Despite everything, I laugh.
Hot Mama gestures to a lower bunk near the back. “You and August can use this one tonight. Tomorrow we’ll see if you need a cabin.”
“A cabin?”
“If you stay.”
If.
The word lands softly and still manages to hurt.
Because I have no idea what staying means anymore.
Kentucky feels a lifetime away and also still hooked into my ribs by Derby’s sleeping breath.
Lottie sets our bags on the bed. “I’ll help you settle.”
Hot Mama looks at her. “You leaving tonight or morning?”
Lottie’s face changes.
Mine does too.
“You’re leaving?” I ask.
“I got to get back.”
“Already?”
“Honey, I kidnapped a woman and a child across state lines before breakfast. My husband is probably explaining my personality to men with guns.”
“You’re leaving me here?”
The question sounds small.
I hate it.
Lottie’s face softens just enough to make me want to cry again. “Yes.”
I look toward the window, toward August’s laughter, toward the women outside. “I don’t know these people.”
“You didn’t know me once either.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
Hot Mama crosses her arms. “You ain’t alone out here. You’re just not surrounded by men who think roaring is a plan.”
I almost laugh.
Almost.
“Derby roars,” I whisper.
“Most men with big feelings and little vocabulary do,” Hot Mama says.
Lottie snorts. “Derby’s vocabulary is mostly profanity and engine sounds.”
“He’ll come after me,” I say.