The Bone Field by Debra Bokur (the best ebook reader for android .txt) 📗

The greeting held neither enthusiasm nor warmth. “If you stopped by for tea, I haven’t made any. Afraid I’m fresh out of crumpets, too.”

The young woman in the hammock sat up and swung her other leg to the floor. Kali could see dirt embedded between her toes and beneath her nails. The dress she wore was at least two sizes too large. The straps across the shoulders that held it up revealed a concave chest and deep, sunken spaces beneath the collarbone; her bare arms were riddled with old needle marks. Kali was surprised to see that despite the overall appearance of undernourishment and general dishevelment, the girl’s eyes were uncharacteristically clear. She felt a sweep of apprehension.

Makena frowned. “Why do you always have to be such a bitch?” she asked, her tone petulant. She stretched her hand beneath Hilo’s chin, scratching vigorously. “It’s like it’s your default setting or something. At least Hilo’s glad to see me.”

“Hilo’s glad to see anybody who’ll scratch him or throw something for him, or share a sandwich. That’s the thing about dogs, Makena. They’re completely without expectations.”

“Unlike you, you mean.” Makena’s brow wrinkled.

Kali ignored the comment. She knew it would be useless to express any of the hopes she’d once held for this girl, remembering with sadness and barely concealed regret the bright young child who’d almost become her stepdaughter.

“Where have you been, anyway?” she asked. “I suppose by now you’ve used up the tray full of needles and painkillers you stole from the hospital.”

Makena stopped scratching the dog and leveled her gaze fully on Kali. “Oh, you mean that night when I saved your life? And I was there for the inquest, like a good girl. Everyone said I was a hero.”

“You were. And then you did your disappearing act. If you’d stuck around, I would have said thank you.”

“That’s okay.” Makena pushed herself out of the hammock and into a standing position. For just a moment, she swayed slightly. She looked at Kali, but her eyes, clear moments before, now had a slight glaze to them. “I came here because I wanted to tell you . . .” Before she could finish, she lurched forward and fell, turning slightly so that she landed faceup on the floor. Kali leapt toward her, but was too late to catch her. Makena’s thin body landed with a thud, her head making solid contact with the floorboards, her eyes rolling backwards into her skull.

“Great,” muttered Kali. “Just what I need tonight. An unconscious junkie on my deck.”

She checked the girl’s pulse and breathing, then pulled a cushion from the nearest chair and lifted Makena’s head just high enough to slip it beneath the matted tangle of dark hair. Makena stirred, then reached for Kali.

“Hush. Don’t try to sit up or say anything. I’m calling 911.”

Makena’s eyes flew open. “No,” she said. “I don’t need anyone except for you right now.” Her voice sounded weak, but coherent.

Kali knelt beside the thin, dirty figure as she pulled her phone from the side pocket of her leggings. Hilo whined, pushing himself between the two women, licking Makena’s bare arm.

“Yeah, you need me and a detox team.” Kali scanned the girl’s face. “Whatever you’re up to, Makena, I don’t have time for it. What did you take? And how much, and when?”

“I know what you think, but I’m not high. I swear it.”

Kali lifted Makena’s arm, surveying the needle scars that ran its length, looking for fresh marks. “You’re always high,” she said. “It makes you boring.”

Makena tried to roll over onto her side, using her other arm to push herself into a sitting position. Kali pressed her hand against the girl’s chest, preventing her from rising.

“Lie still.”

“I mean it, Kali. I’m not using. I’m clean, and I’m going to stay that way.”

Kali shook her head. She’d heard these proclamations before, and knew better than to be sucked into whatever fantasy Makena had concocted for herself.

“Let me guess. Spiritual conversion? Psychological breakthrough?”

“No, sorry.”

“Then what? You’ve got two seconds, then I’m calling for help.”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words fell onto the porch, across the sloping yard, spreading into the air where they mingled with the cries of birds above the beach. Kali felt them envelop her. She knew they were true. Not good. But true. She sat back on her heels and looked down at the girl stretched out in front of her.

“Are you absolutely positive?” She regretted the words, and their tone, the moment they left her lips. Makena searched her face, her expression unfathomable. Kali bit her lip and tried again. “I mean, did you do one of those drugstore tests, or did they tell you at the clinic?”

“Stick test. Three of them.” Makena looked away.

There was silence as each woman considered the significance. Kali knew better than to give voice to all of her own concerns: Makena’s ongoing drug use, her poor health, her deplorable personal hygiene. Certainly there had been plenty of other young mothers like her who had given birth to normal, healthy infants—babies without an immediate dependency on drugs, and who were strong enough to survive. But the odds were not good.

Her mind jumped to a variety of sad and distressing future scenarios as she helped Makena to her feet and guided her inside to the sofa. She pushed the thoughts away, wanting to be optimistic, charitable even.

“Sit down. I’ll make up the spare room. You can stay here for a few nights until we figure out a plan.”

Makena nodded.

Kali considered the girl’s uncharacteristic silence as she brought a set of fresh sheets and pillowcases from the hall closet to the small spare room that she used as storage space, placing them on a stack of books. A camping cot that served as guest accommodations for her rare visitors was folded up against the wall. She brushed a thin, fine layer of sand off the exposed top edge and unfolded it. On the floor behind the cot was a thick foam rubber pad, rolled into a