Chapter 8- Breaking Off #2
“You said it with a straight face, which is either a practiced lie, or you want to keep who you are away from me,” he said.
“My birth certificate says Shenita. My father named me Shenita, and my mother agreed with him,” she said, offering a soft smile.
“Fair enough, Ms. Shenita,” he said. “Depending on what the instructor has planned for tomorrow, I will show you the way.”
“Thank you,” Helen said, feeling better about the circumstance, but still, the nagging feeling would not go away. She didn't want to be here.
****
DONOVAN WAS LATE COMING up the stairs for his morning helping of a boiled egg and unbuttered crunchy white toast. The coffee sitting in the pot on the counter was a mixture of some hipster’s idea of a morning ritual ground together with pecans.
It tasted like a squirrel had shitted and someone boiled it then poured it in a cup.
Curiosity prompted Helen to head to the basement.
In one area underside of the home, the cars were parked in the three-car garage.
Her car took the single space and the free plug to prevent her battery from freezing in the sub-zero temperature.
A wall with a door divided the space with a small workstation which housed lawn equipment and basic home tools.
The remainder of the space was a closed in room.
She assumed this where Donovan was staying.
It was warmer in the basement that she imagined, thinking the fireplace in the space was warming the other half of the space, preventing the cold. Helen walked to the door and tapped lightly, waiting for permission to enter or him to meet her at the opening.
“I'm coming,” she heard the call, then the words, “Open up. Open up.”
Helen opened the door. She blinked twice and silently closed it back. It was then The Cranberry made up her mind to leave this home. This was not the place for her, and she no longer needed to be here; however, it was cold as hell outside, and she didn’t plan to start driving on an empty stomach.
First thing, she went to her bedroom and grabbed the bag of special beans Micah Delgado had sent her of his select blend of coffee.
In the kitchen, she dumped the pot of swill in the carafe, washed it with soap and water, and began to brew her own.
Next, she located flour, salt, and butter to make a batch of Ruth's biscuits.
When Helen opened the fridge, she spotted a pot roast that may have been cooked the day before she arrived, and she pulled that out as well.
“Channel the feelings. Channel the thoughts. Sort through what you're feeling,” she said to herself.
From under the counter, she found a stew pot.
The Wolf stove was a chef's dream, and Helen would make the pot of soup Donovan had requested along with the biscuits before she left.
She located the root bin, grabbed a few potatoes, carrots, and onions, and in the fridge, she spotted a wilted stalk of celery.
She made quick work of a roux, cutting up the roast and chunking it in the pot.
She added canned tomatoes and tomato sauce, and in a cabinet, she found spices.
“A whole damned cabinet full of seasonings and spices, yep, unopened,” she grumbled, pulling down what she needed, sprinkling spices into the pot like a witch making a potion. After pouring in a container of vegetable broth, the soup was underway.
Once the ingredients were all mixed, she set the burner to allow the soup to come to a slow boil to simmer.
Next, she scrambled eggs with grated cheddar and pan-seared a few slices of Canadian bacon.
Sighing, she poured herself a cup of wonderful as Bella appeared in the kitchen just as the oven dinged.
Helen removed the biscuits, plating one, along with a smidgen of her homemade jam she'd also brought downstairs and passed it to the woman.
She poured Ms. Bella half a cup of the wonderful coffee, careful not to give the old bird too much and have her hyped up, running around unhinged outside in the cold trying to make snow angels as well.
One bite into the biscuit, and Ms. Bella looked as if she remembered who the hell she was before the accident. Helen smiled as she pulled out three plates and placed eggs, biscuits, and ham on each one, setting them for the other two. Donovan appeared next, his hair mussed, and he was smiling.
“Morning,” he said as Helen passed him a plate and poured him half a cup of coffee.
Helen's back was turned when Tiffany arrived and saw the biscuits. Helen provided her the same along with, “After breakfast, I'm heading home.”
Tiffany sipped the coffee, her eyes growing wide from the amazing taste. “You haven't completed your training.”
“Honey, if you can teach anthropology online to students and they get it, you can do the same for me from my home,” Helen said.
“Is something wrong? Are you uncomfortable here?” Tiffany asked. “Have we made you feel unwelcome?”
“Not at all, but this feels wrong in my spirit, and I always listen to my gut. My gut says to leave,” she replied.
“The soup is simmering; here are the biscuits you wanted. You can order this brand of coffee online for it to be delivered, but this is a special blend I wanted to share with you before I left.”
Helen said a quick prayer and began to eat her meal. She would have a conversation in private that Tiffany may not want other ears to hear. Hell, she didn't want to have it, but it would happen. After finishing her meal, she washed her dishes, stirred the pot of soup, and made for the stairs.
Packing wouldn't take her long since she’d started it last night. Just as she zipped the suitcase, Tiffany appeared at the door. She tapped lightly, and Helen told her to enter.
“Talk to me,” Tiffany said. “Have we offended you? Did he offend you by asking you to cook?”
“This house feels wrong to me, Tiffany,” she said. “He feels wrong. He arrives the same day as I do with a sob story, and you invite him in from the cold. Suddenly, he's the Bella whisperer, and this morning, your legs are on his shoulders. What are you doing, Sis?”
