“Oh, Caleb.” She said his name with such a weary condescension he didn’t need to force himself toward the door anymore. If he stayed he’d be tempted to argue, to snipe, and that would not be productive.
He might be a lousy son of a bitch, but he was no fool. He turned away from her, trying to adjust his fucking erection to a more comfortable position. Hear that, you piece of shit? Forget any ideas you’ve got going on down there.
He went for the door, trying to ignore the fact she was already rummaging around in the box for something else to eat. Against all his better judgements, he dug his wallet out of his pocket and plucked the lone twenty from the crease.
He slapped it down on an old end table by the door, making the whole thing wobble precariously.
“I don’t want your money,” she said in a thready voice.
“Too fucking bad,” he replied, and with that, he flung himself out the door. Away from Delia. Away from memory lane. He’d done his duty, and now he’d wash his hands of her.
And if she wasn’t gone in a week, he’d damn well do something about it.
*
Delia ate her fill of the random conglomeration of food Caleb had brought her. She’d ration later, but this afternoon was all about getting as much food and sleep as possible. How much longer she’d have those things was uncertain.
One week. She could probably twist Caleb’s arm for longer, but the bottom line was she didn’t want to. Not when he did things like bring her food and money. Not when he all but sneered at her offered thanks.
She could pretend she had the upper hand all she wanted, but if Caleb got a whiff of what was going on, he’d be able to do whatever he wanted. Sure, she could threaten going to the police, but she couldn’t actually do it, even if the statute of limitations hadn’t long run out. Well, as long as he didn’t know that.
She rolled over on the uncomfortable, dank-smelling bed. This little room was even darker than the living room, but the bed was barely more tolerable than the couch.
When she awoke later, she had no idea how long she’d slept. Her cell phone had long been pawned for money and there was no possible way the unmoving clocks in this place were right. But it was nighttime and she was freezing.
She pulled one of the blankets Caleb had brought around her shoulders and shuffled into the living room. It was dark enough and the place unfamiliar enough that she had to slowly feel her way to the box, where Caleb had a battery-powered camping lantern.
Before she reached the box, however, she found herself drawn to the faint glow from the window. When she peered outside, she realized it was simply the brilliance of the moon and stars bouncing off that last layer of winter snow and ice. Everything sparkled and dazzled.
For the past decade she had tried not to dream of where she would go once all her sisters were safe. It was a dangerous thing to think about an escape that was so far off, but on the rare occasion she fell into fantasy, it was always somewhere warm and green and lush, far, far away from this crystallized wasteland of rolling grassland and mountains.
Yet it was breathtaking, and in the moment, she had the oddest thought that if she did finally escape Montana, she’d miss this. The vast sky, the bitter cold, the way you could feel perfectly still and alone. Like a star, brilliant and shining and important.
Talk about fantasy.
She shuffled to the door, shoved her feet into her boots, and then stepped outside. If she wanted to stay out of sight, she’d be cooped up in this cabin during daylight hours. So, she’d need to get her fresh air when she could.
The sky looked like a painting: swirls and dots of white against a velvety depth of black. The moon, big and round, hung in the sky, its light gilding snow silver and edging the outline of mountains in an unearthly glow.
She inhaled a frigid breath. The bracing cold seeped through all her threadbare layers, and she hoped spring would come early and fast. Being homeless and on the run was so much easier in the summer.
Oh, if Eddie had only held out a few months before throwing her under the bus, she could be camping out somewhere right now with only the rain as a threat to her well-being.
“Hello.”
Delia screeched. She couldn’t believe she’d been foolish enough to lower her guard. If this was the end, she fucking deserved it, idiot that she was for ever feeling comfortable.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the airy feminine voice said. It surprised Delia that the apology sounded sincere, considering they were in the pitch black at who knew what time of night.
Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, in her neck, so deep and expansive was the surprise and the fear. Still, she did what she always did in the face of imminent threat. She breathed, she held still, and she willed her brain to calm and think.
A flame flickered to light. An honest-to-goodness old fashioned kerosene lamp began to glow, and with it, the owner of the disembodied voice became visible.