Some Kind Of Disaster

The Hunger Games:

35 Tesserae (or, the Unintentional Rory Hawthorne Character Study)

Rory Hawthorne is a lot more observant than most people think. His brother may be older, but he’s not invulnerable. When Gale won’t address his own needs, Rory takes the initiative to take care of him for once.

pt. I | pt. II | pt. III | pt. IV | currently writing pt. V

Ad Meliora (a THG next generation project)

It’s been 18 years since the Mockingjay epilogue, and everything has changed. One can only hope that these changes will be for the better.

Prologue | subsequent parts to come

I Don’t Think You’re A Bad Person (You Just Fucking Make Me Sick)

Vignettes from the not-quite-unrequited love of Coriolanus Snow and Sejanus Plinth, told through physical symptoms. Title from Super Awesome by Everybody's Worried About Owen.

pt. 1 | currently writing pt. II-IV

The Pitt:

(Will You) Hold Me While I Shake

Frank Langdon is coming down from being on drugs while also recovering from quite possibly the worst shift of his life. Thankfully, reinforcements come to the rescue.

“Ro? What’s wrong?” Vick sits up next to me, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing,” I reply a little too quickly. “Stay here a minute. I’m gonna go see if Mama’s making breakfast.”

“Mm…okay.” He squirms his way off the bed and goes to get some clothes to change into.

I get up slowly on anxiety-weakened legs and go out into the kitchen. Mama’s sitting there at the table, a steaming cup of water and herbs in front of her. She offers me a smile as I walk in.

“Good morning. How did you sleep?”

“Mama…” I hesitate, the words catching like fish bones in my throat. “Gale’s gone. Do you know where he went?”

The look on her face changes instantly. So many emotions flash through her eyes that I can’t figure out which one I should be feeling. Anger, hurt, anxiety, desperation. Her face seems to settle on hard-set determination, but there’s a dangerous sort of fear behind her eyes.

I wasn’t sure at first, but I know now that he didn’t tell her he was leaving. He probably thought it would be easier to just slip out unseen than face her wrath or a round of anxious questioning. Gale’s always been better at reading people than me. He can tell from the slightest change in expression that someone’s mind has changed on something, while it takes me a lot longer to catch up to the conversation’s new tone and direction. But maybe it’s more from him being observant instead of sympathetic, the skills of a hunter instead of a healer. Maybe it’s not about feelings at all.

“We need to find him,” I’m starting to say as a loud banging sounds on the front door. I start to move in that direction, but Mama puts out a hand to stop me. She goes herself, chancing a look through the peephole before stepping back with a gasp.

“Mama? What is it?”

She says nothing as she opens the door, but she doesn’t have to. I know from first glance that it’s bad.

My brother isn’t standing on his own. His arm is draped over the shoulder of a man I don’t know, and his eyes are downcast. He leans on the man, his muscles slack, like he can’t support his own weight.

“What happened?” Mama’s voice comes out cracked, a fractured whisper dissipating into the dismal morning.

“Ma’am, I’m Ferris Longwall. I work in the mines,” he says, inclining his head in respect for Mama. “I’ll tell you everything, but we should get him inside.”

I hold the door back and take Mama’s arm to guide her out of the way. Ferris half-supports, half-drags Gale inside and lowers him onto the couch.

“Tell me what happened,” Mama repeats, her words stronger this time. She sounds steady, but I can feel the way she shakes against the hold I have on her arm. It feels like we’re minutes away from having a repeat of the same situation, but where she goes down instead.

Ferris removes my brother’s boots and sets them on the floor before looking back up at us. “He didn’t look so good when he came in, but we didn’t think much of it. Guys get sick all the time, you know? It happens. Plus, with all the dust down there, it’s hard to not have a bad time breathing. He’s been a little off the last couple days, so we figured it was just a bug. But then he went down hard. Captain Flint told me to take him home, so I came straight here. I’m real sorry about all this.”

Mama holds up a hand to silence him. “You did what you could. Thank you. Run on back to the mine and tell them he’s home now. We’ll take it from here.”

Ferris quickly nods and makes his way out, shutting the door behind him. Mama goes to Gale’s side and kneels down, taking his wrist in her hand. A silent prayer moves her lips as she waits, then slumps in relief at his pulse coming through.

I watch from merely feet away, though it feels like I’m watching from across a lake, trying not to let the disorientation of the distance and the moving water throw me off too much. As I observe, speechless, the world narrows around me until I’m looking through a tunnel and sipping air in short bursts that come fast and tight.

