Mindy McGinnis - In a Handful of Dust

“My grandma Vera is a doctor—a real one,” Lucy said. “But she didn’t know if Carter would carry the polio forever or if it kinda faded out.”

“So you’re hoping you can find someone who does know? What if you walk toward the sunset thinking you’ll find all your answers in Sand City, and they’re not there? Or shall we consider the opposite? What if someone tells you what you want to hear—that this boy is no longer infectious—yet you’re separated by all the miles you just crossed to hear those words?”

Lucy felt the pit of hopelessness opening in her stomach at such direct questions. To speak her half-made plans out loud made them sound feeble and childish, the product of a lovesick mind that had no room for logic. “If he can be rid of it, I’m going to find him. I won’t leave him for dead.”

“And how do you imagine that scenario playing out with Lynn?”

“Not well,” she admitted.

“I’d say not,” Fletcher agreed. “She crosses the country on foot to keep you safe and you do an about-face and head back?”

“You do it,” Lucy said, letting the edge in her voice cut through the air even though Lynn was asleep. “You wander around with no idea where to go without a second thought.”

“And beholden to none,” Fletcher added, weighting each word. “I can do it because there is no one who cares for me. Those who reap the blessings of freedom must undergo the fatigue of supporting it.”

Lucy could feel her jaw tightening into the stubborn set Carter had always teased her about, the tiniest flare of irritation firing along with it. “If I say I’ll do it, then I’ll do it.”

“No reason to get heated, though it’s refreshing to have a philosophical conversation,” he said.

Lucy let all her breath out in a rush. “Sorry. I didn’t know I had that in me.”

“I imagine there’s a lot of things you don’t know you have in you, little Lucy.”

Lucy shook her head. “You don’t know the half of it, Fletcher. My mom, my real mom, she killed herself rather than have to face her fears. That’s who I am. It’s in my blood.”

“Maybe. But Lynn’s been teaching you her ways, and I think one or two of them might’ve taken. It’s an old argument you’d know nothing about, but whether it’s the nature of your mother that wins out in the end, or the lessons of the one who’s nurtured you, the choices are your own.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said. “That I know.”

“The other side of the coin, my small friend, isn’t all that shiny either.”

“What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying Sand City has things to offer you haven’t even thought of yet, things you might not want to forsake in exchange for a long, hard road back to where you came from.”

“I grew up in a city,” Lucy said. “I remember electricity and bathrooms. It’s not like it’ll be all that much of a shock to me.”

“And people?” Fletcher said quietly. “You’ll be welcome in Sand City. A whole group of new people, kind ones, people who’ll take to you—and you to them. It’s apparent that you form attachments quickly. Will you walk out on a whole city of new friends for the sake of one old one?”

“Is it right for me to leave Carter alone forever because my grandma didn’t know the answer to a question? Is it right that he should be hated and feared if there’s really nothing wrong with him, and I’m too comfortable to come back?” Lucy’s voice was rising; Lynn twitched in her sleep, and Fletcher motioned to her to shush.

He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Don’t get all discombobulated, now. I’m just planting some thoughts in your head for you to ruminate on while we travel. Get some sleep. Tomorrow we’re into the work of the journey.”

“’Kay,” she said absently, but didn’t lie down. Long after Fletcher had drifted off, Lucy stared into the mesmerizing comfort of the flames.

“Iwas not expecting that,” Lynn said as she stared down the rock slide as if willpower could move it.

“What were you expecting? Smooth sailing?” Fletcher asked, as he slid off Terra Cotta’s saddle.

“I would’ve been content with smooth walking,” Lucy muttered, joining Fletcher on the road.

The pile of rocks, dirt, and twisted roots had been there awhile; Lucy could see fresh spikes of green growth emerging from the broken trees that had re-rooted themselves in the rubble heap. What she couldn’t see was the other side of the road. The heap was piled well over their heads, and a few rainfalls had settled the dirt solidly.

Lynn put one hand on her hip and surveyed the earthen wall. “Well, shit,” she said. “Now what?”

“Not a lot of options, ladies. We dig, or we go back.”

“Back how far?” Lucy asked.

Fletcher pushed his hat up off his forehead and scratched at his blond curls while he thought. “Last turnoff I remember would lead us too close to a little town I’m not entirely in favor of. One before that might take us where we need to go to get back on the highway, but I’ve not traveled it myself and don’t know who we might meet on the way.”

“Then we dig,” Lynn said.

“With what?” Lucy asked.

“You got hands?”

Lucy was doubtful their hands would do much damage, but going against Lynn when she used that tone of voice wasn’t in her best interest. Fletcher didn’t complain, digging in with a smart, “Yes, ma’am.”

It wasn’t long before a million tiny cuts from the brittle shale had sliced open Lucy’s hands, but never deep enough to draw blood. Dirt filled them quickly, bringing with it a persistent itch she didn’t start scratching for fear of never stopping. Her fingernails bent backward, most of them snapping clean off as she dug, leaving the soft white skin underneath unprotected against more cuts and more dirt.

Lucy continued to claw at the pile, working alongside Fletcher, who did most of the heavy lifting. Lynn had scrambled to the top and was pushing boulders too heavy for her too lift and rolling them down the opposite side, the thunderous cracks of their landing sending vibrations through Lucy’s feet. Loose dirt slid down from Lynn’s efforts, settling into Lucy’s scalp and mixing with her sweat to create a thin mud that covered her like a second skin.

The sun climbed, bearing down on them as Lynn slid to the other side of the road and began digging from there. Fletcher wordlessly touched Lucy’s shoulder and motioned to her that she should drink. Too tired to speak, she only nodded and went to where Spatter stood listlessly, his ears flicking away blackflies in the midday heat. Her water bottle was warm from being next to his body, and she swished the first swallow around in her mouth before spitting it out.

She went back to work, and Fletcher took a break of his own to get a drink and clean the horses’ hooves. He returned to her side, tugging a rock as wide as his chest from the rubble.

“Careful,” he warned, right before it became dislodged and hit the ground in between them, narrowly missing her toes. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, “it missed me.”

A drop of blood fell onto the boulder in between them, and they both looked at each other in alarm before Lynn’s voice, unrecognizable in its weakness, came from above.

“I’m not feeling too great,” she said through the blood dripping from her nose, right before she toppled and Fletcher deftly caught her.

Lucy had seen Lynn’s blood before. The nature of their lives left them open to scrapes and cuts. Lynn had always brushed off Lucy’s concern and sewn up her own wounds, no matter how deep, with awkward stitches. But Lynn wasn’t conscious to tell her not to be worried, and the blood wasn’t stopping.