“Good plan. And hey, check out that pharmacy.”
“Yup, we hit a lick with this place. Not just the supplies, but this guy—his knowledge is priceless, and we need people like him on our side. And they’re vulnerable in this building because of how valuable it is. We have to get these two, and as many of these supplies as possible, out of here and to a place we can hide out in, like the church, if it’s safe.”
“We should look for a bigger vehicle, too, for the supplies.”
“Agreed. We’ll see what we can find on the way back. We’ll stay here tonight so they can rest, then dusk tomorrow, we take a few supplies, leave a weapon, and roll out. Cool?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He pecks me on the lips, then takes my hand and leads me back into the breakroom. Missy now nibbles on a graham cracker and nurses a Yoo-hoo chocolate drink. Logan’s eyes droop, and I can tell he’s fighting sleep.
I look to Gideon to tell Logan our thoughts, but he nudges me, as if to remind me I’m the spokesperson.
“We were headed to this church,” I say, taking a good, long drag. “We’re not sure if it’s safe yet, but if it is, we wanted to offer to bring you both with us.”
Logan perks up, but remains guarded.
“You can’t stay here,” Gideon says. “You’re sitting ducks. We need to get you two and the majority of these supplies out of here and to a safe, less conspicuous place.”
After a moment of silent contemplation, he lights another cigarette. “Yeah, okay. Been planning my out for a while now, but . . . Missy . . .”
“Yeah, understood.” Gideon leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees. “We’ll stay here tonight and through the day tomorrow, rest up and plan, then before Grace and I head out tomorrow evening, we’ll leave you one more gun, that way you can better protect yourself. Also, while we’re out, we’ll try to find a bigger vehicle to load supplies in. How does all that sound to you?”
“That’ll work, man. It’s worth a shot.” He yawns.
“Awesome. We’ll keep watch for a few hours so you can get some sleep. We’ll need you on high alert tomorrow evening when we leave, okay?”
There’s an apparent struggle with whether to trust us, but the exhaustion, weed, and booze win, and he surrenders, curling up on his pallet.
“Thanks,” he says. “Please don’t hurt us.”
“We would never do that,” Gideon says. “You can trust us.”
“He’s right,” I say. “Get some sleep while you can.”
As soon as Logan settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall, Missy hops over to his pallet with her bear and curls up next to him. After a few minutes of silence, they’re both asleep, and my heart breaks for them. Missy’s so young . . .
A sickness stirs in me and I see Corbin’s face: those beautiful, sky blue eyes and that curly blond hair. There’s a helplessness tied to the memory of him, a noose around my neck. If I couldn’t save him, what makes me think I could save anyone else?
Blinking away tears, I flick an inch-long ash into a coke can on the table beside me, one with ashes already on the rim. I reach over and collect the bottle of Cuervo and stand, holding out a hand to Gideon. He takes it and lets me help pull him to his feet, and then to me. “What are we doing?” he whispers.
“Going shopping.”
Ten
“This place is pretty well bunkered down.” Gideon touches a finger to a screw that holds the metal shelving into place over the glass entrance and exit doorways.
“That’s good.” I take another swig of tequila, feeling pretty tipsy now, and chase it with a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. Without a doubt, in the top five most delicious things I’ve tasted in weeks. (The other four may have something to do with Gideon’s body parts.)
He chuckles at me. “You mean the place, or the chocolate?”
“Um, both?” I pop the last piece into my mouth.
Gideon licks my fingers. “Mmm . . .” And he sneaks a kiss to my lips. “The chocolate isn’t bad, either.”
We walk the row of junk foods, which are far less plentiful than the healthy, canned, and boxed foods. Proof that a kid and a young adult male have been living here for a few weeks. Gideon snakes his arms around me from behind and kisses my earlobe. I peer over my shoulder at him. His slight grin says we might be fucking if we were alone. He might be right.