His hands are coated in black. On his skin, under his nails, trailing up toward the faded blue fabric of his shirt. My eyes follow up the curves of his arm and eventually settle on his chest, compulsively counting the shallow, trembling breaths that I can’t hear over the rush of blood in my ears.

Mama turns to me, saying something I can’t hear.

“Huh?” My tongue sits like dead weight in my mouth.

The next thing I know, her hands are on me, one on my shoulder and the other cradling my head. She speaks slower, repeating herself, and I manage to grasp the words this time.

"Go get Mrs. Everdeen. We need her help and her medicine. Can you do that for me?"

I don't want to leave. I want to stay glued to my brother's side and monitor every change in his condition. But I know he needs much more help than me or Mama can give him, and Mrs. Everdeen and Prim will know how to do the things we can't.

Putting on my shoes is an agonizing process. My fingers don't feel attached to my body, and it takes three tries to get just one foot's laces tied. Their house isn't too far, so if I had to make the trip with untied or even absent shoes, I could. But we don't need to risk another medical emergency today.

"Where are you going?" Vick is fiddling with one of the specimens from our joint rock collection. He drops the piece of mica he's holding onto the bed and looks up at me with a confused but interested stare.

"Mrs. Everdeen's house. I'll be back soon."

"Can I come?" The hopeful nature of his tone tightens my throat.

"Not this time. I just need to go pick up some medicine." As soon as I've said it, everything in me seizes with anticipation. I know he's going to have questions; I also know that, despite how much I may want to, I can't protect him from the answers. Before he can gather his thoughts to voice them, I stand and walk out the door.

Nothing registers until I'm sprawled flat on the ground. My body trembles with adrenaline as I force my way to my knees. I spit dirt from my mouth and brush it from my clothes as I stand, a glance downward revealing scraped knees and an untied shoelace. A quick drop back to one knee to secure it more tightly, and I'm on my way again, the Victor's Village coming into view in the distance.

Less than thirty seconds pass between my knock and the door sliding open. Prim stands on the other side, and she gasps when she sees me, looking over my haphazard appearance with a gentle consideration. I push my hair out of my face, suddenly feeling way too aware of how I probably look. A graceless, spindly spectacle of a boy in shoes that don't fit him right.

"You're bleeding," she says, reaching up to touch my face. "Come inside."

"I don't have time. Can you and your ma come back to our house? Gale's real sick."

"It's his lungs?"

I nod, silent and solemn.

"Wait here. I'll get her," she says before disappearing through the doorway, her braids whipping around as she turns.

The wait is almost unbearable, even as short as it is. Mrs. Everdeen gives me a sympathetic look when she sees me, one that makes me want to scream. I'm not the one who needs looking after.

"I'm going to do everything I can to help him." She tries for reassurance and veers into condescension. I know that I shouldn't want her to, since it's not the way things are done when it comes to healers, but I wish she would tell me he was going to be fine. She's got a bag slung over her shoulder, glass rattling inside, and I have to believe that something in there could save him.

Pain lances through my cheek and I wince, spinning to find Prim back beside me with a cloth pressed to my face.

"What are you—?"

"You're bleeding." She repeats her words from before, but they're stronger this time, more resolute. I don't know how to respond, but then my fingers are slotted between hers and we're on the move again, back toward my house.

Prim doesn't let go of my hand until we get to my door. If Mrs. Everdeen notices, she mercifully doesn't say anything. I wrest the door open and make my way inside, averting my eyes from the couch. As bad as it feels, I can't look at him, and I want to leave space for them to do their work.

Mama gestures for them to come in before addressing me directly. "I took your brother and sister next door. You're welcome to go over there if this is too much."

I shake my head, but it only sends my world reeling. She's right that the situation is entirely too much, but I can't leave. I have to be here in case anything happens, but I also can't watch while he gets worked on. My feet blindly guide me down the hall to our room, to my brother's bed, cold and empty. I curl myself as tight as I can on top of his sheet, staring hard at the peeling wall in front of me.

This time, though, she didn’t have that, either. It was either somewhere in her locker or buried in the back of her closet with the rest of the shit Chad had stuck her with. At least the rain hadn’t started yet. She fired off a text to Robby, thanking him again for giving her the day off so she could get everything taken care of. As she navigated back to the rest of her messages, one stuck out to her with a low thrum of anxiety.

