#scarsdale

"Esther was your mother. I'm not important. I'm not anybody.... they have to see you need answers, yes?"

"Oh, they know." Fuming. "I"ve told them!"

"They said it would be soon. They promised..."

"And anyway, Esther... Esther is familiar but your first name, Zara, that's the one... the one that... GAHHH!!!!"

"Soon!" She snorts. "Up their's 'Soon.'"

"Maybe you knew another Zara? Or a Sara?"

"Sara, I could believe but Zara? How many Zara's do you know?" She is calming slightly, grumbling, and turns to examine the curtains again, still circling back to the one pretty little pink outfit; very small, and one of the oldest in the curtain.

"Just me. But.... but... they'll be home soon, I'm sure. I can stay?"

Miriam lets go of the quiet girl and lifts the curtain to rest her forehead against it. "So close." Mumbled. "I can almost see it... -smell- it.... but I just.... can't... get ... it.... in focus.

Zara squeezes her eyes shut, looking pained. "Like it's lost in fog, right?"

"Yes!" She straightens and looks over again, dark eyes bright. "And you the shadows are wrong, and the shapes, and nothing smells right and the fog dampens the sounds..."

"I know. I know... please, have some coffee? I'll.. I'll text Hirim."

She takes it with poor grace and asks, sourly. "Don't know. Do I -like- coffee?"

She drinks anyway.

"I know. Ask Hirim."

"You do like coffee."

She fishes out her phone, tapping angrily. ("You need to come home now")

And another, for Ratchet. ("Need help please come home")

"I can't tell you. I'm... I'm sorry, I can't. That is a pretty dress, though. Tiny!"

Miriam's expression softens slightly. "Yeah. Nice stitching. Looks handmade."

"Newborn, probably. All the rest of these too. Probably a girl?"

"Oh... it.. they're mine."

"Yours?" Surprised, she looks around. "These are your baby clothes?"

She nods. "Hirim... w-well, you know how he is, right? His little bubbalah..." she falters, soft voice cracking.

"Yeah. Princess." Drink. "I think I would want a girl. You know. If."

"I think you'd be a good mom."

"Still, hard to think of Hirim being sentimental. He's a Hard Ass."

"Spoken like every apprentice..."

She shrugs. "Maybe. Don't really remember -being- an apprentice."

"W-well, Hard-ass Hirim."

*Hirim texts back: Zara or so we will have a great match for you stupid thing not that turn off voice!*

*Not voice control stupid @()!@(&#....**

*Zaras*

*whatsiswong*

*Qestin*

("COME HOME NOW")

"Yeah. Maybe you bring that out in him. The sentimental thing, not being a Hard Ass. I think that's natural." She broods.

"You know, he once glared so hard at a coffee table, he broke the glass."

*Conning*

That startles a laugh out of her. "Yeah? I'd believe it."

Zara offers a little smile. "Yeah. Sharpest glare in the west."

"You heard his mouth? I swear to dog, he's trying to swallow most of it around me but still..." She laughs, short. "Dirty old cuss."

"Well, if you can't say something nice - say it in yiddish?"

"Yeah, but we -understand- Yiddish so what's the salvation in that? We still know what he said."

"Don't think you need Yiddish to understand vitriol... he could swear by going 'A-E-I-O-U' with enough gusto."

"True words." She agrees and sips her coffee.... her gaze wanders back to the curtain, and lingers.

"He made -curtains- out of your -baby clothes-?" The same way one asks about time machines made out of sports cars.

"Hirim has a unique aesthetic."

Miriam mutters. "Guess I'm lucky I didn't end up in a well putting lotion in the basket...."

"Oof, no. No. He loves you like a daughter."