“I know you probably don’t want to come to the door, and that’s okay. But I thought maybe you could use a hot meal.” There was a pause before he added, “It’s good old-fashioned comfort food from a little diner in town called the Eatery. I think you’ll like it. I got the fried chicken with twenty herbs, garlic mashed potatoes and gravy and the best gluten-free corn bread you’ve ever tasted.”

She wanted to say, “That’s okay. I’m good.” But she didn’t trust her voice not to crack, and she was afraid responding would only start a dialogue between them.

Besides, he didn’t need to bring her food. She’d had more than enough calories today. All she’d been doing was eating. She hadn’t had the energy to make anything tastier or healthier than a peanut butter and jelly sandwich since she’d been released from the hospital, so it had been mostly snack food, but it wasn’t his responsibility to feed her.

She held her breath while she waited to see what he’d do next. Maybe he’d get mad, take the food and stomp off. She hoped he would. Then he’d know to stay away from her, and their cohabitation would be easier.

“I’m leaving it here by the door.” Surprisingly, he didn’t seem mad. He sounded patient, considering he’d just caught her lurking in his bedroom while he was undressed.

After that, she heard nothing. She listened carefully, but when several minutes of silence passed, she decided he must be gone.

Pulling up the blanket she’d dragged out to the couch earlier, she stared at the painting on the wall across from her. Black and white, with a simple, thin metal frame, it was conceptual, not a lifelike representation, but it appeared to be a woman caught in the throes of a scream that no one else could hear. As if to emphasize the anguish she was feeling deep in her soul, there was a dash of red filling her wide-open mouth.

Yes, Tia thought. I understand you because you’re me.

Four

Friday, December 17