Echoes in the Dark. Gayle Wilson

again a kind of admiration for his cleverness in conquering the dark world he’d been forced into.

      She was gently deposited on a tall stool near the island that she knew dominated the center of the modern kitchen.

      “Let’s see what’s here.”

      She heard him open the refrigerator and begin removing lids and placing containers on the counter.

      “I just thought,” he said suddenly. She heard him open a drawer and the brush of his fingers over the contents. She couldn’t tell what he was doing, until the flare of the match allowed her to watch him light by touch the wick of the candle he’d found. The soft glow moved out against the darkness. She took a deep breath when he turned to bring the candle and its holder to the island.

      “That’s better,” he said, as if the light were for him also. She smiled at the satisfaction in his voice.

      “Much better,” she agreed. “Dinner by candlelight.”

      When he moved back to the counter to fix whatever he’d found for their supper, she carried the candle and her stool across the narrow space that separated them. He stopped what he was doing when he became aware of her nearness.

      “I want to watch,” she said, “or help, if you like.”

      He carefully cut the long loaf he’d found in the pantry into two halves with a knife that moved easily against the bread.

      “I think it’s safer if you watch. I like doing this, but I’d hate to miss and ruin our dinner. Your fingers are safer in your lap, Ms. Evans,” he said, and she could see the quick slant of his smile in the candlelight. His rejection of her offer didn’t slow the preparations his hands were making.

      “Caroline,” she corrected and watched the sudden stillness of his fingers.

      “Caroline,” he repeated before he went back to the sandwich. She lapsed into silence, enjoying the swift dexterity of his hands against the items he’d placed on the counter.

      When it was finished, he used the knife to cut the sandwich into two equal parts, which he lifted onto the plates. She carried them to the island and sat on one of the stools.

      His fingers found the neck of one of the bottles that rested in the wine rack above her head, and she watched as he carried it to the counter and poured two glasses. When he held hers out to her, she took it. He found the stool with one hand and pulled it to the island, and she moved one of the plates in front of him. She watched him sip the burgundy, but she sat hers down untouched beside her plate. Even the smell would nauseate her.