"Ten years or so. Finished my first degree when I was twenty-three."
"Your parents must be proud."
She let out a bitter laugh. "Just Mom, and no. She thinks what I do is a waste of time."
"Seriously?"
"Yep. Mom and my sisters don't see the point in digging up old bones. Mom's a cashier in a grocery store. She’s been doing the same job her whole life." She paused. "She's practical and wanted me to do something 'useful.'" She made air quotes with her fingers. "Teaching, maybe, like my sister Mel. Or something that pays better than grant money."
"But you did it anyway."
"Yeah, I did, and this dig was supposed to prove them wrong." She picked up a twig and snapped it between her fingers. "I'd finally made a significant discovery that would validate my life." Her voice dropped. "But now, my career's over."
Guilt twisted in my gut. "I'm sorry, Charlie. For Doug. For your site. All of it."
She looked at me, those golden eyes cutting straight through me. "It's not your fault, Mitch. You didn't conjure the storm or kill Doug." She paused. "You saved my life. Twice."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I looked away, watching the rabbits hop around the thicket.
After a moment, she shifted to face me. "What about you? It must've been hard, losing your mom so young. How did she die?"
The question hit me like a fist to the gut. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached.
"Sorry." Her voice went quiet. "I didn't mean to pry."
Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable. Charlie turned away and stared out at the horizon, giving me an out.
"We should get moving." I stood and marched to a nearby saltbush, tugged off a handful of leaves, and returned to the fire.
Charlie had pushed herself up and was brushing dirt from her hands. She didn't look at me.
Feeling like a bloody asshole, I wrapped the leftover meat in the broad leaves and shoved the bundle inside my tattered shirt. I wiped my knife blade on my jeans, snapped the multi-tool shut, and slid it into the sheath. The rifle was useless without bullets, so I left it there. Maybe my rifle was still where I'd propped it against that bus before everything went to hell. Doubt it. It was probably swept away in the damn flood, along with everything else.
As we walked away from the shade, her question hung in the air between us like smoke.
Truth was, I hoped my mother was dead. Because if she wasn't, that meant she'd walked out on my siblings and me and left us alone with our abusive father.
And that was so much worse than if she’d died young.
Chapter 23
Charlie
* * *
The silence between us was as thick and suffocating as the damn humidity. I kept sneaking glances at Mitch's rigid back as he marched a fraction ahead of me, apparently still steaming over one simple question.
I replayed the conversation in my mind. How did she die? It was a normal question, wasn't it? People asked that all the time when someone mentioned losing a parent. Then again, he hadn't asked me how my dad had died. The way Mitch's jaw had clenched, and his hands had frozen, it was like I'd pressed a knife to his throat.
Now, I couldn't stop thinking about the way he’d reacted, and why he hadn't answered.
He was a man full of secrets, and I was apparently too nosy for my own good.
The heat pressed down on us as if we were walking through an oven. Each step forward was a battle against the sweltering earth, the relentless sun, and my screaming feet. My heels were the definition of hell. Every rock I stepped on sent fresh agony shooting through my socks and into my bones. I’d give anything for a cold glass of water. Hell, I'd settle for warm and muddy water at this point.
Sweat clung to my skin and dribbled down my back. My face was melting off my skull. I touched my nose and winced. Definitely sunburned. I wished I had my favorite wide-brimmed hat that I'd been wearing when my world had gone to hell.
God, I wished a lot of things.