The Favor (24 page)

Pushing the blankets away and swinging my legs to the floor, I rubbed my eyes and stared at my open bag. I hadn't run in years but the physical push would do my body good.

I dressed quickly and slipped out of the room, my running shoes giving me a silent path toward the kitchen so I could move around unheard. Libby was talking about a school dance as dishes were moved around. It sounded so normal, so ordinary, that I found my mind traveling back to when I lived with my mom as a confused teenager.

We'd never had mornings like that. From a young age I’d managed to get myself up and ready for school, making my own lunches and breakfast before rushing to catch the bus. There were days I got home and Mom would still be in bed. I'd do my homework and head out with my friends, coming back to an empty home to do it all over again in the morning. It had never bothered me back then. I'd never known anything different. It was only as a teenager, when I'd spent the night at friends’ houses, that I realized how different it really was.

Now, overhearing this breakfast and the love between this mother and daughter, I felt the resentment rise inside, completely blindsiding me. Had I simply never let it bother me in the past? Or had I blocked it all out and been pretending it was okay?

Stepping out from the hall and peeking into the kitchen, I smiled at Maria and the carbon copy of her sitting at the counter. Libby was beautiful, her long, dark hair falling down her back in shiny waves and her big eyes full of mischief.

“Good morning, Kit.”

“Morning. I smelled coffee.”

Her laughter filled the kitchen as both sets of eyes began to assess me. Maria rose from her seat, only to linger halfway between standing and sitting as I raised my hands to stop her.

“I can get it,” I said, bounding into the kitchen and turning on the spot, not sure where anything was.

“Above the coffee maker.” Libby giggled, digging into a bowl of cereal and flashing her smile at me.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” she said, elbowing Maria who rolled her eyes.

“Sorry, introductions. Libby, this is my friend, Kit. Kit, this is my pain in the ass, Libby.”

“Mom!”

Maria laughed, ruffling her daughter's hair as I pulled a mug reading ‘number one mom’ from the cupboard and filled it with coffee. Heading to the breakfast bar, I offered my hand to Libby.

“It's great to finally meet you, Libby. Your mom doesn't shut up about you. She's very proud.”

“Don't tell her that.” Maria laughed. “She'll stop trying to impress me.”

I sipped my coffee, trying to keep my hum of delight down. One thing I'd missed from the week in New Orleans had been Maria's coffee. She made a mean cup that was never too strong or too weak. It tasted like a sun kiss on my tongue and chased away the cobwebs from my lack of sleep. I probably should have run first, because the moment my elbows hit the counter, I was suddenly reluctant to move.

“Did you sleep?”

“A little. Hopefully I'll be exhausted by tonight and I'll catch up a little. How about you?”

“Like a baby. I called Mr. Charles and asked if I could take the day off, and he actually sounded impressed.”

“He's a contradictory old fellow, isn't he?”

“Always.”

“He's awesome,” Libby said quietly. “He helped me with a history and geography paper last year. He's pretty much been around the world three times.”

“You like history?” I asked, changing the subject. I wasn't ready to talk about what had happened in the last two weeks – and that included Charles and his stories.

“It's my favorite subject. I want to be a history teacher.”

“Then you're in luck because Kit is a history guru! She can't get enough of it.” Maria said, draining her coffee cup.

“Really? There is so much history around here. If you're going for a run, I'll come with you and show you,” Libby said, dropping her spoon in her bowl.

Libby was the first person I’d met in a long time with the same passion for history that I had. I longed to take her to that gallery in New Orleans and show her all of the pictures as well as tell her the stories that went along with them. I just wasn't sure I’d be welcome, and the last thing I wanted was for Willie to tell Mistress Kayla I'd been there, so it would have to wait.

I took her up on her offer and we went running together, leaving Maria to make a grocery list so we could all go to the store later.

