Page 34 of The Dysasters

“I just…” Tate looked at Finn who simply smiled at him with that silly crooked grin. “I think I’m going to make us some eggs.”

“I think that’s for the best,” Foster said.

“You are so much like Ms. Cora,” Finn said with a deep, appreciative chuckle.

Anguish squeezed Foster’s chest so tightly her inhale sounded more like a labored squeak than a drawing of breath. “She’s dead.” Foster numbly lowered herself into the chair opposite Finn. “Her heart. She, uh… she’s dead. You’re the first person I’ve told, actually. The very first. Wasn’t that hard. Ripped it off like a Band-Aid.”

“Foster,” slowly, Finn reached across the table and covered her hand in his. “I’m so sorry.” His deep umber skin against her pale, freckled hands reminded her of Cora.

She jerked her hands back, balling them into fists in her lap. “I’m fine. Really.” She slathered on her best attempt at a smile. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

Tate squeezed her shoulder as he slid a steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of her, his eyes glistening. There it was again. That bond, that pull that made her want to stand up and bury her head in his chest and tell him that she was losing faith that this time it would all turn out okay. That she was actually starting to think that maybe she couldn’t fight all of this alone. That maybe she had already had her allotted amount of people who would love her and that she had gone through all of them already.

“These are great, Tate. Thanks, man,” Finn said around a mouthful of fluffy yellow. “You had some questions, Foster. Did you want ask now or—”

“No.” The word came out a whisper and Foster cleared her throat and reapplied her smile. “Some other time. I, uh, my stomach is feeling kind of wonky, so…”

Finn’s phone chimed. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to go pick up the Gator from the shop.”

“There are alligators out here, too?” Foster asked, thankful for the distraction.

Finn laughed. “It’s a UTV.”

Foster blinked up at him.

“A utility vehicle. It’s like a golf cart, but built to handle farm life,” Tate said. “Guess being homeschooled didn’t teach you everything, huh?”

“Actually, I could use some help if you don’t mind, Tate,” Finn said.

“Sure! I’ll just go put on…” He glanced down at his sweatpants and slippers. “Well, I guess this is all I have.”

“Okay, we can fix that while we’re out, if you want,” Finn offered as if Tate’s lack of clothing wasn’t weird at all.

“But we have to go do,you know,” Foster said.

Finn scrubbed his hand across his lips to hide a knowing smile.

“Gross!” Foster’s face pinched. “Notthat.”

“Finn needs my help, too. Plus, I have to get something else to wear if I’m going to be here for the rest of my life. I have some cash left over from what you gave me yesterday, and I won’t be gone long. It’s guys shopping, not girls.”

“I’ll have your man back ASAP,” Finn called from the foyer.

“But—” Foster’s thoughts were an unorganized whirlwind of snarky retorts. There were so many shitty stereotypes and assumptions happening that she didn’t know where to begin. Not to mention the fact that they needed to find out what the hell was going on. Cora did all of this to keep them safe. Figuring out who the other people were, what those four crazies were up to, and whether or not Doctor Rick was as nuts as Cora thought he might be was the least they could do.

“He’s not my man” was all Foster could manage as the front door slammed shut.

Without Tate there to distract, no, scratch that,annoyher, Foster deflated into her chair, resting her forehead on her hands. “I don’t know if I can do this, Cora. I don’t know if I can do this by myself.” Tears slid off her nose, spotting the powder blue place mat. “What good are these stupid freak powers if I’m sad and lonely and without you? I need you. If you were here, we could figure out how to do it together, but you’re not here and I’m all alone. I need help, and I just…” Her throat ached with sobs. “I just want to go home.”

Warm air tickled her cheek and twirled through the waves of hair resting on her shoulders. Sniffling, Foster lifted her head. She and Tate hadn’t opened any windows, and he’d closed the door when he left. But he hadn’t locked it. Foster wiped her cheeks dry as she trudged to the front door to latch the deadbolt. Did he not understand the kind of danger they were in?

The refreshing breeze returned, reaching around her with such a soothing, comforting embrace that she couldn’t help but relax.

With it, each gentle gust carried the deep, velvety scent of chicory and coffee. “Cora?” Foster’s voice broke, her eyes once again swelling with tears.Gentle ribbons of wind nudged against her back as playful gusts caressed her arms, offering the familiar scent as they drew her forward.

Cora.

The rich, dark aroma of Cora’s favorite coffee enveloped her as she followed the ghostly threads of scent down the hall. Fingers of air cupped her cheeks, and Foster closed her eyes as she thought of Cora and how the stocky woman swished and sang around the kitchen every morning as she made a pot of the only coffee she ever drank. She’d discovered it at CaféDu Monde while on their family vacation in New Orleans and had it shipped to her every month since. Foster inhaled deeply, remembering that trip when they were still a family. She could almost hear the syrupy sweet notes dripping from saxophones, could almost taste the pillowy dough of plump, warm beignets, and could almost feel Cora and Doctor Rick’s hands in hers.