Chapter 7

Julia awoke refreshed, renewed and on a mission. Every feminine, grandmotherly bone in her body activated. She opened windows, organized, and beat the dirty life out of curtains and couches.

Both kids sat in the middle of the living room, munching on dry cereal and watching her zoom around the space.

I had none of Julia's energy, but I'd changed my clothes, my nausea had gone, my muscles felt stronger, and my head blessedly didn't pound. The chemicals were finally fading, and it was a relief to see myself healing versus the alternative. I'd had no idea how my body would react without it.

I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of room-temperature instant coffee gripped between my hands. Merle had packed three jars of it. I'd found them while searching the bags that morning, and the gold mine I'd sifted through made me wonder how long Merle had been planning this. I was most excited about the large bottle of whiskey hidden in a side pocket. If I'd ever needed a drink before, I needed one now.

Croc was sitting across from me, curiosity shifting between where Julia moved about and my glass.

"Croc?" Julia flew into the kitchen like a hummingbird, hands on hips, buzzing with momentum. "Do you have any cleaning supplies at all? Some soap? A rag?"

His forehead crinkled, creating lines in the caked mud. Something told me cleanliness wasn't on the extensive list of things Croc could provide.

"What about under the sink?" She pointed to the cabinet doors.

Croc shook his head. "Pappy locked it." He paused, thoughtfully. "That's a rule." He smiled, then, as if proud to have one of his own.

Julia inspected it then looked at me. "It has a child lock on it."

Julia fingered the latch for a second, and the doors popped open to reveal the bounty within. "Jackpot!" She pulled out the bottles, one after the other, stacking them all onto the counter above her. They tipped over into the sink, too many to fit on the counter.

Croc seemed indignant that she had the nerve to break his rule, but instead of protesting, he shook his head and blew out a breath. I wanted to laugh. Already, Julia had become the boss of this place, swamp man included. I pictured Merle sat next to us, rolling his eyes and giving me a knowing look, and my chest ached in a way that wasn't all sadness.

"Willow," she said when she finally reached an end. She tossed a pair of yellow gloves at me. "Finish up that coffee, girl. We're gonna scrub this place from top to bottom."

I blew out a breath and sent up a silent prayer that she wouldn't assign me the bathroom.

***

Croc watched with an avid curiosity as Julia delegated, and we both sprayed and scrubbed and soaked and scraped. He wasn't idle long, however, not with Julia around. That is, once she convinced him that he was allowed to touch the chemicals.

She utilized his height, setting him to work on everything above our heads, then his strength when no amount of elbow grease was enough to remove a particular spot of grime. Each time he'd finish up, she'd praise him, and that beaming smile would fill his face once again.

I got the piles. Mountain upon mountain of stuff filled every empty corner, and it was my job to give it a place or mark it as junk. The kitchen had mostly garbage, discarded bottles with labels too faded to tell what they'd once held. Fish bones with rotted heads and deteriorated fins, and other things I couldn't name and didn't try to. I pushed through the task, eager to finish before my brain figured out I was blocking its signals to my stomach.

When I made it to the bedroom, things got easier. Everything was boxed, stacked high against the back wall. I pulled them all down, one by one, and sat on my knees as I inspected the contents.

Knickknacks and odds and ends. Scraps of material, spare blankets, old shoes. I paused. Books. Children's books. ABCs and 123s. Rhyming words and silly stories. A stuffed bear, one eye loose and dangling down its face by a thread. I sat it off to the side, fighting to ignore the visual of the little boy the man had once been. Had he packed it away? Had his Pappy?

I pulled down another. Photos. I sucked in a breath. Pappy was older, just as tall and three times as clean as the man currently helping Julia. In every picture, he wore a dress shirt and slacks, leather shoes and a tweed cap. His face was clean shaven, jaw square, and I could find no resemblance between him and who I could only assume was his grandson. He was too old to be his father. What had happened to his parents?

I pulled out another. A tiny boy, no bigger than Eric, smiled cheekily at the camera. He held a less worn version of the bear I'd found in the other box. Jesus. He was precious. So fucking precious and innocent. I rubbed my chest, pushing hard against the sharp pain that echoed behind my rib cage. More photos followed. Pappy holding him. Pappy laughing. Croc with cake smeared all over his face. Him standing on the edge of the dock, pointing out a gator in the canal.

I couldn't handle it. I couldn't see. My chest ached in a way that wasn't natural, and my eyes burned with unnecessary moisture. I pushed the photos back inside and picked the box up, carrying it with purpose to the living room. "There's pictures here." I placed it by Julia's feet. "If you...want to do something with them." I turned before she could question me.

I needed a break, a distraction, so instead of tackling the rest, I grabbed the other box and brought it into the living room as well. "I found this, too," I said, opening the flaps so Eve and Eric could peek inside.

