Donor 23 (38 page)

“Joan,” he spoke tentatively. “About what happened. I understand…Whatever you did…I’m sure you had to do it. I’m sorry about what I said. It was just hard for me to handle it all.”

Hard for him?
she thought.
What about her?

“I didn’t tell anyone. No one has to know.”

“But you know,” she said, exasperated.

“Look, I don’t know what happened. Why you…I just want it to be like it was. Like we were.”

Joan didn’t understand. “You want to be back with me?”

He nodded. “Yeah, like we were.”

“Reck, I’m not the girl in that poster. I’m just a girl. Can you still…accept that? I mean, accept me?”

He pulled his horse up. She stopped hers.

“Yes. I want to.” With more certainty, “I love you. I always have.”

They leaned together and embraced. He kissed her.

“It’ll be like it was, right?” he said, embracing her again.

The touch of him against her felt comforting. His arms brought a measure of security to her. She took his hand in hers and saw his tattoo. In a way, she told herself, their shared tattoo was their lifeblood, keeping them centered.

“We’ll make a good team, won’t we, with the Resistance? Kaleb would have wanted it,” he smiled.

Team?
Joan didn’t want a team.

She looked at him. “Right.”

And they embraced again.

“Maybe we should make up a name for us? ‘Reck and the Lionheart?’” he thought out loud.

Joan regarded him—his handsome face, hopeful and singular. She would fight at his side, support his ambition, and be the Lionheart. In doing so, she understood there would be parts of her mind, parts of her very self, which would stay hers alone. Her secrets—the fenced in reserve—would remain just that.

At the end of one hard day of travel, Isabel and Joan trudged upstream from the camp to bathe.

“Arch said there was a place through these trees…somewhere around here that’s private,” Isabel said, looking about as they hiked.

They stepped into a small clearing near the stream and stumbled upon Duncan, who was wearing pants and pulling on his shoes. His wet hair stuck to his head. He wore no shirt, and Joan took a breath. She had never seen him shirtless. From his time spent at the outposts and with the Children, his skin tanned to light gold, making the blond hair on his chest stand out.

“Oh, sorry,” Isabel apologized gaily. “This your bathing area, too?”

“Just finishing,” he said, smiling. “The water feels nice. Very refreshing.”

He looked at them, and Joan recognized the sparkle in his eyes. There was that glint. He was about to say something witty.

“So, how long were you two hiding there, watching me?” he joked, as he picked up his shirt and swooped it on, over his shoulders. He left it unbuttoned. Joan noticed over the last weeks Duncan had returned to his old, easy-going self.

“Quite a while,” Isabel continued the joke. “But don’t worry, we didn’t laugh.”

Joan felt exhausted from the day’s journey, but she was happy, relaxed, and joined in. “Didn’t laugh
out loud,
that is.”

Both women chuckled.

Duncan guffawed sarcastically, “Laugh it up. Bash says laughter masks the truth.”

“Arch is always saying something, isn’t he?” Isabel giggled. “Now you scoot.
Vaya
. A little privacy, please.”

“I’ll look forward to your pleasant company back at the tent, ladies,” he bowed with exaggeration, waving his hat with a flourish.

“You’ve been hanging around Arch too much,” Isabel called, as he strolled away.

Isabel began pulling off her boots. She spied something in the grass beside her.

“What’s this?”

She held up a wrist phone.

“Must be Duncan’s wrist phone,” Joan guessed.

Isabel called to Duncan, “Duncan, you left this! Duncan?”

He came swaggering back to them, “Now ladies, if you really want me, you don’t have to create some ruse about me forgetting something.”

Isabel waved the phone. “Very funny. You’re definitely spending too much time with Arch.”

He saw the phone. “Oh, yeah, thanks.”

“I hear the cities have portable phones, too,” Isabel commented, while examining the phone. “Why do you keep it, anyway? It doesn’t work out here.”

Isabel tried to fasten it on her wrist.

“Tells the time. It has photos on it, too. Adds, subtracts, multiplies—all very important out here in the bush.”

