The Hidden General

Sharon was ever and always pleased to hear that someone might take her up on piano lessons. Even if nothing ever came of it, they were at least open to the idea of trying, which was no bad thing. In this instance, he would have to stay out of the house all day every day not to take advantage of her and the piano both being right there. She was almost as sedentary as it was…

As he handed his empty cup over and managed to blurt out a concern that seemed to embarrass him, she blinked in surprise at the bluntness, and then gave him an encouraging, though small, smile as he apologised. It would have to come up at some point, anyway. And she was not always eager to bring it up herself. Better now than him coming home to her sitting in a wheelchair. “That is quite alright. A question should be asked.” She had heard more than her share of strange ones, truth be told.

“I do not usually need help inside, no. My muscles are sound, if not as strong as your own.” Her smile widened for a moment. “It is my lungs. They are damaged so I do. not get enough air. My breath is always short. Sometimes it makes me dizzy, or tired. I use a wheelchair if I am going anywhere outside the house.”

Explanation given, Sharon went to put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher. She simplified the issue and its effects for the sake of not using too many words. As long as he understood the basics, that was enough, unless he wanted to know more. She gave him the chance to ask as she went from the dishwasher to the computer, looking for the wifi password, hoping it had been written down on one of the sticky notes there.
 
Sid nodded as he listened to her explanation. He made a mental note-- make sure she didn't need to struggle, but beware of trying to smother her.

He watched as she moved about the house, then slowly stood and assumed his parade rest stance. "Is there anything I should avoid bringing in the house that might irritate your lungs? Sometimes I come back smelling like smoke from the diner, so if you need I can bag and wash my uniform myself, if you need me to." He rambled a bit, then paused before he could vomit out more words. It was stupid to ask questions without waiting for an answer.

Absently, he scratched the back of his leg with one foot, the bootlaces rough on his calf.
 
A good boy, she remembered thinking when she had first been told about him, and now he only confirmed her suspicions. Admittedly, Sharon was perhaps overly generous with her good opinion in some instances, but she felt that, this time, it was not so.

She found the sticky note with the password on it relatively quickly. Which was a relief, given as she had not expected it to be difficult, but one never knew with sticky notes. Sometimes they disappeared on you. Or Isaac might well have forgotten to write it down. They did not entertain guests needing to get onto their wi-fi very often. With it in hand, she turned to find Sid standing almost as he had been when she turned away. Looking very much as though he was waiting for permission to leave the table. Either he was feeling more awkward in a new home than she had thought, or he had been living with strict fosters… Or was he falling back on older habits?

She was not at all certain she wanted to know.

So, she gave him another smile. “Powders… I did not think of that.” As she usually bought the groceries, she had a relatively firm control over what did or did not come into the house. “But if you are using chalk with working out. Or powdered drinks, those are the worst. Thirdhand smoke I have, thankfully, never dealt with.” She was not sure she liked the idea of his dealing with secondhand, but it was his job, not hers, and therefore, his choice. “If it becomes a problem, I might ask that of you, yes. I do not suppose you wear cologne?”

He might. The possibility seemed rather small, but ask and learn was her motto. “I will give you a list. Oh, yes! If you do like to bake, anything with flour, or cooking with spices, sometimes it is not good. Just let me know first. But now, this is more important for you, I will show you your room so you can get settled. Here, bring your bags.”

She waved him after her as she headed for the stairs, preferring to talk about things as she had initially planned them. She had forgotten, admittedly it might have been on purpose, that he would need to be told about her lung problem so he could behave accordingly. Whether she had meant to leave it for another day or not was a moot point because, really, she was not prepared to answer his questions. Off the top of her head, she could list any number of items or acts that might set it off, and she could have gone into more detail to explain specifics, but she was too busy thinking about him standing there like a pole out of place to be focused enough. Later would do.
 
"No, I don't wear anything but stick deodorant." He smiled. Easy stuff-- just try to keep things out of the air. He lifted his two backpacks, and began to follow her. His shoulders relaxed as he walked, his pace slow to avoid rushing her. "Coming."

