War Child--Rogue One

XI

I'm still sitting on the pile of blankets when Mother gets home.  She has a huge basket of food, which she sets down in the kitchen before turning to me.

"Is everything alright?"

I stand swiftly. "Yeah. I'm alright. How was the market?"

"Well, I couldn't get as many cuts as I wanted, but I still managed to barter for enough to freeze and eat later, if we run low on money." She pauses, one piece of foil-wrapped meat still in her hand, hovering over the pit dug by the counter. "You still like milk, right?"

"Of course, Mother."

"Good. I got a gallon for half price. It may go bad soon, but it smells alright now."

"Can I help?"

"Just finish packing the ice around the meat and cover it up again." She steps back and lets me take her place.

By the time we finish putting all of the food away, I've almost forgotten the poor boy.  But not quite.

Mother notices a difference.  "Cass?  Is something wrong?"

I shake my head, no.  "I'm just a little tired.  Amya's back."

"I know.  I brought her some loose tea.  She told me you'd visited."

I bob my head.

"She told me that she made you promise to never join those headstrong rebels.  They'll get you in bad places."  She shakes her head.  "I think she's forgotten your father, and even you a few years back."  Mother sighs, and adds, "I hope you intend to keep that promise."

"I do," I lie.

"Good.  Now, Amya is going to come over for dinner in three days, and she doesn't eat meat anymore.  It's too hard on her teeth," Mother muses.

"Vegetable stew?" I suggest.

"That's exactly what I was thinking," she says with a smile and a snap of her fingers.

"They say that great minds think alike."

She laughs.  "I guess so.  Stew should be easy enough.  I can just throw everything in a pot and work on some of these blankets."  She pauses, then asks, "Has Aden dropped off any fabric yet?"

I shake my head.  "I haven't seen him since he stayed the night here."  Another lie.  Do they end?

No.  It's safer this way, for everyone involved: Mother, Aden, Amya, me.

"Oh."  She sits down on a pile of blankets and picks up a needle.  Her eyes narrow as she struggles to thread it.

"Do you want me to do that?" I ask, holding out my hand.

She shakes her head stubbornly.  "No, I'm not old yet, Cass."

I laugh, sitting down on another pile and locating my own needle.  I've already stitched up one rip when she sighs and throws her hands into her lap.

"Alright, Cass.  Use your young eyes and help me."

I smile and take it.  "Told you you'd need my help."

"I'm just tired," she tells me, accepting the threaded needle.

"Whatever will you do when I'm off and married?" I tease.

"You're eleven, Cassian.  You are not getting married until you are at least twenty-six.  And a half."

"So precise," I comment.

"You have to be when you're a parent, or else the kids twist your words."

Someone knocks on the door.  I glance back at the hidden trap door concealing our--my--blasters as Mother rises to open it.

Was Aden captured?  Did someone turn me in?  Did they track me down?

Am I going to die?

Am I going to leave Mother all alone?

She pressed the button by the door.  A very snowy Aden stands there, a pile of cloth in his hand.

He smiles sheepishly at me for a moment, then his attention is on Mother.

"Sorry I didn't get it to you earlier.  When do you want me to come by again and pick up the finished blankets?"

Mother lifts the stack to look at it closer.  "How much is there?"

"Three bolts of fifteen meters."

I can see her doing the math.  "Come back tomorrow after dinner."

He beams at her for a moment.  "Goodnight, then."

"Wait," Mother says, touching his arm.  "Why don't you stay for dinner and then take the blankets.  Tomorrow, I mean."

He shrugs.  "That sounds good.  Again, goodnight."

"Goodnight."

The door closes.  When Mother turns around, she sees me still glaring at the closed door.

"Is there something wrong?"

I shake my head, partially to say no, and partially to clear my head.  "No, I was just worried, that's all.  Want any help?"

"Worried about what?"

Why must she pry?  What's that saying, Ask me no more questions, I'll tell you no more lies?

"Nothing."

I wonder, is there a limit to how much one person can lie?