her
friends in Redlo had found an old
suitcase inside the trunk of a car and
salvaged a pair of black boots and a
leather coat. But she’d never come upon
a collection herself, and certainly not
one this large.
Remy stifled a gasp of delight as she
pulled a midnight-blue lacy thing from a
small plastic bag. Impractical, but
lovely. Please let it fit me. Please let it
fit me.
She held it up and saw that it was a
very revealing shirt or a nightgown.
Regardless, it was much too large for
her frame. Damn. But she could alter it,
so she set it aside. A little while later
she found a package of socks and
crowed with delight. Clean socks.
Without holes!
The deeper she dug, the more damp
and disgusting was the debris. Not a
surprise, for the top layer would have
disintegrated sooner over the last
decades, slowly exposing the bottom
items to the air and damp. But she found
a thick plastic package with four tank
tops that looked as if they’d fit—and in
great colors too: sky blue, red, white,
and black. And . . . she almost cried
when she found two bras that were the
right size. And panties! Pink leopard-
skin design, blue diamonds and black
and white stripes. A fourth was the
weirdest pair of panties—at least she
thought they were panties—she’d ever
seen: there was no fabric covering the
butt. Just a sort of T-strap. It looked
uncomfortable, but she decided to keep
it anyway because it was black and lacy.
Salvagers couldn’t be choosy, and
someday there might be a reason for her
to wear something so pretty under her
clothes.
“Wonder who Victoria was,” she
said aloud, looking at the packing slip
that was inside the plastic bag that had
held these treasures. And what was her
secret? So far, that package was her best
find, but she had hardly touched the
surface of the truck.
She realized Wyatt had been quiet for
a long while. No noise, no rustling, no
sounds at all.
Remy looked over, toward the
darkest part of the enclosure. He was
still there but he wasn’t moving. He just
sat there, with something in his lap, head
bowed, his hand raised to his eyes as if
pinching the bridge of his nose.
She watched for a moment, but he
still didn’t move. Had he been bitten by
a hidden spider or scorpion? Frowning,
her heart thudding harder in her chest,
she rose to her feet. Her legs were sore
and prickly from being in the same
position for too long, and she was a little
unsteady picking her way back toward
him.
“Wyatt?”
she
asked
as
she
approached, careful not to take another
awkward spill. Especially on top of him.
Or where there could be lethal spiders
lurking.
He didn’t move at first. He was so
still and stiff, he could have been frozen.
But when she got closer, he seemed to
sense her presence. All at once he
erupted to his feet and the books on his
lap tumbled to the ground.
“I’m going back,” he said, his voice
low and rough. “I’ll leave Dantès here
with you.”
Remy gaped at him as he navigated
past her with stiff, abrupt movements.
She only caught a glimpse of his face,
but what she saw was frightening. Stark
and taut, like a horrible mask. His eyes
were like dull, angry stones, his mouth
compressed into a flat line.
A moment later he was gone—
outside the trailer and into the daylight.
Remy heard him speaking to Dantès, and
she stared after his exit, uncertain how to
react. What the hell?
She turned from the empty rectangle
of daylight that was the doorway and
looked at the books that had been in his
lap. She picked them up. Good Night,
Moon . I Love You, Stinky Face. Make
Way for Ducklings.
Children’s
picture
books?
She
looked down at them, thoughtful and
unsettled. Had these bright-colored
stories upset him, or was it something
unrelated? How long should she wait
before returning to the truck?
He’d looked furious. No, actually, it
wasn’t anger she’d seen in that
momentary flash of his
friends in Redlo had found an old
suitcase inside the trunk of a car and
salvaged a pair of black boots and a
leather coat. But she’d never come upon
a collection herself, and certainly not
one this large.
Remy stifled a gasp of delight as she
pulled a midnight-blue lacy thing from a
small plastic bag. Impractical, but
lovely. Please let it fit me. Please let it
fit me.
She held it up and saw that it was a
very revealing shirt or a nightgown.
Regardless, it was much too large for
her frame. Damn. But she could alter it,
so she set it aside. A little while later
she found a package of socks and
crowed with delight. Clean socks.
Without holes!
The deeper she dug, the more damp
and disgusting was the debris. Not a
surprise, for the top layer would have
disintegrated sooner over the last
decades, slowly exposing the bottom
items to the air and damp. But she found
a thick plastic package with four tank
tops that looked as if they’d fit—and in
great colors too: sky blue, red, white,
and black. And . . . she almost cried
when she found two bras that were the
right size. And panties! Pink leopard-
skin design, blue diamonds and black
and white stripes. A fourth was the
weirdest pair of panties—at least she
thought they were panties—she’d ever
seen: there was no fabric covering the
butt. Just a sort of T-strap. It looked
uncomfortable, but she decided to keep
it anyway because it was black and lacy.
Salvagers couldn’t be choosy, and
someday there might be a reason for her
to wear something so pretty under her
clothes.
“Wonder who Victoria was,” she
said aloud, looking at the packing slip
that was inside the plastic bag that had
held these treasures. And what was her
secret? So far, that package was her best
find, but she had hardly touched the
surface of the truck.
She realized Wyatt had been quiet for
a long while. No noise, no rustling, no
sounds at all.
Remy looked over, toward the
darkest part of the enclosure. He was
still there but he wasn’t moving. He just
sat there, with something in his lap, head
bowed, his hand raised to his eyes as if
pinching the bridge of his nose.
She watched for a moment, but he
still didn’t move. Had he been bitten by
a hidden spider or scorpion? Frowning,
her heart thudding harder in her chest,
she rose to her feet. Her legs were sore
and prickly from being in the same
position for too long, and she was a little
unsteady picking her way back toward
him.
“Wyatt?”
she
asked
as
she
approached, careful not to take another
awkward spill. Especially on top of him.
Or where there could be lethal spiders
lurking.
He didn’t move at first. He was so
still and stiff, he could have been frozen.
But when she got closer, he seemed to
sense her presence. All at once he
erupted to his feet and the books on his
lap tumbled to the ground.
“I’m going back,” he said, his voice
low and rough. “I’ll leave Dantès here
with you.”
Remy gaped at him as he navigated
past her with stiff, abrupt movements.
She only caught a glimpse of his face,
but what she saw was frightening. Stark
and taut, like a horrible mask. His eyes
were like dull, angry stones, his mouth
compressed into a flat line.
A moment later he was gone—
outside the trailer and into the daylight.
Remy heard him speaking to Dantès, and
she stared after his exit, uncertain how to
react. What the hell?
She turned from the empty rectangle
of daylight that was the doorway and
looked at the books that had been in his
lap. She picked them up. Good Night,
Moon . I Love You, Stinky Face. Make
Way for Ducklings.
Children’s
picture
books?
She
looked down at them, thoughtful and
unsettled. Had these bright-colored
stories upset him, or was it something
unrelated? How long should she wait
before returning to the truck?
He’d looked furious. No, actually, it
wasn’t anger she’d seen in that
momentary flash of his
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