He still kept his head down in hopes the owner of the scratchy voice might give up and walk away. 'Yeah right,' he thought. But hey, it was Christmas Eve, season of miracles and all. He tried valiantly to keep eating and ignore the presence. However, try as he might he could not ignore the woman staring intently at him as if she could see into his soul. He found himself involuntarily raising his blue eyes to meet hers. A warm smile spread across her face and she held up a pitcher.

"Can I offer you some cider? Fresh. Donated by an orchard out in the valley. Christmas spirit and all that. Makes them feel, I don't know, redeemed I suppose," she concluded as she plopped into an empty chair two seats over from him. "Phew, feels good to sit for a minute. Been a popular place tonight. "

If he had thought she was short standing, sitting down did not help the matter. The uncharitable thought that she rather looked like a Christmas elf crept through his mind. Short hair, oversized glasses, the boy was tempted to peek under the table and check out the shoes to see if the ends of her footwear curled upwards. Though she wasn't old by any means, she seemed to ooze wisdom about her person. And the voice. Distinctive to say the least. She shook the pitcher again. "Cider?"

"No. Ah thanks," he added as he prepared to execute 'Plan B'.

Her eyes roamed the empty table. He noted their path and got ready. It was coming, he knew it. Game on.

"Are you here alone?" she inquired gently.

Bingo. Target acquired. Deploy decoys.

The boy placed his fork down and looked her straight in the eye with his baby blues. "No. Well not really. I'm kind of waiting for my Mom."

"Uh-huh," she acknowledge noncommittally.

For effect and to help him keep an even pace, he picked up his fork and between mouthfuls, spun his tale. "My Mom. We live a few blocks over. On Locust. We rent a few rooms in a house, all we can afford," he said, down casting his eyes and looking pitifully.

Pace. Chew, chew, and swallow. "Dad," he snorted, "Long gone. Alive, dead who knows, who cares. Just Mom and me. But we do OK," he said raising his eyes to meet hers again and shaking his head in a defiantly positive way. 'We look out for each other. Mom. Me." The teen got the nod of encouragement he expected from the lady. Good. On track, target deflected.

Dropping his head again, he went back to eating and spinning his tale. "Mom works in the all night drugstore, over on Elm," he continued, gesturing with his fork in a randomly northerly direction. "Best she can get in these times is what she says. They take turns on the night shift," he glanced up again at his table partner, "Worries me," he added seriously. "Bad things happen on the night shift. Robberies. I worry about her," he sighed and went back to his food. Quiet for a few beats. Nice effect. "She drew short straw and got stuck working tonight. But hey, the bright side is we get to spend part of Christmas Day together, well… for what it is worth," he added with a rueful grin. "Like no presents or anything but at least we're together right?"

The woman nodded meaningfully. The teen inwardly grinned. This lady was putty in his hands.

"So any rate, she and I came here to eat dinner. But she had to leave to go to work and left me here to finish up." The boy ducked his head again this time assuming the mask of embarrassment, even letting a little color rise into his cheeks. "But I do have a confession to make, since we are in a church and all."

"Oh, Heaven forbid," the woman chuckled. "I'm no priest and I am pretty sure I am closer to the sinner then Saint mark on the cosmic balance beam. You need not confess anything to me."

"Well, you seem nice, volunteering and all, being in a church on Christmas Eve, I feel I gotta," the teen rambled on. "The real reason I am still here at the table is I snuck back into the line and got seconds. I mean I know it was probably wrong but I was still so hungry and there seemed like plenty of food and…" the boy let his voice fade off as he made abstract patterns with his fork in the remains of the mashed potatoes on his plate. Nice touch. Masterful. He wondered if his performance might earn him a second slice of pie.

The woman looked at him curiously. "I see," was all she said. The two of them sat in silence at the table for a few minutes. The boy made sure to initiate eye contact once and awhile but still looking away for a fraction of a second to display a little "guilt" about the second helping of food.

Finally, it was she who broke the silence. "I am sure your second helping will not leave any other individual without substance tonight. As you said," she replied eyes sweeping the buffet line, "there seems to be plenty for all. " She shifted back to stare at him. "Sorry your mother had to, ah, run off to work leaving you alone."

Boy, when she trained those eyes on you it felt like incoming, heat seeking missiles. He hesitated a moment, trying to read her last comment. That brief pause she had thrown in, was he losing her? Maybe he'd better forget about enhancing his performance for a second slice of pie and get the hell out of Dodge instead. Yes, exiting was the key now.

"It's OK. We do the best we can do," he replied philosophically.