‘Hey, just checking in. You sure you’re alright?’

Sent at 10:17 PM. Still unread. Had he seriously not picked up his phone in twelve hours? Or, more likely, she was being ignored.

Before she could actually consider the implications of what she was doing, her finger was pressing the call button. The hollow ring increased her stress and heart rate with each passing tone. It took four before he finally picked up.

“Hello?” He sounded…terrible, his voice full of overnight gravel and the dregs of unconsciousness.

A wash of relief overtook her at the proof of life. It might have been overdramatic, but she’d had far too many of these kinds of experiences for her liking. She’d lost friends this way, the ones who suddenly blinked from existence instead of going out with a bang. She was not going to let that happen again.

“Hey, Frank,” she greeted as casually as she could manage.

“Cassie?” She could practically see the confused expression forming on his face. Then, a beat. A shuffling sound. “Is everyone okay? Are you—?”

“I’m fine. Well, not really, but that’s never the case, anyway. I wanted to check in with you.”

“What did they tell you?” Sharpness and clarity returned to his tone with force, like a camera finally clicking over to the right focus setting. “Who was it?”

"Whoa, hey—" Her hand that wasn't holding her phone instinctively went up into a surrender position while she fought the urge to physically move the device away from her.

"Sorry," he blurted. "Uncalled for. I'm fine, though. Thanks for checking."

"Are you sure?" Cassie pushed, feeling her courage return after a brief moment of flight. She didn't get an answer right away, and that was enough for her to continue to dig. "Is Abby with you? Where are the kids?"

"She took them to her mom's. Something about wanting to let me rest or whatever.”

He knew that voice far too well, and she was one of the last people he wanted to talk to at the moment. Those big, sad eyes, and her demeanor that was always far too calm and nonchalant and out of place in the ED.

“‘M fine,” he grumbled, mostly to himself.

The pause signified that she didn’t believe him at all, which he valiantly attempted to ignore as he put his code in again.

“Fourth time’s the charm, I guess,” he said with a weak attempt at a laugh, still refusing to turn around. The locker door finally, mercifully clicked open, revealing his backpack and street clothes. He grabbed them and quickly made for the bathroom, making a concerted effort to not look at anyone in the process.

Frank went through the motions of getting himself changed and putting his dirty scrubs back into the machine. As he walked out into the ambulance bay, he pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head, thinking somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind that everyone would leave him alone if they couldn’t see his face.

He didn’t breathe again until he was locked safely in his car. Even then, it took him a few minutes of shuddering silence to get calm and focused enough to drive. Just as he was preparing to shift the car out of park, a text from Abby lit up his phone, saying she’d put the kids to bed and asking what he wanted for dinner. He painstakingly typed out a reply that carried some excuse about him having a hard day and not being hungry before pulling out of the parking lot. When the screen flashed moments later, he didn’t even look at how she’d responded. Something about out of sight and out of mind, and he definitely wanted this whole day wiped from his memory.

Pulling into his driveway brought on a whole new series of feelings he didn’t want to deal with. How was he supposed to walk in there and explain to his family that he’d massively fucked up and possibly put everything they knew and loved at risk?

He couldn’t do it, he thought bitterly as he turned off the car, leaning forward against the steering wheel with his head in his hands.

He came back around to the feeling of a hand pushing his hair back from his face, unsure if it had been minutes or years that he’d been frozen.

“Hey…” Abby’s voice. The light, flowery scent of Abby’s perfume. Abby’s hand running down the back of his neck and settling on his shoulder. He was home, sitting in his driveway, attempting to not completely lose his mind.

Frank sucked in a breath and sat up, swallowing against the knot of uncertainty threatening to obstruct his airway. “I’m coming,” he said, the words coming out hoarse and hesitant. “Just needed a minute.”

Abby didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed his hand and helped him get out before dragging him into the house.

“Okay, tell me what’s going on,” she said as they made their way into the kitchen, one of the only rooms with the lights still on. Frank squinted against their brightness, pain and pressure flaring behind his eyes.

“It’s nothing.”

“Frank.”

“Okay. Okay, fine. Today sucked ass,” he continued, ignoring the look she gave him for the colorful language. “I’m tired, everything hurts, and I really just want to go to bed. Okay?” Whatever her answer was, he wasn’t exactly intent on listening. He left her standing in the kitchen, probably stunned and confused into silence.

The bedroom was dark and cold, save for the light left on in their closet. Abby always forgot to turn it off when she changed after work. The tragic domesticity of it crushed the remaining air from his lungs.