I give his unit a nice rub. He spins me around, unzips the zipper on my left thigh and he sneaks a hand up to my new, purple lace panties. We should behave, but my thrust against his fingers says otherwise.
He guides me over to where the cash registers are, beneath the can-alarm on the window, and positions himself behind me, unzipping my pants and peeling them down over my ass. I brace myself on the counter overlooking the store as he fills me up with all nine inches. He fucks me hard and fast, I take the corners of his shirt and hold him against me.
“Don’t stop.”
“I’m gonna come if I keep fucking you like this.”
“Don’t you dare stop.”
“Baby girl—”
“Come inside of me.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” And I moan at the sudden increase of intensity.
“You want me to come in that pussy?” he whispers in my ear, wrapping my hair around his fingers with a gentle tug.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Me, too.”
With another thrust he makes me come, and covers my mouth when I moan too loud. He grabs my hip and explodes, a throbbing, hot mass of love and perfection and wholeness—it recharges my soul. These are the times I’m most complete; when Gideon and I are one.
When our breathing slows, and he pulls out, it’s with a laugh as he puts his love handle away and zips his pants again.
“Mm . . .” I’m still high from the head rush. “What’s so funny?”
He points ahead of us, to the “Family Planning” aisle. “That was hot, baby. But aren’t you worried about getting pregnant?”
“I may already be. I haven’t had a period since . . . all of this began. Either that, or my female parts are broken.”
He shakes his head, then shows off that dimple. “I assure you, they’re far from broken.” He slides a finger along my wet pussy, which I’ve yet to put away.
Once I recover from my brutal state of bliss, I tug my pants back up over my ass and turn to face him.
“You should take a test though, right?” he asks. “To be sure?”
I steady my breath, not ready to face that reality yet. But knowing is half the battle . . . or something.
“Wanna do it now?” Gideon asks.
“Ugh, I guess. I gotta pee anyway.”
We stroll over to the Family Planning section, and I choose the most expensive test on the shelf. If there’s one good thing about this life now, it’s that at least we don’t have to worry about being able to “afford” things. If you can acquire it—by any means necessary—it’s yours.
I stand on my tiptoes, squinting into the dimly lit store, and spy a “Restrooms” sign on the other side.
“Why don’t you go,” Gideon says, “and I’ll gather more supplies.”
“Okay. I’ll come find you when I’m done.”
“Sounds good. Got your flashlight?”
I show him my wrist, tiny flashlight attached.
“Good deal. Scream if there’s trouble.”
“I will. But I’ll be fine.”
We hold hands until they’re torn apart by our distance. As I approach the restroom, I think about my mother. It’s been a while. Maybe the trick was never owning a dresser with drawers . . .
By the time I was nine and raped, I was already so disassociated from her that I didn’t relate to her at all in that regard. I can now. If I’m pregnant, who knows who the father could be. The probability of it being Gideon is very slim, which leaves an assortment of various human monsters who took my body without asking. Same as what may have happened to my mother.
With the possibility of harboring a child that’s half mine, and half . . . unknown . . . in this moment, I come to know my mother for the first time.
The stench in the bathroom is vile, but that doesn’t stop the breakdown. I cry, unwrapping the pregnancy test with unsteady fingers. I wipe my eyes enough to read the instructions, and open the stall door, but close it again when the toilet is overflowing with waste.
I gag a little, then go to the far corner where I squat and pee onto the applicator tip. When I’m done, I hurry from the spot before my urine pools to my new boots, and set the applicator on the counter. Ninety-seconds.
I lean against the wall and check my watch. In those ninety seconds, a tiny child is born into this horrible world. She’s in pieces already, before she even gets here, born in pieces, she spends her life trying to find herself, put herself back together again, when she was never together to begin with. No wonder she’s insane . . . just like her mother.
