7. Rosie
Chapter seven
Rosie
E ven though sadness poured off Wilder in waves, we managed to get back to our apartment with all our goods in tow. The small space had already felt cramped, but with boxes of supplies lining the narrow hallway, we had to turn sideways to reach the kitchen.
“We’ll sort through all of this tomorrow.”
A weariness I’d never felt before pressed down on me from all sides. Wilder wouldn’t admit it, but he looked bagged too. I wanted to ask him about the man in the street but anxiety prevented me from broaching what was obviously a painful topic. Who else could he talk to, though, if not me? I promised myself that if he didn’t volunteer any information, I’d ask about it in a day or two.
“We should rest. Maybe your blisters will feel good enough for your boots tomorrow. Then we can look to see if there are storage lockers,” I added, knowing that would make him smile.
Whenever I thought about a field trip to the basement, my stomach ached. I didn’t know how his heart handled the stress of searching and clearing the building.
We didn’t have a way to cook anything, so we ate cold cereal with the almond milk for an early supper. Wilder offered the last canned pear half to me, our attempt at a dessert.
“Don’t waste the juice.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I tipped the can toward the kitchen ceiling, catching a sticky drip as it tried to roll off my chin.
Somewhere in the street, a dog barked, startling me slightly.
“I hate hearing the animals,” I said, trying not to think of their own fear.
“Do you…did you have pets?”
“No,” I answered resting my chin in my hand, “I was in a dorm. But I had a beagle growing up. What about you?”
He nodded. “A cat. Sort of a stray, really. She’d come around almost every day, beg to come in, howl ‘til she got out. She’s probably living her best bird hunting life now.”
“Where was home for you?”
“My dad was in the military too. We moved a lot, but I was in a little townhouse a few hours from CFB Cumberland. I wouldn’t normally work out of the base. Too far,” he explained, a longing on his face. “Then they called all hands on deck to try and ‘nip this thing in the bud’.” He chuckled, a hint of bitterness beneath it.
“Lots of good that did,” I retort.
We secured our trash in a heavy garbage bag and used the tiniest bit of water to clean out our bowls. Cleanliness was more important than ever, especially in such small quarters.
“You sleep first.”
I did a double take at him. “Can’t we both sleep?”
Aside from the hanging woman in the bathroom and a couple of dead residents, we’d found no threats on our floor or the one above.
He shook his head resolutely. I reached out, angling Wilder’s wrist so I could read the time.
“It’s only seven o’clock.” It felt much later. “Why don’t we both nap and then if you want to take shifts during the night we can,” I said carefully.
I could practically see the gears turning in his mind, warring between his desire to sleep and the need to protect. It was obvious when his exhaustion won the fight.
“I’ll set my watch for two hours.”
I snagged a can of the soda water and shuffled through the crowded hall to the bedroom. Pulling back the blankets, I paused, glancing down at the jeans I’d been wearing for weeks. Now that I wasn’t watching my back every moment, I had a roof over my head, I wondered if I should really crawl into the clean sheets with them on. The door to the bathroom shut quietly, and I figured I’d take the moment of privacy to look for something in the lowboy dresser that remained in the bedroom. The chill of fall raised goosebumps on my arms as I pulled open a heavy drawer, smiling at the rows of neatly folded clothing. Soft flannel pyjama pants felt like heaven as I pulled them over my bare legs, warming me immediately. I paired them with an oversized t-shirt, the sleeves brushing my elbows while I folded my filthy clothes and set them on top of the dresser. Maybe we could find a way to wash them. Movement in the mirror caught my eye, a reflection of the bathroom mirror and the light from Wilder’s flashlight. Manners prodded me to look away but instinct compelled me to watch. A blush rose over my cheeks as he unbuttoned his jacket and let it fall. His arms were just as muscular as they looked beneath his uniform, the t-shirt he wore beneath it stretching over his broad chest, threatening the seams. My breath grew ragged as he gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled it forward over his head. His skin glowed in the light, shadows emphasising the hard planes of his torso. I sighed, leaning against the dresser a little too enthusiastically, knocking a tree of necklaces over.
Shit!
The way Wilder carried himself, how he made hard choices, that confidence combined with the way he affected my body made one thing painfully obvious. I swallowed hard–I was in trouble.