He liked the sometimes quirky but always analytical way her brain worked, her take on books they’d both read, current headlines, modern technology. As long as the discussion remained impersonal, he could enjoy their conversations, so different from any he’d ever had. He and his dad had never talked easily, and the friends he’d acquired by his late teens were interested in drugs, guns, girls and where to get money.
Today, she didn’t reappear immediately, so he started eating. He’d finished his sandwich before he figured out that she didn’t intend to join him. Had he done or said something wrong? Was she sick?
Thinking about it, he realized she’d been quiet this morning, her movements slower than usual and dark circles under her eyes. He’d lain awake and rigid for over an hour after hearing her drive away at two in the morning. Wherever she went, it wasn’t making her happy. This was the third time she’d gone out in the middle of the night since he’d moved into the apartment, and she always seemed withdrawn the next day. This was the first time she’d avoided him during their break, though.
He’d been hungry when he began eating, but he didn’t even open the sandwich bag filled with store-bought cookies he’d intended for dessert. His stomach was too knotted up.
Cole took what was left of his lunch back upstairs to the apartment, leaving it on the counter and using the john. She still hadn’t come out when he returned. Not my business, he told himself, and moved the extension ladder a few feet before grabbing the paint can and brush, and climbing up. Worried about Erin falling that far, he had insisted on painting the eaves.
He moved the ladder twice more without hearing a peep from her before his resolve broke. Cole wiped his hands on a rag and marched up onto the porch and rang the doorbell.
He waited, but heard nothing. His worry intensified. He hammered on the door, waited again. Finally, he reached for the knob, relieved to find she hadn’t locked up. He’d never imagined walking in uninvited, but that was what he did.
The quiet inside the house made it feel uninhabited, even a little eerie.
“Erin?” he called.
Still no response.
He took a few more steps, glancing into rooms that didn’t look used, and raised his voice. “Erin? Where are you?”
This time, he heard a mumbled sound from upstairs. He bounded up, sure she’d hurt herself. Knocked herself out?
Two doors in the hall stood open. The first was a bathroom. The second… He stopped, only peripherally aware of the old-fashioned wallpaper and heavy, dark furniture. His gaze had gone straight to Erin, who must have been lying on the still-made bed. Now she was sitting up, looking dazed.
“Cole?”
“Are you all right?”
She blinked owlishly. “I think I must have fallen asleep.”
So soundly she hadn’t heard the doorbell.
“Damn it!” Frustration and worry exploded from him. “You’ve been like the walking dead all morning! What’s that about?”
Something changed in her expression, and her eyes dilated. It was a minute before she said in an odd tone, “So it shows, huh?”
It shows? Real fear hit him then. Was she dying? Maybe of cancer, and she knew she didn’t have long? That might explain some of her behavior, not to mention her lack of appetite, and why she wasn’t afraid of him. Was the house some kind of final project?
He didn’t even realize he’d crossed the room until he was inches from her. Eyes boring into hers, he said, “Tell me.”
Her chin came up. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You’re baring your teeth.”
Crap. He was. Cole made himself take a couple of deep breaths, scrubbed the heels of his hands over his face and sat on the side of the bed without asking permission first. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You scared me.”
“What?” She swiveled on the bed to face him, sitting with her legs crossed. “Why?”
“I rang the bell and then pounded on the door. You must have slept right through both. I thought—” He broke off. “I don’t know, that you’d fallen and hit your head or something. And now you’re giving me this shit about being the walking dead?”