XVI

That night, Henry goes to a nearby diner and orders a couple of burgers, sodas and fries. Since he doesn't have a freezer to store ice cream, he decides to buy two slices of chocolate cake to take back home.

"Tell me what you think," Henry says with a smile after placing the food on the recently-cleaned dining room table.

Eleven brings a French fry to her mouth. She pauses. Henry watches her carefully.

"Hmm…" Eleven closes her eyes, and Henry swears he can see a tear peeking out one of her eyes.

"Does it taste good?" he asks, trying his best not to laugh. The girl nods. "That's good. Go ahead. We're celebrating tonight."

That catches her attention.

"Celebrating?"

"It means we're spending time together and having fun because we're happy about something."

"Oh. What… is it?"

"I followed your advice," Henry admits before popping a fry into his mouth. "Hm, it's been years since I last had one of these…

"As I was saying," he continues once he's done swallowing, "after talking to you, I remembered my family had attained a fortune a short time before… Well, before the incident." He'd rather not talk about violent events on a happy occasion. "So, I followed your advice and went to talk to him."

"You… asked him…?"

Henry nods: "Exactly. And he told me where it was: inside this very house. So now we're millionaires." Just in case Eleven doesn't understand his words, he adds: "It means we have a lot of money, so we don't have to worry about food, clothes, anything."

Then, he notices her shoulders relaxing.

"Ah." It's all she says, but Henry sees more than that weak asseveration in her body language.

"Eleven, could it be… that you were scared?"

The girl looks away, as she does every time she doesn't want to answer. As if she could make herself small enough for him to forget she exists.

As if that was possible.

Henry, for his part, does what he always does when she doesn't want to answer: he insists.

"Eleven."

"Yes." She still won't look at him.

"Why?"

She shrugs.

"If you don't trust me, I cannot protect you," Henry reminds her. "If it's about something you've seen, or heard, whatever it is, I need you to…"

"I was afraid," she confesses, "that you wouldn't come back."

That silences him. He frowns, yet he says nothing: he waits for her to go on.

"You were away… a long… time…" He appreciates both the explanation and her efforts to maintain at least minimal eye contact between the two of them. "I was afraid… that something would happen… to you."

The idea is preposterous, of course. However, he doesn't forget she's only eight years old: he does not expect her to realistically measure danger.

"Eleven," Henry calls then, a smile once again plastered over his face, "you've got nothing to be afraid of. I will never abandon you."

"It's… a promise?"

"I promise. Now, eat your dinner before it gets cold: I bought it specially for you. And you know what? There's cake for dessert."

It happens slowly, and she's shy, and maybe she's even shaking a little, but…

But it's the first time Henry sees her smile.