Page 52 of See Me After Class

Ms. Wainwright chuckled throatily. "Yes. I used to cook up a huge batch for you and Oswald every Sunday before you left Stillingbrook."

I stiffened slightly, because I had an inkling of where this discussion was going.

"Are you still set on living out your days in this drab old place, my dear?" she asked softly.

But here was the thing. After meeting Dr. Thorne, the place didn't feel like a beautiful cemetery any longer. I actually had things to do, things that didn't involve only finding out who had killed my father, although that was still the first priority.

"Ms. Wainwright," I spoke softly. "I don't expect you, or anyone else, for that matter, to understand all of it. But don't you think Oswald deserves peace?"

"He already has peace," she said flatly. "War doesn't exist in the midst of the dead, Dessie. It only plagues the lives it leaves behind."

Fair enough.

I didn't want to argue about this any longer, so focused on the iron pot. The contents within were a riot of colors and textures— chunks of succulent beef, carrots, and potatoes chopped roughly, and verdant peas and corn adding pops of green and yellow. Thick steam rose, carrying rich overtones of garlic, rosemary, and a slight, biting undertone of smoked paprika.

A smile played on my lips. "I came here for coffee."

"Which kind?" Ms. Wainwright asked, busying herself with stirring the contents to make sure the browned meat absorbed all the savory juices of the broth.

"TheOswald approvedkind," I replied.

"So be it."

Ms. Wainwright moved to a little coffee machine, which soon hissed and sputtered as it forced hot water through finely-ground coffee beans. She sang to herself as she worked. It was a familiar tune, but I couldn't place it.

"Did you find out anything else about the suspects?"

Vivid visuals played out in my mind. Me straddling Leon. Dr. Galbraith's ruler spanking me, hard. Viktor's fingers tangled in my hair. I gulped, but my throat was dry.

"No." I watched the dark, rich espresso dripping into the cup. The air filled with notes of caramel, roasted nuts, and a subtle hint of chocolate.

"It hasn't been that long," Ms. Wainwright observed as she prepared the cream, heating it in a small pitcher. She did it until it was fluid, not boiling.

"To think I considered therapy," I said, watching her with fascination as she began frothing the cream until it formed soft, airy peaks. "When I could just watch you do this."

"You've changed the subject," she observed once more, not looking at me. "Are they bothering you, Dessie? You must always remember that these are very powerful men. And where there is power, there is?—"

"Danger," I finished for her. "I'm well aware. It doesn't stop me from wanting to get to the bottom of things. Imagine who else they could hurt, Ms. Wainwright."

"You're willing to hurt yourself for that? I thought you were more practical than this, Dessie."

Ms. Wainwright's disapproval stung. I had come to value her highly after Oswald's passing. She cast a long gaze in my direction and sighed. "I'm sorry, my dear. I realize I have hurt you."

I wanted to stick my lower lip out like a petulant child and say, "Yes, you did." But I merely shrugged.

With a delicate pour, Ms. Wainwright layered the frothed cream on top of the espresso. I watched the cascade of clean white foam pour over the dark liquid. She stirred the contents until the drink was a creamy caramel.

"Drink," she said, extending the quaint stone mug to me. I grasped the handle and propped myself against a wall.

The first sip undid all the weariness in my heart. "Oh, my God," I exhaled. "If there is anything holy in this world, Ms. Wainwright, it exists in this mug."

"Well, thank you, I suppose," she replied drily. "I'm going to bundle up some stew for you."

"You don't need to?—"

"I know I don't need to, but I'm going to anyway. I can't stop you from making your choices, Dessie, but I can provide some sustenance along the way."

An hour later, I was walking back to the institute, a casserole of hot stew in a bag slung over my shoulder. The coffee had worked wonders. My mind was no longer fuddled. I wouldapproach Dr. Galbraith again because it felt like I had more of an in with him at the moment. Leon was probably not talking to me after what he saw. I gleaned that from how he ran like a frenzied hare when he saw me with Dr. Magnusson earlier. And well, Dr. Magnusson would do his best to avoid me. I'd win him over, but not tonight. Tonight, I decided, I'd go to my room after a shower, eat the stew with some crusty bread, and fall asleep readingRebecca.

---