Chapter 68 - The Deep Summer Heat
July descended upon the valley with the heavy, shimmering heat of true high summer. The cicadas buzzed in the upper branches of the oaks from morning until night, creating a continuous, hypnotic soundtrack to our days.
The garden was now a riot of green and red. The tomato plants were weighed down by heavy, ripening globes, and the zucchini had grown with such aggressive enthusiasm that Clara joked we would soon have to start locking our doors at night just to keep neighbors from dumping extra squash on our porch.
On the hottest afternoons, when the air felt thick enough to swim through, we retreated down to the shaded creek bank where the water ran cool and deep beneath a canopy of weeping willows.
Emma spent hours splashing in the shallows with a neighborhood girl named Lily whom she had befriended at school, while Clara and I sat on a smooth flat boulder with our feet dangling in the current.
"Do you ever get the itch?" Clara asked quietly, breaking the soothing murmur of the water. She was tossing a small flat pebble across the surface, watching it skip three times before sinking.
"What kind of itch?" I asked, turning to look at her.
"To check the secure channels. To look over your shoulder. To wonder if someone is still looking for us."
I watched the pebble's ripples fade back into the steady flow of the creek. I reached out, taking her hand and lacing my fingers through hers. Her skin was warm from the sun, calloused slightly from the garden work, perfectly steady.
"Not for a long time, Clara," I answered honestly. "The people who were looking for us are either locked away in federal prison cells or have moved on to other wars. Our war ended the day we crossed this county line."
May you like
She let out a long, quiet breath, her shoulders dropping an inch as if an invisible weight she hadn't realized she was still carrying had finally dissolved. She leaned her head against my shoulder.
"Good," she whispered. "Because I never want to leave this rock."
