It's obvious Ron's never done this before, as he struggles to get the black elastic bands out of her hair. The girl yelps every so often as his fingers comb through tangles trying to undo her braids, but she seems to be doing better under his care thanbefore, no longer obsessively staring and waiting for Owen to walk through the door.
I don't know how to do this. These aren't my kids. I have exactly zero experience with children; I don't know what they eat, if they have routines, or how to read their cues. I don't know how to comfort them without Owen here.
The panic rises in my throat, sharp and sudden. I didn't sign up for four kids overnight. I'm not even capable of holding my own life together and yet I'm taking on the responsibility of a toddler, one who won't stop clinging to me despite me having no idea what to do or even where her clean diapers are stored. Ron's been the one to get them all.
And if I take Bun, I can't leave the others behind. So they're all mine now, but Ron is only a few years younger than me, and I havenoidea how I'm supposed to teach a girl how to brush her hair. How did my mom teach me? I can't even remember not knowing.
Caine clears his throat, pulling me from my spiral. He's moved to the kitchenette, standing in front of the open refrigerator with a perplexed expression.
"Why are there twelve pounds of carrots?" he asks, staring into its depths.
The randomness of the question breaks through my panic. "What?"
He gestures at the fridge. "Carrots. There's enough to feed a stable of horses."
"Uh… they're good for eyesight?"
He grunts and moves on to the tall, freestanding cabinet Owen's repurposed as the cave's pantry. His brow slowly creases as he surveys its contents. "What do you even do with this many apples?" He pulls out a bag filled with small red apples. "There's three more bags in here."
"Snacks. And… fiber?" I guess weakly.
"Bun eats them," Sara pipes up, squeaking as Ron gets at another one of her tangles. "She takes a few bites and then throws them away, though."
Ah. So there's a lot of waste involved.
I wonder how we're supposed to fix that.
Jer snorts, the first sign of his usual personality this morning. "Owen calls them crunchy treats. Says we need the vitamins."
He sounds disgusted. Guess he's not a fan.
Caine eyes the produce skeptically, then shrugs. Without further commentary, he pulls out eggs, bread, and what looks like a cast iron pan. He moves with the confidence of someone who knows what he's doing, cracking eggs one-handed and throwing bread into an ancient toaster.
All the electricity in this place—not that there's much—comes from extension cords strung across the ceiling. Aside from a few lights, most everything running electric is in the kitchen.
Everything being a fridge, a single-burner induction hot plate, a coffee maker, a microwave, and a toaster. I'm pretty sure we can't run them all at the same time. The fridge has its own extension cord.
No idea where the extension cords lead to, but they come out of a wall near the bathroom.
But the miracles of modern day electricity aren't what catch my attention. It's Caine, silently taking over the kitchen as he makes breakfast while wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his hair somewhat mussed from sleep and his face calm.
Watching him now, it's a wonder I ever thought of him as some sort of serial killer. Granted, his facial expressions were darker and he tended to glower every time he looked at me…
This is a side of him I haven't seen before.
He works in silence, the sizzle of eggs filling the cave. When the toast pops up, he arranges everything on mismatched plates—no idea where he found them. Then, surprisingly, he takesa knife and slices apples and pears into thin wedges, creating small piles on each plate.
Bun, still clinging to me, raises her head at the smell of breakfast. Drool drips from her partially open mouth as she stares in Caine's direction.
"Jer, get the margarine," Ron says, and the younger boy shuffles toward the fridge with a yawn.
"Ow," Sara says as he works at another tangle. "That hurts!"
"Well, if you would brush your hair before bed…"
"Owen wasn't home!"
"Learn to do it yourself, then."
