Ashen Winter

“I know—it’s okay.” Dad pulled me into a brief hug. “I’ll come get you before they quit serving breakfast. You can talk for an hour and a half, maybe two.”

I rolled my eyes at him and crawled into the tent.

Alyssa was sitting on a makeshift pile of rags and blankets. Her jacket was off. As I entered, she was pulling her sweater off. She stretched sinuously, thrusting her chest out. I couldn’t help but stare.

When her head popped free of the sweater, Alyssa caught me staring and smiled. I moved my focus back to her face, but it nearly took more willpower than I had to succeed.

“What did you want to talk about?” I asked.

“When that guy, Deke, ran into me, you were the first one there.” Under the sweater Alyssa had on a heavy, long-sleeved fla

“I was trying to stay alert—that’s . . . that’s really distracting.”

As Alyssa unbuttoned the fla

“Um, yeah.” I reached one hand out to her collar and held her overshirt closed.

She placed a hand over mine. “That guy didn’t stand a chance. He was a foot taller and probably fifty pounds heavier, and you took him down with one move.”

I shrugged. I could pull my hand away from hers, but then her overshirt would fall open again. A growing part of me wanted to let go of her shirt and not pull away, let it fall open, and see what would happen next.

“You could have killed him.”

“I wouldn’t—”

She lifted my pointer finger and took it between her lips, biting gently. The supple warmth of her lips drove whatever I’d been about to say from my mind. She cupped her other hand behind my neck, pulling me closer. I was clay, moldable into whatever shape Alyssa wanted. She released my finger from between her teeth and moved my hand, sliding it beneath her overshirt until it rested on her left breast.

“Alyssa, I—”

She bent forward and kissed me. Suddenly I was kissing her back, and she moaned, and my hand clutched at her breast, far harder than Darla would have liked.

Darla.

I pushed Alyssa away, a little harder than I meant to. She rocked back on the bedding.

“What?” she said.

“I don’t want—”

“I can clearly see that you do want.” She reached, and I grabbed her wrist, stopping her hand inches from my groin.

“Yeah, look. He does what he wants to, not what I tell him to.” I moved her hand farther from the, um, body part in question. “But I love Darla.”

Her lips formed an insanely hot pout. “You can still love her. I wasn’t proposing marriage, you know.”

I shook my head sadly. “I can’t.”

“It’s not like she’d ever know. Even if you do find her. Even if you don’t get killed.”

“I’d know.”

Alyssa’s face crumpled. “You could learn to love me,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with sudden tears.

“Maybe I could have, if I’d met you first. But I didn’t,” I said more gently.

A tear left a glistening trail down her cheek.

What was going on? Her moods shifted gears faster than a NASCAR driver in traffic. I was a jumble. Horny, guilty for making her cry, and angry that she’d put me in this position—all at the same time. “It’s okay,” I said, hugging her in what I hoped was a brotherly fashion. “Don’t cry.” That made her start sobbing for real.

I held her and patted her back until her crying fit ran out. When she seemed calmer, I started buttoning her overshirt back up.

“I’m sorry,” Alyssa said. “I’m not really a slut or anything.”

“I never said you were.”

“Ben and me, we’ve been on our own for five months, ever since Mom and Dad were killed, and it’s, I don’t know, I feel . . . maybe lonely sometimes. I mean, I love my brother, but it’s just the two of us. And sometimes I could get the Peckerwoods to do stuff for me, if I did stuff for them, but that wasn’t . . . I only got more lonely. And so I thought that you and me . . . it would be great to have something real.”

“You do have something real.” I clasped her hand in mine. “We’re friends, okay?”

“Okay.” Alyssa pulled her sweater back on. “Do you think maybe I could stay here while we nap? Just as friends?”

“Yeah. That’d be okay, I guess.” I lay down on my back on Dad’s bedroll. Alyssa snuggled against my side, one hand flung over my chest. In seconds, her breathing evened and slowed. I lay awake, staring at the canvas ceiling until Dad called us for breakfast.

Chapter 63

I finally got a few hours of fitful sleep after breakfast. A draft of frozen air woke me, and I peered out from under my bedding, bleary-eyed. My mother was holding the tent flap open and peeking in.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t sleeping that well, anyway.”

“I just . . . I had to look at you. To make sure I didn’t dream up yesterday.”

“I’m too sore to be part of your dream, Mom.” I pushed aside the layers of blankets and reached for my overcoat.

Mom brought me a pail of water so cold that a rim of ice had already formed at its edges. I brushed my teeth with Dad’s toothbrush. Icy spikes of cold stabbed my hands and face as I washed. When I finished, Mom took me to see her school.

Several clear plastic tarps were hung from poles in the center of the camp, forming a rough tent about fifteen feet square. Mom pushed aside the corner of the plastic and gestured for me to enter. Inside, about a dozen students, mostly girls, sat in a circle around the perimeter of the tent. A rangy, gray-haired woman stood in the center, reading from a warped copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

“Melba,” Mom said, “this is my son, Alex.”

The woman looked up. “Pleased to meet you. Will you be joining our class?”

“I’ve already read that book,” I said.

“If you don’t mind,” Mom said, addressing Melba, “maybe Alex could teach this section? A self-defense seminar? He’s got a black belt in taekwondo.”

“Certainly.” Melba closed and pocketed her book.

“You could have given me a little warning,” I whispered to Mom.

“You’ll do fine.”

I stepped into the center of the makeshift room. “Saved by the sub, huh? There’s nothing more boring than English.” I looked around. Nobody was smiling.

Melba stared daggers at me. “Let’s welcome Mr. Halprin properly,” she said, extending her hand.

I reached to shake her hand, but she clasped my thumb instead and did a little stutter step, moving closer to me and bending my arm. Her other hand grabbed my elbow, her foot hooked mine, and suddenly I was flat on my back staring up at her.

“That,” Melba said, “is what is colloquially referred to as a ‘chicken wing.’ My English classes are not boring, Mr. Halprin. And I also teach a judo seminar.”

A chuckle passed around the room, and I felt my face flush. “Sorry, I should have warned you,” Mom said. Melba held out her hand to help me up, but I rolled instead, coming up in a defensive stance.

“Good throw,” I said. “You know the counter?”

Melba nodded.

“Let’s demonstrate it,” I held out my hand again, and we worked through the counter-move in slow motion. Taekwondo doesn’t emphasize throws the way judo does, so Melba was better at them, but now that I was prepared, I mostly held my own. Soon I was into the rhythm of the class: demonstrating moves with Melba, coaching students, and pairing them off to practice.

I called a short break after about a half hour. “I’ve got to go check on the other classes,” Mom said.

“There are more?”

“Dozens. We do martial arts in here since it’s the biggest space we have. I call it the LGI.”

“LGI?”

“Large Group Instruction,” Mom snorted. “See you at di

• • •

We repeated the ambush that night using Alyssa as bait again. It was mind-numbingly boring; I had to fight to stay alert all night, and absolutely nothing happened.