picked up, and Slate ran one hand through his hair, thinking he’d like to grow it out as long as he could stand it. Then, and only then, would he cut it. Since he’d been out for a couple of months now, his hair had grown quite a bit, but Slate still didn’t feel the need to cut it.
He went all the way to the water’s edge, the horizon made only of waves and sunshine. He bent down and touched the gulf, feeling the power of the earth and the water all at the same time. In that moment, he knew he should get a job where he got to work outside, and another heartbeat later, he realized he already had a job like that if he wanted to keep it.
A sense of peace and serenity washed over him, and while he didn’t have all the answers for his future, he at least felt like he could start making new memories for the new man he was.
A woman screamed, startling him and breaking into his little bubble of reflection. He stood and looked left, toward the sound.
A woman ran toward the water dozens of yards down the beach, and another primal yell ripped from her throat as she threw something into the water.
Slate wasn’t sure if he should go make sure she was okay or just walk away. He watched as she bent and picked up something else from the beach. She screamed as she hurled it into the ocean too.
Without thinking too hard about it, Slate started walking toward her. She seemed like she could use a friend—or at least someone to help her if she threw herself into the ocean next.
As he got closer, she started yelling, and while Slate couldn’t catch all of the words, he got the general idea. Someone in her family was very sick, and she’d come to the beach to release her frustrations at the injustices of the world.
Slate slowed, suddenly not wanting to intrude. He knew exactly how she felt, though he’d learned to control and contain the rage and irritation while behind bars. He could box up everything and keep it silent. He could stare at the bottom of a bunk bed and let his thoughts run until he fell asleep, never saying anything to anyone.
Only Nate knew what Slate really thought. Then when he’d left, Ted. Dallas. Luke.
He needed to get back to the ranch.
The woman turned toward him, and Slate froze. He knew her, and his stomach dropped to his shoes before it rebounded back to its proper place. “Jill?” he asked.
She sobbed and flew toward him so quickly that Slate barely had time to open his arms before she latched onto him. He wrapped her up tight, her anguish seeping right into the fleshy parts of his heart and making him close his eyes and pray for her relief.
Twenty minutes later, he helped Jill into the front seat of his truck with a, “There you go. Yep, you’re good.” He met her eye again and closed the door before going around to get behind the wheel.
“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes again. “I was just on my way back to the ranch, and I started crying, and….” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head.
“You don’t owe me any explanations,” he said quietly.
“What did you hear on the beach?”
“Nothing much,” he said. “Combined with the waves, it was just noise.”
Jill nodded, the longer front pieces of her hair flopping a little bit. She sniffed as she pushed it off her forehead and tucked her hair behind her ears. “My mother is very sick,” she said. “I’m very angry at God about it.”
Pure surprise flowed through Slate, and his eyebrows went up as their eyes met. “I can imagine,” he said. “In fact, I don’t have to imagine.” He looked back out the windshield. “I’ve been very angry at God about things before.” By the time he finished speaking, his voice was at whisper level. “Very angry at myself too.”
Jill nodded and wiped her face again.
“I think there are some napkins in the glove box,” he said.
She opened it and pulled out a couple of the scratchy, brown napkins Slate had gotten at some fast food restaurant. “Thanks.” She wiped her nose and eyes and drew in a long, deep breath. She held it for so long that Slate thought he might have to perform some sort of rescue procedure this morning after all.