Sentinel of Heaven by Mera Trishos Lee Read Free Book Online Page A

smoothed it around her lap and legs.  He stepped away to return with the
ubiquitous amber pill bottle and a glass of water, which she accepted
gratefully.  As soon as he'd handed it over, he was gone again.
    She sipped the
water slow after the first two pills went down, listening to the domestic
little noises from the kitchen.  He opened the fridge, contemplating.  Decided
no.  He opened the freezer, sorting through the boxes inside.  He slid one out;
she wondered wearily which it was, trying to remember what all she'd bought and
might still have.  Frozen dinners were relatively cheap and useful when her
body wouldn't let her actually cook something but she tried to refrain from
using them much.
    Moira could
hear him flip the box back and forth, looking at the picture, looking at the
back.  He
must
be able to read; in the next few seconds he was opening
the box, piercing the film with a fork (she heard the drawer open and slide
close), then putting it into the microwave.  That was one of the few modern
conveniences she'd allowed herself since she moved back to this little house;
it came in handy during the bad days.
    After a long
moment of silent contemplation she could hear the microwave buttons beep as he
pushed them. 
Good for you, Leo – pretty steep learning curve.
    He puttered
around while it heated, opening other drawers and cabinets, setting a plate
down on the table.  She shut her eyes and let the world recede for a moment,
wondering... when was the last time she'd been taken care of?  Not by a nurse
or a doctor or a physical therapist, not by anyone paid to put up with her, but
by someone who expected little to nothing in return?  Someone who presumably
was doing it because they wanted to?
    She could hear
him open up the box and dump the contents onto the plate, scraping with the
fork.  The night was so still Moira caught the soft wet noise of him licking
his fingers, then wiping them dry on the kitchen towel.
    He bore the
plate into the living room; it turned out to be chicken alfredo.  Leo settled
it in her lap, passed her the fork, then held up her pepper and oregano
shakers.
    “Yeah, sounds
good; this brand can be a bit plain.  Thank you, Leo.”  He distributed a
sufficient amount of each according to her nod, then capped the containers and
set them on her end table, dropping into his cross-legged position at her feet
once more.
    “How do you
know so much about cooking and about food if you yourself don't eat it?”  She
stirred in the seasoning and swirled the pasta around her fork, lifting it up
to blow on it.
    He flipped his
palm again; a little of this, a little of that.  Then he sniffed the air
dramatically and smiled.  Still smells good.
    “You sure you
don't want any?”  He waved away the offer, instead picking up her water glass
again and drinking a long gulp before putting it back.
    “You know you
could get your own glass, right?”  Leo quirked his lips and gave a wry shrug
that contrived to indicate he knew but didn't care to make the effort to do so.
    “Fine, I guess
– if you had cooties I'd probably know by now.”  She ate slowly, disconcerted
by his attention.  The meal was good but he didn't do anything else, just sat
there and watched her with as much focus as a human man might watch a football
game.
    “Leo, is there
something I can help you with?”
    Quick shooing
flip of his hands – finish up, first.
    When she was
done Leo stood up and took the plate back from her hands, picked up the shakers
and the glass, and headed to the kitchen.  The shakers went back in the
cabinet.  The plate and fork were rinsed and put in the sink.  The glass was
filled again with that teeth-numbingly cold well-water from the faucet and set on
the table within her reach as he sat down.
    Smiling, he
leaned forward and tapped two fingers over her heart again.  Even through the
pain meds Moira felt her heart skip a beat.  Surely he didn't mean...
    He waited for
a response, then