“Not very well.”
“But they do.”
She rubbed her lips, and her face grew dark. “I want you to tell the truth. No filter,” she said, hushing her voice even more.
He opened his mouth to speak but resealed his lips instead.
“Do you think he was going to kill you?”
Andrew rubbed his mouth. “Why?”
“I want to know.”
A stark seriousness in her tone that suddenly made him uneasy. “Mrs. Cain, I’m not really comfortable—”
“I want to know what you really think was going to happen.”
He puckered his lips inward and stood up. “I don’t want to get involved.”
“You are involved. I just want to know—”
“I don’t know.”
“—what you saw. What was going through your mind.”
“I was scared. I remember I was just frozen.”
“Did you think he was going to kill you?”
“I don’t know. I replay it over and over every single time I close my eyes and I just—I don’t know.” A clarity rose to the surface, like he had an answer. But he ignored it. “I don’t know.”
She stared into the soup.
Andrew said, “Did you think he—did you think he was going to kill me?”
She looked up at him, but her eyes darted away and her posture became rigid. She grabbed the ladle and stirred the soup. Andrew could hear him walking in from the kitchen. Sean approached with a tray stacked with ceramic bowls that clattered when he set them on the fireplace hearth. He put his hands on his hips. “Almost done?”
Andrew waited for Elise, who hadn’t so much as turned a degree toward her husband. Andrew said, “We’re almost done, I think.”
Sean didn’t look at him. “That’s good to hear.” He planted a kiss on Elise’s head. “How about I serve it up tonight?”
She had the most genuine smile, one that showed none of the concern she had a moment before. Sean turned his head toward the other room and shouted that it was dinner time. There was a rousing there, and Aidan zipped into the living room. Sat next to his dad. Sean kissed his forehead.
For a moment, Sean’s tenderness toward his son made Andrew doubt all the awful things Michael had said before. About how Sean was a heartless, cruel man one act away from being a sociopath. The moment reminded him that people were not defined by one thing. Even flawed men could have some good in them.
As everyone took a seat, Sean filled the bowls with the hot soup, handing one first to his son and then to Elise. Andrew stepped away from the group, outside the circle of chairs, and watched. Kelly asked for an extra scoop, and Sean obliged. She had put on some weight recently—enough to fill the hollows of her face. Michael squeezed her knee, and she smiled at him. For a while he had thought she was a goner, wasting away. Now she looked to be in an upswing.
Pleases and thank yous were exchanged and, for a brief second, Andrew felt normal. Supplies may have been running low, and the most horrible experiences life could serve had been thrust upon them, but he felt at home, like there might be hope for them after all.
Sean filled up a bowl, stirred the broth around with a spoon, and handed it to Michael. Michael’s eyes rested on Andrew. “What’re you doing back there?” he said. “Grab a seat.”
Andrew did, and Michael handed him the steaming bowl.
“Thanks,” Andrew said.
Sean was busy filling the last bowl when he looked back at Andrew, confused. “Did I give you a bowl?” he asked.
“I gave him mine,” Michael said.
“That one was yours.”
“He eats about as much as me.” He waved toward himself. “I’ll just take his. It isn’t a big deal.”
Sean said nothing for a while. “Yeah, sure,” he said, handing over the bowl.
When everyone had their meal, Elise said a prayer as she always did. Then they ate.
Andrew took a spoonful into his mouth, and the warmth coursed down his throat. It almost warmed his soul. He watched the others eat as well and felt a kinship—a bond with these hardened and weary people who got to eat a nice meal in peace. He thought about Molly, and the memory was pleasant instead of painful. Slurping noises filled the air. After a few minutes of not touching his food, Sean set his bowl down and rubbed his son’s back.
“Is it not good?” Elise asked.
“No, I’m just not feeling great,” Sean said.
Andrew chewed on the meat and softened carrots. The flavor wasn’t the best, but it was better than some other recent soups. It seemed to warm his whole body and tingle in his throat and chest. He cleared his throat and took another bite, but the tingle returned. He cleared it again.
“Something wrong, buddy?” Michael asked with a smile. “It’s kind of insulting to groan about the food, especially when you’re the one who made it.”
Andrew smiled and swallowed. The tingle intensified. A knot of phlegm filled his throat, and he forced it down. A dizziness rose to the top of his head and settled into his body in waves. He coughed up a gob of snot into his sleeve and set the bowl down on the coffee table. He ripped another forceful cough, but when he tried to recover, the action felt strange, like he was trying to breathe through a straw.
He swallowed again just in time for his windpipe to seal shut.
Chapter 31
ANDREW TIPPED FORWARD, planting one hand on the coffee table before his body collapsed onto it. The spoons and bowls rattled. Hot broth shot over the edges of the bowls. Everyone jumped, startled. It took a few seconds for the stimuli to register. Andrew dropped to the ground, grasping at his throat and rubbing it. He rolled onto his stomach, his legs bending and straightening in a struggle.
“What’s going on?” Kelly shouted.
Michael shot out of his seat and tossed his bowl onto the coffee table, the bowl sliding across the wood and wobbling to a stop. He dropped to his knees and turned Andrew around, holding him. Andrew’s eyes expanded wide, never blinking. His mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled out of water, and he held his hand over his Adam’s Apple.
“He’s choking,” Michael said.
The room watched in shocked silence. Gurgling sounds rumbled in his throat and spit dripped from his lips. Elise uncovered her mouth and yelled, “Do the Heimlich Maneuver.”
Michael grunted and pulled the boy against himself, oriented a fist onto his diaphragm, and thrust it into his abdomen. The boy groaned and waved for Michael to stop. Michael thrust again.
Sean stood rigid and pulled his son’s face into his chest so he wouldn’t see what was happening. “Take him,” he yelled, pointing to Kelly. She stared at him, her mouth open. “Take him out of here!”
She rushed over to Aidan, picked him up, and shielded his eyes with her hand. They disappeared into the kitchen.
Andrew grabbed at his throat and sank his nails into his skin, clawing into it as if he could make a hole to breathe. Blood trickled at first and then poured. Michael kept doing the maneuver, but Andrew thrashed, and Michael let go to avoid being head-butted in the face.
“Do something,” Elise shouted at her husband.
Sean seemed stiff, paralyzed. His jaw was locked, and the muscles in his cheeks pulsed. He never stopped looking at Andrew. His chest scarcely rose or fell. “I don’t know—”