Have you ever played Candyland for three hours straight?

It’s liberating.

For precious hours, my world became spinning and counting, finding my way through gumdrops and chocolate scenery, my ears filled with giggles and gasps, with a little girl who kept looking at me shyly, begging for one more game, as if I’d say no.

I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Who could say no to this sweet, sweet little princess?

“Your name is Jane. But what’s your whole name?” she asks me. Silas has been gone for hours, hastily dropping us off as a social worker and law enforcement officer tried to talk with him after delivering Kelly to his apartment. I know he was arguing with them in the hallway, then moved outside. There’s no reason for me to try to find him. His attachment to his niece is fierce, and whatever is going on is critical.

“Jane Rose Borokov.”

“No, not all the names. I mean your real name!”

“What do you mean, real name?”

“Is Jane a whole name or a nickname? Silas isn’t a nickname. It’s his whole name. Kelly is a whole name. Mama says whole names are important.”

“What’s your mama’s name?” I know the answer, but I’m curious.

Kelly scrunches up her face, concentrating. “I know her real name is Patricia, but her nickname is Tricia. She has another nickname, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Turtle. That’s what Uncle Rick calls her.”

“Turtle?”

“Yeah. It’s not a nice name.” Kelly frowns. “It’s what he calls her when she goes into the houses and takes too long to come back.”

A deep sadness fills me. “Houses?” I ask, knowing before she says it what little Kelly is talking about.

“The houses. You know. Where Mama goes to feel better. Sometimes she feels better by getting money there, and sometimes she gets her medicine there.”

Medicine. Right.

“Does she need a lot of medicine?” I ask, prying gently. Any information I can get might help Silas.

“Sometimes. If she feels bad. Uncle Rick needs lots of medicine, too. But he also sells it to people so they will feel better. And if he sells a lot, we go out for ice cream!”

I’m trying not to show her how I really feel. Silas has been hiding this whole mess since he’s been working with me. Does Drew know? Does Silas talk to anyone about his sister’s addiction? I don’t have a sister or a brother but I can only imagine how complicated and heartbreaking having a sibling as an addict would be.

Is.

It’s not hypothetical for Silas. It’s stone-cold reality.

“Where’s Uncle Silas?” she asks for the hundredth time.

I don’t lie to her. “He went to the police station to talk to people about making sure you’re safe. And you are safe,” I assure her.

“I know, silly. Grandma’s coming while Mama’s sick. I’m always safe with Uncle Silas and Grandma.”

My heart hurts. She doesn’t mention being safe with her mother.

We arrived at the airport in California, took an SUV straight to the police precinct where Kelly was being held by a social worker, and after mountains of paperwork, Silas brought us here, to his apartment. It’s simple and boring, all neutral beige and sandstone, like he lives in a furnished model unit in one of those cookie-cutter complexes near major highways.

There is no way he has a wife, or a live-in girlfriend.

Kelly is as charming as Silas described, curious and sweet with dark hair, straight bangs over wispy eyebrows, and red lips like a bow. She was hungry when we got here and immediately ate four hot dogs without buns, a small pile of baby carrots, and drank two huge glasses of milk.

She is also filthy.

The social worker told Silas there was no sign of abuse, or of lice, but that otherwise neglect had put its mark on the little girl. When she smiles, I can see her teeth haven’t been brushed in days–weeks?

Her dark hair is matted and squirrelly, one chunk of it uneven compared to the rest. She has an uncertainty in her movements, constantly looking at me covertly, as if expecting to be told no.

When I smile at her or encourage her, she beams.

Her pants are leggings, far too short for her, and her big toe breaks through the top of her worn-down white sneakers. A red long-sleeved shirt with a Disney character on it has layers of stains.

How long has she gone without a change of clothes or a bath? Is this how Silas’s family operates? He seems so together, so rational. I knew from college classes that dysfunction comes in many forms, but I’ve never spent one second of my life like Kelly. Dirty? Sure. From a day of playing hard.

This is the filth of neglect.

“Uncle Silas said I could have more–you know.” Kelly looks nervously toward Silas’s small galley kitchen, her neck shrinking slightly as she timidly tries to ask for something I don’t understand.

“More what, sweetie?”

“Ice cream,” she whispers, looking afraid.

