Page 44 of What Doesn't Kill Her

Rae punched her in the ribs.

“Ow!” Kellen reached out. “Honey, don’t—”

Rae kicked her in the thigh, dangerously close to her wounded hip. She was asleep, Kellen could tell, but clearly she did not rest peacefully. Kellen put her arms around Rae’s body and turned her so she faced away. Rae relaxed.

Kellen started to drift off again.

Rae tried to turn sideways in the bag, head toward Kellen, knees scrunched up to her chest. Which wasn’t comfortable for Kellen and couldn’t be comfortable for Rae. And wasn’t because Rae followed that by straightening her legs and hitting Kellen under the chin with a head-butt.

Kellen grunted and woke, rubbed her chin and figured what the hell and turned so her back was to Rae. At least this way, Rae could only take out her ribs and spine.

She slept.

Rae quieted.

Then Kellen was wide-awake, aware Rae was too quiet.

Something was very wrong.

Rae was gone.

15

Alarm slammed through Kellen. She groped all the way down in the narrow bag. Rae’s clothes and shoes were there, but Rae was simply gone.

“Calm,” Kellen muttered. Panic wouldn’t help. Although right now, panic seemed like the right thing to do. “Think.” No one had rustled through the bushes, so Rae had to be nearby. Kellen crawled out of the bag into the freezing mountain air and, still on her hands and knees, looked around.

The starlight was bright, bright enough to show the shrubs that surrounded and protected them and—that shivering rock hadn’t been there before. Rae had wrangled her way out of the bag, probably punching and kicking all the way and, still asleep, was curled into a frozen little ball.

“Oh, sweetie.” Kellen picked up her child and put her in the sleeping bag. She rubbed her cold toes and hands, hugged her close and cried terrified tears and tucked Rae’s beloved blankie close around the child’s head. What if she hadn’t woken when she did? Rae would have died of exposure and it would be Kellen’s fault.

One more big black mark on the bad mommy chart.

For the rest of the night, Kellen slept in short bursts, waking every few minutes to check on Rae and hoping against hope she hadn’t done Max’s child irreparable harm.

As the sun rose, Kellen finally fell into a deep sleep and woke awash in anxiety and guilt.

But Rae was right there, lying on her stomach, her blankie bunched under her arms, with her crayons, drawing in her ThunderFlash and LightningBug book.

Kellen watched her, noticing how much like her cousin Rae looked, how she frowned as she put all her energy into coloring, that she seemed healthy after her brush with freezing death... “How are you?” she whispered.

Rae turned to her, smiling as brightly as ever. “I’m fine, Mommy.” She kissed Kellen on the mouth. “How are you? I woke up before you and I put on my shoes and socks and got my crayons and my book. See?” She showed Kellen a new page of superhero drawings in purple, red and yellow. “I got my own breakfast. I picked huckleberries and ate them.”

That explained the smears of red and purple on her face.

“I came back to bed and colored until you woke up.” Rae beamed. “I saved you some berries.”

If the child wasn’t okay, she was faking it well. Kellen looked at the squished blackish purple berries piled in the dirt, waiting for her.

She ate them.

Rae chatted. “What are we going to do today? Will there be bad men after us some more? Are we almost there? Will the park rangers take us for a pizza? I want pesto, cheese and chicken.”

Absurd conversation. “No anchovies?”

Rae shrugged. “They aren’t my favorite.”

Another flash of maturity in a child obsessed with princesses and flashy sequins.

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