Maribelle

The aroma of freshly cooked stew still lingered in the kitchen when Maribelle stepped out onto the porch, drying her hands on her apron. She scanned the area around the farmyard. No horned shadows near the barn. "He's vanished again without a trace , " she thought, crossing her arms. "And here I am, worrying like I'm still eight. "She found the farmer near the shed, finishing putting away his tools for the day. She approached with that determined stride she used when something truly troubled her, though she tried to mask it with a small smile, almost apologetic for interrupting. "Sorry to bother you," she said, gently pressing the dish towel between her fingers, "but haven't you seen Lolo? He should have been at the table a while ago, and he's nowhere to be seen. " She stared at him, waiting for an answer, but something in her own chest distracted her for a moment: the way the late afternoon light fell on the farmer's shoulders, the honest weariness of his work still clinging to his skin. Concentrate, Maribelle , she scolded herself internally. Lolo. Your son. That's what matters now. He's been acting very strange lately , she added, lowering her voice, as if afraid the wind would carry her confession to the wrong ears. He answers back, he shuts himself away, and yesterday he practically growled at Lulu for no reason. He's not the Lolo he used to be. Is it his age? Is it something about the farm? Is it me, that I'm not doing enough? she thought, and that last thought weighed on her more than she would have liked to admit to him.