Page 14 of Brick’s Anchor

She looks at me with skeptical eyes. "There's a difference?"

"Yeah. A big one."

"Not in my experience."

I want to ask about her experience. Want to know what her ex-boyfriends did to make her believe that relationships are just transactions, that sex is just power, that there's no difference between fucking and loving someone. But I don't. She's not ready for those questions and I'm not qualified to ask them.

"You should eat," I say instead.

"I should do a lot of things."

"Start with eating."

She moves toward the kitchen slowly, like she's approaching something dangerous. I follow at a distance, giving her space. Nora looks up and smiles at her.

"How was the shower?" Nora asks.

"Long," the girl says. Then, quieter, "Thank you. For the clothes. For everything."

"Of course. Are you hungry? There's—" Nora gestures at the spread. "Well, everything."

The girl stares at the food like it might disappear if she looks away. Her hands shake slightly as she reaches for a sandwich. She picks it up, puts it on a plate, then just stands there holding the plate.

"You can eat," I say. "Nobody's going to take it from you."

She looks at me. "I know that."

But she doesn't move. Doesn't take a bite. Just holds the plate like she's forgotten what to do with food.

Grace appears at her elbow, signing something enthusiastic. The girl jumps slightly, startled by the sudden appearance of a five-year-old. Judge translates from across the room without being asked. "She says you're pretty and she likes your hair."

The girl looks down at Grace. "I—thank you?"

Grace signs something else, her little hands moving rapidly.

"She wants to know your name," Judge supplies.

"Rosie," the girl says. Then she signs it back, fingerspelling slowly. R-O-S-I-E.

Grace's face lights up. She signs back, pointing at herself.

"Grace," Rosie says, pronouncing it. "That's a beautiful name."

Grace beams and launches into another flurry of signs. Judge translates again.

"She says her daddy knows all the words and he's teaching her new ones every day and she wants to teach you some too if you want to learn."

Rosie's expression shifts. Softens. Like Grace managed to find a crack in her armor that the rest of us couldn't touch.

"I'd like that," she says and Judge translates it to Grace.

Grace grabs Rosie’s free hand and pulls her toward the couch where she's got a children's ASL book laid out. Rosie follows, still carrying her sandwich, still wearing my cut.

I watch them settle on the couch together. Grace signing, Rosie attempting to copy the hand shapes. Making mistakes. Laughing when Grace corrects her with exaggerated patience only a child can manage.

"That kid's magic," Saint says from behind me.

I turn. He's standing at the bar with a beer, watching the same scene I am. "Yeah."