Precious and Fragile Things (25 page)

The almost-laugh sobered her. “I need to warm up.”

“I heated some water for you.”

“What?” His statement was so unexpected, she blurted the question though she had heard him perfectly.

“It should still be hot,” Todd told her. He held up one hand
to show her a splash of red across it. “Burned myself just for you, so you better fucking enjoy it.”

Enjoy it? Gilly almost bent down and kissed Todd's feet for the kindness. “Thank you, thank you, oh, God. Thank you!”

She didn't need his help to make it to the bathroom, and once inside, even managed to slide out of her layers of clothes. Naked, she worked her fingers and toes and was relieved to see they looked all right.

Sliding into the hot water made her cry out, moan, whimper. In seconds her body adjusted to the temperature, and it became paradise. He'd filled the tub nearly to overflowing, a task that must've taken him nearly the same amount of time for her to make it around the cabin.

Gilly sank into the water, letting it heal her. No one would probably ever understand why she'd done it. She wasn't sure she understood, herself. But she had, and it was something she would never forget. Gilly grinned and sank beneath the water.

By all rights, when she got out she should have been stiff and sore. That would come later, maybe, when her muscles tightened as she slept. Now, though, she felt just fine. Relaxed. Even…content. Not with her situation, which she could be resigned to but not content with. Content with herself. It was a feeling she hadn't had in a long, long time.

“Todd?”

His answer came garbled and muffled. “Yeah?”

“Can you bring me something to wear?”

She heard him pound up the stairs and then down. The door creaked. His hand appeared with a pile of dry clothes. The door closed again.

Gilly dressed, combed her hair, brushed her teeth. She
peered at her windburned cheeks in the mirror and noted the sparkle in her eyes. She bared her teeth at the image and then ignored it.

She walked out into a candlelit haven. The smell of something delicious wafted from the kitchen, and her stomach grumbled. She was starving.

“What's for…?” Gilly stopped, stunned.

Todd had set the table. Though the candles were utilitarian and white, they highlighted pretty china plates and silverware on a delicate flowered cloth. He turned from the stove as she came into the kitchen.

“I hope you're hungry,” he said.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Todd motioned for her to sit, and she did, sliding into the chair that had become hers by habit. She touched the silverware, the plates, the tablecloth.

Todd had brushed his hair. It swept off his face to curl softly behind his ears and to his shoulders. The permanent scruff of his beard had been shaved. He wore a black turtleneck shirt and jeans, and his feet were bare.

Gilly saw all these things because she could not look away from him. Todd's smile was brief before it disappeared. The cautious look in his eyes was belied by his confident stance.

“Happy Valentine's Day, Gilly.”

Her heart met her stomach as one sank and the other leaped to her throat. She bent her head to stare at the plate, no longer able to look at him.

Oh, no. Oh, God.

“It's only macaroni and cheese,” Todd said, “but it's the good kind. Shells. It's the best of what's left. I thought you might like it.”

He'd also made canned potatoes, soft and white, and added
slivers of some kind of potted meat the origin of which she knew better than to question. He'd added a plate of saltines painted with grape jelly. Her stomach, which had been growling only moments before, twisted at the sight of the haphazard dinner. She picked up her fork anyway.

“You were out there a real long time,” Todd said. “I thought I might have to go out for you.”

“No,” Gilly said faintly, raising a forkful of cheesy pasta to her lips. “I was okay.”

“I don't have any candy, but I made a white cake for dessert. Box mix. Didn't have eggs, but I think it turned out okay.”

“Good.” She chewed carefully, still unable to look at him.

“Gilly.”

She raised her gaze to his. In the candlelight, his eyes were the color of warm caramel. The black turtleneck emphasized the darkness of his hair and the paleness of his skin. He could've passed for a gothic novel's vampire lover, save he had no fangs.

“I never did this for anyone before. It's probably shit compared to what you're used to.”

