Chapter 2 #2
She chuckled and reached around him and shut the door. It was the closest she’d been to him since he’d awoken. “It’s a town, a very small town. And there’s a national forest with the same name nearby.”
“A forest, in Florida?” he asked and realized he must have not been to Florida much if he didn’t know about that.
“There are several. We’re not all beaches and sand dunes, you know.
” She headed back into the living room and picked up his empty bottle then headed to the trash.
He had to quell the urge to stop her and take the container back, but for what purpose?
The thought of the bottle going into a trash or recycling can made him feel, what?
Vulnerable. So, what did that say about him? What was he?
Sophie studied the man as he sat in a chair at the large window, overlooking the Atlantic. He’d been there ever since he’d returned from looking at the rain and the bay. What was he looking for? Because that icy gaze hadn’t left the horizon since he’d sat down.
She shifted her own gaze to the clock mounted on the side of the kitchen wall.
Five o’clock. The sun, if it were out, would be going down soon and there would be no going back to the mainland.
The rain hadn’t abated and she wondered if the weather forecast had been incorrect.
That morning, when she’d set out for the day, she’d been assured that a small shower would occur in the afternoon but the weather would clear afterwards.
She glanced at the television on the stand in the living area. While there was a wealth of old DVDs and internet service, which led to streaming services, good old cable services were not available on the island. And with no internet, she was without an updated weather forecast.
Sighing, she mentally reviewed the contents of the refrigerator. Cheese, eggs and plenty of drinks. Well, they’d have protein and alcohol, at least.
“Are you hungry?” she asked the man and he looked over his shoulder at her.
“Yeah, I think I am,” he said and stood, then steadied himself with a hand on the chair before coming into the kitchen area.
“We have eggs and cheese and some stuff to drink, but I don’t think you need any alcohol, what with your head injury.” She started laying out the cheese and eggs then found a pan in the cabinet.
“You don’t have any food except cheese and eggs?” he looked around at the well furnished room.
Sophie smiled and removed a bowl from the cabinet, along with a fork and spatula.
“It’s not my house. It’s a rental that I clean. The food was left from the last guests. Most of the time it gets tossed, since most food left has been opened. Other than eggs and drinks. There’s almost always eggs and drinks.”
She cracked three of the six eggs left in the carton into the bowl and whisked them with a fork before turning the gas burner on. The house was supplied with propane for the heating and kitchen stove, which may prove to be a blessing, if the power went out.
She added the cheese and soon had an omelet which she divided between two plates. Once they were on the small banquet table, she retrieved two more bottles of water and put one, unopened, in front of him.
“It’s not much but it’ll fill our stomachs for the evening,” she said and sat down.
“I’ve had less,” he said and picked up his fork to begin to eat. When she bowed her head to pray she heard him replace the fork with a small clank. At her amen he brought the utensil to his mouth and began to eat.
“You remember not having enough to eat?” she said, her interest piqued.
“No, just eating less for a meal. I remember eating something from a packet, an energy bar, maybe?” He frowned.
“No, it was something with meat in it. But it was in a foil pack.” He chewed on his bite and then his frown cleared.
“I remembered being in the middle east earlier and something about doing some work there. I think I was in the military.”
“Which may explain the packet of meat. Aren’t military meals in them?”
“MREs,” he said and then quirked one side of his face in a grin. “Meals ready to eat.”
She nodded, “I’ve heard of them. Do you remember anything else?”
He scratched his chin and the sound was rough. Sophie noted he had a shadow of growth on his chin and cheeks. He must have to shave often, she thought then wondered at her admiration of the way the new growth made him look darkly handsome.
“I don’t remember why I came to Florida, but I do remember my name. Ephraim. Ephraim Collins.”
“Ephraim. That’s a nice, old-fashioned name.” she said and at his grimace, laughed. “Did you get kidded about it in school?”
“No, but I didn’t like having an old man’s name. That’s what the other kids called it. I remember Chads and Joshes, Jeremys, those sort of names. And I had an old man’s name.” He shrugged, “ I guess I got over it, though. I don’ t feel bad about it now.”
