Ten Steps Back

Chapter Two: Newcomers

My mother was always downstairs before me. It was partially because she slept only marginally better than I did, and partially because I waited until I knew she was up to announce my own presence. She worried so much already, I couldn't imagine if she were to find out how little sleep I truly got. My mom was just like that. Overprotective. Even before my disappearance she had coddled me to no end. I remembered being ecstatic when Elise was born because she was finally going to have someone else to fuss over and I had been very right about that. Baby Elise took up a lot of time. Enough time that no one had even noticed I'd wandered too far until it was too late. Enough time for me to disappear without a trace.

That didn't mean I blamed them for that. There was no resentment between Elise and I, or even between my parents and me. They'd done their best for both of us and sometimes that meant letting one kid take priority. If anything, it was my own fault for being an idiot and I'd long since learned my lesson. No, there was no resentment, only a tentative affection between my mother and I as we made breakfast together. I'd come down only a few minutes after her with the excuse that I'd gone to bed early and she'd gladly accepted my help, so here we were, two useless cooks doing their best with some eggs and a stove. It was the calm, domestic life I'd been begging for and I relished in it for now.

My mom wasn't a morning person despite being up so early. Her black mane was barely contained in a bun and her face pulled into a frown every time the sunlight hit her directly. I liked to poke fun at that. A snide 'thought you were a wolf not a vampire' made her lips twitch up again and then I'd end up narrowly escaping the wooden spoon and snickering. It was a nice morning, but of course, something always had to ruin that.

"So," she started. Her tone hadn't really changed, but I'd had years of reading subtle signs and posture changes for bad news. I knew she had something to say that I wouldn't like and she confirmed it when she said, "I know you probably won't like this, but Margaret and I were talking last night after the meeting, and we thought that it might be a good idea to ask for your help."

I watched her avoid my eyes, carefully transferring completed eggs to a plate. "With what?"

"Well, we decided to accept the rogues into the pack. There are only five of them, but very few are keen on speaking with Jack in particular. Their leader is only twenty-four like we thought, and he agreed to stay, but we need more information. Margaret was wondering if you could possibly try talking to them."

She smiled up at me, shoving the plate into my hands in an order to put them on the kitchen table. Though she was quick to turn back to the stove, I didn't move, asking, "Why me?" as if I didn't already understand. "Just because I went through some shit doesn't mean I know how to talk to traumatized kids."

I did have some experience there, but she didn't know that.

"Of course, and we aren't even sure if they are traumatized," she appeased. "Margaret just seemed to think you might be able to get through to them. I'm not sure why, but I told her I'd ask."

I did walk away then. I set the eggs down and then took my own seat, contemplating that. Margaret was an intuitive woman. It didn't surprise me when she said things that meant she knew more than I wanted, but this was a little strange even for her. Maybe it was because I spent so much time with her kids nowadays. Jacob in particular had been hard to get through to. He'd opened up more in the last few years, but I chalked that down to puberty not anything I had done. It didn't sit well with me, honestly. That restless feeling from last night was coming back and I didn't like that one bit. If it didn't leave soon then it was bound to become a panic attack and I was really hoping I could make it two weeks panic free for once.

"You don't have to agree." My mom's voice was soft when she took her seat. She still wasn't quite meeting my eyes, but I'd gotten used to that. My mother definitely took my disappearance the hardest and as a result, she treated me like I was made of glass. She was clearly terrified that I'd vanish again.