The Storm by Shelley Thrasher Page A

an annulment. In fact—”
    â€œSorry, but everything gets on my nerves lately—the clock ticking, the birds singing, the coyotes howling.” Eric swiped at the spot on his shirt and grabbed his coffee cup with a shaky hand.
    â€œIt’s no wonder, as little sleep as you get.”
    He took a sip and glared at her like she was the enemy. “Have you been spying on me?”
    â€œSpying? If you call having to close my door and put my fingers in my ears sometimes so I can block out the noise you make when you come in late and stumble up the stairs, I guess I have. And even when you finally make it to bed, you sound like you’re wrestling with the sheets. That’s how they look every morning, when I make your bed.”
    Eric placed his cup on the table more gently than he’d yanked it up. “I’m afraid to sleep. I can’t explain it.”
    â€œAfraid? Of what?”
    â€œThat something will hurt me if I let my guard down. I know that sounds silly.” He looked genuinely puzzled, and his pupils were dilated.
    â€œBut you grew up here, you’ve known these people all your life—”
    â€œYou never can tell. The minute you turn your back on even something you’ve done routinely, it can all blow up in your face. Damn it. What’s wrong with me? I need to find somebody to help Pop, not be more of a burden. He’s got enough problems. I’m afraid I’ll let him down like I’ve done with everybody else, including you.”
    She really studied Eric. He wasn’t a big-shot pilot any longer, but she liked him better now that he was finally leveling with her.
    â€œDon’t worry. You’ve given everybody more than you can imagine. Your dad told me just the other day how proud he is of you. And you aren’t responsible for how I feel about women.”
    For the first time since they’d been in New Hope, he seemed to actually want to communicate with her. He’d been acting strange since he showed up in New Orleans. Something was tearing him apart inside, but what? When they were in London he was so optimistic, so much fun. Hell, he was as serious as a funeral now. He had to be missing his mother more than she’d thought.
    He shook his head, as if making an effort to stay focused on her. “So, Jaq, are you okay? Do you need anything? How do you like playing the busy housewife?”
    She shrugged. “Having servants most of my life hasn’t exactly prepared me for farm life. I’m trying hard not to kill you and your father with my cooking.” Maybe her teasing would improve his mood.
    His grin looked forced. “It’s okay. Just fine.” Then his eyes clouded over again.
    What was eating at him? Having an injured eye and being half-crippled right now were bound to give him nightmares. Maybe he missed the excitement of the War even more than she did or thought the locals would call him a lazy coward. How ridiculous. He was braver than most men and had the medals and scars to prove it.
    He seemed to want to be left alone almost all the time. And she had no idea how to help him open up like he just had. She really didn’t know him very well. Most men, except her brothers, were as foreign to her as the Boches—and just as much of a nuisance.
    She didn’t know what to say or do, so she just sat here. Eric ran his fingers through his shaggy blond hair and looked like he was about to say something else. Then he pushed back his chair, tightened the laces on his heavy work boots, and headed for the door. He paused.
    â€œI got a letter from my pal Dick the other day. If you want to read it, it’s on the counter. I glanced at it yesterday. I don’t want any reminders of the War, but I want to keep in touch with him.” Again, he started to leave, but turned around.
    â€œBy the way, why have you been staying here so much lately? Cleaning out my mother’s closets, scrubbing the floors.