Page 8 of Run Omega Run
Becky caught her easily, lifting her up and spinning her around once before settling her on her hip. "Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?"
"Bunny had dreams about flying," Loubie Lou announced solemnly. "But they were good dreams, not scary ones."
"Flying dreams are the best kind," Becky agreed with complete seriousness.
The other children arrived in quick succession, drawn by Loubie Lou's excited voice and the unfamiliar but wonderful smells filling the kitchen. Denson peered around the doorway first, his collection of smooth stones clutched in one hand, then broke into a grin when he saw Becky. Manny appeared with his broken truck, the grinding of its wheels somehow less mournful when he was hurrying toward someone he loved.
Even Susie, who'd been subdued since yesterday's encounter with the thugs, managed a genuine smile as she navigated around the younger children to give Becky a careful hug.
"Did you bring us food?" Dylan asked, his eyes wide as he took in the abundance spread across the table.
"I brought you choices," Becky said, setting Loubie Lou down and gesturing toward the cereal boxes. "What kind of breakfast sounds good to you today?"
The children clustered around the table, their voices rising as they debated the merits of chocolate versus strawberry, and whether cartoon characters made cereal taste better.
"The monkey one makes the milk taste like bananas," Dylan announced with the authority of someone who'd clearly given this serious thought.
"But the rocket ship one has prizes inside," Denson countered, holding up a box and shaking it experimentally. Macey nodded in agreement; a huge smile plastered on his face.
"Prizes are temporary," Susie said with the wisdom of her fourteen years. "Banana milk is forever."
Becky caught my eye over their heads and made a shooing gesture toward the stairs. "Go," she mouthed silently. "I've got them."
I watched as Becky moved among them, remembering each child's preferences, settling minor disputes with gentle humor, and I understood something I hadn't quite grasped before. This wasn't charity for her, wasn't obligation or pity. This was love, pure and simple, the kind that asked for nothing in return except the chance to give more.
And maybe that was enough. Maybe love was always enough, even when everything else was falling apart.
Chapter 4
Heather
Taking a bowl of plain cornflakes with me, I walked up the creaky staircase and entered the hallway. It felt different this morning, less oppressive somehow, as if the children's laughter downstairs had lightened the very air. But as I approached Mom's room, that familiar tension settled back over my shoulders. The smell of sickness seemed stronger today, cutting through even the lingering vanilla scent that clung to my clothes from standing near Becky.
I knocked softly before pushing open the door. "Mom? I brought breakfast."
She was awake, propped against pillows that looked like they'd swallowed her during the night. Had she gotten smaller since yesterday? It seemed impossible that a person could diminish so quickly, but there she was, looking as fragile as tissue paper in the pale morning light.
Her eyes found mine, and I was relieved to see they were still clear, still sharp with the intelligence that had carried her through twenty years of caring for lost children. But when she tried to sit up straighter, the movement took obvious effort, her hands trembling against the blankets.
"Let me help," I said, setting the bowl on her nightstand and reaching for the extra pillow at the foot of her bed.
"I can manage," she said, but her voice was barely above a whisper, and by the time I'd arranged the pillow behind her back, she was breathing hard from the small exertion.
I settled into the familiar chair beside her bed and picked up the bowl, stirring the cereal to make sure none of the flakes were too large or too firm. "Becky brought real milk today," I said, keeping my voice light. "And enough cereal to let the children choose their favorites."
