Take and Give

by Amanda G. Stevens

  Marcus’s arm stiffened around her shoulders. Lee glanced at him, but he shook his head, his mouth a thin, pale line. Don’t say anything. She sighed and forced more of his weight onto her shoulders. He didn’t resist.

  By the time the labyrinth forked again, they trailed Heath by at least twenty feet. He glanced over his shoulder, froze, and loped back to them.

  “I’m so sorry. I was in my own head, planning out where to put you, and not paying attention to you at all.”

  “It’s fine,” Lee said.

  Heath looked Marcus up and down and shook his head. “That isn’t true.”

  Marcus gritted his teeth and glared.

  Heath dropped their duffels at his feet and addressed Lee. “Let’s trade.”

  Marcus’s stiffness erased any possibility of that. Lee squeezed the hand she held over her shoulders. “Unnecessary.”

  Heath didn’t argue with her, but he didn’t resume walking, either. His gaze shifted back to Marcus, piercing and … sad. After a long moment that somehow wasn’t invasive or awkward, he stepped toward them.

  Marcus stepped back.

  “Hey, now.” Heath held up his hands. “I’d tell you take it easy, but it’s clear neither one of you can do that right now. I’m sorry.”

  The last thing they needed was an inept attempt at a counseling session. Lee tried to move forward, but the tower of Heath in the center of the hallway wouldn’t let them pass without brushing him on one side.

  “You’ve carried burdens too heavy for you,” he said quietly to Marcus. “And you’ve suffered a long time. And that’s no word of prophecy, that’s my two eyes looking at you.”

  The glare faded, and Marcus held the man’s eyes, searching … hoping? For what?

  “We’re the hands and feet of Jesus,” Heath said. “You know that verse?”

  A dim flicker found Marcus’s eyes. “The body. Of Christ.”

  “That’s right.” Heath held out his open palms. “Brother, let me be His arms for you right now.”

  Lee waited for Marcus’s choice and felt him make it, the slackening in his shoulders, the silent sigh that caved his chest. He took a step toward Heath, and Lee stepped with him and offered his arm, though Heath’s height would make this—

  The man placed an arm at Marcus’s back and stooped to lift him.

  “Please.” The word burst from her mouth, and Heath waited. “Please be careful. He …”

  Marcus jerked a nod. It’s okay, Lee, tell him.

  “There are multiple rib fractures,” she said. “And undetermined damage to his left knee.”

  “Have you been to a doctor? There’s a walk-in clinic around the—”

  “No,” Marcus said.

  Heath studied him, then nodded. He scooped Marcus up with a smooth, careful motion, his arm positioned behind Marcus’s knees, not under them. “Okay?”

  “Thanks.” The whisper was almost too quiet to hear.

  “What I’m here for. Let’s get you two settled in and I’ll hear whatever pieces of your story you’re ready to tell.”

  37

  Violet hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so Austin led her half a mile down the street and they sat at his table at Rosita’s. The young Mexican woman who waited on them smirked at Austin when Violet wasn’t looking … recognizing him? So he’d been here less than five hours ago. They had good food.

  Both of them dug into lunch without a word. Really, what was he supposed to say to her? Ask her to compromise her beliefs so they could …

  Have sex? No. Well, yes, of course, he wanted … and she’d wanted it, too. But he wanted more than that. He wanted to find out if they could love each other. If they could last. Based on previous relationships, he had to admit sex wasn’t the best way to do that. He’d never told Violet her age wasn’t the only factor he was waiting for. Now, he’d probably never get to tell her anything.

  Of course, she’d ordered nachos with extra cheese. She pulled out one chip at a time and watched the cheese string apart, thinner and thinner, catching it on her tongue when it tore.

  They finished lunch, and Austin threw their trash away, and still they hadn’t spoken. The silence was almost content, a scarier silence than awkward or bristling. Content landed too close to resigned.

  “Let’s walk,” he said.

  A smile touched her lips. “Okay.”

  He took her through neighborhoods he’d already vetted, though Kearby seemed the last place a mugger would lurk.

  “So tonight.” Violet tucked her hair behind her ear. “Where’ll you go?”

  “Sleep under the stars, I guess. It was nice last night.”

  “On the ground?” She clasped her hands in front of her, feet fused to the sidewalk.

  “Like camping. As you can see, it didn’t kill me.”

  “And are you going to take a shower only after you’ve found a job and saved up enough for an apartment? Because the lack of shower may affect finding a job.”

  Austin kept walking, and after a moment, she followed. They passed under an ancient willow tree, branches brushing their arms. One narrow leaf clung to Violet’s hair, behind her ear. Austin smiled.

  “I walked up to a shelter last night, even went in. Then I walked back out.”

  Um … where had those words come from? Violet halted again to stare at him. Again.

  “I just didn’t feel right about it,” he said. And if you’d leave this topic alone now, that would be great.

  “Come back with me. To the church.”

  “Violet.”

  “Please.”

  A shower would be nice. A bed would be nicer. Still charity, though.

