Safe and Sound(44)
“Here it is. Your room.” Blair walked in and turned toward Lola, face expectant.
Lola stepped inside, lump in throat. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. And it was.
The walls were mauve and cream striped, the king-sized bed canopied and a lilac quilt over it. The floors were wood, an abundance of windows allowed sunlight in. The ceiling was vaulted. Two dressers stood side by side along one of the walls; a desk and chair resided between a set of windows.
Lola thought of the room she and her mother had painstakingly decorated and longing swept over her. She blinked her eyes and averted her face from her aunt’s probing gaze.
“Are you okay?”
No. “I’m fine.”
Blair fidgeted. “Well. Um…I’ll let you get settled in. Unless you’re hungry? Thirsty?”
“No.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but with a resigned nod, her aunt left.
Lola stared at her meager belongings consisting of one duffel bag and whatever was inside it. She unzipped the bag and removed the clothes and toiletries.
She froze. At the bottom of the bag was a thick purple folder.
Her eyes began to tear up. Pain closed her throat. It was her writing. Her mother had somehow known about it and had made sure she had it. Lola didn’t think she knew. She sat on the bed, teardrops wetting the folder in her lap.
***
Lola awoke to two lumps of furry warmth; one near her head, the other by her feet. For a disoriented moment she was back to the night before and it was Bob on top of her. Fear choked her throat. Then Lola remembered where she was.
She sat up and stared down at a large black cat. He blinked up at her with lime green eyes. Lola looked toward her feet and an equally large orange tiger cat meowed at her.
“Piper and Larry, I presume,” she mumbled, yawning.
The black one jumped down, grunting as his stomach hit the floor on the descent. The orange tiger meowed again and rubbed his head against Lola’s feet.
Lola stroked his silky fur. “You’re a cuddle bug, aren’t you? I bet you’re Larry.”
A knock on the door announced Blair’s presence. She smiled and leaned against the door, arms crossed. “That would be Larry, yes. Piper’s a little more standoffish. Larry likes you.”
She shrugged, eyes downcast.
“I made some lunch. I wasn’t sure what you liked so I made tuna salad and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”
Lola couldn’t remember the last time someone had prepared a meal for her and discomfort pierced her chest.
“Thank you.”
“No problem. Come on.” Blair held out a hand. “You have yet to see the kitchen.”
Lola got up and looked at the hand offered. Small acts of kindness had a tremendous impact on her as she’d received them so fleetingly in the last year.
She gripped her aunt’s hand and Blair’s hand enclosed around hers, anchoring Lola to her as they walked down the hall.
The kitchen had black and white checkered walls, which of course Lola stared at; red appliances and wood flooring. The countertops were black and white swirled marble. There was a table by a row of wall-length windows, an island with four barstools. It was the most awesome kitchen Lola had ever seen.
“Do you like it?”
Lola turned in a slow circle. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I like it.”
Blair laughed, a tinkling sound of joy. “Good. I spend a lot of time in here. I love cooking and baking. I’m not very good at it, but I have fun with it. Have a seat.” Her aunt motioned to the table.
She sat down and Blair brought over a platter full of sandwiches cut in halves. “Help yourself. What would you like to drink? Water, tea, milk?”
Lola reached for a peanut butter and jelly half sandwich. “Water is fine. Thank you.” She took a bite, savoring the gooey goodness. It had been ages since she’d enjoyed a PB and J. Or any kind of food for that matter.
After a few small bites, Lola’s stomach revolted, and she set the sandwich down.
“What’s wrong?””
“Nothing. My stomach gets upset a lot.”
Blair swallowed and put her tuna salad sandwich down. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Lola’s eyes pricked as she saw the caring in her aunt’s. “What was my father like?”
A smile softened her features. “He was a wonderful man, Lola, the best. I wish you could have known him longer.”
“I don’t remember him at all. I wish I did. My mom says he was a good man.”
“He was.” Their gazes locked.
Lola pushed her glass of water back and forth between her hands. “I have a hard time taking my mother’s word for it, given her current husband.”