Julia turned. "Oh, thank god! I was wondering what I was going to do about these kids having some toys."

Suddenly, a large arm shot past me, and I flinched back. Croc gripped the bear and pulled it up to his face. He felt its ear then stroked the side of its head with gentle fingers. "Bear bear," he whispered.

My fingers curled into fists, nails digging into my palms as I fought against the insane urge to hug him. I had no reason to do that. It wouldn't benefit me at all. But he needed a hug. He deserved a damn hug, but it wouldn't be from me, not when he'd made it perfectly clear he wanted much more than that. A hug would only confuse him, lead him on, and that wouldn't do any good for anyone.

If Danny had taught me anything, it was what a man would do if given permission, and I'd loathed him. I'd hated Danny. Croc was different, and the more I learned about him, the more impossible it became to feel anything other than pity.

I stood and turned away. "I'll let y'all finish those boxes. I'm going to clean the bathroom."

***

By the time we finished, the bathroom was white, the couch was floral instead of brown, and the wood-burning stove was not only clean but blessedly operational. Pictures lined the walls, a sad story laid out for me to see everywhere I looked. More toys had filled the other boxes until the kids were overflowing with trucks and blocks, crayons and half-used coloring books.

And they were happy. They were kids. Their giggling laughter brightened the house more than any cleaning ever could. They ran across the living room, bouncing on the couch and grabbing one toy after the next.

"Croc, can you catch us some fish?" Julia asked as she hung the towel she'd been using over the oven handle. "I'm thinking I should work us up a feast to reward our hard work."

He squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest, eager to be of service. "Croc provides."

I rolled my eyes at Julia as he rushed outside. "Fish? Really?"

"They won't be so bad if I cook them," Julia said.

She'd better hope they aren't as sentient as the gators. They were liable to fight back, and I wasn't going to have any part of those teeth. Still, I'd seen worse. "I suppose it's better than ham jello."

"You're damn straight its better than ham jello!" She grabbed a large frying pan and set it on the stove. "I miss my garden."

The front door opened and shut, and before I could glance over, a fish was held out in front of me.

"Fuck!" I reared back and clutched my chest.

Croc snatched it back away from me and scrunched his whole face.

"I'm sorry," I breathed, lifting a hand, palm outstretched in his direction. "I like the fish better when they aren't in my face."

Julia snorted. "Croc, hon, you think I could have you do me one more favor?"

He squinted at me another moment as if trying to solve a puzzle, then turned the expression on Julia as if she knew the answer.

"Could you cut off their heads?"

Croc looked down at the fish for a long moment as new questions formed in the lines of his forehead, the set of his mouth, the angle of his jaw, but he never voiced them. He left them there, poorly kept secrets written on a bulletin board, and when he shrugged one shoulder, it was as if we were the ones that made no sense. "Croc will cut off the heads." He stepped back outside.

Julia followed. "I'll teach him how to clean them up. You kids want to learn, too?" she called over her shoulder into the living room.

Both raced after her, and I was amazed by their excitement. Like little rubber bands, they'd been stretched but hadn't broken. They'd just...snapped back.

I watched them go then flopped down at the table with a huff. All around me, the shack looked like a home. It was amazing how different it was. The kitchen was white with yellow trim, and the curtains, still damp from Julia's scrubbing, had a pattern of corn stalks that added to the cheery colors. It was perfect for her. It was as if it'd been meant for her.

A layer of sweat plastered my hair to my forehead and soaked my shirt. All day, it'd dripped into my eyes, and now that the sun had begun to set, they burned with a mix of irritation and exhaustion. I laid my head across my arms and closed them for a blissful moment, only to drift off the second I did.

🐊🐊🐊

Sizzling woke me, and I opened my eyes to find Croc's face mere inches from mine. He'd taken the chair to my right and matched my position, laying his head across his arm, and who knew how long he'd been staring at me.

I shot upright and blinked until my vision adjusted. "Julia?"

She stood in front of the stove, back to us, but she turned to watch Croc rise then winked at me. "Good news," she said. "Pappy had a garden! I asked Croc if there were any edible plants, and low and behold, he took me to the mother load. It's glorious! We've got corn, raspberries, cranberries, asparagus, mint, and rice. Gigantic vegetables!" She held her hands out, indicating the size. "It's all a little unkept and overgrown, but Pappy didn't play around." She stepped to the side and motioned to the four burning eyes on the stove. "We're gonna eat good today."

I ran a hand across my face as if I could wipe away my lingering fatigue. "See? You've got your garden after all." I yawned, then glanced at Croc as he sat upright. "Do you think it's all safe? Wouldn't it be contaminated?"

