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Kristina
I march into the kitchen, fuming. Our crazy house guest didn’t provide a lot—any details as to who he is, exactly. He seems to be a little out of it, still. Like he’s dazed or drunk or something. But that could just be me.
I find Grandma Rose fussing over the stove. The tiny nineteen-inch TV sitting on the counter is tuned to the local news channel and she seems to be paying more attention to it than to the skillet on the burner.
The food, however, smells appetizing and my stomach growls in response. I’m famished.
“Good morning, honey,” she greets me with a smile. “I see you survived the night in spite of all your worries. How did you sleep?” she asks as her gaze settles once again on the TV.
“As good as one can sleep on a rocking chair,” I grumble. I pull out a stool and sit at the breakfast bar. “I may be a little paranoid here, but now that the guy is awake I think we should really be worried. He doesn’t have a fever. Didn’t have one the entire night and I’m confused. With the amount of blood loss and—”
I’m chatting away, but Grandma’s not even paying attention to me. She’s talking to herself in a hushed tone and moving about the kitchen like a woman possessed. I can see plates of ham and bacon sitting on the counter and she’s dishing out scrambled eggs and making toast. “What’s with the meat?” I ask, but she’s far from hearing me. “I’m not too fond of bacon. Or ham,” I try again, but Grandma moves over to the coffee maker and pours three cups of the hot liquid before turning to the toast, which has just popped out.
I’m basically talking to myself.
“Um, I’m not entirely sure he’s not a serial killer, but since we’re still alive, maybe my paranoia is unfounded,” I utter. She doesn’t even pause. “Rose.” I don’t call her that unless I’m mad or trying to get her attention. “Rose!” I say more forcefully and this time she stops and turns around to look at me with a butter knife in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.
“What is it?” she asks, eyes wide.
“Didn’t you hear a word I just said?” I fold my arms over the breakfast bar. “What’s got you in a huff?” As if the answer to that isn’t obvious.
She shrugs. “Nothing, really.”
“Like I’m supposed to believe that.”
She avoids eye contact by occupying her hands with buttering toast. “I’ve been listening to the news. There are no reports on escaped convicts or mentally unstable patients. Not in this county or any others in the state so far.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “This mystery just keeps widening.”
“The radio revealed nothing, either.”
“You listened to the radio, too?” I arch my brow. “Did you Google for additional news?”
“I can’t work that damn computer.” She puts two more slices of toast into the toaster and waits for it to be done.
“I’ll check it out after breakfast.” I tap my fingers against the granite countertop. “Anyway, I, um, our house guest is awake and alert. I thought you might want to know.”
Grandma turns to face me. “What did he say?”
“Nothing much. I asked for his name and he said he didn’t have one.”
She frowns. “Doesn’t have a name?”
“That’s right. Well, he said afterward his name is Tiger. I think he’s lying.”
Grandma saunters over to the breakfast bar. “How does he look?”
“Tired and pale but I think he’s feeling much better. The thing is...” I scratch my head nervously, “how is it that he has no fever? Didn’t have one all night. I checked. I got up several times during the night. He got shot three times and... no fever?” I hold up three digits to emphasize my point. “For God’s sake, Grandma, the man should be delirious by now. I mean, with the amount of blood he lost, the whipping, the bullets we couldn’t find last night—I don’t get it.”
She doesn’t respond. She stares at me with an expression I can’t read.
“Am I the only one who thinks this is completely unrealistic? Not to mention disturbing.”
Grandma Rose wipes her hands on her apron before spinning around to take care of the two other pieces of toast. “Did you ask if he’s hungry?”
I stare at the back of her head so hard I’m sure she must feel it. “No. Of course not.”
“Go ask him. I think he might be half starved by now.”
“But—”
“Fetch him some of your brother’s clothes while you’re at it. Unless you want him to join us at the dining table stark naked.”
“But—”
“Go on, now. We have chores to do and the sooner we eat, the sooner we can get started.”
She’s dismissing me again. I can’t believe it.
“Grandma.” I shoot off my seat and walk around the breakfast bar to the counter on the other side of the room where she’s busy buttering toast. “Why are you acting so weird? Ordering me around as if I don’t have a right to know what’s going on? What is going on?”
She continues on as if I haven’t spoken at all. Her refusal to make eye contact feels like betrayal. She’s hiding something from me. Even so, I’m more anxious than mad. What in God’s name is going on? Why won’t she tell me? “Do as I ask,” she tosses over her shoulder. “The less you know, the better.”
I’m completely aghast not only by Grandma Rose’s behavior but by her refusal to trust me with whatever it is she’s holding back.
I stand beside her, my gaze trying to hold hers but she refuses to face me. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” she is quick to reply.
