Brody had nothing else to say. After he finished, he lay back down and covered himself with the blanket. I took the empty dishes to the kitchen, put them in the washer, and washed the pot I’d cooked the soup in. After that, I stared out the window into the darkness. Naturally, I saw nothing save my own reflection, my tense and set face.
Taking water and Brody’s medications to him, I watched him take them in silence, then set the glass on the table. He rolled onto his side, facing the couch’s back, the blanket up to his chin. I shut off the lights, then sat, the Glock in my lap, looking out the window.
The clock ticked as the seconds passed. Then the hours. A few cars drove past my house without stopping, but I couldn’t tell if any were black Lincolns. One by one, the neighbors’ lights went dark. A few porch lights stayed on, and would throughout the night.
No one tried to break in. Brody slept behind me, and I considered going to my own bed to get some sleep. Sometime after three, I did. I removed my jeans, but not my shirt, and lay down atop my bed spread. The Glock sat on my bedside table within my arm’s reach.
I didn’t fall asleep until the dawn’s pink rays peeked in my window.
***
“I can get my own clothes,” Brody protested as I blearily made us toast and oatmeal for breakfast. “I’m not an invalid.”
“You sure are. And I think you should stay out of sight.”
He sat at my kitchen table, not quite as gray as he had appeared, yet lines of pain were drawn around his mouth and nose. He ate with his awkward left hand, his bandaged right arm resting in his lap. “It’s just next door.”
“No reason for me to not do it for you.”
Eating with his face down, Brody only flicked his gaze at me for brief seconds before glancing aside. “I’ll be out of your hair today.”
“You’ll stay on that couch until I say you can go.”
“I’m not an infant,” he snapped, his honey eyes dark with anger. “I can take care of myself.”
“Sure you can,” I replied, sipping my much needed coffee. “And if Austin decides to take another knife to you, I’m sure you can beat the snot out of him. Or ratherthem.”
“Dammit.”
“You’re safer here,” I said softly. “Until you’re stronger, or we know what they’re up to. Maybe he’s finally convinced you don’t have his shit.”
“I’m causing you too many problems.” Brody dropped his spoon to the table and pushed his chair back, grimacing. “And you won’t let me do anything to return the favor.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” I told him. “So stop fussing about it.”
“You’re scared of someone.”
“Aren’t we all scared of somebody?”
My answer turned his expression mulish. If he’d had long ears, they’d be pinned back in his anger and annoyance. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s all you’ll get.”
Leaving him to fume, I left my house to walk to his. Not before, however, closely inspecting the neighborhood for cars that shouldn’t be there. All stood quiet in the mid-morning sunshine, folks avoiding the heat by staying inside with the air conditioning running.
Brody’s house was unlocked, the switchblade still on the rug. I picked it up, clicked it back into its housing, and stuck it into my pocket. After gathering some clothes for him, I found his keys and also put them in my pocket. I gave the house a quick look around for anything else he might need. I locked his door after me and went back to mine.
“This is my new toy,” I said, brandishing the knife. “It’s mine now.”
Brody slowly, carefully, dressed himself in jeans and a light shirt. His eyes had glassed over from the pain killer I’dinsisted he take as he inspected my prize. “It’s illegal to have one of those.”
“Fuck it. No one will know I have it.”
Sitting on the couch, Brody gingerly, wincing, grimacing, tugged the bandage from his cheek.
“I don’t think you should do that,” I commented.
“Don’t care. It’s bugging the shit outta me.”
