No response. I inched inside; my own gun lifted, finger on the trigger.
The room was small. I could see all of it in my peripheral vision. 1 reached for the shower curtain and yanked it back; the rungs thundered across the steel rod. I flinched; Jimmy didn’t.
He sat in the tub fully clothed. But that wasn’t what worried me the most. He didn’t look up. Didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just sat there as the water pounded on his head, cascading down his face like rain.
Or tears.
“Jimmy?” I tried again, got no response. Again. I was going to have to do something.
I laid my gun next to his and locked the door. If anyone showed up, at least we’d have advance warning. Then I lost my shoes, considered my clothes and decided I didn’t have the time before stepping right in with them on, just as he had. Then I pulled the curtain around us, cranked the hot water hotter and sank down next to him in the tub.
I wasn’t a nurturer, hadn’t even known what nurturing was until Ruthie. She’d been good at touching, cuddling. Only problem was most of the kids she took in weren’t good at being touched or cuddled, me included. Eventually I’d settled down, trusted her enough to let her hug me once in a while. But hold me? Rock me? Pet me? I’d never settled down that much.
Because the things I heard, felt, knew were true, touching people was something I tried to avoid. Most often what I saw wasn’t something that I wanted to.
As a result, my movements were stiff. We bumped heads, shoulders, I think I smacked him in the nose when I tried to put my arm around him. But I got Jimmy to lean on me for a second, before he slid lower and laid his head in my lap.
1 waited for a jolt, some knowledge I didn’t want, but nothing came and I relaxed. Sometimes I got something, sometimes I didn’t, and I’d learned to shield myself more and more as the years had passed. I couldn’t have survived otherwise.
The water pounded on Jimmy’s head. He didn’t react. I shifted my shoulders to block it, ran my fingertips over his face. His eyelids fluttered closed. At least it was movement.
The tub was large, one of those old-time ceramic deals with legs. We were still packed pretty tight. I wondered how long the hot water would last. I wondered what in hell I was supposed to do with a catatonic DK.
I continued to stroke Jimmy’s face; he seemed to be relaxing against me, not so rigid anymore. 1 let my fingers drift to his hair, tangled the tips in the lightly curling strands, kneading his scalp.
Talk to him.
That hadn’t been Ruthie’s voice. I’m not sure whose it was, maybe my own. Hopefully. I didn’t need any more voices than I already had telling me what to do.
What should I talk to him about?
Memories. Good ones.
Did we have any? I let my mind drift back.
I thought of the time Ruthie had let us have a dog, a stray that had wandered up the road and refused to leave, then reconsidered. Dog stories, or near enough, were what had gotten us into this mess in the first place.
“Remember when we were invited to that house on Big Cedar Lake for the day? Half of us had never seen a lake beyond Michigan, and you certainly don’t swim in that.”
Any time before August the big lake was icy, not to mention all the dead fish and floating gypsum.
“So Ruthie stuffed us all in the van and off we went.”
The day had been perfect. Eighty-four degrees and not a cloud in the sky. The air had been filled with the laughter of children, the scent of hot dogs on the grill, lemonade, cookies.
“We were fourteen,” I continued.
I’d worn a hand-me-down—what wasn’t a hand-me-down at Ruthie’s?—Green Bay Packers T-shirt over my swimming suit. There was no way I was going to let anyone, especially Sanducci, see my chest. But, oh, how I’d wanted to dive into that smooth clear water.
“Ruthie coaxed me to do it.” I leaned against the side of the tub, ignoring the heavy weight of my soaked clothes, concentrating on the memory, the joy of it, and the rhythmic movement of my fingers through Jimmy’s hair.
“She put on a swimming suit.” My lips curved. “And dived right in.”
Ruthie’s suit had bagged off her bony behind. Her skinny arms had appeared chickenlike framed by the straps of the tank. But no one had dared laugh. Maybe no one had noticed. To every single one of us, Ruthie was the most beautiful being on this earth, and that had nothing to do with her appearance.
Since Ruthie had done it, I did too. The water, not icy but cool enough to shock at first, had become welcoming, refreshing, revitalizing.
I hadn’t been the best swimmer. No lessons. I’d learned because I’d had to or drown. But the water hadn’t been deep. We’d played games. Gotten sunburned. Eaten too much.
“You made s’mores.”
My gaze flicked to Jimmy’s face. His eyes were open and someone was home.
I let my thumb stroke his cheek. “You ate five and got a gut ache.”