Morgan rose early to meditate, and finished well before Cameron would be awake. Her thoughts, of late, had often turned to him, and even this recognition that she would have her first cup of coffee without him brought a fond smile to her lips for the familiarity of it. And for the sound of his voice chiding her to sleep in once in awhile, just for fun.
Her slippered feet made no sound as she entered the kitchen to find Phedre already making breakfast. She had only met the young woman once, but once had been enough to tell Morgan something had transpired to upset her. Phedre's grace was such that it would take an egregious circumstance to cause her to show such a face in public.
They were not friends, and perhaps Phedre would prefer not to speak to her, but her distress was great and Morgan found she could not turn away. "Phedre," she said gently, voice as soothing as she might make it, but added nothing more that might discomfit her.
"Oh," I said, looking up with a rueful expression. "Forgive me, how long were you standing there?" I stood; the timer on the biscuits was about to go off, and I was grateful for a second to compose myself, even if it was with my head practically in the oven. "It's been a trying morning," I said with an easier smile as I turned, sliding the tray of hot biscuits onto the countertop. "I hope you are hungry; there's more here than three of me could put away."
She had not, in fact, planned to eat before Cameron arrived. Yet Morgan offered Phedre a grateful smile. "It is kind of you to share. I confess I have not yet learned to cook beyond the simplest of fare," she answered smoothly, before tilting her head and softening her expression. "You will tell me, if there is anything I might do to help with either the meal or the morning." Although she did not phrase it as a question, the gentle lift of her voice made it an invitation rather than a command.
"I will," I said, though I had no intention of doing so. It was not something I could explain to a near stranger, but I felt it did me more good to do the work myself than it ever could to let someone do it for me. "I confess I only learned to cook myself when I came here," I added, grateful for a topic on which I could make conversation. "I never thought I would make anything in the kitchen but trouble, yet I have learned I am not as bad a cook as I thought."
Abby smelled breakfast and that was always something that got her attention. She had been in the lab since early, working on researching some of the stuff Dani had told her Ayla had left and her stomach was starting to remind her that she'd just grabbed a mini-muffin before she started working on this stuff.
She walked into the kitchen, intent on thanking whoever it was had decided to make the full spread, when she noticed Phedre, nearly crying into the biscuit mix.
"Phedre? Would you like me to finish making those?" she offered, rather than asking why Phedre was almost crying. She'd tell her if she wanted.
I looked up, a bit startled; my mind had begun to wander down the path that Hyacinthe and I had taken from the time he arrived on the island until today, and I had forgotten what I was doing. "Oh," I said, knowing my face did not hide my feelings nearly as well as I wished it to. "My mind went somewhere and left the rest of me behind. I'm alright," I added, sitting up straighter, then amending, "Or at least, I will be."
"That happens sometimes," she agreed easily. "I can't even count the number of times I've been supposed to be working on one thing and off my mind goes to something else without even asking permission."
Phedre's pretty face was just written all over with unhappiness and she wondered whether she maybe should ask after all.
"Sometimes working helps me not think about things I don't want to think about anymore. It's a different path to wander around on mentally."
I could see Abby was trying to ask me what was the matter, and realized, too, that trying to hide it would do no good for someone who knew me at all. "I'd hoped to find such solace in this," I admitted, "but I fear this is too much for mere cooking to distract me from. One of my dearest friends has gone from the island this morning," I said, hoping if I said it baldly I would not feel the sting of it so keenly; in this I was wrong, but I did not begin to weep as I'd feared, and I counted that a piece of luck.
Alcuin hadn't been looking for Phedre, but as soon as he walked into the kitchen and saw her, he registered her distress. To see her upset was a truly awful thing for him, even if it was a subtle beginning.
She had just set down the pot of coffee, so rather than saying anything, he approached and embraced her, hoping that she realized she could cry all she wanted without saying a word if she liked.
It was the kind of simple comfort Hyacinthe would have given me himself were he here to offer it, and as Alcuin's arms tightened around my shoulders I felt something untie within my heart, and I began to cry, both for what I had lost and for what I still had. I did not go long without trying to offer explanation, though; I knew Alcuin would be worried to see me thus distraught. "Hyacinthe is gone," I said as soon as I had breath to spare, though the fact of saying it aloud only made the tears come faster.
"Oh, darling," Alcuin murmured softly in French against her hair, "I am so, so sorry." He held her tighter and let her cry, understanding exactly what she was feeling, especially with the loss of Will and Giacomo still fresh in his mind.
It was such a relief, to have someone remove the burden of pretending everything was fine; and in truth I felt I should have gone to Alcuin first, for I could always trust him to offer comfort when I had most need of it. For minutes I merely let him hold me, turning so my cheek pressed against his shoulder, my hands wrapped tightly around his. Finally my tears began to slow, my breathing to even out, and I lifted my head enough to meet Alcuin's eyes. "Thank you," I whispered, my voice a little hoarse.
Comments 59
Her slippered feet made no sound as she entered the kitchen to find Phedre already making breakfast. She had only met the young woman once, but once had been enough to tell Morgan something had transpired to upset her. Phedre's grace was such that it would take an egregious circumstance to cause her to show such a face in public.
They were not friends, and perhaps Phedre would prefer not to speak to her, but her distress was great and Morgan found she could not turn away. "Phedre," she said gently, voice as soothing as she might make it, but added nothing more that might discomfit her.
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She walked into the kitchen, intent on thanking whoever it was had decided to make the full spread, when she noticed Phedre, nearly crying into the biscuit mix.
"Phedre? Would you like me to finish making those?" she offered, rather than asking why Phedre was almost crying. She'd tell her if she wanted.
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Phedre's pretty face was just written all over with unhappiness and she wondered whether she maybe should ask after all.
"Sometimes working helps me not think about things I don't want to think about anymore. It's a different path to wander around on mentally."
There. That sort of mentioned it but didn't.
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She had just set down the pot of coffee, so rather than saying anything, he approached and embraced her, hoping that she realized she could cry all she wanted without saying a word if she liked.
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