“Of course!” I say in an overly happy voice, trying to drive out this fear in her. “Let’s get out the big bowls.” I’m not really hungry, but I know it’ll make it easier for Kelly if I join her.

Two bowls of vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce poured over it later, we’re eating at Silas’s small black metal dining table when he walks through the door. He does a double take at the scene before him.

“You made yourselves comfortable,” he says, taking in the scattered pieces of Candyland, the stack of cards on the board, the ice cream.

“You said ice cream was okay!” Kelly protests.

“Did you leave any for me?” he asks her in a teasing voice, reaching to ruffle her hair, a strange look passing like a shadow across his face. I can only imagine what her hair feels like.

Our eyes meet.

We both get it.

“How about after the ice cream, you get to take a bubble bath?” I ask. “Princesses take bubble baths, you know,” I explain, pretending to be somber and serious. “It’s part of the duties of a princess.”

“Yay! I love bubble baths!” she says.

Whew.

“JOEY!” she shrieks, the non sequiter throwing me for a loop. I follow her gaze to find a small cat, black with a white spot under its neck, peering out at us from under the couch.

“Joey?” I ask Silas as Kelly runs to the cat,who retreats quickly, face disappearing.

“My cat.”

“I can see that.”

“You’re not allergic, are you?” he asks, as if the idea just hit him and it makes this all more complicated.

“No. I’m fine. But of all the names you could pick for a cat, you chose Joey?”

“I didn’t pick the name,” he says, suddenly terse.

“He’s a rescue?” I pry, curious.

“She,” he corrects me.

“You got a cat from the pound named Joey, and Joey is a girl?”

“Something like that,” he mutters as he moves to the back of the couch, reaches behind with a practiced hand, and scoops out the little cat. Kelly rushes to pet Joey, who closes her eyes and tolerates it. Joey is an introvert, clearly.

Like all cats.

“I don’t have bubble bath,” Silas whispers in my ear as Kelly coos over the cat.

“Shampoo can be used in a pinch.”

He looks at her head. “I’m not sure I have enough shampoo to clean her hair and use for a bubble bath.”

I touch his hand, trying to reassure him. “It’ll be fine.”

He reaches down and takes my hand. “Come talk to me for a minute.” Silas gently sets Joey down. Immediately, the cat darts under the couch, much to Kelly’s protests.

I follow him into the kitchen and reach for the chocolate sauce, pouring extra on Kelly’s ice cream. “Here. Eat this, and Uncle Silas will come back with me in just a minute. We’ll be right here.” I point across the way to the far corner of the living room.

“No!” She tightens her mouth. “It’s ice cream time. Uncle Silas, you need to get your bowl.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, saluting her.

She giggles.

He gives me a look that says we’ll talk later, then walks into the kitchen and pulls out the ice cream, looking increasingly interested in his freezer.

“Jane?”

“Yes?”

“How much ice cream did you guys eat? The pint was brand new.”

“It’s a pint! That’s normally only enough for one person. Be glad we saved you any.” I stick my tongue out at him.

His laugh warms my heart.

“I’m more of a cookie guy, anyhow.”

And there you have it.

Silas just voluntarily told me something personal about himself. A preference. A liking.

A desire.

I hear a scraping sound, then Silas joins us with a final scoop of ice cream and a sleeve of cookies, half a box in a plastic tube.

“That’s a lot of cookies,” I note.

He points to Kelly’s bowl. “That’s a lot of ice cream.”

“Mo iff mah!” Kelly argues.

“She said ‘No, it’s not.’”

“You speak Ice Cream?” Silas asks in a jaunty, joking tone.

“It was my minor in college. I majored in Sweet ’n Sour, though.”

He pops a small chocolate cookie in his mouth and carefully examines Kelly, taking in every detail. I’m sure he’s looked her over a hundred times since he picked her up at the police station. He’s clearly worried, protective and trying to understand what’s happened.

I want to know.

But first things first.

We eat the rest of our sugarbombed treats in silence. Kelly savors every bite, smearing very little on her face. Silas and I are pensive. Time changes when you spend it in the company of a small child.

Especially one you’re trying to distract.

“When is Mama coming?” Kelly asks Silas, clearly expecting a time.

