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“What?”
“So other than the sick, you’ve never spent actual time with your people?” Her eyebrow rose, and even though she hadn’t said anything, a tone of disapproval was deep-seated in her voice and that raised eyebrow.
“Do give me that look. I am a spare. It’s not my job to do any more than what I already do.”
“Oh, it’s not your job to help...hmm.”
I truly did not like this conversation. “Well, tell me then, Mother Teresa, how often are you among the people?” I shot back.
“I volunteer at the Wyntor foodbank every weekend from Thanksgiving to Christmas. That’s how I know Jeremy.” She nodded to the boy, who was still giving me a death stare from his table with other children. “His foster mother brings him and the rest of the kids to stock up.”
“They let her be a foster mother in this country?” The woman looked like she needed more care than the children did. She had to be at least seventy, with gray, wispy hair and a breathing tube going into her nostrils.
“Yeah,” she muttered, filling the next bag. “It’s easier just not to think about it. My father used to say we are here to help, not to judge. It’s not like we are adopting or fostering anyone, so what can we say.”
“True,” I muttered, wondering for the first time what it was like for orphan children in Ersovia. I had no idea how that system worked or if it was any different from here. Well, it would be different from here. Americans were weird almost by necessity. Why they had to do everything differently was beyond me. Even the imperial system here was still confusing me, and I’d been here for weeks.
Rippppp.
“Are you kidding me?” I looked down at the ripped bag again.
“I think it’s you.” She laughed. “Your mind wanders off, and all of a sudden, you don’t realize you are overstuffing or pulling too hard.”
“It is honestly starting to feel demoralizing—”
“Odette?”
At the woman’s voice, she froze, her whole face dropping as she faced the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, skinny woman before us, dressed in a Wyntor Foundation T-shirt.
“Yvonne.” Odette nodded to her.
Where did I know that name?
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here after the women’s—”
“And yet, here I am.” Odette forced a smile, struggling. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here, either, on account of...well, your aversion to this side of town.”
Both women stared each other down, and for some reason, I heard the sound of two lions about to attack, even though it was silent. After far too long a silence, she turned to me. “And who is your friend?”
“Edgar—”
“He’s a volunteer I met here,” Odette lied, cutting me off before I could speak. Turning to me, she said, “Edgar, this is Yvonne. My half-sister’s mother.”
“Yes, stepmother, how do you do?” She outstretched her hand to me.
I wasn’t sure what to make of this situation, so I just nodded and shook her hand. “Well, thank you.”
“Where are you from? I pick up a slight accent?”
“Yvonne, we’re sort of busy here...you know, volunteering. If you’d like to help, there are hairnets and gloves in the back.”
I picked up another bag and began to pack.
“Right, keep up the good work,” she said, and before she stepped forward, she paused and looked back at Odette. “Odette, please answer Augusta’s call. You’re her big sister, so you should take the high road. You wouldn’t want her miserable because of a little misunderstanding.”
Now I was starting to see why this woman was clearly an enemy in Odette’s eyes. Odette inhaled deeply, glaring into the back of the woman before yanking up the bag.
Rippppp.