When the second hand on my watch ticks past ninety seconds, a numbness starts at my fingers and my face, and travels through my whole body when the two lines on the test tell me I’m pregnant. At first, there’s no response, because my every atom crashes at once in my brain. I’d already known this, but had blocked it out. The nausea lately hasn’t been food—or lack of food—related. I’m carrying a small human inside of me, one marked with a curse from conception, just like I was.
When I stumble back out to the store, Gideon sees me and jogs my direction, leaving a basket of goods behind him. I fall into his outstretched arms when he gets to me.
“We’ll figure it out, Grace, okay?” He rocks me, pets my hair, and kisses my face. “Whatever happens, we’ll survive, and take care of him or her, and it’ll be okay.”
I shake my head. “No, it won’t. It never is.”
“It will be. One day.” And he enfolds me. I believe he means his promise to the core. Unfortunately, it’s not entirely up to him.
“I don’t want to think about it anymore right now,” I say with a sniffle.
“Understood. I’m here for you whenever you’re ready. Just tell me what you need.”
I wipe my eyes and peer up at him. “More chocolate would be a good start.”
He holds up a finger, then skips off to the candy section, returning half a minute later with two Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. He opens one, removes it from its wrapper and paper cup, and feeds it to me. “Your wish is my command.”
Eleven
Finding the hygiene aisle is like stepping onto the soft shores of bliss, if it were a place. Everything smells divine, and my body begs for a good lathering. I take a fruity chapstick from its package, paint my lips, and melt. So much gratitude for something so trivial . . . Oh, how luxuriously we were living before, oblivious to the fact.
“You mentioned a bath?” I hold up a fluffy pink scrubby.
“Yeah, at the church. They have the, uh, baptismal thing full of water.”
“Oh—ooooh, that’s naughty. I like that.” I toss the scrubby into the basket, along with bottles of expensive shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and lotion, and a can of honey chamomile shaving cream.
“Why did I know you’d totally go for that idea?” Gideon asks.
“Because you already know me so well.” I grab fancy razors and deodorant, a toothbrush and toothpaste. “And because you get that I’ve never been this excited to be clean in my life.”
“I’m aware, and I share your pain. So let’s hope this place is good to go when we get there. We might have to get clever with the breaking and entering, though. Other than that, a couple rifles, the blades, and the darkness, baby. We’ll take that motherfucking church either way.” He clenches his fists and jaw.
This is one of those times I see someone else in his distance, his faraway gaze. There’s rage, baggage from a past hurt he still hasn’t opened for me. But a baptism may be ahead for us soon, so who knows what painful truths could wash ashore when we clean the filth from ourselves . . .
“What you’re saying is that I can get my hopes up for a bubble bath?” I clasp my hands beneath my chin.
“Yes, ma’am.” He bends to give me a lingering kiss. “It won’t be hot, and there may be algae, but at least it’ll be wet and clean.”
“Sounds amazing.” I run my hand along the beard forming on his face. I once hated body hair, but now it’s just another reminder that we’re human, and we’re still alive, growing, changing.
“You’re not the only one who needs to shave.” He cups his hand over mine and pecks my lips, then snatches a nice men’s razor and shaving cream from the rack behind me, tossing them into the basket. “And hey, we should still stop by that record store first. It’s not too far from here.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“I told you, Grace, I’ll do anything to make you smile.” He gives my ass a soft spank, and a squeeze. “Besides, tomorrow’s our Apoca-versary. We’ve got some celebrating to do.”
The bread is green, black, and white with various molds, but we have nine boxes of saltine crackers. Gideon adds one to our basket, and I check out our chip selection. When I spy a row of Flamin’ Hot Funyuns, there’s splintered glass in my heart. I pick one up, swallowed by a moment of immense grief as I fall in love with her and watch her die all over again. I clutch the bag to my chest as if it were her, come to kiss me from the grave.
“They’re just fucking chips.” I toss the bag aside with a trembling hand.
But Gideon guides my chin up with the side of his pointer finger. “They’re not just chips. I get it, baby. Believe me, I do.”
