Monday morning I felt better and got ready for class under Clay’s scrutiny. He didn’t voice any complaint when I left, but I knew he worried that a full day so soon after recovering would overtax me. And he was right. By the last class of the day, I wanted to go to bed.
Dinner waited when I got home; two steaming bowls sat on the table. I dropped my bag next to the back door and flopped into the closest kitchen chair. Soup. Perfect. Clay picked up my bag and carried it into my room while I started to eat. After the first bite, I eyed the contents. I couldn’t remember buying it and guessed he’d somehow managed to go grocery shopping.
He rejoined me and sat across the table. We ate in silence for a few minutes.
“Are you going to tell me about the coveralls or where you got the money for groceries?”
He shrugged in response.
Sighing, I pushed my bowl away. “I know I’m supposed to start asking you a bunch of questions, but I’m still too tired. Just don’t be doing anything illegal, ‘K? It would be hard to visit you in jail on top of school.”
I used a battered plastic container to put the rest of my dinner in the refrigerator and quickly washed the dishes, despite his silent protests. He dried. Skipping homework, I changed and went straight to bed.