Take and Give

by Amanda G. Stevens

  Violet had texted his phone several times last night, urging him to come to the church for the night. He’d told her he was fine and would see her in the morning.

  But he hadn’t been to the church yet. He explored for hours, getting to know the town, the layout of the commercial district and the side streets of a residential neighborhood nearby. Geographical awareness could be helpful at some point, and he had nothing else to do. He’d call Esther tonight, after she got off work at the deli.

  Meanwhile, he walked. Mapped this portion of the town in his mind. He should go spy out Grace Bible Church a little better, but it was sure to be a safe place for Violet, though its presence still felt to him like a repelling magnetic field.

  A scowl tightened his face. Bible Church, a safe place to leave his girl.

  His? Violet wouldn’t agree. Maybe he should try to stop thinking of her that way.

  Good luck with that, numbskull. Great, now Esther’s voice was coming from his own head.

  By the time he was hungry again—maybe he’d try a couple tacos this time—his phone said it was two o’clock and he’d explored several square miles, probably walked ten. He no longer had to think about the route to Rosita’s. He let his feet head back there.

  His phone vibrated in his bag. He pulled it out—not a call, a text.

  I’m sorry.

  Violet.

  He texted back. For what?

  Her response came seconds later. For running off and telling you to leave me alone.

  I’m sorry too, he typed, and then stood staring down at the words. If he sent that, she’d ask why. This last week of her life? She was grateful for it. She was free. The months that he’d failed to find her? She hadn’t wanted to be found, after all. His thumb hovered over the keypad, then typed again. For letting you spy for us. There it was, the us again, but he couldn’t phrase this any other way. Facts were facts.

  He hit Send.

  And waited.

  Where are you?

  His breath poured out. His thumbs flashed. I’ll come to you.

  I’m not at church. I tried to find you.

  She’d get herself lost. And talk about a target, hefting all her possessions on her shoulder in a town that knew about its fugitives. Austin rocked on his feet and couldn’t type fast enough. Where?

  Chill. I didn’t go far. At the park, about a block to the left of the church. By the playground.

  To the left of the church. Austin shook his head. She would never learn how to give directions. Good thing he’d walked past the playground a few hours ago. Don’t leave, he texted.

  Duh.

  He jogged most of the way but slowed his pace in time to level his breathing before she saw him. He passed the monkey bars first and caught a scent of heating rubber from the tractor tires sunk vertical into the sand. The playground felt warmer than the rest of the park, the difference between sand and grass. It was deserted other than one stoop-shouldered, silver-haired woman sitting on the lip of the sandbox while a toddler tossed damp sand into the air and let it fall into his hair. She laughed and waved to Austin, and the little boy waved, too.

  On the other side of the playground, Violet sat in one of three vinyl-seated swings. She turned the chains above her head, watching them crimp tighter and tighter. Before she could spot his approach, she raised her feet and leaned back. The swing spun. She tilted backward, and her hair brushed the sand.

  An empty merry-go-round sat a small distance from the monkey bars, freshly painted red. Austin perched on the edge. Even motion-blurred, Violet was beautiful. At last, she came to a stop, and her dizzy eyes found him. She smiled for only a moment.

  He stood and approached when she didn’t. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” Violet kicked her toes against the sand beneath the swing.

  Austin sank into the swing beside her and pumped his legs twice. Olivia still loved these old things, loved pumping as high as she could and then jumping off.

  “I’m sorry,” Violet said.

  “It’s okay, really.”

  “I’ve been horrible to you for the last week.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She lurched to her feet and spoke to the merry-go-round, her back facing Austin. “Telling Sam you couldn’t come in after your boss threatened to kill you. Not wanting you to come with us. Accusing you of setting us up with that cop. Staying mad about … I don’t know what.”

  She hadn’t wanted him to come … at all?

  “Where did you sleep last night? You obviously didn’t get a hotel room.”

  His mouth curved. “So observant.”

  “You smell a little.”

