Page 64 of Beckett
We ate in relative quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds our silverware against plates and Jet’s hopeful whines from where he’d stationed himself between our chairs. The food was perfect—the steak exactly how I liked it, the potato loaded with butter and sour cream, the green beans crisp with just enough garlic.
But Audra barely touched hers. She cut tiny pieces, moved them around her plate, took small bites that she chewed forever. Classic anxiety behavior. I’d seen it in enough soldiers before missions that went sideways.
“Todd was right. It’s really good,” I said, trying to ease whatever was eating at her.
“Thanks.” She pushed a green bean across her plate and looked out the window again. “I’m glad you like it.”
Jet shifted, pressing against her leg. Dogs knew things. Sensed changes in energy, in emotion. Right now, he was practically vibrating with the need to comfort her.
“You sure everything’s okay?” I tried again. “You seem…”
“I’m fine.” The words came out sharper than she probably intended. She softened them with another smile. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”
Lies. All of it lies. But pushing would only make her retreat further, so I focused on my food and tried to ignore the alarm bells going off in my head.
She stood abruptly when we finished, gathering plates before I could help. “There’s cake.”
“Cake?”
“You know, birthday. Chocolate. Three layers.” She carried our plates to the sink, movements almost frantic. “Coop said you had a sweet tooth.”
“Coop says a lot of things. But in this case, he’s right. I do love cake.”
She pulled the cake from the counter where it had been hidden behind the coffeemaker. It was beautiful—dark chocolate, perfectly frosted, looking like something from a bakery window rather than the barely functional kitchen.
“You made this?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“Don’t sound so shocked.” For the first time tonight, her smile seemed genuine. “I used to bake all the time. For Todd, for neighbors, for colleagues. Birthdays, holidays, or just because someone looked like they needed cake.”
She cut generous slices, and I had to admit, it was perfect. Rich, moist, with just enough frosting. The kind of cake that made you remember birthdays when they still meant something good.
“This is incredible.” I meant it.
“Good.” She picked at her own slice, breaking off tiny pieces but not really eating. “You deserve something good on your birthday.”
That word again—deserve. Still something I was trying to work through.
“Thank you,” I said, because what else was there? “For all of this. You didn’t have to?—”
“I wanted to.” She pushed her slice around the plate with her fork, then set it down carefully. “You’ve been so good to me. To Jet. This was the least I could do.”
The words hung between us, heavy with something I couldn’t name. She stood slowly, started gathering the dessert plates even though we weren’t finished.
“You don’t have to clean up now,” I said. “Sit. Finish your cake.”
“I’m not really hungry.” She carried the plates to the sink, movements getting faster, more agitated. “Actually, I’m not feeling great. I think I should probably head back to the cabin.”
“What? Why?” I was on my feet too, instinct kicking in. “Stay. Have some more cake. We could?—”
“I’m not feeling well.” She wouldn’t look at me, already moving toward the door. “Just…probably coming down with something.”
Jet whined, following her, pressing against her legs as if he could keep her here through sheer will.
“Audra, talk to me.” I moved to block her path to the door, not aggressively, just enough to make her stop. “Whatever happened today?—”
“Nothing happened.” Her voice cracked on the lie as she looked out the window again like she might jump through it. “I just need to go back to the cabin. Get some rest.”
She was shaking now, fine tremors running through her whole body. Jet pressed harder against her, his whine escalating to something close to a keen.
