Page 33 of Haven

“Good night, Jackson.”

We’ve never slept in the same bed before, but I’m tired and sated enough now that the oddness of it doesn’t bother me for long. I drift off to sleep, surrounded by the smell of Jackson on the sheets and on my skin.

I wake up sometime later pressed tightly against his side. I try to roll away, but his arm is holding me in place, and it won’t budge. He’s asleep, so it’s clearly unconscious. It doesn’t matter. I’m comfortable enough, and I feel safe. Taken care of.

I don’t often feel that way, and I don’t want it to end.

So I let myself fall back to sleep in Jackson’s arms.

Surely it’s all right to let myself do so.

Just this once.

seven

THE NEXT DAY, WE’REboth quiet, and the air between us is filled with an exhausted, heavy resignation.

I used to feel that way all the time. As I watched the world I knew crumble around me. As I saw so many people I loved die. As I was left with nothing known and secure except a farm and a surly, intimidating guy I’d never even liked.

It’s been a long time since I felt this way, but the numb weight of it returns to me this morning like a dreaded family member. It’s always been there. Lurking. Even as I pretended life didn’t have to contain it. I should have known it would come back to me just when I thought something big might change.

I’m not exactly sure how Jackson is feeling this morning, but he looks heavier too. Like he’s being pushed down the same way I am.

We check a couple more nearby towns first thing, but the only pharmacies we can find have already been looted or exposed to the elements, so there’s nothing worthwhile to take. Then we have to start back for home if we have a chance of returning before nightfall.

So that’s it.

We might have found the tractor parts, but there’s no medication for Molly.

There’s nothing left to do for her.

She’s going to die, and I can’t stop it from happening.

We’re both silent as Jackson backtracks over the same route we took to get here. Every once in a while, I catch him glancing over at me. Checking me out. Seeing how I’m doing. Waiting for me to fall apart.

I’m not going to fall apart.

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