“Who said I was making anything for you? I’m hungry.”
But, of course, he was going to make food for her.
While she told him about Nanny’s comment about her dad’s tidiness and the photos of Judson’s childhood bedroom, he whipped up some paleo pancake batter with cinnamon and walnuts, then poured a circle of it into a sizzling skillet.
Sam asked a few questions. Mostly, though, he listened.
He handed her two pancakes stacked on a plate. They tasted the way she imagined the food served in heaven (accompanied by harp music) tasted. A sense of security melted into her as surely as the pat of butter melted into her topmost pancake.
Sam chewed a bite of pancake. “What’re you going to do?”
“Discuss it with Natasha tomorrow. Then settle on a plan of action.” She set down her fork and took a long drink of ice water. “It’s crazy, though, right? To see a connection between my dad’s action figures and Russell’s body? It sounds crazy when I say it out loud.”
“Doyouthink it’s crazy?”
“I wish I did.” She took her time swallowing her mouthful of pancake. “Something about it, though ... about Russell’s body arranged just that way... It seems like something my dad would do. He really is very tidy. Automatically so. It’s kind of his calling card.”
“It’s too early to jump to the conclusion that your dad had anything to do with Russell’s death.”
“Agreed.”
“Talking to your sister seems to me like the right play.”
She polished off her final bite, tasting the balance of cinnamon and nuts. “I think I’ll be able to sleep now.”
“Good. Want me to take you back to the guesthouse?”
“Are you referring to the cottage?”
His dimples warmed her cold corners. “I’m referring to my guesthouse.”
She suddenly felt utterly exhausted. “I’ll accept your offer to escort me there.”
“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He picked up one of her hands and kissed her palm. “But I will.”
Ben
Two days have passed since the earthquake.
Only three of us have watches, so I took mine off and laid it on the floor so that the two without watches can check the time whenever they want. I try not to check it. Every time I do, I’m upset by how slowly time’s passing.
I knotted my shirt into a circle and made a sling for the water pipe. I tilted the pipe up and hung the sling on a jagged piece of wall so that the water stays down in the pipe. The earthquake must have broken the pipe somewhere, because no new water is flowing from it. We have to dip the pipe a little lower each time to get water to pour into our mouths, so we’re trying to conserve.
“Let’s pray,” I suggest when we reach forty-eight hours after the earthquake.
Sebastian makes a rude noise and Luke looks away.
“Let’s do,” Genevieve says.
“Who’s going to do it?” I ask. I hate to pray out loud.
“Me,” Genevieve answers. I’m kind of surprised, because she’s the youngest one here.
She bows her head and prays the prettiest and most powerful prayer I’ve ever heard in my life. She’s saying all the things I want to say, the way I want to say them, and tears fill my eyes.
