“Want to get some water, and I’ll drive you back to it? I’m sure I can take care of a little radiator trouble.”
“Oh!” Her eyes go wide, and her feet begin to shuffle.
That’s right, baby, I’m not buying your shit.
“You don’t have to do that.” She reaches up and fiddles with the poof made by the hair band at the top of her head. “Maybe I could just use your phone? My cell can’t get any reception, and I think it’s dead now anyway.”
“I don’t have one,” I reply.
“Oh.” Her eyes drop back to the ground.
I keep looking at her, but she won’t meet my gaze. I debate calling her out on it directly or letting her dig herself deeper. It doesn’t really matter one way or another, so the decision is based completely on my own desire to see what she says.
“You want to tell me the real reason you’re wandering around out here?”
Her teeth take that moment to bite right into her lip again, and I wonder if she’s going to make herself bleed.
“That obvious, huh?”
“Pretty much.”
“My mom always said not to join any secret societies because I was the worst liar in the world.”
I don’t reply because there’s no reason to respond to that. I just wait and watch. She’s looking at the ground and seems to have become suddenly lost in her own mind, likely in nostalgia about her mom or some other aspect of her childhood. When she doesn’t say anything after a minute, I switch the rifle from one arm to the other and her eyes widen.
At least I have her attention again.
“I had a bit of an…an argument…with my driver,” she finally mumbles. “I was dropped off in the middle of nowhere.”
It’s the truth, but not all of it. I figure it’s all I’m going to get, and since I really don’t care, I decide to move on from this conversation.
“Want some water?” I ask. I move the rifle up to my shoulder, pointing the end at the sky.
“Yes, please.” Her relief is obvious, but she is also understandably cautious in her movements. She follows me tentatively to the door and stands just outside of it. Odin sniffs around at her feet, and she pats his head. He seems undecided about her, likely reflecting my own feelings.
“It’s not particularly cold,” I tell her as I pull a bottle out of what would be a refrigerator if it was turned on, “but it is wet.”
“That’s perfect, really,” she says.
I walk near the door and hold the bottle of water just out of her reach. I’m curious about how she will respond. Will she step inside the spider’s parlor to get the water she needs to survive? Or will her own fears and paranoia make her stay on the rickety porch and refuse to take the risk?
It takes her several seconds until she realizes I’m not going to move, and she slowly takes two steps forward. Our fingers brush against each other’s as she takes the bottle from my hand. There’s a tinge of red on the tops of her cheeks which wasn’t there before. She’s embarrassed, but about what? Is it because she’s taking water from a stranger or because she’s admitting to needing help?
Or maybe it’s because our fingers touched and she realizes she’s alone with some guy she doesn’t know.
I want to laugh at the idea, but I manage to contain myself.
“Thank you,” she says and then clears her throat. She twists open the bottle and tips it up to her lips. She starts to drink way too quickly, and I immediately grab it from her, causing her to startle.
“Not so fast,” I say, “or you’ll make yourself sick. Sip it.”
I place the bottle back in her hand, and she nods slowly at me. She takes a small sip, pauses, and then takes another. I return her nod, convinced she isn’t going to make herself puke on my floor now.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Evan,” I tell her.
“I’m Lia,” she says with a smile. I’m not sure if it is due to her continued nervousness or if she really just wants to be polite. I watch her closely but don’t respond. “Um…Lia Antonio.”