He pauses, hand in mid-air before it delivers another cookie to his mouth. This he sets back down as he says, “We’re not sure, punkin. She’s sick, remember? The doctors need some more time to make her feel better.”

“Does that mean I get to stay with you? Please? Can I have a sleepover here with you?” She frowns. “And Jane? Does Jane live here with you, Uncle Silas?”

If either of us had anything in our mouths at that point, we’d have sprayed it.

Silas turns a furious shade of pink. “Um, no. She doesn’t live here, but... she’s going to spend the night tonight.”

My eyebrows fly high. I am?

“We’re gonna have a slumber party!” Kelly whoops, the squeals making me laugh. “We already had ice cream and then we’ll have bubble baths and Uncle Silas can get out the nail polish he keeps in his bathroom and we can paint our nails!”

“You have your own nail polish kit?” I ask him with great amusement.

“It’s for Kelly.”

“Suuuuuure it is. Convenient excuse. Bet you secretly love electric blue toenails.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’m spending the night here?” I ask.

“No other choice. I have to keep Kelly until my mom arrives. Drew said the entire team at The Grove is going through decontamination for hours. This is the best I can do. We have surveillance teams outside in unmarked vehicles. You need to be safe. Kelly needs to be supervised.”

“You’re not worried the people after me might–you know.” I look at Kelly.

“Let’s talk about it later,” he says in a sing-songy voice, like he’s trying not to frighten Kelly.

Good point.

“I’m done!” Kelly announces, then gives Silas a very sly side-eye. “At least, the ice cream side of my stomach is done. The cookie part has some room.”

The smile he gives her is so loving, I nearly tear up. “Is it, now? What about the tickle side?”

She shrieks, jumps up, and starts running away, looking over her shoulder to make sure he’s actually chasing her. I get the sense this is a well-known game between the two of them. He clearly spends a lot of time with her. Their relationship is natural and strong.

So why on earth is she so neglected?

I hear a bathtub faucet start as Silas makes funny sounds I don’t understand.

Is he... giggling?

“Stop tickling!” he bellows. “It’s too much! You’re a better tickler than I am!”

Curiosity is killing me. I have to see this. As I turn down the small hallway and find Silas’s bathroom, I’m greeted by the sight of a forty-pound munchkin tickling her giant uncle, who is cringing in mock terror in a corner by the toilet.

“Jane! Help! The tickle monster got me!” he cries out. “The only way to stop the tickle monster is to eat your vegetables!”

“I don’t have any vegetables!” I say, playing along.

“Haha! Uncle Silas is in trouble!” Kelly says with glee, her hands like little tickle claws, ready to strike.

I see the tub is nearly full so I turn and grab the knob, cutting off the water. Suddenly Silas’s scent consumes me, near my neck and nose, warm hands on the soft spot above my hips and below my ribs, his fingers digging in as I jump with surprise and start giggling, helplessly panting.

“Uncle Silas’s turn, Jane! He’s the tickle monster now!”

“Stop tickling me!” I gasp.

“She said stop, Uncle Silas! You know the rules!” Kelly insists. “If someone doesn’t want your hands on them, you stop!”

Oh. Well. I wouldn’t put it that way, but...

Silas smells so good, his body warm and appealing. Touch is underrated. Going for long stretches without touching another human being is a form of isolation you can’t really describe. It has to be experienced and felt directly.

Even being tickled mercilessly is better than nothing.

As I recover, Silas gives me a self-deprecating smile. Kelly carefully steps over the bathtub edge and sinks in under the white shampoo foam. She turns her back to us. I stifle a gasp. Silas’s hands curl into balls, fingers tight.

There is a very large fading bruise on Kelly’s back.

Eyes closed, Silas struggles to control himself, his quick bottling of emotion almost artistic if it weren’t for such a sad, despicable reason.

“Kelly,” he asks softly, the back of his head resting against the wall, his eyes closed. “What happened to your back?”

“I fell,” she says in a voice so quiet, she might as well be a church mouse.

“Okay,” I whisper, needing to say something, to exhale, to breathe, to remind myself she is here with us, safe, and not being hurt like she was in the past. Emotion tornadoes around me until all I can do is link myself to Silas’s feelings, tracking him, making sure he’s safe, too.

You can fool yourself into thinking the only way to be unsafe is in your body. We have so much more vulnerability on the inside. The wrong person can harm your skin and bones, sure.

