Reaping of the Wives

DARKNESS CONSUMED HOPE

Rain drops thrummed like impatient fingers on the metal roof, sounding every bit as restless as me. I rolled over yet again, listening as the husbands talked with their wives, while I still waited on Noah.

The door finally opened and I quickly sat up, only to be met with Caleb's ugly mug instead of the handsome face I was eager to see.

He stood in the doorway, holding a bowl of soup and a glass of water.

"Noah's stuck at work so, uh.. here."

I blinked, processing his entire presence for a moment. I sucked in a breath at the sudden realization that with one step into this room, he'd see everything Noah wasn't supposed to have given me. I scrambled off the bed and crossed the small room to take my dinner.

He looked inquisitively at me and I cleared my throat.

"Thank you, Caleb."

A brief smile lifted the side of his mouth, but he quickly shook it away.

"Be sure to eat it all." Though he tried to sound rough, it came out rather soft.

"I will," I say with a nod, fully expecting him to leave, but he just stood there.

Having never really examined one another up close, we stare, taking in every strange and new-to-us detail.

I noticed he had a faint scar that ran above his right eyelid, disappearing into the tail of his eyebrow. His eyes were a light shade of brown, framed by impossibly long lashes that gave the illusion of a darker eye color. Another scar left a jagged discoloration in his top lip and I couldn't help but to wonder how he came about having them, and how many others littered his body.

Our eyes met and contact lingered. I suddenly began to feel uncomfortable, so I cleared my throat and looked away. "So, what, um, what is Noah doing?"

Caleb crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame.

"He's managing the shop."

I looked up at him, surprised by that. "He's never.. I've not heard about him working at any shop.."

"I typically do it, but I need to do some work on Papa's truck. If I'm here working on the truck, then someone's gotta man the shop."

"Is it like, a mom and pop shop?"

Caleb grinned and shrugged. "Sort of. It's a family owned gun shop."

The chill his smile gives me, coupled with that piece of information, was like a cold shock running through my veins.

"I.. I see."

He stood there, a sinister chuckle lurking just beneath his dark smirk. I lift my chin and carry on the conversation in hopes to seem unfazed. "What's wrong with your dad's truck?"

"I'm attaching the plow to the front. Though we own the gun shop, he likes to haul lumber in the fall and plow throughout the winter months. Brings in a little extra cash."

Outside of hauling my unconscious body, the memory I have associated with that truck involved neither plowing nor lumber. "So he doesn't offer tow services at all?"

Caleb smirked knowingly and stared at me for a long moment before pushing off the door frame and reaching for the door handle. 

"Goodnight, Grace," he grinned before locking me in.

I took in several deep breaths to calm my shaking hands, then moved over to my bed and sit down. The sudden memories of that day made me jittery. As I ate, I suppressed the urge to throw my spoon at the wall when Camilla started in on me.