THIEF: Part 2 Page 6

  I plunk the bottle onto the counter, about to reach for a glass. Instead, I unscrew the cap and take a swig, then another. My eyes don’t break from his the entire time.

  “Thought you didn’t mind me drinking,” I snap, my voice so sarcastic, even I can’t stand it.

  “I don’t,” he says. He looks like he’s about to grab the bottle from me, then decides against it. “I mind people drinking out of anger, though.” He pauses. “To cope with their emotions, instead of talking.”

  “Oh, excuse me, Mr. AA—I forgot I’m talking to an expert here.” I take another swig, then it hits me. I lower the bottle, and for a brief instant, my anger gives way to curiosity. “Why is it that Abby gets custody when she’s still an alcoholic? When she's….” I think back, to the day Silas told me about Emma’s eye. “…when she’s the one who started that fire, who almost got Emma killed?” Curiosity lets in a little sympathy, for that poor little girl, caught in the middle of it all.

  Silas doesn’t answer. He starts to turn away, but I grab his shoulder and turn him back. There are tears in his eyes, and my stomach drops.

  “Oh, my God.” I let go of him. “Abby didn’t start that fire. You did.”

  He stares at the tile floor, shifting his jaw and cracking his knuckles with his thumbs, his telltale signs he’s about to lose it. But even as the tears start to trickle down his face, he keeps doing it. Like maybe he can reverse it all, erase my words from the air.

  But he can’t. They’re here. And the longer he stays silent, the truer they become.

  “You could have told me,” I whisper, but I know why he didn’t. When he told me about Emma’s eye, all I could picture was a monster. Even now, I can’t match that monster to the Silas I know.

  “I wanted to kill myself, after that.” Silas’s voice is grainy, strained. He puts his back to the doorway and slides down to the tile, forearms resting on his knees. He looks at his feet instead of me, even when I sit beside him.

  “They told us Emma wouldn’t live,” he continues. “The only thing that kept me going was her. As long as she was still alive, no matter what the doctors said would happen, I had hope. Enough to keep me from suicide, at least.

  “I wanted to donate one of my eyes, but I wasn’t a match, and her socket was too damaged, anyway. In the end…all they could do was graft the burns and hope for the best.” He bites his lip. “Abby filed for divorce the day Emma moved out of the ICU.”

  I reach out and touch his knee. It’s all I can do, but he seems grateful; he closes his hand over mine and looks at me. “For a little while, I started getting wasted again, even worse than before. Just trying to deal with it, I guess. Then one afternoon, on my way to visit Emma, I….” He takes a breath. “…I got a DUI.”

  His pause is long enough to warrant a question, so I say the only thing I can think of: “Did you go to jail?”

  He shakes his head and looks away again. “Suspended license for a little while, suspended jail time. And…hours.”

  “Hours?” I ask, and it translates itself for me. “You mean…community service?”

  Silas shifts his jaw again. “Yeah. A hundred hours. At Fox Ridge.”

  My hand tenses, but I will myself to leave it on his knee. “So you aren’t a counselor?”

  “I’m a volunteer, now,” he admits. “When my service ended, I started doing summers there so I could see Emma. Actually, I planned that part—started stuffing Abby’s mailbox with the camp brochures, knowing she’d want to send Emma. I had to keep it a secret that I worked there, though. Thankfully, Emma understood that. But Abby just found out, 'cause of this locket thing.” He hitches his thumb back to the door. “That’s why she was here. To slap a restraining order on me. But, to answer your real question…no. I’m not a counselor. I lied.”

  “But your money…your rent on the apartment…I don’t understand.” I look around the kitchen. The place isn’t glamorous, but it’s certainly more than a jobless volunteer could afford.

  “I get by with odd jobs the rest of the year,” he explains. “Not much, but enough so I can take summers off and see Emma.” He lets his head fall back against the wall with a bang. “I’m sorry, Erin. I should have told you all this sooner. But I was afraid you’d leave me, and you know what? You probably should.” He shakes his head. “I ruin people’s lives. It’s what I do best.”

  “Silas.” I wait until he glances at me. “You didn’t ruin anything. I don’t care about that stuff. I mean…it’s shocking, yeah, but—”

  “Stop,” he interrupts, and holds up his hand. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  I flinch, like he's slapped me. “You’re scaring me, Silas…I need you.” I don’t mean to start crying too. But the thought of losing him, despite the secrets, shakes me to the core. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’ll be fine,” he answers coldly. “You’ll move on.”

  What in the hell’s happening? I come in angry at him, and now suddenly I’m the one getting the brush? My headache splits my skull like lightning, and when I stand to follow him into the living room, stars dance across my vision.

  “Silas,” I plead, “don’t make me leave.”

  “I’m not,” he says. My relief barely has time to hit as he adds, “I’m leaving. You deserve this place, not me.”

  Dumbstruck, I watch him bolt around the apartment, filling a duffel from the closet with clothes, spare change, and food. When he gets close enough, my hand shoots out and snatches the handle.

  “Silas.”

  “Erin,” he says, “let go.”

  “Tell me what the hell is going on!” I scream. I drag my palms across my eyes, smearing my tears. “I mean, shit, don’t I at least deserve that much?”

  Silas stares at me, lessening his grip on the bag. The urgency leaches from his body. “You’re right,” he says. “You definitely deserve that. And a lot more. And I’m not man enough to make the call, so I’ll let you decide.” He ignores my confusion and kisses me. It’s deep, the keep-me-grounded kind I’ve come to depend upon. But there’s something so final about it, I want to cry more.

  “What I’m about to tell you,” he says, “is probably one of the worst things I’ve ever done. I mean, at least Emma’s eye was an accident. But I did this to you on purpose, and I can’t live with myself if I let it keep going. So if you want to turn me in when I leave, I’ll completely understand. I wish I had the spine to do it myself.”

  “Silas...I don't understand. What are you talking about?”

  Silas takes in a deep breath, then lets it out, his confession trailing at the end like the tail of a kite: “I stole the money from Fox Ridge.”

  At first, his sentence doesn’t even make sense to me. I stare at him and repeat it, in choppy monotone: “You stole the money from Fox Ridge.”

  He nods, suddenly stoic for all the shame I see on his face. “I knew I’d be a suspect, because of my record,” he explains, “but I had the advantage of being there for so long since my service, and I had the trust of Juliet and the rest of the staff already. So I had to wait for someone new to come in for service.”

  “Me,” I finish, my voice barely above a whisper.

  Gravely, Silas nods. “For what it’s worth,” he says, opening the door, “I didn’t think they’d actually take you to court. I’ve been thinking about confessing ever since the summons. But like I said…I’m just not man enough to do it.” He shakes his head, and I hear the strain in his voice again, a mist filming across his eyes. “Do it for me, Erin. Turn me in.” He pulls a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and slips them on, just as the water crests and starts to drop from his eyes.

  “Wait till tomorrow,” he adds. “I know I’m not in any position to ask for favors…but I figure, if I’m going to prison soon, at least I can see my baby girl one last time, yeah?”

  He smirks. It’s not the usual half-smile I see. The one I love. This one, like his kiss a moment ago, has a finality to it that would break my heart, if
the person in front of me was Silas.

  Now, I see the monster.

  “You probably won’t believe it,” he says, the door half-shut behind him, “but I really do love you. Maybe…someday…you could just remember that part?” The sunlight is white against his face. All I see in his eyes is my own reflection.

  “You’re right,” I watch the girl in his glasses answer. “I don’t believe it.”

  Behind the lenses, I see a flicker of surprise. And I watch the girl in this monster’s glasses get smaller, inch by inch, as I shut the door on both of them.

  ~~~