Isabel fumbled as she tried to fasten it on her right wrist. She looked at Joan and asked, “You didn’t have one,
hija?
”

“I did.” Joan helped her attach it into place. “Here, most people wear it on their left hands.”

“You always wore it on your right,” Duncan said to Joan.

“But if you’re right handed, why do that? It must be harder to use?” Isabel queried Joan, admiring her own arm with the device.

Joan shrugged.

Duncan offered, “It hid her tattoo.”

He said it matter-of-fact. Joan’s mouth dropped. The other two didn’t notice Joan’s surprise.

Isabel unhooked the phone and handed it to Duncan. “Well, I suppose one of these could come in handy at times.”

“Yup. You can send notes on them to the one you love,” Duncan said to Isabel with a grin and a wink.

“Did you do that?” Isabel asked excitedly. “Tell. Tell.”

Duncan’s grin vanished, and he appeared deep in thought for a moment. He stared at the phone as he fastened it on. “Twice.”

“No way!” Joan expressed with disbelief. “You only scripted Tegan twice? Come on?”

She rolled her eyes. Duncan ignored her.

“And did your love send you any messages?” Isabel interrogated, greedy for juicy details.

He slowly shook his head. “No.”

“I don’t know,” Isabel mused out loud, “scripting doesn’t sound very romantic. What happened to good old-fashioned flowers?”

“That doesn’t always work, either,” Duncan said with resignation. Then he seemed to shake it off. “Well, shall I stay here for the show, or shall I leave?”

Isabel laughed and remarked, “I don’t think Arch or Reck would appreciate you hanging around here while we bathe.
Adios
.”

She waved as he walked away, then she began undressing. Joan just stood still.
When did Duncan figure out she had used the phone to hide her tattoo?

Later, Bash, Isabel, Reck, Joan, and Duncan enjoyed dinner together around the fire in the middle of their campsite.

“I’m glad One Who Sees baked all these cookies for us,” Bash said, smacking his lips. “Isabel, did you ever think of taking a cooking lesson from her?” he chided her.

“If it’s a good cook you want, I’m not the one for you,” she replied, with a smile.

Joan stated, “One Who Sees taught me how to make fry bread. That makes a great dessert. Maybe I can make it one of these nights. But I need some flour and sugar.”

“My mom’s a good cook,” Duncan stated, reaching for another cookie.

“You’re going to miss them, huh?” Isabel asked.

Duncan nodded. “Yeah, but they understand why I’m doing this.”

Isabel swallowed a bite of cookie, “Hey, do you have a photo of them on your phone, there?”

He pushed some buttons and stretched his arm to Isabel.

“That’s my whole family—my little sister and parents.”

“Nice family. You take a good picture,” Isabel said.

Bash grabbed Duncan’s hand and yanked it toward him, so he could glimpse the picture, too.

“Hey, do you mind? My hand’s connected to my arm, you know,” Duncan joked.

“Attractive family,” Bash complemented. “You must be adopted.”

Everyone chuckled, except Reck.

“Comedian,” Duncan replied.

Isabel turned to Joan, “Let’s see that picture of your parents,
hija
.”

“Don’t have it any more. I left it with Old Owl for safekeeping,” Joan said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

Reck added, “You should have brought it. I doubt we’ll see them again.”

He said it without emotion. Obviously his time with the Children didn’t carry the same import for him as it did for Joan.

“Well, that’s optimistic,” Bash commented, with sarcasm—and anger.

“Realistic,” Reck insisted. “We’re going to be busy with the Resistance.”

Bash gritted his teeth but said nothing.

Changing the subject, he said, “I think we’re reaching the point where we’re going to have to split up in a day or two.”

Bash, Isabel, and Duncan planned on leaving the group soon. They intended to head to the main southern city, Angel City, while the Lucas group, including Joan and Reck, headed for the main northern city, Seaton.

He continued, “I’m going to miss you two.” He gazed at Joan with fondness.

“Yes, what’re we going to do without you? It won’t be the same,” lamented Isabel.

“I’m going to miss you,” Joan murmured. The two women reached for each other.

