Maya

I'm re-reading Jane Austen.

It's an old copy that survived countless owners. I had found it at a flea market. The edges were folded and the margins were annotated with blue ink. This book was well-loved by its previous owners.

This used to be a comfort novel for me. Not that I particularly believed in love but mainly because I could lose myself in the pages for a while.

Someone strokes my hair as I get to the part where Elizabeth reads Darcy's letter.

"Do you not tire of that book?" Loki asks.

My head is in his lap as he rests his back against an old oak tree. The red and white picnic blanket is spread out with forgotten wine and sandwiches.

He looks relaxed, dressed in a dark green cashmere sweater that matches his eyes and grey slacks. He's toed off his shoes, letting them sit next to my boots.

I wish we could always be at peace like this.

It's a rare sort of day. Calm, quiet, and not a single person around. Just how we like it.

I reach up and tuck a stray lock of his hair behind his ear, marvelling at how soft it is. Sometimes I can't help but look at him and marvel that he's mine.

Love is such a strange thing.

It comes in light a rouge wave or a twister and turns everything upside down. It's so easy to be consumed by it. It seeps into you like fabric soaked in blood.

I didn't think it was meant for me.

But here I am.

I lay the book on my chest, gazing up at him. He looks ridiculously handsome today. I won't tell him that because his ego doesn't need any more feeding.

"Your distaste for 17th-century works of fiction astounds me, Dear."

"I simply find this particular author's taste for neat, happy endings to be annoying, Darling."

I giggle. "I like it when you call me that."

"Ah, now I understand why you like Jane Austen." He smiles softly. His fingers trace a line from my ear to my jaw and then to the tip of my nose. I shiver as his fingers disappear into my hair. "Maya Crowley, a romantic. Who would've thought such a thing? You pretend to hate happy endings but that's all you read about. Dark-haired, brooding men with complexity seem to be your type."

He just basically described himself.

"Happily ever after?" I raise an eyebrow. "Does the kettle call the pot black?"

"I'm simply a realist," Loki said.

"Yeah," I snort. "A real pain in my neck."

"You wound me, Maya!" He places a hand over his heart. "How shall I ever recover from such an insult?"

I laugh as I hook my arm around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. "I can think of a few things."

His lips taste like summer sweet wine. And I feel my heart race when he traces words into my skin.

'I. Adore. You.'

I smile and kiss him back. "I adore you, too."

—

The alarm blares into my ear like a klaxon.

I fall off my narrow bed, tangled in the blankets as I scramble to turn off the annoying thing.

The sky is still dark.

I drag myself up, feeling my joints pop as I enter the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a well-needed shower.

I replay the memory of Loki and I.

Why am I dreaming of him again?

It's torture.

I can still recall the scent of his cologne and the softness of his hair. The ghost of his touch on my skin haunts me in a way that digs deep into the cracks of my soul.

As much as the memory pains me, it was a happier time.

It was just before everything went to shit. We were happy then, hardly worried about our future. That all changed obviously.

Nothing good in my life is meant to stay.

Carlos is already in the kitchen by the time I exit my room. I can smell the bacon that's frying in the pan.

"Good morning," he greets me. He still doesn't look me in the eye. "I made you a plate."

"Thanks, kiddo," I say, loading up my plate with food. "You know you don't have breakfast duty today, right?"

He shrugs as he switches off the stove. "I felt nervous," he said. "I couldn't go back to sleep."

"First-day jitters, huh."

"Something like that." Carlos sits across from me. He slathers his toast with strawberry jam. "I keep dreaming about home."

"What was home like?" I ask.

He cuts his bacon into small bits, organizing them from smallest to largest. "Mama rented an apartment. It was small and cramped. Sometimes the electricity was gone and we would have to open the windows at night because it got too hot. But she liked to cook a lot and she taught me how to cook too. We were always in the kitchen listening to the news."

I pat his hand, silently reassuring him. "I'll contact someone from S.H.I.E.L.D., okay? Maybe we can find your mom?"

He dropped his fork. "You'd do that?" He asked.

"Of course, I—"

He jumped up from his seat and wrapped his arms around me. "Gracias, hermana!"

Carlos tucked his face into the crook of my neck. I could feel hot wet tears against my skin. I placed my hand on his back, rubbing in circles like my mother used to do for me when I was a kid.

He was only 12 years old.

What he knew of the world was what he had experienced. And the world treated this child with heartless contempt.

If his mother was still alive, she must miss him so much. Carlos was a child who received love from his mother and vice versa.

"Alright, kiddo." I pat his head. "Why don't you finish your breakfast and get ready for school."

He pulls away, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

I give him my warmest smile. "Kiddo, no matter what happens, I'm here. You can come to me anytime."

"But, Raza said—"

"He isn't here," I remind him. "We are here. I am here. Not him. Got it?"

He nods. "Got it."

The rest wake up an hour later. I can hear Safia and Annette bickering over the bathroom. I end the fight and make sure Annette gets ready in my bathroom while Safia takes the upstairs bathroom.

Rayan is bouncing around the living room, stuffing things into his backpack.

I feel like I've shaved several years off my life as I try to get them in their winter clothes and out the door.

The cabin is half a mile away from the main road. There's a long and winding dirt path that leads to the cabin.

We drive down the path, admiring the fresh blanket of snow till we reach the main road.

Carlos starts humming along with the radio as Safia dozes off in the passenger seat.

We reach Chouteau in 45 minutes as morning traffic picks up the closer we get into town.

This place has two schools. Thank the gods. The K8 school and high school are right next to each other which makes it easier for me.

"You guys remember the rules, right?" I ask as I turn into the school parking lot.

Kids are standing around with their coats and book bags as they wait for the morning bell to ring.

Annette wraps her bright pink scarf around her neck. It matches her fuzzy earmuffs. "Don't use our powers. Don't go anywhere alone. Don't break curfew."

"And?" I prompt.

"If anyone asks about our parents, they are travelling journalists and you're taking care of us while they're away."

I nod, satisfied. "Good enough. Get going, kids. You guys got all your paperwork right?" A lacklustre cacophony of mumbling agreements comes from the back. "Great! I'll see you guys later."

"What are you doing today?" Carlos asked.

I glanced in the rearview mirror as the cars started lining up behind us. "Looking for a job."

The kids get out of the car. Carlos holds Annette's and Rayan's hands as he walks them to the door of his school. Safia lingers behind on the sidewalk.

She turns around to see if I'm still there, her face unreadable. I wave my hand to say bye and give her a reassuring smile. Safia frowns and pulls her headphones on. I watch as her lonely figure disappears through the front door.

Maybe I should've gotten out of the car. Maybe I'm being paranoid.

A car honks behind me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I drive forward but I can't help but glance to my side mirror.

—

The small town of Choteau, Montana:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Choteau,_Montana

A/N - I would just like to put out a disclaimer that I mean no disrespect to anyone who lives or knows anybody who lives here, I'm just using it for literary reasons. I mean no disrespect.