Whispered Prayers

by Alex Grayson

WHEN I PULL OPEN the door an hour later, both pain and longing stop me in my tracks. Laughter rings through the cabin, both childish and feminine, something these walls haven’t heard in years. Still gripping the doorknob, I track the sound and find Gwen and her son on the floor in the living room with Gigi. Her daughter is on the couch watching them with a blank face. I’m not sure what it is, but there’s something not right about the young girl. She seems too quiet and withdrawn for a girl her age. Gwen looks up at me and her grin falls away. I don’t know why, but for some reason that bothers me. I don’t say anything as I close the door, take off my jacket, and hang it up before walking to the kitchen. My nose picks up a smell, and I see something boiling in a pot on the stove. I frown, not sure if I like the woman going through my cabinets and fridge, then I feel like an ass because they obviously need to eat. “I hope you don’t mind,” she says from behind me. “I’m making potato soup. I didn’t want to plunder too much in your cabinets. I found the potatoes on the counter.” I turn and face her. “It’s fine. Cook whatever you want.” She nods. “I didn’t say it earlier, but thank you for the cocoa. It was thoughtful of you.” I turn from her and go to the sink to wash away the dirt on my hands from hanging out in the barn. “It was no problem,” I throw over my shoulder. She steps further into the kitchen and leans against the bar, her hands resting beside her hips. “I always get ...