He gives a short nod. “Okay,” he mutters. “Thanks. But you say the word, and I’m outta here. This place means a lot to you, and I’m not gonna spoil it for you.”
I don’t know what to say to that, but it makes me squirm some more inside.
6
Once it’s resolvedin my mind that Micah isn’t going to leave right away, I feel better.
That tension inside me relaxes.
I tell him to lie back down, and he complies, groaning in relief when he stretches out again. “Shit,” he mutters. “This is ridiculous.”
“A bullet tore through your side. Why exactly do you find it ridiculous to feel that way?”
“I’m usually tougher than this.” His eyebrows twitch at me, despite his pallor.
“Uh-huh.” I shake my head at him and turn toward the door. “You lie there and be pitiful. I’m going to work in the garden.”
“Okay.”
I’m snickering as I step outside, but hopefully he doesn’t hear.
Molly is thrilled with this new development. She runs circles around the camper, darting inside to check to make sure Micah is indeed still there and then running over to where I’m crouched in the dirt to give my face a quick lick before she bounds off again.
Maybe Molly’s good mood is infectious because I’m oddly excited too. I actually hear myself hum as I work the dirt, getting it ready for the next round of planting next week.
After about an hour, I go inside to check on Micah, and he’s sound asleep on the bed. Worried, I press my palm against his forehead. He’s warm but not unusually hot. He doesn’t have another fever.
Sleeping is good. Probably what he needs. I’m about to turn away when he reaches up abruptly to grab my wrist the way he did the other night.
His body tenses and then relaxes. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Kat.” There’s recognition and something else in the tone.
I gulp and gently retrieve my wrist. “Go back to sleep. I was just checking on you.”
“What time’s’t?”
“It’s not even noon. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”
“’Kay.”
He’s mostly asleep again. Already. Part of me wants to smile, but I don’t indulge that part of me anymore.
I can’t.
There’s no way to survive out here in the Wild if you’re soft.
I workin the garden until I get hungry. Then I eat some goat cheese on a piece of bread for lunch and decide I’ve done what I could with the garden. Micah is still sleeping, and it doesn’t seem worth waking him up just to eat.
I’m weirdly restless—almost lonely—in a way I never am anymore. I usually take it easy on afternoons like these. I stroll in the cool of the woods or lie around by the creek and read or doze. But I’m too antsy for any of that today, so I decide to wash my hair a day early.
I fill up a basin with rainwater and lean over to soak my hair in it. Lather up with some scavenged shampoo—it has a mild, pleasant herbal scent to it—and then rinse it out. I’ve got a tiny bit of conditioner left. I get a little water in the bottle and shake it up to pull the residue off the sides. Then I squirt out the liquid and rub it into my wet hair.
My hair is longer than it was before Impact, when I tended to keep it shoulder-length. It’s thick and mostly straight, and it hangs down now to the middle of my back. When I’m done rinsing out the conditioner, I squeeze as much of the water out of it as I can.
I like how clean and smooth it feels.
I only wash it once a week because my supply of shampoo is limited and no one sees me much anyway.
I’m sitting on an old cooler in the sun, combing out my hair and watching Molly chase a beetle, when a voice from the doorway of the camper surprises me. “You said you’d wake me up.”
