The minute he was out of the oven, he stretched his legs and looked around curiously. His expression twisted slightly, as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. Suddenly, his eyes scrunched up and he turned to Beatrice, dark gaze pleading.
“My mom – she works here. Have you seen her?”
The raven haired female paused before answering. “I don’t know what she looks like. But I haven’t seen anyone around, no.”
Quite abruptly, tears were rolling over his cheeks and he was trying to staunch them with his too-big tee, sniffling and clenching his teeth. “She t-told me to stay h-here. She works in…in the lobby. She’s the receptionist.”
Now this was a dilemma.
Beatrice knew that the part inside her that was still human after all this battering should have felt some spark of depression. It didn’t.
She was just glad she had offered a prayer to the woman earlier.
If that even was his mother.
She doubted even he would recognize her if he looked at her now. That wouldn’t be best.
“Come with me.”