Page 55 of Haze of Obedience
"How do you know?"
"I just do." I grab my bag then pull out my gun and knife.
"If he's far away, why are you getting your weapons out?"
"The gun is precautionary. The knife is so I can make you a lemon, honey, ginger tea. When it's ready, you can try my snake and tell me if it's as bad as you remember."
She groans.
"Come on."
"Fine. But don't get your feelings hurt when I hate it."
"I don't think you will. I'm an excellent chef."
She slides off my lap. "Hmm. What else can you cook?"
"Nothing fancy. But I can make anything taste good."
"Well, do share your secrets," she teases.
I cut up her lemon and ginger and put a few pieces aside. I get out my tiny pot and pour water from the cantina and then add the lemon, ginger, and teabag. "My grandparents lived with us. They were migrant workers and eventually got a job at the production plant in town, but like your family, they grew up hunting to survive. My grandfather taught my brothers and me how to hunt when we were young. My grandmother taught us how to use whatever we had to create different flavors. If you killed it, you had to skin it and cook it. That was the rule."
She smiles. "That sounds like a nice family tradition."
"Never saw it that way, but I guess you're right."
"Do you see your family a lot?"
My heart sinks. "My grandparents died a few years ago."
"I'm sorry. That must have been painful."
"They were in their eighties, but I didn't get to see a lot of them after I left for the military. I see my brothers and father a few times a year."
"That's nice."
I pull the boiling liquid off the fire, pour it in a cup, and then add honey to it. I hand it to Zoe. "Careful, it's hot."
She takes it and pauses. Her eyes glisten, and I can't read the expression on her face. "Thanks."
I wink. "No problem, my Little Diva."
A smile plays on her lips. She takes a small sip.
Just ask her.
"Do you see your family ever?"
She closes her eyes and leans her head against the tree. "I've not seen them since I was fourteen."
Pain crosses her face.
I place my hand on her thigh. She opens her eyes and glances at me. "Can I ask why?"
"I ran away, so I didn't have to pick berries my entire life. My parents kept telling me that I needed to accept my place in life. When I started making a decent wage, I sent them money every month. I wrote them letters and asked them to write or call me if they had a phone. We didn't have one when I grew up."
"They never contacted you?"
