Clem’s eyes fluttered open. For one brief moment he didn’t know where he was, what day it was, or even what time it was. As his brain finally caught up to his body, he looked to the right, half-expecting to see Morgan. He was pleasantly surprised to see Lei-san curled up on the couch, idly scanning a yellowed, leather-bound book that Clem couldn’t recall seeing before. “Hi,” he said softly.
“Hello,” Lei-san said, smiling in return.
“Sorry . . . I fell asleep,” he said, feeling bad about conking out and leaving her alone.
“Don’t apologize,” she replied evenly. “You obviously needed it.”
“What about you?”
The book slipped from her fingers, and she propped her chin on her knees. “What about me?”
“Have you rested any? What time is it? Has Dante been here?”
Her smile widened. “Some, six o’clock, and yes. In that order.”
“Oh. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet,” she said, stretching. “I wanted to wait for you.”
“You didn’t have to,” Clem said, slowly crawling out of bed.
“I wanted to. Besides—your house, your food . . . who am I to decide what to do with it?”
“You live here too,” Clem blurted out. He immediately closed his mouth with a snap. Lei-san just stared, her eyes open to owlish proportions as she blinked again and again.
“I . . . you have been . . . ” Clem stammered, trying to backpedal. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean the words, but they’d come out wrong. He didn’t want her to think she wasn’t welcome, but he didn’t want her to think . . . well, the wrong thing about how he felt about her. She was a friend. That was it.
Lei-san got up from the couch and crossed the room to the kitchen. From her stride and the tilt of her head he could tell that she wasn’t angry or hurt; if anything she was confused. “I know. I heard you. So . . . what would you like?”
“Please don’t be upset,” Clem said, joining her.
“I’m not. Really,” she said with a sigh. “But . . . the more you keep yourself detached from me, the better off you’ll be.”
“Oh,” Clem said, his stomach dropping in spite of himself.
“I like you,” she continued. “That’s why I’m telling you. I’m cursed.”
“C-Cursed?” Shit, Clem—what did you get yourself into??
“Yeah. Everyone I’ve ever loved is dead. After a while . . . I realized it was because of me.”
Clem blinked. Because of her? “What . . . happened to them? Why do y’think it’s you?”
She turned, staring out the window. For the first time Clem could see the delicate lines around her eyes and the wrinkles that framed her mouth as she pinched it into a tight line. “My parents died in an attack. My friends, in accidents that were just too coincidental to be chance. My son . . . ” She stopped, her voice cracking. “People get close to me, and bad things happen.”
Son? She had a son? “I’m sorry,” he said, unable to think of anything else to say.
Lei-san turned, smiling wanly. She looked almost ten years older. “Oh, it’s all right. You’re a sweet man . . . and you definitely deserve someone who can love you without putting you in danger.”
Clem sighed, her words a bitter disappointment. He went over to the small fridge and rummaged around until he found a bottle of beer in the very back of the tiny crisper drawer. “I didn’t mean to make you drag up your past.”
“You didn’t drag it up. It’s always there. I suppose that’s why I traveled. Maybe I’ll be able to leave it behind eventually.”
Clem nodded, taking a sip. He could understand wanting to bury and forget a painful past.
A few more moments of awkward silence passed, with Lei-san leaning on the counter, chewing her lower lip. She finally turned, pulling a box out of one of the cabinets. “Um, Dante brought these odd-looking things. ‘Pop Tarts’?”
Clem smiled a little. “Yeah. They’re good.”
She opened the box and peered inside, fumbling for a minute with the plastic wrapper. Withdrawing one of the rectangular wafers, she gave it a dubious look before biting into it. “Yuck,” she said, making a face. “Hardly palatable.”
Clem pulled the toaster out of the cupboard and plugged it in. “They’re better warm. He didn’t bring any milk, did he?”
Lei-san looked in the fridge. “Yes, he did. And bread, and . . . ” She paused, raising an eyebrow. “Hamburger?”
“Ground beef,” Clem clarified.
“Ah. That makes more sense.”
Clem slid a few tarts into the toaster, finishing his beer in several quick gulps. Lei-san joined him, pulling her long hair out of the way as she peered into the toaster. “So heat will make them taste better?”
“Yeah, strange enough.”
She smiled. “I think I shall stay. This place is interesting enough to keep me occupied for years.”
Clem smiled widely as a surge of warmth flooded through his chest. She was staying. Even though his mind was telling him not to lose himself again, his heart—which, like most hearts, never spent much time listening to his head—was nearly leaping for joy.
“Wow,” Lei-san said.
“Wow?”
“That is quite a smile you . . . Nesmiths have.” Clem laughed.
She giggled, her cheeks flushing. “And the laugh’s even better . . . please don’t tell me you sing, too.”
“Actually . . . I do.”
She sagged heavily against the counter. “Oh dear, it might be too much to handle, then.” She winked.
Clem grinned. “I sing mostly country . . . a little folk.”
“Ballads?”
“I can do those, too.”
She pretended to faint. “A minstrel. Ay me . . . ”
Clem laughed, dropping down onto one of the benches at the table. Lei-san gingerly removed the tarts from the toaster, placing them on a plate and bringing them to the table.
“Try ‘em now,” Clem said, propping his chin on his hands.
She took one and bit it cautiously. “Mmmmm . . . much better.”
“Good.”
She looked up, her slate eyes solemn, and pushed the plate towards him. “Here. Share with me.”
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