In the secret “not special treatment” room of the longhouse, a ruddy-cheeked woman in her midfifties waits for us, an apron tied around an outfit similar to Taylor’s. Her curly blond hair istucked underneath a handkerchief, smears of flour across on her face and clothes.
“Taylor!” The woman’s bright blue eyes don’t find me for a while as she envelops Taylor in a big bear hug, which is left rigidly unreturned. “You’re so skinny. We need to get meat on those bones. I know, I know, I’m sorry. No hugs! But I haven’t seen you in over a week, young lady.”
“Miss Piccolo, this is Sergeant Claire MacDougal.” The woman extends her hand toward me. Her nails are short, painted a deep eggplant purple, and an Order symbol is tattooed on the inside of her freckled arm. “Sergeant MacDougal, this is Luciana Piccolo.”
Claire shoots Taylor a look. “I may be old, girl, but I’m not stupid. I know who this young woman is. I was older than you when she was born.”
Taylor, for her part, is marginally chastised. “Sorry. Miss Piccolo, Sergeant MacDougal is our head chef here.”
“The name’s Claire, and I’m a cook,” Claire downplays as I shake her hand. “Nothin’ fancy.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say with the deeply ingrained etiquette of my youth. “Don’t sell yourself short. Those potatoes you made this morning were out of this world. I’d be willing to defect for those potatoes alone.”
Claire’s pale skin grows pink beneath her freckles. “You liked those, did you, Miss Piccolo? I’ll keep that in mind. How long are you staying?”
Taylor squints. “She is not a guest. She is my ward.”
“Good. Lord knows you could use some friends,” Claire adds. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Piccolo.”
“Please call me Lucy,” I practically beg, glaring at Taylor, who pointedly ignores me.
“You got it, Lucy,” she replies with a wink. “Don’t give Lucy a hard time, little girl. At least someone appreciates my cooking around here.”
“I appreciate your cooking,” Taylor says, but the battle has already been lost as Claire exits the room through the door near the buffet table. That might be the kitchen, I think excitedly. I wonder if they’ll let me in there. I’m dying to do a normal activity, like sit on a counter and watch people cook.
Reaching for a plate, I catch a glimpse of my grubby hands. “Is there a bathroom I can wash up in?”
Taylor shakes her head. “No, we go in the woods.” Smirking at my horrified stare, she gestures toward the door. “Back in the main room, directly to your right. Do not wander.”
The restroom is easy to find, surprisingly barren. One of the first children I’ve seen here is the sole inhabitant, washing her hands at the sink as she loudly hums the birthday song. Her deep brown, inquisitive eyes blink up at me as I station myself at the sink next to hers and begin washing my hands. Two thin braids roped together with plastic purple zebra hair ties sit atop her tiny orange sweater, tucked into miniature-sized, standard-issue pants.
“Hi,” she greets with a shy smile.
“Hi.” I pump soap onto my hand. “Is it your birthday?”
“Nope! You sing it when you wash your hands, this way you know you washed them enough.” She side-eyes me. “What’s your name? I’m Shelly.”
“I’m Lucy. Nice to meet you.”
Her nose scrunches. “Why are you in orange? I thought the grown-ups were s’posed to be in green.” She reaches on her tippy-toes to turn off the faucet.
Sufficiently rid of the dirt on my hands and forearms, I rinse off and nab a few paper towels for Shelly and me. “I’m new.”
“Do you live here?”
“Right now I do. I’m from New York City.” I toss my paper towel in the wastebasket. “East of here, near the ocean.”
“I know where the New York City is,” she says, sassily planting a hand on her hip. “I’m six, not five.”
As I’m about to respond, Taylor strolls in through the door behind Shelly and the little girl turns around, emitting an ear-piercing squeal.
“Eos!” She waves her hands frantically until Taylor engages her in a short, complex handshake. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“I know.” Taylor gets to one knee and straightens the girl’s shirt. “I’m sorry. I got busy.”
“My daddy told me you were on a special mission and that no one was s’posed to bother you. Do you know Lucy?”
Her sharp pivots in conversation don’t derail Taylor, who warmly responds, “Yes, I do.”
