“I can’t believe you’re here. I thought no one else survived,” Cole says to Enzo.
Enzo nods stiffly beside me. “Ah, yeah. We sure did.”
I’m frozen in place as he moves around us, chattering about how good it is to see us. It’s all a buzz in my head while I take in the nonchalant way that he greeted me and his efforts to stand physically apart.
He doesn’t want people to know about our relationship. And why is he lying about us surviving? Unless he truly thought we had died after he walked away that long-ago night?
Why?
Cole motions for us to follow and starts walking toward what appears to be the town center ever so casually, but I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Only when Enzo steps over and wraps his arms around me, pulling me along, do I follow.
Numbly, I glance at his face, which is drawn and cautious, and I allow myself to be led forward, my feet moving of their own volition. It’s all I can muster, and I’m grateful now more than ever for Enzo’s presence because I’m not sure I could pretend at all without him as my buffer.
I glance at Cole from the corner of my eye before dropping my gaze. Although he’s smiling, his body is so stiff I could bounce a quarter off him.
When did he get here? Did he even look for us after he left the ranch? Is he with that woman? And what does that mean for me? Why is he pretending we aren’t close, or maybe he isn’t pretending?
Cole drops into silence, which is just as well because neither Enzo nor I have uttered a word since he put on his show.
I’m too out of it to observe more than the pavement below my feet and when he stops, I angle my face away.
A woman holding a clipboard is standing on the sidewalk outside what used to be a real estate company. Cole greets her but it’s a blur before he shakes Enzo’s hand and pats me on the back, avoiding my gaze as he murmurs, “So glad you guys made it out.”
I stare after him wide-eyed when he saunters away, a lump sitting heavy in my stomach. He just treated me like a virtual fucking stranger, and I’m so confused I don’t know how to react, but I need to focus on the here and now, so I force myself to look away. I guess I will have to wait to get answers if I get them at all.
“Welcome to Shepherd’s town,” the woman says, with a short smile. “I’m Dove. I’ll give you a brief tour and leave you to get cleaned up. I’m sure you’re tired.”
In her early 40s, if I had to guess, she’s pretty, with dark hair graying at the temples and matching dark eyes. Inexplicably, she seems to be immune to Enzo’s charm and doesn’t even blink when Enzo smiles heartily and says, “Yes, thanks.”
I just smile feebly when she glances at me before following her when she leads us through the brief tour, as promised. None of which I process beyond a fake smile and nod when it seems appropriate.
After, we’re led down the street lined with historic buildings, which eventually transition to small hotels with majestic old trees lining the scenery in the background. She points out a one-story building and leads us up the path.
The motel matches the area’s age, the paint faded by time and the weather. The parking lot is empty, other than an old, steel structure with picnic tables underneath. With only one floor, it’s easy to navigate, and we’re led to the second door beyond the lobby, which she opens with a key.
She hands Enzo the key and gestures us inside. It’s a typical motel room with a double bed, rundown couch, and small kitchenette. I don’t know about Enzo, but I’m dazed, not only from the shock of seeing Cole and the ultimate brush off but because after so much time in the vast dark, quiet space of the Sam’s Club with just Enzo, everything we’re now surrounded by feels weird.
People, sound, the space . . . a room with a fucking bed. It’s all super disorienting.
“All meals are eaten communally because Shepherd likes for his flock to spend time together. If you miss the allotted time, you miss out. So, don’t be late. There are too many people to accommodate alternate schedules,” Dove says, prattling on about Shepherd for a few more minutes before handing the key to Enzo and gesturing for me to follow.
I stare at her mutely. I don’t want to be separated from Enzo. I don’t know anyone else but Enzo. Except for Cole. And he’s acting so damn weird that I’m uneasy and frankly scared. But she just stares at me expectantly, and I take that as the follow command and move forward stiffly.
Enzo makes to come with us, but she waves him off and says, “We’ll see you at dinner. C’mon down to the Route 66 in an hour.”
With a last miserable glance at Enzo, who looks at me with steely eyes, I follow her out of the room and back to the street. Dusk is painting the sky in shades of brilliant orange, and I look around uneasily as she walks before me in long strides.
Her slim figure eats up the distance and I struggle to keep up, with my shorter legs and the fatigue pulling me down.
She leads me back down the main street and past where we were greeted before we stop at another small motel, this one with two stories. I’m led down the first floor toward the end, where a side street meets the main drag, and she opens the last door before stepping inside.
With no other choice, I follow to find another small room, similar to Enzo’s, but this version is a one-bedroom. The bed is neatly made, with matching furniture and a nice tall dresser against the far wall. A small couch and oval-shaped coffee table face a now-defunct flat-screen television, surrounded by pictures hanging on the walls depicting Native American scenes of nature, animals, and sacred dance in the living room.
The kitchenette is slightly larger than the one afforded to Enzo, but it hardly matters since I’m quite sure I won’t be cooking up any soufflés in there anytime soon.
“This is the women’s dormitory. Men stay over the way, women stay here—no men after dusk, no cohabitating. We eat at the designated times or not at all. You’ll be assigned a job in the next day or two. Until that happens, you can help in the nursery,” she points back toward the town center, and I follow her finger foolishly when she points toward the wall.
“Nursery,” I murmur, unsure of where to begin with her statement. No cohabitating? Um . . .