Chapter Twenty-nine

Reagan

Dawn is breaking on the horizon, the first drab gray haze of light filtering through the windows when she finishes with the injured and sickly women at the clinic brought there by her husband’s friend, Dave the Mechanic. She sent Grandpa home a few hours ago with Kelly. She and John are still at the clinic with sentries, also sent over by Dave, plus their own town guards who are keeping watch over their little medical clinic until she is done. A few of the women have been put up in an old yet spacious Victorian across the street from the practice because they were too unstable to be moved to Dave’s town. One of his men didn’t pull through from his injuries. He’d been a type O negative blood, and they hadn’t had a donor. He’d mostly bled out on the trip to the clinic. She may be less cynical since John has come into her life, but Reagan is also pragmatic enough to realize that the soldier may not have made it even with the blood transfusion. His friends are going to return him to Hendersonville for burial. He had a wife and two small children. Reagan hadn’t taken it well when Grandpa had called it. She never takes failure well, but she’s learning that it comes more often than not with post-apocalyptic trauma medicine. If she’d been in a working hospital, she could’ve carted him off to surgery with a room full of nurses, residents, equipment, an anesthesiologist and about six bags of blood. Survival and life is so fragile now. When she gets home, she’ll sleep downstairs with her baby boy. She doesn’t want to miss a single second of opportunity to shower that kid with love. She’s caught John many times standing over Jacob’s sleeping body just contemplating. She knows what he’s thinking.

John has mostly been outside on guard with Dave’s men talking about the battle and the people from the river. She’s heard snippets of the conversation and pieces of information about the battle from the women she’d treated. She’s glad that Dave’s men offered those bastards no quarter. Even the men who were just paying customers of the rats who ran the camp were guilty in her opinion. To be knowledgeable of such an encampment of evil where women and children were being used and hurt was cruel and sick in and of itself. They all got the justice they deserved for their sins.

She’d met Annie from Dave’s group and had treated her gunshot wound. Luckily she hadn’t needed a transfusion. She’ll heal nicely if she takes it easy and doesn’t pull out Reagan’s perfectly applied stitches. Annie seems like a real pistol. Even though she was as pale as a ghost and going on her last pinch of energy, she’d volunteered to stay across the street at the makeshift hospital house to guard the women there. Reagan had chuckled at her right before hitting her with some medicine that knocked her out. One of the men had carried her out and placed her in the hospital house.

The rescued nurse from the river camp had been very helpful, after Grandpa had insisted that she scrub up well in the back room. She’d come back and quickly pulled on latex gloves and got right to work. The poor woman looked like she hadn’t eaten much in a long time. She’d explained to Reagan while they’d worked in tandem on a young woman who’d been knocked clean out that the river camp was nothing more than a sex slave camp. She’d been a victim of that place for over three months. The girl they’d taken care of together is in a coma. They don’t have CAT scan capabilities, but she and Grandpa had come to the same conclusion. She may or may not ever awaken. They will need to watch her for signs of bleeding on the brain or swelling of the brain or stroke. They don’t have an ICU anymore. But one of the particularly fierce looking soldiers had carried her across the street and promised to stay with her and alert them over the radio if she comes to. He reminded Reagan of Kelly when he’d first come to the farm. He also seems like a man of great integrity like her beloved brother-in-law.

“You ready, babe?” John’s husky timbre announces from the doorway.

“Just another minute,” Reagan explains. “Putting things away and cleaning.”

“Rough night?” he asks with the usual concern he feels for her.

Reagan turns and shrugs. “Typical, I guess. Gets old.”

John crosses the room, slides his hands into the hair on either side of her face and pulls her up for a quick kiss. There isn’t passion in the kiss but a comforting warmth. She can’t believe she’d rebuked this man so many times. What was she thinking? That she could get through this disastrous life without him? What a fool she’d been.

