Free Everneath by Brodi Ashton Page A

looking down on us. But now that sounded like another lie people tell themselves to feel better. I knew nothing of heaven.
    “I don’t know what’s waiting for you,” I said. Her face fell. “But it has to be better than this life,” I added. “It just has to be.”
    Her shoulders relaxed, and I realized how tense she had been. “Thank you.”
    As we were cleaning up after the lunch rush, the braid girl came over to me. “Sorry you got stuck with Mary today.”
    I bent down with a dustpan to scoop up some crumbs. “It was fine. I feel sorry for her. I tried to ask her about Penelope’s daughter, but she just seemed confused.”
    “Persephone,” braid girl said.
    I popped up. “What did you say?”
    Braid girl shoved a bite of leftover roll into her mouth. “It was Persephone’s daughter,” she said with a full mouth. “I remembered. Only she said it all formal, like Daughters of Persephone.”
    She tied her trash bag and took it out back, and I was left in the middle of the floor, holding my dustpan.
    Daughters of Persephone?
    Too weird.
    The following week, I couldn’t get Mary and the Daughters of Persephone out of my head. When I got to the soup kitchen on Saturday, Mary had already been through the line and was sitting at a table with a woman I didn’t recognize. She looked like she was my father’s age, maybe a little older. Her clothes were the kind I’d expect at an art gallery, not a shelter kitchen.
    I waved to Mary. She looked at me, but she didn’t wave back. Her head was lowered, and her shoulders sagged as the woman sitting across from her did most of the talking.
    I slid into my place by Christopher. “Sorry I’m late.”
    “No problem. I’ll just dock your pay,” Christopher said with a little wink.
    I served up a couple of bowls, but I could tell I had missed the lunch rush. “Who’s the woman sitting with Mary?” I asked Christopher.
    He looked up from his bread basket. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen her here before.”
    “She looks familiar, though, doesn’t she?”
    He squinted. “Maybe a little. Something about her, but I don’t think she’s ever been here before. Look”—he pointed with a piece of bread—“she’s not eating. Maybe she’s just here to visit Mary. Many of our patrons still have family, you know.”
    I watched for a few minutes. Mary wasn’t talking much, except to give a one-word response or to nod. I glanced at the tray in front of her. She hadn’t touched it. I noticed Mary’s wrist. She wasn’t wearing her bracelet.
    She didn’t look happy, and I hoped the woman would leave soon so I could talk to Mary and make sure she was good. Toward the end of the lunch hour, the woman stood. Mary leaned toward her, as if to hug her, but the woman turned and walked away before she could. Once she was gone, I went to Mary’s table.
    “Can I sit down?” I asked. She looked at me and motioned toward the chair. “Are you okay, Mary?” I said.
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    “Who was that woman here with you?” I asked. “Was she family?”
    Mary looked at me warily, and nodded. “She’s my mother.” She slumped a little in her seat and looked at my face. “You don’t believe me,” she said.
    I put my elbows on the table and tried to sound understanding. “It’s not that, Mary. We all get confused.”
    Mary nodded. “She’s mad at me.”
    “Why?”
    “I have something that belongs to her. That’s the only reason she came. It’s the only way I could get her to talk to me.”
    “What do you have?”
    She took her spoon and dragged it through the soup. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’ve already disappointed her enough.”
    I reached over and put my hand on her arm. I understood about disappointing people. “Friends forgive each other.”
    She looked up from her bowl. “I don’t think you believe that any more than I do.”
    I drew my hand back, and Mary stood and grabbed her tray.
    “Wait,” I said. “I