The rough walls of the kitchen still wear the original paint. Though it’s been forever, they’re just like she remembers, milky green, the paint worn and blistered with age. In the kitchen doorway, Eva’s waiting for them, her hair tousled with sleep.
Seeing Faraday on his feet, Eva grins and steps aside. Dany helps their teacher into a seat at the kitchen table. And as soon as she steps in, the smell hits her, hits her hard. Dany isn’t hungry. She’s ravenous.
Antoine is stirring a ridiculously large pot over a pair of burners on a Coleman stove. Mac is at his side, wide-eyed and alert, a big wooden spoon in hand. Dany takes her seat at the old pinewood table.
The kitchen table is heaped with vegetable scrapings.
With a single stroke of his broad arm, Antoine sweeps the leavings into
