Page 31 of A Silence So Divine

I made sure not to promise, because it won’t be one I’m able to keep.

Fourteen

Eden

The New Year comes and goes. Creed and I don’t touch the alcohol again. Christmas night we fell asleep in front of the fireplace after hours of giggles and mindless conversation. The next morning, I woke in my own bed, the blankets tucked around me. I know who put me there, but there’s no use acknowledging it. Cecil is kind some days, cold the others; the former being few and far between.

It’s another dreary afternoon. The sky has faded into a darker shade of gray, signaling that dusk is near. The weather reflects my mood exactly. Creed issick. Fever, cough, body aches, all of it. And Cecil is at work, leaving me to play nurse. Again.

All day I’ve doted on him, ensuring his water glass is full and discarding used tissues. I even drew him an icy bath, hoping it might bring down the fever. He dipped a single big toe into the water and yelped. Not the finest idea, but I’m working with what I’ve got.

And now I’m faced with an even bigger challenge than the stitches debacle. Cooking. Not simple cooking, either. Creed hadone request for me, and that was homemade chicken noodle soup. Soup that requires slicing, sauteing,boiling.

“It’s easy,”he assured me. That was an hour and a half ago.

Using the back of my wrist, I brush hair out of my eyes, little tendrils falling onto my forehead from where they’ve escaped the clip. I’m bent in half over the kitchen counter, my face inches from the monstrosity before me. The knife is gripped firmly in my fist, but every time my opposite hand comes down to hold the raw chicken in place, I gag. It’sslimy. It had eyeballs and a brain and—

I heave again, burying my mouth in the crook of my elbow.

Pathetic.

I drop the knife, shooting the bird a dirty look. A piece of hair falls back onto my forehead and sticks, the sweat serving as an adhesive. Groaning, I stomp over to the freezer and stick my head in.

Sucking the cold air in through the nose and out the mouth, I rationalize with myself.

It’s just cooking. This is nothing compared to giving stitches. Technically, that was meat, too.

I stop that train of thought when the muscles in my throat threaten to spew the contents of my stomach all over frozen peas.

“That’s not a very good hiding place,” a deep voice rumbles from behind me. I startle, slamming the freezer door and facing the intruder. Cecil stands with his arms crossed, assessing me.

“Creed isn’t feeling well,”I respond by way of explanation.

“So you’re sticking your head in the freezer?” He comes closer, peering behind me at the ingredients sitting out. A recipe book is propped up against the wall, a clothespin holding it open.

“Yes,”I begin.“I mean no, that’s not why, but yes because—”My signing gets sloppy and confused as I struggle to explain myself. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath before continuing.“I’m making soup, but the chicken is—”I motion to the counter with a grimace.“Gross.”

Cecil merely nods, though I swear I catch a flicker of humor in his eyes. It’s gone before I can be sure.

“He always asks for chicken noodle soup when he’s sick,” he says casually. I’m stunned he’s speaking to me at all. Whenever we’re alone together, he can hardly look at me.

He pushes his sleeves past his forearms, and I have to avert my gaze from the corded muscles. Approaching the counter, he picks up the knife and begins cutting the chicken into sections. The knife cracks through the bone with each powerful slice.

I’m so enthralled that I don’t realize he asked me a question until he looks over his shoulder. Our gazes meet.

“What?”I ask, smoothing my hair back from my face. Making eye contact with Cecil, I feel like a bug beneath a microscope.

“I said, does he have a cold?”

So lost in my thoughts, I hardly compute what he says.

“The chicken?”I ask, lips twisted in confusion.

Cecil narrows his eyes. “Areyoufeeling okay?” A laugh softens his voice, lifting it from the typical gruff timbre. My fingertips tingle.

“Of course,”I insist, though suddenly I’m not so sure. I’ve never heard him laugh so clearly. Even if it’s at my expense, my heart swells in my chest.

In an attempt to distract myself, I take the pot to the sink and fill it. The hammering in my chest persists.