Wisteria (Wisteria Series) by Bisi Leyton Page B

for these last years? Her gaze fell on the guitar she’d seen earlier. She hadn’t played in years. Picking it up, she ran her hands across the weathered instrument and thought back to her father, who taught her how to play. Two strings were missing, but she could still play it a little. After plucking the first string, she paused because she didn’t want to awaken Bach. She listened to see if he was disturbed; all she heard was his heavy breathing. It sounded like he was fast asleep. She whispered his name, but he didn’t answer.
    Leaving the room, she decided to see if she could find some food and water for them. Outside, she met a girl with long, black hair who looked to be about twelve, sitting at what must have been a kitchen table at one time in the past, smoking a cigarette.
    “Hi, you’re the chick Garfield brought in, right?” the girl asked. “You’re Wisteria?”
    “Yeah, what’s your name?”
    “Mel.” She took a puff of her cigarette and then offered Wisteria the pack. “Do you want one?”
    “Aren’t you too young to be smoking?”
    “Aren’t you too young to be shacking up with a bloke?”
    “I’m not shacking up with him.”
    “Then I’m not smoking,” the younger girl quipped with an impish smile.
    “Leave her alone, Mel.” Garfield walked in and took the cigarette out of the girl’s mouth. “Don’t mind Mel, she’s our resident wiseass.” He tapped her playfully on the top of her head.
    Wisteria laughed and this surprised her because she hadn’t laughed since before that damned freedom run. “Your sister’s sweet.”
    “He isn’t my brother,” Mel protested. “He’s just a loser who thinks he’s somebody.”
    All three of them laughed at the joke.
    “Garfield, I was wondering if it was possible to get any food.”
    “Food?” Mel sneered, before Garfield could answer. “Who do you think you are, the queen of Norway?”
    “Mel!” A woman old enough to be the girl’s mother came into the room, carrying a candle. “Don’t speak about them like that.”
    “Come on, I’ll see what I can do.” Garfield signaled for her come with him. “She wasn’t talking about you,” said Garfield as they left the kitchen. “The Hansens, they were Norwegian and had the room before you and Nun. What is your boyfriend’s name?”
    “He’s not my boyfriend.”
    “Right,” Garfield agreed sarcastically.
    “He’s my friend.” So what, if he didn’t believe her, she was more concerned about getting food than what anyone thought of them.
    “And what’s his name?” He repeated the question as he took her to a room down another corridor.
    If Bach didn’t want to tell people what his name was, then she wasn’t going to. “Just call him Nun,” she insisted.
    “I’m not sure whether or not we can get you food, but I’ll give you some of mine. If any more food is brought in, I’ll make sure you get some. But you’ll have to eat it in here. We don’t want people knowing I’ve got a stash.”
    “It’s not…” She wanted to say the food was for Bach, but she couldn’t risk Garfield suspecting anything. “I’ve got to share some with my friend.”
    Arriving at his destination, Garfield knocked once on the door.
    An elderly woman opened the door and scowled at the pair. “Who are you?”
    “Come on, Owena,” Garfield cajoled her. “You know that she was one of the kids that came in the day before yesterday.”
    “No, she’s not.” Owena started to close the door. “We don’t want any flesh eaters in here.”
    “Owena let me in.” Garfield leaned on the door. “I live here, too.”
    Reluctantly, the older woman eyed the pair before letting them inside and then returned to the watery soup she was cooking in the middle of the living room. The apartment was just as dank and dark as where she and Bach were staying. Following Garfield through the apartment, she stopped the moment she could no longer see where she was going. Someone grabbed her hand, but she