She was small, she was ill, and she needed special care-- at least, he needed to be careful. She seemed plenty independant, and very aware of her limitations.

He paused on the stairs a moment as a painful name flared into his mind, then pushed it away and wiped at one eye. He tried to hide it behind a yawn. "Low ceiling." He commented with a weak laugh. Stupid lame jokes. He shifted both bags to one hand and began to use the railing, if only to occupy himself a little more with the movement.
 
He very politely did not crowd her from behind as she worked her way, slower than he surely would have managed, up the stairs. She appreciated that immensely. And she smiled as she reached the top and he commented on the low ceiling. It seemed perfectly high to her, but some people…

“That is how I. weed out the tall people. in my life.” Sharon turned to let him see her grin. He would likely only understand the irony of her words when he met Isaac tomorrow. They were almost of a height, him and her husband. She had obviously not managed very well with the ceiling, and now she had yet another in her house. Oh woe. The fact that she was below average height and therefore most people were taller than her was irrelevant. But she had long since gotten over her little problem. Obviously, it was far more convenient to have tall people nearby if one needed to reach the top shelf.

“It works very well, no?” She winked, and pointed to the closet door first. “That is the linen closet, there are extra blankets and pillows in there. If you need.”

It was the middle of winter. His bare arms might have been an attempt to prove he was less vulnerable to the cold temperatures, but it was much easier to sleep when one was warm and comfortable. If it got too cold, she might just have to take matters into her own hands and drag another quilt onto his bed for him. She refrained from adding any of her thoughts, however, and reached for the latch to open the guest room’s door. It was his now, and he could do what he liked with it, provided that did not include knocking down walls or scribbling on the walls in marker.

“And this. is your room.” She had taken the time spent not teaching piano today to make up the bed and clean the floor and make sure every space was absolutely free of dust. She’d even done a cursory cleaning of the bathroom that had not been used since the last time Daniel had visited. Needless to say, the room was spotless. But it was also very sparse. As she stepped inside to let him come in, she could not help but notice how empty it seemed. “You may do what you like with it. Even paint. I think it might do with. a change of colour.” Although it was not necessary, of course. She had not offered to take him in just to put him to work painting the house. Actually, she would prefer to avoid being anywhere near the house if he did take her up on that.

“On that wall, a big smiley face, yes?” Another grin, then she got back to proper business. “The closet is there. The bathroom is through that door.” She pointed to each respectively. “It is your job to keep things as clean as. you want them to be.”
 
"Thank you." He smiled at her-- a big, goofy, lopsided grin. The room was small-- the smallest he'd been in ever before-- well, except the one he gestated, but that was beside the point. "I'll keep it clean." It was easy to keep a room clean if he had nothing to dirty it with-- though making sure to get rid of dust and dirt would be important, given his host. Dust, he was sure, was on the list of irritants best avoided. To cut down on it, he made a note to shower very thoroughly, since one of the primary components was dead skin.

He placed his bags on the bed, and something inside crinkled and crunched. That was right, he had some chips he'd forgotten to munch on, since his schedule was tossed about today. His face reddened slightly. "Uh, anything else?" He absently rubbed the back of his head as he looked briefly toward the woman, and then away. Something in his backpack blinged, and he reached toward it, then paused. "I'll check that later..." He trailed off.
 
“Oh, no, not that I can think of.” Sharon did not have anything else planned to lecture him about, and unless he ran away, it was not going to be all that difficult to find him if she thought of something later. “You can check that now, and I will leave you, and your room, to get acquainted.”

She slipped past him to the door and gave him one last smile. “If you need me, I will be downstairs.” And downstairs she went. She had learned over the course of the last few fosters that the trick to letting anyone settle in was in giving them the space to do so. True, the house was not large, but at least he would not be able to see her worrying away about how he was dealing with the change and everything else. She also knew she was being, perhaps, a little too lenient, but he was nearly old enough to look after himself, he did not need someone else holding his hand and dragging him along.