A change of clothes and splash of water to the face later, Frank curled into the fetal position on his side of the bed, fighting hard to keep his racing thoughts from getting the better of him. His phone lit up again on the table next to him, but he knew he didn’t have the energy to deal with it, so he flipped it face-down and squeezed his eyes shut. No one needed him that badly. They could always find someone else that was smarter, more capable, less of a goddamn loser…

“Gale,” she greets him coolly, her voice clad in iron. When she sounds like that, I know she means business. It’s the tone she’s always used for important client meetings, or to tell me off when I’ve done something stupid. It’s never a good sign of what’s to come.

“Vesta,” Dad responds in kind, taking off his coat and folding it before draping it over the nearest chair. The Military Strategy Unit insignia flashes at his collar. Solid steel from the smelting plant on the edge of town. “You look well.”

Mom presses her lips into the thinnest of lines, her expression unreadable. It’s been months since they last saw each other, since my Academy graduation. They were probably thrilled to never need to see each other again. After all, I’m the last thread bridging the chasm of their failed marriage, the only child neither of them expected.

“Mica.”

My name feels wrong coming from his mouth, even though he’s the one who gave it to me. I miss the days when it was Mike, or even Mikey. It falls from his tongue now with the finality of a rockslide, an end that I’m not ready to accept. My heart thuds against my ribcage as I look up to face them both.

Dad refuses to sit down in the chair next to mine. He stands with his back to the window, everything about him guarded from the crossing of his arms to the cold, flat look in his eyes.

“Tell your father what you told me,” Mom insists, shifting a pen between her fingers as if she needs somewhere to focus her energy. I know the feeling all too well.

I swallow against the knot forming in my throat and turn so I can face both of them at once.

“I enlisted as a Peacekeeper, and they want me. I ship out in a month.”

I don’t know how I expected him to take the news. Deep down, I wondered if he might try to talk me out of it, wanting to save me from the calamities of combat he saw firsthand during the Mockingjay Rebellion. But that’s not who my father is. Sometimes I think he finds solace in the heat of battle, comfort in strategy and logistics instead of his own family. There were several months, even when we lived on base, that my mother came home to a cold and empty bed. He’d sleep in the barracks with the soldiers who actually put their boots on the ground and return to his desk in the morning, making only short stops home in between. Mom always told me he was off doing something important, and that I needed to be patient, but I could see the strain behind her smile.

“I’m happy for you,” Dad finally says, his words measured to a fault. “It’s a good thing, serving your country.”

Mom breathes in like she wants to say something else, but they share a look that stops her thought in its tracks.

Sejanus stopped short next to him, and Coriolanus noticed everything. His deep brown eyes that reminded Coriolanus of the rich chocolate his family could never afford, his dark curls that fell in marked contrast against the shade of his skin. The way he always smelled, sweet and spicy with a hint of citrus tang.

“Coryo?”

Sejanus’ voice once again broke through his racing thoughts. He really needed to get a grip on himself. He was…tired. That was it. He hadn't been getting enough sleep due to his rigorous academic pursuits. Tigris had already lectured him about how terrible he had looked that morning as he’d stared despondently at his bowl of watery cabbage.

"Good morning, Sejanus." He aimed his tone at the target of neutral, but it veered left into cold and condescending. Not an entirely uncommon issue for him to have.

Sejanus, however, took it in stride. "Good morning, yourself. Did you do the reading for Click's class? Dad made us go to some stupid event last night, and I didn't have time this morning."

Of course he had done the assigned reading. In order to maintain his tragic farce of normalcy, Coriolanus always made sure to complete his work, even when he was shivering on the floor of his bedroom wracked with hunger pangs.

"What, still not used to the life of a socialite?" There. That sounded more like him. The ever-present mask was slotting back into place, the dim shine of the real him waning into the background.

Sejanus had the grace to laugh. "I guess not. Not sure it suits me." He continued on, retelling events that had taken place the evening prior. Apparently, old Strabo Plinth had done… something that vexed and irritated his son. Coriolanus admittedly wasn't listening.

High society suits you much better than you realize, Coriolanus thought to himself. And it did. Sejanus had come to the Academy guarded and hypervigilant, ready to defend himself if necessary. In the months since, the tension in his shoulders had relaxed, and his eyes no longer darted across the room at every unexpected sound. Slowly but surely, his personality shone through the cracks like the first buds of spring in the wake of a particularly taxing winter.

