Now I think I’ve seen something. Abek looks up from his plate. At me and then back at his plate again.
Is it because he’s worried about how strangely I’m behaving, or because he was the one reading the book?
Next to me, Esther keeps her head down and her voice low as she leans over. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say shortly, not wanting to engage in a conversation that would force me to take my eyes off Abek. But he doesn’t meet my gaze again. I want to bang my fist on the table, make a noise that will force him to look up. But what would that accomplish, besides alarm everyone else at the table?
What is any of my behavior accomplishing? My stomach is filled with dread. My stomach is filled with so much ill-defined, terrified dread.
“Please excuse me,” I say, rising abruptly, dropping my napkin on the table. “I’m going to go lie down.”
“Do you need any help?” Esther sets down her own napkin. “I can walk you back.”
“It’s just a headache coming on.” I improvise, trying to sound reassuring. “A migraine.”
“Oh, oh. My mother used to get those. They’re terrible.” Esther and the rest of the table make clucking sounds of sympathy. But also, I think, relief at having an explanation for my odd behavior. “I’ll definitely walk you.”
“No, I think I just need to be still.” I hold up my hands, preventing her from accompanying me. “In a very quiet room,” I add, hoping the last sentence will signal that I want to be alone and she and Abek shouldn’t come check on me. “I’ll lie down for a few hours, and then I hope I’ll feel better.”
“You don’t have a headache, do you?”
I jump at the hand on my arm. Josef has followed me out of the dining hall, appraising me knowingly.
“I think there’s something wrong with my head.” It’s the truest statement I can make.
He measures what I’ve just said. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not right now.”
“Is it about—”
“It’s not about you,” I interrupt. “It’s about something I need to figure out.” I continue on before he can offer the help I can see he’s about to offer. “And you can’t help me figure it out, and I don’t even know if there’s a way to figure it out. I just know I need to do it alone.”
He removes his hand from my arm. “I’m not sure how to do this,” he says.
“Do what?”
“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to just let you go, or if I’m supposed to insist on helping you because we’ve—because we’re…”
“You’re supposed to let me go this time, Josef,” I say, looking anxiously down the path toward my cottage. “Maybe not every time, but right now you’re just supposed to let me go.”
Reluctantly, he steps back. I can see him struggling with himself, wanting to listen to me but still certain something’s wrong. Finally, he forces a smile on his lips. “All right. But you’ll tell me if you need anything? I think I’ve proved that I will commit violence on your behalf. And that was before I liked you. Now I’m willing to be even more brutal. I’m willing to punch all the latrines.”
He leans in and kisses me. And for a moment, I kiss him back; for a moment, I consider that this is what I could do instead. I could stand here and kiss him back, his fingers tangled in my hair, his lips urgent against mine. We could go back to the dining hall, and I could behave normally around Abek. Tonight I could kiss Josef again, and life could just continue. Moving forward, as Breine suggested it should. For a moment, this version seems like a possibility. For a moment, my life goes in two different directions.
But then I pull away. Put my hand on Josef’s heart and step backward. I don’t think this version is a possibility. No matter how deeply and desperately I want it, I don’t think it’s ever been a possibility for me.
THE COTTAGE IS TIDY AND EMPTY. OUR THREE BEDS ARE neatly made. Esther’s stenography book rests on her nightstand, opened to where she was studying for a test, and my sewing supplies are on mine. Nothing is on Abek’s. He hasn’t collected any personal effects since he arrived.
What did he come with? I try to remember. He was holding a bag when he first appeared in the