The Girl in Red

Red still had a lot of questions about these patrols, and how D.J. had managed to evade their notice. But the offer of a bath was too good to pass up.

Red knew from her babysitting experience that eight-year-old boys didn’t do the best job in the world washing themselves even when they didn’t have weeks of grime caked onto their skin. Despite Riley’s loud protests of “Privacy! Privacy!” she went into the bathroom with him once the tub was full.

“For crying out loud, Riley, I don’t care about your private parts,” Red said. “I care that your hair has bugs in it.”

“Really?” Riley asked. He didn’t look disgusted, only curious. “Bugs?”

“Who can tell under all this dirt?” Red said, pouring a very generous amount of shampoo into her hand. “You could have potato plants growing in there for all we know.”

It took three good washes for Red to get Riley’s hair in roughly acceptable condition. At least he didn’t smell like a dog that had rolled in a garbage heap anymore.

Sam was less particular about Red’s presence and seemed to welcome the offer of assistance with her hair.

“I want it to stop itching,” she confessed as Red scrubbed her scalp. “I think it’s just dirt but I keep thinking it’s lice.”

“It’s probably not lice,” Red said. “If it is, the easiest thing to do is cut your hair. We don’t have any treatments handy.”

“Maybe you could cut my hair even if there isn’t lice. I used to have short hair anyway,” Sam said. “It’s a lot easier because I’m a swimmer and it just goes right under my swim cap without fuss.”

Her voice faded out at the end, like she was realizing that she’d probably never swim laps in a pool again.

When it was Red’s turn she scrubbed herself all over four times and then wrapped up in one of D.J.’s towels. She was reluctant to put her filthy clothes back on her clean body.

Sam had some clean things because of the pink bedroom find and it turned out that one of D.J.’s grandkids was a boy who’d left behind Pokémon pajamas just a smidge too big for Riley.

D.J. knocked at the bathroom door just as Red finished toweling off her hair.

“I have a sweat suit that will fit you,” he called through the door. “I’ll hang it on the knob.”

Red unwrapped the towel and as she put on the sweat suit she noticed just how much weight she’d lost in these weeks. Her ribs were visible just under the skin, and her thighs looked like long ropy bands of muscle with no fat to pad them. She turned around and checked her butt in the mirror. Even that appeared pretty sad—there’s hardly any butt left, she thought.

There were marks on her shoulders like calluses from carrying her pack every day, and despite wearing lightweight pants meant for hiking there were red-purple stripes at her waist where the waistband chafed. They weren’t fresh, like blisters—rather, they had the look of skin that had been repeatedly damaged in the same way.

The sweat suit was baggy on her but it was soft and clean, and Red just stood there for a minute marveling at how good it felt to be completely washed all over. Early on, when it was warmer, she’d taken a couple of dunks in streams and rivers. Lately she’d just been freshening up with baby wipes when she got up in the morning, and after a while it really didn’t matter how many wipes you used if your clothes hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.

She went looking for Sam and Riley and D.J., and found the latter sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of tea.

“Where are the kids?” she asked.

“I have a spare room for when my grandchildren visit,” D.J. said. “It’s down the hall and to the left, two doors past the washroom.”

Both children were sleeping. The room had a queen-sized bed with a plaid comforter and cozy-looking flannel sheets. It was surrounded by bins of Legos and a large bookshelf packed with books for kids of various ages. Some of the Legos were on the floor, which meant that at least one of them had played some (probably Riley) before climbing onto the bed.

Sam was snoring lightly, propped up a little on the pillow with a book splayed open on her chest. Riley was stomach down with arms wide, taking up as much space as his little body would allow.

Red returned to the kitchen and accepted D.J.’s offer of tea. She felt surprisingly relaxed. Her brain wasn’t circling every terrible future possibility, wasn’t screaming that all of this was a trap, wasn’t contemplating what would happen tomorrow or the next day or the next day. Maybe she was too tired and too full to do any of that, and her old paranoid self would return as soon as they left this house and the lean times returned.

They sat in companionable silence for a while. D.J. didn’t seem to expect anything from her, not even conversation.

When her tea was almost finished Red said, “Tell me how you’ve managed to avoid these patrols.”