Page 31 of Beckett
I repeated the pattern, over and over. Slowly, incrementally, her breathing began to sync with mine. The thrashing eased. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and wild.
“That’s it. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Recognition dawned slowly. “Beckett?” Her voice came out raw, scratched.
“Yeah. It’s me. You’re okay.”
She struggled upright, the sleeping bag falling away. She wore layers—thermal shirt, sweater, another jacket on top. Her breath misted in the cold air.
“I—” She looked around, reality crashing back. I saw the moment she realized where she was, what I’d found. “Oh God.”
“Just breathe,” I said. “Take your time.”
But I was already taking in the details. The lantern sitting on an overturned crate. A small camp stove in the corner. Clothes folded neatly in a plastic tub. What looked like an empty peanut butter jar leaning against the wall. There was organization. A system.
She hadn’t just been staying here tonight; she’d beenlivinghere.
“How long?” The question came out harder than intended.
She pulled her knees to her chest, making herself small. “I can explain.”
“How. Long.” Each word dropped like a stone.
“Since I started working here.”
Over a week. Eight days, she’d been sleeping in an unheated shed while I stayed in a warm house less than a quarter mile away. A week of?—
I stood abruptly, anger rising hot and fast. Not at her. At myself. How had I missed this? I’d been so focused on her secrets, on maintaining my own walls, that I’d missed what was right in front of me.
“Get your things,” I said.
Her face went pale. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have—I’ll leave. Just please don’t call the police. I’ll go tonight, I promise.”
“Get your things,” I repeated, working to keep my voice level. “You’re not sleeping out here anymore.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go.” The words came out small, defeated. “Motels are too expensive, and?—”
“Financial problems?” I gestured at the makeshift camp. “That’s your explanation for this?”
She lifted her chin, a spark of defiance breaking through. “Todd died. There were expenses. Medical bills. Funeral costs. I used everything I had.”
It was possible. Todd hadn’t been married, no kids. Audra would have been next of kin, responsible for everything. But something still didn’t add up. The way she’d asked about not calling the police. The terror that went deeper than grief.
Right now, though, none of that mattered. What mattered was the temperature dropping and her sitting there shivering in a sleeping bag that wouldn’t keep any creature warm on a night like tonight.
“Pack up,” I said. “Everything.”
Outside, the cold hit like a slap. I stalked to my truck, hands still shaking with suppressed rage. At the situation. At whatever had driven her to this point. At myself for being too wrapped up in my own issues to see hers.
I cranked the heat as high as it would go, then backed the truck up to the shed door. She was stuffing everything back into her backpack when I returned, movements quick and practiced. She’d done this before. Packed up and moved on short notice.
“I’ll finish that,” I said, taking the bag from her hands.
“I can?—”
“Sit in the truck. Get fucking warm.” Now that the adrenaline from her nightmare had worn off, she was already shivering.
She hesitated, probably weighing her options. But the cold was winning. She walked outside the shed, and a few seconds later, the passenger door closed.
