The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 188: Chapter 188 - Whatever Costs Nothing

The funeral home called hours later.

The county covered Claire’s cremation.

Roxie chose every option that cost nothing, signed wherever the funeral director pointed, and waited while they brought Claire out in a plain temporary container.

The box was lighter than it should have been.

Zac carried the folder of paperwork while Roxie carried Claire.

They stopped at a grocery store on the drive home.

Roxie stayed inside the truck with the container on her lap while Zac went inside.

A white label had been placed across the top.

CLAIRE WOODS.

The letters were straight and dark.

Roxie kept both hands around the sides of the box.

People crossed the parking lot carrying bread, drinks, paper towels, and bags of food. A woman pushed a cart past the truck with a child sitting near the handle. The child kicked both feet and complained about wanting candy.

Roxie looked down at Claire’s name.

Zac returned carrying two grocery bags.

He placed them behind the seat without asking Roxie to move the container.

Neither of them spoke much after that.

His phone rang once during the drive.

He silenced it without checking the screen.

Roxie looked out the window.

The bungalow appeared at the end of the street exactly as it had that morning.

One curtain still hung crooked. The porch steps still needed paint. A cigarette butt remained near the edge of the walkway even though Roxie had swept twice since Claire died.

Zac parked beside the curb.

Roxie stayed inside the truck.

He waited.

She looked down at the box.

”I don’t know where to put her.”

”We’ll figure it out inside.”

”What if there isn’t anywhere?”

Zac glanced toward the bungalow. ”Then we’ll stand there until you choose.”

Roxie looked at him.

He did not smile.

She opened the door.

Zac carried the groceries and paperwork while Roxie carried Claire.

The front room felt colder than outside.

Roxie shut the door behind them and walked toward the dining table.

She placed the container in the center.

It looked wrong there.

Claire had never sat at the table unless she was eating, counting money, or arguing with Roxie.

The box took up less space than Claire’s elbows usually had.

Roxie picked it up again.

Zac remained near the kitchen entrance with the bags hanging from his hands.

He watched without offering an opinion.

Roxie carried the container to the counter.

She placed it beside the toaster.

Bread crumbs covered the surface. The outlet beside it sparked whenever Roxie pushed a plug in too quickly.

She picked the box up again.

The blue mug still sat beside the sink.

Roxie had left it there through every phone call, every form, and every morning since the police contacted her.

She placed Claire’s ashes beside it.

The container stood behind the mug, close enough that the chipped handle almost touched the cardboard.

Roxie stepped back.

Every place would feel wrong.

Zac set the folder on the table.

Then he carried the grocery bags into the kitchen and began unpacking them.

Roxie glanced at him. ”Why did you buy that much food?”

”I had a plan.”

”That sounds dangerous.”

”It usually is.”

He removed potatoes, carrots, onions, celery, broth, tomato paste, and a wrapped package of beef.

Roxie leaned against the counter.

”You’re cooking?”

”Yes.”

”In my kitchen?”

”You own a pot, right?”

”We have several.”

”Then we’re ready.”

Zac removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. He pushed the sleeves of his hoodie up his forearms before opening drawers.

He found the knives without asking.

He pulled out the cutting board, rinsed it, and placed it beside the sink.

Roxie watched him take the largest pot from the lower cabinet.

He moved around the kitchen like he had already decided where everything belonged.

”You searched my kitchen before?”

”I’ve been here before.”

”That doesn’t answer the question.”

”I opened a few cabinets.”

”That is creepy.”

”You like me creepy.”

Zac placed the pot on the stove and turned toward the groceries.

Roxie expected him to read instructions on his phone or ask where she kept the measuring cups.

He did neither.

He cut the beef into even pieces and dried them with paper towels before seasoning them. He heated oil in the pot and waited until it shimmered before adding the meat.

The kitchen filled with a sharp sizzle.

Zac left the pieces alone.

Roxie looked into the pot. ”They’re burning.”

”They’re browning.”

”They’re dark.”

”That’s the point.”

He turned the meat and let the other sides brown.

Then he removed it and started on the vegetables.

The knife moved quickly beneath his hand.

The carrots came out close to the same size. So did the potatoes.

He cut the onion without pausing, then scraped everything into separate piles.

Roxie folded her arms.

”Since when can you actually cook?”

Zac looked at her. ”You thought I was lying about the stew?”

”I thought you were trying to flirt badly.”

”Both can be true.”

A small smile pulled at Roxie’s mouth before she stopped it.

Zac noticed.

He kept his expression neutral and added the onion to the pot.

Garlic followed. Then tomato paste.

Roxie watched him cook it against the bottom until the color darkened.

”You know what you’re doing.”

”I’ve been saying that.”

”You say lots of things.”

”Most of them are true.”

”You told me your stew could make me marry you.”

”That one is especially true.”

Roxie looked toward Claire’s ashes.

She never learned to cook. Claire would always get angry when she tried to help. Over the years, she just left it to her.

She turned back before Zac followed her attention.

He added the meat again, then broth, seasoning, and something from a small bottle he had brought himself.

The smell changed as the broth began heating.

It filled the kitchen and covered some of the cigarette smoke still trapped in the curtains.

Zac added the carrots and potatoes, lowered the heat, and covered the pot.

Roxie looked at the lid.

Zac pointed at her. ”Leave it.”

”I wasn’t touching it.”

”You were thinking about it.”

”You can’t prove that.”

He washed the cutting board and knife.

Roxie watched him scrub both before wiping down the counter.

He looked comfortable.