Julia shrugged. "I don't know what the hell they've been dumping here, but it's not killing anything, it's enhancing it." She clasped an ear of corn in a set of tongs and heaved it out of the water with both hands. It was huge, as long as her forearm, and when she put it back, the top half stuck out of the pot. "Who knows, maybe it'll help an old woman out." She did a little shimmy, wiggling her brows in time with her shoulders and...other things.

Just like that. Shelter. Safety. Food. The place was the complete opposite of what we'd left behind. Julia had ventured out one time and found an ear of corn large enough to feed a small army.

Nothing like outside. Not since the changes started. The lines to get inside our local grocery store used to reach the stop sign on Fifth Street. Hundreds of people would stand hours, desperate to prepare for a danger they couldn't see. None of them knew they'd never get to finish using the supplies. None of them realized the lines would get shorter, and shorter, then nonexistent. That's when the looting started, because no matter how many people vanished, the food grew less and less abundant.

Money lost its value as the government started issuing tickets based on necessity. The more a person contributed, the more they received. Crime escalated, clearing the neighborhood even more.

The worst was the families. Mothers stood with their children, alone after their husbands were caught stealing or fighting in the long extinguished militias. Their kids, bone thin and silent. Well, not always silent.

My mind flashed with memory. Walking with my bags toward the exit, gaze fixed and vision tunneled to only see the misty world beyond the sliding glass doors. The path home. Until a crash sounded loud enough to corrupt my focus, and I broke my biggest rule: don't look, don't watch. I stared.

The mother was bent, face ashen, her toddler gripped tight by one arm while the other worked furiously to pick up the shattered glass. A pickle jar. That's all it had been. Store brand dill slices. When the heavy steps echoed into my right ear, I'd turned away, toward the exit, fighting not to hear her wailing cries, her begging, the screams of her innocent child.

"Willow," Julia said as if she were calling me in from the next room.

I blinked, and the images receded.

"Are you listening? Croc said pumpkins grow in the fall." Julia leaned forward and pinched Croc's cheek, giving it a jiggle as if he were one of the kids. "Pappy provides."

His lips curved, but his eyes didn't match. He ran his finger across the table, tracing an old crack in its surface as if remembering how it'd gotten there. "Croc filled the tub with water for you," he said, voice quiet. "Julia said you'd like that."

Julia turned back to the stove and began whistling the intro to an old commercial I used to hate. I glared at her back, not missing the slight shake to her shoulders. She knew exactly what she was doing, and I was overjoyed that in these challenging times she'd managed to find a serious topic to treat lightly. Not really. Not at all. Of all the things she had to make a joke about, the talking gators, the razor-toothed fish, the flaming sludge, she'd chosen my impregnation.

Croc cleared his throat. "You don't like it?"

Dammit. He sounded so innocent, so unsure. After the day of watching him reminisce over photos, cuddle old bears, and going through image after image of him as a child, it was hard to be brutal. "No. That's great. Thank you."

"You've got time to wash up before this is done." Julia stoked the fire beneath one of the pans, then shook it rapidly as she added a splash of water and leaned away from the steam billowing into the air.

I pushed myself up from the chair and shoved the hair off my forehead. I'd seen shampoo and soap, even a razor, and I grabbed them all and stared at them how a person lost at sea would stare at fresh water. Once they were gone, that was it. I wondered if Julia knew how to make soap. Something told me we wouldn't find a massive bar laying around somewhere outside.

I paused in the living room. Eve and Eric played quietly, rubbing crayons against the same page of a coloring book. I lingered for a moment, watching them, huddled together, murmuring, smiling, damp heads and too big clothes. Julia had bathed them. They looked newer. It swelled my heart and frightened me at the same time. I was glad to see them adjusting but was terrified of what it would be like if someone came to rip it all away. Would it make it worse? Would it make it harder for them?

I shut myself inside the bathroom before my morbid thoughts could ruin the moment, then eyed the tub. The fact it was the same room I'd seen the night before was astounding. More of the same cheery colors, white and yellow, a hint of turquoise in the tiles. For as small as the place was, Pappy had obviously taken pride in the details of his home.

The water was cool but nice after the sweltering day, and I took my time washing, allowing it to soothe my battered muscles. I finished and dressed just in time to emerge as Julia was setting the table.

Croc's attention was honed on the meal like a pirate who'd discovered gold, but the moment I entered the room, he lifted his head and sniffed the air hard. He hummed, low and deep. "Croc likes that smell."

Julia scooped an extra piece of fish onto his plate. "It's better cooked, isn't it? I'm so hungry, I could devour this whole table."

Croc's eyes locked on me and roamed, darker, intent. He sucked another breath in through his nose and blew it out slow through parted lips. "Croc wants to devour."