Take and Give

by Amanda G. Stevens

  “No.”

  “Marcus—”

  “No.”

  Austin pressed his lips together, then crouched to eye level with Marcus. “You’re right, I was there. Two days ago. With Jason.”

  A shudder seized Marcus. He gripped the edge of the tub, wide helplessness in his eyes. She’d let a stranger see him this way, bruised and exposed. Let a Constabulary agent see him. She should have dragged him to bed herself. She should be strong enough to carry him.

  “Bre— Marcus,” Austin said. “Hear me, man. Jason’s a coward and a psycho. There’s a reason Sam came for you after I was there.”

  Marcus didn’t blink, didn’t break eye contact.

  “Jason threatened me when he found out. Sam sent me along to keep all of us safe, not just you. But I’m going to help you in the meantime.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not here to turn you in.”

  A long silence bridged between them, or maybe widened the gap. Austin crouched there, utterly still, until Marcus shivered and coughed.

  Austin extended an open hand. “Lee can’t lift you. Will you let me help you up?”

  “You told him to shoot me.”

  He … what?

  “I did. Live to save another day.”

  Marcus studied him a long moment, then nodded.

  An hour later, Austin had burrowed back into the sleeping bag, Violet hadn’t stirred, and Marcus lay under the sheet and thin comforter in the second bed. He’d thanked Lee as she drew the covers up over him. She sat in a stiff upholstered chair that she’d pulled up to the bedside, feet tucked under her.

  “Lee?” Marcus stared at the window, where morning poured stripes of chilled sunlight through the blinds.

  “Yes?”

  “Sun’s coming up.”

  “It’s been a whole night, Marcus.”

  “I know.” He waited almost a minute to speak again. “Could we … see it?”

  Of course, the sky. One of the dearest sights in the world to Marcus. She crossed the room and pulled the blinds.

  Marcus’s hands curled into the blanket. “Thanks.”

  Even through his coughing spells, his eyes didn’t move from the window. The sunrise bled from pink to orange. The ball of fire rose in the sky while his fever dropped to 100.8 and the sick brightness left his eyes. Then he lay still until Lee thought he was asleep, until he half-flexed his injured knee and grimaced. His eyes opened.

  “What happened to Indy?”

  She should be prepared for this question. She placed the flats of her hands on the arms of her chair. “I don’t know.”

  “She was at home.”

  “I went as quickly as I could, but they’d already been there. The dog was gone.”

  “They were … intruders.”

  “I would imagine so.” And as such would have been attacked. Self-defense against Marcus’s dog might have involved lethal force. But even if Constabulary agents had bothered to confine her, no animal shelter would offer for adoption a seventy-five-pound German shepherd who had tried to bite multiple people. The why wouldn’t matter.

  “Thanks. For trying.”

  “She was yours.”

  A crinkle formed between his eyes. “She was a good dog.”

  Indutiae. Truce. Mascot of a friendship’s endurance. “Yes, she was.”

  Around eight-thirty, he fell asleep, and Lee’s own eyelids started to droop.

  Sam did say she had to sleep.

  I’ll sleep when he’s well. Two more days, and she’d know if the antibiotics were going to help. Until then, especially, she had to watch him.

  But if she became fatigued, she could miss something vital. She closed her eyes and drew up her knees. Every muscle remained tense, ready. She reached for his wrist. His pulse thrummed against her fingers, steady, and her body relaxed a bit. He was weak, but he was also strong.

  She would sleep. Only for a few hours.

  17

  “First things first.” Violet reached for a case of bottled water, but Austin stepped between her and the grocery shelf. He hefted the twenty-four-pack with one hand and shoved it onto the rack at the bottom of the cart.

  “Oh,” Violet said.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, you just make them look … less heavy.” She pivoted away from him and marched to the main aisle toward the back of the store, so they could “shop against traffic,” she’d said.

  Austin pushed the cart behind her. “Why is water first priority?”

  “Because in my head, it’s last. So if we don’t get it now, I’ll forget.”