But true evil invades your bloodstream.

I grab a small washcloth and hand it to Kelly. “Why don’t you wash your body, nice and clean.”

“Okay!” she chirps. “Mama taught me to wash like a big girl!”

Silas’s brow lowers in pain. The kind that burns from your chest on out.

“Your mama really loves you, huh?” I say reflexively, the words making me choke up. I suddenly miss my mama. So much.

“Yes,” she says, looking at Silas. “Hey, Uncle Silas! Don’t go to sleep! It’s not bedtime yet!”

He opens his eyes slowly and I swear he’s trying not to cry.

“No, you’re right,” he says in a choked voice. His eyes dart to catch mine. “Can you help her wash her hair?” He starts to stand.

“No water in my eyes!” Kelly screeches.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” he says, his voice craggy and uneven. “Jane’s a good person. She’ll be careful.”

Jane’s a good person.

It’s been so long since someone said that to or about me.

“Do you know how to pour the water so it goes on my hair but not in my eyes?” she asks somberly, like I’m being interviewed for a job.

“Yes. I’m an expert.” I speak to her but watch Silas as he leaves the tiny room, blinking hard, his face roiling with so many different emotions, but one stands out.

Not anger.

Grief.

Suddenly, Kelly dips under the water, her thumb and index finger plugging her nose, and she comes up sputtering but laughing.

“I did it! Mama told me I could put my face in the water and be okay!” she crows, but too much water is in her eyes and she starts to whine. I grab a dry towel from a rack and blot her face as she wriggles.

“Good job!” I assure her, meanwhile freaking out on the inside. Why is Silas so upset? The mark on Kelly’s back is bad. She’s clearly been hurt by someone. Silas’s sister? “Uncle Rick”? Someone else?

And wouldn’t Silas be furious? Why is he so choked up?

Kelly hums to herself as she uses the washcloth to clean herself, blowing on the foamy bubbles and begging for more. I run the faucet and pour a thin stream of shampoo on the running water. We do this for about twenty minutes until finally she trusts me to wash her hair and rinse it the “right way.”

“I got some water in my eyes but it didn’t hurt!” she says as I hold open a big towel for her to step into. Just then Silas appears, his face a little red, a bottle of hair detangler and a comb in one hand.

“Comb my hair, Uncle Silas?” she asks. He holds the hair items like this is a familiar ritual.

“Of course,” he says.

“When’s Mama coming for me? I’m spending the night for the sleepover, right?”

Silas looks like he’s in the crosshairs of a sniper’s shot.

“Uh, Grandma’s coming tomorrow, sweetie,” he finally says as he turns her away from him and starts lightly spraying her tangled hair. He’s an expert, combing the crazy, straight hair until it shines like a wet seal’s coat. “Remember?”

“Tomorrow? So soon?” She claps and grins.

“It’s all last minute. A surprise,” he adds in the kind of voice you use with little kids.

“Ice cream, a bubble bath, a sleepover, and Grandma! This is great!” she says, beaming.

I look at her face. Dark circles under her eyes but no bruises. She hums a Disney princess song to herself and Silas starts to lead her out of the bathroom.

“I’ll help you get dressed,” he says.

“I know how!” Kelly protests. “Just give me the clothes.”

Silas looks at the dining table at the end of the hall and walks to it, grabbing a bag from a store he must have gone to while he was out. He extracts a pack of new underwear and a cute set of cotton jersey pajamas.

“New? For me?” Kelly asks. “Mama says I only get new stuff for my birthday and Christmas. It’s not Christmas, is it?”

Silas is stricken.

“No, no, sweetie. Just some nice, new clothes for you.” He hands her the clothes and points to his bedroom. “You go get dressed and come back so we can brush your teeth. I got you a new toothbrush.”

Kelly skips down the hallway and goes into Silas’s bedroom, cradling her new clothes. The second she’s out of earshot, I turn to question Silas, just as his phone buzzes.

He looks at it, mutters something I can’t hear, and turns away.

I take a moment to go into the bathroom, take care of my own business, and look at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands. I am shaking, eyes haunted, my own dark circles mirroring little Kelly’s. I’ve obviously been brought into a serious family drama, the personal line crossed in my relationship with Silas.

