Emotion filtered through Denise’s kind voice,“Now that is a woman I would like to have met.” Pulling back, shegently tapped Sophie’s nose with the knuckle of her finger. “Forbeing raised by that witch through your adolescence, your mothermust have been an amazing woman for you to have turned out aswonderful as you have.”
Turning to head for the kitchen, Denisestarted to toss together a restorative lunch. Returning to thetable, Sophie accepted that her resumé was as good as she couldmake it. Jane would take her or leave her, and she’d be okay.
Colette had been a truly amazing woman. Atrust fund baby herself, she’d never acted the privileged debutantelike her sister had. At age nineteen, she’d met Nate Jones andfallen head-over-heels in love. Within a few months, she waspregnant with Sophie.
Although Sophie hardly knew her father, sheknew he was a decent sort of man. She remembered him reading toher, telling her exciting stories of his excursions in the army,about his growing up years in Oregon fishing and hunting andcamping. Colette’s parents hadn’t exactly blessed the quickmarriage initially, but they came around when Sophie was born andhad been exactly the doting grandparents every kid should have.
By the age of twelve, Sophie had lost amother, a father, and four grandparents. Nail-biting was one ofmany coping strategies she had adopted, some better, some worsethan that.
As the daughter of a single mom, she’dlearned self-reliance from an early age. It wasn’t until she wasleft to Yvette’s inattention that she learned the real meaning ofresponsibility. Yvette had blown through her own trust fund yearsprior, and always had her eyes on Sophie’s. Once Sophie learned tobalance the checking account, they could eat regular meals anddidn’t worry about eviction, but it had required sacrifice. Not forYvette, of course.
After turning eighteen, within a few days ofher high school graduation, she’d gone a little nuts.Subconsciously, she’d known she was trying to convince Yvette toleave her alone. Consciously, she’d known she needed to stretch herwings.
Reliable to a fault despite herboundary-pushing, she’d gone straight to UCLA after high school andearned decent grades. But she experimented a bit. Knew just howmany beers it took to reach hangoverville. Learned it was anincredibly stupid idea to smoke weed before an exam. Tried out anumber of partners, male and female both, until she betterunderstood herself.
By junior year of college, she was donescrewing around. Buckling down, she worked to graduate on time.Pippa had been one of the best things to happen to her. A familygirl from a small town and likeably decent, she embodied the fun,girl-next-door sort that Sophie was at heart… but a bit moreextreme.
They’d met at a highly anticipated basketballgame. Set to be ranked well in March Madness, UCLA had been on firethat year. Sophie had needed a little break from cramming for examsand went to a big game with a miserably dull date. Pippa had made asimilar mistake and was there with the guy’s good friend. Hittingit off right away, the two chatted through the game and moved intogether the next year.
***
Turning the key, he heard the slightest teaseof the engine trying to wake. Poor, tired old truck had quit rightabout the time he got back from the mission that wiped out too manyof his team. A record-breakingly horrific op.
What glowing luck, to have his truck die theday he got back. He couldn’t bring back his friends in one piece,but dammit, the pickup was a piece of machinery. He’d managed topatch it up again and again, but the days it actually ran werebecoming fewer and farther in between. His copy of the Chilton’srepair manual he’d inherited with the old clunker was so worn hecould hardly make out the words anymore. Even YouTube was out ofideas.
His therapist had asked if maybe it was timeto let the truck go. Ha. The metaphor was painfully obvious; hewasn’t dumb enough to miss the message. Nor was he giving up.
Laying on his back, he rolled under thechassis and stared blankly at the antiquated parts, looking forhints at what might be ailing the old rig. Kicked up by a warm gustof summer breeze, a mouthful of dust swept across his face, gritsticking in his teeth.
Vision obscured with thick dust, theexplosion echoed again and again in his ears. He turned sharply,mid-stride, and sprinted back to the explosion, Zane close at hisheels. Another blast knocked them both to the ground, dropping himto his hands and knees. Grabbing Zane in the dusty commotion, hepulled him into the cover of the alley. Incensed, Zane tried topull away to run into the fire after the others.
“They’re gone. We need to get out ofhere,” he’d shouted over the ringing of his ears.
“Not all; they can’t be.” Zane’s voice wasas hollow as his own, his eyes crazed with uncertainty. Grittydebris and ash caked onto to the thick sweat on his face.
Fuck. They couldn’t just leave them.
Taking aim, they covered each other as theyre-entered the street. Dead quiet, there was no sign of anyone leftto defend against. Not that anyone could see through the pervasiveairborne debris to shoot them anyway.
“Anyone there?” Pulling himself out fromthe crumbling doorway on his elbows, Jack hacked up whateverparticles had lodged into his lungs. Sticky, bloody sputum clung tohis chin.
Ignoring the possible danger, Zane was attheir friend in an instant. Covering the pair, Asher remainedvigilant, keeping his back to his friends and watching the street,the nearby buildings. It was too murky, zero fuckingvisibility.
Muted by the ringing in his ears and theechoes of broken concrete still breaking off of the rubble, hecould just make out the crunching of boots approaching. Rotatinghis head at the sound, he faintly made out a wounded enemy roundingthe corner, on his way to check for others, as they were.
Fearing his own end, the enemy didn’thesitate. Neither did Asher. He wasn’t losing another friendtoday.
Silencing the scream that filled his chest,Asher whacked a loose part with the flat side of his wrench.Trembling, he slid out from under the truck. Wiping away thedust-coated sweat and tears from his face, he hopped back into thecab.
Turning the key again, he elicited a tired,but steady response. Shutting off the weak rumble of the engine, hedragged his own creaky joints out of the truck. The hood was stillopen, as it was so often these days. Standing in front of the coolmotor, he checked the connections. He was almost there. Had alreadyreplaced half the damn parts, rebuilt what he could alone.
“Even your grandpa knew that truck wasn’tgoing to live forever.” His mom came out of nowhere, ice water anda sandwich in hand.
“What time is it?” He glanced around,remembering his phone was plugged into the stereo across the room.Silent now, his playlist must have run out. How long had he beenlost in the flashback?
Shaking her head, she cleared some tools fromthe table and set down the lunch she’d prepared. “It’s twoo’clock.”
No wonder his stomach hurt. Even smallchildren were known to figure out that belly ache meant mealtime.“Thanks.” He wiped his hands on the shop rag he’d remembered tokeep handy this time.
