Chapter 6 Isabella
My heart is pounding as I run across the yard. The barn door is open, and I can hear Elena's voice inside, bright and chattering.
Please let her be okay. Please.
I burst through the door, already reaching for my daughter, already imagining the worst.
Elena is sitting cross-legged in the dirt, her rabbit in her lap, talking animatedly to the man propped against the hay bales. He's listening, his one good eye focused on her, but he's not moving. Not threatening. His hands are visible, resting on his knees.
When he sees me, something flickers in his expression. Understanding, maybe. He knows I'm about to lose my mind.
"Elena!"
She looks up, startled. "Hi, Mama!"
I'm across the barn in three strides, pulling her up, running my hands over her arms, her face, checking for any sign that he's hurt her. "Are you okay? Did he touch you?"
"No, Mama, I'm fine." She wriggles in my grip. "We were talking."
I look at him over her head. He hasn't moved. Just watches me with that careful stillness, like he's trying not to spook a wild animal.
"She's okay," he says quietly. "I didn't hurt her."
"You shouldn't be here," I snap at Elena. "I told you to stay away from the barn."
"But I wanted to meet him!"
"Elena—"
"His name is Lupo, Mama! I gave him a name!" She beams at me, proud of herself.
I freeze. "What?"
"Lupo. I thought of it and he liked it." She looks back at him. "Right?"
He's still watching me, but there's something in his expression I can't read. "It... might be my name." He shrugs.
Lupo. I test the name in my mind. It fits him somehow. Strong. Italian. Common enough.
"You can't just decide someone's name," I tell Elena, but my voice has lost its edge.
"Why not? He doesn't remember his, so I helped." She looks up at me with those big brown eyes. "That's what you do, right? Help people?"
God, she's going to kill me with her innocence.
"Yes, baby. But you still shouldn't have come out here." I soften my tone, crouching down to her level. "I was scared when I couldn't find you. You have to tell me when you go somewhere."
"Sorry, Mama."
I pull her into a hug, breathing in the smell of her hair, feeling my heart rate slowly return to normal. When I look up, Lupo, if that's his name, is still watching us. There's something in his expression that makes my heart squeeze tight. Longing, maybe. Or sadness.
Does he have a family somewhere? Children? Are they wondering where he is?
"Mama," Elena says against my shoulder. "Lupo likes red pasta."
I pull back slightly. "What?"
"Red pasta. With tomato sauce. He remembered!" She sounds delighted. "Can we make red pasta for dinner?"
My smile drops remembering our grocery money. I glance at Lupo, then back at Elena. "Baby, we don't have tomatoes right now."
"We can buy some!"
"We need to make our food last, remember?" I try to keep my voice light, but I can feel Lupo's gaze on me. "We'll have pasta with butter tonight. You like that."
"But Lupo likes red—"
"Elena." I stand up, taking her hand. "We'll talk about it later. Come on. Let's go back to the house."
"But—"
"Now, Elena."
She huffs but lets me lead her toward the door. I feel the weight of Lupo's stare on my back. He's not stupid. He heard everything. He knows exactly how tight things are with money.
"Isabella."
I stop, not turning around.
"You've been feeding me," he says quietly. "Your food."
"You need to eat. You're healing."
"So do you. And your daughter."
I close my eyes briefly. "We're fine."
"You're not fine." There's something in his voice, not accusation, just certainty. "You're choosing between feeding me and feeding yourselves."
"It's temporary. You'll be gone soon."
"Will I?"
The question hangs in the air. Because he's right. Where is he going to go? He doesn't know who he is. He has no money, no identification, no one to call. And I can't exactly drop him at a hospital or police station.
I'm stuck with him. And he knows it.
"We'll manage," I say finally, pulling Elena through the door.
Behind me, I hear him say, "Thank you."
I don't respond. Just take my daughter back to the house and try not to think about how much bread is left in the pantry.
That night, after Elena is asleep, I stand in the kitchen staring at the meager contents of my cupboards. A bag of pasta, half-full. Some rice. A jar of butter. Flour for bread. Three eggs. The figs from this afternoon.
I've been rationing for months, ever since my father died and his small pension disappeared. The vegetable garden helps. The chickens give us eggs. But it's not enough. It's never enough.
And now I'm feeding a grown man who needs to eat twice what Elena and I eat combined to get better.
I make a plate, pasta with butter, some bread, two figs, and carry it out to the barn. The sun has set, and the air is cool. I should have brought him a heavier blanket. The nights are getting colder.
He's awake when I enter, sitting in the same spot. He's tried to clean himself up a bit, I can see. Wiped the dried blood from his hands, tried to straighten his torn shirt.
"Here." I set the plate down near him, along with a cup of water.
"Thank you." He doesn't reach for it immediately. Just looks at me. "You should eat first."
"I already ate."
"Did you?"
I don't answer. His one good eye is too perceptive.
"Isabella, you don't have to—"
"Just eat." I turn to go, but his voice stops me.
"Let me help."
I look back. "Help how? You can barely walk."
"I can do something. Work. Whatever you need. I can't just take from you without giving anything back."
"You're injured."
"I'm getting stronger." He shifts, and I can see it's true. He's still moving carefully, still in pain, but better than two days ago. "There must be something I can do. I can’t take your food and do nothing."
I consider this. The fence post I propped up won't hold much longer. The barn door needs fixing. There's firewood to split for winter. A dozen tasks I can't manage alone.
But can I trust him? Can I let him out of this barn, let him near Elena, let him into my life any more than he already is?
"Maybe," I say finally. "When you're stronger."
He nods, accepting this. Then: "Can I... is there somewhere I can clean up? A well, or a spigot?"
I hesitate. The practical part of me knows he needs to wash. The dried blood, the dirt, the sweat of fever, it's all a recipe for infection. But letting him into the house feels like crossing a very dangerous line.
Then again, I've already crossed so many lines. What's one more?
"There's a shower," I say slowly. "In the house. My father's bathroom. I can..." I take a breath. "Tomorrow. When Elena is napping. You can come in and clean up."
His expression shifts. Relief, maybe. Or gratitude. "Thank you."
"I have some of my father's clothes. They might fit you." I gesture at his ruined shirt. "Better than what you're wearing."
"When did he...?" He trails off, unsure how to ask.
"Six months ago. Heart attack." The words still hurt to say. "It was quick."
"I'm sorry."
"So am I." I move toward the door, then pause. "Lupo. Is that really your name?"
He's quiet for a moment. "I don't think so, but she seemed to think it’s better than ‘the man in the barn’.
"Then that's what we'll call you." I look back at him. "Until you remember who you really are."
"And if I never remember?"
If he never remembers, what then? Does he stay here forever? Does he become someone new?
Does he become mine?
The thought terrifies me.
"You'll remember," I say with more confidence than I feel. "You just need time."
I leave before he can respond, locking the barn door behind me and walking back to the house.
Inside, I check on Elena. She's sprawled across her bed, rabbit clutched in one hand, completely at peace.
I sit on the edge of her mattress and brush the hair from her forehead. She stirred something in him today. I saw it. The way he looked at her. The gentleness in his voice.
Either he's a good man underneath whatever happened to him, or he's very good at pretending.
I don't know which possibility scares me more.
I kiss Elena's forehead and whisper, "What have I gotten us into, baby?"
She doesn't answer. Just snores softly, safe in her dreams, while I lie awake and wonder if the man in my barn is going to save us or destroy us.