yards distant. Under a blaze of spotlights, the area around it glowed like a brightly lit stage.
“I just wanted to thank you,” April said. “For everything you’ve done.”
“Anybody would have.”
“No, they wouldn’t. I mean, you’d like to think so. But no.”
Kittridge wondered if this was true. He supposed it didn’t matter. Fate had pushed them together, and here they were. Then he remembered the pistols.
“I’ve got something of yours.”
He reached under his jacket and pulled one of the Glocks free. He racked the slide to chamber a round, turned it around in his hand, and held it out to her.
“Remember what I told you. One shot in the center of the chest. They go down like a house of cards if you do it right.”
“How did you get it back?”
He smiled. “Won it in a poker game.” He nudged it toward her. “Go on, take it.”
It had become important to him that she have it. April took it in her hand, leaned forward, and slid the barrel into the waistband of her jeans, resting against her spine.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “I’ll use it in good health.”
For a full minute, neither spoke.
“It’s pretty obvious how all this is going to end, isn’t it?” April said. “Sooner or later, I mean.”
Kittridge turned his face to look at her; her eyes were averted, the lights of the spots glazing her features. “There’s always a chance.”
“That’s nice of you to say. But it doesn’t change a thing. Maybe the others need to hear it, but I don’t.”
A chill had fallen; April leaned her weight against him. The gesture was instinctive, but it meant something. Kittridge draped his arm around her, drawing her in for warmth.
“You think about him, don’t you?” Her head lay against his chest; her voice was very soft. “The boy in the car.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Kittridge took a long breath, exhaling into the darkness. “I think about him all the time.”
A deeper silence fell. Around them the camp had fallen quiet, like the rooms of a house after everyone had gone to bed.
“I’d like to ask a favor,” April said.
“Name it.”
Kittridge felt her body tense just slightly. “Did I mention I was a virgin?”
Despite himself, he laughed; and yet this did not seem wrong. “Now, I think I’d remember something like that.”
“Yeah, well. There haven’t been what you’d call a lot of men in my life.” She paused, then said, “I wasn’t lying about being eighteen, you know. Not that it matters. I don’t think this is a world where stuff like that means much anymore.”
Kittridge nodded. “I guess maybe it doesn’t.”
“So what I’m saying is, it doesn’t have to be any big thing.”
“It’s always a big thing.”
April wrapped his hand with her fingers, slowly brushing her thumb over the tops of his knuckles. The sensation was as light and warm as a kiss. “It’s funny. Even before I saw your scars, I knew what you were. Not just the Army—that was obvious to everyone. That something had happened to you, in the war.” A pause, then: “I don’t think I even know your first name.”
“It’s Bernard.”
She pulled away to look at him. Her eyes were moist and shining. “Please, Bernard. Just please, okay?”
It was not a request that could be refused; nor did he want to. They used one of the adjacent tents—who knew where its occupants had gone? Kittridge was out of practice but did his best to be kind, to go slow, watching April’s face carefully in the dim light. She made a few sounds, but not many, and when it was done she kissed him, long and tenderly, nestled against him, and soon was fast asleep.
Kittridge lay in the dark, listening to her breathe, feeling her warmth where their bodies touched. He’d thought it might be strange but it wasn’t strange at all; it seemed a natural part of all that had occurred. His thoughts drifted, touching down here and there. The better memories; the memories of love. He didn’t have many. Now he had another. How foolish he’d been, wanting to give away this life.
He had just closed his eyes when from beyond the gate came a roar of engines and a flare of headlights. April was stirring beside him. He dressed quickly and parted the flaps as he heard, coming from the west, a roll of thunder. Wouldn’t you know they’d be leaving in the rain.
“Are they here?” Rubbing his eyes, Pastor Don was emerging from the tent. Wood was behind him.