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It was the day after they arrived. Or something like that. From the perspective of time, it was hard to tell. Every day was similar to most of the others on the farm, save for holidays, or unexpected incidents. It was either the day after they arrived, or one day after that. Mark knew that much, because it was the day he dedicated to touring the Steinbeck house, his new home. John was already out somewhere, helping his father, so it wasn't like he had anything better to do – and his entire body was itching to explore. Besides, it was always a good idea to learn everything there was to learn about the place he would be staying for a while. He probably wouldn't need a hiding place here, but old habits die hard. And one could never know when having a secret corner would come in handy.
The second floor seemed to be dedicated entirely to bedrooms, much like the one he shared with John, and a single bathroom that, while he never saw for himself, he imagined had a queue in front of it every morning. The two little siblings, Ruthie and Winfield, shared one. For now, he added in his head. They'd probably have to be separated sooner or later. They got along just fine, but some cracks were starting to show. Spending all your time together is probably something you grow out of, he figured. The parents had a shared bedroom too, as did the grandparents. That much made sense to him. He didn't find Rosasharn's bedroom, here, though. Only a number of mostl-empty guest bedrooms. He recalled John saying that his family was huge. Those bedrooms were probably for whenever his extended family needed a bed. Figures.
Satisfied with his research on this floor, he looked up and squinted. It had to be somewhere... ah! There it was. A faint outline of a flap in the ceiling. He only had to nudge it to reveal a secret passage, leading to the attic. And he would do so, on his way back, he decided. For now, knowing it was there was enough to nudge his imagination. What kind of treasure could be up there? Canned preserves? Booze? Embarrassing old pictures? Who knew! He would, soon, but knowing it was what he was looking for, he left it for last. It was more fun this way.
With that, he proceeded downstairs, with bright eyes and a wide smile. There was a lot of fun stuff downstairs, he already knew. That was where the kitchen was. Where the other bathroom was, too (and thank goodness there were two – he winced at the thought of eight or more people having to survive with only one. He was suddenly deeply grateful for his own habits of taking showers around midnight and sleeping in till noon. Nobody was going to bother him either way. Whether he disturbed others was of no concern to him, on the contrary). If he wanted, he could step outside and breathe some fresh air, too. And while he hadn't stumbled upon it yet, he was pretty damn sure there was a basement somewhere, and he wanted to find his way there. It was the one place that could potentially be just as exciting as the mysterious attic. He would have to compare them.
Making a beeline for the fridge, he snorted. It's only been a few days in the countryside, and he's already struggling to find things to do with himself. Yeesh.
At least the kitchen was genuinely exciting. Back when the two of them were in Yokohama, John would whine about the quality of eggs, milk and meat basically every day. They were fine, he'd say, but couldn't compare to the really fresh stuff. Mark usually tuned him out when he whined, but now, with a glass of fresh milk in his hand, he had to agree. It was different. It was so different, that it was almost hard to believe that it was the same thing. He downed the entire glass, knowing full well that he wouldn't be satisfied with store-bought milk ever again. Oh, well. It wasn't like he had to really worry about that for a while.
He stared at a basket of eggs, and considered cracking half a dozen of them onto a pan and scrambling them in butter. Real eggs, real butter. Real milk. Real herbs and spices. It was all so goddamn real he was starting to feel fake. Definitely when it came to his skills at cooking eggs.
He decided to leave them be and wait for when he was really, really hungry. Or when someone who wouldn't burn the kitchen down would come home and feed him. Whether it was John or his mom, it made no difference. Maybe even Rosasharn. He assumed she could cook.
Just when he thought about her, she materialised in front of him. She must have been in the bathroom just then, so quiet that even he didn't hear her. And now, just as quietly, she was opening the door to a room he hadn't noticed before. In the split second before he would catch her attention by speaking, he got to take a closer look at her. Much like most of John's family, she looked plain but healthy and happy, no doubt a result of their mother's determination and the checks John received from the Guild. Her hair was a mousey blond, her eyes grey and gentle. She was on the slim side, except for her waist and hip area, which was noticeably wide. She seemed tired, but not unhappy.
“Hey,” he said, trying his best not to scare her with the volume of his voice. A pair of sad grey eyes looked up at him, the rest of Rosasharn frozen with her hand on the doorknob. Mark grinned, in an attempt to look as non-threatening as possible. “Thought I was all alone here! So that's where your bedroom is, huh?”
Rosasharn blinked. She puffed out her cheeks slightly. “I think Granma and Granpa are sitting outside. The kids are studying. Ma went to the market. Everybody else's working,” she recounted in a whisper, looking off to the side. She paused for a moment before looking up at him again. She straightened up and tilted her head back. “It's just you and me in the house,” she confirmed, her voice shaking slightly. He could understand why she would be nervous, even though there was no reason to.
