Darren and Zormna walked the distance back to their homes. It was still cold, and the sun was setting, resting on the mountains to the west, and it cast long cold shadows over the icy snowy roads. The distance from Jeff’s place was farther than the distance from their place to the school. Both teenagers were shivering when they entered Darren’s front door. The FBI car that parked near Zormna’s place stirred when they saw her go into her neighbor’s house, something she had never done before.
“Mom! I’m home!” Darren called out.
Zormna looked around the front room. There was a set of stairs to the right coming from the small tiled entryway with a living room to the left. The front room had a cheery warm yellowish glow from the many soft lamps around the room. Zormna could smell Italian food cooking: oregano and basil, two smells she was now familiar with.
“Darren! Where were you? Dinner’s almost on!” his mother’s voice called from the back where the kitchen was at.
Darren pulled off his winter boots and his shoes, motioning for Zormna to do the same. He placed them on a carved wooden shoe rack and coat rack that was screwed tightly to the wall.
“I was at a friend’s place,” he said, waving for Zormna to put her coat and scarf up on the coat rack. She shrugged and did as bade, still gazing about the room. The living room had lace curtains, hand tatted, and there were crocheted doilies and embroidered cushions on the matching plaid couches.
“Oh, really? Did you go to that Jeremy Daniels’ house? He’s a nice boy,” her voice said cheerfully.
Zormna could hear the oven rack pull out and the sound of heavy contents heaved onto the top of the stove.
“No, Mom, I went to Jeff Streigle’s house.” Darren started to walk across the living room but turned back to see if Zormna had left everything on the shoe and coat rack. She had, but was now wondering what to do with her book bag. He mouthed, ‘just take it’—so she slung it over her shoulder.
“I don’t think I know this boy. Is his mother in the PTA?” The oven door closed. Zormna heard the patting of slippers on the kitchen linoleum.
Darren walked across the living room to the kitchen and said in a lower voice, “Uh, no, Mom. He lives with his aunt and uncle. He’s a friend of Zormna’s.”
Zormna saw the cheery yet very motherly figure of Darren’s mother walk to the edge of the kitchen wearing a nice apron over a pair of jeans and a flowered shirt with rolled up sleeves. Zormna had never actually seen her up close before. She had caught glimpses of her over the fence and in the distance across the yard. Even now, Zormna lingered on the linoleum at the entryway of the house, peering at her. The sight of such a motherly figure, a compassionate one at that. Since she had been thrown out of the McLenna’s house she found it rather intimidating.
“Oh, is he? That poor girl. I can’t understand how she can bear being alone like that. A poor child like that needs proper parents, that’s what,” Darren’s mother said.
“Mom,” Darren whispered between his teeth, “She’s here.”
Darren motioned over to where Zormna was standing. Mrs. Asher didn’t miss a step.
“So she is! My dear, come on in. Don’t feel unwelcome.” Darren’s mother smiled a sweet and sincere smile that nearly melted Zormna’s nerves. “Will you stay for dinner? We have plenty.”
“Well, I, uh….” Zormna started to say. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she talk normally?
“Uh, Mom, actually, Zormna’s here to help me with some homework,” Darren said.
Zormna’s thoughts moved quickly in panic. “Uh, research. Darren and I were going to use his computer.”
Darren’s mother smiled. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t stay for dinner. Come on in. It’s lasagna.”
Zormna swallowed.
Even Darren seemed to go weak in the knees but not from his mother’s manner. From the very mention of lasagna, his stomach growled and his hunger took over.
He turned back and looked at Zormna. “You can stay for dinner, right?”
Zormna chuckled and nodded.
“Good,” Darren’s mother said. “Then I’ll just set another place for you.”

Mr. Asher returned home fifteen minutes later. Until then, Darren’s little sisters—he had five, one in junior high and four in elementary school—had come down from the upstairs and gaped at Zormna. Emberly, Darren’s sister in junior high, sat right next to Zormna and stared at her. Zormna tried to ignore it, but the girl persisted.
“You don’t look fat,” she at last said, cocking her head.
Zormna turned and looked at her straight. “I should say not.”
“Emberly!” Darren said, giving his sister a ‘zip-it’ expression across his lips with his fingers.
She ignored him. “What I mean is, you don’t look at all like the crazy lady that lived next door.”
“Emberly!” Darren said again, staring at her with goggle eyes.
Zormna chuckled. “No. I don’t suppose I do.”
The other four girls sat at once at her feet, following Emberly’s lead.
“Do you also think you are from Mars?” the second oldest sister asked.
Zormna smiled and looked at Darren. He was shaking his head and throwing up his hands. His mother merely smiled and was working on the tossed salad, but she also seemed to be listening.
“I’m from Ireland,” Zormna said, “and so was my aunt.”
Zormna didn’t like lying yet this one had to be told. It was what everyone else believed about her, and she liked it that way.
The little girls sighed sadly and got up. Zormna really wasn’t that interesting. Emberly didn’t leave, however.
“Did the FBI really kill your aunt?” she asked.
“Emberly!” This time it was her mother that protested.
“It’s ok, Mrs. Asher.” Zormna turned and looked Darren’s little sister in the face. “No. The FBI did not kill my great aunt. They’re investigating the murder though.”
“Which is why they follow you, right?” Emberly continued, looking intrigued.
Zormna nodded.
“I think that is enough of that conversation,” came the final pronouncement from their mother.
Emberly blushed and turned to sit correctly in her spot at the table. However, when her mother wasn’t looking, too busy getting the salad tongs and the croutons, she whispered, “Do you know who did kill her?”
“Emberly! Do you wish to eat dinner tonight?” Mrs. Asher said, placing her hands on her hips and glaring fiercely.
Darren’s sister sat up and didn’t ask Zormna another question until dinner started, and that was to pass the salt.

Mr. Asher said very little at the dinner table. He looked tired and weary, and he hardly noticed Zormna was there at all. Darren had whispered to her in the middle of the meal that his father worked in a factory in the city, and he had long hours so she shouldn’t to get offended if he didn’t talk to her or notice her. Mrs. Asher was especially patient and attentive to her husband, giving him the largest piece of lasagna and packing away another for his lunch the next day. Zormna watched as they ate in silence, excluding a few words from the mother to the kids to pass things to their father. He looked up once during the whole meal, only to remark that he didn’t see any bread, in which Mrs. Asher brought out a loaf immediately.
Dinner was over when Mr. Asher wiped his mouth and stood up. None of the kids left the table until then. When he had stood up, he thanked his wife very kindly and kissed each of his children on their heads before leaving the room to go upstairs and shower. He actually paused when he got to Zormna seeing her for the first time. He almost laughed when he had nearly kissed her on her forehead too.
Zormna watched Darren’s father go and murmured, “So that’s what it is like to have a working father.”
Mrs. Asher heard her and looked down on Zormna with pity and turned away to wipe her eye.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 28.02.2010

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