“I never turn down a free meal.”
Foster readied herself to ground out a witty insult when Tate caught her eye. He had that little-kid “please, please, please will you let Finn come over and play” look in his big blue, puppy dog–sweet eyes. Foster sighed. She might not need friends, actually, the thought of having to go make any made her skin feel all hivey, but Tate wasn’t cut from the same icy blue loner cloth she was. If anything, he was from the pastel-colored, squishy baby elephant print variety.
Foster made sure to lock the deadbolt before following the boys into the kitchen. “Did you get eggs when you went to the store?” she asked, surprising herself by how semi-happy and normal she sounded—like this was a regular day in her regular life and not the first day of the horrible, shit-show, freakazoid nightmare that would be her new norm.
“If you didn’t, we can go out back and grab some. They’re better straight from the coop anyway. No pesticides, GMO corn, none of that crap. Just simple, speckled eggs as nature intended.”
“There are chickens here? We have chickens?” Tate fluttered around the kitchen with so much excitement, Foster thought he might take flight. For a big, jocky guy he can sure act like a little kid.
“And a pig, two cats, one burro, three goats, one cow, a sheep, and two horses.”
“It’s a zoo,” Foster grunted, hunting through each of the yellow cabinets for pots and pans.
“Oh, and a duck and a goose. Did I mention them? I lose track sometimes when I’m not calling them each by name.”
“Because it’s a zoo,” she reiterated, pulling out a skillet and setting it on the stovetop.
“Horses?” Wistfully, Tate set down a carton of orange juice and a few glasses in front of Finn. “Oh, man, I love horses.”
“If you’re ever out in the pasture,” Finn motioned to the window above the kitchen sink. “Just bring them some carrots and they’ll love you right back.”
“My grandpa raised running quarter horses. What kind are they?”
“They’re not horses,” Foster remarked, staring out at the pasture at the two almost identical, dapple-gray Hulk-sized creatures. “They’re dinosaurs. Big, hairy dinosaurs.”
“Close. They’re Percherons.”
Foster shivered. Horses were pretty much gigantic cars with minds of their own, and Percherons looked like the monster truck version. Why would anyone drive a car that had its own brain?
“No way,” Tate breathed as he stared through the window at the beasts. “I can’t wait to get out there with them. I’ve never been up close and personal with a draft horse that size. Are they broke?” he asked, absentmindedly pressing the carton of eggs against Foster’s stomach as he slid into the breakfast nook.
“Oh, yeah. And sweet as can be,” Finn said.
“Umm, excuse me. What exactly am I supposed to do with these?”
Tate shrugged. “We’ll eat ’em any way you make ’em.”
Foster didn’t conceal her scoff. “I’m sorry. I must have heard you incorrectly.”
“Uh-oh,” Finn said, resting his scruffy chin on his knuckles. “You’re in trouble now.”
“Yeah, so, I’m just going to set these right here. You want eggs, you make them yourself.”
“No, wait. I didn’t mean that since you’re a woman that—”
Foster shoved her hands on her hips, waiting for him to finish.
“I—I mean,” Tate stammered, “that you should cook because—”
Foster clenched her jaw so tight her teeth might shatter.
“I just…” Tate looked at Finn who simply smiled at him with that silly crooked grin. “I think I’m going to make us some eggs.”
“I think that’s for the best,” Foster said.
“You are so much like Ms. Cora,” Finn said with a deep, appreciative chuckle.
Anguish squeezed Foster’s chest so tightly her inhale sounded more like a labored squeak than a drawing of breath. “She’s dead.” Foster numbly lowered herself into the chair opposite Finn. “Her heart. She, uh … she’s dead. You’re the first person I’ve told, actually. The very first. Wasn’t that hard. Ripped it off like a Band-Aid.”
“Foster,” slowly, Finn reached across the table and covered her hand in his. “I’m so sorry.” His deep umber skin against her pale, freckled hands reminded her of Cora.
She jerked her hands back, balling them into fists in her lap. “I’m fine. Really.” She slathered on her best attempt at a smile. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”
Tate squeezed her shoulder as he slid a steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of her, his eyes glistening. There it was again. That bond, that pull that made her want to stand up and bury her head in his chest and tell him that she was losing faith that this time it would all turn out okay. That she was actually starting to think that maybe she couldn’t fight all of this alone. That maybe she had already had her allotted amount of people who would love her and that she had gone through all of them already.
“These are great, Tate. Thanks, man,” Finn said around a mouthful of fluffy yellow. “You had some questions, Foster. Did you want ask now or—”
“No.” The word came out a whisper and Foster cleared her throat and reapplied her smile. “Some other time. I, uh, my stomach is feeling kind of wonky, so…”
Finn’s phone chimed. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have to go pick up the Gator from the shop.”
“There are alligators out here, too?” Foster asked, thankful for the distraction.
Finn laughed. “It’s a UTV.”
Foster blinked up at him.
“A utility vehicle. It’s like a golf cart, but built to handle farm life,” Tate said. “Guess being homeschooled didn’t teach you everything, huh?”
“Actually, I could use some help if you don’t mind, Tate,” Finn said.
“Sure! I’ll just go put on…” He glanced down at his sweatpants and slippers. “Well, I guess this is all I have.”
“Okay, we can fix that while we’re out, if you want,” Finn offered as if Tate’s lack of clothing wasn’t weird at all.
“But we have to go do, you know,” Foster said.