Craving Resurrection
Page 5
“Thought ye were comin’ in for tea!”
I stopped abruptly, and whipped my head in her direction. “Oh, um…”
“The offer stands.”
“Okay,” I whispered back, turning toward her house.
I didn’t understand why she was still being so nice to me. She had to have some idea of what was going on. There was no way she’d misinterpreted the situation the night before; she’d practically spelled it out when she found me.
Peg held the door open as I walked inside slowly.
“Sit down! Sit down! I baked a caramel shortbread!”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked quietly as I followed her into the kitchen. “I know what you saw.”
“What does that have to do with anythin’?”
“Well… I just figured you wouldn’t want me over again, since… you know.” I mumbled back. I was so uncomfortable, my arms began itching almost all the way up to my elbows.
“Lass,” she sighed as she stopped moving around the kitchen and placed a plate of shortbread in front of me before dropping down in the seat across the table. “What yer parents choose to do hasn’t got anythin’ to do with how I feel about ye.”
“How you feel about me?” The pastry sat neglected on the table as I stared at it, afraid to meet her eyes.
“Well, from what I’ve gathered, yer smart.” My eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Yer kind, thoughtful, pretty, and yer just plain sweet the way ye’ve catered to an old woman’s whims like ye have.”
“You’re not that old,” I replied automatically.
“And ye’ve got nothin’ wrong with ye, no matter what yer parents choose to do in their own home.” She smiled at me gently, and reached out to squeeze my hand. “Now, enough talk about those perverted parents o’yers.”
I choked on her matter-of-fact assessment of my parents, and giggled as she winked.
“Well, just one more thing.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a shiny new key, setting it on the table in front of me. “Ye can’t be spendin’ the night outside, especially once the weather starts turnin’ colder.”
I looked back and forth between her and the key in confusion before her offer became clear.
“You can’t give me a key to your freaking house! Are you crazy? I could steal all of your stuff! I could…I could murder you in your sleep! You don’t know me!”
She laughed at my indignation, and swiped the back of her hand away from her body as if she was literally brushing away my comments.
“Got nothin’ to steal!” she cackled. “Ye plan on murderin’ me in me bed, well, ye could do that by climbin’ in me open window, now couldn’t ye?”
“I can’t take a key to your house,” I argued stubbornly. “No. No way.”
“Ye’ll take it,” she snapped back. “Ye’ll use it if ye have the need, and if ye don’t, well, I’ll have someone to water me plants when I go on holiday.”
“You’re going on vacation?”
“Well, I haven’t yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t in the future.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled, causing Peg to reach across the table and flick my forehead. “What the hell?”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain in this house. That’s non-negotiable.”
“God-shit-sorry!” I hissed and dodged as she tried to flick me again. “I won’t!”
“Well, good then. Now can we eat? Ye said ye’d tell me about yerself today.”
I watched in awe as she stood back up to grab her own decadent looking pastry then sat back across from me as if we hadn’t been arguing for the past five minutes. The woman was quite obviously out of her mind, but I couldn’t help but find it endearing. She may have been more trusting than anyone I’d ever known, but I could also tell that she was no one’s fool. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she’d had that key made for me.
It was also more comforting than I would have ever admitted that she’d set a rule, even if it was as small as taking the Lord’s name in vain. Her punishment had been swift and effective, and I knew in the future exactly what would happen if I slipped and said it again. It wasn’t as if the flick had even hurt that badly, but it had gotten Peg’s point across. The thought of disappointing her or making her angry was enough of a deterrent to keep my language clean when I was near her—the flick was more of a reminder.
My chest felt light as she nodded to prod me along.
“Well, I was born in Cheyenne, Wyoming of all places…”
***
After that first week, Peg and I settled into an easy routine. I stopped by nearly every day after school, and she was always waiting for me on her front stoop as I made my way home. She became the first truly comforting person I’d ever had in my life, and before long, I couldn’t imagine my world without her in it.
We didn’t talk about what was happening at my house; I refused to bring it up and she was too understanding to mention it, but I noticed the way she watched me more closely after one of my parents’ visitors came.
But I didn’t use her key.
It felt too much like taking advantage of her at first, and after that I was too afraid that she’d worry if she knew how bad it was getting. She must have noticed the women—and now men—traipsing in and out of our house at all hours of the night, but she never said a word and I didn’t either.
