“Better?” she said when his eyes remained open.
He nodded against the pillow, which had fallen to the level of his neck. “Good book?”
“I wouldn’t have brought it otherwise.”
Knock-knock—and without pause, the doorknob rattled and the door swung open. Heath’s height rose even taller from Lee’s place near the floor.
“Howdy, you two. I have call-to-supper duty tonight, so …” When his gaze included Marcus, he froze. Lee turned.
Marcus was curled up, back pressing to the wall. The pillows had fallen around him. His arms covered his head.
“Is he …?” Heath’s voice wobbled.
Lee sprang up and dropped to her knees beside the mattress. “Marcus.”
Shallow gasps came faster. Marcus stared at her through his arms, eyes too wide, and tried to speak.
Lee’s body clenched, restricting her own breath. She had to bring him back. Quickly. Now. How did he help her, when panic and darkness squeezed her chest? She reached a hand to his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away.
Heath moved to stand over them both. Marcus shrank away and clutched his chest.
“Heath,” Lee said. Calm. Level voice. Be the nurse. Stop the pain. “I need you out of this room.”
“Should I call—”
“No. Just go.”
The man hesitated, scrubbed a hand over his hair, and left.
“Marcus.” She rubbed his hunched shoulder. “Can you hear me?”
He trembled. His arms came up again, shielding his head.
“I’m here. It’s Lee. You’re all right.”
He clenched his teeth against a moan.
Lee rubbed his forearm, then his back. “Shhhhh.”
Time passed, minutes that felt like forever. Marcus’s arms lowered, but he remained a tight ball. Lee rambled to him without pausing, a gentle flow of words. He’d taught her this aid for flashbacks simply by using it, discovering it brought her back in half the time.
Maybe it didn’t work for him. Or maybe, without her voice, he’d be trapped in a loop, assaulted again and again. But his eyes hadn’t blanked. He seemed to be here with her while in this state of … whatever it was.
When he lifted his head, confusion gathered between his eyes. “Lee?”
“I’m here.”
“What …?”
“Did you experience a flashback?”
He lowered his forehead to his good knee and continued breathing, long and deep. Another minute slipped away. He sat up again, his face still crinkling. “Lee?”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
She sighed and withdrew her hand to her lap. “Of course.”
“What happened?”
“Do you remember?”
“We were talking about … your book? And then … it was— I wasn’t—” His respiration stuttered.
“Heath entered the room. I believe he triggered a flashback somehow. I’m not sure, but you definitely experienced something … traumatic.”
“I was here—with you.” He gathered the rainbow quilt into his hands and pressed it to his chest.
“Are you in pain?”
“Like—like—but it’s not.”
She took his pulse at his wrist. Racing, but strong. “Like what, Marcus?”
He shook his head.
If he couldn’t explain, she would piece it together herself. “Do you know where we are right now?”
“Texas. Kearby. In the church with the crosses.”
“That’s correct. We’re safe here.”
He buried his face in the quilt, then lowered it, his breathing eased. “Safe.”
“Mayweather is not here. The Constabulary aren’t here and have no authority to come here.”
A shudder seized his body. “I know.”
“And no one has attacked you here. No one has harmed you in any way. Yet you felt as if someone was … was kicking and beating you. Is that what happened?”
His face reddened.
“Marcus, I need to know. Please. Just tell me yes, or no. Did your body experience the pain despite at least part of you knowing you were here with me, in safety?”
He nodded, looked down, and then his gaze snapped back to hers. “Heath. He saw?”
“He saw very little. I asked him to leave.”
Marcus growled. “Go get him.”
Wouldn’t he rather have time to himself? “Marcus—”
“Lee, please.”
She stepped into the hallway and nearly collided with Heath. He was kneeling to one side of the doorway, broad hands gripping his thighs, head bowed, and eyes closed. He looked up at her and opened his mouth to speak. Moving from Marcus’s line of sight, she snapped a finger to her lips, motioned Heath to follow, and set off toward the hall windows.
When she reached them, Lee faced the glass, watched the waterfall on the other side. Someone should plant more flowers. Geraniums in that corner near the benches, a wildflower mix in the center, around the reflecting pool.
“Lee, I—”
“Please don’t reveal to him that you heard everything. He would be—” Her throat closed.
“Embarrassed?”
“Ashamed.”
“Of what?”
She shut her eyes and curled her hands around the railing that jutted out from the wall. The floor sloped here, not drastically, but any elderly person with a cane would appreciate the additional support as much as she did now.
“Did he deny his faith?”
“No.” She spit the word up at him. He assumed all shame was born of guilt, of course, which meant he would never understand Marcus.
“I’m not trying to pry, Lee. I’m trying to help.”
“By praying, of course.”
“Well …” That she’d taken him aback was betrayed in the drawing out of the word, the extra drawl. “Of course.”
“And your prayer reached God and mattered to Him, of course.” Be calm. Non-combative. She couldn’t.
“Absolutely.”
