When they came to the creek, they stopped. Pete suggested she turn back home so she didn’t get her feet dirty. She refused.

“It’s too dark to see back home,” she said.

“Home’s just that way,” he said. “I can see the light on the porch from here.”

“I’m not going back.”

So Pete leaned his shotgun against a tree, removed his hat, and lifted Ruth in his arms. He carried her across the creek. She felt her heart start to do strange things inside her, like it was backfiring.

When Pete placed her feet on the ground, she did not release her arm from his neck. His eyes met hers. The whites of his eyes were blue in the moon’s light. She could see something come over him. He pulled her toward himself. She leaned her head forward. It was only a light kiss, but it erased pain. It thrilled her. It felt like the world was opening up for her.

All her life she’d been a girl whose mother didn’t want her. A child who’d grown up in a pair of coveralls, without a true place she could call home. A child among a bunch of coarse men who spit tobacco and struck matches on the soles of their shoes. But right here, right now, she was a woman. And someone loved her.

Pete pulled his head back.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Quit your sorryin’,” she said.

She kissed him again.

Pete retrieved his hat and gun from the other side of the creek, then rejoined Ruth. They held hands and walked until they reached the highway. There, Pete pointed his gun into the air and fired twice.

“You think Vern heard that?” said Pete. “Two miles is an awful long way.”

“I think he heard it.”

“Yeah, but Vern can’t hear squat. I never thought of that until just now.”

She kissed him again. This time it was not a light kiss. She held him so tight she could feel his pulse. And she felt Pete give in to it. His hands held her waist, and she was against him. It made her start to weep. She hadn’t meant to ruin the moment by crying, but she had felt so alone for so long, she couldn’t help herself.

“Why’re you crying?” he said.

She embraced him. She rested her head on his shoulder and soaked his shirt with salt water. She knew she didn’t have to tell him why. She knew Pete was among the only people in the world who understood her. So she said nothing, and he only patted her back.

Finally she released him and wiped her eyes, sniffing her nose. She felt embarrassed, sobbing like she had.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Quit your sorryin’.”

Sixty-Two
Little Miracles