Ruth was one of three people in a large tent lined with cots. A worker at the entrance pointed at her bed, positioned in the back. I could hear her talking and that made me feel better, Ruth was recovering. She spoke to another worker who stood by her bed.
“Maybe we should sleep in here,” Madison suggested in a whisper.
“Maybe.”
As we walked closer, I noticed Ruth was holding the workers hand. If he was even a worker at all, he looked like a teenager. Then again, like Ruth, maybe everyone just looked younger to me. The shorter Latino young man was wearing dark blue scrubs. His dark wavy hair was messy, he not only was petite in height but in stature. He peered up to us with these amazingly big eyes when we approached.
“There they are,” Ruth said brightly. “My new adopted daughters. Madison and Lacey. Lacey as in ‘Cagney and’, actually thinking of changing Madison’s name to that…” Ruth paused and noticed the young man shook his head in confusion. “Sorry, that was before your time.”
“How’s she doing?” I asked.
“Great. Fantastic,” he answered softly. “Thanks to you. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
My immediate thought was, ‘aw, look how much this young worker cares.’
“My name is Estaban,” he said. “It’s really nice to meet you.”
“Isn’t he sweet?” Ruth asked.
“Yes,” Madison answered. “Very.”
“Of course, he is,” Ruth smiled.
Just as Madison made a joking comment that, ‘Someone has the Florence Nightingale effect.’ It hit me.
“Estaban,” I said. “Stevie?”
“Stevie?” Madison repeated with surprise. “Are you the Stevie from the home?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “That’s me.”
“Where the hell did you go?” Madison barked.
I tapped her with the back of my hand. “She didn’t mean for that to come out like that.”
“Yes, I did.” Madison said. “You left a ninety-two year old woman alone.”
Immediately Stevie looked horrified and panicked.
“Be nice,” Ruth said. “He feels really bad.”
“As well as he should,” Madison said. “He left you.”
I swore it looked like the young man was ready to cry. He was completely mortified by Madison’s cross examination.
“Why didn’t you take her?” she asked. “We did.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would be gone that long,” he said. “I didn’t. I went to look for help. I left her food and water and thought I’d get back. I walked east. I got lost. After so long, I had no landmarks to give me direction, everything looked the same. I kept on walking hoping to make it back.” His head lowered almost as if in shame. “I never made it. I had no intention to abandon her. My heart broke. I love Ruth.”
“Shh.” Ruth patted his hand. “It’s fine. I knew you didn’t leave me on purpose. It’s okay.”
I looked over at Madison. She looked like she was in debate over the young man’s story. Me, I believed it.
“How did you get here?” I asked.
“A truck was making a search. They found me. At that point I had walked five days. I told them about Ruth and they said that they could not go into the dead zone. I prayed for her. When I got here, I volunteered.”
I felt bad for Stevie, I really did. It was evident he was torn up about what happened. “The bus will be taking Ruth south,” I said. “To safety. Will you go with her?”
His eyes widened. “Of course I’ll go with her.”
“Good. Good.” I nodded. “That makes me feel better that she won’t be alone.”
Stevie shifted his eyes from Madison to me. “You are not going south? There is trouble coming.”
I shook my head.
“Can I ask why?” asked Ruth.
“We are gonna search for our families,” I said. “Whether they’re still north or they went south, we both need to know. We made a pact.”
Ruth reached out to me and grabbed my hand. “I understand. I really do.”
I felt comfort in her touch, then she released Stevie’s hand and grabbed for Madison.
We stayed in the medical tent for a while with her and Stevie. Talking, planning and hearing stories about Ruth when she was in the assisted living. It was good to see her recovering and I was at ease that she wasn’t going to be alone when she went south. There was a sense of guilt that accompanied my thoughts of leaving her alone.
One thing was for certain, finding Stevie not only made me feel better about Ruth it renewed my faith that miracles could happen. We believed him gone, he wasn’t. That alone was a miracle.
After seeing Stevie, finding my family seemed less of a pipe dream and suicide mission and more of a possibility.
NOTEBOOK – DAY TWENTY
Ev,
I think I met a professional wrestler today. Or a former one. She is a soldier at this camp. She shares our tent with us. Madison told me she is going to challenge her. I thought it was funny. Madison jokes and makes a lot of sarcastic comments. Between you and me, kiddo, I think she uses that as a cover up for a lot of pain. I might be wrong. I am not wrong about missing you with all my heart.
Twenty-One – The Beast
It was a bit more difficult than just finding a tent to sleep, as instructed by Major Graham. There were several types. There was a tent for women, men, families, and children alone. There was a sense that they did that to bus survivors south by order of importance. That was probably why I saw the little girl on the bus.
We had dinner which consisted of a thick broth soup, crackers and coffee, then finally Madison and I found the women’s tent and took over a corner. Even though the tent was pretty empty except three other women sleeping, we stayed far enough away. Our cots were close, touching head to head and feeling a bit more energized and optimistic, we talked a lot.
There probably wasn’t a reason to be optimistic about things, but considering a few days earlier we hadn’t seen a person, now we were surrounded by people. That was enough of a reason.
I wrote in my journal more names of those who helped us. I didn’t get the names of the soldiers who drove us to Hilltop so they were simply soldier one and soldier two.
I started something new as well. Notes to my family. I wrote down the date and to each of them a small note. It was something I wanted to do for the trip. Give them my thoughts during my progress of making it home or at least to them. I kept them short because it was hard to see and accomplish. I held a flashlight in my hand while I wrote.
“Are you still writing in that journal?” Madison asked, in a whisper.
“Yeah, I write something every day. I just started notes to my family.”
“What are you saying to them?”
“I just told my daughter about Ruth,” I said. “My husband about you. My son about your sons.”
“That’s nice. Silly, but nice.”
“Why is it silly?”
“What if you lose the journal?” she asked.
“I won’t.”
“But what if you do?”
“Then I’ll look at it as…”
“Shh!” Someone called out.
“Sorry,” I said, then lowered my voice. “I’ll look at it as therapy.”
“And if you don’t lose it, won’t you look silly to your family?”
“No,” I said. “Why would I. My husband would love it. My daughter too. Wouldn’t yours?”
“Bruce would make fun of me. Tease me about being so mushy. I had a blog…”
“Shh,” the voice hollered at us again.
Madison rolled to her stomach and continued, “I had a blog. He used to poke fun of it.”
“That’s because he was jealous because he didn’t do it.”