She won't fit there much longer, Rosita thinks. Carver will have to find a new solution, she'll be more vulnerable, harder to protect.
She leads them out. She's never considered herself a leader but she knows how to pick her way past danger and set her feet on the path home, so she does.
The walk to Creekside is familiar by this point and she doesn't belabor it by trying to talk. She breathes in the scent of crushed leaves as they go, the sound they make underfoot, the crisp wind against her face, and she thinks this isn't how she wanted to do any of this. She's not sure it will stick this way, and for a lot of reasons - for him and her both - she wants it to stick. Nothing for it. Life never waits until you're ready, it just happens.
She shows him how to pick his way through the new traps she's laid down for the fall, the winter, and leads him down the last hill a stone's throw from the creek. The house looks like a house now, in need of refreshing but no longer structural repairs. She brings him in through the front door. There's insulation and dry wall stacked along one wall of the future living room, ready to be installed, but most of it is clear now. The lights turn on when she hits a switch.
"The room you picked is still open," she says. "Or you can pick a new one. The only two anyone's living in are mine and Magpie's, and Jesus has stuff in his."
no subject
She leads them out. She's never considered herself a leader but she knows how to pick her way past danger and set her feet on the path home, so she does.
The walk to Creekside is familiar by this point and she doesn't belabor it by trying to talk. She breathes in the scent of crushed leaves as they go, the sound they make underfoot, the crisp wind against her face, and she thinks this isn't how she wanted to do any of this. She's not sure it will stick this way, and for a lot of reasons - for him and her both - she wants it to stick. Nothing for it. Life never waits until you're ready, it just happens.
She shows him how to pick his way through the new traps she's laid down for the fall, the winter, and leads him down the last hill a stone's throw from the creek. The house looks like a house now, in need of refreshing but no longer structural repairs. She brings him in through the front door. There's insulation and dry wall stacked along one wall of the future living room, ready to be installed, but most of it is clear now. The lights turn on when she hits a switch.
"The room you picked is still open," she says. "Or you can pick a new one. The only two anyone's living in are mine and Magpie's, and Jesus has stuff in his."