his forgotten mate

CHAPTER 17

In a sweet small voice, with a grit to pronounced for a little boy, Cole spoke, “I six.”

“I six too,” Keith chirped in, and for now… their voices let me notice who was who.

I nodded, following Rainy’s eyes over to Bailey and Kayla, her injured face resting against her brother, one plate of food, and two cups with straws in front of them now.

“I’m nine, K-Kayla too.” He included his sister, who didn’t look like she’d be talking to me any time soon. I smiled, at him, it wasn't returned.

Moving my eyes over to the three to my left, all the same light brown hair, nearly dark blonde, frazzled, bluish green eyes, identical, but still I could see the some differences. Old scars, small cuts healed, but letting me know who was which, not the way I would want to be able to tell my children apart. Sarah a split lip that healed without care, Hannah a mended cut right over her left brow, and Lily, an almost healed cut on her cheek, scabbed and would most likely leave a scar, and it was surrounded by bruises.

Sarah, my little observant girl, speaks first, “I’s four,” she says as I nod.

“I too,” Hannah says and Lily just nods, indicating she is four as well.

.

.

.

They all seem to gaze at the food in front of them, but none make a move to so much as touch the spoon next to what I realize is oatmeal. They look at it in amazement, and I chance a look at Rainy, who is biting her lips, avoiding my eyes.

Lifting, despite her injuries, she sits down again, “It’s oatmeal babies, its warm so you have to blow it before eating okay?” she tells them, they watch her solemnly and glance back at the hot meal in front of them. They all reach for their spoons, even the little ones who briefly bend their heads over the warm oatmeal bowl, sniffing first, dipping their spoons lifting it shakily, blowing before aiming to put the spoon near their mouths. The tips of their tongues, darting out to taste, and I feel Rainy shaking near me. I struggle to pull my eyes from the children, but I do, and see she is crying silently.

“They’ve never had warm food before,” she whispers out sadly and my head whips from her face to the babies, to the oldest ones I’ve learned are nine but look six.

My mind, always mathematical and scientific does the math, nine years old, 365 days in a year, 3,285 days. Then the guilt settles in, how many hot meals have I had in 3,285 days while they’ve never had one? Three hot meals a day… 9,855… five or six hot cups of coffee a day, 16,425… and none of them… they’ve never had…a warm meal...

My hand shakes, and shame sets in, my vision blurs as I look down at Michelle, her eyes meeting mine, as she slurps hungrily, rubbing her face with a fist, over her eyes, that are glazing over.

“Please Kayla;” I hear a tiny little whisper and my eyes lift, flying over to Bailey, whose thin hand is holding his spoon near Kayla’s mouth, “is good, promise.” She looks frightened, giving him a small shake and he puts the spoon in his mouth, nodding at her, dipping it again blowing it, and holding it near her mouth. Waiting with more patience than any nine year old should have, for her to open her mouth minimally, closing her mouth over the spoon. Slowly he pulls, smiling at her, scooping a large amount for himself, blowing it and swallowing, the next for his sister, continuing this until the oatmeal was done.

“She’s done Chris,” Rainy whispered, pulling my attention, from Bailey and Kayla, knowing I should stop being a total creeper. Surprisingly Michelle had finished drinking, was sleeping calmly, but pulling air from the bottle… was she still hungry? Not speaking, I follow Rainy, lifting her to burp her; my body had yet to relax, I was on complete edge, only settling when I hummed, the doctor in me wanting out, but not wanting to over step my bounds I turned to Rainy, “Can I see their charts?” I ask her. She meets my eyes nodding, and I hate that the light I saw when she looked at me was gone, but what I did see, was her anger. The same as when she was a child, she could keep it out of her behavior, her voice, her posture, but her eyes, held anger.

She had every right to be angry, I couldn’t keep her stare for long, knowing that she was allowed her anger and rightfully, most of it should be placed on me.

Settling Michelle back in the crook of my arm, I stood, slowly walking across the room, knowing I had the other kids’ eyes on me; I smiled bravely, but still small.  I stopped near her crib, but I looked down at her sleeping peacefully on me, in my arms and I couldn’t put her down, not when she was so relaxed.I lied to myself, what I really meant was not when the minute she is awake, she’ll stay far away from me. Knowing I’m only going to the nurses counter I continue with Michelle in my arms. The doors opening, I hear a worried, tiny voice, “Momma weres da man taking Chelly?” Keith.

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