Page 5 of Snow Blind
"I figured you came all this way for a conversation or for clarification," Helen said, "I am not doing either without food or my coffee. I guess, technically it’s your coffee. I seem to have developed an addiction to those dark roasted beans."
He scowled at her, uncertain if the woman was well. "Are you onthe medication?"
"No, Sir, Señor, Mr. Fer de Lance, the last year of my life has been, well, let's just say, nothing much surprises me anymore," she told him. "Please, have a seat. Standing there lurking is not going to get you either clarification or a conversation that will make much sense."
She went about starting breakfast with the Drug Czar for an entire country sitting at the table as if it occurred every day. She started the kettle and took a Chemex coffee carafe from the counter and added the special filter, which she dampened with a bit of water from the kettle. The man sat at the table watching her, saying nothing.
Helen grabbed a pot from the wall of hanging cookware, added water, and placed it on the stove. She took a bowl of fresh eggs from the counter to the table where he sat. She held her hands up as if she were being patted down, using one hand to open the kitchen cabinet to remove a mixing bowl showing him, while moving slowly, she intended no harm. Helen repeated this action, taking a ceramic container from the countertop and bringing it to the table. She turned the container to face him and slowly opened the top to reveal the contents of ground corn. Again, her hands in the air, she stood facing him, standing on one side of the kitchen drawer, opening it slowly and reaching one hand in to remove the measuring cups. She removed a scoop of the grits from the ceramic container and took them to the pot on the stove.
Helen moved to the fridge and took out wedges of cheddar and parmesan, butter, and cream. She added a bit of cream to the pot of grits, broke off crumbles of the parmesan, and tossed them into the pot. She stirred with a wooden spoon.
Suddenly, she turned to face the man. Her nose was crinkled as if she suddenly smelled something foul. "Hey, wait a minute. That chair wasn't in that corner. You moved it there to be all dramatic, didn't you?"
The man's eyebrows arched as she pointed the grits covered wooden spoon at him. "You are unwell, aren't you?"
"No, that chair wasn't there before. You moved it," Helen said shaking the spoon at him. "You're lucky I didn't shoot you."
She cracked four eggs, then looked at the back door. She cracked two more. Helen looked down the hall, not knowing if the guest would be able to hold down food, and for good measure, cracked two more.
The Fer de Lance also looked toward the hallway as well. "Your handiwork?"
"If I have to do a job, I finish it," she said softly. "Not sure what that's about, plus it's not my house. I, like you, am a guest."
"Hmmm," he replied.
The kettle began to sing as he watched her remove a bag of coffee from Las Tierras. He would ask later how she came to know his brand, among other questions which compounded each minute he spent in her presence. Admiration came briefly as he watched her add two scoops of the coffee. She looked up at him, then added a smidgen of a scoop more. Slowly, she began to pour the water over the grounds, allowing them to bloom. This was the way he made coffee in his home as well.
She whisked the eggs, added cream, and grated a bit of cheese into the bowl. On the stove, a skillet that had warmed enough to melt butter became home to the eggs. Helen stirred the grits, scrambled the eggs, and came to the table to pour more water over the coffee.
"If you want bacon, it's in the fridge," she said to the man.
To her surprise, he rose to retrieve the meat. A bacon rack appeared on the table as the man pulled off six strips and placed them on the microwave safe cooker. Helen stuck it in the microwave and hit four. Once more, she poured water over the coffee as it slowly drained a black emotional equalizer into the carafe. The eggs, now softly scrambled, were ladled onto two plates, alongside bread which popped from the toaster. The microwave dinged, announcing the completion of the meat, and she removed the dish and placed the bacon on a paper towel to blot the grease.
Helen brought it to the table along with two coffee mugs. She removed the filter with the grounds and placed it a small bowl for use later in composting. The grits, stirred and ladled out on the plate next to the eggs, came to the table. She poured coffee for both of them and took a seat. With her head bowed, she prayed over the meal, then added sugar to her coffee with a dab of cream. Slowly, she sipped, sighing in delight.
"This is surreal," she said. "I would rank this as the equivalent of having a glass of wine with a Gallo brother. Your coffee is amazing, but I'm sure you know that."
He said nothing as he added a bit of cream to his own coffee and sipped. "You are not what I was expecting."
"I get that often," she replied. "What were you expecting, if I might ask?"
Looking over the rim of the mug he said to Helen, "A temptress."
Her eyebrows arched. "And who would I have tempted...oh. Is he alright? Micah, is he okay, did something happen to him?"
"He's Micah," the Fer de Lance said.
"Alita, is she well? I know they were talking about colleges; did he decide on one?"
"He has not," the Fer de Lance said.
"Then what may I clarify for you, Señor?"
Honestly, he didn't know where to start. He didn't even know how to begin his reasoning for being in the U.S., let alone in some strange woman's home, seeking another strange woman, to gain...clarification for the changes in his son. He picked up a strip of bacon, surprised at his own hunger, and bit into it.
"The tablet," the Fer de Lance said. "He spent so much time watching the red dot on the tablet. Obsessed almost. Fixated."
"Red dot?"
