Page 63 of Coyote

The chair creaked under my hands. I wanted to take the keys from her, carry her bag to the car, and let her decide what happened next. Sarah knew how to take care of me without making it feel like work. That was part of the problem.

If I went with her, she would put me in the guest room and bring me food. Tomorrow she would find a doctor. The next day, she would ask whether I wanted to see the house or visit the clinic. She wouldn't mean any of it as pressure. Every step would still lead backward.

At Pae Saco, nobody knew who I had been before the pit. Sierra fed the man sitting at his table. Rafe asked what I wanted instead of telling me what I ought to want. Coyote wanted to lock me in a cave and had finally learned there were consequences for trying.

I could deal with that. I couldn't deal with the blue quilt.

"I'm not ready to go back," I said.

Sarah's grip tightened around her keys. "I'm not asking you to move in. Come home tonight. Sleep somewhere clean. Let me get you examined tomorrow."

"I can't."

Some of the fight left her face, but her shoulders stayed square. "Can't come with me," she said, "or can't go back there?"

"Back there."

She looked down at the keys in her hand. She worked her thumb over the worn plastic fob while the air conditioner rattled behind us.

Then she put the keys back into her purse. "Where exactly is Pae Saco?"

"I can't give you the address without asking Rafe."

"Then ask him."

"Sarah."

She pulled the purse strap off her shoulder and dropped the bag onto Winston's desk.

"You don't want to come home with me? Fine." She folded her arms and looked through the window at Coyote. "Then I'm staying with you."

"Before you decide, there's more you need to know."

Sarah's purse stayed on Winston's desk while I told her about the shed and the tracker Joe found under the motorcycle.

Sarah came around the desk and opened my shirt again. Her fingers stopped beside the dark bruising below the dressing. "This happened there?"

"Yeah."

"And you want to go back."

"Yes."

She pulled my shirt closed harder than necessary. "Then I want to see exactly where you're going. If it's as bad as I'm imagining, I'll drag you to Socorro myself."

"You're not dragging me anywhere."

"You're injured. I could probably manage."

I laughed, and pain cut across my ribs.

Sarah's hand settled against my side. She didn't touch the wound. She just stood close enough for me to feel the heat of her palm through my shirt.

"You could get hurt there," I said.

"So could you."

"That's different."