“He's a guard dog. Trained to obey his human no matter what."
We make it halfway around the complex before Bear speaks again.
"You really wanna know?"
I can't help myself—I slip my hand into his and press into his side. "I do. But only if you want to tell me. I'll still be your friend if you don't."
He peers down at me. "My…friend?"
I smile. "Yup. Friend. Ever have one of those?" I tease, poking his side; it's like poking a brick wall.
"Sort of." A thoughtful pause. "Well, yes. Matt, my cellmate. But that's a little different than normal friendship."
"I have so many questions, Bear.Somany."
He lets one corner of his mouth curve up a little, in the closest thing to a smile I've ever seen on him. "So many, huh?"
"Like, at least sixty-seven."
A snort. "That's a lot."
"I mean, yeah. You're sort of enigmatic."
"Enigmatic?"
I'm tempted to tell him what it means, but I don't want to assume he doesn’t know. Just because he’s a huge guy who’s been to prison doesn’t mean he’s stupid or uneducated.
"Very." I'm still holding onto his hand, and it's just so easy to walk with him, hand in hand, like we've done it forever.
Every so often, he twitches his hand, tightening and loosening, and looks down at our joined hands.
When he does it again, I glance up at him. "Why do you do that? Just curious."
"Do what?"
"Squeeze my hand. Look at our hands."
"Oh." He shrugs. "Make sure I'm not holding too tight. Don't wanna hurt your little hand."
I feign indignance. "My hand is not small."
He snorts and holds his palm up; I fit mine up against his, the bottoms of our palms lined up. He can curl his fingers over mine almost double. "Tiny." He glances at me as we join hands and continue walking. "I also just…." He trails off. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
"What? Tell me, please."
He hesitates a moment or two and then sighs. “You, holding my hand. Gotta remind myself it's real."
My heart burns at this. "Bear…why wouldn't it be real?"
He shakes his head. "Hard to explain."
"Try me?"
A long pause. “Easier to tell you why I went to prison."
"You don't have to tell me anything," I say. "But I'd like to know everything."
"Grew up…rough," he says, after a moment of thought. "Dad died before I was born. Mom couldn't handle taking care of me, I guess, so she turned me over to the state."