Tiffany’s face showed shock that Helen knew about her dirty little escapade in the basement. “What? How did you know that?”
“I came downstairs to see the space,” Helen said. “Little did I know when he yelled, I'm coming, I thought he meant to answer the door. Also, when he yelled open up, I didn't know he meant your legs, so I opened the door and saw entirely too much. I need a mental enema.”
“Sorry about that, but I'm grown and it's my house,” Tiffany said.
“Sure, the fuck is, which is why I'm leaving you to it,” Helen said, sliding her laptop in the bag. For good measure, she checked under the bed and around the floor to ensure she hadn’t left anything.
Tiffany’s face showed confusion. “You're leaving because I screwed him? Did you want a turn?”
“Honey, I have a husband whom I'm going home to,” Helen said, sighing.
“Listen, I get it. You're lonely and wanted or craved human touch; we all do. He’s healthy and willing to provide service by breaking you off a little something nasty.
He showed up a day ago, Tiffany. You still have no idea how he tracked you or if he tracked me to get to you. Now, you're sharing spit with him?”
“Helen, I’m not sure how you made this be about you, or why is this bothering you so much.”
Helen rolled the suitcase to the door and grabbed her coat and scarf. She slid on one leather glove, then the other. She slung her favorite crossbody bag over her shoulder.
“There is a lot happening in this house, especially with Bella. Loneliness can be a bitch, and he knows it,” Helen said. “He's tapped into what you and Bella both wanted or needed and he's tried several times to read me. You let him into this home. I don't trust him, and I'm letting you know.”
“It would seem, as my compatriot, you'd want to stay and have my back,” Tiffany said.
“As you told me, you're grown, and this is your house. You are a full-fledged Technician, and as far as I know could probably kill either of us without blinking,” Helen said.
“I've done my part. I spotted the snake, pointed him out in the grass.
You not only decided the pet it; you also fucked it. I'm leaving. We can work online.”
“What if I tell Azrael you've failed?” Tiffany asked.
“Then I go on about my mutherfucking life,” Helen said, “but this, I'm not doing. You're not so lonely that you’re stupid, and for the people in the cheap seats, the Chrysalis hired a tracker to find me. He found me, but I also found him. After I located him and tickled his toes in his house while he was sleeping, the next day he packed his shit and moved. They don’t know where he is. As far I know, the gent downstairs could be that dude’s replacement, so once more, good luck with all of it. ”
Helen said nothing more. She exited the home down the stairs to the basement and her car. It took two loads to bring her planned stay into the home. It only took one to get the fuck out of that weird ass house.
In her Ford Explorer, she fired it up. The side door on the garage was operated internally by a motion detector and raised. Helen placed the SUV in four-wheel drive and eased out of the driveway. She made it as far as Minneapolis when her Technician phone rang.
“Go for Cranberry,” she said, knowing who it was.
“You're on the move,” the voice said.
“I'm headed home.”
“Any reason why because you didn't clear it with me?” the voice said.
“It feels bad,” Helen said. “The white landscape outside the house, the boiled eggs for breakfast, the white people inside the house, all of it feels bad.
That momma being locked in her head when she was President of the Women's Auxiliary, Sour Grapes overlooking the obvious and doing stupid shit.
It's fucking with my calm, and I don't want any part of it.”
“And your training?”
“Boss, if she can teach students virtually about boring ass anthropology and how the Incas took a shit and used it to fertilize maize, then she can set up a video chat to show me how to read and run code,” Helen said.
“Hell, give me two books and a couple of days, and I can figure it out by myself. Did you know I read one of those textbooks Lemon wrote and then I made a love potion?”
“You made a what?”
“Yeah, it worked too. That sexy man married me,” Helen said.
“Well, not just because of the love potion, but because, heck I'm awesome.
That's what he told me. No, it was amazing.
He said I am an amazing woman. Lemon thought I was weird and nasty when she caught me in her lab with my pants down, but that's another story.”
The voice asked, “Cranberry, you're upset and off kilter. Should you be driving?”
“I needed to get out of there, Boss. He feels wrong,” Helen said, knowing Azrael knew the man was there.
“She still doesn't know how he tracked her or if he was tracking me.
He asked my name, and I told him Shenita.
He was trying to read me. I didn't like it, so I left.
If it means I will not be a technician, so be it.
I did what was asked, but if my spirit says it's not right, then it's wrong. I trust my gut. My gut says he's bad.”
“Okay,” the voice said.
“Okay what? I'm off the team?”
“Okay, I trust your gut,” Azrael replied. “Catch your breath. Are you stopping at Apple's for the night?”
“No, I want to go home. I want to be in my bed, eating my food, and snuggling with my guy,” she said. “If I keep a steady pace, I can be home by dinner.”
“Let's circle back when you get your bearings, crafted a few items, and sorted out the stew in your gut,” the voice said.
“Roger that. Cranberry out,” Helen said, terminating the call.
Donovan Turnbull was playing a dangerous game. Helen didn't know which was more toxic, the home, the situation with Bella, or the man. Either way, it felt like a bunch of ick. Her training in cyber would get done from her home.