Page 62 of A Silence So Divine

My eyes shift nervously between her and the truck to my side.

“Or I can do it out here. It just might be difficult to see...”

I’m dumbfounded. Didn’t she see what I did?

My handdoesthrob, though. It wouldn’t hurt to let her put something on it.

“I’ll come.”

I slink behind her, keeping my head down. The back of my neck prickles, and I feel the eyes on me as I enter her RV. No one objects, or screams out in fear for Veda’s life. I guess that’s a good sign.

Back on the couch, I watch her disappear into a bathroom. The cushions beneath me are lumpy—perfectly worn so I sink into them. It hits me how tired I am, and I struggle to keep my eyes open. Resting my head back, I study the wall of pictures to my right. Creed went through a photo album earlier, so they must have a ton. Are there any photos of Cecil?

“First aid is on the way,” Veda calls out. She walks back into the living room, snagging a stool on the way and plopping herself down in front of me. Placing the supplies between her feet, she holds a hand out expectantly. It’s bizarre, the amount of comfort I feel. Perhaps I’m just too exhausted to put up a fight.

I give her my palm.

Veda works in silence, only the group’s muffled conversation reaching my ears. The once rapid beating of my heart has slowed to a steady thump. The brush of the gauze being wrapped around my wrist is so delicate that it borders on pleasant. My blinks get slower.

Veda tucks the bandage into itself, looking up at me.

“You must be so exhausted. I truly can’t imagine…” She trails off. It sounds like she might say more, but she presses her lips together.

It takes a couple of tries for me to swallow the pills. I’ve never taken medication before, but after some sputtering, the capsules go down. Water escapes down my chin, but I catch it with my sleeve.

Veda watches me with an unreadable expression.

“Your eyes… they’re very unusual,” she tells me. I’m not sure what I’m meant to say in response, so I say nothing. “Did you get them from one of your parents?”

The question catches me off guard, and I'm suddenly very nervous. My eyes dart to the door, and I wonder how difficult it would be to get past her.

She raises her hands innocently, putting some distance between us.

“You don’t have to tell me, I was only curious.” Her words are sincere, her face passive. It’s enough for me to muster up the courage to respond.

“I’m not sure,”I lie. Well, halfway lie. I never knew what my mother looked like, even though I’d asked Papa to describe her countless times. Icansay with certainty that I don’t get them from him. His eyes were dark as night, iris and pupil bleeding into one another. Vacant.

Veda hums noncommittally, but she doesn’t press. Rising to her feet, she walks around to the wall and plucks a small photo from the top corner. She smiles fondly at the photo before handing it to me.

“This was my greatest friend, Imogen. You remind me a great deal of her, especially those eyes.”

My hold on the photo is gentle, afraid I might somehow ruin it. The picture is slightly yellowed and out of focus, but it depicts two young girls with their arms around one another. One of them is blonde, with soft blue eyes and a dazzling smile. Veda, I realize, though much younger.

The other girl is taller and thinner, with waist length black hair. She doesn’t smile, but smirks, and her eyes are captivating. It’s there where you see her amusement, the silver sparkling with mischief.

Handing the photo back to Veda, I shrug shyly.

“The eyes, maybe,”I concede, raising my gaze up to hers. There’s that unreadable expression again, but I almost recognize it as disappointment.

“Yes, well, I haven’t seen her in ages. Nowadays, she probably looks old like me.” Her chuckle sounds forced as she fits the tack back into the hole on the wall. “Well, I better get back and help Cecil rally the troops.”

The blood drains from my face at the thought of going back out there. I can’t bear to hear what they must think of me.

Veda peers at me over her shoulder, “Why don’t you stay in here and rest?”

Gratitude is a funny thing. It swells in your chest as sadness does, and threatens tears just the same.

All I manage is,“Yes, please.”