The Host(28)

My skin burns where it meets his. It feels better than good, but it sets off a strange aching in my chest.

He is forever touching me this way, always seeming to need to reassure himself that I am here. Does he realize what it does to me, the simple pressure of his warm palm next to mine? Does his pulse jump in his veins, too? Or is he just happy to not be alone anymore?

He swings our arms as we walk beneath a little stand of cottonwood trees, their green so vivid against the red that it plays tricks on my eyes, confusing my focus. He is happy here, happier than in other places. I feel happy, too. The feeling is still unfamiliar.

He hasn’t kissed me since that first night, when I screamed, finding the scar on his neck. Does he not want to kiss me again? Should I kiss him? What if he doesn’t like that?

He looks down at me and smiles, the lines around his eyes crinkling into little webs. I wonder if he is as handsome as I think he is, or if it’s just that he’s the only person left in the whole world besides Jamie and me.

No, I don’t think that’s it. He really is beautiful.

“What are you thinking, Mel?” he asks. “You seem to be concentrating on something very important.” He laughs.

I shrug, and my stomach flutters. “It’s beautiful here.”

He looks around us. “Yes. But then, isn’t home always beautiful?”

“Home.” I repeat the word quietly. “Home.”

“Your home, too, if you want it.”

“I want it.” It seems like every mile I’ve walked in the past three years has been toward this place. I never want to leave, though I know we’ll have to. Food doesn’t grow on trees. Not in the desert, at least.

He squeezes my hand, and my heart punches against my ribs. It’s just like pain, this pleasure.

There was a blurring sensation as Melanie skipped ahead, her thoughts dancing through the hot day until hours after the sun had fallen behind the red canyon walls. I went along, almost hypnotized by the endless road stretching ahead of me, the skeletal bushes flying by with mind-numbing sameness.

I peek into the one narrow little bedroom. The full-size mattress is only inches away from the rough stone walls on either side.

It gives me a deep, rich sense of joy to see Jamie asleep on a real bed, his head on a soft pillow. His lanky arms and legs sprawl out, leaving little room for me where I am meant to sleep. He is so much bigger in reality than the way I see him in my head. Almost ten—soon he won’t be a child at all. Except that he will always be a child to me.

Jamie breathes evenly, sleeping sound. There is no fear in his dream, for this moment at least.

I shut the door quietly and go back to the small couch where Jared waits.

“Thank you,” I whisper, though I know shouting the words wouldn’t wake Jamie now. “I feel bad. This couch is much too short for you. Maybe you should take the bed with Jamie.”

Jared chuckles. “Mel, you’re only a few inches shorter than I am. Sleep comfortably, for once. Next time I’m out, I’ll steal myself a cot or something.”

I don’t like this, for lots of reasons. Will he be leaving soon? Will he take us with him when he goes? Does he see this room assignment as a permanent thing?

He drops his arm around my shoulders and tucks me against his side. I scoot closer, though the heat of touching him has my heart aching again.

“Why the frown?” he asks.

“When will you… when will we have to leave again?”

He shrugs. “We scavenged enough on our way up that we’re set for a few months. I can do a few short raids if you want to stay in one place for a while. I’m sure you’re tired of running.”

“Yes, I am,” I agree. I take a deep breath to make me brave. “But if you go, I go.”

He hugs me tighter. “I’ll admit, I prefer it that way. The thought of being separated from you…” He laughs quietly. “Does it sound crazy to say that I’d rather die? Too melodramatic?”

“No, I know what you mean.”

He must feel the same way I do. Would he say these things if he thought of me as just another human, and not as a woman?

I realize that this is the first time we’ve ever been really alone since the night we met—the first time there’s been a door to close between a sleeping Jamie and the two of us. So many nights we’ve stayed awake, talking in whispers, telling all of our stories, the happy stories and the horror stories, always with Jamie’s head cradled on my lap. It makes my breath come faster, that simple closed door.

“I don’t think you need to find a cot, not yet.”

I feel his eyes on me, questioning, but I can’t meet them. I’m embarrassed now, too late. The words are out.