Part of me wishes to be out there. Covered by the tree just behind their chairs, I could hear their words and see if Dave believes her. I sag against the window. The stronger part of me knows I don’t want to hear any of it. Seeing is bad enough.
Dave’s brow furrows in deep lines. He thinks hard through what Mary tells him. The disbelief wavers on his face—he wants to believe her. When I see that hope, I know I’ve seen enough. I know what the outcome will be. This almost home of mine is crumbling.
I leave the window. I go out the cafeteria and up the stairs. Jack waits for me outside Dave’s room.
“I wanted to change your bandages before bed.”
He shrugs his supply pack off his back. I wave him off. I need to be alone. I have so much to think about I feel like my brain will explode. He sees it on my face.
“It can wait,” he says, putting the pack back on. “You know, when I need to be alone, there’s a place I go to. Want me to show you?”
His face is open and smooth and kind. I nod.
“Over here.” He opens a door marked “Janitorial Closet” and ushers me inside. At the back behind a metal shelf is a ladder.
“This goes up to the roof. I like to sit up there and think sometimes. I feel like I can get up away from everyone, get up above all the stuff that goes on down here.”
I put a hand on his, a small thank you. He leads the way up, opening the roof access door.
There is a flat spot up here on the roof, big enough for the two of us. An ancient cooling unit stands guard on one side, long rusted and broken. Jack leans against it.
“I do need to change those bandages before you sleep tonight. When I’m done, if you don’t mind, I’ll just sit on this side and you won’t even know I’m here. I’ve been wanting to come up here ever since we got back.”
I’m about to protest the intrusion. But I realize the silent companionship would be nice. To not feel completely isolated in this world I created for myself.
And then the tears come. I’m surprised how I don’t even care that Jack is here. He changes my bandages without a word, working quickly, methodically, and tenderly around my abused feet. Then he leans back against the metal. He keeps his word—he is quiet and unobtrusive and just stares at the moon that glimpses down at us in occasional cloud breaks.
I cry myself to sleep, curling down on the hard roof top. The last thing I remember is Jack draping a blanket on me so softly I think I must be dreaming.