that right now. I need to get things straightened out.”
Trey thinks that over and rips off another piece of her sandwich. Cal can feel her wanting to say something, but he can’t help her with that. He rummages through the first-aid kit till he finds his ibuprofen, and swallows a hefty dose dry.
Trey says, “It’s my fault they done that to you.”
“Kid,” Cal says. “I’m not blaming you.”
“I know. It is, but.”
“You didn’t beat me up.”
“It was me that got you into this.”
Cal looks at her and finds himself floored by both the vast importance and the vast impossibility of saying the right thing, at a moment when he can barely piece together a thought. He wishes Lena were there, until he realizes that she would be no help at all. He wishes Donna were there.
“All’s you can do is your best,” he says. “Sometimes it doesn’t work out the way you intend it to. You just gotta keep doing it anyway.”
Trey starts to ask something, but then her head snaps around. “Hey,” she says sharply, in the same instant that headlights sweep across the kitchen window.
Cal pulls himself to standing, bracing himself on the table. His knee still hurts, but he’s steadier on his feet. “Go in the bedroom,” he says. “Anything happens, get out the window and run like hell.”
“I’m not going to—”
“Yeah you are. Go.”
After a moment she goes, slamming her feet down hard to make her views clear. Cal picks up the Henry and goes to the door. When the car’s lights go off and he hears the engine cut out, he throws the door wide and stands in the doorway, leaving himself clear in the light. He wants whoever it is to see the rifle. He couldn’t aim it even if he wanted to, but he’s hoping the sight of it will be enough.
It’s Lena, getting out of her car with Nellie bounding ahead of her, and lifting a hand to Cal in the door-beam of light down the grass. What with one thing and another, their plans slipped Cal’s mind. He recognizes her just in time to avoid making a fool of himself by shouting the Lord only knows what. Instead he remembers, after a moment, to raise a hand in return.
As she gets close, Lena’s eyebrows shoot up. “What the holy Jaysus,” she says.
Cal had forgotten what he looks like. “I got beat up,” he says. It occurs to him that he’s holding a rifle. He steps back inside and lays it down on the counter.
“I got that part, yeah,” Lena says, following him. “Didja shoot anyone with that yoke?”
“No casualties,” Cal says. “Far as I know.”
Lena takes his chin in her hand and turns his face from side to side. Her hand is warm, rough-skinned and matter-of-fact, like she’s examining a hurt animal. “Are you going to the doctor?”
“Nope,” Cal says. “No real harm done. It’ll heal.”
“I’ve heard that somewhere before,” Lena says, giving his face one more look and releasing it. “The pair of ye are a match made in heaven, d’you know that?”
Trey has emerged from the bedroom and squatted down to make friends with Nellie, who is joyously wriggling and licking. “How’s the war wounds?” Lena asks her.
“Grand,” Trey says. “What’s her name?”
“That’s Nellie. If you give her a bitta food, you’ll have a friend for life.” Trey heads for the fridge and starts rummaging.
“You oughta go home,” Cal says. “They might come back.”
Lena starts unloading the various pockets of her big wax jacket. “You never know your luck. If they do, I might do a better job of dealing with them than ye two have.” The jacket contains an impressive quantity of stuff: a small carton of milk, a hairbrush, a paperback book, two cans of dog food, a clip-on book light, and a toothbrush, which she waves at Cal. “Now. I came prepared this time.”
Cal feels that Lena isn’t taking in the full weight of the situation, but if his face and Trey’s haven’t brought it home to her, he can’t come up with anything that would. “I bought a couple of air mattresses,” he says. “They’re in the car. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye out while I go fetch them.”
One of Lena’s eyebrows arches upwards. “You want me to cover you, is it? With that yoke?” She nods at the rifle.
“You know how to use it?”
“For Jaysus’ sake, man,” Lena says, amused, “I’m not going to crouch under the window playing snipers while