I toss the heavy bag in the back of the van. Gentle footsteps tread up the gravel. I can tell it’s my mama without turning around. She walks up, folding a blanket in her arms. She wears a hospital gown, which she’s stitched to make it snug and a pair of scrub pants we found in the van. She looks solid, more like the mother I knew everyday. I note the slight swell of her tummy as she pads toward me. We haven’t talked about what Dr. Vandewater said about the mutated fetus she’s carrying. That’ll wait until the time comes. For now I try not to think how hard it’ll be for her to be pregnant on the run. It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. She’s tough. And, so it turns out, am I.

I walk up the path and lean in for a hug. I’ve been doing this all too often. I wake each morning in a panic that she’s gone. Only when I roll over and see her sleeping on the floor beside me does my heart slow its patter.

“Are we ready, darlings?” she says, as I release her. Ethan comes over and slips his hands around her waist. She rests her hand on his shoulder.

“All set, except Clay.” My eyes trace back to the open door. It takes him longer to do most things now, though he doesn’t complain.

My mother pats my cheek. “Go get him, my love.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I stride through the open archway and into the interior of the church. The wooden floors creak under my footsteps. My eyes trace past the little enclaves in the wall where decaying saints watch. I pass a giant wooden cross, tilted to one side. For a moment I wonder if these relics are why we’ve been so lucky, left alone here in the desert for so long. I touch the rough wooden cross. It’s about time we had some damn luck.

I stop at the entryway to the sanctuary and take a deep breath. Even though Clay and I have been boyfriend and girlfriend for the last three weeks, I still get butterflies every time I stand here.

I rap my knuckles twice on the ancient wood as I enter. I hear a shuffling in the shadows beyond, but can’t see him until he steps into the streamers of light from the busted window. Dimples form in the corners of his cheeks as he smiles. “Come in, madam.” He gives a mock bow. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. It’s the maid’s day off.”

I stride down the aisle and into his arms. The stubble on his cheek rubs deliciously against mine as he nuzzles my neck.

I run a hand over his cheek. “No shave?”