Libby hadn't been lying when she said there was history around, and I knew exactly where she'd heard all of her stories. If there was someone sitting on their porch, she waved to them and then regaled me with the tales she'd heard from them. It didn't take me long to relax with her. She was outgoing and sweet, having a nice thing to say about everyone she pointed out. We had a lot in common, and she even bartered with me when she found out I couldn't cook. Cooking lessons in exchange for stories. It seemed like a good plan to me. It was something to fill the seemingly endless hours while trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life.

I couldn't procrastinate. No matter how much I wanted to wait for Mistress Kayla or Jared to turn up, I knew I couldn't wait forever. I'd given myself a timeline, and I was going to stick to it.

I spent the first week at Maria's house alternating between learning to cook, looking for a job, and lounging with Libby on the couch, talking history. Though she had a thirst for local history, she seemed a little blown away by European history and just how far back it went. We watched movies about it and quizzed one another, and soon, the worries I'd harbored after first arriving began to slip away.

I'd adopted a ‘whatever happens, happens’ attitude, which was bolstered by Libby’s constant need to keep moving, as well as Maria's interesting psychobabble. I'd stopped staring at my phone waiting for it to ring. As Maria had said, no one made a grand gesture by phones; it was just a strand of hope I'd clung to.

While Libby was at school and Maria was at work, I had the job listings pulled up on the laptop, groaning at the lack of employment options that would help add to my savings rather than eat away at them. It was also my night to attempt to cook dinner, so I was running out of time to search.

Shutting down the computer and burying my head in my hands, I wished for some kind of miracle. I knew I couldn't stay here forever, no matter how many times Maria and Libby reminded me there was no time limit.

The truth was, I would have loved to stay. Maria, Libby and even Baxter had adopted me as family, and for maybe the first time ever, I felt like I belonged to a unit. In the short week I'd been there, we'd fallen into a routine. The mornings Libby had a free period, I would drive her to school, and if she missed her bus home, I'd pick her up. We each had a day for laundry. We ate breakfast together at stupid o'clock in the morning and we ate dinner together every night.

It was amazing how a house could become a home, simply because of the people inside of it. I knew without a doubt that if you took away the family, it would be nothing but four walls. I'd sworn to myself that when I found a place of my own, I would make an effort to build a home rather than just another stop on the way, and I knew that, even though it was a risk, I wanted to be close to Maria and Libby.

When I pushed back from the table to go make dinner, Baxter lifted his head in question. He and I had gone for a run every afternoon and met Libby's bus on the way back. We had developed a routine of our own, and he almost grumbled in resignation as I opened the fridge, accepting that it wasn’t time quite yet.

“I know, buddy. We'll go later, I promise.”

He looked up at me and rolled to his side with another huff of air that released in one long stream as his eyes closed. If felt nice to be wanted. He greeted me every time I came through the door, his tail knocking everything in his path over as he bounced on his front feet for attention. I liked his company because he was uncomplicated and offered his love unconditionally. It was a win/win situation for the two of us.

Dropping the chicken on the counter, I'd barely opened the package when my cell phone started to ring. I froze, my heart pounding so hard in my chest, I could have sworn Baxter heard it beating as he lifted his head to stare at me. No one had called me on it for weeks. I’d only kept it charged since I left New Orleans, and there were only a handful of people who had the number. Did I answer it?

Looking at the caller ID would be a start.

I stumbled toward the table, my fingers tentatively brushing over the name on the screen, the uncertainty tumbling through me as I decided whether or not to answer it. I knew the exact place the voicemail would cut off and I had maybe a second or two left before it happened.

Sliding the bar to answer, I held my breath and lifted it to my ear. “Hi, Mom.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“I'm great. Thanks for asking.”

I heard a shuffle on the other end of the line and the rasp of the lighter’s flint as she lit her cigarette. From the rapturous exhale, I knew it was her first of the day, which meant she'd only just dragged her useless carcass from bed... at almost four in the afternoon.

“Don't you take that tone with me, Katherine Morgan! I need cigarettes.”

“That's just impossible.”

“Why? That useless boyfriend of yours got your car again?”

“What boyfriend?”