I stopped abruptly, and whipped my head in her direction. “Oh, um…”
“The offer stands.”
“Okay,” I whispered back, turning toward her house.
I didn’t understand why she was still being so nice to me. She had to have some idea of what was going on. There was no way she’d misinterpreted the situation the night before; she’d practically spelled it out when she found me.
Peg held the door open as I walked inside slowly.
“Sit down! Sit down! I baked a caramel shortbread!”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked quietly as I followed her into the kitchen. “I know what you saw.”
“What does that have to do with anythin’?”
“Well… I just figured you wouldn’t want me over again, since… you know.” I mumbled back. I was so uncomfortable, my arms began itching almost all the way up to my elbows.
“Lass,” she sighed as she stopped moving around the kitchen and placed a plate of shortbread in front of me before dropping down in the seat across the table. “What yer parents choose to do hasn’t got anythin’ to do with how I feel about ye.”
“How you feel about me?” The pastry sat neglected on the table as I stared at it, afraid to meet her eyes.
“Well, from what I’ve gathered, yer smart.” My eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Yer kind, thoughtful, pretty, and yer just plain sweet the way ye’ve catered to an old woman’s whims like ye have.”
“You’re not that old,” I replied automatically.
“And ye’ve got nothin’ wrong with ye, no matter what yer parents choose to do in their own home.” She smiled at me gently, and reached out to squeeze my hand. “Now, enough talk about those perverted parents o’yers.”
I choked on her matter-of-fact assessment of my parents, and giggled as she winked.
“Well, just one more thing.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a shiny new key, setting it on the table in front of me. “Ye can’t be spendin’ the night outside, especially once the weather starts turnin’ colder.”
I looked back and forth between her and the key in confusion before her offer became clear.
“You can’t give me a key to your freaking house! Are you crazy? I could steal all of your stuff! I could…I could murder you in your sleep! You don’t know me!”
She laughed at my indignation, and swiped the back of her hand away from her body as if she was literally brushing away my comments.
“Got nothin’ to steal!” she cackled. “Ye plan on murderin’ me in me bed, well, ye could do that by climbin’ in me open window, now couldn’t ye?”
“I can’t take a key to your house,” I argued stubbornly. “No. No way.”
“Ye’ll take it,” she snapped back. “Ye’ll use it if ye have the need, and if ye don’t, well, I’ll have someone to water me plants when I go on holiday.”
“You’re going on vacation?”
“Well, I haven’t yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t in the future.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled, causing Peg to reach across the table and flick my forehead. “What the hell?”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain in this house. That’s non-negotiable.”
“God-shit-sorry!” I hissed and dodged as she tried to flick me again. “I won’t!”
“Well, good then. Now can we eat? Ye said ye’d tell me about yerself today.”
I watched in awe as she stood back up to grab her own decadent looking pastry then sat back across from me as if we hadn’t been arguing for the past five minutes. The woman was quite obviously out of her mind, but I couldn’t help but find it endearing. She may have been more trusting than anyone I’d ever known, but I could also tell that she was no one’s fool. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she’d had that key made for me.
It was also more comforting than I would have ever admitted that she’d set a rule, even if it was as small as taking the Lord’s name in vain. Her punishment had been swift and effective, and I knew in the future exactly what would happen if I slipped and said it again. It wasn’t as if the flick had even hurt that badly, but it had gotten Peg’s point across. The thought of disappointing her or making her angry was enough of a deterrent to keep my language clean when I was near her—the flick was more of a reminder.
My chest felt light as she nodded to prod me along.
“Well, I was born in Cheyenne, Wyoming of all places…”
***
After that first week, Peg and I settled into an easy routine. I stopped by nearly every day after school, and she was always waiting for me on her front stoop as I made my way home. She became the first truly comforting person I’d ever had in my life, and before long, I couldn’t imagine my world without her in it.
We didn’t talk about what was happening at my house; I refused to bring it up and she was too understanding to mention it, but I noticed the way she watched me more closely after one of my parents’ visitors came.
But I didn’t use her key.
It felt too much like taking advantage of her at first, and after that I was too afraid that she’d worry if she knew how bad it was getting. She must have noticed the women—and now men—traipsing in and out of our house at all hours of the night, but she never said a word and I didn’t either.
