Feeling lost, I gave a slight shrug. My throat threatened to close. “She was a good cook.”
Dale grabbed his chest as if I had just punched him there. “It would be an honor to help you save her food.” Then he offered a hand for my bag.
Feeling like I was handing over all I had left of the woman I adored, I gave him the bag.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Since you like food, you might be happy to know breakfast will be ready at seven. We always cook a hot one for everyone in the house to start their day off right.” Dale shifted from foot to foot and then smiled. “I’m glad you’re here. Welcome, Johnny.”
I opened my mouth to reply, couldn’t find the words, and just nodded.
Dale didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t speak much. He left me alone, descending the stairs where I heard him shut the door at the bottom.
Cut off from the rest of the house, I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or even more lonely. Every single thing around me was foreign. Even the air. It didn’t smell like Noma. It didn’t have the fresh scent of leaves and dirt.
I miss the fucking plants.
My stomach growled, and my dry tongue begged for fluids. I hadn’t eaten or had anything to drink since Noma passed.
I thought of the bathroom I’d been shown, for possibly some water, but feared the water wouldn’t dance for me.
What if she’s gone, too?
My backpack slid off my caving shoulders, so I set it on the desk. Within seconds, my knees caved, also. Sitting on the bed, I stared at my shoes, wondering how they managed to carry me this far.
The suitcase parked beside the dresser told me it needed to be unpacked; however, I couldn’t muster the strength. It made this nightmare all that more real.
Energy suddenly seeped away.
I wanted to fade away.
As if only an observer of my own life, I watched my hand lift and switch off the lamp.
Isolated in the dark, I laid back in the bed and closed my eyes, trying not to focus on the reason I arrived here.
It didn’t work.
The darkness became cold, silent, and heavy as it surrounded me. I think it even whispered, You’re all alone.
Chapter 9
Swirling Signs
Illusion or imagination…?
The clamor of dishes and distant voices roused me from a fitful slumber. It was dark due to the lack of windows, with only a single round one across the attic on the far side of the room that was much too small to do more than offer a sliver of illumination. However, I didn’t need light to feel the disheveled sheets twisted up in my legs. With only the slight whir of the ceiling fan above my head to greet me, I stretched across the mattress with the pillow pulled tight against my chest, fighting to drag air into my lungs and breathe without losing my shit. Part of me had wanted to scream and rage at the unfair mess my life had become. I fought the urge to flee the house and this new foster family I hadn’t asked for.
But there was nowhere to run. No home. No Noma to soothe the ache in my heart.
Fuck.
Someone must have opened my door because I could hear people talking downstairs. Multiple voices, probably the other foster kids, Dale, and a woman’s voice. They were fucking loud. I grumbled as I tugged on the pillow, trying to drown out the clatter of utensils, plates, and people laughing. This wasn’t a happy day. It was a tragedy. A day of death and mourning.
Of loss.
Jesus. How the hell was I going to get through this?
After fifteen minutes, I knew the noise would continue, so there was no point in trying to fall back to sleep. My stomach rumbled as I caught the smell of bacon, freshly baked bread, and coffee. Smells that immediately made me think of Noma. Remembering the last time I ate, I sighed. Maybe I could get something fast and bring it up here, avoiding all the chatter and chaos.
Since I had never undressed, there wasn’t much to do except slip back on my shoes. Even with my sweatshirt on, I still felt cold and empty, and it wasn’t because of my gnawing belly. Taking the stairs as quietly as possible to avoid interaction, I finally reached the bottom floor. It wasn’t hard to find the dining room since that’s where everyone seemed to gather.
