Wild Page 13

  “Because of Mitch?”

  “We’re still together.”

  “Are you?”

  She wasn’t sure where their relationship stood, but she couldn’t say that to Josh. It would only encourage him, and he was hard enough to resist. Either way, she’d betrayed Mitch. Even if it was over between them, they hadn’t ended things officially. She was about to shove Josh away in self-disgust when he retreated on his own.

  “Here comes my car,” Josh said, picking up the guns.

  “What?”

  “Here comes my tram car. We should take the same one back. It has the meat in it.”

  Helena was stuck. It was too dangerous to walk, and they couldn’t get a vehicle to this location. She had to ride the Skylift again.

  There was no time to second-guess this decision. They boarded the tram car as soon as it entered the station. She took the seat opposite him, gripping the safety bar for dear life.

  Her hands felt raw, her senses reeling. The half-chewed side of beef was on the floor between them, along with a coiled length of rope.

  The tram car began its sickening climb. Her tension rose with it.

  “I thought you were cured,” Josh said.

  She didn’t smile at his joke.

  “How’d you hang on for so long?”

  “I couldn’t let go.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  There was something in her eyes, like dust. She blinked a few times to clear her vision. They passed by Tau, who looked fine. Sailing over the park in the tram wasn’t as bad as she’d anticipated. It was a hell of a lot better than dangling on the outside.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  She returned her attention to Josh. It was difficult to look at him. It would be even more difficult to look in the mirror. But he didn’t seem ashamed. His expression was neither nonchalant nor smug. If she could take a guess, she’d say he was concerned about her. “I had to restart the generator, and I turned my back to the entrance. Bambang came out of nowhere.”

  “Why didn’t you shoot him?”

  “I wasn’t ready. It’s harder than it looks in the movies.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you shoot people, in the navy?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “It sucks.”

  Helena wondered if she was capable of killing a person. It would be difficult enough for her to put down a dangerous animal. Despite the traumatic experience, she was glad Bambang hadn’t been injured.

  “The first time I was ordered to fire my weapon, I hesitated,” he said. “I couldn’t tell if my target was armed. That was my mistake.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was armed. He lifted his weapon and killed the guy right next to me.”

  Her throat closed up. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I,” he said, meeting her gaze.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHLOE WOKE FROM a fitful sleep, disoriented.

  She’d been dreaming about a tsunami. Emma had been ripped from her arms and swept away in the tumbling waves. Chloe had somersaulted through the water, bubbles rising from her throat as she screamed for her daughter.

  Now she was in a strange, but cozy, place. Judging by the sparse light, it was early morning. Emma was cradled against her stomach, warm and secure. There was another heat source behind her. A sleeping man, snoring softly against her nape. Mateo must have gotten cold last night and decided to join them. The front of his body was molded to her back, and his hand was underneath her sweatshirt—under her tank top—cupping her right breast. He made a drowsy sound and flexed his fingers.

  Her nipple hardened into a tight bead in his palm, jutting at the lacy cup of her bra. She was acutely aware of the inseam of her jeans, which had ridden up while she slept. Her vulva tingled with a mixture of discomfort and arousal.

  She knew she should disengage herself from his embrace…but it felt good. He murmured something in Spanish and flicked his thumb over her nipple, wrenching a soft gasp from her lips.

  The hairs on her neck stood on end. His erection swelled against her bottom, the silky fabric of his soccer shorts gliding over worn denim.

  Then he froze, seeming to wake fully. “Hijo de puta,” he muttered, yanking his hand away from her breast.

  Chloe tried to pretend she was asleep, but he was so clumsy in his panic to stop touching her that he fell off the bench with his hand still caught in her tank top. She was pulled backward with him. They landed in a tangled pile of limbs and tablecloths on the floor. Her injured thigh came down between his legs.

  “Sorry,” he choked, grimacing in pain.

