Birthright

she had in the dream.She clutched at her chest as if she could tear out the pressure that weighed there.
    She fought with the door, her breath wheezing as her fingers slid damply off the latch. A scream was ripping through her chest, into her throat. She all but fell out of the door when she finally shoved it open.
    And collapsed to her knees in the dim chill of dawn.
    At the sound of rushing footsteps, she tried to push herself up. But the muscles in her arms had gone to lead.
    “Hey, what happened?” Jake dropped to the ground beside her, lifted her head.
    “Can’t breathe,” she managed. “Can’t breathe.”
    “Yes, you can.” Her pupils were dilated, her face dead white and clammy. He put a hand on the back of her head and shoved it between her knees. “Slow, easy, deep. You breathe.”
    “Can’t.”
    “Yes, you can. One breath. Inhale. One breath. Now another one. Let it out.” He felt the tightness in his belly begin to ease when she started to draw in air. “Keep going.”
    “I’m okay.”
    He simply held her head down. “More. In and out. I want you to lift your head up, slowly. Nausea?”
    “No. I’m okay. I just . . . woke up, and I was disoriented for a minute.”
    “Like hell. You had yourself a full-blown panic attack.”
    She was far from steady, but just steady enough to feel the prick of embarrassment. “I don’t have panic attacks.”
    “You do now. Unless you come flying out of trailers naked for fun.”
    “I—” She glanced down, saw she’d run out without a stitch on. “Jesus Christ.”
    “It’s okay. I like seeing you naked. You’ve got an amazing body, even when it’s clammy with panic sweat. Up you go. You need to lie down a minute.”
    “I don’t. And don’t baby me.”
    “You’re too smart to beat yourself up for having anxiety. And too bullheaded not to. Tough spot for you, Dunbrook. Sit.” He pushed her onto the sofa, tossed the blanketover her. “Shut up one minute before you make me take back the smart part. You’ve had nothing but stress, tension, shocks and work for over a month. You’re human. Give yourself a break.”
    He pulled out a bottle of water, opened it, handed it to her.
    “I had a nightmare.” She bit her lip because it wanted to tremble. “And I woke up, and I was alone and I couldn’t breathe.”
    “I’m sorry.” He sat beside her. “I went out to look around, just checking on things. I didn’t want to wake you up.”
    “It’s not your fault.” She took a long drink of water. “I don’t scare easy.”
    “Don’t I know it.”
    “But I’m scared now. You tell anybody that, I’ll have to kill you. But I’m scared now, and I don’t like it.”
    “It’s okay.” He put an arm around her, pressed his lips to her temple.
    “When I don’t like something, I get rid of it.”
    His lips curved against her skin. “Don’t I know it,” he repeated.
    “So I’m not going to be scared.” She took one long breath, relieved when it didn’t catch in her lungs or her throat. “I just won’t be scared. I’m going to find out what I need to know. I’m going to Virginia, and the Simpsons are going to tell me what I need to know. I want you to go with me.”
    He lifted her hand, kissed it. “You’d better get dressed first.”

Nineteen
    W ith the last strips of a pound of bacon snapping in the black iron skillet, Jake beat two dozen eggs in a bowl. He’d browbeaten Callie into making the coffee before she’d gone up to shower, so that was something. But if anybody wanted toast, somebody else was going to have to deal with it.
    He didn’t mind cooking. Not when it was breakfast in bulk and didn’t require any fancy touches. In any case, they all had to eat, and no one else had worked up the interest or energy to put food together.
    A team—or a tribe—whatever their rituals and customs, required fuel to carry them out. A member’s death forced a new intimacy among the survivors. Food was a symbol, and the preparation, presentation and consumption of it a ceremony common to many cultures during mourning for a good reason.
    Like sex, food was life. Along with sorrow, the guilt and the relief of still claiming life while one of your own was lost had to be acknowledged.
    That enforced intimacy was temporary, he remindedhimself, thinking of Callie. Unless you worked, very hard, to maintain it.
    When Doug stepped into the kitchen, he saw the man he thought of as Callie’s ex-husband leaning a hip against the