Page 38 of Resilience on Canvas

“Oh!” She turned to snatch a scarf from the back of a chair and then wrapped it around her face, securing it behind her head with a simple knot. “There.”

Henry pulled down his mask and smiled. “Take care.”

“You too,” she said, her voice muffled by the fabric. “Have fun makin’ marmalade.”

Clara waved goodbye to Robert as Henry started toward the kitchen. He tossed his rag over to the couch on the way. The moment Robert and Henry locked eyes, it was like a watch stopping. Robert’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, the sound so loud he barely even heard the door shutting.

“H-hey, Robert,” Henry said, rubbing his neck. “How’ve you been?”

“Good,” Robert replied right away, though his voice wavered. “Ready to cook?”

“Yeah, uhm, yeah,” Henry said, shuffling closer. “Are you sure you can spare the carrots?”

“Everyone likes marmalade. The kids will eat it. Maybe with pancakes or such.”

Robert turned and placed his palms flat on the counter, letting out a breath. What was he supposed to do now? Him and Henry were by themselves. And they liked each other, right? Henry cameup beside him, and Robert chewed on his lip, wondering what was the right thing here. He could kiss him. He, Robert Davis, could take Henry Sherwood by the collar and kiss the hell out of him. But could hereallysacrifice himself like that? Not only himself but his family, too? Christ, not fifteen minutes before, Robert had been ready to meet his maker, socially speaking, but then Clara had come into the kitchen, her big brown eyes filled with worry, reminding Robert how muchthey needed him to survive.

Son of a bitch, Robert had a wholefamilyto think of! He couldn’t kiss Henry now.

“Alright, Hen,” he said, fighting to keep his voice strong. “First, we’ll peel the carrots, and then, we’ll shred ’em, and then, we’ll boil ’em. Think you can handle that?”

“Yeah, I can peel carrots. And shred ’em.”

“But boilin’, that’ll be a problem,” Robert teased, handing Henry a knife.

“Oh, no, I can boil vegetables, too.”

“Good,” Robert replied with a snort. He swiped the blade of his own knife over a carrot, flaying off some skin. “Try to keep up.”

Over the next few minutes, the two men worked to peel a whole pile of carrots, though Henry was real slow with it. Slow enough that Robert had to concentrate on suppressing a chuckle. Somehow, Henry seemed to be becoming evenslowerwith time, too.

Finally, Robert said, “We’re peelin’ carrots, Hen, not makin’ a sculpture.”

“Hm?”

“Yer bein’ so careful, it’s like yer carvin’ somethin’ for a museum.”

“Oh.” Henry set his knife on the counter. “Well, that’s because my finger hurts.”

He held out his hand. Henry’s index finger was red, the tip slightly swollen. Robert’s eyes widened.

“Christ, Hen!” He snatched Henry’s hand. “I thought I warned you to keep this clean!”

“I did! I swear I did!” Henry exclaimed. “But, uhm, I think maybe we aggravated it when we were wrestlin’ in the store.”

“Dammit.” Robert’s scowl deepened when he spotted the little son-of-a-bitch piece of wood still stuck in Henry’s skin. “I can’t believe you left the splinter in there.”

“I tried to work it out on my own, but I couldn’t find my tweezers.”

“Doesn’t yer mom have tweezers?”

“Maybe?”

With a roll of his eyes, Robert began pulling Henry toward the bedroom, though he had to try not to fixate on thewhereof it as they neared the end of the hall.

“Wait on my bed,” he said as he shoved Henry inside. Blood rushed to his cheeks, and he prayed that Henry hadn’t noticed. “I’ll fetch the tweezers from Clara’s room.”

Robert tried to banish the impure thoughts from his mind and, therefore, extinguish the fire ofwantheating up his face, but he couldn’t manage to push them out completely. Because for the second time that week, he had held Henry Sherwood’s hand. And he was about to hold it again.

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