“Names can be important,” she said quietly and he looked at her.
“Sophie is a little old fashioned, too,” he said with a grin.
“It is, but I was named after my grandmother, Sophia. I didn’t meet her, but I liked being named after someone.” She finished her omelet and wondered if he’d had enough to eat, but she wanted to save food for tomorrow morning. “Were you named after anyone?”
“Don’t know,” he said and stood abruptly then swayed. She darted out a hand and held onto his arm until he steadied and picked up his plate then turned to carry it to the sink.
She followed him and washed the dishes by hand, more to use up some time than any other reason.
He’d returned to the chair by the window and Sophie noticed he’d left the lights off.
The only illumination in the room was the small utility bar light over the sink illuminating her washing.
She dried her hands and flicked that light off, sensing he would if she didn’t and she didn’t want to take the chance he’d fall.
She went to the chair alongside the sofa and sank down into it, suddenly exhausted. The day was catching up with her.
Ephraim watched the shoreline, cursing the decreased visibility the rain and now fog caused.
Anyone coming in on the Atlantic side of the island could sneak in with little difficulty and he’d not be able to scope them out.
He glanced over his shoulder toward Sophie, who was slumped in her chair, asleep.
A glance at the clock told him it was near ten in the evening. He’d been sitting in the same chair for almost four hours. It was time to do something.
He slowly and with no noise found the rear of the house and a bedroom window that offered an unimpeded view of the bay.
Again, there was fog obscuring a clear sightline, but at least the rain wasn’t as strong on this side of the narrow island.
He wondered if the storm would strengthen, it had been steady rain and wind since he’d awoken, but no more than that.
Enough for them not to be able to leave the island, but was it enough to prevent someone else from coming onto the spit of land in the bay?
He blasted his blurred vision. Maybe the inability to make out the shoreline wasn’t due to the fog after. all. Still, he watched. Regardless of how he felt, there was danger out there, and he needed to be alert to any changes. He only wished he remembered what the danger was.
He sensed rather than heard her enter the room and stand near the door. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly. He didn’t turn around.
“I’ll be fine.”
“If I remember correctly from my first aid class, you need to rest as much as possible when you’ve been hit on the head. And you’re not resting.”
“I’m okay,” he realized his tone was sharper than needed and he glanced at her with a smile he hoped as conciliatory. “I’m resting, just sitting up to do it.” He pulled a small chair to the window and sank onto it, unwilling to show how good it felt.
She tilted her head and took a couple more steps into the room. “What are you looking for?”
“Changes,” he said simply and she didn’t press him but turned and walked from the room.
The night pressed on and he thought he may have slept a few minutes.
Snatches of dreams came to him and he wondered if they were in fact memories couched in sleep.
A man in the shadow, talking about a deal and information.
Was he a businessman? He didn’t feel like one, couldn’t imagine being in an office all day.
Why could he remember his name but nothing else?
His name and some images of holding a rifle, the memory of a heavy field pack on his back, the taste of dust and sweat in his mouth.
He felt like a soldier but wore no uniform.
The storm abated near dawn and the view outside the window cleared, along with his vision, which only offered double of everything.
He still needed a minute to steady himself when he stood, and that didn’t feel safe to him.
A minute may be a minute too long. He went into the living area and saw Sophie at the stove, cooking.
The scents of eggs and cheese wafted through the house and his stomach growled loud enough for her to hear.
She glanced at him with a smile, “Guess I don’t have to ask if you’re hungry.” She slid the omelet onto plates with a larger portion on one of the dishes.
When she took them to the table he pointed out the discrepancy. “I’m smaller than you, I don’t eat as much,” she said blithely. He selfishly accepted it and sat down to eat. He needed to regain his strength if he was going to meet the unknown danger ahead. And was she at risk for helping him?
“What are the plans for today?” he asked as he dug in.
“See if the boat is okay. I moored it securely yesterday, but I didn’t have a chance to check it out after the storm came. I’m hoping it didn’t swamp with all the rain we had.” She sliced her egg into several small pieces before starting to eat.
“How big is it?”