Page 44 of Homestead

The food is almost done when Jimmy reemerges, wearing his old gray sweats and a thin white T-shirt. His hair and beard are wet, so he must have practically dunked his head.

He slumps into his chair at the table. “That smells great.”

“Caught a fish this afternoon. It was pretty good size.”

I can’t help but be proud of myself as I plate the food. I caught that fish. Cleaned and deboned it. Sliced it into fillets. And cooked it.

All by myself.

Four months ago, I never would have dreamed I’d be able to do something like that.

Jimmy takes his first bite and mumbles, “Yum.” Then he keeps making hungry, appreciative sounds as he eats. I served him two times the amount of fish that I gave myself, but he gobbles it up quickly, and I end up giving him the last piece from my plate as well.

He leans back in his seat when he’s done, closing his eyes and rubbing his scalp with his fingertips.

He’s really tired. I can see it in his face, in the slump of his shoulders, in the heaviness of all his movements.

He’s been going since dawn with barely the chance to sit down.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” he says after a minute, gulping down the second glass of water I poured him.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you made it home. Do you have to go back and do more work tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. “Not until dinner.”

“Okay, good. Well, you can take it easy tomorrow. You need a rest after how hard you worked this week.”

“It was fine.” He’s still rubbing at his head. “It wasn’t that much.”

I don’t at all agree with that statement, but I don’t vocalize it. He doesn’t appear to have the energy for even relaxed conversation, much less a useless argument about whether he worked hard this week or not.

When I look back up from my empty plate, he’s watching me. His eyes are steady on my face, but I can’t read his expression, so I don’t know what he’s thinking.

“What did you do today?” he asks at last.

“Baked bread. Fished. Washed my hair.”

“That must be why it’s all nice and shiny and pretty tonight.” His expression has softened now.

Surprised, I run my hand down the length of my hair, realizing it’s still loose rather than pulled back in my normal ponytail. Feeling inexplicably shy, I smile at him before getting up to clear the plates.

“Okay,” he says with a loud exhale. “Got to take care of those animals.”

“I can do that tonight,” I say from the sink. “You’re tired. Go on and lie down, and I’ll take care of them.”

“Nah. I’m okay. You already got to clean up the mess I made in here.”

Before I can object, he’s striding out the back door.

I shake my head as I wash the dishes and then sweep up the dirt and dried mud from the entryway and the lighter trail of it toward the bedroom. I grab his shoes and take them outside to wipe off as much of the caked mud as I can so he won’t continue to track dirt everywhere.

I’ve returned them to the bedroom when Jimmy comes back inside. “I’m done outside and locked up everything except the back door,” he says, pulling off his shirt and sweats and collapsing onto the bed in just his boxers.

After I use the outhouse, I lock the door and secure the extra bar to further brace it against entry.

Then I return to the bedroom to wash up and take off my clothes.

Jimmy watches me as I go through my nighttime routine, and his eyes rake over me with an exhausted kind of hunger as I walk to the bed naked. I don’t turn off the lantern yet because he likes to be able to see.

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