I didn’t notice when the anxiety-laden tableau between Ben and Cormac broke. I heard a noise, and turned to see Cormac getting up, going over to put a fresh log in the stove. Ben bowed his head and stared at the floor.
“Food’s ready.”
Cormac wandered back to the kitchen table and accepted a plate. The eggs had come out scrambled rather than over easy. I didn’t much care. I wanted one of them to say something.
He smiled a thin, strained thanks. That was all.
“Ben?” Carefully, I prompted him.
He shook his head. “I can’t eat. I hardly ate yesterday and I still feel like I’m going to throw up.”
“Yeah. It’s usually like that. You get used to it.”
He glared at me, his lips almost curling into a snarl. “How? How do you get used to this?”
“You just do,” I snapped back at him.
He started tapping his foot, a rapid, nervous patter.
So that was breakfast.
I don’t know how I managed it, but I was thinking ahead today. I grabbed a change of clothes. I wanted to set up a den for tonight, a place to wake up in the morning.
I paused next to Ben, still camped on the kitchen chair, tense as a wire and frowning.
“I’m going to take a walk. You want to come with me?” I asked softly.
“Is that an order?” He spat the words. He was already in pain. He was already having to hold it in. I’d forgotten what it was like when it was all new; I’d had four years of practice holding it in, learning to ignore it. Getting used to it.
I wanted to grab his collar and shake him—growl at him. I grit my teeth and held my temper. “No. I just thought you might like to take a walk. Do you have a change of clothes I could take? Sweatpants and a T-shirt or something.”
He looked at me, eyes narrowed, as he considered this—and then realized what I was really going to do on my walk. He grimaced, like he was holding back a scream, or a sob. I had a sudden urge to hug him, but I didn’t. If I even tried to touch him, he might hit the ceiling, he was so tightly wound. That was what I’d have done.
Then, without a word he pulled out a duffel bag from next to the sofa, rummaged in it for a moment, and found the clothes.
I was at the front door when Cormac said, “If you’re looking for company—”
“Actually, no offense, but I don’t want you to know where I’m going. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow morning staring down one of your guns.”
“You think I’d shoot you in your sleep? Either one of you?” he said angrily. Clearly, I’d offended him.
I wanted to scream. I looked away. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
“If I really wanted to do that, I’d track you. You know I could.”
I left.
I was torn between wanting to hurry back in case Ben decided to do something rash while I was gone, and taking my time to avoid the situation at the house. I found my usual den and stashed the stuff. Then I sat there for a long time, tucked in the hollow, reveling in the peaceful scent of it. It smelled like me, like fur and warmth, and it felt safe. I wondered what it would feel like with two people in it.
Then I was ashamed to realize I was looking forward to finding out. I was looking forward to having a friend along for the run tonight.
God, I’d be lucky if either Ben or Cormac were still friends after tonight. I laced my fingers in my hair and made fists, as if trying to pull the craziness out of my head. Ben was going through hell; I was not going to look on it as a good thing.
I must have stayed there an hour before I decided to wander back to the house. I dreaded what I’d find when I got there. So help me God if Cormac was cleaning his guns—
He wasn’t. He was in the kitchen reading my copy of
Walden.