Page 8 of Out Of A Fix

“If you want pancakes, I can make you some.”

“I don’t actually even like pancakes,” she muttered, and as I felt her ease back, I let go. She didn’t put any distance between us, instead staring at me, her hands remaining on my shoulders. “I thought they would be easy to make, and I’m really hungry.”

“What would you like?”

“An omelet with ham and cheese.”

“Do you have all the stuff to make that?”

“No,” she told me, sounding close to tears. “All we have is frozen junk, and I can’t eat it anymore. Ever since Mom left, we—oh,” she gasped, slapping her hand over her mouth, gazing at me with wide eyes.

“Sweetheart, I know your mother left you guys.”

Slowly, she let her hand fall away.

“And you can talk to me about your mother anytime.”

She jolted, her big blue-green eyes somehow getting even wider. “I can?”

“Yep. And if you have questions about WITSEC or anything else, I can explain that to you, because I know how all that works.”

“Okay.”

We were both quiet a moment.

“May I ask you a question now?”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug.

“Why was the front door unlocked?”

“It was?” She didn’t sound overly concerned or even surprised. It was more of a huh moment.

“Yes,” I responded, wondering over her nonchalance.

She thought a second. “Maybe when I went to get the mail yesterday, I didn’t lock it when I came back inside.”

Which meant that all night long the front door had been unlocked. That wasn’t going to give me heart palpitations or anything. “Let’s not do that again, all right?”

“Sometimes I don’t remember.”

“I’m here now, so I’ll remind you.”

“That sounds good. Can it be my turn to ask a question?”

“Of course, go ahead.”

“Do you know why my mom didn’t want me anymore?”

Of course that would be the question. “That I don’t know, ’cause you look all right to me, and I wouldn’t’ve left ya.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“No, love. I don’t ever leave what’s mine.”

That quickly, she returned to my embrace, and she was sobbing into the side of my neck with her string-bean arms wrapped around me.

I held her tight, rubbing her back, rocking her a bit, telling her I was there to help her and watch over her and keep her safe. It took some time to get all that out of her system, and when she was done, I asked where her bathroom was. We walked to her room, out of the kitchen, through the dining room and around a wall that, on the other side of, were stairs that led up to the second floor. Her room, last one on the right, was a wonderland of fairy lights, murals, and flower rugs. Her bathroom was all mermaids, from the shower curtain to the light fixture to the shell-shaped sink. It made me happy to see. Easy to see how loved she was, and that helped soothe my worry.