“Where to?” she asked abruptly, refusing to turn her head to meet his scrutiny.
“County park on the river.” Erin nodded, remembering summer picnics there. Grandpa had taken her fishing, too, an enthusiasm she never came to share. Were his fishing pole, waders and tackle box still in the garage? She hadn’t paid attention to anything that wasn’t immediately useful.
The drive passed in silence, as so much of her time with Cole did. It was restful, except…she increasingly found herself wondering about him. What had this quiet, hardworking, patient man done that had earned him ten years in prison? Her mind balked when she tried to picture him committing any of the obvious crimes.
He had her pull into the day-use area at the park, and he disappeared into the mist clinging to the old-growth trees preserved by the county. He returned with a canvas duffel bag, which he deposited behind the seat. Erin opened her mouth but managed to close it before she said something stupid like, That’s all?
He hadn’t even had a sleeping bag. Horrified, she pictured him lying on the ground. At most he had a blanket of some kind in that bag—but if he did, it meant he didn’t own much of anything else.
And wouldn’t take anything more from her. She’d have to keep biting her tongue. She’d lose him if she tried to make him an object of charity.
And no, she wouldn’t let herself examine what she meant by “lose him.”
“Okay if we stop at the grocery store?” she asked when they were close to town.
She felt his swift glance. “Sure.”
He followed her inside and picked up a basket, separating from her right away. Erin tried not to mind as she filled a cart with perishables. When she carried her bags out, he was already waiting with two grocery bags of his own. They stowed them together in the back of the Jeep. During the short drive, she struggled for a conversational opener and came up short. The first words she spoke were when she pulled into the driveway.
“It would be nice to park in the garage someday.”
“You might want an automatic opener before you try that.”
“No kidding. I’d never realized how heavy a garage door could be.”
“The rails might be rusted,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ll take a look.”
“You’re a handy guy, aren’t you?”
He grunted and got out. The only other words he had for her were “Good night.”
* * *
HE COULDN’T BELIEVE everything she’d done in the apartment. Cole was uneasily aware of how personal it felt, knowing she’d been thinking of him when she cleaned, hung a pair of thick towels in the bathroom and made the bed. Every so often his nose picked up some unidentifiable perfume in the air that had to be hers.
Earlier, he’d hauled the old TV down to the garbage can. She’d said, “I’ll replace it,” in a tone that told him not to argue. Being able to choose what to watch would be a novelty. Maybe he could pick up a DVD player at a thrift store. Tomorrow night, he might walk to the library. If he couldn’t get a card yet, libraries usually had donated books for sale. He’d start checking out garage sales, too. Erin got the local weekly and the Seattle Times, both of which she recycled. She wouldn’t mind if he took them from the recycling bin. Lying on the lumpy sofa, stockinged feet propped on one of its arms, his head on the other, he thought about going downstairs right now and digging out a few papers, but couldn’t work up enough interest to make the effort. After a meal and a hot shower, he felt too good. Too relaxed. Too safe.
This is temporary. He shouldn’t have needed the reminder. He’d become accustomed to living one day at a time, not letting himself think even a week ahead. If a man couldn’t live without hope, he didn’t survive a long prison term in his right mind.
Not that Cole was certain he had.
Happy just to be clean and comfortable, he dozed for half an hour, rousing to decide he might as well go to bed. He’d been looking forward to that ever since he saw it made up with baby-soft flannel sheets, a wool blanket and a beautiful old quilt. More luxury.
He turned off lights as he went, brushed his teeth and stared at himself in the mirror. For a second, he almost didn’t recognize the face looking back at him. He still saw a death’s head instead of the face he’d once known, but…less so. Despite the rain, he’d acquired the beginnings of a tan since he got on that bus out of Walla Walla. His hair hadn’t grown very much—he ran a hand over the stubble—but maybe a little.