Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [60]
“No,” Hazel said. “Not this time.” From somewhere she heard the sound of a bird singing. Her eyes traveled out the kitchen window. It was dark, and the moon hung in the sky. She could just see the edges of the garden.
“She’ll promise you things,” Lucas said. “These are not things the people who come here know how to turn down.”
“I need to defeat her,” Hazel insisted. “Do you know how?” She looked from Lucas to Nina. They did not look at her, or at each other.
“Some things you just can’t fight,” Nina said quietly, after a time.
“We should talk about this in the morning,” Lucas said. “Ready, Nina?”
“Here you go.” Nina stood in front of her, holding out a steaming cup. It struck Hazel, suddenly, looking at the pair of them, that this could have been what her before-parents looked like. She stared up at them, the man and the woman looking down at her, full of concern and care. And she wanted to ask them things big and small, but she did not have the words.
She sipped the tea—it was thick with honey. Hazel remembered the candy her father would bring home from his trips. It was hard candy on the outside but the inside was a warm burst of actual honey, like you’d stuck your spoon into the jar when no one was looking. When she was little, she’d bite into the hard candy right away to get to the honey center. But when she got older, she learned to wait and let the filling slowly work its way out.
“You poor girl,” said Nina, reaching out to rub Hazel’s head. “You take your time with that. You’ll feel better soon.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nina move back to the stove, her hand lingering on her husband’s arm for a moment as she turned. Hazel felt the gentle touch as if it had happened to her.
Hazel remembered this. Two parents at a table. The way one would touch the other casually, a hand on the shoulder, a brush against the cheek. These unconscious gestures, like their bodies were speaking to each other—Yes, you are here and I am here. It had been a long time since she’d seen that.
Hazel remembered her father. He had strong arms. He used to like her stories. He took her to the Renaissance Festival two summers ago. They’d sat on bleachers in the sun, roasting like mutton, watching a jousting match. I’m going to be a knight, Hazel had said, feeling the lance in her hands. No, he’d replied, you let others do that for you. You are a princess.
Hazel remembered Jack. They mounted their scooters and took plastic swords and jousted on the driveway. Jack had knocked Hazel off first and she’d skinned her knee on the concrete, bright red like a berry. Jack had said it was a battle wound and smeared a cherry popsicle on himself for fake blood.
And she wondered, now, if she was trying to rescue the wrong Jack, if instead of trying to find the white witch she should look for one of her old Jacks, before any of this had happened, before he lost interest in her.
“Any better?”
Hazel nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Nina said. “We’re happy to help. And you’re not the first girl we’ve rescued from the likes of him. Girls come into these woods thinking they can make it on their own, but . . .” Her eyes traveled to the table.
“We like to keep our eyes out,” said Lucas. Nina put a hand on her husband’s shoulder.
“We had a girl once,” she said. “We lost her.”
“Oh,” said Hazel. She looked up at them, searching their eyes for some sign of recognition. She wanted to ask questions, but how do you ask people things like that? When did you lose her, how did you lose her, did you give a baby girl up for adoption, and, do you remember, what was her name?
“We keep trying to find her, but—” Nina shook her head. “So we try to help out other girls. Keep them safe. You can stay here as long as you need.”
Hazel looked back out at the garden. She could hear the sadness in their voices, feel it hanging in the air like fog.
She’d wondered about her birth parents and if they ever wished for her, if they knew what had happened to her, if they knew she was half a world away.