Just a bitter taste in my mouth.
Sweat trickles down the back of my neck.
My hands tremble uncontrollably.
Every inhale too shallow.
Every breath too small.
And then, a gentle hand on my back.
Grounding. Steady.
“We don’t have to do this,” Amos consoles me.
“Just say the word, and we can drive back to Longreach.”
Beth.
Safety.
Phone signal.
A slow inhale through my nose.
I nod weakly, still bent over, one hand in his.
“Yeah?”
“Longreach,” I whimper.
The name I spent my entire childhood clinging to like a raft.
“Okay, baby. You want me to drive?”
“Give me a minute,” I ask.
My body missed the memo.
Another wave of dread hits.
Somehow the tight enclosure of the truck seems to have shrunk.
Just as daunting as the wide open fields of nothingness.
Another dry retch rakes its fingers through me.
This time my breakfast makes a reappearance.
And I’m embarrassed that he saw.
I gather handfuls of grass to cover it.
That’s it.
Slow your breathing, Marco.
Sam whispers to me across the miles.
