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Me: Will do
Dad: I’m sorry
I sigh. Me, too
Sorry because he’s disappointed in me or sorry because I said things I can’t take back or sorry because I don’t know if anything he said is right—I have no idea, but overall, I am sorry. Fighting with Dad doesn’t make me feel good.
Mom responds back to both me and Dad: Be safe. I love you.
Me: I will and you too.
Isaiah flips in his sleeping bag then rubs a hand over his shaved head. “This place have a bathroom?”
I point to the two closed doors. “The one on the right. Don’t shove too much toilet paper down—this place is on an ancient septic system.”
“Great,” he mutters as he stands. He closes the bathroom door behind him and Abby peels her groggy lids open. I hate how she looks—pale, dark circles under her eyes, just plain exhausted and sick.
She didn’t say much after Eric left and I don’t blame her. Eric could be right or he could be feeding her lies. Either way, it’s not a good position to be in.
“Ryan and everyone else will be here soon,” I say, and Abby sits up, her body sagging against the back of the couch she slept on. She gathers her long dark hair away from her face and appears small and young. “We’ll set up an air mattress for you in the bedroom tonight.”
“Explain to me where we are and what we’re doing again.” Abby’s voice is cracked as if she hadn’t used it in years. She glances around the small rustic cabin that has no electricity, possibly wondering if last night was a dream. God knows I’m questioning our current reality.
The open area has a deep ceramic sink made before Chris’s grandfather was born, a wood-burning stove that has a top where we can warm things up, one window, wooden floors and the only piece of furniture is the couch Abby slept on last night.
The cabin is tiny now and when Ryan, Chris, Noah, and West arrive, this place will continue to shrink.
“Remember how you wanted to bale hay with us and I said it was a guys-only thing?”
She barely nods.
I spread my fingers. “Welcome.”
“How long are you here for?” How long does she have until she has to figure out her problems?
“A week, but I’m sure you and I can stay here longer if we n
eed.”
Her gaze wanders to the door. “That shouldn’t be necessary. I don’t want to be away from Grams that long.”
The muscles in my back tighten. “You’re going to have to make some big decisions. None of them should be made fast.”
She doesn’t respond and that pisses me off. Abby’s completely closed down—no emotion, no play in her, just a blank sheet. “What if I needed a ride back into town sooner than a week?”
I jerk to my feet, pulling the sleeping bag up with me and ball it up. “Are you going to consider an option that will save your life?”
She rubs at the wound on her head. “You heard Eric last night, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you know that no matter what I do, my life is forfeit.”
Anger rushes through me. “I didn’t hear that at all. Eric took you last night so you could make the choice to save your own life.”
“Eric could be lying,” she says in a deadpan tone.
“You think he is?” I push. “Because I don’t. I think you’re terrified to walk away from this life. I think you’re chicken.”