God. There he was, waxing poetic about a boy he'd known for mere months while standing next to a bathroom that reeked of teenage angst and illicit substances. How unbecoming for someone of his (supposed) status.

He didn't realize Sejanus had stopped talking until he felt a hand on his arm, warm and strong even through the sleeve of his uniform blazer. There was a confused, somewhat expectant look on the other boy's face, leading Coriolanus to assume that he was supposed to be responding to a question.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" Coriolanus squeezed his eyes shut before blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his head.

"I asked if you were feeling alright. You seem pretty out of it."

"I'm fine. Just tired. All of that reading. You're lucky you didn't complete it."

Sejanus clearly wasn't convinced, but he knew better at this point than to push the issue. "Well, if you tell me all about it on the way to class, I'll keep Arachne from antagonizing you too much."

And there it was. That smile, the one that managed to melt the outermost layer of his resolve.

He moves around the back of our house, to the area where he usually skins and cleans the animals he brings home. I turn away, not particularly wanting to watch it happen. He’s tried to show me a few times over the years, but I can never bring myself to actually do it. I guess I’m much more of a healer than a hunter. But maybe I’m not that great at being a healer, either.

I go to help Mama in the kitchen. She’s started gathering some vegetables to chop.

“I’m making soup,” she says as I enter, not looking up from her wild onions.

“Turkey soup?”

She just nods, still refusing to look at me. I decide I don’t want to pry into her thoughts; she has enough to deal with already.

“I can do this,” I offer, wanting to provide any help I can.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s alright. Make sure your brother’s doing his homework, and don’t forget your own. Go on.”

The house has gone quiet. I can hear a loud thunk from outside, enough to make me cringe and motivate me to refocus. A quick stop in our room to grab my school bag, and then I join Vick and Posy in the living room.

“Still working on your math?” I ask tentatively, craning my neck to steal a glance at Vick’s sheet of paper.

“Reading,” he grumbles, sounding frustrated.

“Doesn’t look like you’re reading.”

He shoots me a glare. “I read it. Doing questions.”

I put up my hands to diffuse the situation. “Okay. Got it.”

I pull my history book out of my bag and settle on the floor next to him. It’s getting darker because of the rain, so it’s a little harder to make out the words than usual. And, of course, it doesn’t help that this chapter isn’t making much sense. I forgot to ask Prim to borrow her book when I was over there, so the missing pages in mine are making everything really confusing.

I read in silence for a while, occasionally tuning back in to hear Mama saying something to herself as she cooks, or Posy playing with her toys under the kitchen table.

It’s not until I hear a harsh cough that I glance up, watching as Gale makes his way in through the back door. He’s holding something wrapped tightly in a towel that I can only assume is the turkey meat. He puts it on the counter for Mama to use.

“Good,” she says, gratitude evident in her expression. “Now go and change. You’ll catch your death going on like this.”

What she’s really saying is how can you be so stupid? But even that isn’t what she means. The look on her face is much closer to I’m so grateful you’re safe. I can tell that she wants to be angry with him - really, she’s trying - but she can’t quite slot that veneer over the waterfall of her relief. If I were in her shoes, I know I would probably be feeling the same, so who am I to make any kind of judgment?

Gale rolls his eyes at the expression, which earns him an unimpressed raised eyebrow. He leaves his dirty boots by the back door and disappears down the hallway to our room.

It’s always been hard to even take a guess at what’s going on in his head. A lot of people slowly stopped trying or just gave up altogether. They realized that, even with years having passed after Daddy’s accident, his view was never going to change. I know that there’s a darkness inside of him, an unending pit of confusion, betrayal, and hopeless anger that no one’s been able to touch. But under all of that, there’s the fear. He’s afraid of losing anyone else so important to him. He may not show it, but his emotions are rooted deep in the soil of who he is, and pulling on them threatens the whole tree with collapse. That’s why he keeps everything hidden, tightly wrapped and stored behind a defensive wall that’s built to never let anyone through.

A booming crack of thunder jars me back to the present. There’s a squeak from the kitchen, followed by the patter of small footsteps and Mama’s soothing words. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I’d recognize the tone anywhere. That sound has provided comfort for all of us since we were still growing inside her, and I don’t think I’ll ever be too old to ask for the calm it brings me.

“Sounds real bad out there,” Vick says without moving his eyes from his paper. “Think we’ll still have school tomorrow?”

