Eliona's War 2: Veiled Healer

Chapter 32

"So kiddo, I hear you almost got arrested."

Seth choked on a lasagna noodle. "What?!"

Her bare feet propped up on the coffee table, Mrs Beakor leaned back into her couch. She'd already finished eating. Her dirty plate and cutlery sat a few inches from her feet. It was unsanitary, but Seth had long since learned that she didn't give a whit about rules or manners.

"Tripp told me. He said the cops came for you at the diner."

Seth grasped for the mug of tea—Mrs Beakor thought tea went well with any situation, be it breakfast, lunch, snacks or even a late-night chat—and chased the offending noodle down. The weird spicy-sweet blend of tea didn't compliment the lasagna at all.

"They were just checking up on me," he finally said. Mrs Beakor lifted a single silver eyebrow. It was thick and scruffy like her hair.

"For what? You a paroled criminal or something?"

"No." Seth stabbed his fork into a chunk of lasagna. As if.

"Really?"

He shoved the lasagna into his mouth. Warm textures and a myriad of flavors distracted him for a moment, causing him to briefly close his eyes in bliss. Truly, no one ever made lasagna like Mrs Beakor did.

Once he swallowed, he gave her a sideways look. "My mother sent them to make sure I wasn't kidnapped or something. I kind of... left, and she doesn't believe that I don't want to go back."

"Hmm. I see." Some of the humor faded in her eyes, but then she leaned over and nudged him with her elbow. "Well, I think you're doing just fine on your own, kiddo."

Her observation had him ducking his head awkwardly. Was he? How could she even know? She'd only known him for a short time. He was trying his best, but sometimes, when he woke up in the late morning and he had time to think, it was the hardest thing to not curl up and cry.

He pressed the fork into the dwindling lasagna, cutting off a small chunk. Sauce squished out, red and dotted with green flecks of spice. It reminded him of a limb weeping red in the absence of its hand. He tensed, fighting to shove that image away. The color wasn't quite right, anyway. The sauce was too bright, too red, and besides, the texture was wrong.

The rest of his appetite left abruptly, but he made himself scoop up the food and shove it into his mouth anyway. He wasn't going to waste it, not when Mrs Beakor had made it especially for him. And not when she was watching him eat it.

"I'm doing okay," he said. "Things are a little better now."

He meant it, even though it felt like his world was barely holding together. Sometimes, in those mornings that were loud and awful in their silence, he ran gentle fingertips over the silvery scars on his torso and felt nothing but overwhelming gratitude. One part of his miserable life, at least, was over.

Next thing he knew, he was being crushed against a bony chest, frighteningly strong arms wrapped around him.

For a second, he remained frozen in shock. Then a wave of fire overtook his face and he struggled, beyond flustered. What was this crazy old woman doing?!

"Hey!"

She cackled and let him go. He scrambled back to his seat on the other side of the couch. His skin prickled, and his heart skittered in his chest. He stared at her, embarrassed and unsettled. Why had she done that? It felt strange. Uncomfortable. Different.

To hide his unease, he busied himself with shoveling down the last of the food. Since there wasn't much of it left, he quickly finished and moved on to his mug of tea.