Sentenced to Life

11

Emory didn't know how she would explain bringing this very large, very attractive, charismatic man home, but she'd figure it out. Silas held Emory's bags putting them in the back and then sitting in the passenger seat.

"I'd like to learn to drive this machine," he murmured . Emory leaned against the drivers seat door, on her phone. Silas smiled to himself as she argued with her husband, her hands moved wildly, her voice clipping through the thick windows.

Her voice was like honey, even as she voiced her frustration.

"He's staying. End of story," she said with finality. "If it bothers you so much, you can stay at hotel." She got in the car with scoff, putting her hands on the wheels.

"I'm sorry to disturb your marital home," he said quietly.

Emory sighed and shot him a thinly veiled frustrated look.

"It's fine. When the appraisal is over we'll both be filthy rich and it you won't have to stay in my guest room." She smiled, starting the car.

Silas adjusted himself in the seat, stretching his hand over the back of her seat as she drove toward her home.

"I'm excited to meet your husband. He's a very lucky man," he smiled, looking over the side of her face as she drove.

Emory sighed. "Tell him that," she murmured.

Silas chuckled. "If you'd like, I will. I'll let him know how inconceivably fortunate he is to behold your visage."

Emory shot him a look with a smirk. "There you go again. You know, I almost believe you when you say things like that? I'm chalking it up to you being an old timey millionaire."

Silas shrugged. "If you'd like."

Emory pulled into the driveway, walking toward the door, pulling out her keys. Silas towered over her, walking behind her. The door opened as she turned it. Silas didn't know what he'd expected of Emory's husband, but all his expectations had fallen short.

Silas extended his hand with a smile that could only be described as smug.

"I'm Silas. It's a pleasure. Thank you."

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "For what?" He asked with an edge.

Silas stepped closer to Emory with a small smile. "For giving me a chance."

Emory sighed her patience instantly shortened at the sight of her husband. "Thomas move out of the way, Silas is holding the bags."

Thomas frowned deeply but stepped aside. Silas carried in his wife's bags.

"I'm sorry for the mess," Emory said her voice dripping with irritation. "I wasn't here to clean."

Silas smiled. "Oh, please. We both know I've lived in far worse conditions. I'll help you," he offered. "It's the least I can do for all your help."

Emory smiled softly, her irritation seeming to melt away. "Thank you, Silas. You're always so helpful."

Thomas narrowed his eyes, taking the bags from Silas's hands. "These are my wife's bags. She tells me you're married."

Silas met Emory's eyes in silent question. She shrugged mouthing for him to play along. Silas sighed and nodded.

"...Yes. My dear Marion. She's...sick. Consumption."
Thomas narrowed. "Do you mean TB?"
Silas cocked his head and nodded. "What did I say?"

Thomas and Silas faced off staring at one another, a silent conversation between the two men. Emory sighed, beginning to clean up the mess in the house.

Silas shouldered past Thomas, going to assist Emory.

"Shouldn't you be...I don't know with your own wife?" Thomas asked testily, discarding the bags haphazardly.

"Marion will be attended to," he mused, reaching behind Emory. "For now, I'll help Emory."

Thomas sat down in his chair, turning on the tv. He couldn't help but feel he was making a mistake. And yet, he'd known his wife all his life. He frowned, and let the thought that this strange man was fucking his wife leave his mind.

It wasn't possible.
She wouldn't do that to him.

Meanwhile, Silas dried the dishes next to Emory, sharing a quiet, inside conversation. He smiled. The tv went dark for a moment. Through the reflection of the LCD, Thomas locked eyes with Silas.

Thomas frowned. There was no way...he was looking at him right? It was just a wild coincidence? The television became bathed in colors once more, breaking the contact.

"Oh you just think I'm crazy," Emory sighed. "This whole mess..."

"Hey," Silas smiled. "You are not crazy. You're a brilliant woman, Emory. And a mess is nothing that can't be cleaned."

Emory sighed in relief and nodded. Thomas stared at his shoe unseeingly, his brain wracked. Emory wasn't the only one feeling crazy.

Silas' hand brushed against Emory's as she handed up a dish to dry. He let it linger, with a smile, eventually taking his hand away.

Emory cleared her throat.

"You know the dishwasher works just fine," Thomas said suddenly.

"...just easier this way," Emory muttered, her cheeks hot.