Page 92 of Out of the Cold

“I think I will, thanks.”

No smile or invitation to join him. He disappeared into the spare bedroom where he kept his things, reappearing with a towel at his hips and passing silently through to the bathroom.

She set the table and poured them each a glass of wine. When she heard the water stop, she took the dish out of the oven and set it on the table.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, coming into the kitchen in cords and a flannel.

“It’s fine.”

He sat across from her and downed his wine in one swallow. They loaded their plates with food. Only the night before she’d raved about the same meal, but now she could barely swallow it.

“This is even better today,” she said, desperate for something to break the silence.

His expression didn’t change. “It’s not hard to make.”

She’d seen Gabriel cranky and obnoxious, sorrowful and vulnerable, happy and generous. She’d never seen him like this—utterly blank.

“What’s happening?” she asked. “Why are you disappearing on me?”

Now he did look at her, but his eyes were the eyes of a stranger. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You have to. You’re acting like a different person. Come back to me, Gabriel. We can get through this.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Anything but the way you’re looking at me right now. It’s like you’re not even there.”

He pushed his chair back and stood up. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, panicked.

“Whatever it is you want from me right now, I can’t do it.”

Okay. He needed his own space. That wasn’t so surprising, was it?

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push.” Tears stung her eyes and clogged her throat, but she fought them off. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’m sure we’ll both feel better after a good night’s sleep.”

“I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let things get this far.” He turned and disappeared down the hall, coming back with his duffel bag.

She stood. “Gabriel, wait. We—”

He turned and looked at her, his eyes flat. “I’m sorry.” He opened the door and walked through, closing it quietly behind him.

***

Gabriel walked intohis cabin and looked around, disoriented. His laptop was still open, waiting for him to finish an email to all the store managers, and his printer was still humming.

Nothing seemed real, and even his thoughts were somehow distant. He recognized the sensation from the first days after Ricky’s death. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

He’d sat across from her at dinner, but he may as well have been miles away, watching her through a telescope. He saw himself tell her it was over and walk out of the cabin, but he couldn’t feel anything but a numb sort of regret and relief.

He’d hurt her. He knew that, but maybe one day she’d understand. She was smart. She’d realize soon enough that she’d dodged a bullet.

Sitting down at his desk, he finished his email and sent it off, then worked for hours more, shutting out everything but what was right in front of him.

Eyes watering with fatigue sometime after midnight, he stoked the fire and changed, then climbed into bed. A bed he hadn’t slept in for more than two weeks. Her book was still on his nightstand. He picked it up and looked at her picture on the back. The photographer had caught her natural smile, pleased and shy at once.

A smile he’d probably never see again.

---