Page 279 of These Tears

‘Ah, no worries.’ He waves it off.

‘Would you like some coffee?’ I ask.

His hand is already closing around the truck keys.

‘Oh, I should get back. These old bones need a bit of a rest before I deal with the elk.’

He says it too easily, already turning towards the vehicle. The goats are penned. The feed is stacked. He has spent the last hour teaching me ordinary things as though nothing else requires explanation.

‘When is Elias coming?’ I ask, all sense of composure abandoning me at once.

Anders’ hand pats the truck, but he doesn’t look at me. ‘He’ll come when he’s done,’ he says. ‘Sometimes getting from one place to another takes longer than people think.’

That’s all he gives me as he unlocks the door.

I can’t make out whether he really meant anything by it or whether months with Elias have trained me to recognise philosophy in every suspicious sentence.

But I don’t like the way those words land.

‘Aren’t there goats sold around here? Closer to home? Did he have to go all the way south to—’

‘—Almost forgot!’ he cuts in as he yanks the passenger door open and produces a basket of fruit. ‘The family did some picking yesterday and we put this together for you.’

He hands it to me.

The smile he gives me is warm enough to be convincing, and that is precisely why it pisses me off.

I look from the basket to his face. Fruit in place of an answer.

Every sentence is built around the one fact he refuses to give me. Until Elias’ absence occupies the entire yard and explodes around me.

‘Where has he gone, Anders?’ I ask, my voice dropping.

My breath remains lodged between my teeth.

The smile disappears. His attention falls to the basket. He gives himself two full seconds before he speaks next.

‘He has not abandoned you.’ Only then does he look at me.

My hand clamps harder around the basket handle. Ice slithers down my spine.

‘What does that mean?’ I press, stepping after him as he moves towards the driver’s seat. ‘Anders, where is he?’

But his eyes only give me that particular kindness that tries not to frighten an animal already chewing through its own leg. ‘I came here to bring the goats and the basket, Leah. That is all. Mind yourself, okay?’

Pain briefly pulls at his brows. He climbs into the truck.

The basket grows awkward in my arms after he leaves. I realise I’m gripping both handles hard enough to make the wicker complain.

Carrying it inside without thinking, I set it down on the dining table. The thud against the surface is what finally makes me register that I’m back inside.

For a while, I simply stare at it. Apples. Berries. Plums. Arranged by someone who knows more than I do.

When the ignorance coalesces with rage in my chest, I snap into motion – towards the bedroom.

Wardrobe – I yank it open.

His clothes are still there, folded and hanging, boots lined beneath; most of what makes his presence palpable is untouched.