Baby Face Monster's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

Ellie sat by the dead fire and did not move. Baby Face Monster stood with the cane and watched her back shake. He knew he had to go to her. He also knew he did not know how. A grown man would hold her. A grown man would say the right words. If he did it wrong, she would look up and see a bald child in blue jeans trying to pat a crying woman, and every careful thing he had built with her these past days would break. He set the cane against the tent pole. He needed his hands free. He walked to her slowly, the way her father had walked in the mornings when his knees hurt. He stopped a step behind her. "Ellie." She did not turn. He knelt. Not beside her, not yet. Behind her, a small distance, so she would not have to look at his face. He remembered how she had done this for him in the cave. She had sat in the dark so he could speak. He could give her the same thing now. He could be a voice without a face. "You don't have to talk," he said. "I'm here. I'll stay here." She drew a breath that shook. "He liked this spot," Baby Face Monster said. He kept his voice low and level. "He said the pines cut the wind. He made coffee here every morning. He said you took yours black." Ellie made a small sound. Not a laugh. Close to one. "He talked about you," he said. "A lot. He said you were smarter than him. He was proud of that." She turned her head. Not all the way. Just enough that he saw the side of her face, wet, red. She reached back without looking. Her hand found his sleeve and held it. He did not move. He let her hold the cloth. He kept his other hand flat on his knee where she could see it was still. He did not pat her. He did not rock. He did not say anything a child would say. They stayed like that for a long time. The wind moved the torn canvas. A paper lifted and settled. When she let go of his sleeve, she wiped her face with the heel of her hand and stood up. She looked down at him kneeling in the dirt and did not flinch at the size of him, at the smoothness of his face. "Thank you," she said. "We'll start in the morning. I need a shovel." "I have one at the cave," he said. She nodded. She walked to the tent and began, slowly, to gather her father's papers into a stack. He picked up the cane and stood. His hands were steady. She had not looked at him like a child. She had looked at him like a man who had stayed.