She pulled the duffle around so he could see what she was doing, then crouched beside it and unzipped it. Finding his shaving kit was easy, because it was on top. She set it aside. Under the shaving kit was a pistol case for a Glock 41, Gen4. It was heavy and in the way, so she pulled it out and set it aside too; likewise with the three boxes of ammo. “You think three is enough?” she asked, wondering exactly what he was worried about in Hamrickville.
“If I didn’t, I’d have more.”
His socks and underwear were neatly rolled. Socks, tee shirt, and boxer briefs were set aside. A quick feel through the duffle unearthed one pair of sweatpants, which she selected on the theory he’d be more comfortable in them than in either jeans or tactical pants, which constituted the rest of his pant selection. He had tee shirts, a few flannel shirts, and one faded red sweatshirt. He wouldn’t need anything that heavy unless he was going outside, something she didn’t think he’d be doing today. “Will this do?” she asked, indicating his selections. “Do you have any other shoes? Sneakers, maybe?”
“I think there’s a pair of sneakers in one of the side pockets.”
“Do you want them?”
“Yeah. Socks on a hardwood floor can be tricky.”
That was the truth. She noted the size of his sneakers-eleven and a half-and made a mental note to pick him up some socks with no-slip strips on the bottoms. He might sneer at them, but they’d be here if needed. And if he never wore them, she wouldn’t be out anything more than a couple of bucks.
She took the selections into the bathroom and got a couple of towels and a washcloth from the linen closet, laying those out for him too. There was shower gel in the shower, a non-slip pad in the bottom of the tub, and a rubber-backed bath mat for him to step onto. There was also a towel rack he could use to balance himself while stepping in and out of the tub, though she hoped he didn’t put a lot of weight on it or he and the rack would both go down.
By the time she was finished delivering and checking, he’d made his slow way to the bathroom. He moved carefully and he had his left arm kind of braced over his chest, but he’d made it and didn’t look as if he’d die any moment.
“Just yell if you’re too worn out to make it back to the sofa.” She kept her tone brisk and matter-of-fact. “I’ll be eating my oatmeal.”
“Thanks, but I’m good,” he said, and she figured he’d rather punch himself in the face than ask for help again.
She sat on one of the stools at the kitchen counter, eating her nuked oatmeal and sliced banana, but mostly sucking in another cup of coffee and listening to the sound of the shower. After a while the shower cut off, then another running water sound took its place; he was standing at the lavatory, shaving.
Bo had finished, rinsed her bowl and spoon and put them in the dishwasher, and was thinking about a third cup of coffee when he left the bathroom. Steam and dampness spilled out of the open door, though he’d had the ventilation fan running. His dark hair was wet and looked as if he’d combed it by running his fingers through it, but he was freshly shaved, and his expression drawn as if the exertion had sapped him. Both sweatpants and tee shirt hung on him. He slowly made his way back to the sofa and eased down.
“Do you want another cup of coffee?” she asked.
“No, thank you. Two was plenty.”
Two was probably the limit of what he needed to drink, too, considering what an effort it was to get to the bathroom and back. That didn’t need saying, though. She collected his cup and dealt with it, then said, “All right, I need to get moving. I’m going to town to stock up on groceries, then I have to be back in town by noon. Will you be all right here by yourself?”
He glanced up at her and the same thought shimmered between them: He had to be. He didn’t have a choice. “I’ll be fine.” Then he glanced at Tricks, who was being good and playing with her stuffed animals. “What about Princess?”
Bo’s mouth curved with amusement as she realized she’d never told him Tricks’s name. “Her name is Tricks. T-R-I-C-K-S.”
“I thought it was Princess. That’s what you called her yesterday.”
“Princess is her title, but her name is Tricks. Besides, I call her a lot of things. For the first year of her life she thought her name was No No You Little Shit.”
His eyes lit, and something remarkable happened. Mr. Stoic tilted back his head and laughed.
CHAPTER 7
BO MADE A MAD DASH TO TOWN AND SUPERMARKET with Tricks riding shotgun. She was uneasy about leaving a stranger alone in her house though, really, what was he going to do? Go through her kitchen cabinets? He might crawl up the stairs but he sure couldn’t climb them, and there was nothing more interesting there than her underwear drawer if he got his jollies that way. She doubted he’d make the effort, though, even if he were capable of it. He hadn’t even wanted the TV on. She suspected he’d gone back to sleep as soon as they left.
The thin layer of snow was already melting and the roads were in good shape. She left Tricks in the Jeep, with the windows down a little for some cold fresh air, and made a record-breaking trip through the supermarket.
First, because it was most important, she restocked on food and treats for Tricks. Then she backtracked to the front of the store and began loading up on fresh fruit and some veggies, though fresh vegetables generally needed some sort of cooking and she didn’t do much of that, but maybe she’d throw together a loaded salad, or something. She got frozen pizzas, he-man milk, bacon and eggs, canned biscuits, frozen pancakes and waffles, anything she could think of that was fast, easy, and something a guy might eat. Pancake syrup. The makings for hamburgers. Chips and salsa. Cheese, cheese, and more cheese. Olives? Did men eat olives? But olives reminded her of Italian food, so she got some frozen lasagna and the makings for spaghetti, which called for garlic bread. My God, feeding the man was likely to eat up everything Axel was paying her!
She didn’t take the time to edit her selections or plan any meal in particular because she was in a hurry. When she was checking out, the tiny white-haired cashier, Miss Virginia Rose-a retired schoolteacher who hadn’t taken well to retirement so she’d gotten a job at the supermarket where she could keep tabs on the whole damn town-raised her eyebrows at the mountain of food Bo loaded onto the conveyor belt. “Goodness, I’ve never seen you buy so much food.”
Miss Virginia wouldn’t directly ask, but she would certainly set the table for confession.
Bo was happy to oblige. The best way to avoid the appearance of guilt was to be up front with as many details as possible. “An old friend is staying with me for a while. Can you say ‘junk-food junkie’?” She pushed two packs of Oreos forward, one regular and the other golden so he’d have a choice. She might snag one or two of them herself.
Miss Virginia might have wanted Bo to enlarge on the old friend, but she was in a hurry and resisted. News would get around town soon enough. She couldn’t hide him, didn’t intend to try. If people thought there was a mystery, they’d start trying to solve it, and nothing good would come of that.
She paid cash for the mountain of food, her normal procedure these days. Once she’d have swiped a card without thinking, but when she’d hit her limit on multiple cards while she was renovating the barn, she’d had to learn different habits. The grand total on the bill made her wince, which reminded her she needed to check her bank balance some time today to make certain Axel had deposited the promised funds. What time did banks credit electronic transfers, anyway? Her inquiring mind really wanted to know.
She loaded the groceries into the back of the Jeep. Tricks had been perfectly content watching people come and go, though Bo received a welcome lick when she slid behind the wheel. She scratched behind Tricks’s ears and said, “Let’s go, sweetie. I want time to take you for a nice long walk before we head to the station.”