10.

If you kill a murderer, the number of murderers in the world doesn’t decrease.

Dice

C YDNEY

I slowly rolled over so I could pick up my phone and was shocked to see that it was after nine o’clock in the morning. I had already made arrangements with the staff in the office, so all of them knew I’d be working from home today and the foreseeable future since I couldn’t seem to function too far away from a bathroom.

Of course, since all of this began, I had puked in all sorts of places - front yards, side streets, the frozen food section of the grocery store, countless trash cans, out of the window of my truck, into the console of my sister’s truck, and even into the foot sauna at my favorite nail salon. My friends had started comparing me to a drunken college freshman who couldn’t hold her liquor. Of course, since word had spread that I was pregnant, the jokes had tapered off, but I knew they’d start up again once everyone had given me some time to process.

At most, I had a week’s reprieve, but that week wouldn't be filled with calm reflection and peaceful silence. Instead, it would be filled with the oddest courtship in recorded history.

I wasn’t positive if courtship was the correct term since I was already pregnant with his baby, but I’d rather use that word than the real description - a desperate attempt to find out if I had made a choice in men that would not just affect me negatively for the rest of my life, but could do horrible things to the psyche of my child.

Since I didn’t feel the need to sprint to the bathroom for any reason other than my urgent need to pee, I considered this the first win of the day. Hopefully, I’d have a day full of wins since I was going to follow Roscoe, Wren, and my Aunt Izzy’s instructions to the letter. Lots of water, but only by small sips every few minutes. Small meals throughout the day that consisted of bland and boring foods rather than something appetizing or at least appealing. And, of course, there were the medicines that Roscoe had been not only nice enough to prescribe, but even picked up from the pharmacy and delivered to my house last night.

I had just made my way into the bathroom, taking baby steps as if that might help me hide the fact that I was awake and alive from my traitorous stomach and rampaging hormones, when someone knocked on my front door. Since I wasn’t expecting anyone, I ignored it and finished up with my morning routine, skipping the shower for now since I could stay in my pajamas all day if I wanted.

By the time I walked out into the hallway, I was sure whoever had stopped by was gone, but then I saw a shadow on the porch and knew that not only was my visitor still here, but it was someone I was trying very hard to keep at arm's length.

Everything in my life had begun changing at the speed of light. I just needed a little time to process it all, which didn’t really fit his time frame of one week - which was how much longer he’d be in Rojo before he had to get on the road to Las Vegas to go back to his life. And I was somehow supposed to drop everything here and go spend time with him, which I had agreed to in a moment of weakness but was now rethinking because it was completely insane.

When I opened the door, I found Kenny standing there with a backpack over his shoulder, holding a brown paper sack.

My mouth watered the second I smelled whatever was in that sack, but this time, it wasn’t because of nausea. For the first time in at least a week, I was hungry. Ravenous, actually. The urge to snatch the bag out of his hand and slam the door in his face so I could enjoy that goodness in silence was almost overwhelming. He seemed to sense my distraction - probably because he’d been saying something to me, but I couldn’t hear anything other than the crinkling of the sack in his hand.

Suddenly, he thrust the bag of food my way and took a step back so that the only thing within my reach was his hand.

I calmly took it before I smiled at him in thanks. However, the calm only lasted so long. I spun around and darted toward the kitchen table and left him standing on the porch.

As I slowly opened the bag, my eyes closed as I breathed in the scent of a fresh baked kolache. I heard the front door shut and then Kenny’s bag hit the floor beside it. I lifted the pastry out of the bag, amazed at how hot it still was after the trip over here, and brought it up to my nose to get a lungful of the aroma.

I took a tiny nibble off the edge and closed my eyes again as I savored the flavor of butter and carbs on my tongue and then opened my eyes to find Kenny sitting across from me smiling with his chin propped up on his hand.

“If this is all it takes to make you happy, my life just got a lot easier,” Kenny said as I looked back down at the kolache. I took another bite and then moaned before I took another, afraid to swallow the goodness in fear of my stomach staging another revolt. “This was the last one in the case, but I can call and order a few dozen if you want. Cost is not an obstacle if I get to see that look on your face again and again.”

“It’s not going to last. I know it’s not, but I don’t care. This is the first thing that has smelled even remotely good in . . . I can’t remember how long.” I took another bite and then leaned back as I swallowed it, waiting for the inevitable waves of nausea to roll in.

“This is where I always have a problem when I’ve got the stomach bug,” Kenny said conversationally as I pondered taking another bite. “When I’m sick, I get so damn thirsty that all I want to do is chug Gatorade or ice cold water, but if I do, then it’s just going to come back up. I have a war with myself, playing both sides over and over. Do I want instant gratification knowing that it’s going to end badly, or do I deny myself what I’m dying to have just because I’m afraid of it making me sick?”

“You think I should just scarf it down?”

“No. I think you should continue with this food porn thing you’ve got playing out right now so I can listen to your moans - good ones, not ones like you were making last night before I left - and commit them to memory to draw out and play whenever I want.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye last night, but I felt like shit.”

