Free Etta and Otto and Russell and James by Emma Hooper

child went into the kitchen and brought it to him, arms straight out. It was oatmeal-raisin.
    Thank you, said Russell.
    Oh, no problem, said the girl. She rested one hand on the table, made no move to leave. Russell cut a bit of egg, put it on a bit of toast, and lifted it to his mouth. The girl watched him, a little bored.
    Good? she said.
    Yes . . . thanks, said Russell. Thank you.
    It’s not hard, she said, to cook an egg. I’ve been doing it forever.
    Oh, yes, said Russell. But still. He cut another piece of egg, accidentally piercing the yolk. It spread across his plate. Say, he said, shouldn’t you be in school today?
    Nah, said the girl. I don’t go to school. Home-learning. Teach myself. Post it in. You know? So I have time to run this place. It’s important, though, I know, learning, especially math, for adding the price of eggs and the price of toast and the price of a hermit cookie, right? Then for figuring the amount you give me minus that amount for change. Then to figure out if you left a good tip or not. It’s important, I know, just not to be there. I can be around kids whenever I want. Wednesday’s kids-eat-free-with-paying-parents, for example. Lots of kids around then.
    And your parents?
    In Toronto. We’ve been running this place on our own for fouryears now. Speaking of which, I guess I’ll go check on the pies. You won’t be lonely?
    Oh, no, I’ll be fine. But, can I ask one more thing?
    Yeah, course.
    Have you seen an older woman, on her own, dusty, probably, walking through here or past here? . . . Wait, I’ve got a photo. Russell took his wallet from his back pocket and pulled a haggard black-and-white picture from between two five-dollar bills. That’s her, he said. A little while ago though. Just the lady, not the man.
    In the photo, Etta was wearing a sort of ivory dress suit. Narrow skirt, blouse, tapered jacket. She was smiling. It was her wedding photo. Russell had taken the photo himself.
    So, about sixty years older than this. But still, her, said Russell.
    That’s not you, said the girl, pointing at the man in the photo, at Otto.
    No, said Russell, that’s Otto.
    How strange . . . said the girl. No, I haven’t seen her. But I don’t get out of here much. Hold on, I’ll get the dish boy and ask him.
    Russell ate as much of his eggs and toast as he could while the waitress went back into the kitchen. When she appeared again, she had a little boy with glasses and freckles with her. His glasses were all fogged over. My brother, she said, he does the dishes. She turned to the boy. Tell him what you told me, she said.
    My window, said the boy, by the sink, it looks over the road and the fields behind it. I see loads of trucks and tractors and combines and stuff. And animals sometimes too, sometimes deer—
    Deer? said Russell.
    Yes, yes, said the boy, mostly girl ones but sometimes also big ones with antlers and sometimes baby ones too, I know they’re babies and not just small because—
    Monty! said the girl, punching him in the arm. Stop rambling! Tell him what you told me.
    Oh, no, said Russell, it’s not—
    —and, said the boy, and, and also I saw a lady, I think, yesterday morning. I thought she was maybe a witch or maybe a lady-Santa-Claus.
    Russell’s chest clenched. A lady? An older lady? Did she look okay? Was she hurt or anything?
    She was singing, I think. She was fine. She was magical.
    Andwherewasshe? Russell’s words were racing his heart. He stopped, tried again, And, (breath) where was she going? (Breath.) Which direction? (Breath.) Could you tell?
    East. Toward the sunrise.
    That’s good, that’s very good. That’s great. Thank you. Thank you very very much, Monty. And you too . . .
    Cordelia.
    Cordelia.
    The girl ushered her brother back toward the kitchen, but he stopped halfway. Um . . . he said.
    Yes? said Russell.
    Um, well, if you find her, when you find her, can you tell her I’ve been good?
    Yes, Monty, yes, of course.
    B ack in