Never Wake by Gabrielle Goldsby Page B

something when he watched her flee the hospital, even though she hadn’t known what she was running from.
    And now this.
    His anger startled him so much that he laughed out loud. So what if she’s gay? It’s not as if you had any real thoughts of ever starting something with the girl. Abe placed the obituary back in the drawer and noted the cemetery where Patricia Rose Harvey was buried, then closed the drawer. Abe stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of the bed, on the off chance that Troy did return home. He had a feeling she would know someone had been in her home. That is, if she missed the fact she had broken glass all over her bathroom floor.

    *

    She didn’t look the way she was supposed to. Or at least not the way Troy had imagined her. Of course, she’d also assumed that when they met face to face, there would be eye contact, but she had gotten that wrong, too.
    Troy felt unkempt. She always did when she met new people. The fact that this Emma, this woman she didn’t even know, could make her feel like she wasn’t worthy made her angry.
    Emma glanced at her and then back at the floor. Her eyes are weird. Not quite blue, more a steely, grayish-blue and they look dilated. Is she high? No, has to be a trick of light. Troy thought about taking a step closer, but one look at Emma’s frightened face told her that it was best she stay where she was.
    “Sorry about your window.” Troy hated how gruff her voice sounded.
    Emma looked up at her then. Troy was so disappointed to realize that Emma’s eyes were, indeed, normal, everyday blue that she almost didn’t register Emma’s words when they came.
    “I don’t have any food,” Emma said.
    Hot licks of anger warmed Troy’s ears. “I don’t want your food. Is that why you think I came up here? To try to steal your food? Wake up, lady. Food is pretty much ripe for the pickings out there. Why in the hell would you think I’d sit on that damn curb for three days—?”
    Emma stepped back to escape Troy’s anger. “I meant,” she said, her voice soft and steady as if she were talking to a rabid dog, “I meant to ask if you had any food?”
    She’s scared shitless. She wouldn’t have let me up here if she hadn’t been hungry. The realization froze any angry words before they left Troy’s lips. “When’s the last time you ate?” she asked.
    Emma looked toward her kitchen as if it could give her the answer. “What day is it?”
    “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Troy started toward her.
    Emma’s face went slack and pale. She held up her hands and took another step back.
    “What’s wrong with you? Oh, my God.” Her laugh sounded harsh and mirthless. “You’re not going to tell me you have a problem with black people, are you? ’Cause last time I looked, fifty percent of the viable populace of Portland is black,” Troy pointed to her chest, “and the other fifty percent,” she pointed to Emma, “has no right…” Troy stopped speaking as Emma’s face went from shock to disbelief and then anger.
    “I am not prejudiced,” she said as if Troy had just accused her of being a Republican.
    “Good,” Troy let her bag slide to the floor, “glad to hear it.” She stooped and fished around inside the bag. Her eyes burned, her head ached, and she felt like someone had punched her in the kidney. She set each item on the floor, one by one. A can of Slim Jims, a large bag of peanuts, a bag of potato chips, and two packages of cheese and crackers. She looked at the stash feeling like she had just asked a date to share her kid’s meal. She picked up the chips and held the bag out to Emma. “Sorry, none of it’s good for you. I wasn’t thinking about nutrition when I took it.”
    Emma stared at Troy’s outstretched hand. “You just—took all that?”
    Troy looked from the junk food to Emma. What is she, nuts? “Yeah, I took it. Why didn’t you…?” The rest of the sentence wedged in her throat as she took in the condo and Emma’s