Page 12 of The Dearly Departed

We’re too dirty to be here.

Leonard was already at the refrigerator by the time he realized we hadn’t entered with him. He opened the door while glancing over his shoulder, a look of concern in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you here,” he said, as if reading our minds. “And I promise, I mean none of you any harm. You’re safe.”

Safe. I nearly laughed out loud at the sound of that word. I wasn’t sure I’d ever experienced the true meaning of it in my sixteen years of life. Even in the beginning, when Mom had still been alive, Isaac and I might’ve known love, but safety? There had been nothing safe about bouncing from one shelter to another, one alley to the next.

Leonard gestured toward the little round table and chairs in the corner—also white—and said, “Please, take a seat. Make yourselves comfortable.”

Isaac and Shawn both glanced at me, seeking my approval yet again. Sometimes, I thought it was simply that I was the oldest, and sometimes, I chalked it up to me being bigger, but most of the time, I believed it was just that the two of them couldn’t think for themselves. Fuck, it was a wonder they managed to fart without me saying it was okay.

They wouldn't survive without me.

I gave them a reassuring nod, and like good little soldiers, they sat down. But I remained standing, watching as Leonard moved around his kitchen, gathering ingredients from the fridge and the countertop beside it. He removed a pan from a cabinet, put it on the stove, and turned the burner on. Then, as he brought a few pats of butter to a sizzle over the flame, he looked over his shoulder to find me observing him.

“Do you know how to cook, Abraham?”

“Never had a reason to learn.”

It wasn’t true. I’d had plenty of reasons to learn. Hunger and survival were a couple of good ones. But what I meant was, I’d never had anyone to teach me, nor had I had a kitchen to learn in.

He nudged his head, signaling for me to approach. “Want me to teach you a couple of things?”

I frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“Because a boy your age should know how to make himself some lunch,” he answered before gesturing again toward the stove. “Come.”

With short, tentative steps, I moved toward him. Instinct told me he was trying to separate me from the others. Instinct said someone else—Leonard's business partner maybe—was somewhere in this house, ready to pounce the moment my guard was lowered by a friendly, unsuspicious gesture, like teaching me how to cook. I laid my hand on the knife in my pocket, ready to pull it out in a second's time. Leonard watched me, noted my distrust, but he said nothing, made no attempt to disarm me, and intuition told me, once again, this man was to be trusted.

If only it were that easy.

I came to stand next to him at the stove, and he smiled, making the corners of his eyes wrinkle. What the hell was it about that smile that made me want to cry? I twisted my lips, sucked in a deep breath, and silently scolded myself for feeling any sort of way for this old dude we'd only just met.

"All right," he said, satisfied. "Now, you see that butter sizzling away in the pan?"

I nodded once, though I kept my eyes on him.

He could easily swing that pan, catching my face with that hot, hot, hot butter. He could burn my eyes, hit me upside the head …

"We have to be quick—don't want the butter to burn." He grabbed four slices of bread from the bag. "There's not enough room in the pan to make them all, so we'll have to split it up. How many sandwiches can you eat?"

I didn't reply. I only stared. What the hell kind of question was that anyway? How the hell was I supposed to know how many sandwiches I could eat when I'd never been given a chance to find out?

He swung his eyes to mine after laying the four slices of bread in the pan of spitting, spattering butter.

"Abraham," he said, his voice lowered, quiet, hushed … but never unkind, "when was the last time you ate?"

"I had some chips this morning," I answered honestly, remembering the little bag of Doritos I'd swiped from the mom-and-pop shop.

"And before that?"

I clamped my lips shut again, twisted them angrily to the side, because I couldn't remember. Might've been a day ago, maybe two. Could've been more than that even, but when you were just trying to get by, you stopped thinking about the things you had little control over. You took what you could get when you could get it and stopped focusing on what you didn’t have in between.

Leonard seemed to understand the things I wasn’t saying and nodded. "How about we just make as many as we can, huh?"

I tore my eyes from him to glance over my shoulder. It was a risk to look away. Leonard could take me out then, if he wanted to, but I had to remind myself of why we were here. Shawn and Isaac were at the table, watching my back, their spines stick straight and rigid, their hands tense on the tabletop. They were ready to jump, ready to come to my defense if needed. I gave them an encouraging nod, telling them we were okay—at least for the time being.

And then I told Leonard, "Sounds good."