John pulls back and kisses her forehead before stepping away. Reagan resumes wiping down the countertop and rinsing the rag that hopefully has enough sanitizing solution on it to kill whatever pathogens could be lingering. She drops her towels and soiled rags into the burlap sack. Without being asked, John takes the bucket of hot water and dumps it down the sink. Reagan hits the sink with some more bleach water spray and rinses again. He takes the sack out to the truck so that the linens can be laundered at the farm while Reagan stows away her equipment and the two boxes of supplies in the back room. When she returns to the waiting room, John is standing there leaning against the countertop where Grandpa’s receptionist used to work. How can he look so damn good after pulling an all-nighter at the clinic with her? His tattered jeans are hanging just so on his slim hips. The sleeves of his button-down denim shirt are rolled back to his elbows, exposing his tan forearms. A lock of his sun-kissed blonde hair has fallen forward onto his forehead. Reagan steps closer and pushes it back only to have it fall again. He grins patiently and helps her into her jacket.

“You look like some sort of GQ model and I look like I got run over by a truck. Not fair,” she complains as he tugs her hand, pulling her closer.

“This,” he says, indicating toward the front of himself, “is no easy feat. It takes a lot of work to look this good.”

Reagan rolls her eyes at his lopsided grin and teasing.

“But, ma’am, you look pretty darn sexy to me,” John says quietly as he rests his head against hers. “And you smell good, too.”

“It’s the sterilizing solution,” she jokes.

“Nah, my girl always smells good,” John says and sinks a hand into the hair at the back of her neck, pulling her hair free of its ponytail. “Let’s go home. You need some rest.”

“I feel dead on my feet, but I also think I should just sack out at the house with the patients. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to head back to the farm in case something happens with one of them.”

“No way, boss,” John says firmly and pulls her along with him out the front door of the clinic before locking it. “You’re going home to sleep. Two of Dave’s guys are staying over there. They’ll radio if they have a problem. They’re used to keeping weird hours.”

“The sheriff’s got a few guys over there, too. He stopped in earlier to tell me and Grandpa,” Reagan says, although she’s sure John probably already knows this. Not much gets by him when it comes to security.

“Good. That’ll help,” John says as he opens the driver’s door of the truck and allows her to crawl in first to the middle of the front seat. Then he tucks his rifle in between his body and the driver’s side door.

Once they are on the road and moving, John slides his hand onto her leg and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. So much has happened in the past twenty-four hours. The biggest event was the return of her father. Grandpa hadn’t pressed him for information about his family or his whereabouts for the past four years but had offered Cory and Simon’s cabin to him and his wife. Reagan thought it was bullshit but had held her tongue. Now Cory, Simon and Paige will have to move their belongings to the house to accommodate a man who abandoned his own family during so many of their darkest hours of need. The two children of her father are sleeping in one of the bedrooms in the basement of the big house. They seemed very out of sorts and uncomfortable and had retired to their shared bedroom after dinner and hadn’t come back out. Her father told them that there was so much he needed to discuss but that he was tired. When Sue asked him about the bruises and scrapes on his face and knuckles, he’d said they had journeyed a long way to come home and that the trip had been difficult and dangerous. Reagan had snidely informed him that his situation was no different than anyone else at the dinner table. His son also had the same matching scuffed knuckles. The wife and daughter had mostly remained silent throughout the meal. The mother just seemed exhausted. They were happy for the hot meal and very appreciative and thankful.

The girl was awkward around the family and had kept her head bowed throughout most of the meal. Her short black pixie hair, silver rings on multiple fingers, and the three ear piercings in each ear weren’t something their father would’ve been happy about before or after the apocalypse. He’d always demanded that his girls dress and act conservatively so as not to reflect badly on him. Her father and his new family all showered and changed in the basement and had come to dinner clean and slightly refreshed. But Gretchen was wearing the same similar clothing style of grunge punk in the form of skinny jeans, a brown flannel shirt and matching hoodie. That is also not the tidy appearance their father would’ve approved before the fall. G has a definite sharp keenness in her pale hazel eyes and a very significant mutual disdain of their shared father.

The son, Lucas, had been slightly more vocal and obviously harbored respect for their father. Robert finally got the son he’d wanted to replace her dead, older brother. It was indicative in their relationship. There was still the missing element of fatherly affection, and it showed on Lucas’s face. Reagan could tell that the young man had probably spent most of his young life trying to please the man. There was a desperation in his eyes for their father’s approval. She’d like to inform him that it’s probably never going to happen.

