Page 95 of Within These County Lines

“Whitley—”

She limps past me, clipping my shoulder as she goes.

“You shouldn’t be walking. Your ankle is bigger than a basketball.”

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”

She barely makes it to the kitchen before losing her breath, leaning against the wall for support.

“Chill for a second.” I place my hand on her lower back. “What can I do to help?”

She shoves me away. “I’m fine. Just get me some water.”

I nod and jog to the sink. I fill a glass with water, then open the freezer to find an ice pack for her ankle. It’s empty. The ice tray holds mold instead of cubes. The fridge is also bare except for a few soda cans. I grab one, feeling the cold in my palm, and head back to the living room.

Whitley is on the couch with her legs stretched out. Bennie places his head in her lap.

“Here,” I say, handing her the glass of water. “And this is for your ankle.” I hold up the cold soda. “It was all you had.”

She guzzles the glass of water in a few seconds, then swipes the soda from my hand and presses it against her injury.

“Thanks,” she mutters. Her face is stuck in a grimace. “Where were you last night?”

“I went to West Virginia to find Dara, remember?”

She nods slowly. “Yeah, but do you remember promising to come back to help coyote hunt?” Her words slice through me. “Maybe I wouldn’t have fallen if I wasn’t alone.”

I forgot. Our conversation was only yesterday, but with everything going on, it feels like months ago. The details are blurred. But not enough so that I can’t recognize I’m wrong.

I drop my head. “I’m so sorry, Whitley. I totally forgot. When we realized Dara was like us, we—”

“It doesn’t matter.” She pushes off the couch and hurls the soda can into the kitchen sink. It explodes on impact and sprays fizz into the air.

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk.”

I frown. “Why don’t we relax?”

“We?” she asks. “I want to be on my own.” She exits through the rear storm door. Its metal spring whips the screen back into my face.

“It’s going to be dark soon!” I call after her. “What if we went coyote hunting instead? We could sit in a tree somewhere. It’ll be easier.”

She spins.

“Don’t pretend like you care about that now.” Her voice shakes. “You were late for our dawn hunts and skipped the dusk ones.” She grabs Bennie’s wagon from under a bush. “C’mon, boy.” She pats her thigh. Bennie hobbles past me and jumps into the red wagon. He spins three times before curling up into a ball. Whitley grips the handle and marches toward the woods.

My shaky hands move through the air without purpose. “Wh . . . Wh . . . Whitley.” I jog after her.

“Why can’t I do this like you’re trying to help Xander, huh? You got me researching witches, for shit’s sake. I’m allowed to go for a walk with my own dog.”

I flip my hands. “I never said you weren’t allowed. It’s just a weird time to—”

She karate chops the space between us. “Do you want to know the real reason we’re not going coyote hunting anymore?” Spit flies off her lips.

My feet falter. “Why?”

“The coyote has a family.” Her voice cracks.