I stepped through the boards and Tuck looked up when I approached. I bent and picked up one of the rocks he’d gathered and set it next to the others he’d already placed. We worked in silence to build the makeshift firepit, and then Tuck situated the branches in the center and went through the process of building the fire using the box of matches the Goodfellows had given us.

“I never thought I’d be sitting around another bonfire with you in this lifetime,” I said to Tuck.

He looked up and smiled at me and again, for just a moment, he looked like the Tuck I knew, and it felt like a sharp poke to a tender spot. “Make that two of us,” he said.

There were some old wooden crates off to the side that Tuck brought next to the fire and then he took a seat on one, removed the switchblade he’d stuck in his backpack, and began slicing into the rabbit. I looked away. “Ugh, how are you even doing that?”

“It’s this or eat dirt tonight. Rabbit sounded more appealing. A gun and this switchblade made it possible. I’m going to give this back to you after I clean it though. It’s yours.”

I thought of Katelyn who’d given the knife to me and knew she’d be happy that her gift had come in handy at just the right moment. I thought of Mrs. Goodfellow too and the fear in Katelyn’s eyes when she spoke of her mother and I hoped to God they’d be reunited.

I watched Tuck’s face as he focused. “Thanks for doing the dirty work. Literally.”

His gaze remained on his hands, but he gave a nod. I felt a new peace between us. We’d seemed to have made an unspoken agreement to cease the bickering after working together so well earlier that day. Even so, he didn’t have to split a small rabbit with us. He could have killed the thing, gutted it, cooked it, and then eaten it himself and Charlie and I wouldn’t be able to say a damn word. Because neither of us was willing to hunt down small animals and prepare the meat and we all knew it. But I wasn’t going to feel too guilty about it, because despite whether our relationship was good or bad or in-between, when we got back home, I’d make sure Tuck had enough to get on his feet some way or another. Happily. And he’d have something with which to start fresh.

I felt a weird emptiness in my stomach that I wrote off as hunger, even if for whatever reason, it didn’t feel like food would fill it.

“Anyway,” I said, as if he’d been following my disjointed inner dialogue, “are we planning on stopping at a house tomorrow to ask if they can spare some food?”