She’d also like an explanation about the new family, but it hadn’t come last night. She’s not done yet. She wants answers. She and her sisters deserve them.

After dinner they’d adjourned to Grandpa’s office, but it was apparent that everyone was weary. Once he’d found out from her grandfather privately in his office that his mother was dead, Robert’s demeanor had changed rather significantly. He hadn’t shown it, but Reagan knows the loss of Grams hit him hard. The rest of the family had joined them after their meeting, but Reagan could see the defeat in his slumped shoulders. He’d told them very little, but what he did say before taking his wife to Simon’s cabin was a confusing blend of information. What Reagan mostly got out of it was that her father had somehow managed to elevate his position within the government and had gone from being a mere colonel to an exalted general. She hadn’t really been paying attention when he’d mentioned his elevation in rank because she isn’t going to invest time and effort into the man who’d abandoned them. Reagan couldn’t care less other than he may know more about the radio transmission that only Sam had witnessed in its entirety. His ambition is nothing new to her. He’d left the Navy to join the Marines and had given up his career as a doctor for what he’d correctly believed would be a more easily advantageous career in another branch of the military. Her father had been willing to sacrifice anything for his political ambitions. Even his family. Apparently someone has promoted him yet again.

She also knows that something is wrong with Robert. He seems ill. Grandpa offered to look at him and tried to discuss his health, but her father said they’d talk more in the morning, that he and his family were in need of rest. That isn’t like the Colonel. He despised weakness of any kind and had demanded perfection in everything. Even admitting to fatigue would’ve been taboo when she was growing up under his heavy criticisms. She just hopes he hasn’t brought some contagious disease to the farm.

His new wife had sat meekly, which is nothing short of what she’d expect from any wife Robert took, and again the woman said nothing during their brief discussion. She is an attractive lady but has seen her fair share of hard times. It showed in the wrinkles around her eyes and the pinched lines of her forehead. She doesn’t seem old enough to have wrinkles. The new wife actually seems at least a decade younger than her father.

Later today when she and Grandpa have caught up on their sleep, she fully intends on finding out more about what’s going on out West where her father had been living. He knows something. She could see it in his eyes when he’d evaded the questions coming at him from John and Derek.

“John, what would you do if the acting President called in the military?”

“What President? We don’t even know for sure who the President is right now.”

“I think my father does.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that. He’s definitely got some intel the rest of us need to know.”

“He wasn’t a general before, so something has to have happened. Of course, this is my father we’re talking about. For all we know, he could’ve appointed himself to a new position. His ego has never known restraint.”

“He seemed pretty humble last night,” John argues.

Reagan chuffs and frowns.

“You don’t know my father, John,” she retorts. “He’s a real piece of work. I told you what he was like growing up. Hell, he was probably living up in the northwest somewhere running his own town or some shit. Control freak doesn’t even come close to describing him.”

“We’ll find out more info soon enough, honey,” John says with his usual optimism. “Don’t worry about stuff we don’t know yet.”

“What if that radio message was about calling up all active duty soldiers to do something? Would you go?”

She doesn’t like that he takes such a lengthy period of time to answer. He pauses to look out the window, slows the vehicle down to swerve around a fallen branch in the road. He sighs long and hard.

“Let’s not worry about anything like that, ok, babe? I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

She nods but feels a certain dread building in the pit of her stomach. Reagan knows with absolute certainty that she made the right decision in not telling her husband about the entire transmission that Sam confided. She could never let him go, let him leave the farm and her and Jake. She’d rather die a slow, agonizing death than to say such a good-bye to her husband.

“No,” she corrects as John pulls onto the rutted, hidden oil well road that will eventually take them home. “You’re stuck with me, mister.”

“I can think of worse places to be,” he jests with a grin.

Reagan kisses his bicep and inhales deeply of him.

“Now just how tired are you exactly?” John teases.

She laughs and replies, “Are you serious?”

“Always,” John says and squeezes her thigh.

“Yeah, right. You’re never serious unless we’re talking about sex. It doesn’t always have to be about sex, ya’ know,” Reagan scolds half-heartedly.