  When he finally got his hand out of her cookie jar, she straightened her clothes and eased away from him. This was so embarrassing. Emma was still asleep on the cushioned bench, hugging her teddy bear.

  Mateo said a bunch of things she didn’t understand. He was trying to apologize, but he hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d practically been purring with pleasure, arching against him. It was an accident. Nobody’s fault. There was no way for her to tell him this, and she didn’t think he’d believe her, anyway. So she showed him. When he went quiet, she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his, very gently.

  He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  She smothered a laugh, her pulse racing with excitement. If she had a little more confidence in her appeal, not to mention her breath, she might have tried a lingering kiss. He looked confused, but not disinterested.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said, using the bench to boost herself up. He helped her stand, chivalrous as ever. She tested the strength of her injured leg and deemed it acceptable. The dull ache didn’t stop her from limping forward. He followed her down the hall, propping open the door for her.

  “Thanks,” she said, skirting by him.

  The corner of his mouth tipped up. He seemed to have processed the fact that she wasn’t offended. She ducked inside the bathroom, giddy as a schoolgirl. She wanted to doodle his name in a journal and like all of his pictures on Facebook. Did he have a page for his soccer team? A shirtless photo, taken after the championship game?

  Swoon.

  She peeled down her jeans and used the restroom. Her thigh was discolored above the edge of the bandage. Underneath, her skin was probably black and blue. It felt bruised to the bone. When she was finished, she tugged the denim into place and returned to the lounge, rinsing her hands in the fountain. She covered Emma with the extra tablecloth.

  Mateo was in the kitchen at the back of the restaurant. He’d found a dry salami and was cutting it into thin slices. “Quieres?”

  Chloe was hungry, but not that hungry. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  He gave her a blank stare.

  “I don’t eat meat.”

  “Ah,” he said, popping a slice into his mouth. He gestured to a large refrigerator, indicating other options.

  She opened the door with trepidation. The interior was room temperature, so she ignored anything that could spoil. There were more pears and candied nuts, along with a container of crumbled blue cheese. When Mateo saw the cheese, he frowned at her in disapproval. He shook his head, pointing at the color.

  She realized that he thought it was bad. They must not have blue cheese in Panama. She ate some of the cheese to demonstrate its safety. Delicious. Then she offered him a crumble, raising it to his lips. He allowed her to feed him.

  She could tell he didn’t like the taste when he grimaced and reached for a bottle of water. After washing it down, he said something uncomplimentary, maybe accusing her of trying to poison him.

  Giggling at his reaction, she opened the fridge again. There was a round pan at the bottom of the fridge that looked promising. She uncovered it, revealing what appeared to be a pear tart. Mateo cut a slice for her and watched while she took a bite.

  “Oh, my God,” she said. “Yum.”

  He wasn’t as wary of the tart. Chewing carefully, he nod
ded his approval. “Eso,” he said, finishing the slice. But then he went back to his salami, as if he preferred savory over sweet. Josh was the same way.

  Chloe woke up Emma for breakfast. She liked the salami and the tart. After she ate her fill, they got ready to leave the restaurant. Mateo packed some snacks and water in his beach bag. Chloe tucked a washcloth into Emma’s pants like a diaper, just in case she had an accident. They had a long journey ahead.

  The smoke at the coast was still heavy, and there were fires burning in various locations. Chloe wanted to continue east as far as possible. When they reached Park Street, they could follow it north to the naval hospital. She figured the total distance was about three miles. An easy walk, under normal circumstances. With roads blocked and piles of rubble everywhere, it was a challenging maze.

  Once again, the area was quiet and deserted. The earthquake had struck before operating hours for most local businesses. Schools were on spring break. But many residents had been in their cars, en route to work. She couldn’t imagine the number of fatalities. There must have been hundreds on the bridge alone.

