Roswell went to sit at the chair next to the bed and said, “I have been spending time with Anette as of late.”
“She is such a good girl,” his mother declared. “I remember when you two used to climb trees like monkeys.”
“You remember that?”
“How could I forget it?” she asked. “Anette was insistent that she could do anything you could do, despite you being many years older.”
Roswell grinned. “Yes, Anette has an extraordinary zeal for life.”
“That she does,” his mother stated. “Will you bring her by to visit me?”
“I will.”
He didn’t want to reveal that Anette had almost been abducted the night before or that he had been attacked. There was no reason to worry his mother, especially since there was nothing that she could do in her condition. It was best to keep her in the dark on certain matters.
His mother looked at the food on her tray with disgust. “I don’t know why the doctor told your father that I needed a special diet. I am perfectly fine to eat as I always have.”
“I can speak to the doctor,” Roswell suggested.
“It will do no good. I have already tried.” His mother held the tray up. “Will you get rid of this for me?”
Roswell accepted the tray and placed it onto the side table. “Won’t you be hungry?”
His mother slipped her hand under her covers and retrieved a piece of dry sweetmeat. “I will be just fine.”
“Where did you get those?”
Without looking the least bit ashamed, she replied, “Octavia got them for me.”
“Does the doctor know you are eating sweets?”
His mother gave him a pointed look. “No, and you are not going to be the one who tells him. Promise me.”
Roswell had no intention of telling the doctor, or anyone else, for that matter. If his mother wanted sweets, he saw no problem with it. “I promise.”
“Would you care for one?” she asked, holding a piece of dry sweetmeat up.
“No, thank you,” Roswell replied.
The door opened and his father stepped into the room. His mother quickly ate the dry sweetmeat and covered her mouth with her hand as she chewed the treat.
His father gave a disapproving look at the tray of food. “You hardly touched your food,” he chided. “You need to eat.”
His mother stuck up her nose at the tray. “I will if you get me something that is edible,” she said firmly.
“The doctor said—” his father attempted.
His mother cut him off. “The doctor is wrong. I need sustenance.”
“The doctor felt you could benefit from a bland diet,” his father said.
“I want pudding,” his mother stated. “Lots of it.”
“For breakfast?” his father asked.
His mother shrugged her thin shoulders. “I think I used to eat pudding for breakfast. That is why I am so fond of it.”
“I assure you that you never ate pudding for breakfast,” his father said.
