“Tuck!” burst from my mouth. I was willing to let them work this out, but no one needed to get nasty.

“I’ve been wanting to say that for a week,” he said.

I watched as they had a stare-down. So much passed between them in those few tense seconds. The understanding that Charlie’s position had been drastically downgraded was his foremost struggle, that was clear. And apparently, he wasn’t sure what to do when his status alone didn’t guarantee he got his way, and another man called him on his bullshit.

I wasn’t going to step between them. But I was also getting annoyed and ready to go. What Isaac had told us the night before about St. Louis had spooked the hell out of me, and I wanted to get far away from here. I pushed Charlie aside and grabbed my own stuff. “Come on. We’ll find you some shoes, Charlie.”

Charlie’s false bravado deflated, and he stared morosely down at the—frankly—gross shoes. I didn’t blame him for being angry and not wanting to put them on his feet, but it also wasn’t anyone else’s problem. And there was really no choice other than to walk barefoot. Tuck was right. Charlie had been perfectly fine to let Tuck take the reins while he slept in the back of the buggy, not even offering to let Tuck rest for an hour. It was the accumulation of all these small moments over the last week that had given me a clear picture of who Charlie really was.

“Fine,” he muttered, turning away from Tuck. “Let’s just go.”

“Tie those on with this,” Tuck said, tossing him a balled-up pair of socks. “They’re no worse than the slippers Emily wore those first few days. The priority is replenishing our water, then food, then we’ll find you some shoes.”

“Where the hell will we find shoes?” Charlie muttered, but he unballed the socks and started pulling on the shoes. I thought for sure he was going to start crying when he put his foot inside the one with the intact sole, but he managed to hold it together.

* * *