“You okay?” Silas asks, sensing my apprehension.
I don’t want him to think I’m ungrateful. All this effort—he’s never done anything like this for me before. Shouldn’t I be happy? Appreciative? I put on a cotillion-trained smile. There’s something I wanted to ask him. Didn’t I need Silas’s help? What was it for? For the life of me, I can’t remember. Staring deep into the candle, the pulse of light, I lose sight of myself. The room wobbles by a fraction. It tilts—or is it me? I’m losing my balance. I need to— “Sit.” Silas reads my mind. He pulls out a chair for me. “Here. Take a load off.”
“Thanks,” I manage to say. It does feel better to sit down. The room settles. “I…I don’t know what happened. Dizzy spell, I guess. I haven’t eaten anything in—”
Hours? Days? How long have I been here?
“Don’t worry.” Silas takes his seat and holds out his hand to me. “Shall we say grace?”
“Seriously?” I almost laugh but cut myself short as soon as Silas bows his head. This totally throws me. When did he find religion?
“Bless this oracle so that it may see,” Silas says slightly above a whisper. “Bless this sacrament so that we may summon forth, bless our katabasis so that we may cross over—”
I stare at Silas, listening to him repeat this bewildering prayer. He’s intoning words that leave the English lexicon—and me—behind. He opens his eyes and finds me staring back.
The smile he offers should provide some comfort, but I feel cold. He picks up his knife with his free hand. “Want me to serve you? Hold still.”
Silas turns my wrist until my palm faces upwards. Before I know what’s happening, he slips the knife’s blade across my exposed skin. I hiss at the sting.
“Sorry,” he says, still gripping my wrist. “Mr. Butterfingers over here.”
Blood weeps from the cut in the center of my palm. It seeps through our knuckles and onto my plate. I try to yank my hand away but he won’t let me go. “Silas, you’re hurting me—”
“Almost done.” He holds my hand over my plate. I hear the pitter-pat of my blood as it strikes the fine china. “Just a little more.”
Once I’ve bled enough for him, he bandages my hand with my own satin napkin. I worry we won’t be able to wash the stains out, but I don’t want to ruin Silas’s magical night any more than I already have. He’s trying so hard to be romantic, even if this is completely unlike him.
Who is this? What the hell’s going on here?
“So Marcia invited us over this weekend,” he says as if nothing’s happened. “I know you’ve been wanting to tackle the garden, but this is the third time she’s asked and I couldn’t come up with an excuse. I’ll take the bullet for the both of us, if you don’t want to go.”
“That’s okay. I’ll go.” What am I even saying?
“Really? You’ll be my wingman? We don’t have to lose our whole afternoon. One, two hours tops, I promise. I figure that’ll give me enough time to finally lay down those planters.”
“Planters?”
“You still want them, don’t you? What should we grow?”
“What about…” I can’t think straight. I’m blanking on my vegetables. “Sugar snap peas?”
“Wrong season. Don’t worry, we’ll figure something out.” Silas slices through his steak with ease and places a portion on my plate.
The pain radiating from my hand fades to a dull throb. I’m barely aware of it anymore. I glance at my palm and can’t find the cut. It’s gone. No blood. Just a napkin in my hand.
Silas lifts his glass and toasts. Clink. I feel the sound in my teeth. “I’ll hop down to the hardware store and pick up some topsoil. I need a few more things to build the planters. Let me know if you need anything and I’ll pick them up.”
Leaving the house doesn’t appeal to me. There’s a knot in my stomach and it twists when I think about stepping outside. Not a knot—an octopus. Its tentacles reach up my esophagus and I feel like I— “Hey.” Silas takes my hand. “It’s okay. Have another sip.”
Silas says eat of my body.
Silas says drink of my blood.
Silas says… “Feel better?”
The nausea passes. The wave washes over and is now gone, just as quickly as it came.
“I was thinking,” Silas says between bites, “maybe, once we finish painting the rest of the place, we can finally throw our own little house party. Nothing big, just friends and fam.”
“…Here?”
“Yeah, why not? We’re finally settling in. Don’t you think it’s time we share?”
This isn’t Silas. Who is this person? Since when did he start wanting to slip on an apron and grill on the barbecue? This isn’t like him at all. This feels so strange. So—unreal.
“We can invite your friends over,” he says. “Finally show them the house. Give them the grand tour. Spread the love. Doesn’t that sound nice? Who could you invite, Erin?”
“Well…” I’m drawing a blank. Who even are my friends anymore? “Amara, I guess.”
“Who else? Think, Erin. Who in your life is hurting? Who should we welcome home?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“What about your parents? They’d love it. I want to share our little slice of heaven. Don’t you think we should share, Erin?” His voice keeps pushing its way into my mind, as if he’s forcing my own thoughts away, until I can no longer think for myself.
“I guess we could…could invite…”
“Who? Who, Erin? Think hard. Who do we know who’s lost someone?”
“What about…” A name materializes in my mind. “…Callie?”
“Yes! Yes, that’s a great idea.” I don’t understand why Silas can’t reach out to his own sister, if he wants her here so badly. Why does he need me? “I didn’t overcook it, did I?”
He’s talking about dinner. I haven’t touched my food.
“Just can’t find my appetite.” I can’t remember the last meal I had. I’m never hungry anymore. But I need to show Silas how devoted I am. How faithful I can be.
I spear the meat with my fork and bring it to my mouth. The tines scrape against my teeth. This doesn’t taste like steak at all. The texture is different—spongy. It doesn’t have the marbled fattiness of beef. I work my tongue over the morsel and I swear I feel gills, delicate and lacelike. A fuzzy numbness fills my mouth. I take a heavy gulp of wine to wash it down, but I’m still stuck with this peppery aftertaste. I need to spit it out. I need to— “Erin?” Silas reaches his hand across the table and takes mine. “You okay?”
I manage to swallow, clearing my throat. “Something just went down the wrong pipe.”
Silas is off and chatting again, as if nothing is out of the ordinary, as if this conversation is completely normal and I’m just trying to keep up. “So someone finally moved in next door.”
“…Here? Who?” None of the houses here are finished. How could anyone live here?
“Young couple. Younger than us. Stephanie and Adriano. No kids…yet.” Silas wipes his lips with his napkin. The cloth is the same color as the walls, an off-pink creaminess that glows and undulates slightly in the candlelight. “You ever think about trying again? You and me?”
“Try for what?”
“You know…” Silas takes my hand and squeezes my fingers. “One of our own.”
ring and run
“How about this color?” Silas’s voice pulls me through the fog. I blink back to consciousness, slowly coming to, only to find myself sprawled across the couch.
Weren’t we just in the dining room? How long have I been lying here? Did I fall asleep?
What’s happening to me?
Silas looms over me with paint sample cards in hand, pressing one against the wall. “What about this shade? Not bad, right? Pretty easy on the eyes. This one gets my vote.”
“It’s…bright,” I manage to say, miles away, wincing at the pink hue. It practically shouts at me. I have to bring my hand up to my eyes to shield them from the color.
I keep losing time. I can’t tell if it’s night or day.