Our bags fully packed, the gun returned to its rightful pocket, Mom and I slouched on the edge of the bed.
A scratch on the back of her hand caught my eye. “Where’d you get that from?” The red line wasn’t even deep enough to bleed, but I needed to talk. To hear the comfort of her voice. We’d been quiet for almost an hour while we worked.
She inspected the minor wound. “Hmm. I’m not sure.” We didn’t talk about the round circular bruises on her mid-forearm. As time passed more of Charlie’s marks became visible, cementing the need to escape.
I entwined my fingers in my lap, studying them. No matter how long we lived, I would never be able to repay Mom for her sacrifices. She hadn’t been protecting my virginity, but more saving me from being brutally raped and beaten. Hers and Jeanine’s injuries proved so much worse than sex happened at the end.
“Do you think we’re going to be okay?” Where had the tremor in my voice come from? I mastered the art of sounding like a scared twelve-year-old and I hadn’t even been trying.
Mom shrugged, sliding to the ground and turning to face the bed. She folded her hands and bowed her head. “Let’s pray. Whether we’re okay or not, won’t matter because we’ll put our fate in His hands.” She tucked her chin to her chest, not waiting for me to join her.
I stared at her, my lips partly open. I couldn’t pray with her. I didn’t want to. What would I pray about? I didn’t have any gratitude for our position. I still hadn’t made up my mind about the positive aspects of being alive considering everything we’ve gone through.
Mom prayed so easily. I envied her the ease to do something with assuredness.
Her prayer turned to a vigil.
Careful not to disturb her, I reached for the small pile of food left after the jerks had torn apart our supply. They hadn’t even had the decency to eat the food, blatantly wasting resources in a time when stores weren’t an option anymore.
Too much emptiness inside me needed filling. I couldn’t wait. Before I knew what happened, a sandwich and a protein bar had disappeared. An aching sensation in my stomach was all I had left. But the emptiness hadn’t diminished.
I gagged down the final bite of the bar. The thick protein bars weren’t my favorite, but they landed like concrete in a never ending hole inside me. Eyeing the pile for more, I scratched at my stomach.
Mom lifted her head. I withdrew from the food, certain she would reprimand me for eating all our rations. But she didn’t. She stood and moved to the door separating the bedrooms. Pushing her head to the panel, she listened for a moment.
Turning toward me, she crossed the short distance with a couple of long strides and bent down to whisper in my ear. “I need to get my Bible and the gun before we go.”
Not “she wanted to,” but “she needed to.” Significant difference and one I wouldn’t push aside. I nodded, eyes wide. “What can I do?” Who would I need to shoot?
Mom pulled back, pausing to search my face. “Really? You’re not going to fight me?” Her bruises shamed me, but I forced myself to see them – see them for what they were.
Drawing my eyebrows together, I shook my head. “We don’t have anything left to do before we go and you said need. If you need them, let’s get them.” Why the philosophy behind my agreement brought tears to her eyes, I’ll never know. But there they were. I shifted to put my hands under my thighs.
“I’m not sure if Jeanine is getting ready or not. I’m not even sure if she’s going to come with us, but we need all the fire power we can get, or I would leave the gun.” She sat down beside me and looked at the floor. “If Braden and Dad’s pictures weren’t in the Bible, I might be fine leaving it, but since we need to get the gun anyway…”
Throwing my arm around her shoulders, I rested my chin on her arm. “So let’s get the Bible, too. How do we do it?” I was willing but she had to come up with the plan.
She didn’t need me to fight her. What she needed included me working with her so she didn’t feel so alone.