  “Didn’t Lee put it on the list?”

  Violet waved the sheet of hotel stationery at him, filled with precise cursive. “Not the point.”

  Whatever. Shopping in general was the last of Austin’s priorities, but Violet refused to drive Sam’s truck. Anyway, he wouldn’t have let her go alone. Not that danger lurked around every corner in a mostly empty Kroger at 9:00 at night, but still. Violet double-checked Lee’s list as she went, and items started to stack up in the cart. Paper plates, plasticware. Peanut butter, a jar of real honey (Violet read the ingredients per Lee’s instructions), whole grain bagels, a loaf of whole grain bread. Apples and oranges and bananas and baby carrots. Beef jerky (at least there was that), a whole case of tuna fish, a jar of relish, mixed nuts, string cheese.

  “We’re going to be eating like squirrels,” Austin said.

  “She said to get whatever else we want, too, but I can’t think of anything she missed. Anything convenient, that is.”

  True enough. Frozen pizza and burgers on the grill would have to wait until they got to … Texas. I’m actually doing this, running away. To another state—no, country. With Violet.

  “And why can’t we just get drive-through for the next few days?”

  “She said this is in case stopping ‘becomes impractical or a risk.’ Plus she hates fast food, as in, she refuses to eat it.”

  He’d never expected to meet someone more prepared for the most extreme scenario than he was.

  Violet stalled in the snack aisle, wandering past the tortilla chips and biting her lip, then freezing in front of the cheese dips and salsa. “I want nachos.”

  “Okay.”

  “Except there’s no way to keep all the toppings and stuff. Plus they’re messy. Oh, never mind.” She huffed and turned away from the chips to the other side of the aisle, grabbed a few boxes of fruit snacks.

  “Those are gross,” Austin said.

  She giggled.

  It hadn’t changed. The sound of it, a sound he hadn’t counted on hearing ever again, caught his breath. She tossed the boxes into the cart and kept moving down the aisle.

  “That wasn’t a joke. I’m not eating wax and cherry juice.”

  “They’re made with real fruit, I checked.”

  He shook his head, and Violet shook hers back, a what-will-I-do-with-you tolerance in the tilt of her mouth that quickly flattened. He could see this thought too, as if she’d spoken it. I’m not supposed to enjoy your company anymore. But … she still did?

  They reached the end of the aisle and started to turn before Austin realized what she’d skipped. “Don’t forget granola bars.”

  “Lee said not to get any.”

  “They’re nonperishable and nonprep.”

  “She wrote it on the list with a line through it after verbally telling me not to get any granola of any kind.”

  “Is one of them allergic? Can you be allergic to granola?”

  “I’ve never heard of it, but maybe.” Violet paused in front of the gourmet chocolate and grabbed two bars of intense dark, 85% cacao. “Not on the list, but I’ve seen this stuff in her pantry. I think before she stopped eating, it used to be her thing. That and Klondike bars, there were two unopened
boxes in her freezer.”

  “Lee stopped eating?”

  Violet’s thumb traced the wrapper’s gold foil lettering. “This isn’t normal for her. Tall and thin, yeah, but not … bones poking everywhere.”

  Before Austin could figure out how to respond, Violet gave a small smile and set the chocolate bars into the cart, more carefully than she’d handled the rest of the food.

  At the last minute, she remembered to get a manual can opener. They went through the self-scan and paid cash, and no one looked at them twice. Did Jason have patrols at Michigan’s state line, not realizing they’d already escaped it? Could he get jurisdiction to extend the search to Ohio? Austin’s scalp prickled with the possibilities.

  He and Violet walked to the truck under a few floodlights, shoulder to shoulder. He caught the scent of hotel shampoo when the wind lifted her hair toward his face. While she climbed into the truck, Austin held the bags. Good thing. Otherwise he might have picked her up and lifted her inside, just to hold her. He tossed the bags on the floor at her feet and shut the door.

