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I gasp a little, trying to understand what she's saying. It never occurred to me that I would owe Father Daddy for what he does, not really. Not for me specifically. He does it for everyone.
But that is sort of true, isn't it? I never had another father in my life. He's just about the only man I've ever looked up to with that kind of gravity or respect.
Then I remember our time in his office, murmuring word Daddy against his chest. The vision of his face buried between my legs flashes through my mind and I feel my cheeks getting hot as I blush fiercely.
“You all right?” Mama asks me, her eyes narrow. “You getting feverish or something? You think that'll get you out of it? Want to go take a nap or something?”
“I don't need a nap,” I spit right back at her. I stand and gather the plates off the table, even though she's got a couple bites left.
She doesn't even realize, this might be last night we ever see each other. Those might be the last words she ever says to me. And now she is going to have to make her own dinner. Clean her own house. Tend her own garden.
She'll miss me. She will.
That gives me only the slightest glimmer of satisfaction as I trudge out of the kitchen, swallowing back yet another wave of humiliating tears.
Chapter 20
Silas
I come out of my office to greet her right at dusk. She's wearing the new dress that Brother Owen suggested and a pair of short, white boots that she must have picked out especially for the occasion.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, and I mean it.
She looks up at me with those big eyes, her lips set in a grim, brave little smile. She's such a good soldier. She’s willing to do anything for us. Anything for me, I suddenly realize.
Remorse slices through me like a dart. Am I doing the right thing?
Yes. I'm doing the right thing. I can't let my attachment to this one person overshadow my duty to everyone.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” I tell her.
“Surprise for me?” she echoes faintly.
“Yes,” I nod. “I'll bet you've never been on a motorcycle before.”
She is stunned, and I like that. Her pink lips form a perfect little O. I'm excited to show it to her. I reach out to take her by the hand and tug her toward one of the pole barns at the back of the compound. It's where we keep the tractors we use for the big field on the south end.
“I’ve never been here before,” she breathes as I slide open the big door. It's not like the barns we gather in. This one is just for work. It's filthy in here, stinking of diesel and dry rot.
“Course you haven’t,” I answer. “This is men's work. You would never have had reason to be in here. But look at this.”
I go into the back corner, to a tarp thrown loosely over something beneath it. I reach out to grab a corner, but look back so that I can see her face when I pull the tarp down.
She doesn't disappoint. Her eyes get wider, her smile creeps into her cheeks and dimples them two, three times.
“Wow,” she breathes, slowly letting her breath fill the air. I catch a whiff of soap, that sweet, innocent smell.
“You like it?” I ask her, looking over the 1982 Indian with fondness. My dad’s bike. Well, it was his, and then it just sort of fell to me eventually. It's almost like a family member.
“Is beautiful,” she sighs. “And the other one?”
“That's mine,” Owen says, coming up behind us. He hands her a helmet.
“Put this on. It will feel kind of weird, but it's worth it. Keep you safe.”
She does it and stands there looking awkward and alien for a few seconds, grinning broadly. She seems to be just enjoying herself, like maybe she's forgotten what's about to happen.
I roll the Indian out of the barn, and she follows behind.
