Free Dreams in the Tower Part 3 by Andrew Vrana Page B

releasing a burst of steam and giving her a savory waft of what was inside. She felt her stomach gurgle at the smell.
    “I’ll take a bowl,” she said.
    Avery nodded and opened a nearby cover, producing a bowl and a spoon. He ladled a generous helping of cod stew into the bowl, handed it over to Dellia with a grin and said, “You know where all the fixings are, so just help yourself.”
    “Thank you.” She took the bowl graciously, wincing a little at the heat on her fingers. “Do you mind if I eat in here?” She gestured towards the small table at the back of the kitchen with bolted-in stools around it.
    “No problem,” Avery said. “Probably better a nice girl like you doesn’t hear the table talk anyway.”
    “What, you don’t want me to hear about all the filthy whores you’ve fucked?” She couldn’t get through the sentence without smiling broadly. He gave her a sly grin and then turned to begin serving the sailors who were now queuing up in front of the pot; apparently, Dellia had started a trend.
    Leaving the cook to his duties, she went to the table, sat down, and then dug into her bowl of stew with great enthusiasm; she was hungry and the food was good. In fact, it was delicious, as she had come to expect from Avery’s cooking. As she lapped it up in a manner that probably drew the eyes of a few drunk sailors, she had the less-than-pleasant thought that this may be the last good meal she would have for a while—maybe a very long while. After she left the ship in the morning it would be vending machines and the occasional run-down, off-the-grid diner, just like before when she had been skulking through the streets of Dallas. With that thought in her mind, she slowed down her eating to savor the tasty meal, gratefully nibbling every carrot and slice of okra and letting each morsel of fish melt in her mouth so that she could wring every bit of spicy flavor out of each mouthful of broth. And yet the meal still ended all too soon, the empty bowl staring back up at her afterward, forcing her to recall the barren life she would soon return to.
    That life was only a few brief hours away now.
    Getting up reluctantly, she dropped her bowl and spoon into the pile of dishes soaking in the soapy water in one of the deep metal sinks. She then approached Avery, who had finished serving the tipsy sailors and was tidying up, preparing the kitchen for breakfast just a short while later.
    When he noticed her, he said, “Sure you don’t want that bottle of wine?”
    “I’m sure.” She watched him clear away the stove for a moment, then she thought of something that had been bugging her for a while. “Hey, have you seen Jason lately?”
    “Yeah.” He turned to look at her, his heavy eyebrows turned down in what might have been concern. “He came in about a half hour ago,” Avery said. “Not long before you did. Asked for liquor, so I offered him some nice Irish whiskey I just opened. He took the whole bottle. Said something about drinking in the moonlight. He seemed a little upset. Is something wrong?”
    “I don’t know.” It sounded, though, like something was wrong. She didn’t let her concern show on her face. “I hope not. I should go, though. Thank you, Avery. For all the great food.”
    “You’re welcome,” he said bemusedly, blinking at her as she walked past him and out of the kitchen. She ignored the last dregs of drunken mirth in the cafeteria as she quickly crossed it and went to the nearest staircase leading up to the main deck.
    She found Jason almost immediately; he was leaning back against the tall stack of shipping containers, holding a bottle in one hand and staring broodingly out at the endless black water. A glance at the bottle in his hand told her he had barely drunk any of it yet, to her relief. He didn’t move or even seem to notice her as she walked up to him slowly.
    “I think I can see the coast,” he said without turning his head to look up at her. “The lights. When I