Getting rid of as much physical evidence as possible is a first step in healing from what’s happened to him, and she’s only too eager to help. The problem is, they have no running water. Only what comes from the river. There’s no hope for a shower or even a hot bath.
She’d be willing to carry up as many buckets as needed to fill the tub, but that may only make him feel guilty for letting her do all the work. They’re riding a line here. She has to be conscious of his reactions to her help.
“I can fill a bucket and heat it with water from the stove?”
“Don’t need it heated. A towel and some cold water is fine.”
“It doesn’t take much to put a kettle on the stove.”
Reluctantly, he nods, and she’s so damn glad to have something tangible to do.
Kara’s good at tasks. It’s the idle moments that leave her flustered.
She hates leaving him, even for a good cause. His brow creases and fingers fidget at the edge of the blanket as she headsfor the door, betraying how much he wants her to stay, but he says nothing.
She needs to start putting traps around the fence again, she thinks, grabbing a bucket from the porch. Wouldn’t take much to get a pile-up of rotters out here should they start clustering at the gate. The river is close and flows fast enough to be relatively clean. It doesn’t take long to fill and make her way back, scooping some into a tea kettle to heat on the stove before depositing the rest beside the tub.
She leaves the whistle cap off the kettle. That kind of wailing would only set them both on edge.
“Just a few minutes, then it’s all yours,” she tells him, unsurprised that he hasn’t moved much.
He’s only left the bed once. It’s still better than nothing. She tries to count every small victory as major progress.
He found comfort in the flowers she’s brought him and wears her hair tie around his wrist. He’s eaten enough to chase off the glazed-over effect of prolonged hunger she’s seen in his eyes. Little by little, he’s starting to look like the man she remembers as those protective layers begin to peel back.
The fact that he’s still unable to look her in the eye for longer than a moment is what bothers her most now. She doesn’t know how to make him understand that he’s got nothing to be ashamed of, but she’d better figure it out fast because they only have two weeks before he’ll attempt to leave her again.
Kara isn’t the only one who’s stubborn here. This misguided attempt to protect her only sounds like an extension of the nightmare she thought was over. They’ll butt heads over what’s safe and what’s not if it comes to that. Things will get better before then, though. They have to. She gives herself no other option while having no game plan or solid experience in how to proceed, so out of her depth that it’s a miracle they’ve made it this far.
Does she give him some space now? Is she hovering again? She stands in the middle of the room, uncertain of what to say or do before deciding she may as well just ask him. If he tells her to leave, at least she’ll know for certain what he wants.
“I was going to read for a while,” she says, awkwardly. “I can do that here, or give you some time alone?”
She may as well have suggested she leave the house entirely for how quickly his attention shoots up. “Here. Here is good. If you want.”
She offers him a half-smile, intending to grab a book off the shelf and see if he’d like one too while the water heats, when a sharp knock at the door startles them both.
Things have slowly simmered down from high-voltage stress to something manageable, but that flies out the window at the promise of visitors.
Her pulse skyrockets, not because she’s afraid of who it could be, but because she’s afraid of what this might do to Wade. He’s off the bed faster than she’s seen him move yet, rushing to the window that shows nothing useful before pacing the length of the room, looking for a weapon. He opens the drawers and checks under the mattress, almost tearing the room apart before she has time to process what’s happening.
“It’s them,” he growls. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. You can’t stay here, you gotta go. You gotta hide. If they get you, too…you have a gun? Shotgun? Something?”
He looks on the verge of a heart attack before shoving himself in front of the door, waiting for an intruder to blow through it.
Her mind races, and for a moment, she worries it actually could be Silas and his men before logic takes over. “Wade, it’s not them. It can’t be. Lemme check, okay?”
“You can’t go out there,” he whispers, like it’s the most insane suggestion. “Won’t let them take you, too.”
“No one’s taking me anywhere.”
A second knock comes again, prompting him to eye the knife on her hip, ready to grab it and fend off their would-be attackers.
There’s a sway to his stance, leaning forward and then back the barest bit, only perceptible because she sees everything when it comes to him. It betrays how badly he wants to run instead of staying to fight, but he stays for her, assuming Silas would take them both.
If he were alone, she has no doubt that he’d have escaped out the window again only seconds after the first knock.
“Listen to me. It’s not them.”
