48. Knox
FORTY-EIGHT
KNOX
The world is quiet, damp and glistening in the yellow hue of the setting sun. It’s been over an hour, and I’m still running on adrenaline, still wound tight and on edge, but I can’t shut it off as I survey the pastures.
The power lines snap and sway in the lingering breeze, and the north-facing fence is gone. The cattle are too, likely to have scattered the instant they could flee. The trees are standing, but most of their branches are strewn across the field with wood panels and a glinting road sign in the mix.
The tractor is still here, just like the truck and trailer that rolled farther down the road. I imagine what few supplies we had in the back are in the next state over by now, and I stare at the trailer. The trailer we no longer need because my horses are gone. Safe, I presume, but gone nonetheless, and though I know I should be thankful we’re alive, my heart still breaks a little.
Lucy whimpers at my side. “I know,” I murmur, reaching down to scratch her head. She hasn’t moved since she finally ventured out of her hiding place in the barn.
Clearing my throat, I scan the property again. I can’t stop searching the sky for signs of another storm. Another obstacle standing between us and Kansas.
“How is there such a beautiful sunset after what just happened?” Ava says, walking up behind me. There’s awe in her voice as she admires the golds and oranges, and she loops her arm through mine. “Harper finally calmed down,” she whispers. “We should stay here tonight.”
I glance over my shoulder at the rascal, curled on a bed of hay with Ava’s sleeping bag over her. She picks idly at the straw, her eyes glazed over from crying. Her thoughts seem faraway.
“We need to decide what we’re going to do next,” she continues. “Harper still doesn’t want to go back, but we can’t keep her with us.” Ava pauses a moment. “Can we?”
My eyes dart to her, incredulous. “Do you want to?” My heart starts thudding all over again, but for an entirely different reason this time.
Ava blinks at me. “I mean, I don’t know.” She shrugs. “The poor thing doesn’t really have anyone to go back to. Not really. The last thing we need is a child to worry about, but...”
“But,” I parrot, needing to know what justification she has to remotely consider this.
I don’t like the way Ava studies me or that contemplative look in her eyes. “But maybe she would be better off with us.”
I don’t know whether to groan or curse. “We’re not keeping her.”
Ava’s expression hardens. “She’s not another dog, Knox.”
I nearly laugh. “I know, she’s a fucking kid, Ava.” Her nostrils flare with indignation. “You don’t think it’s hard enough with the two of us already? We nearly died in a tornado five minutes ago.” I try not to raise my voice because I don’t want Harper to overhear, but after all we’ve been through, I’m gobsmacked Ava would be willing to take on a kid on top of everything else. “We have nothing to offer her—no home or?—”
“Neither does anyone back at the facility,” she counters.
I shake my head. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
“And you’re just scared,” she bites back.
“Hell yes I am, Ava. Jesus—” I point into the barn. “That kid wouldn’t be in a sobbing heap on a barn floor right now if she was back in Guymon.”
“Her name is Harper,” Ava says coolly.
“No,” I say, ignoring her. “We can’t keep a child. Harper’s safer with her friends?—”
“She might be safer there for now, but she isn’t happy. And she doesn’t have friends, Knox. Why do you think she ran away in the first place?”
“Because she’s a curious kid who gets into trouble.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it. If she felt like she belonged with those kids, she would have spent her time with them, not off on her own, pretending to be your doctor and a veterinarian.”
“She’s a ward of the state and now a damn runaway.”
“Which state?” Ava asks tersely, her jaw set. “New Mexico, where her grandma’s place no longer exists? Nevada, where her mother was arrested for researcher kidnappings?”
I swallow thickly.
“Screw the laws and rules—they couldn’t protect us before all of this, and they sure as hell can’t protect us or dictate anything now.”
My frown deepens.
“Don’t look at me like that, Knox. You know it’s true. It’s not like Elijah and Jenny will think we kidnapped her. If anything, they know where we’re going, and if they really want to, they can come get her.”
I’ve never seen Ava so vehement, and as much as I know Harper is a lost little girl, I’m having a hard time grasping how any of this is a good idea.
I stare at Ava, really looking at her. Her rapid breaths. Her fixed stare and pursed lips. Her arms crossed over her chest. This is about more than Harper.
Ava lifts her eyebrow. Even if she sounds decided, there’s uncertainty in her eyes—uncertainty and desperation.
“This is about you,” I realize. “You empathize with her.”
She throws her arms up. “Of course I do! This world sucks, Knox, and I know what it’s like to feel alone in it. She has no one who cares about her, not really.”
“And in the two days you’ve known her, you care enough to look after her forever ?”
That gives her pause, but only a heartbeat before she stubbornly lifts her chin. “I’d rather try to help Harper than send her back, wondering for the rest of my life what happened to her—if she did something else reckless—and feeling guilty that I didn’t do more.”
I stare into the inky sky, exasperated and so tired it almost aches to breathe.
“Knox,” Ava says more carefully, “can you honestly say that if we took Harper back, you wouldn’t wonder what happened to her or if she ran away again? If she was safe wherever she ends up? Because you know as well as I do they’re getting people out of Guymon soon, one way or another.”
