For the first time in more than three years I am not wearing my vest in front of non—family members. It feels scandalous, having only a T-shirt and a sports bra between my flesh and the air. Every time Kevin looks at me, I can’t help but blush.
I am in the shelter, sitting on the tweed sofa, leaning over a chess board. I have been staring at the pieces for a long time. Kevin is beside me, studying my profile and holding a jumble of wire, and Jonah is sitting in one of the leather chairs on the other side of the coffee table, waiting for me to make my move. It is the ninth game of chess we have played in the four days since our return. I haven’t won once.
I take a sip of my orange-flavored drink and try not to cringe when I think of one of the ingredients—Fo’s spit. She made two gallons of the drink, with lots of spit added for healing purposes, right before she and Bowen left to have a honeymoon at Kevin’s house.
Jonah takes a sip of his orange drink and leans back in his chair. Between the drink and his own natural healing abilities, he looks great. All his bites and scrapes have scabbed over, and his bruises are already fading. He seems more at peace, too, as if risking his life to save mine has eased some of the memories haunting him.
I glance at Kevin. His bruised throat is almost back to normal. He must feel my eyes on him, because he pulls his attention away from his latest wire sculpture—my face—and looks at me. His eyes warm, and he trails his hand over my back.
In the other chair, Zeke is sitting with Vince in his lap, reading an illustrated encyclopedia to the child. Vince’s black eyebrows are pulled together, and he is studying the pages. He still doesn’t talk, but he’s started smiling when he is smiled at.
“Just so you know, Jack,” Jonah says, “no matter what move you make, you’ve already lost, so you might as well get it over with.”
My shoulders slump. “Okay, fine. You win again. But when we get back out there”—I point up—“I am challenging you to a target-shooting competition.”
Kevin laughs. “Jonah, you better enjoy beating her while you can,” he says. I smile and lean against him, and that is when I hear a soft laugh from the kitchen. Zeke stops reading. Kevin, Jonah, and I stand and go into the kitchen just as Fo crawls out of the cupboard. Bowen follows. When they see us, their eyes light up, and both of them look at me.
“You need to go to the house, Jack,” Fo says. “There’s something there that you need to see.” She hands me her flashlight.
My heart starts pounding. Kevin grabs his gun. I grab spare batteries and shove them into my pants pocket and scramble through the cupboard as fast as I can. Kevin follows, and together we run through the passageway, the cave, and the food-storage room, until we get to the wine cellar. Without making a sound, we creep halfway up the stairs and pause.
It is sunset. Peachy light is slanting in through the west windows, making long rectangles of light across the wood floor. Kevin takes his gun from his belt and signals for me to hang back. He walks up the last few steps. “Hands up, sucker,” he says. And then he does this thing. This laughing. And someone else starts laughing with him, a deep, rumbly laugh that I have been waiting a year and a half to hear.
I leap up the stairs and run into the room that has the leather sofa. Dean is there, leaning against the wall. He stands tall and blinks at me for a minute, like he doesn’t know who I am. But that’s not why he’s blinking. He’s blinking the tears out of his eyes. And then he holds his arms out.
“Come here, Jack. Come give your big brother a hug.”
So I do.