John laughs loudly and pulls the truck off the road and into a copse of trees. He cuts the engine. They are in the middle of nowhere still miles from the Johnson farm, the first farm on this trail. They always drive slowly on the rutted path home so as not to tear up what few vehicles they have left.

“With us, it’s always about the sex, my dear,” her husband teases and pulls her close for a kiss that instantly has her squirming.

“What are you doing? Why are we stopped?” Reagan asks with confusion when he finally pulls back.

“Proving my manhood?” John says with a cocky smirk.

Reagan belly laughs and says, “I think you’ve proven that enough over the last few years, Harrison.”

“I don’t know,” John murmurs as his hand slides under her faded green doctor’s scrubs. “It’s feeling a little affronted. I think I need to prove my point about our sex life.”

Reagan chuckles and leans into him. Then he pulls her tighter, kisses her more thoroughly and presses her down onto the seat until she is lying beneath him and her smile has vanished. Clothes are shed, fires ignited, windows steamed up. And later as the depressing gray fades and the bright orange rays of the sun just begin rising over the treetops, they resume their trip.

“Promise me you’ll never leave, John. That you’ll refuse to go if they want you back,” Reagan pleads.

“Right now, I’d promise to cut off my right foot for you, babe,” he jokes, his eyes wide with exaggeration. “You have excellent timing when it comes to asking for things.”

“I’m serious,” she reiterates more emphatically, ignoring his insinuation about the sex.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he swears and presses a kiss to the back of her hand.

Reagan rests her head against his shoulder and holds fast to his muscular arm. The next thing she knows, he is waking her and they are parked in the driveway by the farmhouse.

“Hm, you seem even more tired than when we left the clinic,” John says with a smile from the open door of the truck.

“Wonder why,” Reagan jokes with a smile.

“Come on, sleepy girl,” her husband says as he helps her down. “I’m gonna’ head out to the barn to talk with the guys. I’ll be in shortly.”

“’Kay, babe,” she returns.

“You gonna’ be downstairs with Jake?”

Reagan smiles softly. He knows her so well. She offers a nod, places a quick kiss against his smiling mouth and walks to the house without him.

“Hey, ya’ lazy bastard,” Kelly calls out as John approaches the barn. “Glad you could finally show up.”

Derek soon joins in the hazing of her husband. Reagan just shakes her head and climbs the stairs to the kitchen. Hannah is there already, which is unusual. It’s not even six a.m. yet.

“Want some breakfast?” her sister asks.

“Why are you up, Hannie?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Kelly couldn’t sleep either. He just kept tossing and turning worrying about everything. I gave up around five and just got up.”

“Let me get changed,” Reagan informs her. “I’ll be right back.”

She forgoes climbing the two flights to the attic and just strips out of her scrubs in the laundry room, unafraid that anyone will walk in on her this early in the morning. Opening the hutch, Reagan finds the stack of clean clothes always waiting there. She pulls on a pair of dark blue sweatpants and someone’s hoodie. It must belong to one of the men because it hangs to her knees. She affectionately reaches out and touches one of her grandfather’s freshly ironed and pressed shirts. This man, who was her real father growing up, who led her to become the woman she is today, still prefers an ironed button down and pressed dress slacks instead of anything casual like a t-shirt or jeans. He’ll always mean more to her than her biological father.

“The kids are all right. Everything at the clinic went well… sort of,” Reagan relates to Hannah when she returns to the kitchen.

“What’s that mean? Who did we lose?”

“One of Dave’s men. Also one of the younger women isn’t doing well, but we’re on watchful waiting with her.”

“I’m glad the guys have made contact with this Dave man. Our family could always use more friends, especially ones with military experience. I can’t wait to meet him. He sounds very kind and good.”

“Careful what you wish for, sis,” Reagan says as she slathers half of a biscuit with honey butter. “John says he cusses worse than me.”

“That would be terribly difficult. He would have to be some kind of professional heathen,” Hannah says with a sly grin. “Don’t worry. Kelly already warned me.”

“What was the Hulk worried about? The clinic or his brother?”

“He was just worried about Cory. He couldn’t sleep until he heard from him.”

“I always worry more about whoever Cory runs into,” she tries at a joke.

“Reagan, he’s getting better,” her little sister reprimands. “Here, have a piece of sausage.”

