Page 267 of What We Brave
Not me. Too many years of always being on alert. On edge. But there's no physical danger here tonight. I know that. This is worse.
I lie there.
Stare at the ceiling.
Reid's friend.
She's scared. You understand why she's scared. Her parents are everything to her. You'd be scared too.
Yeah. I would.
So let it go.
I can't.
Because the duffel is right there. The linen shirt she picked out is on the dresser where I left it. A few hours ago I was looking forward tosomething — actually looking forward to it, not bracing, not white-knuckling, just genuinely wanting what was coming next. That's new for me. That's so fucking new I don't even know what to do with it when it breaks.
Laine shifts in her sleep. Her hand finds my chest, warm and sure, holding tight. Reid's arm is draped across her waist, his fingers almost touching my side.
I should stay. I should close my eyes and breathe through it and be here in the morning like nothing happened.
I slide out from under Laine's hand. Careful. Slow. She murmurs something but doesn't wake. I pull on a sweatshirt and jeans in the dark, muscle memory, no lights.
The workshop door sticks in the humidity. Always does this time of year. I shoulder it open and stand there for a second, breathing sawdust and linseed oil.
The couch in the corner is old, ugly, and pretty fucking uncomfortable, but tonight it can give me something that big bed inside can't.
Space. And hopefully a little peace.
She promised. Two days. She'll tell them.
I hold onto that. Stare at the ceiling. Try to sleep.
Don't.
49
LAINE
The van hits a rut and my teeth click together. Carlos laughs from the front seat, says something in Kaqchikel to the kid riding shotgun — his nephew, maybe, or his cousin, or both, because Carlos seems to be related to everyone within a fifty-mile radius.
"Almost there," he says over his shoulder. "Two more minutes. Maybe five. The road is — how do you say —optimistic."
Reid grabs the oh-shit handle as we bounce again. "I think the road is trying to kill us, Carlos."
"No, no. The road loves you. She is just excited."
I laugh. Can't help it. and then I immediately feel guilty. The air coming through the open windows is cool and thin and smells like pine and woodsmoke and wet earth, and I've been breathing it in since we turned off the highway an hour ago. The highlands. Green and impossibly steep, clouds sitting in the valleys like cotton stuffed into bowls. I forgot how beautiful it is up here. We lived hundreds of kilometers away from here for a year when I was eight. Maybe nine. It all blends together sometimes..
I've messed everything up. I don't deserve to be happy to be here. Not when Blake's hurting because I'm a spineless jerk.
He hasn't said much since Guatemala City. He was fine at the airport — efficient, watchful, steering us through baggage claim like a man clearing a building. But once we got in the van, he went quiet. Not angry quiet. Not shut-down quiet. Just... careful.
He's in the back seat, behind me. I can't see his face without turning around, and I've been trying not to turn around too much because every time I do, Reid notices and gets that look — the one that saysI see you worrying and I'm worried that you're worrying.
But I can't not worry. He's pulled away. Just a bit, but it feels like we've been sliced open, and I don't know how to fix it.
That's not true. I do know how to fix it. I have to tell the truth. But clearly, that's been easier said that done.