“I…we…don't celebrate Valentine's Day,” Gilly said. His brow furrowed. She explained further. “The holiday started as a way to honor Saint Valentine…many Jews don't recognize Christian saints.”

Todd slid into his chair and rested his hands on the table. “So you never got cards or chocolates or stuff like that?”

Gilly shook her head. “Not usually, no.”

He grinned. “Then it's a first for you, too.”

“Todd…”

“Please, Gilly,” Todd said softly. “Just this once, for tonight. Can you let me be nice to you?”

Something inside her broke, agonizing in its painlessness. Gilly sighed, brushing her forehead with the fingertips of one hand. She was helpless to deny him, despite the strength she had gained only hours before.

“All right. Sure.”

The smile lit up his face, creasing his cheeks and sending sparks to flare in the chocolate-colored eyes. He forked a bite of macaroni and cheese but seemed unable to eat it. Todd wriggled in his seat like a puppy thrilled with praise from its master.

It was only a meal. She would think no further than that. Just this once, for a reason she could not explain and would not ponder, she would let him be nice to her.

He charmed her over the sorry meal. Todd had already proved himself to be insightful. When he wasn't self-conscious about being stupid, he actually turned out to be knowledgeable on a lot of subjects, and Gilly told him so.

“Nah. It's just a bunch of stupid shit nobody cares about. Just trivia.” He mixed potatoes and macaroni and cheese without eating it.

“No, it's not,” she insisted. “It's not just trivia, Todd. Being smart isn't always about what big words you can spout out or how fast you can do math, you know.”

He shrugged. “I guess I've just…lived more, or something. Done a lot of stuff. Hey, that's one good thing about never hanging on to a job, I guess. I learned how to do a lot of stuff. But I'm still stupid.”

He had indeed lived a lot more than she ever had. She didn't envy him the experience. “Doing stupid things doesn't mean you're stupid, Todd.”

“No?” His brows arched beneath the fringe of his dark hair. “What does it mean?”

“Well. It means you're…not…it just means…you need to think before you act.” She nodded firmly, the voice of authority.

The food disappeared as they talked. At the end of the meal, Todd presented the cake with a flourish, though it was flat and crumbly without the eggs for the batter. It tasted strongly of cinnamon and honey, two flavors Gilly didn't like. She ate it anyway, and praised him for the effort.

Todd gave her his curious puppy look. “You're being nice.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Ain't so hard, is it?”

That it wasn't difficult would've frightened her had Gilly allowed it. Instead, she put it from her mind, too. A thought for a later time.

They'd never assigned each other chores, each usually taking care of their own meal prep and cleanup, but tonight Todd cleared and washed the dishes, insisting she sit.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” he insisted at her protest that he'd done enough by preparing the meal. “Take a load off.”

Gilly had never really minded missing out on the national day of romance. Seth had been fond of reminding her that every day in their marriage was a celebration of their love. Gilly didn't always agree, particularly on the days when the children's hijinks had shortened her temper and Seth breezed in late from work asking “What's for dinner?” Still, she didn't miss the overpriced chocolates and bouquets of flowers that were heavy on guilt and lacking in sentiment. Her husband told her he loved her every day, and didn't need the words on a greeting card to do it.

Because she didn't share Valentine's Day with Seth, sharing it with Todd somehow didn't seem like betrayal. At least
not so far, with his innocuous offering of food and service. Gilly sat on the couch, watching the play of candlelight on the ceiling.

She shivered and wanted the chill to come from the room's lowering temperature and not from her sudden anxious anticipation. She got up to put some more logs on the fire, and took the last three from the battered wicker basket next to the stove. They were almost out of wood.

“We need more wood,” Gilly called.

Todd appeared beside her, startling her. “The pile out back's all, gone,” he said, using the typical Pennsylvania Dutch phrasing that usually made her cringe. “I didn't have time to cut more today.”

Gilly hadn't realized their supply was so low. She felt stupid for not noticing. “Oh.”

Todd poked at the logs she'd put on. Red sparks hissed in the fire. The logs popped and complained at their fiery fate.