Reagan plucks the small, smoked link off of the extended fork and gnaws away at it.

“What about you, sis?” Reagan carefully asks after Hannah’s health as she walks around the counter to stand next to her. “Are you getting better?”

Hannah stops what she’s doing and stands there for a moment.

“Yes, I guess so,” Hannie admits, knowing full well what Reagan means.

“It seems like you’ve been feeling a little better,” Reagan tells her.

“It still hurts,” Hannah admits with a frown, her mismatched eyes showing her pain. “I didn’t know it hurt so bad.”

“Me neither, sis,” Reagan confesses softly and wraps an arm around Hannah’s waist. “I miss Grams, too. Every day. And I think about Em every day, too. It does hurt. I just don’t want it to consume you. We need you around here. I can’t ever lose one of my sisters, ok? I’m sure as fuck not as tough as people think I am, so don’t leave me again.”

Hannah swallows hard and nods before whisking away a tear.

“I won’t. I promise,” Hannah tells her. “And don’t make me get out Grams’s rolling pin to use on you for swearing in the kitchen.”

Reagan laughs and returns to her chair at the island.

“I have high hopes for you, but I’m not so sure about Cory,” Reagan laments, too tired to express a different opinion about their adopted brother.

“I do,” Hannah argues. “He’s coming around. Someday he’ll be able to remember Em without feeling so angry.”

“Maybe,” Reagan says just to be compliant. She decides since they are uncharacteristically alone, to broach the subject of their father. “How do you feel about Robert coming home?”

Hannah stops in the middle of stirring sausage gravy in the giant cast iron skillet. A cool expression comes over her fair countenance. She resumes swirling the thick mixture around.

“He’s our father. He’s the rightful inheritor of this farm. He has every right to come here.”

“Those are all facts, but you haven’t stated how you feel,” Reagan reminds her.

Hannah sighs long and loudly and replies, “I always felt like I needed my father or a father figure in my life. I wanted him to come home so badly for so long. Now I just feel indifferent. I have my Kelly and our daughter. I have my sisters and all the children on the farm. And Grandpa more than anyone has filled the void of a missing father for so long now that I just don’t feel much of anything toward Robert anymore. Maybe that’s an unbiblical way of speaking, but as you like to point out, he did indeed abandon us.”

Reagan is surprised by her sister’s response. She would’ve thought Hannah would be excited by their father’s return. This change in her is because of the unstable status of the country, her attack by one of the visitors, her loss of Grams in her life and so many other factors. But mostly, if Reagan was to guess, it’s because of Kelly. He makes her stronger, and Hannah has more confidence in herself because of him.

“Yes, he did,” Reagan agrees. “I want to know what his plans are, though. I want to know if he’s staying or if this is just temporary. I want to know what he knows about the country. He has a lot of answers that he needs to give us.”

“He’s sick, Reagan,” Hannah remarks.

“How did you know?”

Hannah sighs again, “When he hugged me before going out to the cabin, I could tell he was frail.”

“I don’t care how frail he is, I want answers. We deserve that much from him. If he came here to stake a claim on the farm, that’s bullshit.”

“I don’t think he came here for that, but I could be wrong,” Hannah says.

Reagan places a lid over the pan full of gravy and turns off the gas to that burner for Hannah. Her sister has other burners lit with food cooking in different pans. The kitchen has regained its usual wonderful, comforting smells. This morning, however, it turns Reagan’s stomach a little. The stress of last night, lack of sleep and worrying about the kids being gone have run her ragged. She feels like she might just puke that biscuit back up.

“Then why do you think he came here? Why now?” Reagan asks her sister who is usually more insightful than her.

Hannah turns to face her and places the dishrag she’s using to dry her hands onto the countertop. Then she feels around until she locates the dough she must’ve been kneading. A new line of distress blemishes the smooth skin between her eyes.

“I think he came here to die, Reagan.”

Now she really feels like she’s going to throw up. She hadn’t expected that response. She also hadn’t considered it herself. She was so pissed last night at Robert, has been so for years, that she hadn’t really looked that closely at him. She’d noticed his weight loss, the graying of his hair, but she hadn’t thought of him as being that sick. She’d thought maybe he was down with a bug or weary from road travel or something similar. She hadn’t thought anything like this. Perhaps Hannah is right.

