She wipes at her face and lifts her gaze to mine.
I continue, quieter now, uncertain how she’ll take it. “Maybe we could post a notice. In the settlements—on the boards where people look for others. You could include your picture. Let them know you’re alive. It’s something survivors used to do… to find their families.”
“Is that safe?”
“We could take steps to make it safe. A hidden message, something only they would recognize. At the very least, it might stop them from searching… from putting themselves in danger the farther they go.”
She studies my face. “Can we do that?”
“Yes. It’s what some people are doing, even now. Most towns have a board for the lost.”
She nods quickly. “Yes.”
She’s on her feet a moment later, grabbing the Polaroid and pressing it back into my hands. “Oh God, I’m a mess right now, but that can’t be helped.” She fixes her hair, swiping at the damp tracks on her cheeks, then forces a smile into place.
“You look constipated,” I tell her. “Relax your face. There… a little more. Now think of that memory. Your mom reading to you. Your dad in the background telling you to pipe down.”
Something shifts.
A real smile returns, bright and unguarded.
A Lila smile.
I take the picture, catching it before it slips free, and hand it over as soon as it hits my hand. She fans it, watching it develop, her grin refusing to fade.
Her hope is back, and it’s damn nice to see.
“Take all the books you want. In fact…” I snatch up The Tale of Peter Rabbit and wave it in the air. “I’ll do the same. We need to start working on our accents if we’re going to get this storytelling business right.”
Her laughter is music to my soul in a way nothing—not even birdsong—can match.
I push to my feet and hold out a hand. She takes it, and I pull her up as she groans softly, one hand on her belly.
“I suck at accents,” she says. “I tried to mimic Orán’s while we were in the cellar, and the man looked at me like I’d just murdered his favorite pet.”
“It’s going to take some practice,” I say, then attempt one of my own from another of the stories I love, Heidi by Johanna Spyri.
“Everything must have a beginning.”
“Oh God. This poor child’s ears. That’s worse than my mom’s. We are totally screwed.”
We laugh together, and she leans into me, clutching tight. The sound fades, leaving only the quiet between us.
Then she pulls me into a fierce hug.
“Thank you, Eri. For everything. For saving me. For taking care of me. For giving me a safe home—a place to raise this baby—and for looking out for me. And… for making me believe there can be a better life for him than what I’ve been imagining.”
“You don’t?—”
“No, I do. Because without you, he might never meet his grandparents. And I can’t tell you how much it means to believe that could still happen.”
I hold her tighter and nod. Words fail me. Because, in truth, she’s saved me just as much. Not from danger, but she’s softened my soul and opened my eyes to different sides of life I hadn’t realized existed.
She gave me the same kind of hope, where my future no longer feels so bleak.
I pull back, keeping hold of her arms. “What do you say? Should we let the Horseman out today and see how he gets along here? He’s probably in dire need of a bath, and I think he’s spent enough time thinking about the information I shared with him.”
“Yes, I’m sure he stinks to high heaven by now. And God, that man is too damn fine to go around smelling like a gym locker crashed into a garbage truck.”
