Chapter 15: The Spare Room

Eli's POV

At one in the morning I found Hallie in my kitchen with the light off.

She sat at the table in my old flannel shirt, with a hospital pump bag in front of her.

A small bottle on the counter held almost an ounce.

"For June," she said, when she saw me looking. "The nurse says every drop counts."

"I'll bring it up first thing."

"You don't have to."

"I know I don't."

I got two mugs down and put the kettle on, because it gave my hands a job.

Whitney was asleep on the couch under a plow-crew blanket.

Rhonda had taken the armchair and was texting somebody in Denver in a rage.

I sat across from Hallie, and the kettle ticked.

I'd been alone in this house for four years.

I liked having her in the room more than I had any right to.

The stove clock said ten past one.

The deputy was due at seven, and this was the first place he wouldn't look.

I had checked the road twice since midnight, and Hallie hadn't said the word "order" once.

"Are you going to talk about seven o'clock?" I said.

"Not tonight." She turned the mug a quarter turn. "If I talk about it, I'll start running again, and I'm too sore to run."

"Then we don't." I let the kettle tick a while. "You haven't said much since the fire hall."

"You haven't either."

"I don't, usually."

"I noticed." She almost smiled. "It's a nice change."

I had spent a lot of my life believing that a quiet woman was a safe one.

My ex-wife stayed quiet for eleven years, and I took it for peace.

Then one morning the closets were empty.

"What did your husband do," I said, "when you went quiet?"

"Ex-husband soon. And he took it as yes."

"I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to answer the way you would if I were a stranger."