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I know the moment Zeke has caught wind of our visitor because he begins bleating noisily and then keels over.
* * *
Roy is dragging a hose from the house to the chicken coop when I pull in next to his truck at five p.m. sharp.
He scowls at his watch. “What’re you doin’ here so early? I said six.”
“And you were lying, so you’d be finished by the time I showed up.” Oscar allows me a quick scratch between his ears on my way over. In my other hand, I have a Tupperware container. “I brought you dinner. It’s homemade spaghetti.” Real homemade this time. I even used stewed tomatoes and fresh oregano from the garden.
“I don’t need charity from you,” he says, but there’s no fire in his words.
“It’s not charity. I made too much, and I don’t like leftovers.” Jonah does, but Roy doesn’t need to know that.
He opens his mouth and I brace myself for a hostile response, but then he seems to change his mind. He eyes the container. “Well, it’s not tasteless beef from a can, but it’ll do.” The corners of his mouth twitch.
Did Roy crack a joke?
I bite back the urge to make a big deal of the fact that, buried deep beneath his prickly exterior, Roy might have a sense of humor. “I’ll drop it off in your kitchen—”
The hint of humor is gone from his face in an instant. “I don’t like anyone goin’ in my house!”
I was anticipating this. “I’ve already been inside once, Roy, and I didn’t do anything weird. I’ll just drop this off in the fridge and then I’ll come back outside in, like, five seconds to not help you, I swear.”
He shakes his head. “You’re as pushy as Muriel.”
“You and I both know that isn’t true.”
He continues toward the coop, grumbling, “Don’t know why you keep fightin’ to hang around here. I’m rotten company on my best days.”
“Self-awareness is the first step to change.” A
t least that’s what Simon always says.
He mumbles something incoherent but continues on.
With no further objections, I head up the porch steps and into the cabin.
I wasn’t focused on Roy’s kitchen the last time I was here, too enthralled by all the wooden figurines. It’s basic and functional, but tidy—a small corner of the cabin with a sink, an old white stove, and fridge. A coffeemaker and toaster occupy a four-foot laminate countertop. Two shelves hold a few basic dishes—one of each—and a selection of canned and dried goods. Two pots and one frying pan hang from hooks on the wall. Everything about this kitchen says “one person and one person only.”
I note the bottle of painkillers—a prescription to OxyContin for Roy Richard Donovan, the seal still unbroken—sitting on the counter, next to an unopened can of beef stew. His dinner for tonight. And for most nights, based on the grim selection I see. The metal bucket he used to collect milk from the goat this morning and a sieve are drying in the rack beside the sink, along with several glass mason jars. Even in his current state, Roy prepared his goat milk and washed up afterward.
I shake my head as I open the refrigerator.
“Wow.” I eyeball all the cartons of eggs and mason jars of milk that fill the shelves. There isn’t much of anything else, save for a few condiments, a stick of butter, and the strawberries I delivered this morning. I smile at the nearly empty bowl. There was at least two pints’ worth in there. Roy must enjoy them far more than he let on.
Setting the container of spaghetti on top of the bowl, I head back outside, unable to avoid stealing a glance at the trunk beneath the window.
The family portrait is gone.
That only adds fuel to the curiosity fire burning inside me.
Roy is cursing at a kink in the hose when I reach him, unable to nudge it free with his boot.
“So, how often do you fill up their water?” I ask, reaching down to straighten the hose, before grabbing and dragging it the rest of the way to the pen. The door is propped open, but the chickens don’t seem in any hurry to escape with Oscar and Gus lingering.
Roy’s brow furrows, as if he’s trying to figure out a perplexing puzzle. “Every night. Sometimes in the mornin’, too.”
“In here, right?” The top of the water feeder is open, the conical metal lid already pushed aside.