  “Good to know.”

  She turned to him, eyes shimmering. “I’ve been awful.”

  Austin stood and narrowed the distance, his hands pinned to his sides. She smelled too—like apples and flowers. “You haven’t been awful. Okay? But we need to talk, I think.”

  Violet inched closer, one step, two, three. Austin’s chest tingled.

  “Violet, we—”

  She curled one hand around his bicep, lifted her face, rose on tiptoe, and kissed him. A soft kiss of apology, all she meant it to be, because she started to ease back before she … didn’t. His hands found her hair, heavy and thick, the slightest bit coarse. He threaded his fingers through it, and they melded together like they used to, her head fitting into his hand, her arm curving at his back so her hand nestled against his left shoulder blade. He leaned down and deepened the kiss, and she pressed their bodies closer, and—

  Violet broke the kiss with a strangled sound and turned away from him, hands over her face. She groaned.

  He kept himself from echoing that. “What?”

  “I promised.”

  Promised … The heat in his body froze solid. Promised who?

  “I told Jesus I’d honor Him.”

  The momentary ice thawed into a low simmer of … well, he couldn’t resent a God he didn’t believe in, could he? “We didn’t do anything.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Austin.” She faced him. Her thumb found her wrist bone. “It’s not just sex. It’s … walking this line. The almost-sex. I can’t do that anymore.”

  “Violet, it was one kiss.”

  “No, it wasn’t. Isn’t. Don’t you know that? I still want it. All of it.”

  She actually blushed. Over something they’d done, something they’d shared, dozens of times. She’d always been the one sighing with disappointment when he told her to put her shirt back on because if she didn’t he was going to quit caring she wasn’t eighteen yet.

  “I should’ve known I couldn’t kiss you. You’re too—too—” Again, the blush.

  Austin wasn’t one for wordlessness, but she’d knocked every syllable out of his brain.

  She twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

  The silence stayed. He stared at the merry-go-round and hated the flash of memory, another park, another merry-go-round, this one painted blue. A night he hadn’t known would rip what he and Violet had into shreds he couldn’t stitch back together.

  36

  At 6:58 in the morning, a red pickup truck pulled around the back of the hotel, and Marcus and Lee met their driver, Graham Henderson. He was of medium everything—height, build, temperament, even the brown of his hair and eyes—and he didn’t grill them or crowd the cab with small talk. It was crowded enough, especially for the person in the middle. Lee breathed through her mouth and tried not to smell Graham’s cologne—the only noticeable thing about him. Marcus leaned against the door and tried to hide his wince at each pothole, hands curled in his lap, his body coiled with watchfulness, his gaze fixed out the window at the flat fields, the cloudless sky.

  At 11:42, their vehicle slowed to a crawl in the l
ineup to cross the border. Texas wasn’t requiring passports, but of course, Oklahoma was requiring an interview to prevent terrorists from escaping. Lee still couldn’t wring any logic from that.

  The border guard, Danny, gave Graham a companionable glance that wouldn’t translate to a camera. He asked them a series of innocuous questions—would they be in Texas long, did they have any weapons with them. Graham shook his head with conviction. Danny looked at their IDs, peered into the truck bed and under the chassis, and waved them on their way.

  At 11:53, a green sign came into view to the right of the highway, maybe three hundred feet past the guard stations, adorned with a red, white, and blue flag bearing a lone star. Welcome to the New Republic of Texas. Below the bold, white script, in block letters: Bienvenido a la Nueva Republica de Texas.

  Here they were. She and Marcus. Lee should feel something about this, something other than an inching dread that she was about to awaken from a dream.

  The highway unrolled for another mile before Graham cocked his head at both of them. “Most folks are happy to see that sign.”

  “We are, of course,” Lee said.

  He grunted. “I’ll drop you off in Kearby. Shouldn’t take us much more than an hour, and it’s where I dropped off those two blond kids. Austin and Rose?”

