“Don’t leave! Please!” I yelled, stepping outside. But he was already pulling at the reins, turning the horse away.
I stood watching, my feet rooted in the dirt. I didn’t notice when Arden joined my side. I didn’t hear Kevin and Michael’s voices, calling from the upstairs window, beckoning him back.
I knew only sadness as he rode through the woods, shrinking on the horizon, until the night swallowed him whole.
Chapter Twenty-two
“WE SHOULD LEAVE,” ARDEN WHISPERED. SHE WAS SITTING in our cavernous mudroom. “Get back on the road to Califia. It’s not safe here anymore.”
We’d left the storehouse before dawn, the horses loaded with sacks of candy, fuel, blankets, and condensed milk. All the while Leif was a menacing presence, his face bandaged from the night before. I shook from the thought of his lips smashing against mine, the sour stink of beer on his breath. I kept seeing his face in the glow of the flashlight, his eyes squeezed shut, his body a falling boulder, crushing me under its weight.
When we returned to the dugout, Caleb’s room had not been touched. The weathered books were stacked in piles. The bed was covered with the thin red blanket and the armchair was still in the corner, the cushion dipping where he once sat.
“We can’t just go,” I said, pressing my back into the cold mud wall. Part of me was tied to the idea of living here, the knot of it not yet loose. “At least not until Caleb comes back.”
Arden’s fingers wandered through her hair, yanking at the tangled black ends. “I don’t like the way Leif has been looking at us.” There were puffy crescents under her eyes from the night before. She’d stayed awake, barring the door with an overturned shelf, keeping watch until I finally fell asleep.
“I can’t leave like this.” My thoughts kept returning to the middle of the storehouse, where I’d thrown Caleb’s arm from mine. We hadn’t really discussed anything; I’d been too upset to think straight. Then Leif was beside me, his fingers drumming on the wood of the piano, misinterpreting my kindness as an invitation. I wished that I hadn’t uttered those three fatal words—I don’t know.
I did know, but it was impossible to explain all the dark emotions I’d encountered the night before. They came at me so fast there was no time to pick each one up, to hold it and know it for what it was.
But now, sitting in the cavern with Arden, I grew even more certain of one thing: “I didn’t want to be with Leif.”
Arden’s face softened. She pulled me into a tight embrace, her arms squeezing any guilt from my body. “Of course you didn’t. That was never a question.”
I spoke into her shoulder, the musty smell of her sweater enveloping me. “I just hate that Caleb thinks I would ever—”
“I know,” Arden said, rubbing my back.
I pressed the water from my eyes. When I was in my sixth year, I was furious at Ruby for telling Pip I’d been “bragging” about my grades. Instead of saying how I’d felt, I didn’t speak to her for two weeks. I let the wound fester and grow, feeding on the silence between us. I learned then a crucial truth: that a relationship between two people can be judged by the list of things unspoken between them. I longed to see Caleb now, if only to tell him all that I was feeling. That I’d been wounded by his words. That I was thankful for what he did, that I’d been frightened and confused. That it wasn’t Leif who I wanted.
Despite myself, despite all those hours being tested on the Dangers of Boys and Men, I had feelings for him. Only him.
My head was still resting on Arden’s shoulder when the room began to shake, tiny tremors working their way inside my rib cage. “What is it?”
“Earthquake!” Silas yelled as he sprinted past our room, clutching Benny’s hand. He nearly tripped on his oversized shorts, their hem around his ankles, the waist cinched with rope. “Get out! Get out!”
A few of the younger boys started down the twisting corridor, filing through as though they’d practiced the drill several times before.
“An earthquake?” I asked, placing a palm on the shaking wall. “It can’t be.” We’d experienced them at School, the jolting that sometimes woke us in the middle of the night. This vibrating was subtle and nowhere near as strong.
“Let’s not wait to find out,” Arden said, pulling me to the door.
We followed the younger boys as they wormed their way through the dugout, finally spilling out onto the rocky clearing in the side of the hill. There, atop a large mound of dirt, was a giant black truck, its wheels nearly four feet high. I could barely hear over the roar of the engine.
“Cool!” Silas mouthed. In the bright morning light he was so much paler than everyone else, his skin unaccustomed to the sun. He plugged his ears with his fingers.