Burning for You (Blackwater) Read Online Free Page B

here.  Go downstairs to the kitchen
and see what you can dig up in that bare fridge downstairs and fix us something
to eat.  Not a Lean Cuisine.  Real food.  Then we’ll talk.”
    “I’ll probably have to order a
pizza,” I joke.  Isabel rolls her eyes and switches the vacuum back on,
returning to the hallway carpet.
    I pad downstairs, looking for signs
of my mother but see a note from her.  “Went to lunch with Renee.  Back in a
few hours.”  Renee is Renee Dubois, my mother’s best friend.  Her daughter
Eleanor is my age, and the three of us were often thrown together to play. 
Eleanor and I got along pretty well.  We would bond by making fun of Heidi
together, mostly because Heidi is insane.  I look up at the clock, wondering
how it could be lunchtime already, but there it is, past noon.  I can’t
remember the last time I slept so long, but a five hour drive and an emotional
day wiped me out.  I’d planned my escape from Michael for some time.  Now that
it was finally executed, I wondered how long it would take for the shit to hit
the fan.  So far he hasn’t called, which puts me on edge.  I’d almost rather
hear from him and know what his reaction is than expecting to see him pop out
from around every corner.  Just thinking about it makes my heart pound and my
throat clench up in fear, and so instead I attempt to distract myself with
food.
    Except of course there’s
practically nothing to eat, which is revealed when I open the fridge.  The
cliché bottle of ketchup and box of baking soda are there, as well as twelve
stocked cans of cold Diet Coke.  Upon further inspection, I do find six eggs, a
stick of butter that very well may be expired, some heavy cream, a block of
white mystery cheese and two apples.  I take those out and smile, realizing
that all of the things I need to make the only thing I actually know how to
cook are here.  I inspect the butter and see the expiration date is still in
the future, and my memory serves me well enough to locate a bowl, a whisk, a
frying pan and two plates.  I help myself to a Diet Coke as I start to cook,
cracking the eggs into a bowl, adding a generous amount of heavy cream, salt,
pepper and small chunks of butter into the eggs.  I’ll make French eggs for
Isabel’s and my lunch.  I even find some truffle oil to coat the pan, which is
something I haven’t indulged in since I left Blackwater.  As the egg mixture
bubbles and solidifies on the frying pan, I cut chunks of cheese and the apples
up into slices on a wooden chopping board and lay them out on the plates.  In
three minutes, the eggs are done.  I serve them on the two plates and set them
on the small kitchen table, built to seat four people.  The likely truth is
that four people haven’t sat at this table since my dad left.
    Isabel has finished upstairs and
comes to sit with me at the table, grabbing a Diet Coke out of the fridge
first.  I watch her pop it open, wondering how she can open a can without
breaking her perfectly manicured and blinged out acrylic nails.  She uses her
fork to cut into the eggs and takes a bite.  She moans dramatically.  “You
always did make the best French eggs.”
    “It’s amazing I found anything to
make at all,” I say, quietly agreeing with her.  I would try to make these for
Michael but without being able to afford good truffle oil, mine never
compared.  “So don’t pretend like you didn’t just drop a bomb on me, Isabel. 
What is a catalyst?  And what is it that my mother never talked to me about?  I
mean besides everything.”
    Isabel winces, feeling the truth
behind my words.  “Your mother has had a hard time, Leah,” she says, making me
not want to hear what she has to say.  It’s hard to dredge up sympathy for a
woman who made it clear that she wanted me out of her life at an early age. 
“She’s changed since your dad left.  Without him, she’s not everything she can
be.”
    “Where’s the part where you get to
the