She huffed and hacked out a cough, the sound of the faucet running as she made herself coffee. I could almost picture her movements with perfect clarity. Her cigarette hanging from her mouth, her head tipped to the side to hold the phone in place on her shoulder as her hands did what they could to make something from nothing with the leftover coffee grinds. She was just too lazy to go to the store and get some more.

“I don't remember… Jimmy? John? James?” she croaked, the sound followed by more hacking.

Was she talking about Master James? I hadn't seen him in over two years, and she'd only met him once when she'd almost set fire to her house and called me in a panic because she was high.

“Mom? What year is it?”

“Child, use the brains God gave ya! I'm trying to help you, but if you're gonna be an idiot—” She cut off, mumbling to someone as she moved around, the sound of the front door screen slamming shut behind her.

“Mom?”

“There's someone here looking for you. I don't know what kind of trouble you're in but I don't appreciate you bringing it to my doorstep. You're an adult,” she whisper-slurred down the phone. Then her voice rose. “So can you get me smokes or not?”

“Mom. I'm not in trouble—”

“Well stop loaning that bum your car. Thanks for nothing!” she shouted, then she hung up.

Mom never was what I would have perceived as normal. She drank too much and smoked too many cigarettes and bowls of weed in her lifetime, but that was, by far, the most bizarre conversation we'd ever had. Why would she think I was in trouble?

Placing my phone on the counter, and slapping my palms down on either side of it, I bowed my head as I took in a deep breath. Was this what I’d been waiting for? Was one of them trying to find me?

If that was the case, I'd have put money on it being Jared that had ventured to my former home. Mistress Kayla knew all too well that I would never go back there, so that only left him. Excitement bubbled in my stomach before I had a chance to push it back down. Hope seemed too much of a risk. I'd barely managed to deal with the fact that they might not be coming at all for me to even consider for a second that he would look for me. It was too much. The disappointment would break me.

No matter how much I convinced myself otherwise, there was still that thread of hope prodding around inside of me, whispering that he was the only explanation for my mom’s call.

Needing to busy my hands and my mind, I started cooking dinner. Maria had been very careful about discussing what went on at her work because, after all, it was Jared's home base. She seemed to understand that I needed to clear my head, something that was becoming more difficult to achieve these days. The knowledge that I would eventually have to visit Mistress Kayla to officially be released as her sub was a constant source of anxiety. I started cutting and chopping, the repetition making it easy to distract myself as I recited lyrics from my favorite songs. It wasn't long until I was finally able to fall into the full swing of cooking and lose my mind to it. I barely heard Libby come in. It was only because she let me know she was taking a shower that I realized she was there at all.

Her company was a welcome distraction. After her shower, she joined me in the kitchen, sitting at the counter to do her homework, and occasionally pointing out something I'd forgotten to do, like add herbs, or turn something over.

“You seem on edge,” she said, closing her books, then crossing her arms over them. I envied how quickly she managed things like that. She was so smart she sailed through her school work.

“Who me?”

“No, Baxter.” She laughed as the dog lifted his head at the sound of his name. “Yes, you. You're all over the place. You're either determined to get dinner right or you're trying to forget something.”

“Ugh. You are your mother’s daughter, Libby. That's great and all but you're entirely too intuitive.”

“Not really. I just know that's what I do when I wanna forget something. But I normally clean.”

“Am I that obvious?” I asked, wiping down the counter and leaning on it, my fingers scrubbing at a piece of flour. I’d decided to attempt some fried chicken Cajun style, and it wasn’t the cleanest thing in the world to cook.

“Yes. You are.” She smiled sweetly. “You forget I'm sixteen and I hang around tortured souls all day long. We've got the stress over grades and the great loves that ain't love at all. Then there's the rumors—”

I put up my hands to stop her, my laughter coming easily. “Okay. Okay. Point taken.”

She grinned at me, pleased as punch at managing to break me down. It was probably the years of reverse psychology her mom had used on her. She rearranged her books in front of her and adjusted an imaginary pair of glasses.