Page 24 of Give Me Strength

GILBERT

Dinner is a blur of clinking cutlery and polite conversation, the kind of surface-level topics that fill the space without saying anything of substance. Bonnie and I engage in small talk — the weather, recent events, anything to avoid the real subject that lingers over us.

My eyes keep drifting to Ashlynn. She’s dressed casually in jeggings and a t-shirt, a far cry from her usual ballet attire, yet she looks effortlessly stunning. Her brown hair flows freely around her shoulders instead of being pulled back into its usual bun. There’s a natural elegance to her, a beauty that seems to glow from within. Her green eyes catch the light, revealing hints of hazel that make them shimmer. They are as captivating as she is, drawing me in with their depth and intensity. Her flawless pale skin has a delicate, rosy undertone, adding a touch of warmth to her ethereal appearance.

I can tell she’s lost in a world of her own. She picks at her food, her eyes distant, her mind clearly elsewhere. I can’t help but feel a pull towards her, an innate need to understand her pain. My gaze lingers on her a moment longer than it should, taking in the way her t-shirt hugs her slender frame, accentuating her graceful lines. There’s an ease to her movements, a fluidity that reminds me of how she dances.

Every now and then, our eyes meet, and there’s something there, something raw and fragile that I can’t quite decipher.

What I do know, however, is that the attraction I feel is undeniable, a magnetic pull that’s hard to resist. The way she looks at me, the way her presence fills the room, it’s hard to ignore the emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

But I have to.

This is supposed to be a simple dinner, a gesture of support, nothing more.

She eats little, speaks even less, and excuses herself after dessert — which she barely touched — her departure leaves an emptiness at the table.

The sadness she carries with her is palpable. It lingers too. Bonnie and I try to maintain the conversation but it’s forced, and both of us are preoccupied with the young woman who just exited the room.

Bonnie gives up first and starts clearing the table, waving me off despite my protests.

“It’s called the division of labor for a reason,” she says, her balancing act impressive. “Since you did all of the cooking, it’s only fair that I clean. Lynn usually helps, but given the circumstances…”

Her voice fades as she disappears into the kitchen. I follow her, glasses in hand. “It’s her birthday, so she gets a pass.”

“Thank you for keeping it low-key. She doesn’t like to celebrate her birthdays, but she appreciates the pie. Speaking of, I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I dabble, but for tonight, I called in a favor. Our old House Manager, Melissa gave me some recipes for Ashlynn’s favorite desserts.”

Bonnie loads up the dishwasher. “Let me guess: You offered to rehire her, but she said no dice.”

“No one believes me when I say I plan on sticking around for a while. Didn’t Everett have a live-in housekeeper? Any chance she’d want to come work for us?”

“If only. Mrs. Torres officially retired two days ago. She’s moved to Florida to be closer to her grandchildren. I’d say that’s pretty final.”

I hand her the dishwasher soap. She measures what she needs, starts it up, and the low rumble of water fills the room.

“I’ll be off the grid for a few months, four months maximum,” she says, wiping her hands. At my puzzled expression, she adds, “Those happen on occasion. In the interest of transparency, I’ll be accompanying supplies for a ballerina in the program, one with homicidal tendencies. You crossed paths with her and her mother in Europe a few years back.”

I can’t help the frown that forms. “If it’s who I think it is, she’s still a minor and her mother is deceased.”

“There are ways to circumvent that, you know. She’s still a valuable material witness, so she’s in mafia witsec.”

“Mafia witsec? That’s not a thing.”

“I know it’s not, but that’s what I call it because officially,” she puts air quotes around the word, “it doesn’t exist. You see, when organizations need to creatively work with other organizations that don’t exist, they call me. Anyway, Lynn knows how to reach me in an emergency, and I also plan on regularly checking in with her. She knows enough of what I do and that it gets dangerous sometimes. Everett intentionally kept them in the dark, and we’ve already established I’m not my brother.”

Her changing the subject just as abruptly as she brought it up tells me she doesn’t want to discuss it further. Which is fine by me. Bonnie doesn’t have to tell me anything, which only makes me appreciate her transparency more.

“Thank you for telling me.”

She gives me a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Lynn doesn’t drive,” she continues, “and hasn’t expressed interest in learning since the accident. She coordinates her school and dance schedules directly with Russ, and he keeps me apprised. He’ll report to you too. He also serves as her unofficial bodyguard, travels to competitions with her, and tends to her injuries. And, he’s very particular about whom he works for, a trait I find invaluable.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means his job is to drive Lynn around, not Lynn and her friends.”

I don’t follow. “I thought that was self-explanatory.”

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