Page 159 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

face and pretended not to notice. They drove a city block
before she even asked him where they were headed. The
driver knew of a stop within walking distance of her house.
Then she collapsed in a seat, her head knocking against the
window.
Elgin. Today she couldn’t even handle his quiet plant
pruning. She ducked low, passing his picture window, and
headed straight to the door of the basement suite.

She pulled a chair over to the oven, held a match near the
stream of gas and huddled close. As her body shook, Greta
imagined a finite number of tremors, each one bringing her a
step closer to warm. It comforted her, the counting. Minutes
passed. Greta’s skin thawed, but her limbs stiffened to the
shape of the chair. Rigor mortis. A battle clashed inside of
her—stand up or run and hide. What was happening to Ash

at this moment? Her insides shook while her body stiffened.
As she considered busing back—the wait unbearable—a
shadow flickered past the living-room window. The door slid
open, dragging against the entryway carpet. Greta turned
her head. Her neck worked. Ash stood in the doorway for a
moment, the afternoon sun glaring bright around his body.
She didn’t turn away. Something loosened in her muscles. His
body whole, in one piece. “Ashwin.”
He closed the door, kicked off his shoes and walked to

the kitchen. A purple bruise swelled on one cheek. He turned
off the dial on the stove, the hiss of gas falling silent and the
flame disappearing. How long had it been on?
“You’re okay,” she breathed. “I left you.”

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