Bash interjected, “Oh, don’t start the waterworks, ladies. I didn’t mean to do this. Let’s do something fun, huh? A game of cards?”

Bash pulled out a deck of cards and began shuffling.

“Nah, not me,” Reck remarked, as if he were too important for such a trivial game.

“I’m in,” Isabel cried.

“Can we trust him to deal?” Duncan laughed.

“I want wild cards, though, “ Isabel said.

As Bash dealt he said happily, “Well, about that, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is jokers are wild. The bad news is this deck is missing the jokers.”

“We have enough of a joker here,” Duncan offered and slapped Bash on the back.

“And he’s wild, too,” Isabel agreed.

“Everyone’s picking on me. Joan, will you defend me? You in?”

Standing up, Reck dusted off his pants. “Joan, how about walking over to the main camp? They were going to go over some strategy. We can listen in?” he said it in the form of a question, but it wasn’t.

They stared at Joan. She wanted to play cards—to enjoy the small offerings of life, set amid the tragedy and difficulties. The Children had taught her—showed her—how to enjoy the little everyday gifts of life. That was living, she learned.

But instead of saying what her heart wanted, she uttered to Reck, “Yeah, sure.”

And the two of them walked away.

40

T
he sun shone brightly in the sky as Nox chased Joan. The two were alone. Joan had her gun. She pointed it at Nox and pulled the trigger. It wouldn’t fire. She pressed it with all her might, but it seemed stuck. Nox kept coming closer and closer. She backed up and tried to run. Her legs felt like lead, pulling her down. Nox stood in front of her. The rifle fired. But it was Kaleb in front of her, not Nox.

Joan awoke with a gasp, sweating. Breathing heavily, she needed fresh air. Her tiny tent was stifling, and thirst accosted her. She had left her water bag outside, near her horse’s saddle.

She crawled out. Next to her tent, Reck’s sleeping bag was set up. After they reunited, he moved from Lucas’s camping area to this one. He wasn’t there now. Lucas assigned him to night-sentry duty. Across from her tent was Isabel and Bash’s tent. All quiet. Duncan slept on the other side of their tent.

In the intense darkness, she groped her way to her saddle five feet away. Feeling around, she found the water bag. Thirstily, she drank and splashed it on her face. She gazed up at the stars. The blackness enveloped her—almost pitch black. A new moon, just a sliver, offered very little illumination. She looked intently at the thin crescent.

A sensation crept in her, as if she wasn’t alone. She turned her gaze to her surroundings and scanned but couldn’t see anything in the utter blackness.

Suddenly, a whisper from the dark startled her, “Couldn’t sleep?”

It was Duncan. Joan peered toward the area from where the voice originated. She barely discerned an outline. Duncan sat, leaning against his horse’s saddle, with the remains of the campfire in the middle between them. He appeared as a shadow.

“You scared me,” she replied softly. “Yeah.”

“Sorry. Nightmare?” he queried.

She nodded. But she realized he couldn’t see her, so she verbalized, “Yeah.”

“What was it?” he continued.

Joan never told anyone the details of her nightmares, not even Bash or Old Owl. Here in the night and the obscurity, she felt safe. It provided anonymity. Her mother once told her that darkness makes all things beautiful. The burning embers in the campfire separated them, giving off an eerie radiance. Her normal reticence faded with the light. Perhaps it was Duncan, not the dark, that calmed her. Back at the Center, any reservations she had always disappeared when Duncan was near.

“It was about Kaleb,” she revealed tentatively. “I shot him. I was trying to shoot Nox, or I thought he was Nox, but it was Kaleb after all.”

“They can seem so real, can’t they?”

“Yeah. Too real,” she agreed, whispering.
He had them, too,
she thought.

After a minute or two of silence, he continued, “It’s awful, to have to hurt someone. To be responsible for hurting someone. Worse even if it’s someone you care about. You can be haunted by it. Even if you had to do something, it doesn’t always make it easy to deal with afterward, does it? Dealing with all this stuff, the memories, the nightmares…I don’t know…it’s like a thief. It steals our thoughts and invades our homes, our beds, our sleep. Invades our very minds, like a sort of bandit, a robber.”