Page 21 of Double Exposure

“Stew?” I say.

I gently guide her to the table and wipe down the third rickety chair before she sits.

“Thank you,” she says suddenly.

“It was filthy.” I toss the rag in the sink.

“No. I mean. For this. For saving me.”

The waver in her voice makes me stop and look at her.

She just stands there by the chair, as if giving up. Her shoulders sag and the wrap slips slightly, revealing collar bones. “For doing this. For doing all this. And then your brother—out there—I—can’t—"

Without thinking, I step forward and wrap both arms around her.

There’s no resistance. She melts against me, her body molding to mine. I bury my nose in her hair. It’ soft, silky, and smells of ice and roses.

The wrap slides to the floor. Her body trembles, but not from the cold. There are no goosebumps on her arms. She sighs, swallows, pushes her hair away from her face and leans against my embrace.

But when I start to release her, she leans into me again. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.”

“This is just so surreal.” Now she does push away. I drop my arms. “What time is it?” she asks again. She’s still disoriented.

I dump the entire contents of the can into a clean mug and get her settled in the chair.

It takes a few bites before her hunger registers and she eats quickly. Watching her, I slowly formulate a plan. “No one needs to know what's going on. We can keep it under wraps. At least for a day or two.”

She glances up mid-bite. “Really?”

“Really.” Brock won’t like this. Tough. “Let us help you.”

΅

After she’s eaten most of the stew in the tin, she hands it to me. When I clean out what’s left in two bites, she looks at me in horror.

“Did I eat all that? You should have said something.”

Pointing to the sink for a moment I confess, “I had beans. And there’s these.” I hold up two protein bars.

The blanket begins to fall once more and she says something I can’t make out. Her speech is slurring again. But this time it's not from being injured or hypothermic. I think it's because she’s legitimately sleepy with a full stomach.

“I think I havetogotosleep,” she mumbles and tries to stand. I catch her forearm so she doesn’t topple over and help her back to the mattress. Other than a slight limp, she seems so much better.

“Just go to sleep,” I say as she stretches back under the blankets. I’m sure it smells bad but she doesn’t complain.

“Tell me a story,” she says. “What's your favoritestory?

“I don't know. I don't think I have a favorite story.”

She throws her arms on top of the blankets. “Everyone's got a favorite story,” she says. “Everyone,” she says again, her voice almost a whisper. Her eyes close.

Her body is slight and barely raises the blankets. The fire pops as a log settles. Clumsily, she raises her hands to her forehead. “My jaw isso sore,” she says.

“It’s from clenching, and those chattering teeth,” I say. Now that I’m done tucking her in again, I shift, sitting on the floor by her head. I press fingers to either side of her temples.

“What’re doing?”