The Iron Quill Read Online Free Page B

chopped onion and tomatoes on the counter. It looked like she was gearing up for something. “So what are you cooking?”
    “Oh, well, I missed you, and with Wes gone, you seem a bit gloomy.” Little did she know that knives stabbed at my insides when she said that word
gone
but I held it together. “So I thought I’d make one of your favorites. Grandma’s homemade chili and cornbread.”
    Yum, the thought of it did melt away some of the stinging knives, and my face must’ve shown my brewing comfort.
    “See, I knew it would make you feel better.” She turned back toward her preparations. “And Tom’s coming over, too. He wants to help cheer you up.”
    “Really?” I liked Tom. He seemed cool, but the idea of him caring about cheering me up took me by surprise.
    “Yeah, he does.” She turned, looking over her shoulder, and offered a gentle nod with a smile.
    I made my way over to the fridge in search of a bottled water to take upstairs. She chopped and kept talking.
    “He really does like you, you know?”
    I pulled the water out and shut the door. “Uh, okay.”
    She turned completely around to face me, waving her knife in the air. “He does. And that’s important to me. You know, he’s been widowed for ten years, and ever since he lost his only son, he’s been alone. I think you bring him comfort, almost like the daughter he never had.”
    That’s pressure.
“Wow. Okay.”
    “I’m just saying. That’s what I think. At any rate . . . “ She turned back to the victims of her utensil, “he’s coming and hopefully, between the two of us, we can fill the void until Wes comes home.”
    I smiled. “Thanks. I’ll be upstairs for a while. Homework.”
    Listening to her talk about Wes, one would think she knew why he was really gone, but she didn’t. She just thought he was on a small trip and would be back soon. She attributed my near depression to just plain missing him. Which I
did
, but my fears were so much deeper than that.
    I felt the tears well up in my eyes again as I closed my bedroom door. The idea of homework was pushing lightly at my temples, and even stronger than that was Wes’ voice telling me to do it. He wouldn’t want me falling behind in school, but I had to ignore it.
Sorry, Wes.
Instead, I plopped on my bed and buried my head beneath the pillow.
    Images of the two of us passed through my mind in slow motion until they faded away, into the darkness of my sleep.
    “Sophie!” My name was distant, but I could tell it was a shout.
    I squeezed my eye lids closed and then blinked a few, slow, groggy blinks.
What time is it?
    “It’s time to eat! Come on down, honey.”
    I turned over, quickly reaching for my phone while the delicious smell raced up my nostrils. It was undeniably mouthwatering, but the sensation was overtaken by disappointment when I saw zero missed calls on my cell.
    I willed my legs to follow the source of the smell until I was in the dining room. My mom had set it up as if it were Thanksgiving.
    Tom passed by me carrying a tray of cornbread. “Hey, Sophie.”
    “Hey.”
    “This looks delicious. Your mom outdid herself with this.”
    I smiled, looking down at the visible corn chunks and melted cheddar cheese baked inside the cornbread, and just like my Nana, she cut it up in huge square portions. I gravitated toward the table, fighting off memories of the last time we’d eaten in this room.
    It had been Christmas dinner and Wes was sitting in the empty seat, playing footsie with me under the table.
    Bringing me back to reality, my mom set the chili pot on the table along with bowls of shredded cheese and sour cream. I wanted to dive into the pot and cover myself with the warm sauces and spiced meat. By far, the best comfort food on the planet. I devoured the first helping of both the chili and bread
and
went back for more.
    My mom and Tom seemed pleased with my appetite, but spared me questions while I ate, keeping themselves at the center of the conversation.