feel like maybe he did too. She didn’t like him, thought he was different . . . strange. He didn’t like it. But it wasn’t her fault. He was different, and strange, and the loneliness opened inside him, widening like a black hole.
Yes, he was different, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
They came out of the trees on the far side of his house, and the open field stretched before them, the sky glowing shiny silver and copper gold. The sight of the early morning sky calmed him, and he was able to move his mind away from the emptiness that would forever be a part of who he was. He could hate it if he wanted—and he did—but he could not change it.
“Thank you, by the way. I’m sure you have other things you could be doing. Especially considering the weather. I really do appreciate it.”
Harper’s words snapped Lucas from his thoughts and he nodded. He didn’t have much else he needed to do. He had a supply of food for winter that he could use if he needed to. He’d learned how important that was to survival many winters ago, and now he knew what to do long before the first snowflake fell. Now all there was to do was wait and worry about his future. He could do that as well out here as he could sitting in front of his fire alone. Although he would be out of matches soon, and he hadn’t worked out how he was going to deal with that.
The way you did before you had them.
He could go to Driscoll’s house and steal matches if he wanted. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to ever go in that cabin again, not even for a box of matches.
“How far is it to the car?” she asked, coming up beside him. He suddenly noticed she didn’t have her gun with her—that must have been what she was putting away when he’d heard her truck door opening and closing—and he wondered what it was that made her decide to leave it behind. Had she decided she wasn’t afraid of him anymore? Or that it would be too hard to travel while carrying a big gun? It didn’t matter, he told himself. He wouldn’t think about the way the thought of her trusting him—the girl whose picture he’d worn around his neck for years, the girl who’d been with him during so many times of struggle and pain and loneliness, made him feel . . . good.
He realized she was glancing up at him and remembered she’d asked him a question. How far to the location? He paused again. He didn’t know how to describe near and far and he knew by the look the sheriff man had given him the day before, he’d done it wrong when he’d told him how many steps were between Driscoll’s and his cabin. “Not long now,” he finally settled on.
They came over a hill, and a valley stretched before them. In the summertime, it was filled with flowers—red and purple and yellow, all melting together and sending the breeze back with their sweetness.
They walked in silence for a little while, just the sounds of their footsteps filling the air around them. It was cold, but not as cold as the day before, and the sun had broken through the clouds so it was warm on his back. Harper picked up a long stick and stopped to break a piece of it off, coming up beside him again and using it to tell the places that were safe to step and the ones that were not. He’d done that once, before he’d memorized every hole and rock of the land around him. “I know every step of this ground,” he told her. “Just follow me.”
She paused, but then tossed the stick to the side. More trust. He picked up his speed, and she did too, keeping up with him even though his legs were much longer. “You bring people out here for your . . . job?” He wanted to know about her—he couldn’t help it—and he also wanted to know about the world, about the ways people lived, the things they did. He wanted to know if any of it would be familiar to him anymore, or if he was too different now to live among others.
He wanted to know whether he even wanted that.
“Oh. You remember that. Yes. Mostly in the spring, summertime, and fall. I take