  They were the most words he’d spoken since meeting them. Lee stretched her legs to the vent under the dashboard. “Violet. Yes.”

  “Austin suggested I not take you to Burkburnett. He wanted to be away from the border.”

  That was sensible. Lee’s shoulders lifted. She hadn’t feared for them, not even worried. Violet would be guarded well. The tough confidence Austin wore was the sort to rely on, genuine and earned. He didn’t waste energy on bravado because he didn’t need to. So yes, they were fine, yet Lee now peered through the windshield with new anticipation. Seeing Violet would be … refreshing.

  Graham knew his routes. In just over an hour, they left the expressway for East Third Street and were ensconced in a town barely larger than Vinita. Sparse traffic, parallel parking. A few minutes later, Marcus jolted forward. His head turned to follow as they passed … oh, the church.

  “Marcus?” Lee said.

  “There was a cross.” His voice was low and too even. “Above the door. And the sign said ‘church.’ Not ‘fellowship of believers.’ It said ‘church.’”

  Graham nodded. “You’ll see quite a few of them in Kearby.”

  He signaled and turned right at an intersection occupied by two quilt shops, a Mexican restaurant, and a long green building, Clive’s General Store. They drove down a block of one-story brick houses and oak trees that hadn’t begun to turn color yet. Two stop signs later, Graham pulled a U-turn in the middle of the quiet street and backed into a parking space alongside a flat-roofed brick building the color of sandstone. This sign bore not one but three crosses. Grace Bible Church of Kearby.

  “Is there …?” Lee swallowed the taste of gravel from her next words. She had to say them. “A shelter of some sort? We’re not able to book a hotel right now.”

  “This is the shelter. The church has been aiding people for a few months. They’re pretty good at it by now—efficient and all.”

  But … a church. I can’t walk in there. Especially not to beg assistance.

  Marcus cleared his throat. His hand curled around the door handle as he held Lee’s eyes.

  Perhaps for him, she could do this.

  The truck, like his old one, was high enough for running boards, but helping Marcus down was marginally easier than helping him up. Lee supported him from inside the truck and Graham managed, despite his lack of height or bulk, to bear Marcus’s weight and lower him. In full health, Marcus would outweigh him by fifty pounds or more. Lee forced down another lump of gravel.

  A sturdy concrete awning over a set of glass doors jutted out from this side of the building, a miniature foyer.

  Lee unzipped her bag and drew out three twenty-dollar bills, a quarter of what they had. “Thank you for your assistance, sir.”

  “Oh, put that away.” Graham waved her off. “Don’t insult me.”

  “But you—”

  “I helped out family. That’s what we do, right? Maybe your Michigan church dropped the ball on that, but it’s different down here.”

  Lee opened her mouth to argue, but her words had dissipated. She shoved the money back into her bag.

  Graham took a step toward the doors, Marcus’s arm over his shoulder, but Marcus stiffened and shook his head.

  Graham sighed. “What now?”

  Lee set the bags at the curb and offered her shoulder. Marcus withdrew his arm from Graham’s support and took Lee’s instead. Yes. He was right. They needed a minute to process, to discuss their options.

  “We’ll be fine now,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Graham’s eyes roved a full circle, though there was no one to see, not even another vehicle within a hundred feet, and those farther off were parked and empty. He sighed and smiled for the first time. “Okay, then. Godspeed.”

  “You, too,” Marcus said quietly. “Thanks.”

  Graham nodded and got back into his truck. It disappeared down the block, past the small homes and tall trees.

  As if they’d spoken it aloud, she and Marcus shuffled toward another entrance, this one up three brick steps with a wrought-iron railing. Lee settled him onto the first one and sank beside him and shivered at the cold cement against her thighs.

  “All right. We have two-hundred thirty-five dollars, and Austin has the other …”

  He wasn’t looking at her, maybe at anything. No, he was gazing past the parked cars across the narrow street, past the wide parking lot, at … the trees?

  “Marcus.”

