Lucy suffered another twinge. Her dad used to sit like that at his desk. Even though her mom always complained that it scuffed the floor.
“Any more clothing in your bag?” he asked.
She nodded, unlaced the opening, and pulled out the sodden mass of her clothes. Her nose wrinkled. They smelled of mold and ancient sweat and the iron tang of blood from her wounded hand. She dropped them on the ground. They were torn and disgusting and probably unwearable anyway. She continued to dig, dropping her dead flashlight, tinderbox, journal, yearbook, survival manual, and her musty, polyester sleeping bag in a heap. Her fingertips touched soft wool at the bottom of the bag and her heart leapt. Her mother’s shawl! Surely he wouldn’t take it from her? He had said plant fibers, like cotton. This was wool. Wool was okay, right?
She withdrew her hand and raised her eyes. “That’s it,” she said firmly, indicating the pile of things. His glance passed over them slowly, and then he nodded and she shoved everything but the clothing back in and tied the laces tightly.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Yes,” she said hugging the bag to her. Could he tell that she was lying?
A furrow appeared across his forehead. “How long were you out on your own?”
She exhaled.
“About a year.” His eyebrows went up, but all he said was, “There are more clothes over there if you need anything. No towels, but you can use them to dry off with, too.” He got up heavily and pointed toward the shower stall. “You’ve got about three gallons of water there. If you use it all before you rinse off, you’ll have to hike a ways to get more.” He handed her a slab of rough soap. It smelled overpoweringly of peppermint and lemons and felt greasy against her palm.
“So? Okay?” he said, preparing to go. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”
Wait. Now that he was leaving, she felt the familiar lump of dread settle in her stomach. Funny how she felt safer when she was out in the open and could see her surroundings. Anyone could approach the tent and she wouldn’t know until it was too late.
“You can leave your old clothes there on the ground. I’ll be right outside.” He met her eyes, nodded, then ducked out the tent flap. She heard his deep voice as he greeted someone. It was comforting to think of him so close by.
The water was not as cold as she had feared. She made a washcloth out of her tank top and paid particular attention to her armpits and the back of her neck. The soap was gritty and so pungent, it made her want to sneeze. She gave up trying to work it into a lather after a couple of minutes, doused her head, and tried to work through the worst of the tangles. She washed her mouth out and ran her finger over her teeth to clean them. When she was done, her skin tingled and she could bear to smell herself.
It was a relief to kick her old clothes to the side. She’d been wearing the same two pairs of jeans for almost a year, the same T-shirts and tank tops and hoodie, washing them in the lake when she could. She’d tried to make her own detergent from soapwort and the fat layer from the belly of a dead squirrel, but it had been a disaster. The stink of cooking lard had driven her from her camp for a few hours, and she’d ruined one of her only saucepans. She sniffed her sweatshirt before tossing it onto the discard pile in disgust. It was funny how she hadn’t really smelled her stink before. She’d gotten so used to it.
She dragged her fingers through her curls one last time, both wishing for and glad there wasn’t a mirror.
The new clothes smelled strongly of bleach and were rough and slightly itchy against her newly scrubbed skin, but they fit okay. She rolled the pant legs up a little, laced her boots, and then dug through the pile looking for a sweatshirt. She needed something with a hood, preferably dark-colored, so she could vanish if she had to. Aha! She pulled out a sweatshirt. It was faded with washing and too big, but she slipped it on, instantly comforted by the fleece lining. Over that went her leather jacket. Now she could rough it outside for a few nights if she had to. She also grabbed another change of clothes, underwear, socks, and a couple of tank tops and stuffed them into her bag.
She shouldered the backpack and ducked outside. The rain had stopped, and the ground steamed slightly in the blazing sun.
Lucy shaded her eyes. The hospital tent stood in its own little area apart from the other lean-tos and awnings she could see scattered on the outskirts of the big square. People clustered together, exchanging worried glances and talking in low voices. None of the young kids were unaccompanied. Each had an older guardian, grim-faced and wary. Some of the teenagers were gathering piles of rocks; some stood along the path Lucy had traveled down, acting as sentries.
Feeling shy and awkward, she spotted Aidan a dozen yards away. He was standing close to that Del girl. Funny how she’d just started calling her that in her mind. Petty and sort of mean, actually, but there was something in the way the other girl held herself, as if she knew that she was beautiful and expected attention for it, that was really annoying.
Aidan leaned into her. Their heads were almost touching. His hand was on her sleeve. She yanked her arm away. A torrent of angry words spilled from her lips. He frowned and made a series of exaggerated gestures with his hands, and suddenly she laughed and pulled him close, her left arm slung around his shoulder. His arm slipped around her waist. It was an intimate gesture, and it halted Lucy in her tracks.
Lucy fumbled with the too-long sleeves of her sweatshirt. She must look like an elephant. And it was way too hot to be wearing all her clothes. Del was in a tank top and a pair of faded cargo shorts.
Slowly, Lucy walked in their direction, her eyes fixed on the pebbly ground. She tried to look as if she had a destination, a purpose. She kicked a rock. A minute ago she’d felt clean, refreshed; now she was sweating. She touched her hair, pushing the riot of damp curls back without success.
“Lucy!” Aidan said, and waved.
Del moved even closer to him. She didn’t smile. Lucy had never been so conscious of tripping as she was now, covering the ground that separated them. She prayed she wouldn’t stumble in front of Del’s piercing blue eyes. And if she did, she hoped she’d be knocked unconscious or something.
“Hi,” she said, reaching them. She was striving for unconcerned and cool, but it came out sounding like a question. Del smirked.
“Del Flowers, this is Lucy…?”
“Holloway,” Lucy said. “Lucy Holloway.” Man, even the girl’s name is exotic.
They shook hands. Del’s eyes slid away from hers, and as soon as she’d given Lucy’s hand the expected up-down shake, she dropped it like it was a snake. Her fingers crept around Aidan’s forearm.
Lucy put her backpack down and shrugged her arms out of her leather jacket. The sun was beating down. The glare beating off the broken tarmac was giving her a headache. She remembered how long it had been since she’d eaten. And most of that she’d puked up. She felt suddenly dizzy.
Del was tiptoeing her fingers along Aidan’s biceps now. He stepped away and bent down to tighten his shoelace. “How’d it go with Leo?” he asked.
Lucy was instantly angry. She remembered the fear she’d felt. “You could have warned me.”
“Would you have stuck around?”
“I almost knifed him.”
Del snickered. “Leo is a black belt. I think he’d probably manage to defend himself against you.”
“Not if he wasn’t expecting an attack,” Lucy fired back.
Del rolled her eyes. “Oh come on! He took on six guys today.” She tugged at Aidan’s arm. “Tell her!”