Page 39

Kell takes the jar, opens the refrigerator, and sets it on the nearest shelf. I wait, expecting him to notice that it’s nowhere near where he found it. He closes the door instead. “Where did it come from?” I ask.

“Refrigerator.”

“Which shelf?”

He turns back toward me. “It is in refrigerator.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“It is cold. It is safe. You can find it.”

There’s just enough satisfaction in his expression to tell me this isn’t confusion anymore. He understands the question perfectly. He just doesn’t agree that it matters.

I move it to the door shelf where it belongs. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re still leaving it there.”

“Yes.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

Kell leans one hip against the counter. “You laugh much for angry.”

Unfortunately, he has evidence. I check the clock and abandon the refrigerator dispute. My purse is already by the front door, my lunch is packed, and my keys are inside the purse where I put them five minutes ago. I check anyway.

Kell follows me into the living room while I go through everything in my head one more time. He’s a perfectly capable grown man. I know that. Apparently knowing it and leaving him alone are two different things.

“I’m going to work,” I tell him.

“I know.”

“You’ll be here alone.”

His expression barely changes. “Yes.”

He sounds considerably less concerned about this than I am. Yesterday he spent more than an hour painting without remembering I existed. He can use the kitchen, the television, and the shower, and last night I activated Dave’s old phone with a new number and put Rachel, Locke, Shannon, Blair, Janet, and me into the contacts with our pictures so he’d know who he was calling. He has food, water, Janet’s remaining entertainment supply, and enough language to tell someone what he needs. I even made him call my phone twice before bed, as though the second successful call proved something the first one hadn’t.

None of that has prevented me from explaining the coffee maker twice. I pick up my purse. “If you decide to go outside, take the spare key.”

Kell points toward the little ceramic bowl beside the door. “Key. You told me.”

“I know.”

“Three times.”

“Twice.”

He shakes his head. “Three.”

I count backward and discover he’s right. “Fine. Three.”

Kell folds his arms, which is an annoyingly effective pose on a man who didn’t own a shirt two days ago. He doesn’t look apprehensive. He doesn’t look as if he’s waiting for me to tell him how to spend the day either.

“You’re not worried,” I say.

“About you going to work?”