Page 29 of Call Off the Dark

She moved to him. “Your boots?”

Wade sat on the bench, and Helen knelt to help him untie the crisscross of laces. By the end of a long workday, the tight cinching was usually easier for her smaller hands to unravel than his larger, tired ones.

“Did you want to get cleaned up?” she asked, as the leather loosened.

Normally this was when Wade would let out a relieved sigh and crack his ankles as he pulled them free from the boots, but instead, he was a coil of tension.

“Wade?” she pressed. “Are you going to clean up?”

He always took his bath before dinner. When two people lived alone in the middle of nowhere, you could go one of two ways. You could either clean up for each other and make a presentation of being presentable, or you could fall into shambles together. Helen certainly had days when she rolled out of bed and felt like leaning into the wild and the dirt and the solitude. So far, though, they were still cleaning up for each other.

But tonight, Wade said, “I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

Helen was about to ask Isaac if he wanted to remove his coat when she turned back and saw it was already draped over one of the kitchen chairs, and the sleeves of his black canvas work shirt were pushed partway up his forearms.

“I’ll hang that for you.” She took Isaac’s coat from the chair.

As she hung it on a hook above the entry bench, she spotted her socks next to her reading chair in the living room. She walked in there to collect them, relieved she wouldn’t have to be running around barefoot any longer, hoping that Isaac wasn’t watching her from the kitchen. She didn’t look over as she pulled her socks on, but she heard him talking to Wade. “You know Ma wouldn’t have approved of you coming to the dinner table so dirty.” And Wade responded with a resolute, “I’m good.”

Helen reentered the kitchen to find Wade standing behind one of the chairs at the table, gripping the back of it tightly, knuckles white. It gave her pause, but until the men stopped talking in riddles and she could get a handle on what their troubles were, all she could do was wait it out by playing the role of hostess.

“I hope you like vegetable stew, Isaac,” Helen said as she got out the soup bowls from the cupboard.

“It smells amazing.” Isaac smiled. It was a disarming smile once he let it loose, and she realized it was the first time he’d smiled since he’d stepped inside the farmhouse.

Isaac asked, “Does my brother make his famous curry chicken dish for you?”

“What?” Helen gave Wade an inquisitive glance. “No. He has a famous dish?”

“He only makes it under duress.”

“You have a curry chicken dish, Wade?”

“I know how to put some curry powder on chicken while it’s in a dish.” Wade’s tone was unamused.

Helen turned to the stove, and the kitchen fell silent except for the clank of the metal spoon as she served stew into the ceramic bowls.

Isaac asked, “Is there a bathroom I could use?”

“Down the hall,” she said. “First door.”

As soon as Isaac was gone, she set aside the stew and approached Wade. He met her halfway and they spoke in hushed voices.

“What is this?” Helen asked.

“How long has he been here?” Wade asked over her words.

“Just a few minutes.”

“What did he say?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a brother?”

“Did he say anything, do anything? What happened?”

“Nothing.” She didn’t like the urgency in Wade’s tone. She looked toward the hallway, felt the fear creeping back in. “What’s wrong?”