20
“Honey. Sweetie. Rose. Shh.” Mary Ellen had been making comforting sounds for a while now, but the girl was so immersed in her fit of rage that nothing was getting through. Mary Ellen put her hands over her eyes and waited for it to be over. Finally, the girl stopped screaming and racing the engine, and the car became quiet.
“Rose—”
The girl pounded her fist on the steering wheel one more time. “It’s Ivy, okay? Ivy.” Tears were streaming down her face.
“Ivy. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting.” Mary Ellen felt her own voice fill with tears.
Ivy sniffled loudly. “I hate this fucking car so fucking much.”
“I know, but listen, it’s going to be okay. You can still walk up to the road and get help.”
The girl slowly rocked her head back and forth. “No,” she said, choking on her despair. “I already told you I can’t.”
“Take my phone. Call somebody. Then you can just leave. They don’t need to know—”
“I need this car. You promised I would get it, but now the deal’s off, okay?”
Mary Ellen put her hands back over her eyes and drew a deep, shuddering breath. Could it be? All the girl cared about was the car? The gash in Mary Ellen’s leg throbbed, beating out its warning. She was really on her own now. She was on her own, and she was probably going to die. It wouldn’t be an easy death either. It would be a prolonged slide into fever and vomiting and blackening skin and the systematic surrender of her organs, one by one, until she was nothing but a bag of poison, useless and rotting. No one would hear her screams; she’d be the proverbial tree falling in the forest, silenced by solitude. Matt, Sydney, Shelby—they were already used to her being gone. What was another week, year, decade, eternity? A mere stretching-out of the distance that already yawned between her and them.
“Stop it. Stop it.” Ivy raised her voice to be heard over Mary Ellen’s sobs. “Calm down. Jesus.”
“If you’re not walking up there, I am,” Mary Ellen cried, hoisting herself up on one elbow and shoving the door open. She gritted her teeth and used her hands to swing her hurt leg sideways. It was almost dark, but she could just see the canoe paddle lying in the snow a few feet away. She gripped the sides of the car door and heaved herself up onto her aching, trembling “good” leg, a yelp squeezing through her clenched jaw. She hopped toward the paddle, one hand on the car door, then stopped, gathering her courage to let go and move forward without support. She heard the other car door slam.
“Don’t be a dumbass,” Ivy said, snatching up the paddle and coming to Mary Ellen’s side. She ducked under Mary Ellen’s arm and took up some of her weight, pushing the car door shut with her free hand. “We’re going back in the house.”
“I can’t stay here. I need help.” Mary Ellen grabbed the canoe paddle and tried to pivot toward the driveway, but Ivy jerked her in the other direction.
“You can’t make it up that hill,” she hissed.
“Well, I can’t stay here and—”
“Can we not do this out here? It’s almost dark.”
Ivy took a step toward the house, and Mary Ellen sagged against her, emptied of courage, and allowed herself to be led inside.
Ivy deposited her on one of the living room sofas and piled some cushions under her leg. Then she lay down on the opposite sofa, an arm flung over her eyes, looking exhausted. A pang of guilt complicated Mary Ellen’s feeling of despair. The girl was so small, and she’d done so much already.
“You know,” Mary Ellen said. “It’s incredible, everything you’ve done. Getting me out from under that tree and all the rest.”
Ivy said nothing.
“You’re so strong. I never would’ve expected you to be able to do all that. Helping me up the hill. Digging the car out.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry if—”
“I’m not going out there.”
Mary Ellen squeezed her eyes shut. It was hard to think clearly; the pain in her leg was like deafening heavy-metal music. “If it’s money you want, I’ll give you my ATM card and my credit card. You can take as much as you want. Use them to buy a car—”
“I’ll go in the morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?” Mary Ellen stared at her in disbelief. “That’s, like, twelve hours from now. I’ll be dead of an infection by then, or I’ll bleed to death. Don’t you understand?”
The girl didn’t move. Was she asleep?
“Ivy?”
The girl sighed and turned her face to look at Mary Ellen.
“Is it the dark? Is that why you won’t go?”
Ivy turned her face away. Mary Ellen blinked away tears, wondering if she could make it through the night. The pain wasn’t getting any better; if anything, it was worse. Was that the infection setting in? She wished, for the first time ever, that she worked in a different division of Gallard—on something like surgical products, which required actual medical knowledge.
She felt a sudden stab of hunger. “Do you think you could bring me something to eat? Please?”
The girl sighed loudly and went to the kitchen, where Mary Ellen could hear the rattle of cereal hitting a bowl. She realized she was actually ravenous; the hunger was coming over her like a fast-moving storm. When Ivy brought her the bowl, she gulped down the sugary slurry as fast as she could in her semi-reclined position, milk streaming from the corners of her mouth. “Thank you,” she moaned, letting the bowl drop to the floor.
Ivy sat opposite her, eating her own cereal. “My signature dish,” she said, her mouth full.
“You know,” Mary Ellen said, “I think you’re actually going to do all right. Out there. In Wyoming.”
“Montana.”
“Montana. You’re tough.”
“Thanks.”
“You just