By the determined look on her face, I can tell she’s not going to fill me in.
“Fine. Have it your way.” I say, a lot harsher than I intend. I’m mad, but disrespecting my grandmother is never something I do. I love her too much to act like an ungrateful brat, but the mysterious man’s appearance has changed something in her and I don’t like it.
I storm out of the kitchen, hurting. I’m upset she prefers to leave me in the dark.
I rush upstairs into the bathroom and brush my teeth before marching into my brother’s bedroom to search for something that could possibly fit our—guest? I brought him here out of the goodness of my heart, but I’m seriously regretting that decision.
He’s turning my grandmother into a stranger.
Steven left ten months ago to serve in Iraq. I miss him. At times like these, when I think Grandma’s mind is slipping, I miss him even more. Her need to be kind to this stranger has me rethinking a lot of things.
Helping him was my idea, but I didn’t think she’d go for it. I thought she’d order me to take him to the hospital instead, but she didn’t. Which puts all kinds of crazy thoughts in my head. Is he some long-lost family member? Is she trying to cover something up? If so, then what? As I rummage through the drawers of Steven’s bureau, I wish talking with him was as easy as a phone call. I’d love to consult him, but nothing is in my favor. He’s too far away and communication is limited to a video conference every other week, if we’re lucky.
I find a pair of grey sweats and a black T-shirt that will probably fit the stranger downstairs and pull them out. I place them on top of the bureau while I make sure to rearrange everything as it was. Even though Steven isn’t home, we like to keep his room exactly as he left it. It’s dusted, mopped, and aired at least once a week. Grandma washes his sheets once a month.
With everything neatly folded and in its place, I open the underwear drawer. I find two packets of brand-new boxer briefs and white socks inside. Before leaving, Steven had bought several essential items to take along—extra underwear, socks, deodorant, shirts, and so on. He ended up leaving some behind due to lack of space. Since the stranger and Steven are about the same size, I hope the boxer briefs and socks will fit. I open the packets and take a pair of each out before stuffing the rest inside the drawer.
I take the clothing items downstairs to the spare bedroom, opening the door without knocking. I find the nuisance of a house guest struggling to sit up. The moment I march in he stops and looks at me as if he’s waiting for me to make good on my promise to blow his head off.
“I brought you some clothes.” I hold them in front of me. “The pants you had on last night had to be thrown out.”
He doesn’t reply. He glances from the clothes up to my face and then down again.
“I hope you don’t mind.” I take a step forward and hold out the pair of black boxer briefs. “You might want to start off with these.”
He has a look of total confusion on his face.
“Underwear.” I toss them over to him and he moves, surprisingly fast, and catches them before they hit his chest. “Do you always go commando?”
He holds the boxer briefs up and inspects them briefly before gazing up at me. “Commando? What is that?”
I blink. “You don’t wear underwear?”
He looks baffled.
“I’ll wear these if it will make you feel better.”
That wasn’t the response I expected. Quite frankly, he’s perplexing on so many levels. There’s something off about him but I’m finding it very hard to figure out what it is. He sits up, extremities a safe distance from the headboard, and quilt covering him from the waist down.
“It’s up to you, really,” I say.
He stares at the boxer briefs as if he has no idea what they’re for. I observe him silently for a moment as he inspects the underwear with an innocence so out of place for a man his size and age. His face holds the same intensity and helplessness a kid’s would.
Albeit, he’s more of a six-foot child, with long, muscled arms and broad shoulders. There’s incorruptibility in him I can sense. That scares me more than his imposing frame does. How can someone so big give out such a vulnerable vibe? Is that why Grandma Rose insists on helping him?
“Here.” I stack the rest of the clothes on the mattress next to him. “These belong to my brother but they should fit. You guys are about the same size. More or less, anyway. Only, don’t put on the shirt since I have to clean up your back and put new bandages on.”
He nods, but he seems uncertain. He ogles the clothes as if it’s the first time in his life he’s ever seen garments. “You have a brother?” he asks at last, gaze on me.
“Yes,” I say curtly. I don’t want to add any details as to where Steven is. I still don’t trust him. “Do you need help getting up?” I ask, to direct the conversation elsewhere.
He shakes his head.
“Are you hungry?”
My heart skips a beat when I catch the dilation of his pupils, but he glances away so quickly I’m not entirely sure of what I saw.
“Yes,” he murmurs, his voice so low I have to strain my head to hear him.
“Well, when you’re dressed you can come out and meet us in the kitchen. You can find it if you follow the noise.”
He nods, but doesn’t look at me.
“Okay, then, I’ll leave you to it.”
I march out of the room, shutting the door on my way out.