Page 37 of Twins for the Enemy

It’s a strange feeling. This coat and boots were chosen so I’d blend in with the snow when the deer comes around. It’s an attention to detail that I almost find unnerving. If I’m that transparent, what else can he see?

Is he judging me for my cowardice as a kid? For my pitiful attempts at redemption as an adult?

How close is he to figuring out the truth about the Bettiol fire?

I pull on the coat. The inside is made of a silk-like material that’s initially cold but warms against my skin. As I zip it, it’s almost too warm. It should work well outside while I’m stationary.

The boots are sizes 7, 7.5, and 8. The 7.5 fits perfectly.

I trudge down the stairs. As I pass through the kitchen, the dishes I’d washed and put in the strainer have disappeared. I can’t be certain if the housekeeping staff is avoiding me or if part of their job is to be invisible.

As I step outside, the backyard is a mix of a winter daydream and an architect’s attempt to turn snow into a model for a block of the city. The way Kieran shoveled out a path was so meticulous that I’m tempted to draw lines down the center of it to represent the road and add small squares on the cliff face of the snow to symbolize buildings.

As I shove my hands in the pockets of my coat, my eyes follow the shoveled path. As they reach the cherry blossom tree, my heart somersaults in my chest.

Kieran’s crouching near it, looking at me like I’m something rare and untouchable. How is it possible to be treasured in a single gaze?

It must be an illusion caused by the cold and the way the snow shimmers as it falls.

I walk a little faster than I should because the deer could appear at any second. I squat down beside him, the coat saving my knees from getting soaked with melting snow. The snow was piled around us, giving us a small reprieve from the wind.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper. He puts his index finger to his lips and slowly points forward. The deer takes unsteady steps through where a gap in the stone wall allows the creek to flow through. Its dark brown fur and black nose are a stark contrast to the snow, but as its ears flicker and it slowly surveys around it, it feels like an ambassador to this snow-covered Eden.

We quietly watch, less than an inch away from each other, our breathing falling in sync. I can’t distinguish between his body heat and mine. I could take his hand and it would feel like taking my own.

The deer bows its head to nibble on the branches of a bush.

“Have you ever watched the deer before?” I mumble, barely moving my lips. The deer’s ears twitch and its head jerks up, but after it looks around, it continues to eat.

“No,” he says. “I consider it a nuisance. It tears up the yard with its hooves and overgrazes. If it moves a few feet farther, it’ll find one of the piles of nuts, fruit, and corn I left it.”

“Even though it’s a nuisance?”

“I feed you, don’t I?” he asks. I try not to smile, forcing on a half-hearted scowl, and I swear he almost smiles back.

We huddle like two idiots, watching the deer finally find the first pile of treats. I can’t suppress a smile thistime. Kieran’s face is turned too much for me to see if he’s smiling too, but it feels like I’m feeling his joy as well.

It’s not just the deer. Everything out here is gorgeous. The snow clings to the branches of the trees, making them appear gracefully fragile despite the weight they’re carrying. Everything except the area that Kieran shoveled looks like a plush white blanket, pulled tight up to the house. The snow on the large round bushes looks like the sheep I’d count to fall asleep.

But more than that, being here next to Kieran evokes this mood of being in bed on a lazy Sunday with nothing to worry or think about except coffee. And bagels. And sex.

And that thought of dangling on that line between intimacy and recklessness leads to other sensations. It’s the same feeling a flower has when the sun hits it, petals unfurling in approval, or a devout believer when they enter holy ground, falling to their knees in awe.

A shiver passes through me. I don’t think it’s caused by the cold, but by the realization that the closeness to Kieran settles my heart.

I flinch as something drapes over me. Startled, thinking about violence from my childhood, I feel the added warmth of his coat as he places it over my shoulders.

“Sorry,” he says, raising his hands in surrender to show he’s harmless. As if he could be that. “You looked cold. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” I insist. “It just surprised me.”

“I didn’t mean to surprise you then.”

But it is nice. It's been a long time since somebody took care of me. Self-reliance has been an important part of how I conduct myself and, even when I was staying at the homeless shelter, I knew I couldn’t depend on it. Everything comes with a price, and part of that price is a rug that is easily pulled out from under your feet.

I can’t let myself get drawn into wanting him to take care of me. I can’t get attached. He’s easily been able to see through me, so he’ll eventually see that I wasn’t the one who started the fire. He’ll find out it’s Neal and, with his dislike toward him and the fact that Neal isn’t carrying his children, he’ll kill him like he did Robert Young. His rage toward me is barely contained. He’ll tear out Neal’s throat and every other part of him that he can get ahold of.

I was the right scapegoat for the police and I’m the right scapegoat for Kieran.

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