The Swailing

ECCO: Embrace

The store down the road is tiny – just a few aisles of items for when you're in a pinch. I pick up a package of dried whole wheat pasta and a glass jar of what looks like locally made tomato sauce. Some bottled water. There aren't any fresh green vegetables at this time of year, but there are apples and homemade donuts. I piece together enough food for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow. If we stay longer than that, we may have to hunt down a bigger market.

As I head to the counter to check out, I pass something on the shelf and smile. I throw one more package into my basket.

Finn is upstairs when I get back – I hear his footsteps on the wooden floors above my head. I put the groceries in the kitchen and go up with my surprise.

I peek into a room that is lit by candles. He's carefully making one of two small beds with soft-looking blue sheets. He looks up when he hears me and attempts to smile.

"Hey," he says.

I decide maybe my new strategy should be to try to act normal, so I say, "Look what I found," and I hold up the surprise I bought at the store.

My instincts might be right, because he smiles for real this time, even if it's only for a second. "Marshmallows," he says. "I forgot I promised to introduce you to cavities in a bag."

"They really are just sugar?"

"Pretty much."

I set the marshmallows on the dresser and pick up the folded sheets from the other bed. He comes over to help me even though it's a small bed and I can reach all the way across it without any trouble.

"This is your room?" I ask, but it comes out a little more like a statement than a question.

Finn nods. "Mine and Tristan's."

He helps me smooth the sheet and blanket on the bed and tuck it around the bottom. We spread the thick quilt over the top.

"Is he older than you? Or younger."

"Younger, barely. By less than a year."

"Irish twins," I say, though I'm not sure where the expression comes from. We stand for a moment after the bed is made without saying anything. The change in Finn is so drastic that I'm not sure how to act anymore. Forget the awkwardness I felt after confirming that we kissed – this is much, much worse.

Finally, I nod toward the door. "I'll go start dinner."

"I'll help you," he says. He follows me down the dark stairs. It seems like maybe he doesn't want to be alone up here with the ghosts of his family.

I use bottled water to boil the pasta and we eat it in relative quiet compared to our normal chattiness. After dinner Finn shows me how to roast a marshmallow on a stick. I'm amazed when the little white ball puffs up and gets brown. I panic when the one I'm roasting catches on fire, but Finn just guides my stick close to his mouth and blows it out. He scrapes the burnt ball of goo onto a log and gives me another one.

He's trying to act normal, I can tell, but it's like there is a cloud over his head, around his heart. He smiles a little, but it's a smile that doesn't make it all the way to his eyes. His laughter, when he does laugh, is hollow and forced.

The fire dies down and Finn follows me upstairs. We take turns in the dark, cold bathroom. There is no water so I don't dawdle. I ask Finn which bed is his and he points to one, and I climb into the other.

We lie in silence for over an hour before I finally start to get sleepy. I want to say something, to offer up some kind of comfort to him, but everything I think of seems inadequate. His parents are dead, his brother is somewhere across the country, his home is nearly lost to him. Words seem pointless.