26. Knox
TWENTY-SIX
KNOX
There’s a tinge of orange in the evening sky as the last rays of sun sink behind the apple orchard. After digging a hole under one of them to bury Julio, Ava and I gave each other some space. She went inside to wash the blood from her body, and I’ve found menial tasks to keep my hands and mind busy, even if I’m so exhausted, I feel empty.
I pluck a few ripened cherry tomatoes from the vine and drop them in a bowl.
I resented Julio and was apprehensive about coming here, but I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t want to witness Ava go through that and watch her break. And I definitely didn’t expect to hear him utter a word about my mother, and it nearly ripped me in two.
But it’s the mixture of guilt and relief I feel now that Ava and I will remain in this together that makes me uneasy around her now. After what happened this afternoon, it’s Ava and me against the world again.
My gut sours every time I picture her crumpled face, her red-rimmed, hollow eyes, and I have to relive the sounds of her shattering to pieces. So, I refocus on the ripened tomatoes, to put in our canned chili from Julio’s pantry. He’s got enough non-perishable food to last us a couple of weeks, if we need to take it with us.
Lucy ambles over. She must sense the mood that’s settled over Ava and me because she hasn’t left my side. She licks the back of my hand, and with a dramatic sigh, Lucy finds shade to stretch out in, and I continue picking.
I add a jalape?o to the bowl and a bell pepper, then head into the house, desperate for my turn in the shower. I don’t question how the water is still running in Sweetwater, though I know it won’t last. Not without a generator. I haven’t even looked for one, but we won’t be here long enough for it to matter. Ava and I haven’t talked about leaving, but I can’t imagine she’d want to stay here, not after today.
I consider my truck and trailer a few miles down the road. While I don’t like the idea of backtracking, many of our things were left behind—more water and food, camping gear, ammo, fuel—everything too big or heavy to carry. Now that we have Julio’s truck, our prospects have once again changed.
Stepping into the kitchen, I set the produce bucket on the counter and fill a glass with water, chugging it down. I don’t know if we’ll come across running, drinkable water again, and I take every advantage to enjoy it while it lasts.
Lucy paws at the screen door, my ever-present shadow, and when I open it, she comes in without ceremony and plops down on the cool tile floor in the kitchen, right at my feet.
“Really?” I mutter. She stretches out in answer and exhales another deep sigh. “I’ll move around you, no worries.” I am about to search for a can opener and heat up the chili when I realize the water isn’t running anymore in the bathroom, and my attention shifts entirely. I head for the bedroom where our bags are stashed.
“Is the shower free?” I say loud enough so Ava can hear me in the bathroom. When I push the bedroom door fully open, she’s standing by the queen-sized bed, her hair long and wet down her bare back, in nothing but a pair of boy shorts.
“Shit—” I take a step back. “Sorry.”
“Actually—” Ava hedges. “Can you help me with something?” She clutches a clean t-shirt to her chest. She’s washed in the setting sunlight that pours through the window, illuminating the water drops on her back, still dripping from the ends of her hair.
“Uh, yeah.” I swallow thickly. “Sure.”
“I have a cut on my back I can’t really reach,” she mutters. Her fingers trace the edge of the abrasion she can’t see. “I figured I should put some Neosporin on it before I’m covered in dust and sweat again.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “Do you mind?”
“Yeah—” I shake my head. “I mean, no. I don’t mind.” I step closer and take the tube from her. Ava gathers her hair over her shoulder with the one hand, and presses the shirt closer to her chest with the other. The air stirs, and Ava’s scent fills my nose. I have no idea what she smells like, but it’s the most comforting smell I hadn’t realized I’d missed.
I clear my throat. “Do you know what cut you?” I uncap the ointment, realizing my hands are dirty. “Wait. Hold up a sec.” Tossing the tube on the bed, I hurry to the bathroom, opening the closed door, now that I know she’s not in there, and wash my hands. Ava’s neon orange sports bra hangs from the showerhead, dripping into the tub. Along with her black boy shorts.
Quickly, I dry my hands, open the squeaky door, and head back to the bedroom. “I thought you were still in the bathroom.” I rub my hands together so they aren’t cold when I touch her.
“Yeah, it won’t stay open.”
“Do you feel better, at least?” I squirt Neosporin on my fingertip and the instant I brush her back, chills ripple over Ava’s skin. I can’t help noticing the way they spread over every inch of her—the light hairs illuminated in the sunlight; a birthmark on her right shoulder blade; an old scar on the other side of her lower back that I have to stop myself from touching.
“What’s the scar from?” I murmur, reluctantly lifting my hand away.
“Um—” Her voice is hoarse. “One of my episodes. It was the first time it happened at the supply store. I knew it was coming—I sat down, even—but when I lost consciousness, I slipped off the chair and cut my back on a rake prong.”
I stare at her profile. “Jesus, Ava.”
She huffs a laugh. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly fun.”
Sighing, I exhale my frustration on her behalf. “For as long as you’ve been dealing with this, I guess I should be surprised you don’t have more scars.” Resting my other hand on her shoulder, I tilt her face toward me. “And this?” I brush her loose hair away from her forehead with the backs of my fingers. “We might as well doctor it up too.”
Ava’s mouth parts slightly. “Thanks.” The word is hushed, filled with exhaustion and gratitude, and gently, I rub what’s left of the ointment on my finger over the small, red cut on her hairline. Her body warmth at this proximity is intoxicating. “What about you?” The amber flecks in her irises are bright like liquid gold.
“What about me?”
“After you shower, we’ll get those scrapes on your jaw and forearms cleaned up.”
“I’ll be fine?—”
A soft sound, not quite a laugh, escapes her. “Nope. That’s not how it works. You don’t get to fuss over me and neglect your own bumps and bruises.” Her eyebrow arches, daring me to argue with her.
I smile in defeat. “Have it your way.” I hold my palms out, the tube of ointment between my fingers.
The corner of Ava’s mouth lifts in victory, and I have a sudden need to kiss her. Instead, I take a step back. “I’ll get a bandage for your back.”
I open the first aid pack on the bed and pick one from the box, indifferent to the size. Ava turns her back to me again, and I carefully cover her wound—not because I’m worried I’ll hurt her, but because I’m scared of what I might do if I touch her skin again.
“Done.” In two strides, I’m at my pack, pulling out clean clothes before I rush for the door. “There’s a can of chili on the counter, if you’re hungry.”
I hear Ava’s “thank you” from the other room as I close myself inside the bathroom, exceedingly grateful for the distance...and the privacy.