by A E Faulkner
“Quinn, why do you always have to expect the worst from people? Why can’t you just take what Jim says at face value? You know, we might need him and Dan to help us figure out what to do. I just think you could be a little nicer.”
Okay, Riley clearly doesn’t get it, and I’m not going to waste my time trying to make her see. I hop off the couch and head to the bathroom. Breezing past her, I mutter, “I’m gonna hit the shower.”
The hot stream of water evaporates my tension. By the time I’m dressed and done in the bathroom, my anger has dissipated, like the steam on the mirror, replaced by an idea blooming in my mind. I’ll need a quick change of clothes, and I probably shouldn’t have showered just yet, but it’s worth it.
Riley glances up from her book when I spring into the bedroom. Tossing last night’s PJs onto the pile, they perfectly peak the mountain of laundry climbing up the corner. Digging through my suitcase, I pitch the articles I don’t need right now with no regard for where they may land. Why not? It’s not like there’s much left in there anyway.
“What are you up to?” Riley asks lightly.
I can tell she wants our latest spat behind us, too. And I know what I need to lower my stress level a few more notches. Now that Dan and Jim know we’re here, we aren’t exactly invisible anymore. Initially, Riley and I needed to overcome our shock from the trip down here. Now I can barely stand to spend one more second hiding inside this wood-paneled prison.
“I need a run. It’ll feel good to stretch my muscles and burn some energy.” I answer, tugging my long brown hair into a ponytail. And maybe, just maybe, it will distract me from the recent memory of all I’ve lost. “Why don’t you come too? It would be good for you to get outta here for a little while.”
“No!” Crossing her arms, Riley is adamant. “We should keep a low profile. We can’t take any chances of someone else seeing us.” Dropping my running gear, I stride out to the kitchen and grab a breakfast bar. Riley trails behind me. Why can’t she ever just agree with me? Why does everything have to be a fight?
“Take any chances!?” My earlier anger bubbles up to the surface before I can cork it. “How about a chance to take a look around and see what’s going on out there? How about a chance to breathe some fresh air?” Now that the flood gates have opened, a tidal wave of words spills out. “Riley, I know we agreed to hide out, but what does it matter now that Jim and Dan know we’re here?” Planting my hands on my hips, I await her response.
“Quinn, I’m scared,” Riley practically whispers, wringing her hands. “I don’t know what to do. I just want to wake up from this nightmare.” She plops down on the couch, freeing a few dust particles that dance in the sun’s rays.
Her confession instantly melts my anger. In one breath, she drives me nuts, like only a sister can, and in the next breath, I just want to protect her. Even though she’s older, she’s always been the meeker one. And I can’t wait for her to jump in and lead us. I’m not sure she ever would.
With no intention of liberating more dust, I carefully lower myself onto the green floral sofa. Sitting close enough that my knees brush hers, I grab Riley’s shaking hands. Meeting her eyes, I relent. “Look, I feel the same way. I don’t know what to do either.” Digging deep for a confidence I don’t feel, my tone is soft but steady. “We may be safe right now, but we can’t stay here forever. And besides, we aren’t invisible anymore. Now that Jim and Dan know we’re here, maybe we should go visit Benny.”
“Quinn, maybe we should go back to the highway—try to find someone from the Red Cross to help us.” She eyes me anxiously, as if willing me to agree.
“Riley, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We’re still minors. What would they do with us? I’m not willing to give up my freedom and have some stranger decide what happens to us.”
Her glassy eyes hold mine as she processes my words. I can almost see the thoughts flitting through her mind. “Alright, maybe we should try to gather more information before we decide anything,” Riley says cautiously. “Let’s start with Benny and see if he knows what’s going on and who’s even here.”
“Yes,” I wholeheartedly agree. Maybe I can try to figure out where that scream came from last night. “Let’s draw a map and we can ask Benny who lives in each trailer. We can make notes and—”
“Quinn, let’s just go to Benny’s now,” Riley says, interrupting my plans.
“Riley, calm down. Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to go for a run. I need to go for a run. While I’m gone, you grab some breakfast and draw a map of the trailer park. When I get back, we’ll visit Benny and see what he knows.”
