Page 28 of Silas

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When I wake up,Naomi is gone.

At first, I feel a note of panic—would she have left? Could someone have gotten in and taken her without waking me up? The first is possible, the second…not so much.

But then I realize the comforter has been removed from the bed. I find her in the tub, cocooned in the blanket. Seeking shelter. Safety.

God, what hell has she been through that she feels safer in a tub than in a bed?

Tear tracks stain her cheeks—-she fell asleep crying.

That fills me with equal parts rage and a desire—absurd, ridiculous, and bizarre—to wipe those tears away.

I dress quietly and head out to the lobby. The continental breakfast is in full swing—the hotel is pretty busy, so the lobby is crowded. I wait in line and pile two plates high with fresh fruit, sausage links, bacon, scrambled eggs, a pair of waffles, toast, a bagel, and a few donut holes. Instead of trying to pretend I’m a waiter, I take the plates back to our room, leave them on the bed, and go back down for two big Styrofoam cups of coffee and a cold bottle of orange juice.

When I get back to the room a second time, Naomi is awake and has neatly remade both beds…without so much as touching anything on the plates.

“You don’t need to make the beds, Naomi. They pay people to do that.” I hand her one of the cups of coffee. “This one has shit in it.” At the puzzled looks she gives me, I laugh. “Cream and sugar. Not, like, actual shit.”

She almost smiles at that. “Oh.” She glances at the food. “You must be very hungry.”

I snort. “My buddy Chance might be able to eat all that, but no way in fuck I could.” I hand her a fork and a plate. “Dig in.”

She blinks. “For me?”

It’s my turn to look puzzled. “Um…yeah? It’s breakfast.” I laugh. “You grew up under a rock, huh?” I can’t help another laugh. “You’re like an alien, or someone from another time period.” I gesture at the door. “There’s a buffet down in the lobby. I just got a little of everything.”

She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, facing me—knees together, posture perfect, staring down at the food as if overwhelmed.

“What? Not hungry?” I ask, around a mouthful of eggs.

She glances at me, shaking her head. “No, I am. I just…” She trails off.

“What?” I set my fork down.

“I haven’t had food I didn’t cook in…well…since I was five years old.”

“You’ve been cooking since you werefive?”

“Mama died when I was eleven.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

She shrugs.

I set my plate down. Moving slowly, I sit beside her. Not touching, but close. She goes still, frozen, panting in fear. “Breathe. Slow it down. Not gonna hurt you.”

She slows her breathing.

I take her plate from her, and the fork. I’ve got absolutely no fucking clue what’s come over me, what I’m doing right now. I don’t question it, though. Just let instinct operate.

“You like eggs?” I ask.

She nods, a gentle dip of her chin. “Yes,” she whispers.

I scoop eggs onto the fork. Bring it to her mouth. “Here.”

She swallows hard, silver storm-cloud eyes on me. Then, she opens her mouth around the fork, teeth clicking quietly on the tines. I wait till she’s chewed and swallowed, then feed her more eggs.