So, checking the time, Sharon glanced towards the stairs, trying to hear any sign of upset or trouble, just in case, and then resolutely settled herself at the table and dragged the crossword back towards her. She would use it for distraction until it was time to start dinner.
 
Sid, left alone so soon after arrival, scratched his head, then pulled his computer out and found an outlet. He rested it on the bed and opened it, then scrolled through skype to find the message-- it liked to jump around for some reason.

It was the kid from his previous home, and she said she wanted to talk to him privately.

He messaged her, and waited. The waiting seemed like forever as she tapped at her phone. She wasn't allowed a computer, but she was given a smart phone, because her parents didn't realize a phone could use the same internet on it as a laptop could.

Their loss, their daughter's gain. She got the support group she needed, and they didn't bother her.

Today, she was talking about how her parents were acting now that he was gone-- how they were relieved, and glad he was gone.

He typed back, fingers slow on the keyboard. "It's ok. l figured they were happy to see me gone. I'll still be going to the same school, and working at the same job, if you need me."

A few more conversations, and time escaped him until his knees began to hurt as he knelt in front of his bed.

Finally, he said good-byes and logged out, then stood, stretched, and checked his phone. No new messages. He began to explore his small room.
 
27 Down, 3-letter word, electrical resistance...

She was sure she knew the answer. Or at least, might have recalled it after a moment on Google, but that was cheating, and Sharon did not condone cheating. Even when it was for nothing more than Friday's crossword puzzle.

It was her third time going through the list of clues since she had started it that morning. She had begun again a little more than halfway through the second round of looking for the easiest clues first after giving Sid the tour. Now, however, as she looked around for inspiration as to this particular answer, which had yet to have any letter filled unfortunately, she happened across the clock and started. It could not help her with the puzzle, but it did inform her, in no uncertain terms, that she ought to set it aside for the moment in favour of making sure she and their new guest went to bed with full stomachs. If that poor boy ate enough throughout the day to annoy his teachers, then he would surely be hungry by now.

Clues would have to wait then, while she got dinner going. Simple though it was, she did not feel up to the back of forth of multitasking. Not exactly a stellar moment for her ego, but she would survive it, and have spaghetti as her reward. Spicy spaghetti, she tipped a bit of tabasco sauce into the meat sauce she was making, and hoped Sid liked spices. There were a few other options, at least, in case he did not.

While the pasta finished cooking, she cleared and set the table, which amounted to moving the newspaper to one side and putting out two forks and two glasses. The bowls still needed to be filled. She sat the rest of the five minutes left and then rang the little hand bell as she passed it to drain the spaghetti into the sink. She rang it louder than she usually did, and could not help but wince as it broke up the silence rather too eagerly. The sound itself was not horrible, though it did come off more as a clangour than a clear peal. Nonetheless, she doubted he would be able to ignore it, and hoped he remembered her mentioning what it meant. If he did not and suffered from a lack of curiousity, she would have to climb the stairs to fetch him down. Or maybe just ring it again… And again.
 
The clamor of a bell interrupted the exploration of his closet, it took only moments for him to bound down the stairs. To him, that kind of ring had always meant the opening of the mess hall, and now, it meant dinner. Perfect for him. He licked his lips, already drooling-- damn Pavlov.

"Smells good!" he exclaimed. He could tell already the spaghetti wasn't the normal type-- it burned at his nose with heat he wasn't used to. His previous home didn't know what seasoning was, except in the use of salt and pepper.

They ate like damn Brits.

His eyes caught the puzzle as he walked past it, going the long way 'round for reasons he didn't quite know. He paused and bent over it, wondering if he knew any of the answers.

His new foster mother had nice handwriting, he noticed, and then the smell of food brought him back to the more important thing he came down for. "Food." He followed his nose toward the kitchen. "It's dinner time?" Check to make sure before you start drooling, Sid...
 