Thankfully, she doesn’t argue. Eyes downcast, she slowly nods. For a moment I wonder how she’s not dehydrated from all the tears she’s cried this week. I haven’t cried as much as she has, but my heart still feels like an open wound, festering in grief.
“Riley, it’s okay. I’ll be back soon. I’m just gonna take the Pine Trail. You know that one’s short. Just work on the map, so we’re all ready to go when I get back.” She nods again, and I rise slowly, returning to the bedroom to retrieve my gear.
After tracking down both sneakers, I park myself on the couch to steal a few glances her way as I lace up. Her movements are robotic as she shuffles around in the tiny kitchen. When she starts digging through drawers, I crack open the door, my eyes searching for movement. Satisfied that no one is watching, I slip outside.
Chapter 3
Rushing out the door, I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air. It’s so freeing to escape our self-made cocoon, even for just a short time. Since we got here, we’ve been slogging through the motions of living. I found myself standing in the shower or sitting at the kitchen table countless times, not remembering how I got there. Or maybe just not caring.
Darting behind the trailer, I position myself between the overgrown hydrangea bushes. My dad always complained about the unwieldy blue and purple blooms, but now they provide the perfect cover to block me from prying eyes. If none of this happened, I wouldn’t be worrying about hiding behind some stupid plants. I’d chop them all down in a heartbeat if it meant I could have my dad back.
Bending at my waist and lowering my palms to the ground, I walk my hands forward. My weakened muscles wake with each stretch. The familiar movements spark a surge of electricity through my limbs. After a few more stretches, off I go, lightly jogging down the path I’ve run a hundred times. I revel in the lush trees and wildflowers surrounding me.
I haven’t been outside since our escape from the cars and trucks choking the highway. That makes skirting around the plants snaking onto the trail a welcome change.
For the first time in a week, my eyes feast on their surroundings. The mostly tan and white homes all stand at attention in perfectly symmetrical lines. Most of the owners live here year-round, and it shows. Those homes boast freshly-painted shutters and smooth siding. Not like my aunt’s trailer, which could use a design overhaul and furniture from this century.
My feet practically glide over the winding asphalt. After a short run through the trailer park, I take a detour down the dirt path to my left, Pine Trail. Ducking my head and shoulders to avoid the tree overgrowth, I nearly lose my balance, my steps stuttering briefly. It’s been too long since I ran like this. My legs relish the strain.
While I typically run solo, loneliness chases my every stride. Maybe the reality that I’ll be returning to exactly what I left niggles at the back of my brain. All I’ve had is Riley, and we spent half the time silently mourning our former life, arguing, or barely suppressing our mutual hostility after an argument.
Shaking the negative thoughts from my mind, I push my legs harder, each foot pounding the ground as it briefly touches and launches again. My lungs keep tempo with my stride, a dizzying rush of air sweeping in and out of my body with every inhale and exhale. After about a mile of dodging overgrowth on the path, I’m nearly out of breath. That would be unheard of just a few weeks ago, during track season
. Before summer started, a five-mile run was an easy workout for me.
Approaching an opening in the path, I slow my pace and alert my senses. With too many unknowns right now, I can’t be too careful, especially being out here alone. As the wooded path spills into an overgrown yard, about a dozen felines linger in the grass, splayed out in various states of slumber. The white ranch house with sagging maroon shutters must be their home. Cats line the sidewalk and entryway like lawn ornaments.
Life abounds outside, but no shadows pass beyond the lifeless windows. Slinking around the side of the house, I hunch down in case anyone inside decides to peer out. Since I could use a little breather anyway, I plop down on the grass to see what the cats do. Most barely throw a passing glance my way, but a few wander over. A short-haired black cat with sparkling emerald eyes butts her head against my bent knee. I rub her neck just beneath her green collar and extend my hand to a brown tiger-striped cat with striking yellow-green eyes. The tiger rolls on his back and I can’t resist grabbing that furry belly.
