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I enter the small, dark house. It’s still cramped and dusty, with boxes everywhere and so many noodle wrappers I can’t see the floor. Reminds me of my place after my grandmother passed and there was no one to care if I made a mess or not. But Liesje herself is wearing a clean tunic, and her hair, although dirty, is brushed and pulled into a tail at the base of her neck. It’s a start. Small steps are just as important as big ones.
“I’m glad she has a man in her life,” Liesje says as I step inside. “Devin likes to pretend she doesn’t need anyone, but I’ve seen her carrying that rodent around like it’s a baby. She’s sad, too. You can see it in her eyes.”
“Is she?” I keep my tone mild, even as I mentally flick through my memories of Devin from yesterday, trying to determine if her eyes were sad or not. She was fiery and quick to snap at me, but that doesn’t mean she’s sad. “I don’t think so. She hasn’t said anything to me.”
Liesje grunts. “I’m surprised she even talks to you. She doesn’t like mesakkah.”
Odd. Doubly odd given that she volunteered to kiss me yesterday. But perhaps that is how she’s gotten her way in the past—trading favors. If so, that makes me uncomfortable, and a little angry. She shouldn’t have to bestow kisses on strangers just to get them to help her. “She likes me just fine. I grow on people, like a rash.”
That elicits a chuckle from her.
I feel like I’m making progress. Setting the supplies on the tiny bit of counter space I can make, I glance over at Liesje. “Before I head out to check on your bots, is there anything I can do for you in here? Make you a pot of tea? Prepare some noodles?” I gesture at the floor. “Burn this all to the ground and start fresh?”
She blinks and then laughs at my words, her hands on her hips. “It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?”
I shrug. “My apartment was worse after my family passed away. It felt like too much to bother with. I tried to join the military to get away from everything, but I cleaned it up anyhow because I didn’t want to leave it for someone else. But I recognize the signs. If you want help cleaning up, I can do that. If not, that’s fine, too. I’m just letting you know the offer is there.”
Liesje stares at me for a really long time. I’m not sure if I’ve pushed too hard. I don’t have the charm of Khex or the affability of Ainar. Everything I say could come across wrong. She takes a moment to respond, and then her lower lip wobbles. “Is it true what they say? About Earth being gone?”
“That’s what I’ve heard, yes.”
She closes her eyes, her shoulders slumping. “Then my son will be dead for sure. He would have been twenty-six this year.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I could change that for you.” I know from experience that nothing I say will change how she feels, but I suspect someone needs to acknowledge that she’s grieving. That she’s not doing well. Devin wants to fix it by pretending there’s no problem. Sometimes you have to acknowledge that there is a problem so the person hurting knows that it’s all right to be in pain. That no one expects otherwise.
Liesje just nods, hugging her chest.
I gesture at the door. “I should go work on the field bots. If you like, you can tell me about him while I work?”
She pauses, and for a long moment, I think she’s going to say no. But then she shrugs. “Fine. I’ve got nothing else to do.”
“Excellent. I should like to hear your stories.” I pull the warm, fleecy poncho off of the box of supplies I brought. “You should wear this. It’s cold.”
“Who are you, my mother?” Liesje retorts. But she puts it on anyhow and follows me outside.
Unsurprisingly, her bots have not had their maintenance cycles ran. They all need oiling and a firmware update, and one of them is offline entirely. I go through and work on them without complaint, noting that her barn is empty as well. This is probably a good thing, as meat-stock might be too much for Liesje to handle right now. As I work, I point out what I’m doing out of habit. I have shown many colonists how to run maintenance on their bots, and I’m good at describing without placing blame.
Liesje doesn’t talk much. She mentions her son, Jan, a few more times. She talks about how he liked the snow, and how he’d laugh at her attempts at farming since she was a “city girl.” I confess to her that I grew up in the slums on Homeworld, which has no greenery to speak of, and how coming here shocked me. How the air smelled “wrong” to me until I realized it was because it didn’t smell like air filters or exhaust.
It’s a good way to pass the afternoon, and I’m surprised when the sun begins to set. All of the bots are more or less in working order, except two that need new chip-sets that I’m going to order for her. I set them on the “clearing” cycle and they get to work on the overgrown field.
“You’ll come back tomorrow?” Liesje asks, watching the bots get to work. “To check on them?”
“If you like.” The bots will be fine, but if she wants me to come back tomorrow, I will.
Liesje shrugs and heads back inside, and I try not to smile. It’s a start.
ChapterSix
DEVIN
Iwatch the snow tumble from the gray sky to the ground in fat, perfect flakes and wonder if that jerk Sinath has forgotten about me entirely.It’s been four days since we parted and he promised to bring a tree for us to put up at Liesje’s place. Since then, I haven’t heard a peep. I’ve gone into town several times and passed by the custodial office to see if he was at work, but every time he’s been gone or busy.
I suspect he’s avoiding me.
Maybe I should have asked someone else to help me. Sinath hates Jerry, and he seemed repulsed when I’d jokingly suggested I kiss him, so that should tell me something. I move to the box of decorations I’ve been working on and eye them miserably. I’ve spent every waking moment inside, working on crocheted garlands and braided ornaments. Most of the crafting stuff I have is yarn or yarn-based, but I did cook up some salt-dough disks in the shapes of ornaments and painted them. It’s been days of losing myself in the holiday spirit, and I’ve enjoyed it. I’m actually rather proud of all the work I did for her, and it sucks that it’s all going to be for nothing.
Maybe I can just go decorate her place instead. We don’t have anywhere to hang the ornaments but maybe that won’t matter. Maybe it’s the thought that counts.