“I’d plan on it. They don’t cancel unless there’s some act of God, and even then probably not.”

Those weren’t the words I was expecting to hear from my brother. When my eyes land on him, Gale’s leaning against the couch, looking down at both of us.

I can’t stop my brain from entering what Mama calls “problem-solving mode” once I get a better look at him. I know it’s not healthy, but it’s almost involuntary when it comes to the people I love.

Gale’s face is drawn and ashen, his eyes slightly unfocused as he stares out the window at the storm. Everything about him looks gray in the fading light - his eyes, his skin, the worn shirt he’s wearing that probably used to be black but lost its color from years of chemical exposure and weather damage.

Then it hits me. I know this shirt. The way it ever-so-slightly hangs off of Gale’s frame where he doesn’t quite fill it out. The way it’s a couple of inches too long on him, meant for someone a little taller.

This shirt was Daddy’s. I know it deep in me, even if I can’t remember him wearing it. Maybe it would still smell like him, the smoke and maple he wore like a second skin. I don’t know if finding out would be worth the pain.

“Boys!” Mama calls from the kitchen, raising her voice to be heard over the rain on the roof. “Dinner’s almost ready. Come and eat.”

I stand mechanically, memories weighing down my steps. I’m so lost in my thoughts that I nearly trip over my history book, which still lies splayed open on the floor.

“Ro? You alright?” What an ironic question for Gale to ask me. Even his voice sounds tired.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Fine.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t push it. If there’s one thing I can count on with Gale, it’s that he won’t force anyone to talk. It’s appreciated, especially in moments like this.

We sit around the cramped table with its mismatched chairs in silence. Even with only five chairs instead of six, there’s still not enough space for everyone. Posy, still a little too short to use a chair by herself, clambers up into Gale’s lap. He doesn’t look too happy about it, but he’s never been good at saying no to her.

Mama hands out bowls to all of us before putting her own on the table and taking her seat. She always serves herself last. I don’t know if that’s how all parents do it, but it’s always been her way.

I take a sip and let the salty, savory broth filter over my tongue. Yet again, my family has managed to turn wild ingredients into something remarkable. Maybe it’s not their job, but they’re damn good at it, and I hope that one day I can be, too. Prim’s been teaching me some things about edible plants that she learned from her daddy. I’ll have to ask her what goes well together and how to prepare them.

Typical dinner table talk consumes most of the remaining light outside. Even after everyone’s bowls are emptied, we sit together, enjoying the time we have with the people we love. Mama and Gale discuss the latest news from town, while Vick shows Posy how to stick green beans lengthways on the end of her fork.

Once it’s too dark to see much in the room, Mama stands from the table. “Get your bowls washed up and get ready for bed. I’m not sure yet, but I don't think I want you all going to school–” she shoots a pointed look at Gale, “-or work tomorrow. It’s wet out there, and it’s only going to get worse. That means flooding and unstable ground, which isn’t good for anyone. Trust me.” Once she’s done, she goes to clean up what’s left of dinner, leaving us to ourselves.

Posy jumps down and dutifully brings her bowl to the kitchen. Gale moves to stand after, but much slower. I could be imagining things, but it almost looks like he’s holding pain in his body, tight and careful. I try to put it out of my mind as we all go to the kitchen. It’s my night to do all the washing, so I collect everyone’s bowls and rinse them out before putting them on the side board to dry.

“Thanks for dinner, Mama,” I tell her once it’s just us. “Really good.”

She looks up from where she’s wiping the counter with an old cloth the color of dead leaves in the wintertime. “Of course. Now go on to bed. All of you need to get some sleep.” There are still worries swirling in her eyes, and I’m not sure who they’re meant for. “Goodnight. I love you.” She draws me into her arms, maybe squeezing a little harder than normal.

“Love you too,” I nearly whisper as I turn and head down the hall.

When I pull the door open, the only light in the room is a candle burning low on the side table between the beds. Vick’s laying out his clothes for tomorrow. He gives me a smile when he sees me before going back to unfolding his socks.

Out of instinct, I turn to check on Gale. He seems to be settled in his bed already, his back to us. I glance back at Vick before gesturing to the other side of the room.

“Fell asleep pretty quick,” Vick quietly explains. “He was breathing real bad. Must be tired.”

I nod grimly and gesture for him to scoot to his side of the bed. He obliges and I blow out the candle before getting in on my side. “Night, V. Sleep well.”

“Mm, night, Ro.”