Mark laughed. “Everybody got something to do, I figured you'd be out too. Guess you got the day off, eh?”
There was a subtle change in her expression. Rosasharn puffed out her chest and put her hands on her hips. “Ha! I wish. I ain't never get a day off. Never gonna get the day off now.” There was a twinkle in her eye. “Wanna see what my job is? What I gotta do all day?” she asked, and opened the door without waiting for an answer. She entered the little room and gestured at him to come inside.
There was a bed in there, her bed, but in the very centre of the room was the true occupant of the room. A small baby inside a crib, making it look bigger than it really was. The floor was littered with toys that must have been, accidentally or on purpose, pushed over the edge of the crib. Rosasharn bent over and picked each of them up, gathering them in her arms. Ragdolls, hand-made plushies, soft balls. She dumped all of them back into the crib, all around the baby in the centre. They would end up on the floor again sooner or later, but for now, everyone seemed safe and happy in the pile.
Mark put his hand up to his cheek. “Man,” he murmured, “I remember when Ruthie was this small!”
Rosasharn exhaled sharply. “I thought it was you. But I wasn't sure,” she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “I guess you're not the kind that's easy to forget. Though I was little when you and Johnny hung out.” She sighed. “Back in the old house, before we settled here, right?”
It was flattering to be recognised. It was also vaguely stressful, for one small reason, but if she didn't bring it up immediately, she probably wasn't going to. The Steinbeck siblings, he assumed, had politeness drilled into them, even if the smaller ones still struggled with it. “Yup,” he said, coming closer. “We were all so little. But I never forgot y'all. Everyone was nice as hell to me, that ain't something you forget. And look at that, I ran into him again! After ten years, huh.” He shook his head lightly. “Life's funny like that.” He wasn't particularly in the mood to go down memory lane. What was going on here and now was infinitely more interesting. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the crib. “This your baby, huh? I forgot about that.”
Rosasharn nodded. She was on her knees now, lightly rocking the crib. “Yeah. She was born a few months ago. I was almost starting to think Johnny was never gonna meet his niece.” A gentle, tired smile appeared on her face. “She's a handful, but I'm glad to have her by my side. It gets lonely sometimes, even in a big family like this.” He let her continue, kneeling on the other side of the crib. “Ma and Pa, they got each other. Uncle John got Pa to talk to. Granma and Granpa too. The kids got each other, and Ma doting on them. John went off on his own, and he brought you back with him. Me, all I got is her.” She chuckled softly. It wasn't a cheerful sound. “Nobody's gonna dote on me, I'm too grown. But I can't really sit with the adults, I'm too young. John ain't never had an issue like that, but I do. I used to have Connie to talk to, but he left. He got scared – of her.”
Mark sat quietly until she stopped talking. He knew that it was never a good idea to ask certain questions with this family. Sometimes, he just had to let them talk. Sooner or later, they'd say what they needed to, but not if he pressed them on it. He leaned towards the crib. “Everybody needs somebody around,” he said vaguely. “What's her name?”
Her nose scrunched up. “It's a shame to admit, but I never got around to naming her yet. I tried to find a name that fits, I had a whole list and all, but I couldn't decide. Something in me don't wanna decide.” She brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “It's an even bigger shame, but,” she said softly, tears welling up in her eyes, “I think that part of me still thinks Connie might come back. He'll come back and we'll name our baby together. And he'll sweep me away into our own little apartment.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry, didn't mean to get all mushy. Would you like to hold her?”
“Can I?” Mark asked, immediately perking up. “You not scared I'd drop her?”
“No,” Rosasharn said without hesitation. She got up from her knees, and her daughter's little hands immediately reached for her. She picked the baby up and cradled her carefully before coming towards Mark. “I'll be right here,” she assured, handing over the baby, “so don't worry.”
Mark accepted the warm, squirming bundle, in awe. He recalled holding Ruthie just like that. He was smaller then, and somehow he didn't drop her. He wasn't going to drop this baby either. All he had to do was to not get nervous. Not think about it too much. It'd be fine.
“Y'know, I just figured she's my niece too! At least, kinda, right?”
Rosasharn didn't answer immediately. She patted his head. “Not kinda,” she said finally. “She is.”
Mark inhaled sharply, his eyes focused on the baby. “I'm an uncle. Ain't never been an uncle before.”
And then, a realisation struck him, out of the blue. Maybe it would be overstepping to bring it up. Maybe it was a bad idea. But the baby needed a name, right? Sooner or later, you'd have to call her something other than “baby,” he reckoned. And he had a perfectly good girl game that he wasn't using. It lay unused for years. Maybe he could add being a godfather to being an uncle real quick.
“Say,” he murmured, rocking the baby in his arms, “I might have a real good name for ya...”