My gaze drops back to the cigarette butts. Whoever left them must be long gone, but they were here long enough to smoke four. And they knew enough to hide behind the shed.
Maybe they saw me through the kitchen window and decided to leave. My chest tightens.
Maybe Andrew was lying and he wasn’t alone after all.
I gather the wood and head for the back door again, watching for movement from the trees or the side of the house. My senses are onhigh alert. I push the sliding glass door open with the back of my hand and use my back to slide it shut behind me.
Andrew is perched on his good leg, stirring the beans, his other leg out to the side and just barely resting on the ground. He turns and gives me an arched eyebrow.
“I thought you’d gotten lost in the fog and I’d have to eat this whole box of Pop-Tarts by myself.”
His joking eases a bit of the tension in my chest. If he were with someone, I would think he’d be more worried about them and less making jokes about Pop-Tarts. And they wouldn’t let him go into a strange house by himself while he was injured.
“Poor you,” I say, dropping the wood into the metal pail by the stove. “You can sit back down. I’ll take over from here.”
He hops, carefully, back to his seat. The beans are bubbling, so I put two Pop-Tarts in the toaster and continue to stir, thinking about the cigarette butts out in the yard.
And the fact that someone might have been watching this house.
Andrew
AFTER OUR BRUNCH OF POP-TARTS AND BEANS—I know, ew—Jamie takes our plates and begins washing them, making me feel useless.
“Can I help?” I ask, desperate for him to give me something to do. Even if I can’t, I’m damn sure going to try.
“No, I told you to go lie down and prop your foot up,” he says, looking over at me as he scrubs. “If you break your other leg, I’m gonna be pissed.”
“Stop making everything about you, Jamie!” I shout. “I’m the victim here.” It’s a risky joke considering he may not get my humor yet.
Thankfully his smile tells me he understands. “I’m the one who’ll have to listen to your girly screams of pain.I’mthe victim.”
“It’s not okay to call it girly anymore. That implies girls are weak.”
“My single mother raised me alone for sixteen years. Then, when the world was burning down around us, she taught me how to administer your medication, dress your wounds, and wrap your leg.Then, for a good thirty pages of the notebook she wrote all this in, she was sick and dying. And not once did she make the sounds you made yesterday.” His smile is forced now.
We all lost people, so I know how he feels. I want to give him a hug more than anything in the world. I want to run across the room and pull him against me and squeeze him and thank him. I want to thank his mother for everything she did to prepare Jamie for this life. I want to tell him about my family as well and share our pain.
I’m probably silent for too long because he speaks next. “Sorry. It sounded a lot less dark in my head.”
“No, I want to know more about her, actually.”
“My mom?” He sounds surprised.
“She sounds like she was a smart lady. Plus, maybe you can share some of her survival tips with me. I’m not doing too well myself.” I want to know more about the woman who made this kind, sweet boy and hi, wow, these pills work fast.
“Maybe when you can actually walk.” He dries off his hands and comes to help me up and into the living room to lie on the couch.
“How long until I wear out my welcome here, do you think?” I ask.
“If I had to guess, I’d say twelve hours ago.” He shoots me a smirk and I narrow my eyes at him, trying to hold in my own smile. “I’m not gonna kick you out while you’re hopping around on a tree branch. What kind of monster do you think I am?”
He isn’t a monster. He proved that much when he didn’t shoot me. That moment alone was enough to prove he isn’t like the others I’ve met. Isn’t like me. But he went beyond that. He’s still helping me.
“Thanks, Jamie.” I don’t know how else to say it. There’s more to be said, but my brain isn’t functioning. I’m too happy. And stoned. Because again—thank you, Jamie’s mom—she got the good stuff.
“You don’t have to thank me. Anyone would do it.”
That’s not true. He knows that, though, and he’s trying to playit off like he doesn’t. Like he’s not the only one to help me since the world went dark and the bug killed everyone we’ve ever loved.