Relationship? Is that what you call this?

His kiss on the top of my head back at The Grove, after rescuing me from that creepy doctor, runs through me like a racing train. I feel like I’m in the conductor’s seat but there are no controls. Just a smooth, flat table covered with nothing, but a panoramic view of what I’m about to crash into.

Something is very, very off right now.

And the second Kelly falls asleep, I’m demanding answers.

I walk down the hallway to find Kelly on top of Silas’s neatly made bed, dressed in the clothes Silas handed her. Wet hair curls against her cheek, her eyes closed, the light, rhythmic breathing of a fast-asleep child the only sound in the room.

The light behind me from the hallway suddenly dims. Silas’s presence blocks the doorway as I pull up one corner of his comforter and cover her. Instinct makes me bend low and kiss her cheek.

She smiles in slumber.

Tiptoeing out, I carefully shut the door, turning the knob first and letting it click softly. By the time I’m done, Silas is gone from the hall. His apartment is small, so he can’t really hide.

I won’t let him.

I find him digging around a tiny coat closet by the front door. He turns, a tightly rolled sleeping bag in one hand.

“Oh,” he says, looking at the couch. “It’s a sleeper. You take the sofabed and I’ll crash on the floor next to Kelly in my room. If Joey climbs on the couch at night, I can lock her in the bathroom so she won’t disturb you.”

“Silas,” I say softly.

He’s tense, pure adrenaline radiating off him. “Someone else can take over with you around 3 am, so sleeping here is temporary. Drew says once the team goes through decontamination, he can send a guy to–”

“Silas,” I repeat, voice firm, trying to shake him out of this weird state.

“It’s only for another few hours, and then–”

“SILAS!” I shout, cringing immediately after because I don’t want to wake Kelly, but–

His hand covers my mouth instantly, body pressing me against a wall I didn’t realize was right behind me. His nose brushes against mine, his eyes wide with emotion.

I can’t tell whether it’s anger or lust.

I’m not sure I want to know which it is.

“Don’t you dare wake her up! Not after what she’s been through. Not after what she’s about to go through,” he says, breath covering my face, anguish in his voice and eyes. We’re both breathing hard, me through my nose, Silas through his entire body, which is hot and hard against me. He smells rumpled and tired, wired and ready to defend and oh, so real.

When he peels his hand off my mouth, I don’t know what I’m going to say.

We stare at each other, ears perked for Kelly. She doesn’t say a word, still asleep. Silas’s shoulders drop a few millimeters, tension dropping on a tiny scale, but his body is still walling me off from escape. The weapon on his belt scrapes against my hip, his flat belly against mine, and while he’s at an angle, it’s really clear how primed for battle his entire broad body really is.

“I’m not the enemy,” I whisper.

Any other words might not have mattered. Those do.

“No, you’re not. You’re my client,” he replies, but doesn’t move back. We’re locked in a fused half embrace that Silas started.

How will he finish this?

“Am I?” I ask. “Just a client?”

There. I said it. It’s out there now, and his mouth is so close to mine. He’s shaking, a short frantic tremor that seems to come from some energy force beneath us. It consumes his entire body, pure energy, all madness in movement.

“No,” he says as he backs away. “You’re not. Thank you.”

Huh?

“I appreciate everything you did for Kelly tonight. It was unprofessional of me to break that line. I should have found a workaround. You’ve been exposed to way more than you should be, and it’s all my family mess. I’m sorry.”

This is not what I was hoping to hear.

“I–it was my pleasure! She’s sweet and wonderful. Really.” I can’t not ask, though. “But those bruises. What she said about ‘Uncle Rick.’ When your sister gets out of the hospital, you’ll have to find out what that’s all about before she gets to see Kelly again.”

Silas staggers to the couch and sits on one end, as if his legs can’t hold him up any more. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, head down. His fingers rake his mussed hair.

When he looks up, it’s like his eyes reflect a world that is burning.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“What?” I recoil. “Of course you’ll say something. If you don’t, I will, and even though I don’t know your sister, I–”

“It’s. Not. Going. To. Happen,” he says through clenched teeth.

“You can’t just–”

“Jane,” he says in a low stressed voice that sounds like the universe just cracked in half. “It’s not going to happen because my sister is dead.”