“I get it,” Kenny said with a shrug. “It was hard to stay away this long because I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine. Help is just a phone call away if I need it, and it’s not like there’s really anything you can do for me right now anyway.”

“Moral support is really all I have to offer at this point.”

I concentrated on my stomach and the lack of nausea I was feeling right now and decided it was safe to take another bite. Just one more. Only a nibble.

Kenny started talking to me about the sights he’d seen around town and asking me questions about places he should go and things he should do, and when I looked down, I was shocked to see that half the kolache was gone.

“Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t savor it enough. Now, when I’m sick, it will all be for nothing.”

“Not nothing, really, when you consider the reason you’re sick.”

“That’s true.” I leaned back in my chair and looked over at the door where his bag was at before I asked, “What’s in the bag?”

“My clothes.”

“Are you headed to the laundromat?”

“No. I’m moving in.”

“You’re what?”

Kenny nodded and said, “You heard me. I’m moving in. I felt like shit leaving you here last night, and while I was laying in bed wondering if you were okay, I thought that the best way to really get to know you is to spend all my time with you - and the only way to do that is by staying in your house while I’m here.”

“That is one way to get to know me, but I’m not sure it’s the path you think you’re taking.”

“Huh?”

“I don't like to be told how things are going to go, especially when it comes to my house and my space.”

“I did not consider that.”

“Would you like to try again?”

“I’d love the opportunity!” Kenny leaned forward and reached his hand across the table to cover mine where it was resting next to my flaky, buttery goodness before he said, “Cydney, I’ve been thinking about how much I’d like to get to know you, and since I have a limited amount of time before I have to go home, I was wondering if you would consider letting me stay at your house - in the guestroom or even on the couch, if that’s what you want - so that we can spend more time together.”

I appreciated the earnest look on his face and the way he’d worded his suggestion, but I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. However, his reasoning had merit. I could grant him that much. As uncomfortable as I was at the thought of someone in my house listening to me throw up every few minutes, I decided to humor him.

“Yes, I think that would be a good idea. However, I’m not sure I’ll be much company. Between work and what’s going on with my stomach, I can assure you that you’ll be bored more often than not.”

“I’m willing to risk it. I do have some things I have to take care of, so I’ll be in and out some, if you don’t mind.”

“What in the world could you have to take care of? You’re not even from here?”

“I’m going to help Tiny unload the truck, which, from what I understand, means that I’ll also be helping him rearrange Amethyst’s house to get rid of some of her things and replace them with his or however they want to work it out.”

“That makes sense. Why move it all twice, right?”

“Exactly. I also have to go visit Tiny’s grandmother as often as possible. I’d love to take you, and I will if you’re up to it. Generally, my time with her centers around her feeding me delicious food while I propose marriage and offer her every dime I have.”

I burst out laughing and asked, “Is her cooking that good?”

“It’s amazing, but it’s really her company I crave. She’s been wonderful to me since the day we met and has never cared about who I am, what I’ve done, or where I come from.”

“I suppose we should talk about that at some point, huh?”

“Probably sooner rather than later.”

I glanced over at the clock and realized it had been almost an hour since I started eating the kolache. I had just made a new record for keeping food down. I didn’t want to jinx anything by getting up and moving around so I asked, “Can we talk about it over a cup of tea?”

“Would you like me to make you some?”

“Please.”

Kenny laughed softly as he got up. He said, “You’ll have to tell me where everything is and what I need to do. My experience with tea is ordering it on ice.”

“It’s really not that bad,” I admitted.

“Obviously not since I think America is the only country that doesn’t drink it regularly. We’re more of a coffee people, I suppose. Probably has something to do with the Boston Tea Party or some shit.”

“Did you know that the tea on those ships that night in Boston was from China, not England?”

“I did not know that,” Kenny said, furrowing his brows. “How did you know that?”

I shrugged and said, “I think I get my love of weird trivia from my Uncle Hank. I remember sitting with him in his office chair and laughing when he answered the questions quicker and more accurately than the contestants on television.”

“He’s a fact guy, huh?”

“He’s probably a genius, but he tries very hard to keep it hidden.”

I gave Kenny directions on how to set up the tea kettle that my sister brought with her when she came to dinner last night, and before long, he was sitting across from me again. I didn’t know what to say, so I asked, “What’s your weird thing?”

“Hmm,” Kenny hummed thoughtfully. “Sometimes, I come up with questions that no one seems to be able to answer or observations about things that no one really thinks about.”

“Like what?”

“Do you like cranberry juice?”

“Whoa,” I said sarcastically. “You’re right! That’s something I’ve never been asked before.”

“Alright, smartass,” Kenny grumbled.

“No. I don’t like cranberry juice, not even when they mix it with another juice. It’s just . . . ick.”

“I don’t like it because I think it tastes like it doesn’t want to be wet.” I sat there processing what he’d just said for so long that he looked up at me in question. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s the best description of cranberry juice I’ve ever heard. You’re a damn genius.”

“Not quite. They’re few and far between, but I do have my moments.”

“I’ve got a question for you.”

Kenny nodded my way and asked, “What’s that?”

“What did you do that sent you to prison?”