“Are you alright?” he asks.
“Yeah, everything is fine.” Zee says, nodding her head more than she should be.
“Maybe we should go upstairs.” he says.
Zee nods again, trying to keep the dam to her emotions from cracking. As the two trod up the stairs Sweetie emerges from the kitchen. Rosaline’s expression drops and her scowl loosens.
“Nena, can we talk?”
Rosaline remains rigid, her anger still swirling, but tapering off. After a short moment she bobs her head. Sweetie approaches her and motions to the front door. Rosaline steps back outside, with Sweetie in tow. The Latina pushes the door closed. She turns to Rosaline, but can’t bring herself to look the upset woman in the eyes.
“I-I didn’t know they were gonna do this.”
Rosaline keeps silent, presenting no indicators other than the mild scowl that still resides on her face.
“I think...I don’t even know what I think, not really. I just...I liked you...”
She trails off, unable to finish her thought. Rosaline’s scornful look fades into one of grief.
“Liked?”
“Like, liked, what’s it matter now?”
Rosaline reaches for Sweetie’s hand, but it’s pulled away from her grasp, bringing forth a dejected look from her.
“It matters. To me it matters.”
“I don’t know what to say nena.”
Rosaline slumps down into the chair next to her.
“You can’t even look at me.”
The usually energetic Latina’s gaze finally breaks from the wooden porch and wanders up to meet Rosaline’s.
“We don’t really even know each other. We’ve only been hangin' for a few weeks.”
“But there’s something here. I feel it. I know you feel it too.”
Sweetie’s lips part, but she stops herself. Her eyes have become glossy, as beads of liquid moisten their corners.
“I do, but-but I think we were moving too fast.”
“Do you really? Or are you just saying that now?”
“Don’t nena, please.”
“Don’t what?!” Rosaline says, her voice raising.
“Don’t make this harder. I-I can’t take that.”
“You think this is easy for me?”
“No!” Sweetie exclaims, her bottom lip quivering.
Sweetie’s composure gives way, her tears flow like a babbling brook. Rosaline leaves her seat, moving closer to her.
“I’m not trying to upset you, really, I’ve just never felt this way about anyone before.”
“Me either.” Sweetie says through sobs.
Rosaline tenderly reaches for Sweetie’s hand, and this time is allowed. Rosaline pulls Sweetie into her, embracing her gently. Both of them now weeping together, feeling the full weight of the situation.
“Nena...I'm so sorry.”
“Me too.”
Sweetie pulls away from her again.
“I’m sorry, I can’t, I can’t.”
She nervously runs her hand through her long dark hair, then only a moment later, grabs the door handle, flinging it open in a rush of emotion.
“I’m sorry.” she says again, barely able to muster out the words.
She hastily enters the house, leaving Rosaline outside, and alone. When the door shuts again Rosaline drops to her knees on the porch. Her hand clutches her chest, no longer able to hold back her feelings. She weeps intensely, rocking back and forth on her knees. Her forehead rests on the rigid wood. During her convulsions she extends herself out, laying prone on the porch. Her sobs convert to dry-heaves, sucking in air then bellowing it out in howls of sorrow.
The front door cracks open again, but it does not gain her attention, unable to process anything else in this moment. Though a child, Mikey knows what grief looks like. He knows when Rosaline needs to be left alone and when she needs comfort. The boy gently lays out on the porch behind her and rubs her back.
Rosaline turns over to face the concerned child. She presses her face against his chest, pulling him close and wrapping her arms around him. He embraces her with all his might, his little arms locking around her head.
She’s not one to snap at him, and never before has she not allowed him to voice himself. He knew something was wrong. He couldn’t shake that feeling, so after a few moments of being in their room he went back to the stairs, only to find Rosaline gone. When Sweetie came in upset, and Rosaline didn’t follow her, he knew he had to check on her. He doesn’t know what is wrong, or what caused this, but he knows that right now she can't be alone. He'll lay here outside, in the dark, holding her for as long as she needs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
As Karo and Jack trudge across the muddy trail, the rugged nomad’s gaze zips across the landscape, never staying fixed to one area for more than a few seconds. Always on the lookout for danger, and never settled, Karo maintains an ever present mind.
The two set out for the abandoned buildings an hour ago. Their travel has been slowed by the soggy terrain, having rained the previous night. They must be aware of the increase in noise their steps now make.
“I imagine this weather isn’t ideal for supply runs.” Jack says.
Karo doesn’t look back to this companion, and his reply is so soft it’s almost inaudible.
“You’d be right about that.”
Picking up on Karo’s hushed response Jack lowers his own voice.
“So, you worked in finance before all this?”
Karo nods his head.
“How’d you come to be so, well, good at killing the diseased?”
“Practice.”
“That all it takes?” Jack asks, chuckling.
“And knowing each confrontation could be my last.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“It’s not something I want to be good at, I just am.”
Karo points to the west as he adjusts his path. Jack follows, picking up his pace to be next to him. Karo glances at his traveling partner, sensing their conversation isn’t over, he sighs before speaking again.
“What did you do before all this?”
Karo’s demeanor more than tells Jack that there isn’t any true interest behind the question, but he’s going to take the opportunity regardless.
“I was a chef.”
“So you cooked?” Karo replies, in the most matter of fact way.
“No, not just cooking. I have a culinary degree. I worked in a five star restaurant. I ran
