She felt the nurse watching her walk across the room.
Tiffany turned back when she reached the table and shuffled the various grounds and flavored creamers. The nurse was still watching. “Mmm, hazelnut!” Tiffany declared, and cussed under her breath as she hastily pulled filters from the box. The nurse sat slowly down behind her desk.
“Would you like a cup?” Tiffany asked, not turning around.
“No, thank you,” said the nurse. “I’m off at six.”
The nurse’s keyboard started up. And then it stopped.
Tiffany yanked open a package of grounds and spooned the contents into a filter. She heard squeaking shoes and froze.
“Mrs. Breadwin?”
The nurse stood next to the restroom door, tapping her knuckle on it. Tiffany could only smile as the nurse narrowed her eyes at her. The nurse pushed through the door, and Tiffany could hear her walking on the tiles inside, checking the stalls. For some reason, Tiffany was still spooning coffee. This was it, she thought. This was the end of the road. Not only would Sheriff Cal come home to a lost dog, but Tiffany could tell him all about it when he transported her to the county jail for impersonating a hospitalized man’s daughter and helping a madwoman break into intensive care.
“Your mother is not in the restroom.”
The nurse stood in the lobby between Tiffany and the double doors. Tiffany tried not to look at them, but the nurse followed her gaze. The nurse was sharp and on her game. Her ponytail flashed in the fluorescent light. Her cheeks flushed red and her mouth opened. Tiffany felt hunted.
“I’m calling security,” said the nurse, and moved quickly behind the desk.
Tiffany made a rush for the exit doors. “What? Security?” she heard herself saying, and she feigned laughter. The last thing Tiffany saw as she turned to push through the glass doors was the nurse with a phone to her ear, drilling her finger into a keypad. Tiffany couldn’t breathe. She banged through one set of doors and then another, and as she bolted out into the parking lot beneath the purple dawn, she turned to see the nurse speed-walking into the double-doored corridor where Miranda had gone. Tiffany aimed for the red truck parked beneath a streetlamp and sprinted with all she had. Were there sirens going off? Tiffany couldn’t tell. She could only feel the pavement beating her feet. The cool air in her throat. There probably would be sirens soon, and lights, and then handcuffs and fingerprints and Sheriff Cal.
Ten
FISH DREAMT OF A MAN WITH HORNS PUSHING TOWARD HIM through a hedge of briars. The man, or beast, snapped branches with cloven fists. It wore shreds of coveralls dripping with gasoline. When the beast became entangled in the hedge, it dropped to all fours and raked its antlers in a rage. And then it roared the way a river or a train can roar, and the hedge burst into flame.
Fish cried out, sat up, and brushed frantically at his body. The fire wasn’t there. His clothes sat in a pile on his backpack. He was in a dark place lit by firelight, with pine branches reaching in from the shadows. To his left sat a boy hunched over a hot fire. Fish could feel its heat. The fire snapped and popped in the darkness.
“I wondered how long you’d sleep,” said the other boy, turning from the fire. He held a stick in his hand and held its tip in the coals. Fish became aware of the smell of food cooking. He remembered he was in a forest, on an island.
“Bread?” Fish asked.
“You slept like a log. Breakfast is cooking.”
Fish felt cold and pulled a flannel over himself. He remembered stalking chickadees. He remembered Lantern Rock. And he remembered the reason they were out here, felt again the silence of Bread’s house.
The fire was almost too bright to look at. Overhead, Fish could see purple light slipping through branches. It was dawn. Fish buttoned the flannel shirt and shimmied into his jeans. He felt the barlow knife in his pocket, the wad of chew in his flannel. Everything seemed to be as it was. Fish still felt caught in the dream, that beast tangled in brush, roar, and fire. Fish’s head ached. He was thirsty. He remembered the man with horns on his head, in the spruce trees. But that hadn’t been a dream. Fear rose to his throat.
“Bread,” Fish whispered. He stood and discovered his left leg had fallen asleep. He limped toward his friend. As he got closer to the fire, he noticed all of their gear lying beside it. The packs. The fish poles. And some things he didn’t remember bringing. Cast-iron cook pots and some cans of beans. Two spoons gleamed on the stone edge of the firepit. Bread lowered the lid back onto the pot. The smell that rose from it made Fish’s stomach feel incredibly empty.
“Are we back at our camp? How’d you get me across the river?”
Bread lifted the stick from the coals. It was attached to a pot lid. Steam rose up in the firelight.
“We got a new camp,” said Bread. “And guess what else?”
Fish didn’t want to guess about things. He felt too foggy.
“The man on the island, with the horns?” he asked. “Where is he? And what is all of this? How long have I been asleep?”
Bread grinned at him. The food smelled excellent.
“You slept all night. And there’s your antler man right there,” said Bread. “And guess what else?”
Bread had
