Chapter 23
Keisha drives the short distance back to the boatel in silence.
I try to read her mind, but I’m at a loss.
For more than a moment, it seemed like she was actually torn between going with Ramsey and staying with me.
Did I imagine it? When she cried out for me to stop, was she just being squeamish? Or did she really want him to live?
By the time we get back to the boatel, the summer sun sits low in the sky, painting it shades of pale pink. Night will be coming soon, and I’m absolutely exhausted. It takes the last of our energy to carry all of our new supplies into the boatel before the sun sets and the mosquitoes start buzzing.
“What’s the plan?” Keisha asks once we reach the dining room. Her eyes are glazed over, exhausted and emotionless.
While I can’t wait to leave this place, getting a good night’s sleep behind walls sounds pretty good right now. Looking at all our supplies piled on the floor of the dining room, I feel safer already. Plus, we have access to all the food Ramsey had stockpiled.
“I think we should sleep here tonight, and then tomorrow morning we can pack up and keep heading south in the canoe. What do you want to do?” I ask with a little too much accusation in my voice.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, looking hurt.
“Well, back there it looked like you were thinking about going off with Ramsey.” I don’t even try to hide the anger in my voice.
“Quinn, I already told you. I was only flirting with him so he’d do what we wanted. And yeah, I thought about going with him. He did have the keys to the truck. But I was going to make him take you too.” She takes one too many breaths between her sentences. Is she lying?
“Could’ve fooled me,” I say sharply.
“I would never have left you behind. Don’t be ridiculous!”
“You said we needed him. For what? You tried to keep me from killing him even though you saw for yourself how dangerous he is,” I spit back.
“Who’s the dangerous one, Quinn?” Accusation and real anger flash in her eyes.
“He took us to find supplies. He let us stay here. He probably would have done whatever I asked him to,” she argues, her voice louder with each word.
Lucia curls in on herself and slinks back to the corner of the room, avoiding the escalating scene.
“I’ve kept us alive! Me.” I say, slamming my fist into my chest. “Every single thing I’ve done is to protect us.
” I step closer and she winces. I can tell she’s scared.
I don’t care. “Ramsey’s dead because you couldn’t keep him under control.
All those melty looks you gave him didn’t do shit.
He had no interest in helping us. He just wanted to keep you close, and you let him,” I say, anger dripping from every word.
I expect her to bite back, but instead Keisha cracks a smile, and a giggle escapes from her lips.
“What could possibly be funny, Keisha?” I shout.
She bats her eyelashes and purses her lips dramatically. “Melty looks?”
I wave her playful words away, trying to hold on to my anger. “Stop it. I’m serious. What the hell was going on back there?”
She sighs. “Quinn, listen to me.” She takes my hand, and my anger deflates.
“It’s just us. It was always supposed to be this way.
You, me, and Lucia. Now we can keep going south, just like we planned.
Ramsey was just a way to get us what we needed so we could keep going.
” She squeezes my hand, then reaches up to touch the side of my face.
I try to look away, but she presses my cheek so I’m facing her.
“It’s always been us. It’s always going to be us.
Now can we please eat something? I’m starving,” she says, feigning collapse.
And just like that, I melt.
* * *
Keisha throws together a meal while I lay out each item we looted, plus as much food as I think we can carry from the boatel’s kitchen, trying to find the optimal way to fit it all into our backpacks and, eventually, the canoe.
Once everything is rearranged, I set it all next to the sliding glass doors overlooking the patio so we can make a quick getaway if we need to.
I glance over at Lucia. It was her job to start the fire, and she did, but now she’s just staring into the flames.
She snaps out of it when Keisha calls us to the table.
Somehow Keisha’s made a decent-looking meal from a can of black beans, jarred salsa, and stale tortilla chips.
We eat in silence, but Lucia barely touches her dinner.
“Lucia?” I say, trying to get her attention.
“Hm?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m just tired,” she says with a shrug.
“Why don’t you go on upstairs and go to sleep? We can clean up,” Keisha suggests with a hint of concern.
“Okay,” Lucia replies robotically.
She gets up from the table and walks upstairs. We hear the soft click of our bedroom door echo through the hall.
“She just needs a good night’s sleep,” Keisha says, mostly to herself. I hope she’s right. It’s only been two days since her last dose of medication. Surely it’s not affecting her already. I shake the thought away.