  Emma refused to be carried by Mateo or Chloe, which slowed their progress. Chloe’s leg felt better, but not good. The ill-fitting docksides didn’t help. They slid up and down her heel as she limped along, causing friction. The shoes weren’t comfortable for a stroll around the mall, let alone a hike through a ravaged city.

  About an hour later, she was about to cry uncle when she spotted a Goodwill sign across the street. The front window was broken, but the interior looked safe. There was merchandise all over the floor.

  “I need better shoes,” she said, pointing at the store. “Boots.”

  He glanced down at her feet, and then toward the Goodwill. “Boots. Sí.”

  They entered the space with caution. It was a large area, full of awesome junk. Chloe went straight to the shoe racks, which were overturned. She set Emma down with a book that made animal sounds and began digging through the pile while Mateo looked for pantalones. She found a pair of black combat boots first. They were too big, so she saved them for Mateo and settled on a pair of brown leather half boots for herself.

  She needed socks, too. There was a plastic bin behind Emma. Chloe sorted through them and selected two pairs, blue for her and black for Mateo. She pulled on the socks with the boots, which were a perfect fit.

  Mateo returned with a backpack instead of his beach bag. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and worn Levi’s, which he appeared to have pulled on over his shorts. She presented the combat boots and socks to him, admiring his well-muscled thighs.

  Emma hit the button to make the tiger growl. Mrowr.

  Chloe rose to her feet, with his help. Leaving him with the boots, she browsed around, grabbing an extra outfit for Emma. She also searched through the ladies’ garments, selecting cropped yoga pants and a soft T-shirt. They might have to spend the night on the floor of the hospital, or who knew where.

  Mateo tucked his jeans into the boots and stood, testing their comfort. She smiled at his utilitarian fashion choices. Lyle’s slouching rocker style and skinny frame paled in comparison. “Do they fit?”

  “Sí, mamita.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He laughed at the question. Instead of answering, he just shrugged. She put her extra clothes in his backpack, along with Emma’s book. Before they left the store, he paused at the dusty front counter to scribble on scrap paper. “Cuántos cuestan?” he asked, referring to the items they’d gathered. “How much?”

  “Forty dollars,” she guessed. The note read:

  Mateo Calderón Torres

  Ave. Redonda No. 14

  Cuidad Panamá, Panamá

  Te debo 50 dólares

  “Mateo Calderón Torres,” she said, arching a brow. “That’s a mouthful.”

  He didn’t appear to understand, but he stared at her lips in a way that reminded her of this morning’s kiss. Feeling self-conscious, she took the pen from him, adding “Chloe Garrison” and her own phone number to the bottom. He didn’t protest.

  On the way out, he almost tripped over a cane lying on the floor. It was serendipity. He handed her the cane, which was smooth wood with a rubber grip. She brandished it with ease, hobbling forward. The little bit of help made a lot of difference.

  Chloe felt good as they stepped out together. She had new shoes, a better way to get around and a fresh outlook. Emma wanted to be carried, and she even allowed Mateo to put her on his shoulders. Unless they encountered an insurmountable obstacle, they were going to make it to the hospital today.

  They hit a stretch of unblemished road and made excellent time, reaching Park Street without incident. The weather shifted from cool and misty to sunny and hot, which didn’t help the air quality. She removed her hooded sweatshirt and tied it around her waist. She should have picked up hats and sunglasses at the thrift shop.

  They only saw a handful of people that day. There was a mumbling homeless man pushing a grocery cart, and a roving band of young men, armed with impromptu weapons. Mateo ignored the vagrant, not the gang. He directed Chloe and Emma into a hiding place and put his arms around them until the men passed. Chloe was grateful for his protection. She didn’t want to know what the men would do with a lone woman.

  At midmorning, they came upon a large structure fire. It was blocks in the distance, involving what appeared to be an apartment complex and several industrial buildings. They’d have to find a way around.

  Chloe pointed east with her old-man cane. It was uphill, so maybe they could get a better view of the area.

