Page 11 of Embers

It takes several minutes for Cal to fill up the transfer tank. I’m grinning like a fool as the gas gets all the way to the top. He’s excited too, although he’s not smiling with his mouth. I can read his expressions now in a way I couldn’t before.

“Don’t watch me, kid,” he says gruffly. “Watch the road.”

Remembering my job, I straighten up and focus again on our surroundings as he moves his siphon nozzle so he can fill up the pickup tank too. There’s still not a hint of anyone else around. We might as well be alone in the world.

“You know better’n to get distracted,” he mutters.

I do know better. He’s taught me well over the past two years. The soft, scared, naive girl I was when Derek died would barely recognize me now. But it’s hard to remember all my training when we’ve had a windfall of gas land in our laps like this.

As he closes up the transfer tank, the pickup’s tank, and the underground tank, he says there’s so much more remaining that we should come back soon with more fuel storage and get it all. Then he takes my place in the back of the truck to stand guard so I can go in and check the shop.

It was obviously abandoned years ago, and it’s been battered by time, neglect, and weather. I can easily kick the door down to get in. Nothing in the front of the shop is remotely usable, so I check the storage in the back, searching the crumbling boxes and dirty stock shelves. It’s all so disgusting I barely want to touch it. Disintegrated crackers and moldy chocolate bars and potato chips that are little more than dust. But I do find one unopened box of toiletries. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, soap, shampoo, and deodorant. A lot of it. Also skin lotion. The expensive kind that’s good for eczema.

I’ve been looking for that lotion for months.

I stare down at the contents of the box in astonished pleasure until I remember that Cal is waiting outside and probably grumbling about how slow I am.

I manage to heft the whole box into my arms. It’s heavy and difficult to manage because the cardboard is in bad shape, and I don’t trust the stability of the bottom. But I’m able to keep it from busting open as I haul it outside.

“Whatcha got?” Cal asks, glancing over his shoulder briefly before turning back to watch the road. He doesn’t get easily distracted the way I do.

“Wait until you see.” I can’t quite hide my smile.

“Somethin’ good?” He darts another quick look back at me.

When he sees I’m about to lose the box, he jumps out of the truck and takes it from me. I make room for him to set it down in the back of the truck, and he digs in to check the contents. “Nice,” he grunts.

High praise indeed. I’m ridiculously proud of myself. I have the most absurd impulse to hug him, but I’m not clueless enough to try it. Cal is even less of a touchy person than I am, and even casual touching is a sure way to sour his mood. Instead, I wrap my arms around my chest and hug myself.

His gray eyes glint as they rest on my face for longer than normal. Then he finally mutters, “Let’s go home, kid.”

* * *

It’s a long drive back to our house at the top of the mountain but well worth the effort and gas the trip took us. I’m in a good mood, and even Cal is more talkative than normal. He answers the questions I ask him about trips he’s taken and places he’s been. Like me, he’s never left the country, but unlike me, he’s traveled all over what used to be the United States.

Former geographic boundaries don’t really matter anymore.

Cal doesn’t talk a lot about his past, but from what I’ve managed to cobble together from the small details he’s shared, he used to run with a rough crowd. Maybe even criminal. I know he must have broken the law because he was in prison for a while. Whatever he was or did back then, he definitely doesn’t want me to know because he always slams shut when I ask for more information. He won’t even tell me how he got all those terrible scars on his left arm.

I know he wasn’t a good guy in the past. Derek knew it too. It was why his mom tried so hard to keep Derek away from him, even when we desperately could have used his help.

I don’t care about any of that. Cal isn’t a bad man now. He’s still rude and gruff and bad-tempered and infuriatingly obstinate and as hard and rough as gravel.

But he’s not bad.

I’ll never believe that anymore.

He took me in and demanded nothing in return when there was absolutely no reason for him to do it.

He’s the only friend and family I have now, but it’s felt like enough for the two years we’ve been together. I’ve always been a one-person girl. There was my mom. Then there was Derek. And now there’s Cal. I don’t need tons of friends or a big community.

I just need someone I can trust and take care of, and Cal has become that for me.

I’m still happy and excited when we get home and unpack all our loot. We can fill up our storage closet and both kitchen cabinets. The place is still the small, one-room cabin it always was, but it feels pleasant and familiar now. I keep it clean, and Cal even found me an actual bed. A twin bed frame with a good mattress. The beds are still on opposite sides of the room, and he installed a big curtain on my side that I can pull to block off my bed if I want more privacy. There are even a couple of pretty area rugs on the floor.

It’s not spacious or luxurious, but it’s comfortable. It’s home.

Cal goes to take care of the chickens—we had to slaughter our last pig over the winter when we couldn’t get out to find food and the chickens weren’t laying—while I work on dinner.

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