  He coughed and breathed through it, pushed it down. His arm guarded his ribs.

  “Are you all right?”

  Still, he didn’t look at her. He tilted his head up, squinted into the sun, closed his eyes. Lee linked her fingers between her knees and waited for him. A faint tremor washed over him, and then he was shaking. He bowed his head.

  “Marcus,” she whispered.

  His hands splayed over his face. He tried to clear his throat, but the sound choked into a sob. His shoulders, shrunken but still broad-boned, heaved with the effort of control.

  “I’m here,” she said. As if it mattered in this moment.

  It could matter. All she had to do was tuck an arm around his shoulders, rub his back. Place her thumb below the cowlick at his neck and massage a slow circle of comfort. Her hand ached to do it. She lifted it toward him. Lowered it again. If she’d pictured only her arm around him, perhaps she could have managed, but the intimacy of her fingers on his neck, in his hair, was seared into her body now, into her mind, and it spiraled into other images, nearer, more intimate, and … she couldn’t even touch him.

  Long minutes later, he coughed again and lifted his head. His eyes were dry, but he pawed at his cheeks anyway. He drew in a slow breath before he met her eyes.

  “Are you all right?” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “For?”

  “Being here.”

  “Of course.”

  He rubbed his neck, and the old habit hit Lee in the chest. Perhaps pieces of Marcus would continue sifting into place. Perhaps one day, none of him would be missing. She shifted on the step. Words, she could manage. Most of the time. But now she couldn’t even say what she’d said before, when he was probably too fever-spent to remember. I will not leave you, ever.

  She helped him around the side of the church to the front entrance, the one without stairs. Did one knock at the door of a church? She pressed her face to the glass. No one stood in view.

  “Lee, you just go in.”

  “But we have no invitation or … or …” Right to these people’s help. I h
ave no right.

  “Church doesn’t need an invitation.”

  “Not on Sunday, I understand that, but this is the middle of the week and the middle of the afternoon, and—”

  “Heck, Lee.” Marcus tugged at the door, budged it a few inches and leaned into her with a growl.

  “Stop.” She shuffled his weight to one side and opened it herself. They’ll assume you’re one of them. And that was the problem. But to remain with Marcus, she would lie to them.

  She juggled Marcus’s weight and the door’s, neither of which seemed much heavier than the other, and then they were inside a navy-carpeted entryway. White walls, a scent of nutmeg and coffee, a long hallway to the left and a yawning auditorium directly ahead. Over the six doors, all of which were propped open with small rubber doorstops, the three crosses loomed.

  Yes, Jesus Christ, it’s me. I didn’t intend to trespass in a place like this, but it can’t be avoided.

  She could see no camera above the auditorium, and no bell had jingled when they opened the main doors. Well, of course not. A bell would not be reverent.

  Somehow, though, their entrance was noticed. From down the winding hall came a man in khaki pants and a muted orange shirt. He seemed to grow in height as he neared, until he towered over both of them, six-foot-five at least. By then, Marcus stood straight, weight on both legs, and had lowered his arm to cling to the back of Lee’s T-shirt.

  “Welcome, travelers.” The man’s voice should echo or boom, but instead it came gently, with the twang Lee was learning to expect.

  “Thank you,” Lee said. “We were told to come here for … We were told that you …”

  “Yes, we offer sanctuary.” The man grinned and took their bags. “I’m Heath, and you can follow me.”

  After a few steps, Marcus hooked his arm around her shoulders again. Heath’s long strides set a quick pace, and he hadn’t glanced back to notice they fell behind after only a few seconds. They reached a section of the hall well lit by a row of windows on the right. Outside, a garden with a waterfall was circled by padded benches and a stone path. Marcus stumbled, and Lee focused on the path in front of them. It forked at a small gymnasium, one door propped open, spilling the sounds of a dribbled basketball, squeaking tennis shoes, and competitive voices. Heath led them to the left, and this hall stretched longer.