Page 55 of Homestead

“But you’re treating me?—”

“I’m takin’ care of you. I’m protecting you. I told you over and over that it’s my job and you gotta let me do it.”

“I understand that, and I appreciate it. But you’re going overboard. You can’t watch over me every second of every day! It will never work. We’ve both got work we have to do, so if we’re ever going to manage having a life together, you’re going to have to trust me on my own sometimes.”

“I do trust you.” He seems to have pulled back into himself. Stifled the fierce feeling he was expressing before. He mumbles as he continues, “But I’m not lettin’ you get hurt again.”

“I don’t want to get hurt either, but you can’t control everything. We’re going to have to figure something out. I don’t think I’m a foolish person. I’ve never run headlong into danger. But I do have to be left alone occasionally unless you’re prepared to hire a bodyguard or something.”

My last words are dry and sardonic, but I see his expression shift like he’s actually considering options.

“Argh!” I burst out, completely at my wit’s end. It’s like trying to reason with a stone cliff face. “You’re being ridiculous! You can’t overreact this way.”

He narrows his eyes, breathing heavily. He’s definitely angry in a way I’ve almost never seen him.

“I’m sorry,” I add, moderating my tone. “I know yesterday was hard for both of us. But we’re living in this world, and there’s no way to ensure anyone is perfectly safe. So maybe tomorrow you go to help your folks again like you planned, and I’ll stay and work on laundry. I’ll keep my gun with me at all times.”

It’s what I suggested very gently this morning and was immediately dismissed.

It is again now.

“No,” he grits out.

“You can’t just say no like that!”

“Yes, I can. I’m saying no. The discussion is over.”

It feels like the whole world is throbbing around me. That’s how outraged and shaky I am. “The discussion can’t be over until?—”

“It’s over!” he snaps out. “The decision is made.”

He’s not loud, but he’s curt. Authoritative. I’ve never heard him like that before.

His tone immediately silences me, leaving me still shaky but hurt instead of indignant.

I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this.

I can’t believe he’s treating me this way.

Not like a partner at all.

I want to cry, but I don’t let myself. I fall into step with him as he starts walking again, and I can’t unclench enough to say a single word on the entire trip back home.

10

The silence continuesthroughout the evening.

I make an effort to act natural. I ask him if he wants some eggs to go with the ham Greta gave us and then reach into the root cellar to grab a jar of canned sliced potatoes so I can dry them off and fry them up with our meal.

Dinner turns out delicious. I haven’t had fried potatoes of any kind since Impact, and the taste and texture evoke an aching nostalgia that clashes with the simmering resentment in my chest. Jimmy eats everything without conversation and without even his normal sounds of appreciation. He does mumble thanks when he’s cleaned his plate, but it’s not the same.

While I’m still stewing with anger and hurt, I’m prepared to cram the feelings into a corner of my mind and pretend everything is normal. Jimmy, however, refuses to be his usual self. He stares at me a lot but not in a normal way. I’m used to him peering in scrutiny or gazing with hot hunger or looking with a kind of amused bafflement.

This is different. This is bleak and exhausted, and nothing I say or do can change it.

It actually makes me feel guilty. Which pisses me off even more.

He’s the one overreacting. He’s the one being completely unreasonable. He’s the one who refuses to budge or compromise even a little. He’s the one who used a rough command to end our argument as if I’m his subordinate rather than his partner.

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