“I’m not a complete asshole.” I run my hand over my face. “It’s not that I don’t want to help her, but we can’t. We barely know her. We don’t even know what we’ll find in Ransom.” I turn to face her fully. “Look, I wish this was all easier and I could help her. I’m just saying I am not a father. You and I—we’re barely—” I stop gesturing between us because nothing between Ava and I is textbook, and I’m certain I’m going to regret whatever comes out next if the look on her face is anything to go by. “I’m barely holding myself together as it is. That’s all I’m saying.”
Ava’s eyes soften and she seems to deflate a little. Our heightened emotions fizzle into an awkward void as she averts her gaze, and we just stand there for a moment, staring at the darkening horizon. I get that Ava feels responsible for this girl, but her bleeding heart is blinding her to our very unstable reality.
“You’re right,” she finally says, tucking her loose hair behind her ear. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” She stares inside the barn and turns away from me.
I should be relieved Ava finally agrees, but an unexpected twinge of guilt and disappointment needle through my certainty instead.
“Hey, Knox?”
I glance at Ava in the doorway.
“I’m sorry about Loca and Rooster. I know that was hard for you.”
Another sharp pang tightens in my chest, and I am so tired of it all, I don’t know what to do anymore. “Thanks.”
She walks away from me smaller than she was before, and it reminds me of how it used to be between us, the air tenuous and cold. As always, it’s my doing, and as much as I hate it, I don’t think I can bear one more burden. Not when I have no idea what is coming next.
* * *
I walk the perimeter with Lucy for a while in the darkness. I have my flashlight, but I don’t use it. I’ve memorized the path I’ve worn around the barn while considering what daybreak will bring. Certainly, more tears from Harper. Maybe the cold shoulder from Ava. The longer I turn the idea over, the more it dawns on me what this little girl really means to her.
Ava is a caregiver—it’s all she’s known. If she wasn’t raising herself and her uncle, she was caring for Mavey. So, as surprising as her hell-bent determination is, I can understand it too. She wants to help the girl, and I can’t begrudge her that.
I talk myself in and out of what to do as I check on the truck, telling myself I need to be the voice of reason in this, and when I’m tired of thinking and ready to sleep, Lucy and I make our way to the barn. Since all our supplies were gone from the back of the truck as expected, we not only go back empty-handed, but I brace myself for glares and cold shoulders.
The door is partially cracked open.
“—I had jerky or something in here.” I pause when I hear them murmuring and peer inside. The barn is dark save for the halo of lantern light surrounding the girls. A couple of gnats flit around the light, and the draft that whistles through the barn catches wayward strands of their hair as it passes.
Ava’s crouched at her bag against the wall, searching for something in her pack. Her hand is freshly bandaged from her barbed wire wound.
I’m about to step inside, out of the wind, when Harper holds a granola bar out to Ava. “You can have mine.” She’s cross-legged on the hay beside her with her backpack.
Ava’s face crumples, but she quickly catches herself and smiles. “You keep it for when you’re hungry. I’ll be fine.”
Harper shrugs and sets the mangled bar between them. “It’s okay. I always hide extra snacks in my bag, just in case.” The wrapping has seen better days, like it’s been in there for a while.
“How about,” Ava says, picking it up, “we share? That way, you can save the rest of your stash for when you really need it.”
Harper considers her proposal and nods. “Good idea. I hate being hungry,” she murmurs, and my heartstrings tug more than I care to admit.
“Me too,” Ava whispers, and she sits down beside Harper and breaks off a piece. I swallow thickly. “Thank you for sharing with me. My stomach gets angry when it’s empty.”
Harper smiles. “Mine too. Sometimes I scare myself.”
Ava chuckles and breaks off another piece. Harper re-situates herself on the sleeping bag to face Ava better, and winces. Leaning forward, Harper pulls the arrowhead I’ve seen her with from her pocket and tucks it into her backpack.
“That’s a pretty arrowhead. Where did you get it?”
Harper pulls it out of her pack again and hands it to Ava. “Officer Swiftwater gave it to me last year when my grandma died. He said it holds all of my worries so that I don’t have to. So I can be brave.”
A small smile pulls at Ava’s lips. “You are very brave,” she murmurs. “So, I think it’s working.”
Harper’s eyes gleam with pride, making my eyes sting.
Shoving the arrowhead back into her backpack, Harper pulls out a tiny flashlight, a stuffed duck, and a bruised apple.
Ava tilts her head. “It might be time to get rid of that.”
Harper nods, staring at it with a wrinkled nose. “I don’t really like apples.”
“Then why do you have one in your pack?”
“Because—” Harper licks her lips. “Because my grandma told me it’s rude not to keep things people give you. I didn’t want to tell Malia I don’t like them.”
“Here—” Ava holds out her hand. “I know who will eat it.” Harper blinks at her but hands the apple over. “Tomorrow, if we see the cattle, we’ll leave it for one of them. How’s that?”
Harper’s cheek lifts in a half smile, and she bobs her head with a nod. “Or the horses.”
