Don't Shoot the Messenger

11 - the children, and a choice

  2202 words   

*edited 

//////////////////////////

Claire's POV

 Greg has been distant lately. He doesn't want to hear about the guy I am dating, so I stick to stories of places I have gone, foods I have tried. When I mention going to the theater or something he seems to know I did not go alone and gets closed off. Quiet. He can't be jealous, can he? We were never together like that. I skip calling him, but he gets upset about that too. I settle for texting him more than I call, quick updates that I am OK or went to this or that city.

  Alissandru has work to do today. I decide to hang out at his place anyway. I avoid his office , and look in on the kids. I know somewhat how it feels to be in their shoes. Not exactly, my parents were not murdered, of course. I cannot imagine how they feel staying in the home of the man responsible for their parents deaths. If it were a more normal situation, I would have sought them out before now. 

  I used to think normal was boring. I wanted a life of adventure...bleh. The kids want normal more than anyone, except perhaps myself. I will never even see a flower or a sunset the normal way again except in memory. I should have watched them while I had the chance. I should have done a lot of things. Well, I will do what I can. 

"Do you guys want to make cookies?" The boys enthusiasm makes my balance precarious when they crash into me. I smile as I steady myself and invite them to follow me. Soon the youngest boy... ( Rufino?) is squashing butter into brown and white sugar. Edmondo is helping measure out most of the ingredients -other than the flour. I started the oven pre-heating (glad I checked the conversion to degrees C first). An assortment of things could be added. I picked Ghirardelli white chocolate and milk chocolate chips, pecans and slivered almonds. I also got out some dried apricots. 

"Do you want all the cookies to be the same, or put different things in them?"      "More!" "Different kinds." I poured the liquid mush into several bowls and the kids started throwing chocolate in all the bowls. I sliced the apricots into thin strips and added them to one bowl with white chocolate and almonds. There was a bowl with white and milk chocolate. One bowl had milk chocolate and pecans, the last had milk chocolate, apricots and pecans. I added flour a bit at a time and the boys stirred. When the consistency seemed right, I got out small spoons and put parchment paper on the pans. I demonstrated how they should not make the cookies too big or put them too close.   

 With the first batch in the oven and the timer set, I gave them each a damp sponge and set them to cleaning the table. "That's your job!" "No, I don't work here. Even if I did you should clean up your own mess." I told them keeping my voice stern. Crayons and paper would keep them busy after that until the timer buzzed.

"What are you doing here if you don't work for HIM?"   "I'm still figuring that out. We are becoming ...friends?" I offer more as a question than a statement. "How can you be friends with that monster?"    "Is he a monster?"   "He had our parents killed." Hmm. "My parents are dead too. After they died, I had to move away...so I lost everyone else too." Rufino looks sad. Edmondo asks "Did you have to live with the man who killed them? What happened?"   "I lived with strangers who had been friends of my parents. I was sad and angry for a long time."  "Did you ever stop being sad? Did you get revenge?" "I am still sad about it, but I don't live in sadness anymore. The man responsible died in the accident too. I didn't even get to yell at him."   "That sucks, but at least he's dead." Edmondo says darkly.