by S. M. Shade
“Abby,” I plead, but she ignores me and walks away, her shoulders slumped. Maybe I should give her some time to absorb the news. I understand her fear, and I feel guilty for upsetting her, but we’ve discussed this before. We can’t hide at home and hope nothing bad ever happens. We have to live our lives.
After dinner, she pulls me into the bedroom, and I take a deep breath, dreading part two of our argument. Instead of launching into a new lecture, she asks, “When are you leaving?” The resignation and fear in her voice make me doubt my decision.
“Abby, I really want to do this, but if you tell me you can’t handle it, I won’t go.” Eric’s going to be pissed, and Joseph will never let me hear the end of it, but I can’t leave her knowing she’s so afraid.
Sighing, she tugs my arm until I sit beside her on the love seat, leaning her head against my shoulder. “I’ll be okay.” A lock of hair falls across her face, and I tuck it behind her ear, trying to decide whether to just call off the trip. Maybe I’m being selfish. Foggy brown eyes peek up at me as she continues, “I don’t want you to go, but I understand. Sometimes I forget how different your life was before. I have everything I’ve ever wanted here. Family, a home, and people who care about me. You used to travel, meet new people, and see new places. Naturally, you get restless when you’re trapped in one place too long, so if taking an occasional trip like this is something you need to do to be happy, I won’t stand in your way.”
It’s simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating the way she knows how I feel when I barely recognize it myself. I want to find Abby’s family. It wasn’t just an excuse. But I’m excited to go, to break the humdrum routine of life on the farm. I pull her into my lap, crushing her small body against my chest. “I’ll be back soon, darlin’.”
I’m relieved there are no tears in her eyes when she replies, “Joseph’s mad at you, too.”
“I’m aware.”
“He isn’t going with you?”
“No, just Eric.”
“Bring me a dozen donuts from Long’s Bakery on Tremont Street,” she jokes. “They’re the best in the world.”
“You got it, sweetheart. Anything else?”
“Yes, if you’re leaving me for three weeks, I expect a lot of orgasms before you go.” Though her face is still hidden, I can hear the smile in her voice. How could anyone not fall head over heels for this woman? I never had a chance.
“Then I’d better get started,” I murmur, tasting her neck with a light flick of my tongue.
* * * *
Eric and I have managed to piss off everyone with our travel plans. In the last few days I’ve had a visit from every family member. I’ve patiently endured their pleas to cancel the trip, and ultimately their anger and frustration when they fail to change my mind. When Carson joins me in the tool shed, I’m anticipating more of the same, but he surprises me.
“If you find Jon, what will you tell him?” he asks. Averting his gaze, he fiddles with the tools on the work bench. God, he’s grown six inches this year, and there’s a slight shadow above his lip. He’ll be shaving soon.
“What would you like me to say to him?”
“Just tell him I’m alive, and give him our address. I know he doesn’t care, but…just in case,” he murmurs, sounding ashamed and embarrassed. It may not be a good thing if I find his father. At the moment I could happily choke him to death.
“I’ll make sure he knows where to find you.” He nods and heads toward the door. “Carson, wait. I don’t know your dad or why he left you and your mom, but I know it has nothing to do with you. Do you understand? You’re a great kid and already more of a man than he could ever hope to be. I’m proud of you.”
“He’s not my dad. You’re my dad. I just want to know more. To know why.”
“I understand.” My hand rests on his shoulder as he peeks up at me.
“Part of me really wants you to kick him in the balls,” he confesses with a small grin.
“I can’t promise I won’t do exactly that, buddy. But then I’ll leave our address.” We laugh together, and he runs off to find Jayla after swearing me to secrecy about his request.
It’s barely light when Eric and I begin our trip the next morning. I can still feel Abby’s arms around me, clinging to me as if she’ll never see me again. As I glance out the rear window of the truck, watching them grow smaller, Joseph puts his arms around her, and I feel a modicum of relief, remembering the words he whispered in my ear when we said goodbye.