Now there was a response to bring joy to any cook’s heart. Not even minutes after the bell fell silent and there was a pounding on the stairs and Sid appeared. With quite the compliment, too. Sharon grinned at him from the sink where she was leaning, jiggling the sieve to get what water she could out of it. “Glad to hear it.”

And there was a growing boy’s response, she remembered it well. All the focus on the food and only afterwards thinking to find out if it was even ready to it. That was the terrible trouble with some meals. They began to smell good long before they were ready to eat. Spaghetti, luckily, was not one of those. She smiled towards him, setting the sieve in the pot and nodding towards the bowls on the counter as she picked up the pasta scoop to start filling up her own bowl. She did not want a lot, but she had made enough, hopefully, for leftovers, it was always hard to tell with pasta.

“It is indeed, I trust you are as hungry as you promised.” With the eager way he had come down the stairs, she figured he probably was. “I made the sauce a bit spicy.” Well, more than a bit, if he was used to plain tomato sauce. “You can try a little before you put it on your pasta if you like. There are other toppings if it is too hot.”
 
"I'll try some first." He grinned, far from wary-- rather, he was excited for a chance to eat early, even if it was only a little. He rubbed his hands together as he approached the pan the sauce was in, then looked for a spoon he could use that wasn't the one that would be used to stir and serve. Kids like him were full of germs, and Sharon was already sick. "Got a spoon?" He finally asked, eyes on the pot hungrily, even as his stomach growled, desperate for the contents. "It's begging to be in my mouth." He flashed a quick grin at her, then continued staring into the pot, like if he dared look away, it would disappear.
 
He was so eager to eat that it almost managed to make her laugh. But Sharon controlled her initial reaction when she turned to see him staring into the saucepan so avidly, and picked up a bowl for herself. “Cutlery is… right of the sink. Ha, forgetting my directions.”

She scooped a large spoonful of spaghetti into the bowl, reached for the other one and decided he would be better able to serve himself, as she had yet to know just how large he liked his meals. So, she just set the pasta scoop back in the sieve and collected a hefty dollop of sauce and then some cheese.

“Help yourself to whatever you like, and as much as you like. There is milk, water or orange juice in the fridge.” She set her bowl down and paused before slipping into her seat, a momentary frown at her forgetfulness pulling at her lips. She really should be doing the serving, but it might make him feel at home faster if she invited him to do more of the everyday chores. “Would you grab the milk for me? I have the glasses out already.”
 
Sid nodded at her instruction and got a spoon to taste the sauce. It was good-- cut right through the snot in his nose that he didn't even realize was there. "This is good." He set the spoon in the sink and picked up a plate, then began to pile spaghetti noodles onto his plate, then added sauce-- plenty of it, then cheese. He held up the container to make sure he wasn't taking all of it-- nor an over-large chunk of it.

Once his plate was full, he placed it carefully on the table before he darted to the fridge to get milk. Automatically, his eyes scanned the contents before he closed it and carried the gallon over. "Do you want milk?" He removed the cap and held it, ready to pour, since he was already standing, and pouring while sitting, in his experience, was annoying.

Across from Sharon on the table, his plate was very near to overflowing, with just enough space at one side for twirling his noodles.

Sid wasn't sure if it would be enough, but... it was generally impolite to fill a plate past full.
 
"I am glad you like." His compliment of her sauce, which was really quite basic, nonetheless won her over. His large helping, when he set it across from her and went for the fridge, made her blink in surprise, but was, admittedly, an even greater compliment. He was at least willing to trust her cooking, if nothing else, after having tried the sauce. Granted, it was hard to ruin spaghetti, but she was sure it could be done.

Still, if that was how much he normally ate for dinner, she was going to have to up her guesstimates concerning serving size and leftovers.

"Yes, please." She shifted her glass closer to the table edge were it would be easier to pour into, mostly so she might feel like she was doing something for the drink. "Only half-there, thank you."

Sharon did not actually like milk, but it had good vitamins in it, and it would go much better with the spices in the sauce than water or orange juice would. Much better. Half a glass was about right for getting through the meal.

