Page 13 of Jarran

“But I wasn’t.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I am here.”

Evie nodded. “You are.”

“What happened…” He frowned, searching for the words. “…in between?”

Her expression changed. It shuttered, and Jarran had been looking at her face long enough to recognize when there was something she didn’t want to say. “There are some gaps.”

“Was I a bad person?”

Evie was quiet for a beat. “You were a lot of things. I’m still trying to understand all of them.”

He knew what she was trying not to say, now. She’d dropped her gaze and the skin around her eyes had tightened. His stomach dropped. I was a bad person. He didn’t like that. And he didn’t like that Evie felt like she couldn’t tell him the truth.

“The person I was waiting for,” he said, moving on. A throbbing pain pressed behind his eyes. “In the tunnel. Who?”

“A parent, maybe?” she suggested. “Or someone you trusted?”

He nodded. “Someone who didn’t come.” He pressed his fists against his thighs and breathed through the swirling mess of emotions.

“Or couldn’t.” Evie reached out and laid the blanket across his shoulders. Gently. She unfolded it and spread it over his back and arms, tucking the edge around his nearest shoulder. Her hand brushed his neck, briefly, and then she pulled back. “Your family loved you.”

He started at the warm weight around his shoulders. “Don’t want to talk about this,” he said roughly.

“Okay,” she replied. “Thank you for lending it to me yesterday. I’m sorry I forgot to return it until I was mostly up the lift.”

He pulled the blanket tighter. It smelled different now. Clean, but also like her. It had the warm, pleasant scent he associated with her. “It’s okay. They give me new ones every cycle.”

“I know, but still.” Her shoulders lifted, then dropped.

“Could you stay longer today?” he asked. He hated to ask.

She looked at him. Her expression was hard to read, but her lips curved and she put the tablet away. “Yeah. I can stay.”

They sat in the dirt. He didn’t feel like talking, and she seemed okay with that. The bay was quiet around them. Grow lights overhead flooded the bay with light. Water misted from the irrigation lines in timed intervals. A few other patients worked in distant rows, but this section was his. No one came near.

After a while, the tightness in his chest eased enough that he could think clearly again. He pulled off the blanket and folded it carefully. He was too warm, sitting so close to her. “Want to learn something?” he asked.

“Always.”

He shifted forward onto his knees and moved to the row of toramdo plants before them. They were tall, heavy-stalked, with dark green leaves and clusters of small red fruit growing along the stem. He pointed to a thin shoot growing from the joint where a leaf met the main stalk.

“Suckers,” he said. “They grow here. Take energy from the fruit.” He pinched the shoot between his thumb and forefinger and snapped it off cleanly. “Remove them and energy goes to fruit instead.”

“So you’re pruning the plant to redirect its growth.”

“Yes. This one.” He pointed to another sucker, lower on the stalk. “Try.”

She leaned forward, and he caught the clean scent of her again. He watched her brown hair fall forward over her shoulder as she reached for the sucker and pinched it between her fingers. Her hands were slender, her fingernails short and clean. She pinched, but the shoot bent instead of snapping.

“Harder,” he said. “Quick. Like this.” He demonstrated on the next plant over, a fast, decisive pinch.

She tried again. The sucker snapped off. She held it up, grinning. “Got it.”

“Good.” He felt his mouth curve. “You could be a farmer.”

She laughed. It was pure music to him, but she didn’t get up and leave. They worked side by side for a time, moving down the row of toramdo plants, snapping off suckers.

“Why these plants and not the others?” she asked, nodding toward the grain row behind them.