“Eat.”
“I should wait for you.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you look like another ten minutes might kill you.”
Embarrassment burned.
She pushed the bowl slightly away.
Judson frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re hungry.”
“I said nothing.”
“That’s different.”
Josie looked at the stew.
Then at him.
“You’ll watch.”
“Watch what?”
“How much I eat.”
Understanding arrived slowly.
His face changed.
Not pity.
Anger.
Not at her.
“At the table,” he said, “food is for eating.”
She looked down.
Judson pulled the pot closer.
“There’s enough.”
“For tonight.”
“For winter.”
“How?”
“I plan.”
She almost laughed.
“That simple?”
“Usually.”
He cut another piece of bread.
“Eat.”
Josie took one bite.
Then another.
Then too quickly.
Her stomach hurt.
She slowed.
Judson poured himself a bowl.
Ate without watching her.
That helped.
She finished.
He filled hers again.
Josie protested.
“I've had enough.”
“No.”
She stared.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know starvation.”
The words changed the room.
Josie looked at him.
Judson’s eyes remained on his bowl.
“You've been rationing too long.”
“Eat slowly.”
“But eat.”
She did.
When she finished the second bowl, tears had begun gathering in her eyes.
She hated herself for it.
Judson pretended not to notice.
He carried the dishes away.
Then crossed toward the bed.
Josie’s heart began hammering.
Here.
Now.
This was the payment.
Of course.
There was always payment.
She stood.
Judson pulled the quilt back.
Josie’s hands went cold.
He turned.
“That’s yours.”
She stared.
“What?”
“The bed.”
“Where will you sleep?”
He pointed toward the fireplace.
A rolled blanket lay there.
“Floor.”
Josie looked from him to the bed.
“I don’t understand.”
“Not complicated.”
“You gave my father food.”
“Yes.”
“You brought me here.”
“Yes.”
“You fed me.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re giving me your bed.”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
Judson’s expression became very still.
“Tonight?”
She swallowed.
“Yes.”
“For you to sleep.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
Josie laughed softly.
Disbelief.
Judson began unrolling the blanket.
She watched.
“No man gives that much for nothing.”
He stopped.
Then looked at her.
“Who taught you that?”
She almost answered.
Everyone.
Instead:
“Life.”
Judson considered.
“Life taught me different.”
Josie said nothing.
He continued.