“In your prayerful state, it must have escaped your notice that Marcus continued to experience acute pain brought on by a trigger of post-traumatic stress. He didn’t experience any mystical relief because you petitioned God.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Heath approached to stand level with her, one hand on the railing, and looked through the windows at the waterfall. He stayed clear of Lee’s space, yet she couldn’t appreciate even that.
“Do you have any idea …” His voice bounced quietly back from the glass. “What did I do? Did I just startle him, is that all it takes?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked down at her, his brow puckered. She shouldn’t have said that, but the topic change left her with whiplash. A Christian should lob Bible verses at her about God’s unfathomable love and the power of prayer.
And she’d just admitted too much. Suppose he went to the church leadership and told them Lee was not a Christian?
None of that mattered right now, though. He was right: she should be able to identify the trigger. Merely being startled … She scrolled back over Marcus’s reactions, everything she could remember, even things that had held no significance at the time. All these dots. She had to connect them.
Heath’s voice broke into her analysis. “I’m only asking to avoid making the same mistake again.”
She shut him out, drew mental lines between the images. “He’s lying at floor level.”
“Okay …”
Marcus curled on a filthy floor, hearing the lock, the doorknob, the opening door and knowing who was opening it, what was coming next. She shuddered. “Please don’t enter the room that way again. Let me open the door for you and say a few words, give him time to process that you aren’t �
�� a threat.”
“Of course.”
Maybe she’d solved the problem, though it was an affliction in his mind, not his body. Perhaps she wouldn’t be useless in helping Marcus battle the trauma. Lee swiveled away from Heath, back toward the room. He followed without words. He let Lee precede him inside.
Marcus sat in the folding chair, facing the door. His face was white as a lab coat. Lee tried not to imagine how he’d made it into the chair.
“Heath,” he said, before anyone else could speak. “I want to explain.”
“That’s entirely up to you.” Heath pulled up the other chair and sat across from him, well out of his space but now at eye level. He understood. Probably more than Marcus would want him to.
“I …” Marcus’s hands shook, and he clenched them on his knees. “I’m okay. I’m not … not …”
Heath waited, but one thing Lee knew. If Marcus had needed twenty-four hours to tell her Aubrey Weston was dead, he would never be able to tell this stranger what he’d endured at Mayweather’s hands.
“It’s …” He grasped for a deep breath. “I was …”
“Marcus,” she said. “Do you wish me to speak for you?”
The question pulled a blush into his cheeks, but the longer he struggled for words of his own, the deeper the shame would dig into him. He nodded.
Heath’s eyes didn’t stray from Marcus.
Can’t you tell he doesn’t want to be stared at right now? Lee cleared her throat, but the man’s gaze didn’t move. “Heath, until eight days ago, Marcus was a prisoner of the Constabulary.”
That drew his attention. His mouth became an O. “Eight days ago?”
“He is recovering from pneumonia and malnourishment, in addition to the injuries I told you about.”
“How long?”
Not your business.
Heath leaned forward in his chair. “Marcus, is it okay with you if Lee answers that?”
Marcus held his gaze and nodded.
“One hundred thirty-eight days,” Lee said. Anything else Heath could have asked, she couldn’t have answered. Her chest, her throat, her body was closing in on itself.
This stranger had no right to know anything. But as if they weren’t strangers, Heath reached out and clapped a hand over Marcus’s.
“Brother,” Heath said, and then his words choked off too. His free hand pinched between his eyes a moment, not a headache but … tears? “Brother, thank God you lived. Thank God He delivered you here. I want you to understand, both of you. The Constabulary cannot touch you in this state. You’re free now.”
A voice bounded down the hallway from the direction of the smells of spaghetti and garlic bread. “Heath?”
Heath released Marcus’s hand, stood up, and poked his head out of the doorway. “Juana, one minute, please.”
A curvy Mexican woman popped into sight, gripping the hand of a boy who bounced on his feet until his black hair bounced too.
“Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said with a purely Texan twang. “We’ll see y’all at supper.”
She tugged at the boy’s hand, and he called down the hallway as they left. “Pastor Heath, I want you to sit at our table.”
Juana’s shushing faded into distance.
Heath turned back to them as if no interruption had taken place. As if the boy hadn’t just called him … Why hadn’t he introduced himself properly? Was he trying to trick Lee somehow?
That was absurd. He hadn’t known until a few minutes ago that she wasn’t part of his “family.”
“Marcus, you up to supper at a table?” Heath offered his shoulder. When Marcus nodded, the man lifted him to his feet.
Soon they were seated at one of the round folding tables with eight other people. Lee told Marcus she’d bring him a plate and scurried after Heath, who was ambling across the gym.
He smiled when he saw her. “Anything y’all need?”
“I need to speak with you. Immediately, please.”
He sobered and led her to a corner. The din of dozens of people masked their conversation. Lee forced out the words.
“You are aware that I don’t share …” She gestured around the gym. “This. Your faith and, consequently, this status you all hold as …” She searched for the phrase Sonja had used. “Spiritual family.”