  As planned, they stopped at Subway—soup for Brenner, sandwiches for everyone else—then headed back to the hotel. Their room was easy to spot from down the hall: one of two doors bearing a Do Not Disturb tag. Bags hanging over both arms, Austin let them in with the key card.

  Brenner still slept in the bed across the room. Lee sat at the low, wooden table by the window, studying a highway map of the Midwest. She glanced up as Austin slid the bolt on the door.

  “Wow, a paper map.” Violet set her bags on the floor and bent over the table. “Old school.”

  “I’d prefer my phone app,” Lee said. “But fortunately, the hotel clerk had these. I’m trying to determine if we should go south through Kentucky and Tennessee, or west through Indiana and Illinois.”

  Austin set down his bags, including dinner—well, breakfast, for them—on the empty bed.

  “Shh.” Violet glared at the rustle of the plastic bags. “You’ll wake Marcus up.”

  “He’s slept fourteen hours. He needs to eat.” Lee crossed to the bed. “Marcus. Wake up.”

  He didn’t stir.

  Lee leaned close to his head and softened her voice. “Marcus.”

  His body jerked, rolling from his back to his side, arms snapping up to guard his head, one knee pulling into his chest. Austin’s body twitched, recognizing the reflex. A sour taste filled his mouth, but it was in the past. For him, anyway.

  “Shh. It’s Lee.”

  Brenner uncurled and lowered his arms. His eyes traveled the room, lingered on Austin, then found Lee.

  “Dinner,” she said.

  After he’d finished the last drop of broth, Lee helped him drink a bottle of water and gave him more antibiotics and Motrin. He fell asleep again almost as soon as she’d lowered his head to the pillow. Perched at the foot of his bed, Lee began eating her oven-roasted chicken sandwich. Violet and Austin split a foot-long roast beef, but she only nibbled her half. Her glances at Lee seemed afraid to break a spell. Oh, right. Bones poking everywhere.

  Halfway through her sandwich, Lee planted her heels on the edge of the box spring. “He needs more time.”

  Austin might think she was overreacting if he hadn’t just watched Brenner tremble to hold a cup of soup. But being right didn’t make her scenario preferable. Crossing another state line, then another, all the way to their haven—that’s what they should be doing.

  Violet was already nodding, staring at Brenner’s sleeping form. Challenging both her and Lee … Well, the trust around here was tenuous enough already.

  Still. “It’s not a good idea.”

  “Leaving is not an option,” Lee said.

  Austin tried to smooth his scowl. “Tomorrow night, then.”

  “The night after.”

  She wanted to stay here two more days? The risk left his instincts faintly buzzing, as if he stood beside an electric fence. “That’s—”

  “By then, the antibiotics will be working, and the fever should break.”

  “Lee, by that time we could be in Texas. He could be safe.”

  She set down her sandwich, only half eaten. “Or he could be dead.”

  Violet jerked in her chair as if someone had stabbed her. “What’re you talking about? You told Chuck he’s not in danger.”

  “I couldn’t leave them with futile worry.”

  “But he—he’s eating and sleeping, and the fever’s been lower since this morning.”

  “And they’re all reassuring signs. But malnourishment, dehydration, muscle atrophy, fractures—Marcus’s body is fighting multiple battles at once, and it’s too soon for him to be winning any of them.”

  If he died … well, what would be the point of all this? Austin sighed. “Two more days.”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t tell me,” Violet whispered. “You let me think … for a whole day.”

  Lee resumed eating.

  “I’m not Chuck and Belinda. I’m your—your medical assistant.”

  At the break in Violet’s voice, Lee looked up. Before she could respond, Violet pushed her own sandwich away, shot to her feet, and barreled into the bathroom. The door shut quietly. Lee stared at it.

  “It’s important information,” Austin said. “We should’ve known before.”

  Lee gathered the spoon and empty soup cup from the table and threw them into the trash. A muffled sob came from the bathroom, and she froze. If she wasn’t going to talk to Violet, then he would, but when Austin moved toward the door, Lee’s glare stilled him. She crossed in front of him, tapped on the door, and slipped inside.