“Oh,” is all she can manage for an answer. She’s supposed to be the doctor, but Hannah may have intuited this one way before her. It shouldn’t really be that big of a surprise. Hannah usually knows what’s going on before anyone else, especially before her. She doesn’t even know how to take this news. It may not be true. He may just be ill. They won’t know anything until he talks with her and Grandpa. There isn’t any sense in worrying about something they don’t know yet. “I’m not sure. Let’s just wait to see what he has to say.”

Hannah shrugs and says, “Sure.”

Reagan furrows her brow at her sister. She can tell that Hannah has already come to a conclusion on the matter.

“Well, I’m off to hit the hay unless you need my help.”

“Burning food? No, get to bed,” Hannah teases and waves her away with a spatula.

Even at this early hour, her sister is lovely and fresh in her long white dress and one of Grams’s old white aprons dotted with purple violets. Reagan walks closer, slides her hand onto Hannah’s over the dough and presses a kiss to her sister’s cheek.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Reagan says softly. “Love ya’ you know.”

“I do,” Hannie says with a humble nod. “Get to bed. Your patients will need you later today.”

Reagan smiles and walks away toward the stairs.

“Love you, too!” Hannah calls after her with a chuckle.

When she gets downstairs, Reagan passes Gretchen coming out of her shared bedroom. She is dressed in the same clothing from the previous evening. She also doesn’t look like she slept much. There are dark circles under her pretty eyes. Her brother Lucas must still be asleep unless he’s gone out with the men.

“Hey,” Reagan offers cordially.

“Reagan, right?” G asks.

“Yep, that’d be me.”

“You’re the doctor?” she inquires.

Reagan says, “Yup. Just like our dad.”

Gretchen scoffs and snorts in a most unladylike fashion. She’s glad Robert had another defiant daughter. It’s nothing less than he’d deserve.

“Yeah, right. He only uses that title when he’s around people who wouldn’t be impressed with his military ones,” G expresses with a wrinkle of her pert, small nose.

Her short hair stands up on end in places in spikey disarray. Reagan doubts that she would care. As a matter of fact, she’s pretty sure Gretchen would prefer it messy like that if it meant pissing off their father.

Reagan nods and smiles, “I’m sure. You can head upstairs. Hannah’s making a huge breakfast as usual. Maybe you can help.”

“Ok, I don’t know much about cooking, though,” she says and looks at her feet.

“Yeah, me either. But she’ll boss you around and show you what to do. She’s good at that.”

G’s head whips up with surprise and she asks in a whisper, “Isn’t she… you know, blind?”

“She sure is, but don’t let that fool you. And don’t try anything on her. She also has ears like a damn bloodhound. She can be fearsome when she wants,” Reagan says with a chuckle.

“Oh, ok. Sure,” G says with a concerned expression.

Reagan would like to talk more with this step-sister of hers, but pure and utter exhaustion has officially set in. She offers a smile that probably comes off more as tolerant than friendly and turns to go. Gretchen touches her arm to stop her. Reagan turns back to face her.

“We didn’t know you guys even existed till like three days ago on our way here.”

“Are you serious?”

“I think my mom might’ve known. I don’t know. She wasn’t as surprised as us, so I’m just assuming.”

“I would’ve figured she knew about Robert’s other family. Maybe she didn’t. Who knows?” Reagan speculates.

“Sorry we showed up like that out of the blue. It was a dick move.”

Reagan has to hold back a laugh. Oh, hell yes. Robert deserves this kid. She’d bet anything that she drives him nuts with her language, her defiance, her appearance.

“Our dad said his parents were dead. He never told us he had other kids or anything,” G explains and looks at the wall behind Reagan instead of making eye contact. “We’re just as surprised by your existence as you were by ours.”

“What the…?” Reagan asks of no one, especially not this young girl, who seems very vulnerable in this moment.

“Just one more big disappointment where the Colonel is concerned if you ask me. Seems only right that he’d have other kids. No sense in just makin’ us miserable. Of course, my brother is one of those people pleaser types. He’s a lot nicer about Robert. He doesn’t like it when I… well, when I’m realistic about our dad. But I’m more used to being disappointed in him.”

