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Because there on the stage in the front of the room is a pillory much like the one used during the marking ceremony.
43
Jericho
Isabelle doesn’t speak another word until we’re in the car later that evening. I watch her, feeling smug. When we get to the house, she tries to slip free, but I hold on to her wrist.
“Let go. I’m hungry and I’m tired,” she says.
I remember what Angelique had asked. If she was feeling better. “Didn’t you eat dinner?”
“I didn’t feel good so no, not really.”
“I’ll make you a sandwich.” I walk her to the kitchen.
“I can make my own sandwich. You can go to bed or play with your new toy or whatever. Just leave me alone.”
“Yeah, no.” I switch on the kitchen light and pull out a chair at the counter. “That new toy is our toy,” I tell her with a wink. “Sit.”
“Why would you buy that thing?” she asks as I gather bread and cheese from the refrigerator. I look at the cold cuts but remember she’s a vegetarian.
“I liked how you looked in it,” I tell her, returning to the counter and getting a plate.
“I didn’t like how I felt in it.”
“It’ll be different. Just me. No audience.” I unwrap one of the cheeses and she makes a face.
“Not that one.” She pinches her nose dramatically. “I feel sick at the smell of it.”
I study her, smell the cheese which is as neutral as possible. “It smells fine.”
“Just butter. Okay? Just butter is fine.”
I put the cheese away and butter a thick slice of bread. Once I place it in front of her, she reaches for the saltshaker and sprinkles some on then picks it up and bites into it.
“That’s not enough if you’re hungry. You need a protein.”
She raises her eyebrows as she takes a second bite. “You’re concerned about my protein intake?”
“What did you eat today?”
“This. Some juice. An apple.”
“That’s all?”
“I told you I didn’t feel well. Why do you care? Are you upset I’m spoiling your night? You won’t be able to lock me in your medieval torture device?”
I butter another two slices as she crams the last piece into her mouth. She doesn’t hesitate but picks up a second piece, salts it and starts eating. I get her a glass of orange juice and watch her, thinking. She’s been here about two months give or take.
“I talked to your brother today,” she says, interrupting my thoughts.
I feel myself tense. She cocks her head and I notice how the pulse at her throat beats wildly. I narrow my gaze and understand why as soon as she speaks again.
“He told me the three of you were an item.”
“Pardon?”
She puts her slice of bread down. “You, Ezekiel and Angelique’s mom. You were together.”
