Precious and Fragile Things Read online

  With her bowl and spoon washed, Gilly had nothing else to do. Todd had brought her sparkly tights and flannel pajamas, but he hadn’t brought her anything to read. A search of the large armoire in the corner revealed a large selection of board games including Monopoly, Parcheesi and Trouble. Decks of cards, poker chips, a checkerboard with a plastic Baggie of checkers stacked on top. She found a hinged box full of spent shotgun shells and stared at it for a long time as though looking would give her some clue as to why anyone had saved them, but in the end she couldn’t think of any reasons that made sense. On one of the shelves she discovered a stack of Field & Stream and People magazines from the 1980s.

  Princess Diana stared out at her from one cover, Mel Gibson from another. She touched the slick paper and ran her fingers over his piercing blue eyes. Sexiest Man Alive. Would anyone think so now? Probably not after the adultery and anti-Semitic rants.

  “Morning.” Todd startled her out of her reverie. “You been up long?”

  “A little while.”

  He yawned and stretched, showing the pale worm of his scar twisting across his belly. His face had scabbed. He was healing. They both were.

  “Still snowing?” he asked, not waiting for a reply before looking out one of the back windows. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “It’s ugly out.”

  Gilly shrugged. Did it matter? What would be a few more inches on top of what had already fallen?

  Todd yawned again and scrubbed at his hair. “I thought we were supposed to have whatchamacallit. Global warming.”

  Gilly gathered a handful of magazines and closed the armoire door. “That’s what they say.”

  “They.” Todd laughed, shaking his head. “Who’s they, anyway? Bunch of scientists sitting around yanking their cranks, figuring out stuff to scare everyone. That’s what I think. You eat already?”

  She nodded and Todd padded into the kitchen. He ate breakfast while Gilly read about celebrities and fads from thirty years ago. The room grew warmer as he added more wood to the stove. Gilly shed her sweater, at last warm if not exactly cozy.

  Perhaps an hour passed while Gilly read. During that time, she was aware of Todd drifting around the room. She kept her eyes on the pages as he walked aimlessly from window to window. He checked the stove, adding logs and pushing them around with the poker until sparks flew. He went out onto the front porch, letting in a burst of air that ruffled the pages and raised goose bumps on her flesh.

  At last, irritated, Gilly snapped. “Can’t you find something to do?”

  Todd flopped on the sofa across from her and sighed. “There is nothing to do.”

  He looked so much like Arwen when she said the same thing that Gilly bit her lip against a chuckle. Todd drummed out a beat on the arm of the couch, something rhythmic and annoying. Gilly ignored him, concentrating on the magazine, but Todd wouldn’t be ignored. He shifted, muttered, wriggled, thumped. At last she set aside the issue in her hands; Princess Di slithered off the couch and onto the floor.

  “Why don’t you go have a beer,” she said. “Or something.”

  He paused in the incessant motion and raised a brow. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

  “I don’t. Doesn’t mean you can’t.”

  He glanced toward the kitchen, then back at her with a raised eyebrow. “Why, you want me drunk?”

  “Oh, God, Todd. Why on Earth would I want you drunk?”

  “Maybe so I’ll pass out.”

  He didn’t say the rest, that she’d use the chance to escape, but Gilly knew what he meant. It was unreasonable to feel stung that he might be as wary of her as she was of him, but Gilly sniffed anyway. “Actually, no. I don’t like being around drunk people. Does one beer make you drunk?”

  “Not usually.” He grinned and thumped his feet on top of the coffee table, shifting the pile of magazines she’d finished.

  “Could you not do that? You’re making a mess.” She bent to pick up all the magazines and stacked them neatly, then looked up to see him staring at her curiously.

  “Does it make a difference?” Todd said.

  Gilly stood, stretching against the lingering bumps and bruises. “Yes. It does.”

  Todd put his feet down with a thud and a frown. “Sorry.”

  For once he’d been the one to say it, and Gilly looked him over. “It’s just nicer if things are clean, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, well, nothing stays…” Todd began and stopped. He scowled. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  Restless, Gilly stretched again. The passage of time struck her. She’d lost track of the days. “What’s today?”

  “Friday. I think. Right? Fuck if I know.”

  Friday. At home she’d be spending the day cleaning and cooking in preparation for Shabbat. By nightfall she’d be exhausted, but seeing the faces of the ones she loved in the light of the Sabbath candles always rejuvenated her. Gilly looked forward to Friday nights for just that reason.

  She baked fresh challah, the Jewish Sabbath bread, every week. Her stomach muttered at the thought. She didn’t remember seeing any yeast in the kitchen, but she might be able to find something. If her ancestors had survived fleeing Egypt with only unleavened bread to take with them, Gilly Soloman could make do.

  The heat from the woodstove didn’t quite reach the pantry. Her breath plumed out in great gusts as she searched the shelves. Todd’s more recent purchases, many of them still in plastic grocery bags, cluttered the front of the shelves, but further back were items that had probably been there as long as the magazines.

  Her fingers were growing numb. “Todd!”

  He appeared in the doorway after a moment. “Yeah?”

  Gilly waved her hand at the chaos. “Get this stuff all put away, will you? You can’t just leave it like this.”

  “Why not?”

  She gave him an exasperated sigh. “Because it’s a mess, that’s why. Who raised you, wolves?”

  She’d meant the question as rhetorical, but by the way his expression slammed shut she knew she’d touched a sore spot. “Sorry.”

  He set his jaw but brushed past her. The pantry wasn’t really big enough for the two of them. As he began taking cans and jars out of the bags, Gilly felt the heat radiating from him. He was his own furnace.

  She stepped away, uncomfortable with the contact. “I’ll go work in the kitchen. Shut the door so the heat doesn’t come out.”

  He grunted in reply but kept unpacking. She gave him a look. Todd made an exasperated sputter.

  “What? You think I’m that much of a douche bag that I don’t even know enough to keep the freaking door shut?”

  She didn’t answer that, just went into the kitchen and closed the door behind her. Gilly opened cupboards, pulling out ingredients she’d need as she found them and organizing the ones she didn’t. Uncle Bill must have used the cabin fairly frequently, for it was well stocked with staples like salt and spices, and lots of nonperishable goods. Todd had also made good choices in his grocery buying. Not just all sugar cereals, cigarettes and booze like she’d thought.

  It chilled her, a little, how methodical he’d been about shopping. Making sure there was enough of everything. She should be grateful for it now, considering the circumstances, but he hadn’t known they’d be snowed in when he’d bought it all, which only further hit home how long he’d intended to be here.

  Todd emerged from the pantry blowing on his hands and shivering. He shut the door behind him. The look he gave her was defiant but proud. “It’s all done.”

  Gilly didn’t shame him by checking, which is what she’d have done for one of the kids. But he wasn’t a child, much less one of hers. “Thanks.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to make challah, if I can find the right ingredients,” she said.

  His puzzled look told her he had no clue what she was talking about.

  “Bread,” she explained. “For the Sabbath.”

  Thankfully he didn’t ask her more, and so she didn