Page 46 of Roses Are Dead
Right now? A two. But that was unfair. He’d done nothing so far to deserve to be lumped so closely with Carl. “A four. You pulled a gun on me, and a knife.”
“And if I hadn’t done that?”
“A seven, maybe?” Maybe an eleven?
He smiled. “Good. That’s what I needed to know.”
With that, he pulled the plates down and arranged two settings. I took the side seat, knowing he’d want the short end of the table. It was all cordial and polite, and yet I wanted to scream. Rail on Bear for the unjustness of this situation. I wanted to cry, too. And the more I stewed on that, the greater the urge got. I barely finished my eggs and half a piece of toast before I couldn’t stand it anymore. I got up and began washing dishes so I wouldn’t have to think.
“You gonna eat your sausage?”
I should, but the thought of food made my stomach queasy. “No.”
A scrape of fork on plate and the rustle of his clothes answered me.
He chewed loudly.
Carl never did that. Carl barely made a sound. At least I knew where Bear was. That was comforting, I told myself.
Even when he finished and brought the plates to me, I heard him.
He stood next to me, handing off the plates and drying the clean dishes before putting them back where they belonged.
A minute into it, he grabbed my arm. I almost dropped the glass I had in my hand.
“What happened here?” He had twisted my arm to reveal the long black, purple, and green bruise from the broom handle.
“What do you think?”
He stared at it, not letting go. In fact, his grip got tighter. Not horribly so, but enough that I didn’t dare move.
“He’s a dead man.”
“No.”
Bear forcefully inhaled and prepared to berate me for my disobedience.
“You can’t go around killing people. It’s wrong. And for the one month I’m here, can you just forgive?”
His jaw went to the side. “Forgiveness is a Christian thing. I don’t have that word in my vocabulary.”
But he let go of my arm and pulled the glass out of my hand to dry it. I studied him. Such a contradiction. A warrior, built for domination. Yet, domestic chores were not beneath him. He didn’t have to prove himself because he truly walked the walk and talked the talk. It was refreshing.
“I wanted to consecrate some of the things you bought for me yesterday.”
“When we get back. It will be late. You can do that by moonlight, right?”
“Do I have to come along?”
“Yup.”
No explanation, no clues, no politeness. I downgraded my estimation of him. “I don’t get a say on it?”
“Nope.” His lips pressed together, almost hidden by his beard. If I didn’t know better, he was trying not to laugh.
At me.
“Where are we going?”