“I’ll take care of them.”
Joseph
Troy’s arms wrap around my back and pull me into a warm hug. “They’ll be okay,” he says, trying to reassure me. Airen and Eric have only been gone for a few hours, but I already feel the void. I can’t imagine how Abby must feel.
“I know. I’m just worried about Abby. She says she’s fine, but I know better. I can’t believe he actually left her and Lane after what happened in Illinois. He’s a self centered dick.” My head throbs as my anger collides with the mind numbing terror I feel when I think about what could happen to them. To Airen.
The corners of his mouth twitch as he suppresses a small grin. “I won’t disagree with you, there.” He pours me a drink and we settle onto the couch. “Abby seemed to deal with it well when he left.”
“It’s an act. She hates to admit she’s hurting or that she needs help.”
“I’ve noticed,” Troy murmurs. “She’s a strong woman, though, Joseph, and we’ll help her through.”
I nod and pull him closer, seeking comfort in the warmth of his body and his reassuring words. “Abby is strong, and that’s the side of herself she likes to display. She masks her emotions with anger or indifference, and hates for anyone to see her cry.”
“She shouldn’t be alone tonight,” Troy declares. “After Airen, you’re the one she trusts the most, Angel. She may not want you to be there, but you should be. I’ll keep Walker, and I’m sure Julie will watch Lane.”
“You’re the sweetest man,” I reply, bringing my lips to his for a soft kiss.
“Abby has always been kind to me. Sleeping alone for a night or two is the least I can do.”
A few hours later, Julie and I let ourselves in Abby’s back door. “We’re here to steal your children,” I call out.
“Well, you aren’t being very stealthy about it,” she quips. Lane plays on the floor at her feet while she sits on the couch, a book resting in her lap.
“Do you mind if I keep your little man for the night?” Julie asks, and scoops Lane into her arms, kissing his cheeks until he squeals in delight.
“He’s trying to get a tooth through,” Abby warns. “He’ll be a grouch.”
“He’ll be fine.”
“Hey, Carson. Walker would love it if you stayed over tonight. Troy is baking brownies,” I offer. If you want a teenage boy to cooperate, offer him food. They’re human garbage disposals. He throws a doubtful glance at his mother, hesitant to leave her alone. Smiling at him, I plop onto the sofa beside Abby. “I’m going to hang out and ply your mother with alcohol.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Joseph,” Abby huffs, giving me a petulant glare. God, she’s stubborn.
“Well, I need a drinking buddy so you’ll just have to suck it up and fill in for the next few weeks.”
She sighs, resigned. “Do I have a choice?”
“Of course.” I produce two bottles from my duffel bag. “Bourbon or vodka.”
We spend the evening watching movies and talking about trivial subjects. Neither of us has mentioned Airen, but I see him behind her misty brown eyes. Her face is drawn and pale, and her hand trembles as she brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“I should go to bed,” she murmurs.
“You know, you’re making me look like an alcoholic. You only had a few shots.”
She forces a grin. “I’m sorry, but I’m just not in the mood to drink tonight. I’m going to bed. I know you’re worried about me, and I appreciate it, but I’
m fine. You really don’t have to sleep here.”
“Are you kicking me out?” I press my lips into an exaggerated pout. I’m not going anywhere.
“Of course not. The bed in your old room is made, or you can crash in Carson’s room. Good night, I’ll see you in the morning.”
My arms envelop her before she can escape. She’s barely holding herself together and desperate to escape me before she succumbs to her emotions. Her chest shudders against mine and she swallows hard while I squeeze her tighter.
“Joseph, don’t,” she pleads.
“I know you’re scared, honey. I am too. Just remember I’m right here when you need me.” I kiss her warm, flushed forehead, and her resistance breaks, her body softening against mine as she clings to me. She allows me to pull her into my lap, hiding her face in my neck while the fear and sadness overwhelm her. My throat burns and my voice is husky as I speak softly, trying to find the words to comfort her while she cries. Goddamn Airen for leaving her like this.