The four-legged fuzz balls remind me of the only family member who didn’t make this trip. Whenever we go on vacation, our rat terrier spends the week with my mom’s sister, our Aunt Robin. This time was no different. If this trip had gone as planned, we would be heading home and picking Snickers up tomorrow. Turning my attention back to the pets before me, I block thoughts of him wondering where we are and why we aren’t coming back.
Scratching the crook of the tiger’s neck, his reflective yellow collar sparkles in the sunlight. The glare targets my squinting eyes with laser-like focus. Leaning closer to cast a shadow over that blinding collar, baby-talk is about to spill from my lips when a soft squeaking noise draws my attention.
Rising slowly, I creep toward the noise, staying close to the house. Peering around the corner, I spy a man in khaki shorts and a navy-blue T-shirt squatting down at the hose, turning on the spigot. Crap. I’ve stayed too long and now the homeowner is outside. I don’t want him to see me on his property, grabbing his cats’ bellies.
I slowly lift my left leg, gently pitching backward. My foot is promptly greeted with a hiss and a swipe as I nearly plant it on the tiger, who must have followed me to the corner. Dammit. My eyes dart to the man but he hasn’t even flinched. I guess hissing is a pretty common sound around here.
That gentle squeaking sound drifts my way again. Whatever that guy is doing, he doesn’t know I’m watching. This emboldens me to spy a little longer. Crouching down, I peer around the corner to see him filling water jugs from the outside spigot. Why would he be doing that? Maybe it’s for the cats and he doesn’t want to fill the jugs up inside and lug them out. The furball I’ve decided to name Tiger flops down at my feet, rolling onto his back, exposing that fuzzy white belly again. Instantly forgiving the hiss and swipe, I am at this cat’s mercy. Once again, I reach down and gently stroke the soft fur while stealing another peek at the stranger.
This time, he’s facing my direction, but his eyes slide over each water jug as he tightens the caps. More teenager than man, he looks younger by the minute. I’m guessing he’s probably eighteen or nineteen. When he finishes capping the bottles, he runs a hand through his messy black hair, sending small tufts of it out like antennae. He narrows his eyes and scrunches his forehead as he stares at the water. I’m certain he’s debating how he’s going to carry four full water jugs with two hands.
Hands down, he makes for a better view than the trailer’s fake-wood-paneled walls. Just as my legs start to cramp, Tiger decides he’s had enough of my gentle hand and attempts to keep a chunk of it for himself. The fuzzy little demon wraps his paws around my hand, drawing it to his sharp teeth as his feet bat my arm. A gasp escapes my lips in reaction to the jolt and pain of claws and jaws sinking into my flesh. Dogs don’t do this. I yank my arm from the cat’s grasp and take an instinctive step away. I earn myself a nice scratch for selfishly wanting to keep my hand and arm intact. Realization dawns on me that I’ve probably drawn some attention my way.
My eyes shift to the stranger. His shoulders hunker as he meets my gaze, his crystal blue eyes widening.
Chapter 4
Bravo. Since I left the trailer park, I’ve managed to trespass on someone’s property, announce myself to said property owner, serve as a scratching post for a temperamental cat, and probably worry my sister. I told her I’d be right back, and here I am, frantically searching for something to blot the blood trickling down my arm. I can’t ignore the guy, though. I should apologize for being here.
The handsome stranger stands abruptly and stares for a moment. He’s as unsure as I am about what to do. Cradling my scratched arm, my eyes follow the few cautious steps he takes toward me. At least he’s not yelling at me to get off his property.
He stops about three feet before me and practically stutters, “H-hi. Are you, are you okay?” He glances at my cradled arm. A gentleness in his eyes conveys genuine concern.
“I’m fine. It’s just a little scratch,” I say flatly, knowing that an apology is probably in order for trespassing. I wouldn’t be standing here like an idiot if I had just minded my own business and stuck to my run.
“Oh, right,” he sounds even less comfortable than he did a moment ago. Shifting on his feet, his eyes focus on the ground.
“I’m sorry,” we both blurt out at the same time. Our narrowed eyes meet, expressions mirroring each other. “What did you say?” I ask him. He looks at me like I have a trail of fire blazing from my arm, which it sure feels like right about now.
