Page 43 of The Forest of Lost Souls

“Come sit down.”

“I’m good here.”

“Come sit and be yourself with me.”

“Who am I being already if not myself?”

“You’re playin’ a cold fish.”

“I am what I am.”

“Which isn’t that.”

“You’ll see.”

“Come sit down. Tell me about your day.”

“The soup is almost done.”

“It’s simmerin’. It won’t burn.”

“I don’t want . . .”

“I know what you don’t want. What you think you don’t want. What you pretend you don’t want. Come sit down.”

“I mean, I don’t want this to go wrong. The dinner. I don’t want you to be upset.”

“You don’t want me to be upset.”

“Yes.”

“That’s new for you, darlin’.”

“I mean angry. I don’t want you to be angry. I’m trying with this dinner. I really am. I’m trying to ... come to terms with what’s happened, what is. It isn’t easy.”

“It can be easy.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

He samples his wine. “What do you imagine I’m like when I’m very angry?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must have some thoughts on the subject.”

“Yeah, but I don’twantto think about it.” She drinks her faux cabernet.

“I was never angry with Tanya, my wife, just frustrated by the endless naggin’ about a baby. I don’t get very angry, darlin’. I just get done what needs done.”

She sets her wineglass on the counter. “I’ll serve the soup. You want to hear about my day, then I’ll tell you about it when we sit down to the soup.”

Two deep bowls stand on the counter, one nestled in the other. While Deacon watches her, she sets them side by side and ladles soup from the pot until both bowls are full. She takes his bowl to the table and then brings her own and sits.

“Your wine,” he says, because she left it by the cooktop.

“I’m dizzy. A little queasy.”

“What did I tell you?”

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