He nodded. Waited. Did she have to spell it out?
“However, I’m requesting that you allow me to stay. Marcus is … I traveled here with him, and he is my friend.”
“Lee.” Heath shook his head. “I don’t think you understand church very well.”
Her heart pounded. Please. “I’m a registered nurse. I cook quite well. I can offer my skills to your organization.”
“Lee, listen to me.”
She held her breath. Waited for her verdict.
“You are welcome here. There’s no keep to earn. Okay?”
“I … I don’t understand.”
“That’s clear.” He smiled. “Church is not a club. It’s a refuge. And yes, it’s a light glowing on a lamp stand, and the light is the Truth. You’ll hear Truth preached, quite a bit. But what you do with Truth is your choice.”
Her choice. To stay or to leave. “I do not bow to Jesus Christ, and I do not love Him. I doubt He would welcome me here.”
“Then you need to get to know Him better.”
Lee was still frozen when Heath smiled again and meandered away.
Someone shrieked.
Lee spun toward the sound. A pink shirt, blonde hair, white smile—all blurred and rushed her. She was grabbed in a tight embrace.
“Lee, you’re here, you’re here!”
Lee’s arms circled in return. “Hello, Violet.”
39
Violet introduced Austin to all of one person before jumping in place, shrieking, and dashing across the gym, weaving between the foldaway tables. He shrugged at the jock-looking black guy she had introduced as Harrison. “She can be unpredictable.”
“She’s fine,” Harrison said.
Austin cocked his head, and Harrison laughed.
“Man, I’m just giving your girl a compliment.”
She’s not my … Screw that. “Okay.”
Austin scanned the crowd. Violet was hugging someone, blocking his view. They separated, and … Lee? They weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow. A smile tugged his mouth.
“Reunion?” Harrison said.
“We had to separate before the border.”
“That’s cool, man. Glad she made it.”
“Thanks. I’m going to go say hi.”
He passed tables, habit noting the sort of people at this gathering, but they defied categorization. All ages, all styles of clothing from distressed jeans to business casual. Mostly whites and Hispanics, plus a random minority of other races. He saw guys who looked tough and guys who didn’t, but nobody resembling security. As he passed another table, he glanced at the faces and slowed. Marcus Brenner sat with his profile to Austin, nodding at something said by the man on his left.
Marcus looked … well, not good, but better. His spine hunched, but he was upright and focused and less pale. More than that, he looked almost at ease.
He would be. He was among like-minded people.
Austin stepped up behind Violet. “Hi, Lee.”
“Hello.” Her mouth curved.
“When did you get in?”
“This afternoon. Have you eaten?”
“Just walked in.” He gestured to his damp hair. “We were out most of the day, familiarizing ourselves with Kearby, and I wanted to hit the shower before dinner.”
“Marcus will be glad to see you.” Lee gestured to the table, then hesitated. “I’m glad, as well.”
“Marcus?” Violet’s thumb rubbed her wrist.
Lee glanced at Violet’s
hands, then back up to her face. “Is something wrong?”
“N-no. It’s great. That he’s up and around, I mean. Come on, let’s get plates. The garlic bread smells amazing.”
They let Lee go first. When she returned to the table with a plate in each hand—one mostly spaghetti, the other mostly salad—Violet tapped Austin’s shoulder.
“I can’t do it.”
“Do what?”
She didn’t answer. Austin mounded meatballs onto his plate and spooned marinara sauce over them. Noodles were for sissies—not literally, but they were mostly pointless. He grabbed the salad tongs. Violet piled her plate with spaghetti, finding the cheesiest sections in the center of the warming pan. Her shoulders hunched as if she’d felt a draft.
“Violet, what can’t you do?”
“Go over there. I thought he’d be in bed. I can’t eat dinner with him like—like he’s fine and I’m innocent.”
Austin shook his head. “So you’ll never talk to him again?”
“Right now I’ll give it away. My face, I mean, and he’ll ask if I’m okay, and then …”
“If you leave, they’re going to be suspicious.”
Her plate teetered on her hand. “You’re right.”
“Try to relax. He’ll be glad to see you. He won’t notice anything.” Unless he’d already connected the dots. “Do you want to just tell him? Together?”
She shook her head. “I’m keeping this secret until I die.”
They found seats at Lee and Marcus’s table, and Austin tried to respond to all the greetings while keeping one eye on Marcus. If he says anything to hurt her, I’ll … What? Make a scene? No worries, though. When Marcus saw them both, worn crinkles appeared around his eyes, a version of a smile.
Violet was, despite what Austin had told her, the ultimate impetus for Marcus’s arrest. Thanks to Austin, Marcus had the pieces to put that together. He wasn’t stupid. He should not smile at the sight of her. Or ask about their trip and how they’d been.
Then again, this wasn’t the first time Marcus had responded to a situation … confusingly.
And at least Austin didn’t have to hit a guy with broken ribs.
Take and Give Page 24