Taylor combs her fingers through her hair, as if that’s going to help, and grumbles, “I have been busy.”
“Or maybe you’re not ‘fine.’”
“Sure.”
It’s like I’m staring at the red and green wires of a bomb, scissor in hand, countdown timer screaming. “I admit I don’t understand how you do this. I can’t stop thinking about those Dusters back when we were escaping Thorne’s mansion. The families that won’t have their wife or husband come home. Moms and dads, gone forever because of me. Not to mention Faith. I didn’t know her like you did, and I don’t know how I’ll get over it.”
“The Dusters died to protect what they thought was necessary to protect. When you find something worth living for, you will kill and die for it.”
“Death being inevitable doesn’t make it less unfair. My mother was taken years before age could catch up to her. She was vivacious and zealous, right up until the cancer got to her brain.” My hands shake in my lap, so I wring them together. “Faith’s death is unfair.”
“Life is not a game, determined fair or foul. It just is.”
“Don’t speak to me in platitudes. Her death was unfair. It’s okay to be angry and hurt about that,” I snap.
Taylor eyes me with disbelief, but there’s a touch less suspicion and heat. “She was my friend and she deserved better. But I cannot waste my time agonizing over what is out of my control.”
“I understand, but what you’re feeling inside, that sadness? It will only grow if you don’t unburden yourself. I should know.” I look down as Taylor’s fingers trace the spine of a book. It’sA Farewell To Arms. “Is this one of hers?”
Taylor bobs her head. “Her favorite.”
“It’s an excellent choice. Heavy, but beautiful. I’m surprised she was able to read it.”
Taylor takes her plate from the nightstand and places it between us. I take Delilah’s advice and watch her eat in silence.More healing will happen if I don’t fuck it up by talking. “Faith was training to be a medic, probably because of the book. She wanted to go to California once she finished her training and this was over.” Taylor opens the well-worn cover of the novel. “She told me I had to take her to see the ocean after the war. She made me promise.”
“California could be lovely.”
“Could be a wasteland,” Taylor replies. “Immigrating to the Independent Republic of California is almost impossible, even visiting is highly regulated. I have never met anyone who’s been there.”
“Me either, actually.”
“But I would have figured it out. Because I promised.”
Knowing when to talk and when to listen is tricky business. It’s like fishing—the balance between leaving the bait and reeling it in. After some quiet, she grips the sides of the book.
“I should have gotten her out of here. I should have insisted she be put somewhere safe. You were right. I am not a good friend.”
I gulp. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” She puffs out a laugh at her expense. “Look around. The only three people left who consider themselves my friend—Hunter, Mason, and yourself—are in danger. Hunter could already be dead. Mason risks his life every day with me, and for me. I dragged you into this unwillingly.”
Reaching over, I stroke my hand over hers. “You’re missing a big part. Faith was your friend because she chose to be. To love and trust another person is a choice. Obviously, I can’t speak for Hunter, but from what I knew of Faith and what I’ve seen from Mason, I think they’d agree with me.”
“You didn’t have a choice.”
“I didn’t have a choice to be here.” I gesture around the room. “But I do choose to be here.” Slipping her hand into mine, I give it a squeeze. “With you.”
Taylor looks at our hands and faintly squeezes mine in return. “Thank you.”
She slides off the bed and retreats into her bathroom. I lounge on the bed and flip through the novel. Faith’s marginalia reads like a diary, real-time notes of her thoughts as she read. A few minutes later, Taylor returns with her face freshly washed and hair combed. She settles into her spot and eats her meal in silence. I peruse more of Faith’s writing, including a bittersweet note scribbled in a corner reminding her to ask Taylor about a specific passage. I wonder if she ever did.
It takes a while, but Taylor cleans her plate and almost finishes her water. “About the night of the party…when I…”
“Grief changes people. It makes you not yourself. It hollows you out. I…I understand. It doesn’t make what I said about you less true.”
“Yes, it does. I was fully prepared to torture and murder that woman. I wanted to. I still do.” She glances up at me. “But you stopped me and I am grateful for that. I am lucky to have you as a friend, Lucy.”
My eyes drop to the blanket. “I thought there was no such thing as luck.”
