Page 40 of Closer Than You Think
“Only good things, I hope.” The words escape me in a laugh, light and airy, but the undercurrent of nervousness shows. This is Silas's inner sanctum, and Irma is a part of it. Her opinion matters.
“Only the best,” she assures me. She moves closer, and I notice how her presence seems to fill the room despite her petite frame. There's an aura of resilience about her, like the silver streaks in her hair are battle scars from a life well-lived.
“Can I help you with anything?” I ask, gesturing towards the array of vegetables spread across the countertop. I was just making myself a sandwich, but I’m happy to help with dinner.
“Gracias, but I'm here to keep you company while you cook.” Irma glides to the fridge and retrieves a pitcher of iced tea, pouring two glasses. “Silas might not admit it, but he is more worried about you than he lets on. Not just your safety, but your wellbeing.”
“Oh, well that’s very kind of both of you.” I resume my task, with renewed vigor, feeling Irma's eyes on me. It's not judgment I sense from her, but rather a quiet curiosity.
We fall into an easy silence, punctuated by the rhythmic sounds of the kitchen. Irma leans against the counter, sipping her tea, and watches me with wise brown eyes that seem to see right through to your soul.
“Silas . . . he's complicated,” I venture, my hands busy with preparing the salad. “But his world, it's different from mine.”
“Si, very different,” Irma agrees, nodding slowly. “But perhaps that is what he needs—someone like you to show him there's more to life than shadows and secrets.”
I glance up at her, struck by the soft conviction in her voice. There's no denying the bond between her and Silas; it's as tangible as the granite countertop beneath my fingers.
I wonder if she knows exactly what he does for a living, or if she merely suspects it’s darker than he lets on. Either way, she seems like a kind soul, and she’s obviously loyal to him. That has to count for something.
I slide the knife through the ripe flesh of a tomato, its juice beading on the cutting board. The tangy scent fills the air, grounding me as I turn towards Irma. Her presence is like a warm blanket, softening the edges of the sterile kitchen.
“Silas doesn't talk about his past much,” I say, my voice tinged with the frustration of trying to understand a man so shrouded in mystery.
Irma sets her tea cup down with a gentle clink, her eyes meeting mine. “He guards his heart fiercely, Hallie. But when he loves, he loves with an intensity that burns brighter than the fiercest fire.”
The way she speaks of him, it's as if she's painting a picture of Silas with her words, one that shows sides of him I've yet to see. I want to know those depths, to read every line and curve that makes up the man who has so unexpectedly claimed a part of my soul.
“Sometimes, I feel like I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” I confess, my hands pausing in their task. “Like I'm caught in this whirlwind and I can't find my footing.”
“Ah, mija,” Irma says, reaching for my hand. Her touch is comforting, grounding. “That whirlwind, it's not there to knock you off your feet. It's there because Silas brought you into his life. And he doesn't do that lightly.”
She's right; even I can see that Silas isn't a man who opens his doors, or his life, to just anyone. He moves through the world with deliberate steps, each one calculated and sure—except when it comes to me.
“Love is a strong word. We’re just getting to know each other. Maybe he’s just . . . ” I trail off, unable to finish the thought.
“He loves you,” she replies, squeezing my hand. “You're not just anything, Hallie. You are everything. To be loved by Silas is to be cherished, protected, adored. His love is not given freely, but when it is, it is total. He might not be able to admit it yet, but don’t doubt it.”
Her words wrap around me, steadying the tremor of uncertainty that lives in my chest. I want to believe her, to trust in this rare glimpse of hope she offers.
“Thank you, Irma,” I whisper, my gaze flickering to the door where I half-expect Silas to appear. “I just wish I knew what he was thinking.”
“Give him time,” she advises with a knowing smile. “He will show you, in his own way.”
With that, we return to our dance around the kitchen—chopping, stirring, tasting. Each movement feels a little lighter, a bit more certain. Irma's reassurance lingers, a silent promise hanging in the air between us.
The phone rings, a sharp intrusion that shatters the tranquility. I hesitate, not wanting to break away from this newfound serenity, but curiosity propels me forward. I wipe my hands on a dish towel and reach for the device, pressing it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Hallie, it's Alex Mercer.”
My heart stutters at the mention of his name. Alex has been like a dog with a bone over Teddy's death, but has seemingly gotten nowhere. “What is it now, Alex?” I try to keep the exasperation from my voice, but it seeps out anyway.
“Look, I'm sorry to bother you again, but there are a few things that just aren't adding up. I need your insight.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing against the frustration bubbling inside me. “Alex, I've told you everything I know. I can't help you with this.”
“Come on, Hallie. Anything could be crucial. You were close to him. You might not realize what you know.”