  18

  Violet knelt on the frayed white rug, hands folded in her lap. As Lee shut the door, she turned her face up, tears magnifying the green of her eyes.

  “Wasn’t I worth telling?”

  Lee pressed her shoulders against the door. She’d wounded Violet. Violet, who dusted her furniture and vacuumed while Lee was at work, who studied with flash cards on the couch every night, who made toast after Lee’s body finally stopped trying to be rid of itself from the inside out. Say something. Repair what you’ve done. But her mouth was sawdust.

  “I know it doesn’t matter to you, but Lee, I’ve been praying the wrong prayer. For a whole day.”

  This was the reason for the tears? Not Lee herself? Her chest eased slightly.

  “I’ve been thanking God that Marcus didn’t die, but maybe he’s going to, and maybe if I’d just prayed for him not to …” She squeezed her eyes shut, and a tear escaped.

  Lee crouched beside her. “Violet.”

  “Go away, I have to pray.”

  “You believe God works this way? Have you found a passage in the Bible suggesting that He does?”

  She swiped at her tears and frowned at Lee. “You don’t believe in praying in the first place.”

  “But you do, correct?”

  She gave a teary roll of her eyes. Duh, Lee.

  “And you believe God cares for you.”

  “It says we’re supposed to pray without ceasing and make our requests known and stuff. And Jesus says the Father gives us gifts.”

  Far be it from Lee to strengthen anyone’s misguided faith, much less Violet’s, but applying the girl’s beliefs to her situation was only logical. “If you believe that, then you can’t believe God would willfully misunderstand you. You can’t believe in God’s cruelty.”

  “No way. He gave us Jesus. The opposite of cruel.”

  Technically no, but all right. Lee rocked back on her heels. “Well, then.”

  “Lee … He isn’t cruel. There’s a lot I don’t know, but I know that much.”

  She stood. Now wasn’t the time for a war of the worldviews. “I apologize for not communicating with you.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

 
“I …” I couldn’t say it. A ball of ice formed in her stomach. “I should have. I’ll do better in the future.”

  Violet’s mouth tipped up. “Because I’m your medical assistant.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m okay, you can go. I need to keep praying for a little while, for Marcus, I—I just feel like I need to.”

  Lee nodded and left her to her futile exercise.

  Austin’s gaze speared her the moment she’d exited the bathroom. “You’re not a Christian.”

  They’d been heard that easily through the door? “No.”

  If she wasn’t up to a philosophical debate with Violet, she certainly wasn’t going to endure a personal conversation. Not with a Constabulary agent, while Violet knelt pleading in the other room, while Marcus lay defenseless a few feet away. She dug through her duffel bag, brushed her fingers against the cash envelope, and found one of the books she’d laid flat at the bottom. The nurse’s memoir. Her soul throbbed a moment for the hundreds of books she’d left behind.

  She curled into the stuffed chair and opened to page one. Re-center herself.

  “But what about the clinic you were running?” Austin said. “And that kidnapping, the Weston baby. You did do it, didn’t you?”

  Lee turned the page though she hadn’t finished reading it. Stop talking, and stop asking me to talk.

  “I mean, forget everything you did before. Look at what you’re doing now. If you’re not a Christian, then why would you …?”

  When his words trailed away, Lee stretched her legs and settled her feet on the floor. Six pages into her book, Austin started in again.

  “There was conjecture about the two of you. Bonnie and Clyde of the resistance movement or something clichéd like that. I didn’t give it much credit.” He was staring at Marcus.

  “We’re not Bonnie and Clyde,” Lee said.

  “Right.”

  “And we’re not …” Together. Not in the way Austin meant. But he wouldn’t believe her if she said it, given what he’d observed in the last day.

  After all, her behavior was extreme, the kind that typically resulted from love. She couldn’t fault the rationale behind Austin’s conclusion. And if she tried to clarify, he would return to his original question.