I sit there for a while, trying to make sense of what happened today, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Aurora. I didn’t bother locking the bedroom when I left her there since I didn’t think she would have enough energy right now to run. If anything, I would be impressed if she managed to move quickly, limping like she is.
Her shuffling footsteps startle me out of my thoughts. I look up from the random spot on my desk I was staring at. My office door is wide open, and the light in the hall is on when Aurora appears and hesitantly enters my office.
Her voice is soft when she asks, “Is Maggie off today?”
I had forgotten. “I gave her the day off. But she left food for us in the refrigerator.” The room has gotten darker, now that she mentions it. The day has wound down while I sat here, wondering where shit went wrong and what would’ve happened if my reflexes were a second slower.
Standing, I pull in a sharp breath that makes her frown. “I’ll get it and bring it to you,” I insist, walking around the desk.
“I can heat something up,” she offers, turning away to walk back into the hall.
“You don’t need to be on your feet,” I say, following her.
Christ, we sound like a married couple arguing over who gets to take care of whom. Like my parents used to.
And here’s the daughter of the man who took them away. I shouldn’t think about that now. I’m trying to be decent. I don’t know whether that would be possible if I can’t keep my personal issues compartmentalized.
“I’m feeling better now. I just needed to lie down and process everything. I’m just hungry now, and I really do not want to lie in bed anymore.”
She makes it to the kitchen before I do and opens the refrigerator. “I guess we don’t really need to heat any of this up,” she announces before beginning to pull things out. “There’s a ton of grilled chicken and salmon, salad, bread, and cheese. Do you want a sandwich?”
“Sure. Let me help you.” I walk up to the counter and start opening containers.
For a while, the two of us work side-by-side in silence. What do I say to her? Is there anything I can say? Would she want to hear it? Should I keep my damn mouth shut? That does seem the easiest way to go. Maybe the smartest.
The more I think about it while piling protein, lettuce, and tomato on a roll, the bigger my curiosity grows. This stoicism of hers. Is it only an act? Her way of standing up for herself? Or does she mean it when she pretends not to care? Not about her father, not about her surroundings. Is she truly this disaffected? I was prepared for tantrums, threats. Days upon days of cold, calculated silence, however? Damn unnerving.
Especially when she hasn’t reacted yet to her close call. Unless she grew up dodging bullets on the daily, how did she handle it so well?
“How’s your head?” It’s as good an opening question as any, I decide while taking a seat across from her at the table. Hours ago, I gritted my teeth and willed myself to mask the pain while Dr. Baker dug around in there. Now we’re sitting down to eat here. Life moves fast.
She lifts a shoulder, digging into a salad. “It’s all right.” Her blonde locks are loose, concealing part of her face when she lowers her head. I wish she wouldn’t try to hide from me.
“What about your knees?”
“Sore. A little swollen. But not bad.” She looks up from her food—only a moment, the briefest eye contact before she retreats inside herself again.
Should I tell her the truth? It could be she deserves to know, but I’ll be damned if I have the first clue how to broach the topic.Remember how we left your father for dead? Surprise, he escaped somehow.It doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue. What would I gain from coming clean? Nothing but a briefly alleviated conscience.
For fuck’s sake, what am I thinking? If she knows he’s alive, she might make it her mission to contact him.
“Can I ask you a serious question?”
I get a brief glance once again before she shrugs. “Sure.”
“How do you feel about him being gone now? I understand you’re not wanting to show emotion or anything like that. I respect it, I do, because I had to train myself to turn off my feelings. They’re a weakness I can’t afford. Is it like that for you?”
For a long time, all she does is frown, moving greens and salmon around her plate. The silence lasts so long, I’m ready to give up before she surprises me by clearing her throat. “We were standing there today, next to the grave.” Her voice is small, far away. Not weak, exactly, but thin. “And I was thinking to myself... I should feel something. Even relief would be better than feeling nothing at all.”
“Was it shock?” I ask. I remember that all too well. The soul-numbing reality of being completely alone in the world.
She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s just nothing. I don’t feel anything, and I’m not really surprised. He wasn’t agood father.” She says it with all the casual certainty of someone looking up at the sky and declaring it cloudy.
He was a bad father.Tell me something I couldn’t already imagine.
“I know he kept you locked away from the world most of the time.”
She doesn’t bother asking how I know. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t the worst of it.”
