Page 11 of Dangerous Silence
He said it in a low voice, like he wanted me to pay attention. I shut up then, deflated. I looked out the window. We were in an average part of the city inside of an apartment complex’s parking lot. He didn’t have a house. Maybe he owned the place?
Axe carried all three of my bags through a dim corridor with two units facing each other. He turned to one, then opened it with his keys. He gestured inside.
A mattress lay directly on the floor in the front room. Axe put my bags on the floor. To the side of the kitchen, in what should have been a dining area, was a set of filing cabinets and four locked toolboxes. A short hallway led to a bathroom and a bedroom.
Why did he have a mattress on the floor in his living room? Why did he have so many toolboxes?
And why did Dad think he could take care of me?
But I couldn’t think about that or it would make me angry all over again. If Axe wasn’t going to talk, to help me get my mind off of Dad, then I would find something else to numb the edge. I went to his kitchen, opening the fridge. Milk. A few different takeout boxes. A dozen eggs. Seeded bread. Mustard. A half-eaten container of deli turkey.
The man, at the bare minimum, was in his thirties. And he had no alcohol?
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
Axe crossed his arms over his chest. I did the same. The next-door neighbor banged on the wall, screaming about her pudding. Or maybe she was screwing someone? It was hard to tell. I turned to look at the noise, but Axe didn’t move.
Did he actually live here?
“I want to go back to Pebble Garden,” I said.
“No.”
My jaw dropped. “What do you mean, ‘no’? You’re not my boss.”
“I promised your father I would—”
“Myfathersaid he wanted us to get married, and we both know that that’s not going to happen.” I pointed a finger between the two of us. Granted, he wasn’t ugly… Okay, maybe he was kind of hot, but not in the traditional way. It was his size. Like he could smush me with his thumb. How he pushed me against the wall. Unafraid to do what he needed to do.
Which, in a sense, was also kind of creepy. But I didn’t hate it.
“Why would my Dad want me to stay with you?” I asked. “You have nothing here. You don’t even have a box spring. Do you have a job?”
“I come from a good family.”
I found that hard to believe. But then I smacked my forehead.
“Don’t tell me you opened up your own butcher shop,” I said.
He shook his head. “Do you have any pets?”
Pets? “Why would I?”
“Shep told me you loved animals.”
My chest tightened. I didn’t want to think about that either. First, it was Mom. Then I got my first and only D on a report card. Next, my babies were gone too.
“Loved. As in, Ididhave pets. A long time ago.”
But not anymore. Dad made sure of that.
“You’ll be staying in town until the funeral,” Axe said. “I can help with the arrangements. Make sure everything goes smoothly.”
I wanted to hate him for barging in and telling me what to do, but I was grateful in a way. Because I had never had to plan a funeral before, and I wasn’t sure where to start.
I froze, realizing something. He knew about my pets. That meant Dad had told him about me. That was years ago now.
And Axe remembered?
