Page 92 of Windlass

Jaq’s eyes filled with liquid, which she quickly blinked away, and Stevie made no comment as Jaq smoothed the greasy ointment over the cuts.

“You can put your bracelets back on before you leave. Take this cream with you and put it on as often as you remember, okay?”

Jaq nodded. Stevie’s panic returned with the conclusion of the activity. How the fuck did she fix this?

Morgan bought Stevie food when she was sad. That helped. Food was also something Stevie could do albeit less ably.

“I have another idea,” Stevie said. “It can’t fix everything, but it makes things better.”

Jaq waited.

“Pancakes. Come on.”

The kitchen was cluttered but clean, a few coffee cups on the counter and a plate with toast crumbs. A lived-in kitchen. She directed Jaq to a bar stool and began gathering her ingredients, chatting about nothing in particular and trying to get those stark red lines out of her mind’s eye. Angie had faint scars from old cuts. Had those looked like Jaq’s once? Stupid question. Of course, they had.

“I don’t bake, and I don’t like to cook, but breakfasts? I’m your girl. Do you want blueberries? Chocolate chips? Bananas?”

“You can put bananas into pancakes?” Jaq’s voice, though skeptical, sounded more like her usual self.

“Obviously you need a pancake flight.”

“What’s a flight?”

“Uh . . . it’s a brewery thing. Sampler. I’ll make you one blueberry, once chocolate chip, and one banana. If we had strawberries—Ange, do we have any strawberries?—I’d add one of those, too.”

“No, you ate them all.” Angie entered the kitchen in her work clothes with her hair in a wet braid over one shoulder. It would be up in its usual bun by the end of the day.

“Oops,” Stevie said without remorse. She loved strawberries. “Sorry, kid.”

“Hey, Angie,” said Jaq with a shy smile. Stevie’s brain produced a cartoon cracking sound to accompany the fissure that smile split within her chest. How could the world hurt people like Angie and Jaq? It made no sense.

“Hay’s for horses.” Angie tousled Jaq’s hair as she passed, and Jaq’s cheeks pinked. Clearly the kid had a thing for femmes. Which might mean she’d talk to Angie, now that Stevie thought about it.

“Pancakes?” she asked Angie.

“Silly question.” Angie plucked the whisk from Stevie’s hands and play-smacked her shoulder.

Years of experience meant that even now she could whip up pancakes without consulting a recipe, and she let Angie take over the task of conversation. When Jaq eventually asked to use the bathroom, however, she seized the moment of privacy.

“She’s cutting,” Stevie said without preamble.

“I know.” Angie rested her hand on Stevie’s arm.

“You knew?”

“Yeah.” Angie’s tone did not imply Stevie was slow on the uptake, but she certainly felt slow. “I’m guessing there’s stuff going on at home.”

“How long have you known?”

“I noticed when she started. It’s common at her age.”

That sentiment again as if somehow something being common made it acceptable. There wasn’t time to fight about it right now, though. Jaq could be back at any moment.

“But shouldn’t we do something?” Stevie flipped a pancake before it burned and turned back to Angie. “Do we tell someone?”

“Only if that won’t make things worse for her. You are doing something. You’re making her pancakes, and you’re letting her hang out with horses.”

“The bar, folks, is on the ground.”

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