Soft hands wrapped around my arm, and I looked down to see Sophia staring up at me with tears in her eyes. “Caleb, I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
I pulled her close, kissed the top of her head, and said, “There’s nothing to say, Sophia. Now we just have to try to move on.”
“What about Lauren. Is she going to be all right?”
I didn’t have an answer for that, so I held her and said nothing.
*****
Lauren was doing remarkably well.
Night had fallen, and the medics finally allowed me to visit her in the medical tent. She was sitting up on her cot eating a bowl of soup when I walked in.
“Hi there, sweetheart.” She put her bowl down on a small table and let me kneel and pull her into a hug.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
“I’ve been better, Caleb. I’ve been better.”
“Are you in pain?” I whispered. “I have some pain meds stashed in my pack. You can have them if you want.”
The look of relief in her eyes made me want to weep. “Oh God, that would be so great. They don’t have much to give me here. My … um … you know, they had to stitch things up.”
This time, there was no stopping the tears. I felt them flow down my cheeks and pulled the woman who had raised me like her own into my arms and rocked her back and forth, bitterness and rage and despair warring for dominance. “I’m so sorry Lauren. I wish I had gotten there sooner.”
She hugged me back, and I felt warm wetness spread on my shirt where she pressed her face against it. “Don’t, Caleb. You did the best you could. You saved me. Again.”
We stayed that way, holding each other. Finally, I let go and sat down on the cot beside her. We talked for a while, mostly about how Dad was doing. I asked if she wanted to see him yet, and she said she wasn’t sure she was ready. I used the conversation as a pretext to surreptitiously fish the bottle of pills from my pack and stash them under her pillow. She watched me do it, and mouthed, Thank you.
I leaned in and whispered, “It’s oxycodone, so don’t take more than one every eight hours, okay?”
She hugged me again, her face turned away, and said, “Don’t worry. I won’t.”
A few minutes later, Lauren said she was happy to see me, but she was very tired. “And I’m not going to lie,” she added. “I’m really looking forward to taking one of those pills.”
“I understand.” I kissed her on her cheek and asked, “Anything else you need from me?”
“Just one thing. If you could send Lola by, I would appreciate it. I need her to get something for me.”
“What is it? Maybe I can get it for you.”
She flushed and said, “No, honey. I’d prefer if it was her. Girl stuff, you know.”
“Oh. Say no more. See you in the morning, Lauren.”
“Goodnight, sweetie.”
I hugged her one last time and left.
*****
The next morning, I woke up to the smell of food cooking and Sophia’s warm body next to mine.
While I was visiting Lauren the night before, Mike had hauled the camper outside the gate and left it by the side of the road, so we were all sleeping in tents. Not that I begrudged Mike for getting rid of the camper; blowing Farrell’s brains out had made a hell of a mess. Furthermore, I could only imagine how traumatic it would be for Lauren to see the camper again and be reminded of what happened to her there. I would sleep on a bed of nails if it spared my stepmother that pain.
Lola and Tyrel were already up and busy cooking canned meat, rice, beans, and flatbread over an open fire. I left Sophia sleeping and followed my nose toward breakfast.
“Smells great,” I said, sitting down in my chair.
“Thanks,” Lola replied, smiling. I watched her for a moment, having a hard time believing the change that had occurred in her. She had gained weight—not much, but enough she did not look gaunt anymore—and the bags under her eyes were gone. She moved with easy grace, her eyes bright and alive. It could not believe I was looking at the same sad, sallow, booze-soaked woman we had found hiding from the world at Canyon Lake.
Shifting my gaze, I noticed Tyrel watching her as well, smiling, his dark black eyes glistening with what I could only describe as infatuation. Lola seemed to be aware of the scrutiny, but made no effort to discourage it. Quite the opposite, actually. Despite the leaden pain in my chest, I found myself smiling.
“Hey, Earth to Ty,” I said, tossing a pebble at my old friend.
“What?” he grumped, throwing the pebble back at me.
“How’s the leg?”
“Stiff as hell,” he said, straightening it out and wincing. “But getting better. It was a through-and-through, no deformation of the projectile. I can walk on it without a crutch now, but it’s still slowing me down. I’ll be glad when it heals up.”
There were probably only a few people in the world who could handle a gunshot wound to the leg with such aplomb, and Ty was one of them. I reminded myself never to get on his bad side.
“Glad to hear you’re getting better. Now how about some of that grub?”
“How about you get off your ass and come get it?”
Good old Ty. Such a giver.
I found a clean plate, piled it with grub, and covered the whole works with a piece of flatbread. Despite the growling in my stomach, I waited a few minutes for steam from the food to soften the stiff bread. When it became limp to the touch, I piled the ingredients and gorged on what I had affectionately come to refer to as camp tacos.
Lola sat down next to Tyrel and started eating her breakfast. I asked her, “Did you go see Lauren last night?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did you get her what she needed?”
She nodded, swallowed a mouthful of beans, and said, “Yeah, but it was kind of a weird request coming from her. She doesn’t normally drink.”
I went still. Cold dread bloomed in my chest and spread to my face and hands. There are moments in life when seemingly unrelated events suddenly become warning signs, when a highlight reel of red flags you should have connected long ago flashes through your mind. Maybe you were distracted, or scared, or angry, or some other pressing matter demanded your attention. Whatever the case, there is an instant of clarity, and those signs suddenly coalesce into a single aggregated realization. A terrible understanding descends.
“What did you give her, Lola?”
Something in my voice made her look up, eyes wide and round. “I told you. She wanted a drink, so I snuck her a bottle of lemon vodka. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
I dropped my plate and sprinted for the medical tent.
She wasn’t in her cot. The tent was empty. I stumbled outside, heart pounding, a loud ringing in my ears. A soldier walked by whom I recognized, one of the medics from the night I had brought Lauren in. I ran to him and grabbed his arm.
“Where did she go?”
He stepped back, one hand raised defensively. “Whoa! Calm down, man. What are you talking about?”
“My stepmother, Lauren Hicks. The woman I brought in the other night. Where is she?”
The medic shrugged. “I don’t know, man. You tell me. She said she was going back to your campsite when she left.”
The ringing grew louder. I had to shout to hear myself over it. “What time did she leave?”
“Around midnight. Why? What’s the problem?”
I wanted to gouge his eyes out. I wanted to pull my gun and shoot him in the face until the trigger clicked on an empty magazine. “You … let her leave?”
“Of course. There was nothing else we could do for her. I don’t have the authority to make her stay if she doesn’t want to.”
“Did she take anything with her?”
“Um … a few personal items. I’m not sure what they were; she wrapped them up in one of her shirts. Oh, and she borrowed a pen and a notepad from me. If you find her, could you ask her to bring those back? We’re kind of … hey, where you goin’?”