After a few minutes her sobs subside, and she sighs. “You couldn’t just let me go to bed,” she grumbles, her face still concealed in my shirt.
“You mean I wouldn’t let you hide in your room and cry alone,” I whisper, running my hand down her warm back.
“Without an audience,” she agrees, sniffling.
“You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes, Abby, and to let it happen in the arms of someone who loves you.”
Her head tilts back, and my heart aches at the sight of her red puffy eyes. “Stay with me tonight,” she whispers, finally reaching out for the comfort she needs.
“Oh, honey…as if you ever had a choice.” Emotionally exhausted, she falls asleep on the sofa, barely stirring when I tuck a blanket around her. Her sweet face, so vulnerable in sleep, sends a wave of melancholy flowing through me. This stubborn, infuriating woman can drive me crazy, but under all the bluster is an insecure girl trying to pretend everything is under control. She affects me like no other woman ever has, and all I want to do is gather her up, hold her tight, and protect her from the world. I’m seeing Airen’s overprotective behavior in a new light.
My stomach aches as I settle on the couch and stare into the fire, wondering how far they made it today and if they found a warm place to sleep. Three weeks. They’ll be back before Thanksgiving and everything will go back to normal.
Chapter Five
Airen
Eric glances at me from the passenger seat. “Do you want to stop in Evansville for the night or keep moving until dark?” he asks casually, breaking a two hour long silence. Eric and I haven’t spent much time in conversation without anyone else present. Although he’s been with us for nearly a year, we barely know each other.
A peal of thunder swells and reverberates through the air a second before the truck is pelted with a mix of cold rain and sleet.
“Evansville it is,” I reply with a shake of my head.
“This weather sucks. I hope we aren’t in for a rough winter.”
“At least we know they’re well prepared at home.” I wouldn’t have left them otherwise.
“Mmm,” he agrees. “Are you worried about them?”
“Always.”
“But you still left.”
“They can manage a few weeks without me. House or hotel?” I ask.
“House.”
Nearly half an hour later, we finally find a vacant house that hasn’t become a tomb of the unfortunate former inhabitant. After a quick cold dinner and a few drinks, we settle in the tiny living room. Eric drags a mattress in from the bedroom, and I ride the couch. Although there’s a fireplace, we opt not to use it. It isn’t worth the chance that someone will see the smoke. Besides, with the small kerosene heater and the sleeping bags, it’s not uncomfortably cold.
Eric spreads out the atlas and gestures for me to join him. “We can take US41 North to Terre Haute, then 70 East into Indy if they aren’t jam packed,” he explains. It’s the strangest thing. The highways are completely clear for miles and then—bam—bumper to bumper vehicles. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it.
“Fine by me,” I reply. He’s the one who knows the city. “I’m going to crash.” My body wants to sleep, but my brain won’t let it happen. Every time my eyes close, I see Abby’s worried face. Is she asleep yet? Did Joseph stay with her and the boys tonight? Their faces seep into my dreams and I carry them with me into the darkness.
We wake to a clear cold day, and make excellent time, pulling into the city of Terre Haute in the late afternoon.
“Why don’t we keep going? It’s only an hour or two from here, isn’t it?”
“I really don’t think entering Indianapolis after dark is a smart idea. Plus, I don’t relish the idea of spending the night in the truck if US70 turns out to be a parking lot,” Eric argues.
“Fine, pick a house.” His prediction is horribly accurate. The highway is a disaster. Miles of vehicles stretch out in front of us, packed together like sardines, full of rotting human remains.
“Where the hell did they think they could go?” I grumble when we have to back track again to find a passable exit. I’m pissed off at a bunch of corpses. A more pointless anger I can’t imagine. They’re victims, and way beyond giving a cow’s ass what I think.
“Away,” Eric mutters, his face sullen.
In addition to the sea of metal we have to traverse, our progress is further impeded by giant slabs of upheaved pavement that leave massive craters in our path. Whole sections of the interstate have been washed away. Eric closes his eyes and holds his breath as I skirt the edge of a particularly large hole, the concrete crumbling and shifting beneath the wheels.
