9
By the time Evie and Alex carried Frank to the kitchen door, he could stand again and pulled away from them.
“It’s just a pain I get sometimes.” His mouth was locked in a grimace, his voice harsh.
“How often is sometimes? How long has this been happening?” Evie demanded.
“Never mind.”
“Dad—” Over and over again, Evie made the word a plea. Tell me what’s happening, tell me what’s wrong, I don’t understand.
“I just need to rest.”
He kept saying that.
Alex let him go as they entered the kitchen, but Evie clung to his arm. She trailed beside him, helpless.
Finally, in the living room, her father stopped and took hold of her shoulders. “Evie. I’m going to go to my room, take some painkillers, and lie down. I’ll call you if I need anything.”
She didn’t believe him. His voice never sounded like that, on the edge of breaking, harsh with stifled emotion. He would suffer in silence until he curled up and disappeared into the pain.
“Promise?” she said, her voice small.
Nodding, he gav
e her arms a final squeeze. He let go, went into his room, limping, and closed the door.
“I should help him,” she murmured. “I don’t know how to help him.”
“I’ll leave,” Alex said softly, and turned.
“No.” She winced and looked away, floundering for words, wondering what she was doing. “I mean, you don’t have to. Do you have a place to stay? Mr. Alvarez said you weren’t at the motel.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been here and there. I’ll find a place. I always do. But if you think you could use a friend just now . . .”
If she asked him to stay and he did, she might find out more about him, she rationalized. Once again she asked herself, If the sword was Excalibur, and the woman was Hera . . . who was he?
“I could use the company.” That sounded a little more honest.
“All right.”
They stared at each other across the living room for a moment. Evie, tense and shaken, rubbed her hands and tried to keep her shoulders from bunching. Mab had settled down between the bedroom doors, lying with her head resting on her paws, looking dejected.
“You hungry?” Evie said abruptly, making a dash for the kitchen. “I’ll make sandwiches.”
“Can I help?”
“No, just sit down, make yourself at home.”
She got as far as getting the bread out when her mobile phone rang. She ran to the living room, grabbed the phone off the coffee table, glanced apologetically at Alex, and answered the phone as she returned to the kitchen.
“Hi, Bruce.”
“Have you had a chance to watch the news yet, or should I just tell you how world politics are fucking with our storyline?”
She didn’t mean for her sigh to sound as forlorn as it probably did. “Things have been a little crazy here. I still haven’t seen the news.”
Bruce waited a second before asking, “How’s your dad?”