Page 57 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

that very spot and was waiting for the earth to drift over him.
She touched the bare skin of his arm. A cadaver.
“Ash, move. At least cover yourself.” She tugged at the
blanket under his body. He didn’t shift to help her. She took
half of her blanket and covered him with it.
This was worse, Ash like this. Worse than Patty and
Roger high in an orange-painted dump in Whitecourt,
driving around in his red truck, trying to forget two rocks

left behind. Worse than the vibration of their slamming door
still buzzing through her. Worse than the three-hour drive
home in a barely heated Volvo. Worse than their thin “thank
you” to Nate after nearly crashing his car, and the way he
still managed to look sad for them at the end of it all. What
was wrong with them? Here you go—we’ll pay you fifty bucks
to nearly die.

The cold. She’d felt it for so long now—hard to know
when it even started. Something deep inside her clenched
tight and trembled. Her toes, fingers aching numb for hours
now. Her shoulders hunched up near her ears. She thought
of the shower—at least fifteen good minutes of hot water
before it would taper to a disappointing lukewarm. But then
the frigid air would sting her the second her foot touched the
bath mat, when the steam dissipated. Unbearable.
A weak whistle in the vents signaled the heat kicking

in—the actual heat from the furnace. It couldn’t touch her
now; she was too far gone. Her body started shaking, accen-
tuated by Ash’s dead stillness. He didn’t say anything, and she
was grateful. She fell asleep curled up on his dirty laundry.

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