Page 60 of Running to You

He stirred the soup, ignoring her. She was about to demand answers when he set the spoon down and faced her. “I can’t tell you because I don’t really know. I mean, I know what happened, but I don’t know why it led to you leaving me. Disappearing for five years. You never even let me…” He swallowed hard. “You need to remember so you can tell me.”

“How can you not know?”

He held her gaze but said nothing else.

“I don’t understand. Are you saying I just left. I didn’t talk to you?”

“I’m saying you didn’t explain.”

“Why would I do that?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you.”

No. That didn’t make sense. What could he have done that would cause her to walk away? How could she ever have walked away from him?

He found bowls and spoons.

She turned to the fridge and grabbed the small container of sour cream and the shredded cheddar, then opened a bag of tortilla chips.

Apparently, they were going to eat dinner and spend the evening together, all while pretending there wasn’t a giant question between them.

Maybe he could do that. She couldn’t.

He grabbed a ladle and handed it to her. “Ladies first.”

She spooned soup into her bowl, then added a sprinkling of cheddar. “Maybe you could… Like you did before, with the questions you asked. Can you think of another way to approach what happened? Help me remember?”

“No.” He was following her, though he’d taken twice as much soup and piled it high with cheese and sour cream. “Kitchen or living room?”

It was still so chilly. “By the fire, I think.”

He tucked two bottles of water under his arm, snatched the bag of chips, and headed that way. She followed with her own bowl and sat in front of the fire on the inviting area rug. It was as soft and cozy as she’d guessed it would be.

As soon as she settled, he said, “Thanks for the food, God. Please bless it.” And then he dug in. Not exactly the eloquent prayer he’d offered at other meals.

“I don’t believe you,” she said, picking up the conversation he’d probably hoped to end. “You could help me remember if you wanted to.”

“Let me expand my answer.” He opened both bottles of water and took a long drink from his. “Yes, I could help. No, I won’t.”

Frustration had her voice rising. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to remember. Because when you do, you’ll leave me again.”

Her breath caught, but he hurried on.

“You’re in danger, and I’m trying to keep you alive. Until we figure out what’s going on, we need to stay together.”

“And then what?”

His mouth opened. But rather than speak, he filled it with a spoonful of soup.

But, by the stubborn set of his shoulders, the hard look on his face, he wasn’t going to answer her question. Or budge on his decision.

Maybe it was the anger she felt wafting from him, as tangible as the heat from the fireplace, that brought back the niggling. She closed her eyes, leaned into it.

Saw a man in a kitchen. A man standing at the edge, crossed arms, a scowl on his face. Fear rose in her throat, scratchy like acid, as she hurried to get food on the table.

People waited for her. Adults and children. No faces. Just tension, thick and bitter.