Her hand stretches, reaching close to my throat, and I think she is about to do something different than what she actually does.
Spite, rage, and hellfire burn from her eyes.
I almost—almost—feel relief when she yanks at the necklace around my throat instead. The slight pinch at the back of my neck like mercy to the wounded.
She’s gone back to her room by the time I let the tears spring to my own eyes. I should be more relieved than upset, but I can’t help it.
With delicate fingers, I pick up the now broken chain from the ground. This is not only the nicest gift I’ve ever received on my birthday but the only one as well. Now it’s broken. Lillian broke it and then went back to her own cushion of misery.
I look from her door back to the one that holds my exit across the house. Wiping away the loose droplets of sadness from my cheeks, I decide.
Lillian won’t notice anyway.
I leave.
I don’t remember how I end up here, but I do. In a strange, even confusing way, it’s like this place finds me.
Stumbling inside, my mouth waters as I help myself to the booth seat in the farthest corner. The fatty smell of grease and fried food overwhelms my senses.
My feet dangle over the edge but no one comes to bother me. Content, I stay drawing shapes out of the extra salt someone had spilled on the table.
The rhythmic pattern soothing me, calming.
“Gotta name, kid?”
Craning my neck, I blink up at the woman with honey-colored eyes and dark skin. “Do I need to leave?”
She looks over my head with a sigh, wiping her hands on her rag. Her eyes easy, but conflicted. Conflicted easily?
“Scoot over,” she finally decides. Shooing me down so that she can take a seat next to me. “My puppies could use a break, anyway, being on your feet all day is rough.” She concedes, and I don’t know why but it makes me grin.
Puppies? She means her toes.
The gold flecks in her irises warm when my smile turns into a light chuckle. She tosses the rag over her shoulder, studying me when I go back to tracing lines in the salt.
“You know, if you added some pepper, you’d have two colors instead of one. Add more variety.”
I lift a shoulder but continue as I am. What I have is fine.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, it’s Aurora, but I like Rory better.”
“Alma.”
My head lifts on a weak smile.
“You got a mom? Dad?”
Slowly my earlier movements stall as I shift in my seat. Looking down as I now twiddle my thumbs in my lap.
“Don’t got one?”
“She’s at home,” I answer faintly. Afraid she’ll send me away or worse, call my mom and then—never mind, Lillian won’t answer. If she’s even awake.
“Your mom, she lets you run around by yourself like this?”
Lillian doesn’t know I left. I’ve never done something like this before.