  The screen door of the nearest house creaked open. Several boys wandered out, probably around the age of Austin’s small group at Elysium, seventh or eighth grade. He hurried down the sidewalk, and Violet trotted to match his stride. They didn’t need an audience. Or a welcome. For all he knew, Southern kids were as friendly as Southern adults.

  “Why won’t you sleep at the church?” Violet said.

  He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair (okay, maybe a shower was in order posthaste). “I’m not entirely sure.”

  “Was it because of what I said? About leaving me alone?”

  “No, though I do want to respect your boundaries.”

  “I don’t own the church, scholar.”

  His mouth curved. If by some cosmic grace they did stay together for the next ten years or more, he would never be able to predict her use of that nickname. “True, but … Violet, you were upset. You’ve got a lot to be upset over. I don’t mean only me, I mean … your whole life at the moment.”

  “I’ve also never had so much to be thankful for.”

  He’d challenge her to list them, but she would, and the thought of listening to that tasted like old coffee. He let the quiet fill with a group of kids at the closer end of the street, playing basketball with a cockeyed hoop (broken or more challenging?).

  “Austin.” Her voice trembled. She maintained pace beside him but said nothing else.

  “Go on,” he said quietly.

  “Last night, I had a nightmare.”

  His muscles tensed. Of course she had.

  “I woke up in bed, and I wasn’t breathing hard. My heart wasn’t even pounding. I don’t think I made a single noise. I’m rooming with a girl named Fiona, and I whispered, ‘Did I wake you up?’ but she didn’t say anything.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” If she needed to, she should. If she didn’t … he’d rather not hear about it.

  “It was the guy from the gas station. He—he shot Lee, in my dream.” Violet went still, arms wrapped around her middle as if her stomach hurt. “And I had to help her. But she was bleeding so much. All over my hands and the concrete. It was so red.”

  Austin took one
step closer and stopped. Let me hold you. But she stepped back.

  “I think she died. If I hadn’t woke up when I did, I would’ve seen her die. She was bleeding so much.” Violet straightened up and rubbed her arms. “You know how some dreams fade as soon as you wake up?”

  Austin nodded.

  “This one still hasn’t.”

  “Violet, I—”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “I’m not telling you so you get mad at the guy. I’m telling you because … I was lying there in the dark, and my body was totally calm, but my head was so scared. I couldn’t sleep. So I imagined … you. Not in the room, just—on the other side of the wall. Like we had two hotel rooms. Like, if I needed help, all I had to do was scream. And then I went to sleep.”

  Well … good … but what did she want him to say?

  She set off down the sidewalk again, shoes slapping. “I’m telling you because I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you. Or want you around. I don’t… I don’t know what to do about us, but it’s not because I don’t trust you. That’s all.”

  Austin grasped her arm, and she swiveled toward him, eyes wide. They stood there in front of yet another old house, under the shade of yet another grandfatherly oak tree, and yes, he wanted to kiss her again.

  But he loved her too much to do that.

  “I’ll come back with you,” he said.

  Her smile hurt.

  “But let’s walk awhile first.”

  “Okay.” The smile didn’t fade.

  A mile later, back on Third Street, as they passed various family-owned businesses and stores, she turned to him. “I want you to do something for me.”

  He waited.

  “I want you to be honest with them. The church.”

  What kind of ridiculous plan was that? “It would be stupid of them to let me stay if they know everything. I could be a spy, Violet.”

  “For Michigan? Does that even make any sense?”

  Well, no, but … “They’re going to see me as a threat.”

  “No, they won’t. Your badge is worthless here. And I’ll vouch for you.”

  “They met you yesterday, babe.” Shoot, there it was again. But she’d called him scholar.

  Violet didn’t flinch at the name this time. “You’ll never believe we’re safe unless you put us to the test. And you can’t go in there and lie to people I want to be my friends. Please, Austin.”

  Worst case scenario. Let’s see now. They could murder him, a revenge killing for the loved ones they’d lost to re-education. The Christians were in force here, unfettered.

  You might be paranoid.

  Violet was watching him. “You really believe it, don’t you? Everything the media says about Christians.”

  “I believe my training, Violet.”

  “What if your teachers lied?”

  What purpose would that serve?

  “Besides, you’re armed. They’re not.”

  Maybe.

  “So … I trust you, but you don’t trust me?” Her voice had softened, no accusation, only … hurt. Awareness of how wide their rift had become.

  “I trust you,” he said.

  “But you think I’m wrong. Not just about Jesus. About the people who follow Him, too.”

  They walked awhile, not speaking, not touching.

  “Violet, if you don’t want me to go back with you, I understand.”

  “I do, though,” she said. “Even if you insist on keeping it from them, you have to come back. And we’ll prove to you the Constabulary are liars.”

  38

  Several of the fugitives Lee met over the next few hours recognized Violet by description, a few times even her name. Austin must be less noticeable, because no one recalled him at all. Their absence ate a hole in Lee’s stomach until a teenage girl mentioned Violet had left around noon to explore the town. When Lee asked if Austin had been with her, the girl said she thought Violet was alone, “… but maybe not, though.” Lee’s calm was complete when she remembered she and Marcus weren’t supposed to be here for another day. Not that she expected a welcoming ceremony, of course.

