Page 65 of Perilous Healing

“I guess not.”

Silas smiles. “Tell me about your mother.”

“What? Why?”

“When we were in the jungle, I talked about my family. My parents, sister—but you never said anything about yours. Now, I get why you never mentioned your father or uncle, but what about your mother? Do you have any siblings?”

As it always does, the mere thought of my mother brings a heavy wave of grief over me. But this time, now that I’ve found peace through God, the weight is a bit less, and I catch myself smiling softly.

“She made the best pancakes in the world. We had a woman who cooked for us, but every Saturday morning, my mother would make pancakes, bacon, and eggs.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a pancake right now,” Silas jokes.

“I know.” I laugh. “My stomach is growling just talking about it. I’d wake up to the scent of breakfast cooking, and come rushing down the stairs. No matter how old I got, it was the best part of my week. Saturday mornings with my mom. That and the crunchy peanut butter I’d smear all over my pancakes.”

“Crunchy peanut butter?” he asks, making a disgusted face that has me laughing.

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Williamson. When we get out of here, I’m taking you to the diner and you’re going to try it.”

He grins. “It’s a date.”

My heart leaps in my chest. Have things truly shifted this drastically between us? Or is the change just because we once again find ourselves only able to rely on each other?

“Do you look like her?” he asks suddenly.

“I think so?” I say. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. She was always so beautiful and feminine. There was a softness about her, even though I knew she could be tough as nails when she needed to be.”

“It sounds like you’re just like her.”

Butterflies fill my stomach at his compliment, and I no longer feel like a girl in the midst of a nightmare, but rather a foolish teen with her first crush.

Silas Williamson does that to me.

“She was a good person. I struggled though, for a long time after her death. Trying to understand why she would marry a man like Lucian.”

“People make mistakes.”

“That they do,” I reply. “But that seemed like such a large one.”

“Maybe she didn’t know who he was.”

“I think she knew parts of it,” I admit. “I think on some level, she believed she could fix him. When I was younger, she’d push for us to go on these vacations. No guards, no phones, no communication with anyone outside of our family. I think she was trying to get him to see what life could be like if he left everything else behind.”

“There’s another thing you two have in common.”

“What’s that?” I ask, turning to look at him again, only this time I find him watching me. The intensity of his gaze, even in the dim light of this prison, knocks the breath from my lungs.

“You both think you can fix everyone. Her with him, you with me.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Silas.”

“No?”

“You’re not broken. You think you are, and perhaps pieces of you are chipped, but you’re still the best man I know. Strong, courageous, kind…willing to sacrifice everything for the innocent.”

He looks away from me. “You don’t know the anger I carry, Bianca. The weight of it all.”

“Then tell me about it.” This is the most open he’s ever been with me, and I’m almost afraid to respond. Whether it’s fear that we won’t survive this or loneliness driving him to open up, I don’t care. The why doesn’t matter. Just that he is.

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