That bothered her more than it should have.

Zac acted unserious about most domestic things. He left clothes inside his truck, forgot cups in his room, and once admitted he had used the same towel for more days than Roxie wanted to know.

In her kitchen, he knew exactly what came next.

”Where did you learn?” she asked.

Zac dried his hands on a towel. ”Nathan.”

Roxie straightened slightly.

He rarely mentioned his brother unless he was angry.

”Nathan taught you to cook?”

”When we were younger.”

Zac leaned against the counter and checked the time on his phone.

”Our parents were gone a lot. Meetings. Dinners. Academy events. Whatever mattered more that week.”

”You had people working at the house.”

”During the day. Most of them left before dinner.”

”What about your parents?”

”My mother assumed food appeared if she told someone about it early enough.”

Roxie almost smiled.

Zac looked toward the covered pot.

”Nathan started cooking because he got tired of sandwiches and reheated casseroles.”

”How old was he?”

”Thirteen, maybe.”

”And you?”

”Nine.”

Zac lifted the lid, stirred the stew once, then covered it again.

”He made me cut potatoes because he hated doing it.”

”Were you useful?”

”Completely useless.”

”That sounds right.”

”The first time, one piece was still hard when everything else was falling apart.”

”What did he do?”

”Made me eat it.”

Roxie nodded. ”That sounds like your brother.”

Zac’s mouth moved slightly.

”He stood behind me and showed me how to hold the knife. I kept gripping it too hard.”

”Were you scared?”

”I was concerned about losing a finger.”

”That is fear.”

”It was responsible awareness.”

Roxie rolled her eyes.

Zac checked the stew again.

”He used to hand me the spoon before dinner and ask what it needed.”

”What did you say?”

”Salt.”

”Every time?”

”Usually.”

”He probably regretted asking.”

”He said I had the palate of a cave man.”

Roxie laughed softly.

Zac smiled toward the pot.

”Eventually, he let me cook the whole thing.”

”And?”

”It was better than his.”

”According to you.”

”According to Mia. I believe her.”

”You cannot trust her. She obviously has a favorite brother.”

Zac chuckled. He lifted the lid again and stirred. Steam rose around his face. For several seconds, he looked younger.

Roxie could picture a smaller Zac beside his brother, cutting potatoes badly and arguing over seasoning.

”What happened?” she asked.

The spoon slowed inside the pot.

Zac looked down at the stew.

”We got older.”

The answer was too simple.

Roxie could hear the rest of it sitting behind his voice.

She let it stay there.

”Is it ready?”

”Almost.”

Zac glanced at her.

He knew she had stopped asking.

He added another splash of broth and left the lid off.

Roxie sat at the table.

The folder from the county rested near one edge. A grocery receipt stuck out beneath it.

Claire’s ashes stood beside the blue mug.

Roxie looked away.

Zac filled two bowls when the stew was ready.

He placed Roxie’s in front of her first.

The broth was dark and thick. The potatoes had softened without breaking apart, and the meat gave beneath the spoon.

Zac sat across from her with his own bowl.

He tried to look casual.

Roxie took one spoonful.

He watched her.

She chewed slowly.

Zac lifted his eyebrows.

Roxie swallowed.

”Okay.”

”Okay?”

”It’s decent.”

He stared at her. ”Decent?”

”I’ve had worse.”

”You’re already planning the wedding.”

”I’m grieving. You can’t hold anything I say against me.”

”That sounded like a yes.”

Roxie laughed.

The sound came out before she could stop it.

It was real.

For one second, the kitchen felt normal.

Zac sat across from her looking pleased with himself. Steam rose from both bowls. The stew stayed warm inside the pot.

Then Roxie saw the container beside Claire’s mug.

Her laugh faded.

Zac followed her eyes.

He lowered his spoon and continued eating.

He never told her laughing was allowed.

He never said Claire would want her to be happy.

He left the moment alone.

Roxie took another spoonful.

Then another.

The stew tasted better the longer she ate it.

She finished half the bowl before realizing Zac had stopped watching her.

His attention remained on his own food, though the corner of his mouth moved whenever she took another bite.

Zac knew how to feed himself.

He had Tennessee waiting and a future beyond Briarwick.

Roxie had Claire’s ashes beside the sink and a bungalow full of things she had yet to handle.

She lowered her spoon.

Zac noticed. ”Done?”

”For now.”

He nodded and continued eating.

After dinner, Zac carried both bowls to the sink.

”You cooked,” Roxie said. ”Leave the dishes.”

He turned on the faucet.

”I’m already here.”

”I can wash them later.”

”I know.”

He filled the sink and added soap.

Roxie remained at the table.

Zac washed the bowls, wiped the spoons, and scrubbed the pot while the remaining stew stayed warm on the stove.

He stood at the same sink where Roxie had spent more than a month washing one plate, one bowl, and the same few cups.

For weeks, every sound inside the bungalow had belonged to Roxie.

The running water.

The scrape of a chair.

Cabinet doors opening.

Her footsteps moving between empty rooms.

Now Zac stood with his sleeves pushed up, washing a pot he had used to feed her.

Claire’s ashes remained beside the blue mug.

Roxie stared at the back of his hoodie.

”You can leave the dishes.”

”You said that.”

”You can leave after.”

His hands slowed beneath the water.

Roxie pressed her fingers against the edge of the table.

The words became harder the closer they came.

”Stay tonight.”

Zac turned off the faucet.

He looked over his shoulder.

”Yeah.”

No joke followed.

He stayed.