Free Consumption by Heather Herrman Page A

been the one Father James had called when Javier and his mother had asked the man for a place to stay.
    Her bright little eyes glowed at him from the darkness. He noticed that Rosie already had her hair set and her ever-present lipstick fully applied. Javier wondered if it had ever looked good on her, if that smear of color had ever caused anyone to want to bend down and kiss those lips, the way the shiny lip gloss Mabel Joyce put on made Javier want to do. “What are you doing up so early?”
    “Why, it’s Festival Day!” said Rosie, as if that explained everything. “I’ve got to get the laundry out on the line. Don’t want to waste Festival Day with chores, do I, now?”
    “I guess not,” Javier said, stepping past. He didn’t point out that she didn’t have any laundry with her. “Well, see you, Rosie. I’ve got to get to work.”
    Rosie, very casually, stepped back in front of him. “Are you going to the Festival, Javier?”
    “I…” He hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to get stuck taking this woman along with them to the events. Today was a day for his family. No one else. “I am. I’m taking Gabby and Mom with me as soon as I get back,” he said. “It’s been a while since we had any time together, just the three of us.”
    “That’s nice, then.” He saw that the old woman had one of her arms tucked behind her back. She was a weird one, the old lady, watching telenovelas and always trying out her flawed Spanish with Javier and his mom. Still, she gave them a good rate on rent, mostly because she was a member of the Lutheran church and thought of it as her duty, especially since Father James had asked her personally. Javier had a sneaking suspicion that Rosie mostly viewed him and his family like the third-world kids the church had pictures of hanging up over their collection buckets. The congregation collected money for those kids and their families to help buy them goats, or seeds to plant, or any number of other things; there was a whole list, complete with pictures, of where the money went.
    “Javier,” Rosie pulled her wrinkled arm out from behind her back to reveal a white lump in her hand. “I thought you might want this. It’s just a little something for the road. A growing boy, he needs his food.”
    “Thanks,” Javier said, taking the thing, a folded paper napkin hiding its content, and pushing by her. “See you later,” he said.
    “Yes,” said Rosie, and some trick of the wind made her voice sound very near his ear, almost as if she was right behind him. He turned, startled, but Rosie was steps away, still standing on the porch. He waved and then turned back around.
    The poor thing. He almost felt sorry for her. She was all the time trying to draw him or his mom into conversation, trying to cook for them, one of her horrible meatloafs or dried-out roasts. Javier unwrapped the napkin, sniffing at the contents. It was warm, heating his palm, and when he poked his nose closer, he smelled blueberries. A muffin, and it didn’t smell all that bad. He lifted a piece to his mouth, but as he did so, he stepped under one of the tall Cavus streetlights, and its pre-dawn glow revealed the bite he’d been about to pop into his mouth.
    It was a muffin, all right, and for a wonder the bread looked somewhat moist. A fat blueberry peaked enticingly from the bottom of the bite, but Javier stopped himself from eating it. Instead, he held the bite to the light and saw, from its bottom, a long strand of gray hair snaking out. The light caught the hair and turned it silver.
    Javier felt a moment of revulsion and chucked the bite into the bushes beside the road. It was no big deal, a hair. Hell, he’d found plenty of stray hairs in his food before, some of them his own. But this…He couldn’t say why, but the thought of picking it out and eating the muffin caused an involuntary hiccup in him. No thanks. Javier looked behind him, saw that Rosie’s house, along with Rosie, was firmly out