Love in the Dark

Chapter Seventeen

George and Laura left at first light. Seth felt a little resentful about being left behind with the child. He'd volunteered to be a bodyguard, not a babysitter. But after a few minutes alone with the child, he had the feeling that the girl was the one supervising him. The first thing she did was bark at him to make his bed. Like a little miniature of her mother.

"So... Zahara..." He sat down across from her at the kitchen table, once his bunk was neatly arranged. "Um, what do you like to do?"

She stared back at him with dark, unfathomable eyes. "I'm going to go feed the chickens," she said matter-of-factly. "You are supposed to cook breakfast, because I'm not allowed to use the stove." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you even know how to cook? Because if you don't know how to cook, we will have to eat cereal bars." She wrinkled her nose, clearly indicating her opinion of the prepackaged breakfast food.

"I can cook," Seth answered a tad defensively. "But, uh... what should I make?" He felt awkward about rifling through the cupboards and eating Laura’s food. He was a little afraid she would accuse him of stealing her rations.

"Eggs," Zahara said, slipping off her seat. "Two for you, because you are a grown up, and one for me. And grits. Mama has butter in the cold storage.”

"Grits?" Having grown up in New England, Seth had never eaten grits in his life. All he knew was that it was some kind of southern thing made from corn. "Wait, what's the cold storage?"

The little girl rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, the grits are instant. And the cold storage is this little box in the ground by the spring."

Seth had no idea what she was talking about, or even where this spring was, but Zahara didn't stick around to explain. She grabbed the egg basket from its place on the wall, and went out the door. Seth didn't know what to do. Should he follow her and supervise her, or should he stay and follow orders from the little dictator to make breakfast?

Considering that yesterday Laura had sent the girl to the chicken coop alone, Seth thought it was probably okay to let the girl go feed the poultry. He fumbled around the kitchen, finding the pots under the sink, and a frying pan hanging from the ceiling. After some digging, he found a jar labeled "cooking fat."

He hoped he wouldn't get in trouble for eating the eggs without Laura's permission. After months of semi-starvation, an egg seemed more precious than gold and jewels. He found the canister of instant grits, and scanned the directions. If Laura said anything, he would blame the kid. Your five-year-old told me to do it, he thought, and I listened to her.

Fifteen minutes later, Zahara stomped back into the house in her little mud boots, with the basket of fresh eggs, and a mason jar with... Seth's eyes bugged in his head. Real butter! He reached for the eggs, but the girl slapped his hand away. "No silly," she stood on tiptoe to open the cupboard. "Always use the oldest eggs first."

“Right,” he agreed, “rotate the product. Got you.”

He finished cooking the food, and Zahara showed him how she liked her grits. She cut a pat of butter into each bowl of the white porridge, and then drizzled maple syrup over it from a bottle she dug out of the kitchen cabinet.

Seth stirred up his bowl of grits with child-like delight. He had been so hungry for so many months, he had been eating bland, tasteless slop for so long, that the prospect of creamy butter and sweat maple sugar made him salivate. Zahara could have poured the stuff on sand, and he still would have eaten it with a smile on his face.

The combination of sweet grits and salty fried eggs was perfect. He ate it all, and even used his finger to scrape out every last taste of breakfast from his bowl. Zahara gave him a look that clearly indicated she thought he was a neanderthal, before she collected their dishes and took them to the sink.

"What's next?" Seth asked the kid once he had dried the last bowl and put it away in the cupboard.

Zahara went around to the nightstand beside the big bed, and pulled out a box of colored pencils, a coloring book, and a sharpener. Not a kid's coloring book, with cartoon characters and big shapes with fat black lines. It was one of those super intricate adult coloring books. "Next is nothing," she said, sliding into her chair at the table. "You keep yourself busy until lunch time."

"Oh."

Seth sat down at the table and watched her color for a while, his head propped up on his hand. For such a young girl she was very careful, always coloring in the lines. He studied her face while she was bent over her project. She had delicate features, big brown eyes like her mother, hair that was darker and curly, her skin a creamy caramel color. There was something familiar about her features.

Maybe she reminded him of Laura when she was a child.

"Where is your father?" he asked, hoping it wasn't a sore subject. He knew nothing about Laura's life in recent years, and the detective in him decided to interrogate the child.

"I don't have a father," Zahara stated without looking up from her work.

"Everyone has a father," he said with a chuckle. He was not prepared for the withering look she shot him.

"I know that," she tossed her head indignantly. Seth could almost hear a silent "stupid" tacked on to the end of that statement, but Zahara was too well behaved to insult him directly. She took her time to choose another color from the box of pencils. "What I mean is... my father is not a part of my life."

The words sounded freakishly mature coming from such a small package. Seth was curious now, so he continued to fish for information. "Oh, I'm sorry," he pressed. "Did your parents get a divorce?"

Zahara shook her head, making her curls dance.

"Did he die?"

She lifted a small shoulder in a careless shrug. "Don't know, don't care." She paused to sharpen the point on her yellow pencil.

"Oh. Does he ever come to see you?"

Zahara sighed and put her pencils back in the box. She pinned Seth with a surprisingly cold glare. She slid off the chair and collected her book, pressing it against her chest. "You talk too much," she stated plainly. "And you ask too many questions. No wonder mama doesn't like you." She marched to the door.

"Hey, where are you going?"

“I'm going to color outside. Alone," she said over her shoulder, right before the door banged shut behind her.

Seth sat in stunned silence at the table. "Laura doesn't like me?"