Page 93 of Silas
She nods, her attention focused on her reflection. I jog to the SUV and remove a couple of bundles of cash, keeping my eye on my surroundings.
My heart stops and then starts pounding like mad: a pair of men in black suits are strolling toward me from the other direction as the store, curly white wires trailing from their ears and telltale bulges under their suit coats.
I don’t recognize them, but Malik made a point of constantly rotating personnel, so I likely wouldn’t. I forcibly slow my breathing and try to remain nonchalant as I zip the duffel bag and close the hatch, tucking the cash in my pocket. I keep my head down and pretend to be absorbed in my phone, angling away from them. They amble right past me, their eyes roving and alert. They notice me, assess me, and keep moving. I can’t let myself watch them—they’ll feel it. As soon as they’ve passed, I tuck my phone away and head back for the store, doing my damndest to appear unworried and unhurried.
Naomi is visibly worried when I arrive. “Those men, were they…?”
I nod, keeping my voice low, even though the proprietor is busily writing the invoice out by hand and not paying us any attention. “Routine patrol. Malik lives here, eats here, and shops here, so he makes sure it’s safe.”
She frowns thoughtfully. “Oh. That’s…”
“Prudent. Honestly, this is probably one of the safest places you could live, as long as you don’t mind being neighbors with a crime lord.”
“But there’s no crime here?”
“He’s a firm believer in the phrase ‘don’t shit where you eat,’” I say. “Nothing happens here. He has meetings on his farm, but nothing gets moved through this area. Not even petty criminals dare operate in this area. Most folks leave their doors unlocked. Kids run around the neighborhoods after dark unsupervised like it’s 1986 all over again.” I shrug. “He’s a syndicate boss with a very strict sense of right and wrong, in a fucked-up kind of way.”
“Did they see you?”
“In passing. They didn’t recognize me, obviously, or I wouldn’t be standing here.” I move to the counter and pay for the jewelry. The shopkeeper’s eyes widen at the stack of hundreds I hand him, but I also notice that he slips the cash into the breast pocket of his button-down under his plaid sweater vest and then rips up the invoice—this isn’t his first rodeo.
We head back out into the warmth and the sun, walking hand in hand. I spy the patrol on the other side of the street and make a point of showing Naomi something in a window until they’re out of sight. It’s still early afternoon, which means we have time to kill; the local cinema is playing a romantic comedy.
“Ever see a movie in a theater?” I ask, knowing the answer.
She shakes her head with a sarcastic little laugh. “I’ve never even had a television, Silas.”
I grin. “Well, come on, then.”
I pay for tickets for the next showing, which, conveniently, starts in less than twenty minutes. I buy a large popcorn, a box of peanut M&Ms, and a large cola, and then we find seats in the dark, mostly empty theater. She looks around, wide-eyed and full of wonder and excitement.
God, she was deprived of even the simplest of pleasures, like seeing a movie in a theater.
The only other people in the theater are a young couple, teenagers playing hooky, I think. They’re up in the back, and I have a feeling I know what they’ll be up to during the movie…and it won’t be watching the film. I have the same thought, but I’m not a horny, impatient teenager: I’d rather wait till we’re alone and in private to do the things I want to do to her—withher.
The pleasure she derives from the movie-going experience is a joy to behold—she devours the popcorn, crunches on the peanuts, slurps the soda, watches the movie with wide eyes and uninhibited belly laughs, and cries at the end when the hero and heroine finally overcome the drama and confess their undying love for each other.
By the time the lights come up, it’s late afternoon. There’s a three-mile hiking path in the woods not far from here, a wood-chipped, manicured loop with frequent benches, and we drive there. I park in the dirt lot and we enter the path. Underneath the canopy of the mature, old-growth forest, it’s shaded and cool, and the slow, constant breeze rustles the leaves in a calming susurrus. We tangle our fingers and stroll along the path,
It’s easy to almost forget what waits for us beyond the forest—here, we can just enjoy the peace and quiet, and each other’s presence. We stop about halfway around the loop and sit on a bench, watching the setting sun dapple the leaves golden-red and paint the forest floor in long spears of light, the cool air redolent with forest smell and awash with the chatter of squirrels and the conversation of birds.
She rests her head on my shoulder, and we just sit together like that for a long time, until the light starts to fade and the cool in the air turns sharp. We finish hiking the loop and return to the parking lot and our SUV. I drive us to the B and B; our luck continues: they have one room left, the honeymoon suite. I pay cash for two nights, leaving a fake name, a shortstop for the Boston Red Socks from the seventies. I bring all of our gear up, including the duffels containing both weapons and cash as well as our personal belongings.
The room is beautiful: the house is a big, sprawling Victorian, and the decor is period-correct. Shiplap and wainscoting and toile wallpaper, sepia-tone portraits of town founders and the town throughout the decades, and a white-washed wrought iron bed frame with a hand-made quilt. The bathroom features a deep clawfoot soaking tub and a glass shower with a rainfall head. There’s a large cabinet opposite the bed, containing a TV and cable receiver, along with the standard laminated card listing channels.
Once we’re settled, Naomi and I lay on the bed together, side by side, holding hands, and just breathing in the silence.
After a few minutes, she rolls to face me. “Silas, I just wanted to say thank you.”
I roll to face her. “For what?”
She touches her ear, her breastbone. “For these.” She licks her lips, searching me with her eyes—they’re stormcloud gray again. “And just…for today. It’s been the best day of my life. This cute little town, shopping, hiking. Everything. I know…I know we’re here for a serious reason, but I…it’s just been so fun. And I’m grateful.”
“It’s been the best day of my life too, honestly,” I tell her.
Her tongue flits across her lips again—a brief warning before she drifts closer and brings her mouth to mine. Her mouth is so warm, so soft, so wet and welcoming. Her tongue is nimble and eager, searching my mouth, tasting me, questing, taking.
I can’t help but kiss her back, but I resolve to let her dictate the pace.