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Shut up, Sylvia.Shut up, shut up, shut up.
“Rhett.” I grab his arm.
Finally, he stops, turns to face me.
“Listen.My testimony is the entire reason you went to jail. It sealed the deal. And now—now I believe you didn’t do it. And honestly? I think I always did. I feel guilty, Rhett. There. I admit it. Let me help you right now. It’s the least I can do. Just let me freaking help you.”
“I don’t need help, Miss Stone.”
“Stop calling me that. It reminds me of my mother.”
At the mention of my mother, the emotions boil over. My cheeks pink and I feel like I am about to either cry or vomit. Ashamed, I turn my back to him and start back up to the house.
I am a train wreck. I am mad. I am sad, nervous, riddled with guilt. I am attracted, intrigued. Curious.
I am a mess.
A few seconds later, I hear his footsteps behind me.
14
Sylvia
The only way Rhett will accept food is if I tell him I am going to make lunch for myself. I know this. I also know that he likely doesn’t consider wine alone an acceptable lunch, so, I throw together what I have. Two ham and cheese sandwiches—probably the Wednesday special in prison. I add a mountain of BBQ chips on the side, along with a fresh, sliced tomato from the garden sprinkled with salt and pepper. I’m proud of this addition. And finally, more coffee, because the man can’t seem to get enough of it.
Rhett chooses to eat standing, leaning against the counter. I give him the space he seems to demand, choosing to sit at the table on the far side of the room.
I can’t believe the bizarre twist my day has taken and I’d be lying if I said a part of me didn’t feel invigorated. Excited, in a messed-up kind of way. My life has been so boring for so long, then,bam,letters on my doorstep,bam,a mystery to investigate,BAM,Rhett Cohen.
We eat in silence. The windows are open, allowing the sound of the outdoors to fill the room. Birds chirping, squirrels skittering, wind rustling the brittle leaves. It’s peaceful, a beautiful autumn afternoon. I intentionally did this, opening the windows, because I thought Rhett would appreciate the ambiance after living in concrete for decades.
While Rhett looks out the windows, lost in thought, I am anxiously awaiting his first taste of the tomato I’d harvested the day before. Surely the prison didn’t offer fresh produce. I am elated at the spark in his eyes when he tries it. It’s minimal, but it’s there.
Yes.
Satisfied with his response, I refocus on my food, but continue to sneak glances here and there.
I can’t help but notice the way he eats. The way he stands a bit cockeyed, as if guarding his food. The haste in his bites, the way he barely chews before swallowing. A side effect from timed, group meals for twenty years, I assume.
I have to eat very fast to keep up with him, getting a stomachache in the process.
Once Rhett finishes, I take his plate and stack it on top of mine in the sink.
“Thank you,” he says, clearly uncomfortable with me taking care of him in this way.
I nod. “Okay, what’s next? The clothes you’re wearing need to be washed and I don’t have any that will fit you in the meantime. So, I was thinking, let’s run into town, get you a new set of clothes, and then we can go from there.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“I have money, don’t worry about it.”
Rhett’s dark eyes narrow into a menacing glare. “Miss Stone—I mean Sylvia—I appreciate what you’re doing. But you do not need to feel guilty about what happened. What’s done is done and you don’t need to take care of me. I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”
I figure this is a total understatement.
He is about to walk out, on me, on this conversation. I can tell.
I step forward. “Well… you stink. Plain and simple.” A lie, but it is the only thing I can think of to sway him. “So,” I continue, “we will go to town, get you some clothes, then you can come back here and get yourself situated, and then we’ll go find this Hideout place and see if we can find Jesse.”