“I'll cut some more tomorrow.”

He'd leaned across her to reach the poker. Now they faced each other from no more than a few inches apart. The red and orange flames reflected in his eyes, and Gilly knew she didn't imagine the questions she saw there.

Self-consciously, she got to her feet and moved away. She wasn't certain exactly where she meant to go when there was no place to escape. His voice, low and uncertain, froze her solid.

“Gilly…”

She murmured a reply. “Hmm?”

He sighed. She closed her eyes and her teeth found the inside of her cheek. She prayed he wouldn't find the courage to ask her the question she'd seen glimmering in his eyes. He cleared his throat, and she tensed. Waiting.

“Gilly, would you dance with me?”

It wasn't the question she'd expected, though not much better. Gilly turned to face him, her face a careful, neutral mask. “What?”

He got to his feet, all arms and legs, gangly. “Dance? I'm not any good. But would you…?”

“Dance with you?” Gilly murmured. She allowed his touch on her fingers, her thoughts elsewhere. Her breath caught in her throat before coughing out. “Oh, Todd.”

“Please?”

What harm could it do? She knew even as she nodded her reply that she was dooming herself. And him. No good could come from this. But…could harm? What could giving him this one thing hurt?

“Great!”

For once the radio didn't let them down. Todd tuned in a station playing classic golden oldies.
Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
made way for
Unchained Melody.

They moved to a clear spot on the floor. He didn't know where to put his hands, and Gilly showed him. They were large and encircled her waist in a way that made her feel he could squeeze her in half with little effort. The top of her head just barely reached his shoulder. Gilly was not a small woman, but once again he'd made her tiny.

“I told you I'm not good,” Todd said.

“You're doing fine,” Gilly whispered, her throat dry.

His innate grace took the place of his inexperience. The songs playing on the radio flowed one into the other with no more than a few seconds of break between them. Todd and Gilly danced, their movements slow but unhesitating.

He pulled her slowly, hesitantly closer. His hands didn't stray from her hips. The puff of his breath ruffled her hair.

She knew this had been a mistake. This didn't mean the same things to her as it must to him. This was Reg Gampey all over again. This was giving someone something he wanted because she felt so bad about something else she didn't know how to say no.

But then she'd been a kid. She was a woman now. She shouldn't let pity move her into doing something she knew would end badly.

The slow songs kept playing. Todd and Gilly kept dancing. She rested her hands on his shoulders and just barely kept her face from touching even the soft flannel of his shirt.

She was reminded of middle-school dances where the girls and boys were too scared to even touch. But this wasn't quite like that. In middle school Gilly had known the mechanics of what sex was but hadn't had a clue about what it could be. Even later, in high school, when dancing close often led to making out in shadowy corners, there'd still been an innocence to sharing a dance that was missing here.

At last the music stopped. An announcer spoke. The moment broke.

Gilly tried to pull away, but Todd's hands stayed her. Her head dropped. She saw the floor, his bare feet, the ragged hem of his jeans.

“Gilly?”

“No, Todd.”

For an instant she sensed anger. His fingers clutched at her waist, then relaxed. He tried again.

“Gilly…”

“No.” Her voice came more firmly this time. Definite. She moved out of his embrace, clutching her elbows and turning from him.

“Look at me?”

Because it was a plea and not a demand, she obliged. She could hardly bear the look of longing on his face. Gilly swallowed, hard, and shook her head again.

“Don't ask, and I won't have to tell you no again.”

“Why?” The question was simple, and the answer should've been simpler, but was not.

“My mother used to tell me, ‘be happy with what you have,'” Gilly said at last. “Be happy with what you have, Todd.”

He looked around the cabin, at her, and then down at himself. “What I have? That looks like a whole lot of nothing.”

She moved, still trembling, to the stairs before changing her mind. She didn't want to lead him up there, where the line of beds would be all too tempting. She went instead to the dining room table and one of her puzzles but couldn't find rest there, either. Finally, she turned and faced him squarely.