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“What about me?”
“Did you like anyone back in Westfall? A boy?”
My heart somersaults in my chest. I shake my head, hoping the setting sun hides the roses on my cheeks.
“What about that guy you were supposed to marry, the president’s son, did you know him?”
I concentrate on scrubbing the shirt, keep my gaze focused on the faded cotton. “No. Not really.”
“What was his name?”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath. “Bishop.” Strange how the sound of a single word can hurt more than a ruined shoulder, cut deeper than a bloody gash.
“Weird name,” Ash says.
“Hmmm…” I look up at her, but she’s busy beating the hell out of a pair of pants. “I think it was his mother’s maiden name.”
“My dad used to talk about the president of Westfall. I guess that would have been Bishop’s grandpa back then.” She swipes a cluster of suds off her forehead with the back of her hand. “You did the right thing, refusing to marry him. He’s probably as horrible as the rest of the Lattimers.”
I stumble away from her. “I’ll s
tart hanging the clean stuff.” My throat is so tight I can barely speak, tears caught trembling on my eyelashes. I remember coming home to Bishop washing our clothes. Hanging them together in the backyard. He was never horrible. Not for a single second. And I can’t even defend him, can’t open my mouth to speak of him at all.
I’m on watch a couple of nights later when Caleb finds me. At night, there are always people on guard around the perimeter of the camp. After a few weeks, my name was put in the rotation. Probably after Caleb figured I could be trusted. I have a love-hate relationship with watch. As much as I like Ash, it’s nice to have a few hours by myself. But being alone in the quiet dark, with only the chilly moonlight and shadows for company, leaves me with too much time to think. And after my talk with Ash at the river the other day, my mind invariably turns to Bishop, the impossible green of his eyes, his real smile—the one I earned over time—his long fingers holding a photograph of the ocean. His good and patient heart. For the most part, I have been able to put away my father and Callie, Westfall and my childhood. But Bishop refuses to stay in the box I’ve made for him, always clawing his way out and demanding to be seen.
Tonight I can’t stop picturing his face on the night he told me he trusted me. Held me in his arms and let me cry over my dead mother, his warm hand on my neck. I blow out a wobbly breath, press the heels of my hands hard against my closed eyes, trying to force his image to fade. I wonder if it will be a relief or a new kind of heartbreak when the day comes I can no longer remember exactly what he looked like, bring to mind every shifting expression on his face.
“You okay?”
I jerk my hands away from my eyes, spin around where I’m sitting, and almost slam into Caleb, who’s crouched down behind me. He holds up both hands, gives me a small smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Then stop sneaking up on me,” I say, using irritation to cover my fear.
“Duly noted.” Caleb holds out a canteen. “Ash was worried you’d get thirsty out here.” I expect him to head straight back to camp, but instead he sits down beside me.
I’m not used to Caleb wanting to spend time with me, not unless he’s teaching me something or keeping Ash company. His gaze is heavy on me, like a spotlight in the darkness. “What?” I ask, glancing in his direction. The moon glints off his face, forms tiny silver starbursts in his eyes.
“You’ve been keeping secrets,” he says.
I was right to be nervous. My heart races, but I steady my breathing. I open my mouth to deny what he’s said, but stop myself at the last second. Caleb’s not someone who will easily accept a lie, especially not a lie from me. “Everyone has secrets,” I say finally.
“True.” A branch breaks in the distance, and we both whip our heads in that direction. It’s nothing, probably an animal out searching for dinner, but I’m glad for the distraction. Caleb, however, isn’t going to be put off. “But your secrets involve Mark Laird.”
I drag a small stick through the dirt beside me, draw a circle, fill it with lines. “Why do you say that?”
“I saw you, Ivy,”
I don’t look up. “Saw me what?”
“With your hand on your knife.” He pauses. “And murder on your face.”
Now I do look at him. I had no idea he was around when I had my confrontation with Mark. I doubt it would’ve stopped me. I doubt anything would have. But it would’ve been good information to have.
“I remember those bruises on your arms when we found you,” Caleb says. “I know what finger marks look like.”
I shrug. “Like you said, it can be tough out here. Alone.”
“What did he do?” Caleb asks quietly. “What is he holding over you?”