  The rooms down the hall were built into the interior of the structure. No windows other than a narrow pane of glass in each door. They’d probably been used for classrooms before (for some reason, she knew that Protestant churches from before held something called Sunday school). Now each room was furnished with a few folding chairs and various mattresses, cots, or other makeshift sleeping areas. It seemed most of the rooms were literally a place to sleep, too crowded for anything else, yet Heath brought Marcus and Lee to a smaller, unoccupied room with only two mattresses—one a twin, one an air mattress. He gave them a smile and left them alone.

  The hallway was a constant bustle, and Lee lost track of names and faces, tired smiles, and sincere handshakes. She needed an hour or two in that garden in the middle of the church, listening to the waterfall and nothing else.

  But she didn’t shut their door on the wearying noise and the more wearying people, because Marcus sat in a folding chair at the threshold and watched everyone with something like hunger. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, and even then his responses were monosyllabic and without a smile. A few people skirted closer to the opposite wall when they passed him. Most greeted him and Lee and made sure they knew where dinner would be served.

  How was the church paying to feed all these people? How long did they plan to house strangers like this? And why?

  The question slipped out as she was exchanging pleasantries with Sonja, a woman about Lee’s age who had brought her three-year-old to socialize with the guests of her church. Or at least it seemed that way, since she wasn’t taking part in the organization process, or the cooking that had started somewhere nearby based on the scents of basil and garlic.

  “What do you mean?” Sonja said, scooping her child up before he could climb into Marcus’s lap. “No, Alex.”

  “It’s okay,” Marcus said.

  Sonja lifted Alex into the air and then set him down with a whisper in his ear, and while her back was turned, Lee shot a glare at Marcus. It won’t be “okay” if that child displaces one of your ribs. Marcus glared back.

  “I mean, I understand the positive publicity that would result from this degree of outward generosity, but it seems impractical to expect …”

  Sonja gaped at Lee as if she’d combined God’s name with an obscenity.

  “What?” The word faltered. Had Lee said something inappropriate? Marcus watched them, something unnamable in his face.

  “Okay.” Sonja’s voice shook, too. “I’m going to assume you’re asking this because you’re more familiar with—with ‘fellowships’ than church. This is not about publicity. It’s about providing for our spiritual family.”

  “Are there no limits to that … ordinance? In the Bible?”

  Sonja’s cheeks reddened with offense. This time, Lee had definitely misspoken. “It’s a command, yes, but it’s not about— Lee, it’s about loving people, that’s all. And no, the Bible doesn’t say anywhere, ‘Okay, that’s enough love, you can stop now.’”

  “I see,” Lee said.

  “Really?”

  No. “Yes.”

  Sonja smiled. “You don’t own a Bible, do you?”

  “Marcus does.”

  He straightened in the chair and stared at her as Sonja smiled again. “Oh, good. Read the Epistles, okay? That’s the letters to the churches. Toward the end. Start with … let’s see. First John. Or James. And come find me sometime. We can chat about what you read.”

  Lee nodded. Sonja left shortly, though she didn’t seem to need escape. She gave them a childlike wave, followed by waving Alex’s chubby hand in their direction. Lee lifted her hand in return, and when Sonja and Alex disappeared around the hallway’s curve, quiet fell, a soothing blanket. Lee sli
d down the wall to sit against it, knees bent.

  “I should participate in the meal preparation,” she said.

  Marcus stretched his good leg, then slowly, halfway, his injured one. “You’re tired.”

  “Not very.”

  “You’re tired of people.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Unlike you.”

  “Lee, you said I have a Bible.”

  The words had emerged without thought, a shield against Sonja’s prying. Lee frowned at them now. “It’s with Violet.”

  “She kept it? All this time?”

  Only four months, but not only, not to him or to her. She nodded.

  They’d been told a dozen times that “supper” was served at 6:30. She had less than two hours before facing another buzzing roomful of well-meaning extroverts.

  Lee pushed to her feet. “How do you feel?”

  “Okay.”

  “Marcus.”

  He sighed down at the carpet. “Tired.”

  “Physically.”

  “Yeah.”

  She supported him to the twin mattress in the corner, adorned with a rainbow-colored handmade quilt. Were all these things donated?

  “You do need to see a doctor,” she said as she used the pillows to cushion him from the wall. Lying flat still caused pain to his ribs.

  “No.”

  “We have enough cash left for an office visit, X-rays.” And little else.

  “No.” Fatigue dulled his glare.

  She’d force the topic later.

  In minutes, he was asleep, fluorescent light above them notwithstanding. He half sprawled, head tilted to one side. Lee sat on the air mattress across the room and opened a book, and her soul exhaled its relief. Quiet. Solitude.

  Marcus stirred an hour later, as Lee was turning a page. His groggy blinking did something to her heartbeat. Enough of that. He hadn’t awakened in a defensive posture. Perhaps that was progress, and post-traumatic stress hadn’t affected him very much after all.