Like it Was Before

Jim's digging graves, that much is abundantly clear, and no matter how much Shane jokes about digging to China and we all stay tense, even the children. I hate today already.
"What the hell, people?" Jim explodes, looking worse than ever. He looks, in fact, like a strong gust of wind could knock him over. "I'm out here by myself, why don't y'all just go back to camp?"
"We think you need a break," Shane reasons. "Need to step back and take a breath there, bud."
It's interesting, seeing the cop in Shane emerge under stress.
"Babe, he may have a point," I try. "I mean we-"
"All of us." Shane asserts, ignoring me and begins trying to lever the shovel away from Jim.
"All of us are worried about you." Incredibly, Jim's not only a lot stronger than he looks at the moment, he's laughing as well. "What, you gonna beat my face in like Ed's if I don't cooperate?"
"Okay," I announce, stiffening my spine as I take Carl and Sophia's hands in mine.
"That's enough. Back to camp." No one pays this any mind as I lead them back down to our tents, our tiny untouched version of civilization. "Carl, why don't you find us a rock? A sharp one."
The boy goes unquestioningly as Sophia settles down next to one of the fire pits Morales has been talking about building up. Carl's back quickly, not that I'd let him leave my sight, and holding a rock up for inspection-"How's this?"
I smile down at him and can't resist ruffling his hair.
"It's perfect, kiddo. You know how to play tic tac toe?" Carl scoffs. "Of course I do, I'm in fifth grade. Sophia?" Sophia nods and we sit down on the ground taking turns drawing a grid with the rock, filling it with x's and o's and erasing our games by rubbing the flat of our palms in the dirt to start again.
Sophia creams the both of us unmercifully while the drama unfolds uphill.

Eventually, Lori and Carol come back down to us, Lori shooting me a thinly veiled disgusted glare. "We've got it from here, thank you." She bites off, and for a moment I'm confused until she pulls Carl close to her while he tries to squirm away. Oh. The children, right.
I'd thought that I was just doing my part to help but had apparently over-stepped some imaginary boundaries. "Mom," Carl protest, shrugging her thin arm off of his shoulders.
"I like when Aunt Savannah watches us." My eyes go wide at this as Lori's face practically turns purple with suppressed rage. "She is not your aunt." Practically taking the poor kids head off.
"But Uncle Shane called her his wife!"
Wow, either word travels fast or someone in the fifth grade had been eavesdropping.
"He did WHAT?" Lori answers, close to shrieking.
"Shane needs water for Jim." Carol, soft-spoken as always, interrupts as if she doesn't hear any of this and I'm more than happy to play along. "Coming right up."
Shane's taking care of Jim properly by the time I get up there, but he still rises to greet me like a gentleman, taking the heavy water bucket from my arms.
"You okay?" I ask, flicking a stray hair from my face.
"Shit," Shane looks abashed "This is like a drunk n' disorderly all over again. 'S like ridin' a bicycle."
I smile and Shane takes his time going back to Jim, doling out water.
"Thank you, Savannah," Jim calls, polite as ever and I cautiously move toward the men.
"You're welcome, Jim. How you feeling?"
"Good." Jim nods, either to me or himself, I'm not sure and it doesn't really matter, anyway.
"Better. Shane, could you pour it over my head?" And Shane, without a moments hesitation does.

After a careful hushed discussion, I've talked Shane around to agreeing that bringing Jim back to camp is the best thing for everyone. He'd truss Jim up there for the remainder of the afternoon, where at least he'd be with everyone. Maybe that would help him get back to normal, or so I'd thought.
Instead, as soon as he's settled in Jim immediately starts a Rick love-fest and while, yes, Rick is a great man, I can feel the resentment rolling off of Shane in waves. And really, can I blame him?
Or disagree with what he's sure to be thinking? Rick hadn't been the one to talk Jim down off the ledge, to handle our little crisis; that was Shane.
And while I was personally of the train of thought that it doesn't matter who does something as long as it gets done, my husband isn't. He hides it well, though, to a casual observer, at least, rubbing his hands together with false glee, taking me back to the night Lori had made fun of my name in the old world...maybe his anxiousness to eat dinner that night had been fake, too?
"Awright, who wants to help me clean the fish? Kids?"
Carl and Sophia are up like a flash, clambering around Shane, excited not only to help out, but to participate in something gross. "What about you, Savannah Jane?" Shane challenges, bringing me out of myself. "While I'm teaching the kids, you might as well learn a thing or two yourself."
I roll my eyes openly, but follow after the trio.
"Oh please, Walsh. Like I wasn't a chef before all this went down."
Shane snorts his disbelief. "You worked at Catfish Kitchen the simmer of your senior year of high school. I know this story, remember?" He knew all of my stories, it sometimes seemed. And yet, he stuck by me. I wave him off as he hands me one of his boning knives, the challenge still dancing in his eyes. "Semantics." This makes Shane laugh, loudly.
"It's really not. Okay, they've already been scaled, so this is what we're gonna do, Van,"
I ignore him, slitting open the belly in a crooked line like I'd done this before, chopping the head and tail off in quick motions. I had never touched a dead fish in my life, but I'd read a lot, enough anyhow to know what I was doing even if it wasn't exactly perfect. Shane looks impressed. Even better, he looks proud. "Just like that. Now, Carl, you scoop out the guts." Shane instructs, sliding the carcass to the next in our assembly line. I note with dim amusement that Shane hasn't actually done any of the grunt work yet. Miraculously, Carl obeys Shane without pause, mostly because it's Shane whom he adores. Sophia, not wanting to be out-done, makes Shane join in (finally) chopping his own fish and sliding it to her so she can try gut-scooping for herself.
Carl's yelling and carrying on about how gross it is, clearly delighted, but I'm keeping my eye on Sophie.
She grimaces at first, but damned if she doesn't get the job done.
I feel a smile breaking out over my face, proud of her, wondering if this is how Shane felt seeing me chop off that head. I hope so-it's a good feeling.
"Good girl, Sophia!" I cheer, making her blush furiously.
Not wishing to make her uncomfortable, I turn back to Shane-"If I made some breading for these, do you think we could make it stick without egg?"
I'm half-serious and Shane indulges me by pretending to think this over.
"I don't know, hon, but I could always go out and catch a chicken for you, see if it lays some. Or run to the store and buy you a carton, at the very least."
Idiot. Both kids giggle wildly at this and it feels to me like I'm getting a glimpse of Shane and I's future, God willing. Sitting here with kids, making dinner. It's nice. And it just goes to show that you can make your own family, and your own happiness no matter where you are.
Even if you're surrounded by guts.