Lethal (Lee Coburn)

Coburn snorted a laugh. “I doubt it.”

“Are you scared of the dark?”

“Emily,” Honor interrupted. “Stop asking so many questions. It’s rude. Come sit down and have your lunch.”

They gathered around the table. The widow looked ready to jump out of her skin if he so much as said boo. She didn’t eat. Truth be told, he was as discomfited by this domestic scene as she was. Since being a kid, he’d never talked to one. It was weird, carrying on a conversation with such a little person.

He scarfed the sandwich, then took an apple from the basket of fruit on the table. The kid dawdled over her food.

“Emily, you said you were hungry,” her mother admonished. “Eat your lunch.”

But he was a distraction. The kid never took her eyes off him. She studied everything he did. When he took the first crunching bite of the apple, she said, “I don’t like the peel.”

He shrugged and said through a mouthful, “I don’t mind it.”

“I don’t like green apples, either. Only red.”

“Green’s okay.”

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“My grandpa can peel an apple from the top to the bottom without it breaking. He says he likes to make a long curl of the peel, just like my hair. And guess what else.”

“What?”

“Mommy can’t do it because she’s a girl, and Grandpa says boys do it best. And Mommy doesn’t have a special magic knife like Grandpa’s.”

“You don’t say.” He glanced across at Honor, who’d rolled her lips inward. “What kind of special magic knife does your grandpa have?”

“Big. He carries it in a belt around his ankle, but I can’t ever touch it ’cause it’s sharp and I could get hurt.”

“Huh.”

Honor scraped back her chair and shot to her feet. “Time for your nap, Em.”

Her face puckered into a frown of rebellion. “I’m not sleepy.”

“It’s rest time. Come on.”

Honor’s voice brooked no argument. The child’s expression was still mutinous, but she climbed down from her chair and headed out of the kitchen. Coburn left the remainder of the apple on his plate and followed them.

In the frilly pink bedroom, the kid got up onto the bed and extended her feet over the edge of it. Her mother removed her sandals and set them on the floor, then said, “Down you go. Sleepy time.”

The little girl laid her head on the pillow and reached for a cotton quilt so faded and frayed that it looked out of place in the room. She tucked it beneath her chin. “Would you hand me my Elmo, please?” She addressed this request to Coburn.

He followed the direction of her gaze and saw a red stuffed toy lying on the floor near his mud-caked boot. He recognized the grinning face from the bottle of hand soap. He bent down and picked it up. The thing began to sing, startling him. He quickly handed it to the kid.

“Thank you.” She cradled it against her chest and sighed happily.

It occurred to Coburn that he didn’t recall a time in his life when he’d experienced that kind of contentment. He wondered what it was like to fall asleep without having to worry over whether or not you’d wake up.

Honor bent down and kissed her child’s forehead. The kid’s eyes were already closed. He noticed that her eyelids looked almost transparent. They had tiny purple veins crisscrossing them. He’d never noticed anyone’s eyelids before, unless it was seconds before they drew a gun on him. Then that person usually had died with that telltale squint intact.

As they left the bedroom, the toy was still singing a silly little song about friends. Honor pulled the door shut behind them. He glanced at the boxes lined up along the wall, then took her cell phone from his jeans pocket and handed it to her. She looked at him curiously.

“Call your father-in-law. You know, the one who works at staying fit. The one with the big magic knife strapped to his ankle. Tell him the party’s off.”