Somewhere Between Luck and Trust by Emilie Richards

grasp it. “I added sugar and cream. I figure if you don’t normally drink it with both, you won’t mind it this once. But if you do drink it this way, you’d hate it black.”
    Cristy could feel herself smiling. “I only started drinking coffee in Raleigh. It was the best way to get going, but I always add everything I can.”
    “This is part decaf, so you won’t get going too fast, but that’s all my mother will drink.”
    “Edna looks so much like you, but you don’t look like your—” Cristy stopped herself, aware she might offend Samantha.
    “Like my mom? I know. People are usually surprised. They want to know if I’m adopted, but I’m not. My father was half African-American, half Korean. So I’m an all-American mutt.”
    “You’re a showstopper.”
    “It took me some time to love myself, but I’m happy to be me.”
    “That must feel good.”
    “It’s something you have to work at.” Samantha got up. “Everybody’s stirring, but take your time. We’re not on a schedule. There’s cereal and toast for breakfast, and plenty of fresh fruit. Just help yourself whenever you’re ready to come down. If we’re not around, we’ll be off on a walk. Mom loves wildflowers, and she brought her guide. It’s a little early in the spring at this elevation, but she notes dates and location when she finds something new. We’ll probably be scouting the woods for spring beauties and trout lilies.”
    Cristy watched her go, the mug of coffee warming her hands.
    * * *
    Everybody was already downstairs before Cristy dared take a shower; then she spent what was probably too long in the bathroom, luxuriating in hot water, privacy and no one telling her that time was almost up. She washed her hair and combed it away from her face. Her hair was longer than she’d worn it before prison, inches below her shoulders when it was wet, but she’d had no desire to let another inmate in “cosmo,” the cosmetology courses at the prison, sharpen their skills on her. Curly hair was difficult to cut and manage, and she hadn’t wanted to end up feeling worse about herself than she already did.
    Back in her room she sorted through her new clothes. In addition to the jacket, Samantha had paid for two outfits a size smaller than she’d worn before NCCIW, and now she changed into the most casual, jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. By the time she was ready to go downstairs, the hike was about to begin.
    “We can wait if you want to come along,” Georgia said, after greeting her with a nod and one of her rare smiles. “We’re in no hurry.”
    “You go ahead. I’ll eat, if that’s all right.”
    “It wouldn’t be right if you didn’t eat.” Samantha finished zipping a light jacket. “Make yourself at home. If Harmony and Lottie arrive, introduce yourself.”
    Preparations complete, the trio left, and the house was suddenly silent. Cristy realized they had just sauntered off and left a convicted felon in their house alone. Of course, what would she make off with? Crockery from the kitchen? Pillows on the sofa? It wasn’t the kind of place where valuables were kept. She supposed they’d felt perfectly safe.
    And wasn’t that a thought unworthy of all the generosity they had shown her?
    The kitchen was well equipped with sensibly arranged basics. Cooking utensils standing in a wide-mouth canning jar beside an electric stove. Knives on a magnetic strip along the wall, pots and pans hanging from an iron rack overhead. A cupboard was filled with canned goods and jars. Another held staples, mixing bowls and measuring cups, and brightly colored dishes were visible on open shelves. Cooking wasn’t one of the things she did well. She had worked in the kitchen at the prison, but her job had involved scrubbing and cleaning after others did preparation. She had never asked to be moved up the line. She had carefully avoided any job that required following a recipe.
    An open box of Cheerios waited on the table beside a half