“I said I’m sorry. Look, I didn’t mean to help myself to your water. I just needed to replenish my supply and I saw all these cats around and thought whoever lived here is probably a compassionate person and might be willing to share a little bit of water with someone who needs it.” His explanation pours out in a flood of words.
“Wait, you don’t live here?” I ask before the floodgates burst open again. Scrunching his eyes and pursing his lips, he responds, “No, I thought you lived here.” He pauses for a moment before crossing his arms and asking, “If this isn’t your house, what are you doing here?”
I turn my toe around in the grass and explain, “I’m staying down the road a bit and went out for a run. I stopped here to take a little rest and pet some of the cats. I didn’t expect to see anyone else, and I didn’t expect one of the fuzzballs to try and scratch my arm off.”
He lets out a surprised chuckle. “I’m Aidan,” he says, extending a hand.
I thrust my good hand toward him and give his a squeeze. “Quinn.”
“Well, Quinn, it’s nice to meet you. I’m going to have to get going, though. I’ve got to get this water home before anyone else catches me stealing it.” A twinkle flashes in his eye as he smiles at me.
“It’s nice to meet you too. Stay hydrated,” I say as I turn back toward the wooded path.
He calls out to me, “Until the next time. If there is one.”
I stride over the familiar wooded path back to the trailer park with a renewed purpose. I’ve got to reach Riley before she panics. Loping with an awkward gait, I stanch the bleeding by clasping one hand over my injured arm. When the yellow, white, and gray trailers appear, I shift to a cool down mode, easing my muscles, and slowing my heart rate.
Nearing the trailer, a face hovering in the window catches my eye. I’d know that scowl anywhere. Riley’s angry gaze follows my movements. Great. Why is there always a layer of tension lodged between us? Stopping when I reach the small gravel patch that serves as a tiny front yard, I plant my legs astride and stretch my arms to the ground. My mind launches into calculations. How long was I gone? It couldn’t have been more than forty minutes.
Riley stomps out the door, launching into an interrogation. So much for keeping a low profile. “Where have you been!?” Her ragged voice borders on hysteria. “Why did you take so long? What were you doing?” Taking a deep breath and straightening up, I talk myself out of losing patience. She’s scared. This is her fear pourin
g out. Maybe she was afraid that I’d never come back.
Reaching an arm out to her, resting a hand on her shoulder, I meet her eyes. “Riley, I’m so sorry. I totally lost track of time. Please don’t be—”
Before I can finish begging for forgiveness, she seizes my arm. “What happened to you?” Her demeanor immediately softens.
Glancing down at my souvenir from the day, I explain, “Oh, I came across some kitties on my run. I stopped to pet them, and one didn’t exactly return my love.”
Riley gently turns my arm; her eyes trace my injury. “There’s a first aid kit inside. I saw it when I was looking for paper and a pen to make the map. You should go clean that, so we can patch it up.”
After a quick soapy scrub, I’m almost ready to go. In between blotting the scratch with toilet paper, I slip on the last clean set of clothes I packed. Quietly emerging from the bathroom, my eyes seek Riley. They find their target quickly. She sits at the kitchen table, wringing her hands as her eyes slide across the hand-drawn map. My heart aches witnessing her nearly-constant dejected state. Physically, we have survived the last week just fine but emotionally, our spirits fade a little more each day that we wake up to this nightmare.
Riley and I have stayed in this trailer every summer for the past ten years, but this is the only time we’ve been here alone, just the two of us. Free from my recent but chronic haze, I gingerly step toward Riley. “Hey, sis, you ready?” I ask with over-exaggerated enthusiasm. Riley squints up at me, doubting my sunny tone.
“Come sit down,” she says, motioning to the bench seat she occupies. “I’ll clean that scratch.” This is where Riley excels. Right now, her gentle, comforting demeanor is exactly what I need. She swabs an antiseptic gel over the scratch, triggering a spontaneous inhale of air that sounds like a hiss. A little ironic that I’m hissing because of that cat. “Oh, sorry,” Riley says. “Almost done.”