“Or the horses,” Ava says wistfully, and the knot in my chest balls tighter.
Harper pulls a roll of clothes, mittens, and two pairs of socks from her pack and sets them beside her before reaching in for a notebook and colored pens.
Ava offers her the last pieces of the granola bar, but Harper shakes her head. “You can have it. You’re bigger than I am.” Opening her notebook and turning to a blank page, Harper starts writing.
“Drawing something?” Ava balls the wrapper up and pulls out her water bottle.
“It’s a note,” Harper explains. “Well, more like a card.”
“A card?”
“For Knox.”
My shoulders stiffen, and I’m suddenly aware I’m spying on them and that if either of them looked my way, they’d know it.
“That’s nice of you.”
I glance down at Lucy to find her staring up at me, judging.
“Well, he did save us. I figure it’s the least I can do. Wait—” My gaze darts up. “How do you spell his name?”
“It’s an X, even though it sounds like a CKS,” Ava explains, pointing to the notebook, and Harper continues writing.
“You know, he’ll really like that, Harper. That’s a very nice gesture.”
Harper shrugs. “Maybe he won’t hate me if I say thank you. And he won’t be mad anymore about me sneaking into the trailer.”
Hate her. Jesus. I pick at a splinter in the doorframe, swallowing thickly. This kid is gutting me, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Knox doesn’t hate you, Harper. He was worried about you getting hurt by the horses and surprised to see you. That’s all.”
Harper holds her mouth just right in concentration. “I heard you guys fighting.”
Staring up at the ceiling, Ava takes a deep breath. “We weren’t fighting,” she lies, and she scoots back against the wall. “He wants you to be safe. And he’s not sure the two of us can guarantee that you will be.”
“There is no safe place,” Harper whispers.
Impatient, Lucy walks into the barn, giving us away. My face heats a little and I step fully inside. I feel the shift in the mood instantly and shut the door behind me.
I clear my throat. “It will be cold tonight.” My voice is louder than I mean it to be, and I feel my ears redden as Ava’s eyes linger on me. “The wind hasn’t let up. I’ll cover the—” Burlap is already tucked around the broken windowpanes.
“Harper and I took care of it,” Ava says. Her voice isn’t cold so much as subdued. Maybe she’s exhausted like me, or maybe she’s still upset, but the tension between the three of us is there nonetheless.
Thankfully, Lucy sidles up to Harper for attention and the disquiet in the barn dissolves. Lucy is the focal point as they lavish her with affection, and if I didn’t love my dog so much, I’d be jealous.
I grab my pack by the wall and pull out a bag of jerky. “Have at it,” I say, tossing it between the girls.
“Thank you,” Ava says, and she offers Harper a piece.
I crouch on the stretched out sleeping bag beside Harper and unclip my own. Each time I move, so does Harper, like she’s trying to keep me from seeing her notebook. When I realize she’s staring at me, I meet her gaze. “Are you going to sit down?” she asks.
I pull a flannel shirt from my pack. “In a minute.” I lift a skeptical brow. “Why?”
Harper shrugs. “Nothing you need to worry about.” She refocuses on her card, and I bite back a grin as I zip my bag shut.
“Here.” I hand the shirt to Harper since she doesn’t have a jacket. “Your long-sleeve shirt won’t keep you warm tonight. You can sleep in this.”
Harper’s brow twitches with confusion before reaching for it a bit reluctantly. “What about you?” Her deep blue, curious eyes glint in the lantern light.
“I’ll be fine.” I set my pack off to the side and pull my beanie over my head to keep my ears warm. Suddenly, my muscles ache, and I’m not even sure why. I just know I need sleep if I’m going to get through tomorrow, whatever it brings.
Ava must have the same idea I do because she maneuvers things in her pack to use for a pillow, and I unzip my sleeping bag.
“In case I fall asleep,” Ava starts, moving the lantern closer to Harper, “turn this dial off when you’re finished, okay?” Ava stretches out on the other side of her. “And crawl under here to stay warm with me.”
Harper nods, intent on the page in front of her.
I guess that answers that. Ava is sleeping over there, so I guess that means Harper will sleep between us tonight. I don’t take it personally since Harper will be warmer that way, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s the only reason.
Scooting closer, I lay the sleeping bag out over Ava’s for extra warmth, take out my pocketknife and my wallet, which is likely obsolete at this point, toss them on the ground next to me, then stretch out where I am. Using my folded arms as a pillow, I watch Ava get settled in across from me.
I know we’re bound to have differences of opinion, but I don’t want it to change things between us, not when she’s the only person keeping me sane. I silently plead for her to look at me. To reassure me that whatever tomorrow brings, she and I will be okay. We will still be a we. Still be us. Even if she’s mad at me.
I finally exhale when Ava’s eyes meet mine across the four feet between us that might as well be a mile. But her gaze is softer this time, almost apologetic, and she mouths a “good night” to me as the draft whistles through the barn.
“Night,” I whisper, and the rasp of Harper’s pen and the crinkle of paper becomes a distant melody as I fall asleep.