Love Is What You Make It

16. Stranger Bedfellows

          Henry sometimes screams when he has nightmares, but Amanda usually doesn't—there are only three nights during their stay that Jack hears Amanda scream.  The first two times someone else is there to check on her before he's really awake.

          But the third night, when Amanda lets out a loud yelp, no one comes for her—instead, she comes to them.

           They sleep in the same bed, naturally, Lacey, Jack and Thomas, and Amanda is tentative as she slides into the room, a vague dark blur as Jack lifts his head.  Lacey hands him and Thomas their glasses, none of them speaking as Amanda approaches, silent as a still pool at midnight with only the faint light of the moon to illuminate her.

           Summer's end is nearing and though she still limps, she's mostly discarded her cane—she's a mess of scars, but the burns and blisters and bite have faded, and she's begun to put on weight, good weight, muscle tone and all.  She's worked really hard to stop being a skeleton.

          One of the first things Amanda did once she returned to civilization was cut off her hair, and when she takes off her hijab every once and a while, Jack's pleased to see that it's always a little bit longer, growing in thick and healthy.  She's beautiful, but it's a mature, hardy beauty, rugged like the beauty of the mountains rather than the youthful grass-hill kind possessed by Thomas and Lacey.

          "I know it's late," she says softly, as though she can sense their alertness but doesn't dare break the quiet for fear she might wake Damara and Henry.  "But I think it's time we talk.  As we're all adults here."

          "We've not much furniture," Lacey says apologetically, gesturing around the room.  "Will the bed do?"

           "Yes, the bed will do just fine."

           "Lights or no lights?" Thomas asks, reaching for his mound of glasses and the lamp.

            "I don't care."

           "Leavin' 'em off then."  He yawns and stretches, his shirt catching on Jack's glasses and nearly tearing them off his face.

           "Feel free to make yourself comfortable," Lacey says, tossing back the covers and tapping Jack's knee.  Jack takes the hint and sits up against the headboard, crossing his legs as Thomas leans against his head.   One thing Jack especially likes about Amanda is that she, unlike most of the people he knows, is actually shorter than him.

           Slowly, her motions all the acknowledgement Lacey's going to get, Amanda sits at the edge of the bed, not at the end but closer to the end than they are.

          "Nightmares are a bitch," Thomas adds, and Jack knows Amanda's silence bothers him—quiet bothers him, because for Thomas, all bad things happen when he can't hear them happening.  Her reticence is unnerving to him.   "If you need to sleep in here tonight, we can carry the bed in.  It's a twin so Lacey and I could manage it easy, and Jack can carry the bedding."

          Amanda lets out a soft puff of breath that serves as a chuckle, and Jack feels some of the tenseness bleed out of Thomas's frame.  Jack doubts she'd ever take him up on his offer, but honestly if she did he'd be more than willing to help with the bed.

           "I'd take offense, but your mother, Jack, isn't a tacit woman, so I'd imagine, Thomas—or any of you, really—would know at least one thing about nightmares.  So thank you."   Jack doesn't know that much about those types of nightmares—he's haunted by some things in the day when he's left alone too long, or watches too many late night cop shows in a row, but at night his nightmares are about giants or ending up in the gutter or Lacey turning into a vampire wolf and running off with Caeser Flickerman while Thomas and Damara go nightshade picking and contract gonnorhea from some birds.  Lacey says it's probably something he should talk to a professional about, since he has that one about once a month, but it's whatever.