  Two blocks later, at the top of the slope, she caught a glimpse of the freeway. And halted dead in her tracks.

  Interstate 5 was a parking lot.

  Looking north, the direction they were headed, there was a major accident. Not just another fire, but some kind of structure collapse and a huge pileup. Although she couldn’t see clearly through the smoke, she got the impression of hundreds of vehicles. She imagined charred flesh and burning bodies. There were news helicopters in the sky, miles away. But no organized rescue effort, as far as she could tell.

  No end in sight.

  She glanced at Mateo, distraught. They would have to turn back and approach the naval hospital from the west side. It meant adding many extra blocks to their route. He took Emma off his shoulders and pointed to a bus bench under a shady tree. This was a quiet street, and the surrounding area looked safe. Chloe nodded her agreement.

  When she arrived at the bench, she lowered herself to a sitting position with a groan. She hadn’t realized how sore her muscles were. The cane was helpful, but her good leg ached from overcompensating. They drank water and ate pieces of flatbread. The bland meal was perfect for her uneasy stomach.

  Emma explored the area under the tree, gathering the spiky green seed balls that had fallen from the branches.

  Mateo picked up a pointy stick from below the bench. Chloe watched as he drew lazy circles in the flat dirt at their feet. She wanted to connect with him, but the language barrier made it difficult. Then an idea occurred to her. Even though he didn’t speak English, he often understood what she was saying. They could communicate another way.

  “How old are you?” she asked, gesturing to the stick.

  He stopped making circles and wrote 21. Chloe smiled at his quick comprehension, as well as the number. She was glad he was close to her age.

  “Y tú?” he asked, handing her the stick.

  She wrote 23.

  He smiled, too. Maybe he liked older women.

  “Tell me about your family. Do you have brothers or sisters?” She returned the stick.

  He smoothed the dirt with the sole of his boot and drew three triangles with circle heads. “Tres hermanas.”

  “Three sisters?”

  “Sí.”

  “Older or younger?”

  He wrote a 24 next to the first girl figure. Then 17 and 15. Two younger, one older. Drawing a line from the older sister,
he made two more triangle shapes. “Mis sobrinas.”

  “Your nieces?”

  He nodded and wrote 3 next to both shapes. “Gemelas.”

  “Twins?”

  “Sí,” he said. Then a crease formed between his brows, and he started over. He drew two boy figures and two number 21s. He crossed one out. “Mi hermano. Se murió.”

  She studied his face, interpreting the sadness in his eyes as well as the marks in the dirt. Two brothers, both 21. They had to be twins, as well. He had a twin brother…who was dead. “I’m so sorry,” she said, touching his shoulder.

  He gave back the stick.

  Chloe glanced at Emma, who was still playing with spike balls. Then she drew her own boy figure, and 29. “My brother, Josh.”

  He waited, as if expecting her to add more.

  “That’s all,” she said. “One brother.”

  His gaze traveled up the length of her bare arm. Reaching out, he grasped her wrist and tilted it gently. “Que te pasó?”

  She tried to pull her arm back, but he wouldn’t let go. He was talking about her scars. The faint white lines were barely visible, more self-harm than hesitation marks. She hadn’t been brave enough to cut deep or open up a vein. “It’s nothing.”

  He asked another question, but she didn't understand. She looked at Emma again, tears filling her eyes. During her darkest days, Chloe had been convinced that her daughter would be better off without her. She didn’t know how to tell Mateo that, when she didn’t understand it herself. She’d do anything for Emma, even die.

  He leaned forward and put his other arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, accepting the comfort. It wasn’t easy to interpret his reaction, but he seemed more concerned than disapproving. His embrace was warm and quiet. He wasn’t frowning, like her mother had. He wasn’t frantic.

  Emma climbed into her lap, inserting herself between them. She had a spikey ball clutched in her chubby little fist. Chloe could smell the saltwater in her hair and detect the faint, stale scent of saliva on her fingers.