It takes us four days to travel the eighty miles from Terre Haute to Indianapolis, and I’m trying to recall why the hell I wanted to do this. “This is 465,” Eric explains. “It loops around the entire city.” We had to remove barriers to get through the exit. Apparently, the highway was closed to traffic early on. Was it a quarantine? Whatever the reason, it’s a stroke of luck we desperately need. We can travel around the city on a nearly deserted road that appears to have survived mostly intact. As it’s nearly dark, we hole up in a small apartment building to sleep.
It’s freezing when we prepare to leave the following morning. “Where are we headed?” I ask, throwing my bag in the truck.
Wiping his glasses on his shirt, Eric shrugs. “I was going to ask you the same.”
“This was your idea. I’m just along for the ride. Let’s go check your father’s house first.”
An anxious expression creases his face as he nods. “He lived in Speedway. It isn’t far from the address Abby gave you for her brother. Hopefully, we can make it to both places today.”
“Let’s go.” I tuck a pistol in my waistband and prop a rifle behind my seat. We haven’t seen a soul since we left, but I want to be ready if someone fucks with us. Eric folds his long legs into the SUV, and we venture out into the city for the first time. It’s unnerving to be in such unfamiliar surroundings, completely reliant on Eric and his knowledge of the neighborhoods. I’m not accustomed to being so dependent.
“We’re nearly there,” Eric says. “There’s the racetrack.”
“Where they ran the Indy 500?”
“And the Brickyard 400. These streets would be packed for days before a race. It’s a party that would rival your Mardi Gras. Perhaps a little more raunchy.” He smiles, probably remembering the streets filled with partiers.
“You’ve obviously never been to Mardi Gras,” I reply dryly. “Abby told me about the parties before the race. She loved it.”
“This is my dad’s place,” he murmurs, turning into a small driveway. He kills the engine, but makes no move to get out of the vehicle. He’s going to draw blood if he keeps chewing his lip like that.
“We can wait as long as you need to,” I assure him. I can’t imagine how it must feel to see your hometown in ruins. And now he’s facing the possibility of finding his father’
s house empty, or worse, discovering his remains.
“I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he whispers, staring at the door of the small brick house. His face grows paler by the second, his knuckles whitening as he grips the steering wheel.
“Eric, it’s better to know. You came all this way. I’ll go in first, have a look around, and tell you what I find,” I offer.
He nods and swallows audibly.
The front door is slightly ajar. Probably not a great sign. Creeping through the door as if it’s rigged with explosives, I expect to find either an empty house, or a body in the bedroom. When I round the corner into the kitchen, my heart jumps into my throat, and I barely manage to prevent a cry of shock from leaving my mouth. A decaying skeleton swings from a light fixture, a rotting rope cinched around its neck. I should be used to corpses by now, but this one snuck up on me.
The remains of a pair of blue jeans hang from the hipbones, and I swallow back bile as I slip my hand into the back pocket, withdrawing a wallet. The name on the driver’s license is Samuel Turner. Fuck. This has to be Eric’s father, and I have to break the news. Footsteps thump across the porch, and the front door creaks as it opens.
“Airen?” Eric calls in a shaky voice. Fuck!
“Don’t come into the kitchen!” I rush to grab his arm and drag him back out to the porch.
“What is it?” he whispers, terrified.
“Is this your dad?” I pull him down to sit beside me on the tiny concrete steps, and hand him the I.D.
“Yes…is he…in there?” he stammers.
I nod, wishing this task had fallen to anyone else but me. “I’m sorry, man. He’s dead. I took the license from his wallet.”
Looking away, he nods and swallows. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, just because I’m immune…it was stupid think that meant anything.”
My hands travel through my hair as I struggle with whether or not to tell him his father apparently committed suicide. Fuck it. I’d want to know.
“It wasn’t the plague, Eric. It looks like he hung himself,” I reply softly.