“You deserve so much more than I’m doing. More than I’m capable of giving you. You’re not selfish, and you’re not a coward.” He leans forward to check his blind spot before changing lanes. “What you did, escaping that fucking monster of a father of yours? That took more courage than anyone has a right to possess.”
“I couldn’t take any more,” I whisper, my voice so quiet I barely hear myself. “He was going to kill me, I think. At some point, he was going to go too far. Or Jerry would have. And I…I don’t want to die. And I just couldn’t take any more.” I blink hard, fight the throb of tears. “I wasn’t brave, I was desperate.”
“Braveanddesperate.” He glances at me. “I’m not being kind by helping you. I can’tnot.I shouldn’t—I may be putting you at worse risk, to be honest. If anyone’s selfish in this scenario, it’s me.” He brakes to a stop at a light; gas stations perch at opposite corners of the intersection, fast food restaurants at the others. Beyond the intersection is a dollar store on one side and a Walmart on the other.
“I don’t understand.” My fingers tingle, and I want so badly to touch some part of him; I don’t know why. “How are you putting me at risk?”
“The syndicate I worked for…it’s not the kind of thing you just quit. If they get their hands on me, I’m dead. Anyone I know is dead too, no matter how innocent.”
“Oh. I see.”
“I knew it was a risk, going to my parents’ funeral, but…I had to. And they saw me. And now they’re coming for me.”
“So is Papa.”
“Yeah.”
“You should leave me. I’ll…I’ll go back.” It’s physically painful to say it.
“The fuck you will.”
“Silas—”
“No,” he cuts in. “Fuck that.” He looks at me. “I made you a promise, and I’ll damn well keep it.”
He turns left into the Walmart and parks near the back.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
“Getting you shoes.” His eyes scan my clothing. “And a new outfit.”
“Why?” I wiggle my toes; shoes would be nice. “Why a new outfit, I mean?”
“You like that get up?” He flicks a hand at me.
I look down at my clothes: an ankle-length dress, khaki in color and material, rough and stiff and uncomfortable, ill-fitting and frankly unflattering; my top is thick white cotton, long-sleeved and high-necked. I’m always hot. My bra, which I don’t think he’s considering, is just as bad, being old, frayed, and sagging, with an underwire that constantly pokes me. My underwear is just as bad.
“They’re the only clothing I have,” I murmur.
He shrugs. “Well yeah, it’s not like you could very well pack like you were going on a little trip.”
I shake my head. “No—well, yes. But I mean…these are the only clothing I have.”
“Like, at all?” He pulls the keys from the ignition.
“Yes.”
“Your pops has connections. He’s not hurting for money. Your husband either.” It’s a statement.
“It’s to teach me resourcefulness. To care for what others have provided for me. I’m not worth wasting money on.” I whisper the words I’ve heard too many times, from Papa and Jerry both.
He hangs his head, growling. “Just when I think I’ve heard the worst, there’s something else.”
He exits the car and waits for me at the hood. I step out, wincing—the pavement is hot on my bare feet. He sees this immediately and scoops me up in his arms, carrying me like a bride across a threshold.
“I can walk, Silas,” I protest.
“Not on that pavement, you’re not.” He strides toward the entrance with easy, casual steps, carrying me without effort.
