Lester reached for Jane’s hand. “Then I think the first step is you and Gray figuring things out.”
“I’ve tried,” Jane said. “The boy’s as stubborn as I am.”
“He is,” Lester said. “He’s like you in a lot of ways.” His voice grew softer. “Part of me has always been glad about that.”
Jane pulled her husband’s face toward hers and looked him in the eye. “And I’ve always hated that he hasn’t been more like you. He might be smart, but he doesn’t have your grit.”
Jane leaned in for another kiss when their door opened, and Gray stepped inside. The moment Gray saw his parents in bed, even though they were fully clothed, he looked away.
“Oh, sorry,” Gray said.
“Don’t be such a prude,” Jane said, sliding off the bed. “Where have you been?”
Gray looked at his mother with the same contempt he had worn ever since he learned the truth about what she had done while he was unconscious. “I’ve been out.”
Jane wasn’t going to take the cold shoulder any longer. She marched over to him and forced him to look her in the eye. “Don’t give me that horseshit. You may not agree with what I did, but you’re still my responsibility. And right now, I don’t need you walking around causing trouble for us.”
Gray removed his arm out of his mother’s grasp. “I’m not causing trouble.”
Lester got out of bed, and Gray took one step back. The last time the father and son had confronted one another, Lester had slapped Gray across the face. The blow had nearly ripped the stitches in his neck that had kept him alive after his gunshot wound.
“Your mother needs to talk to you,” Lester said. “I suggest you listen.”
“Fine,” Gray said. “I’m listening.”
Gray might have just been staying to appease her, but Jane wasn’t going to waste it.
“You should understand that what I did to Nancy’s mother was an act of mercy,” Jane said.
Gray scoffed and shook his head, muttering something beneath his breath.
“She was a woman who had lost her way and was in incredible pain,” Jane said. “She was going to kill us, and you, even Nancy.”
Gray raised his eyebrows. “Is that it?”
Jane was at her wit's end. She didn’t know how else to reach her son and convince him that what she did might’ve been violent, but it was necessary. She desperately wanted him to forgive her even though she didn’t believe she had anything to be forgiven for. To not have the trust of her son was slowly eating away at her soul.
Jane grabbed Gray’s hands and held them in hers. She gripped them tightly. “No matter how angry you are with me or what you think of me, I will always be your mother. And I will always do what I think is necessary to keep you safe. No matter the cost.” She let go of his hands and stepped back.
Jane studied her son’s reaction and saw that he had softened from her words despite his effort to remain angry. He cleared his throat and then grabbed a fresh pair of clothes off the bed.
“Okay,” Gray said.
Jane watched as Gray left, shutting the door behind him. Lester walked up behind her and grabbed her waistline.
“Well,” Jane said. “I guess that’s a start.”
“He’ll warm up,” Lester said. “He loves you too much even though he’s too stubborn to admit it right now.”
Jane appreciated her husband’s thoughtful words, but she wasn’t sure how much love her son had left to show. She had sensed him separating from the family for years, and maybe this was the final act that broke his link to his family. But what broke her heart the most was the fact that Gray believed his family was playing the role of the evil villain. But in life, there were very few things that were black and white. She only hoped that Gray realized that before it was too late to salvage his relationship with his family.
5
Nancy Simmons picked up another empty ration crate from the trash and then walked over to the field's open space beyond the fence line of the fire facility. In her right arm, she kept the rifle cradled, and then she stood in the well-worn spot of grass where she had been coming every day for the past three weeks for target practice.
It had been a beautiful morning, with clear blue skies, though it was growing warmer, and Nancy’s shirt was stained with sweat around the neck, pits, and back. She adjusted her grip on both the old carton and the rifle.
Nancy aimed for a point in the sky and concentrated on the fixed position. She took a few deep breaths to keep her heart rate steady and then flung the carton high into the air. As the piece of trash arched against the blue sky, Nancy raised her rifle to track it. She only had a few seconds to aim before the target plummeted to the ground. She adjusted her stance, placed her finger on the trigger, exhaled, and then fired.
The bullet connected with the carton and flung it forward a little bit before it landed in a larger pile of trash with the dozens of other targets she had hit that morning.
Nancy lowered the rifle, smoke wafting from the end of the rifle. “Twenty-three.”
It was a new record of consecutive shots since she had started practicing with the weapon. She remembered when she couldn’t even hit a target standing still, and now she was flinging targets into the air by herself and hitting bullseyes.
The hours of endless training of both her mind and her body were starting to pay off. She felt stronger, her body more toned and athletic, and she was able to see things more clearly than ever before. It was amazing what she
