car, Emily ran back to the road and started waving her arms. They came to a slow stop, obviously having seen her in their rearview mirror and we both ran to where they were parked.

“Hi,” Emily greeted breathlessly, producing that Nova-esque smile. “Can we catch a ride?”

The old woman looked her up and down and then glanced back at me. “Where ya headed?” she asked, obviously having assessed that we looked mostly harmless.

“As far west as you’re going,” Emily said.

The woman hitched her thumb toward the back door. “Hop in.”

Emily grinned at me, and I opened the car door so we could both slide in.

We exited the vehicle hours later, having crossed the rest of the way through Oklahoma and into New Mexico, the sunset brilliant over the snowy desert mountains. The old couple, who had been waiting for power to come back on or information to arrive, had finally grown tired of waiting and decided to drive to a daughter’s house about an hour from where we got out. We wished them well and began walking.

That tension that had been ramping up between Emily and me for days now—hell, maybe for weeks, even if I hadn’t acknowledged it at the time—was thrumming between us. The few hours in the car, our thighs touching, Emily’s head on my shoulder as we rocked down the road hadn’t helped matters.

“It seems like there are more people walking today,” Emily said.

“Or maybe it’s just the area,” I answered, though I’d had the same thought. And I suspected the people we’d told the Pritchards to look out for—who would be streaming out of the cities and towns once things got desperate or dangerous or both—had started to multiply.

There was some snow on the ground here and the sun glittered off it, the landscape somehow both stark and rich, and we stopped for a moment to drink it in.

“Should we look for somewhere to camp?” Emily asked, our eyes meeting briefly before we both looked away.

“There are some ranches way out there.” I pointed into the distance. “We could see if anyone is willing to put us up for a night, although I’d expect a no at this point. People will be rightly hoarding, not sharing.”

“There’s at least some shelter out that way among the rocks. How far do you think that is?”

“A few miles. Come on, if we start walking now, we can make it there before dark.”

We set off, walking about a quarter of a mile, when we heard a sound behind us, and turned to see a horse trotting straight toward us.

“Are you kidding?” Emily said. “I was just wishing we had another ride.”

As the palomino got closer, I saw she was wearing a bridle but no saddle. She didn’t seem wary of people, ready to walk right by us when I took hold of her reins. She shook her head back and forth for a moment but then stopped and stood waiting for me to take the lead.

“Are you here by providence?” Emily asked as she pet her cheek. “Poor girl,” Emily said, running a hand down her nose. “There’s not much grass on the ground here, is there? Are you hungry? Who would have let you go?”

“She’s probably just lost,” I said, but I had to figure something bad had happened to her owners if their animal was wandering alone.

“Well,” Emily sighed. “There’s no way to find her home so I guess she’s a free horse now. Should we remove her bridle?”

“Yeah, but I think we should bring her out there,” I said, squinting in the direction we had been headed, toward the ranch far beyond. “There have to be other horses, and maybe that’s even where she came from before getting loose. Are you up for a ride?”

She gave me a skeptical look. “The last time I was involved in a horse ride with you, I almost died.”

I chuckled. “There won’t be any death-defying acrobatics this time. Probably.”

She grinned and cocked her head, the dwindling sun outlining her in a hazy glow, the breeze lifting the pieces of hair that had come loose from her braid. And I knew that no matter what happened here, and for the rest of my life, when I thought of this journey, I’d see her just this way.

I led the horse to where there was a rock that I could stand on and then held on to her, pausing to make sure she wasn’t going to bolt, and then pulled myself up and over. The horse shifted, but seemed mostly unconcerned with having a rider, and so I took my backpack off and gestured for Emily to do the same. I tied them together and then draped them over the horse so they wouldn’t fall off. “Ready?” I asked Emily as I reached my hand out to her.

She stepped up onto the rock and then I gripped her arm and she let out a surprised gasp that turned into laughter as I lifted her, and she landed behind me. Emily wrapped her arms around my waist, her body pressed against my back. “Ready,” she confirmed, her breath warm on the nape of my neck.

We trotted toward the open desert, nothing but the sky and the mountains in front of us. The red clay ground met the pinkish orange sky, pearly light shining through gaps in the clouds and creating spotlights on the snowcapped hills. It was so stunning that all I could do was stare, our bodies swaying as the horse carried us forward, Emily’s soft sigh behind me letting me know she was as awestruck as me.

We trotted at a leisurely pace for a few minutes, the sun lowering and a deep blue joining the swashes of color.

“No death-defying stunts,” she murmured at my ear. “But what do you say we make it across this desert sooner rather than later?”

My heart rate quickened. The ranch I’d spotted was barely visible now in the lowering light and I didn’t want to be in the middle of the desert when the sun went down. But I knew Emily was suggesting an all-out ride for more reasons than safety. She wanted a thrill. And why not when those were currently in such short supply. “Hold on tight, Showboat.”

Emily pulled in a breath, her arms clamping tightly around my waist as I dug my heals into the horse’s sides and her trot moved into a gallop. I leaned forward and so did Emily, following my lead. The horse seemed eager to run, not holding back in the least, the wind whipping her mane back and making me squint and laugh. Behind me, Emily laughed too, her body hot and soft against my own.

We raced across the hard-packed earth, the sun’s flame being quenched by the icy stars. The world didn’t matter. None of my problems or regrets could keep up. It was only us, wild and free, laughing with abandon, blood pumping furiously through my veins, and Emily’s arms holding me like she’d never let go.

We all might crash and burn, but for that moment, for right then, we were young and alive, and we had already come so far that I believed nothing could stop us now.

The sprawling house came into view, a modern-looking barn off to the side and a corral where I saw five or six horses milling about. I pulled on the horse’s reins, and she slowed, her mane falling back into place as her gallop slowed to a trot. I could feel Emily’s heart racing against my back, her laughter fading, quickened breath still warming my ear. “Tuck,” she murmured, and I wondered if she even knew she said my name.

My body felt alive, but so did my heart and my soul. She’d always done that for me when no one else could. And I didn’t even know exactly how, but I’d craved it, needed it, and I’d had no idea how much.

The horse came to a halt, bending her head to nibble at a patch of dry grass.

Emily grasped my shoulders and then climbed around my body to face me, her core pressed to mine as our eyes met, breath mingling. She leaned forward gently as my body hard ened, and I let out a small sound of pained bliss. I wanted her. I wanted her so desperately I was quivering with it.

We breathed together for a few stilted moments, eyes searching, her pretty lips parting. And then I couldn’t hold back another second, suddenly feeling like I’d barely managed to hold on all my life. I wrapped my hand around the back of her neck and pulled her forward and then I met her mouth with mine.