He holds me for a moment, then we make our way down the aisles. With every item I check off of my mental grocery list, the weight of sorrow lessens, becomes bearable. Gideon senses my mood shift and takes my hand. “I love you, Grace. I’m here for you.”
“I love you, too. And I know you are. Thank you, baby.”
When we get to the room where Missy and Logan sleep, we find neither of them have moved from the position we left them in. We line up our breakfast: peanut butter, jelly, saltines, dried apricots, cashews, and seltzer water, along with paper plates and a plastic knife. This is the best we’ve eaten in a few days.
I check my watch. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s two already.”
“Yeah, this nocturnal stuff gets to the ol’ biological clock after a while.” He spreads peanut butter on a cracker, tops it with jelly, another cracker, and hands me the treat. “For you, my love.”
I giggle and take his gift. “Thank you. This is the most perfect peanut butter and jelly cracker sandwich I’ve ever seen.”
“Only the best for you, baby girl.”
We eat six each, which barely dents our appetites, but we have to ration. I guzzle more tequila to quell my begging tummy.
“No!” Missy screams in her sleep, gripping her bear. “Momma!”
Hearing her voice now, when she wouldn’t speak to us when she was awake, is strange. It doesn’t sound how I imagined. There’s a definite southern twang.
“Shh, Missy,” Logan mumbles. He rolls over and flops an arm over her, and though she still whimpers, she calms, and the two of them continue to sleep.
“Poor thing.” I take a cigarette from my pack and light it, then catch Gideon glancing at me. “What?”
He looks away. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
He drops his elbows to his knees and clasps his hands. “I said I wouldn’t tell you how to live your life, but . . . if you’re pregnant . . .”
And then I realize he means the cigarette. “Oh. Well, I . . . I’m not sure I have the willpower to quit right now.”
“Understood. But we can at least get you some prenatal vitamins—”
“Sure, whatever.”
He sighs. It’s obvious I don’t want to talk about it, or even further acknowledge that reality.
“Grace, I . . .” He drops his head in defeat. “I’m sorry. Just trying to help.”
In that
moment, he’s Eileen the last time she told me she loved me, when she asked me when I would let her love me. The memory of her touch, her love, softens my bristly shell. “I know you are,” I say. “Sorry. This is hard for me.”
“I get it. But don’t shut me out, okay? Please.”
Tears fill my eyes. “I did that for years to everyone around me. I guess old habits die hard.”
“They do.” He stares into his hands, then looks up at me. “But you’re a new woman. You get to start over and decide who you want to be now.”
“That’s a nice thought.”
“I mean it. Accept it, harness that power. You can change who you are at any given moment. You can be someone else tomorrow if you want to be.”
He has experience with this, and it alarms me as much as it intrigues me. I’m not sure why this slight distance he keeps turns me on, but it does. Maybe because it resonates so deep within me. Not to mention, there’s much to be said about a little mystery. It gives me something to look forward to.
“Thank you.” I take his hand. “For helping me be strong.”
“It’s the only way now.” He kisses my lips. “Why don’t you rest? There’s another pallet there.”
I consider declining his offer, but decide I might as well. “Okay, give me a couple hours. Three-nod rule.”
“I’m not tired.”
With a yawn, I climb onto the pallet, to a crinkling beneath the fleece blanket covering. I lift it to discover mega packs of paper towels. “Genius.”
“Yeah, that works.” Gideon removes his deck of cards from his pocket and lines up a row of seven.
“Solitaire?” I ask.
“You know it. Still trying to break my old record.”
My eyelids grow heavy as I settle into the folded fleece blanket pillow. “What is it again?”
“Seven minutes, thirty-two seconds.” He takes the stopwatch from his other pocket and sets it on the table.
“That’s awesome. I suck at solitaire.”
“I got good at it back when . . . when I was younger.” He punches the button on the side of the stopwatch and begins his game.
Murray's Law Page 6
