The Truth He Buried With Her Chapter 09

The Truth He Buried With Her Chapter 09

That night, I slipped back to the housing block alone.

Not to move back-just to pack the last of my things.

I gathered the final few items in the room into a cardboard box.

A winter coat, two pairs of shoes, a photo album.

When I turned to the last page of the album, there was the family photo of the three of us at the gate before

Griffin shipped out.

Leo was half a head shorter then, riding on Griffin’s shoulders, laughing so wide you could see the two teeth

he’d lost.

I stood beside them, straightening Griffin’s cap, my lips moving. Probably saying-

Good luck. Come home safe.

As I left, I ran into Rita.

She was wearing an old fleece jacket and carrying a trash bag, probably on her way to the dumpster.

When she saw me holding the cardboard box, she froze. The bag swayed in her hand.

“Sloane.”

I nodded at her and walked past with the box.

“Sloane. Just stay the night. It’s so late-where are you going to go? If you don’t want to see me, I’ll leave right now. I’ll go home. You stay in your old room.”

I turned to look at her.

“Rita, I’m not staying away because of you. I just don’t want to live here anymore. I’m not angry at you. I’m not angry at anyone. I just don’t want to live here.”

Rita stood at the gate, still holding the trash bag.

Her mouth opened, then closed again. Finally, she set the bag down and wiped her hands on her jeans, just standing there.

I carried the cardboard box to the housing gate. Major Sinclair’s jeep was still waiting.

Leo was asleep against my leg.

Through the car window, I looked back.

The lights of the housing block shrank smaller and smaller until they were a single point.

I gently tilted Leo’s head back against my chest.

His hair brushed soft against my chin. I kept my eyes on the road behind us.

Major Sinclair cleared his throat. “Where are we headed, ma’am?”

“The textile mill. The dormitory.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then he asked, “Ma’am, are you still angry at the colonel?”

I thought for a long time about how to answer.

Of course I was still angry.

But at a certain point, anger stopped meaning much.

Like old clothes you don’t think about anymore. They still fit, but you don’t feel anything when you put them

“It’s not anger. I’m tired. I’m done guessing what else he’s been keeping from me.”

I cracked the car window. Night wind rushed in-cold, but not the kind that makes you hunch your shoulders.

The moon hung outside the window, not quite full, a piece missing, but bright.

I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. My mind was empty.

I just listened to the radio music and the crunch of tires on gravel.

It was quiet.

And good.