[ WP ] `` Take the cannoli . Leave the gun . ''

My mind twists around the slippery words, trying in vain to grasp, to understand. He's never given me anything. *Ai n't no such things as a free lunch*, that's what he taught me. 
 
 Ephraim gestures to the narrow, deep basket. `` Go on.'' 
 
 I take a tentative step forward, but I do n't dare reach for the prized sweets. Is it a test? Will he hit me as soon at my fingers touch the wicker handle? Tell me not to take other peoples' things unless I'm willing to fight for it? 
 
 `` I ai n't gon na hurt you,'' he says. His face is placid and warm, a rarity for the old goat, but his eyes are cold, a lattice of angles and black ice. Involuntarily, I cringe away. With a visible effort, he keeps his voice level. `` Tessa, dammit, I'm telling you to take the cannoli.'' 
 
 `` But... why? They're yours.'' 
 
 `` And I'm giving them to you,'' he says, exasperation edging into his words. `` For shit's sake, did n't your mama teach you anything?'' 
 
 `` Of course she did,'' I say, blood rising to my cheeks. `` But she's been gone for six years, and instead I got you.'' 
 
 His gaze hardens, but not in a mean way. Just sad. `` I know.'' Splaying his fingers across the table, he winces, draws a sharp breath, and I swear his mind goes a million miles away. A shaft of late afternoon sunlight falls through the dusty cottage air, splashing across the right half of his face, and something shimmers in the corner of his eye. `` I could have been better. I should have been better.'' 
 
 Again, his voice slips through my mind like water through a sieve. This is the closest thing to an apology he's ever uttered, at least in my presence. Has he lost it? Has the inevitable breakdown finally arrived? 
 
 `` I've made arrangements-'' he pauses and presses a hand against his chest. `` Your aunt lives on the coast. She knows you're coming. You'll have enough food and water, and Rufous for company. You already have a knife. Keep it close. Pack your things, empty the pantry, take the cannoli, leave the gun.'' 
 
 In a small voice, I ask, `` Are you kicking me out?'' 
 
 His lower lip quivers, and the corner of his mouth pulls back in another pained grimace. `` No, Tessa. I'm doing you a favor.'' 
 
 A cold thought sends prickling fear across my neck and shoulders. His fingers running in circles over his heart, his wheezing throat, his staggering gait, sharp like broken glass. `` It's the thing. The thing in your lungs.'' 
 
 `` It ai n't just my lungs.'' Ephraim smiles bitterly. `` Not anymore.'' He places a map on the table. A black dot marks our home, and a red line runs across the landscape like an open vein, leading back to the seaside I once called home. But that was a lifetime ago. `` Keep to the main roads, since they have a lot of traffic. Lots of people to witness a crime. Do n't walk at night. Do n't trust anyone.'' Raising his eyes to mine, he leans close. `` Above all, use your brain. I wo n't be there to protect you.'' 
 
 I shake my head and tears blur my vision. `` Where *will* you be?'' 
 
 The chair creaks as he leans back, absentmindedly pressing against his solar plexus. He does n't look away, and my heart sinks. 
 
 Softly, he says, `` Leave the gun, Tessa.''