Eyeing his plate yet again, she really could not avoid it, given its position, she had to shake her head, amused. She had forgotten how much teenagers ate. "You are hungry?"
 
He poured her milk quickly, then his own-- making sure hers was only half full, while his was almost to the lip. He took a sip, then placed it down and headed back to the fridge as he closed the jug. He placed it into the fridge and again looked to see what was there before he headed back. "Huh?" He blinked at her question, then grinned. "Starved." He sat, then waited a moment. "Do you usually say grace or thanks or something for the meal before you eat?"

Had he asked that before? He couldn't remember. Going through changes like this made him forgetful, apparently. It was annoying, but... perhaps normal? He knew he could scarcely recall how he first made it to America. The ones who...

He cut off that thought and shook his head to clear the thought away. No. Not right now.
 
Starved, was he? Then maybe it was a good thing she had made so much. And there she had been believing it might even be too much. Ha! "A good thing there is more, then."

"I do. Will you join me? I will say it quickly." Growing people should not be kept from digging in when the food was right there. The temptation was surely wicked. Sharon did not ask that those she fostered observe her rituals, whether they were religious or otherwise, but she did, admittedly, have an easier time if they at least pretended. She certainly did not tolerate rudeness over the matter.

Bowing her head, Sharon held her hand out for him to take. Waited a moment to see if he would and then began. "Bless us, Lord, and that. which we are about to receive from your grace. Thank you. Amen."

And with that dinner was served. "Dig in."
 
Sid bowed his head and took her hand as she prayed. To him, it was silly, but everyone needed their crutches. His was an airline ticket to Norway, and a single cigarette-- an apology for failing so many. For not protecting them.

He yanked his mind from that, and murmured a hasty "Amen." with her, then began to eat. The sight of food was enough to wake him up, and he began to eat eagerly. He twirled the spaghetti on the unused portion of his plate with practiced ease, then ate it. He chewed with his mouth closed, and his swallows weren't loud. He did his vest to avoid making scraping noises on the plate, and was fairly pleasant as far as dinner companions, though he wasn't much of a conversationalist. His eyes were locked on his food as he ate, hungrily demolishing it.
 
Sharon was pleased enough to know that he was aware of the tradition of saying grace and willing to invoke it, even if she had no idea if he believed in it. He made no face or derisive remark, so she could only assume that he might be on the fence. That, or he had been with one too many different families and now knew to ask before helping himself.

She ate a little slower than Sid managed, who, for all his neatness, still seemed close to shovelling up the pasta. A commendable thing to manage, really, given as pasta was not the most dignified of dishes. She found the silence pleasant, and relished the knowledge that they were both enjoying the meal. Simple as it was. Luckily, for all his speed, her smaller amount let her keep up so that he would not be stuck waiting for too long while she finished her serving. But when she had eaten roughly half of her own, she broke the silence, not sure if he found it as relaxing as she did.

There was always that moment, for her, when her worries about her company suddenly turned companionable silence into awkward. She would have to work on that, obviously.

“Do you have anything you usually do in the evening? When you are not working?”
 
The boy ate until words caught his attention, and he looked up, mouth freshly-filled with a forkful of food. He chewed and swallowed quickly before he answered. "I usually go to the gym on my days off, or study. I usually don't need to spend too much time studying, though." He took a sip of milk. "I know the academics already. Learned them back... when I was a soldier." He glanced away.

It would have been far too much of a giveaway to say that he woke up for the first time, already knowing how to read, write, do multiple types of math, he knew at least enough science to get by-- chemistry, biology, and others at high school level. Most of the others did too, but he encouraged them to go through school so they wouldn't be surrounded by adults until they were adults.

He'd heard a few went to college, only to have mental breakdowns, or even suicide.

He gripped his fork more tightly, then remembered where he was and loosened his grip. "High school's pretty easy, I mean. I do want to learn to cook, though, and balance a checkbook."