Page 9 of Wolves & Watercolors
She laughs at my surprise. “Yeah, it’s pretty weird, right?”
“So weird.” I don’t pull away the second time I feel it.
“They must like you,” Hazel murmurs.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, dropping my hands.
She continues to rub her belly. “Pretty good, considering. I mean, this is getting rather uncomfortable, but I know it won’t last that much longer.”
“When exactly are you due?”
“Next week.” She shrugs, unconcerned. “But first-time mothers usually go late, from what I’ve been told.”
“Are you going to a hospital?” I ask, biting down on my lip as I realize that healthcare access might be a problem out here.
Hazel shakes her head. “I don’t have any complications and we’ve got a nurse here who is more than qualified for a delivery. Actually, she’s delivered most of the kids around here.”
“That makes it sound more like a cult,” I tease.
“That’s what I said when I first got here.”
“But, to be clear, it’s not a cult. No weird rituals I’ll need to watch out for?”
Hazel’s smile is uneven, giving me the distinct feeling she’s holding something back - not the reaction you want to get when you’re worried your sister is a cult leader.
“Of course not. Just people working and hanging out. I think you’ll like it around here. I did.”
“Yeah,” I say, my brows furrowing as I watch her for other clues.
“So, are you hungry? It’s about time for dinner.”
“Cool, where are we eating? Your cabin?” I ask, stepping back onto the porch to retrieve my belongings.
“Oh, actually everyone eats together most days. We have a chef and a baker, and it’s just easier for them to make big meals for everyone,” she says.
“Sounding a bit cult-ish again,” I mutter, laughing dryly when she rolls her eyes at me.
“You’ll want to grab your sweatshirt, Ror. It’ll get cold once the sun goes down.”
“Alright,Mom.” Popping inside, I toss my sketchbook onto the dresser of the guest room and grab my sweatshirt off the bed.
Hazel waits at the steps, her arms crossed over her belly. “Come on,” she says, seizing my hand and tugging me forward.
When she said everyone, she meant the entire community. Thirty or forty people meander around a clearing. The trees are sparser here and buildings form a wide loop. A vintage-style diner sits on the opposite side, where most people gather.
Dozens of eyes follow me. “How often do people visit? I’m getting weird vibes,” I whisper to my sister.
Hazel sighs, her elbow jostling me as she unlinks our arms. “It’s not that common, but I think most people know you’re my sister so they’re just interested because of that.”
“What have you been telling them?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.
She leads us toward the door where Slate waits, talking with Uncle Heath. “Come on, it’s a buffet,” she says, allowing Slate to open the door for her.
“Wow,” is all I can say as the smell of garlic and cheese hits me. A gleaming countertop stretches the length of the building, stacked high with platters of pasta, meat, salad, and bread.
Hazel grabs a plate and begins to load it with breaded chicken, pesto pasta, and fluffy slices of garlic bread. I follow her example and even take a serving of salad.
Slate and Heath trail behind us. It’s as if everyone is waiting for Hazel to go first before they get their own food. As we step out of the far door, I spy a line forming out the door.