Reagan notices that G is a lot more talkative than she was last night. Perhaps it was the rest or the fact that G recognizes a kindred spirit in her and a mutual dislike of their dad. Reagan can definitely relate to disappointing the Colonel.

“Yeah,” Reagan says on an exhale. This day has to get better. It sure as hell couldn’t get worse. “Hey, it’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it. I mean about showing up here unannounced.”

“Honestly, I’m glad we’re here,” G says and looks at her shoes again. “Even if nobody wants us here. It’s still better than just being stuck with him.”

“Nobody said they don’t want you here. It was just a shock. That’s all. Don’t feel like that. Grandpa accepts everyone without question, especially his own blood. You’ll get to know that about him.”

Gretchen makes eye contact briefly and looks quickly away again. She swallows hard and frowns. Perhaps unconditional love is a new concept to this young girl. She certainly wouldn’t have received it from their father. His love, which Reagan never earned, came with a lot of conditions and restrictions.

“I’m hitting the sack for a couple hours,” Reagan says, excusing herself.

“Sure. Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“That’s not a problem. We have a little boy who’s been through a lot. We get a lot of middle of the night visits to our bed.”

“I can tell you’re a good mom. I can see it in your eyes.”

Damn this kid and her seeking, light hazel eyes. She sees too much in people. Reagan would certainly not call herself a good mom, though. Hell, the raising of Jacob had been thrust upon her. She’s probably fucking that kid up beyond even Freud’s repair.

“Well, I also get called out a lot for house-calls at all hours of the night, too,” Reagan says, deflecting her praise and changing the course of their conversation. Where’s Sue? Her other sister would love this insightful, soul-searching little shit.

“Yeah, so are we. The bunker kept mega-bizarro weird hours, and there wasn’t any light, so it was hard to tell if it was day or night. Super freaky,” G says, showing her age and confusing Reagan even more about the whereabouts of her father for nearly four years. “Well, see ya.’”

Gretchen turns and trots softly up the basement stairs, leaving Reagan to stand there feeling very perplexed. What the hell did she mean about a bunker? A yawn escapes her as she sneaks down the hall and into the kids’ room. She finds Jacob asleep on a lower bunk, Arianna above him and Huntley across the room on another bunk. They never know where the kids are sleeping from one night to the next with the exception of Huntley, who always sleeps in the same spot. Sue’s kids are all over the place. Sometimes Ari sleeps in here, sometimes upstairs by Sam. She’s a little nomad. Justin must be out at their cabin with Sue. He’s not much better than his sister with the sleeping arrangements. And lately, Jacob thinks he’s one of the cool kids and insists on sleeping down here when Sue’s kids stay over.

Reagan climbs over her sleeping son and positions her back against the wall. She stays on top of the covers not wanting to disturb Jake further, although she’s pretty sure a cruise missile could come barreling through the wall and he’d stay asleep. Just listening to the children’s soft breathing and occasional snore is comforting to her. She does this sometimes when the shit in the world seems too unbearable. Last night had been pretty far up there on the scale of zero to unbearable. She hates losing patients. Hearing about the macabre scene at the river camp had also taken its toll on her moral conscience. The thought of young girls, some as young as her new step-sister, being abused sexually makes her sick. It also makes her feel violent, as if she’d enjoy returning the favor of torturous abuse by dealing with them the same way she dealt with the sick, malevolent men at her college who’d attacked her.

She wraps an arm around her son, takes pleasure in the even rise and fall of his bony little chest, and tries not to dwell on the disgust and filth of the world. It won’t be long before the tantalizing smell of Hannah’s cooking awakens the children and they sprint upstairs like they do each morning. That’s fine with her. The basement is dark and cool, perfect for sleeping when the sun is up. She has no doubt that John will not be going to bed. He’ll stay up with the men. She’ll probably have to force him down for a nap later in the day. He thinks he’s a machine. She has to remind him often that he’s not. But for now, she’ll sleep next to her little angel and try to focus on taking solace from the simplicity of snuggling with pure innocence and perfection and not dwell on men who are evil. Or absentee fathers who make sudden reappearances.