The inside is trashed. Clothes dragged out and dumped. Food containers tipped over. Coffee grounds scattered across the floor, the mattress shoved half off its platform. Drawers hanging open. The whole place looks like somebody got angry and wanted her to know it.
And right in the middle of it all is a tiny, cracked terracotta pot on its side, soil spilled everywhere, the small green plant’s roots exposed.
She goes straight for that and crouches in the mess, scooping dirt back around the roots with both hands, trying to settle the plant upright even with the split running up the side of the pot.
Something in my chest pulls tight.
“Ah, hell.” I step up into the van, careful where I put my feet. “Here. Let me help.”
“I’ve got it.” Her voice is level, telling me she’s holding back her emotions.
I start picking clothes up off the floor anyway, folding them roughly and stacking them, because standing there watching her try to hold a cracked pot together with dirt all over her hands is not something I’m built for.
She carefully sets it upright against the wall, like if she’s gentle enough, maybe it won’t be broken after all. Then she blinks hard once, twice, and stares at the rest of the van like she’s trying to decide what to save first. “Why the hell would someone do this?”
“Because some people are complete assholes.”
“My laptop.” She starts scanning the mess. “Shit. My laptop.” She shoves aside a blanket, books, and a small cooler, and underneath, she opens up a secret panel in the floor where she pulls out a pink laptop and cell phone. Checks them over quickly, shoulders dropping a fraction when the computer powers on.
I right the coffee container. Pick up a book that landed facedown and smooth the bent pages as best I can. She keeps moving, but slower now, opening a pouch. Checking inside. Closing it. Like every little thing she touches might be the one that finally tips her over.
“Anything missing?” I ask.
“Not that I can see. So what the hell were they searching for? They didn’t touch the cash or cards I keep in the pouch.”
She sits on the edge of the mattress platform, soil still smeared over her fingers. Then she lifts her chin a little and puts that blank expression back on. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”
She’s in a wrecked van, in a pink bikini with bare feet, somebody has gone through her things and slashed her tires, and she’s telling me she’s fine like maybe if she says it flatly enough, it’ll become true.
“Adelaide, you don’t need to pretend.” I wait until she looks at me. “You’re not fine. You don’t have to be fine for me.”
She blinks a few more times, eyes shining, and something twists hard in my chest at the sight of it. I want to tear apart whoever did this to her. Her scent is faint from here but still in my head, and I have to fight the urge to pull her into my arms and breathe more of it in, to fill my lungs with her, and make her understand that she’s safe now.
“I’ll check the spare.” I hop out as she crouches by the storage under the mattress platform. I go around to the other side of the van.
A second tire is cut too, a clean slice through the sidewall. “Fucking bastards.” I stare at it for a second, something hot andugly rising up in my chest. I call out, “You don’t happen to have two spare tires?”
She joins me around the side of the van, despair pulling at her expression. “Just fuck! I only have one.” The gold ring in her belly catches the sun, and I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed it until now. She looks young all of a sudden, worn and exhausted.
“I just need to get it sorted,” she says. “Then I’ll be fine.”
There it is again, her reassurance to herself.
“Where are you gonna stay while it gets sorted?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
Warm air moves through the lot, waves rolling somewhere beyond the trees.
I check out the cuts again, then look back at her. “You got any idea who did this?”
She gives a short laugh, but there’s nothing funny in it. “Nope.” She scrubs a hand over her face, then stares at the ground.
I look her for a second. “Those two guys on the beach earlier?”
Her gaze flicks up.
“The ones you kept checking from the water,” I add.
