Dallas' mother accepted the cookies with a gracious smile and placed them on the white end table to her right. Her gaze drifted to her son, then back to the shy young woman before her. "No, it's quite alright. Thank you. Please, why don't you have a seat?" She motioned to the empty seat on her left. Sahara hesitated. She'd been sure that she would be turned away. Finally, she nodded, and sat on the edge of the seat. Again, her back was kept rigidly straight, hands clasped carefully in her lap. Out of habit she stared down at them, only examining the rest of the room with quick stolen glances through her lashes.

The two sat in a relative silence -the music was still playing from the TV- that was not altogether as unpleasant as Sahara expected. Ms. Johnson was clearly very deeply lost in her own thoughts. Sahara, for her part, was grateful that the conversation was at an end. She idly thought about Dallas, his mother, and her trip here today. It was starting to seem a success. Of course, the moment this occurred to her, she remembered the circumstances of the visit and felt a deep pang of guilt. This boy who was once her classmate, who was actually kind to her for a short while, was gravely hurt. No positive feelings should come from his condition.

About ten minutes had passed and Sahara had begun a silent prayer for Dallas' health when four distinct knocks came from the door. It opened to reveal a short girl who appeared to be a bit younger than herself; still in high school, by the looks of it. Sahara watched her out of the corner of her eyes, very careful, as she always was, to avoid eye contact. The girl's long hair was lorn loosely, like a child's, with unnatural coloring on which Sahara's eyes lingered perhaps a bit longer than necessary. She was clearly of Asian descent, maybe Korean or Thai. Her outfit revealed much more than Sahara was comfortable with, and despite how much she'd grown used to such styles, she felt a familiar tinge of embarrassment on the girl's behalf.

Dallas' mother stood to greet her, but the girl hadn't taken a few steps in the door when another with blonde hair of a similar waist length -the style was apparently more popular than Sahara was aware of- came in, a tall youth trailing behind. The girl was possessing of bright blue eyes, clothing which Sahara considered distinctly masculine, and a demeanor that seemed altogether opposite her own. The man wore his hair longer, as she remembered her father did, though with a headband that seemed made for a female. His face was dirty and his clothes were that of a patient. Upon his entrance in she actually turned her head slightly for the first time, to take them in a bit better. 

The man's appearance worried her, as it seemed he should still be in a hospital bed. It also struck her as somewhat odd that she recognized none of the newcomers to the room. She worked at a rather popular family run diner in town, and one of its two smaller bookstores. She'd seen, at least in passing, most of the citizens of their town. One would think that she would remember at least one of these, even with her tendency to not look people in the eye when speaking with them. 

The older woman offered her hand to one and introduced herself. Sahara stayed quiet, eyes already returning to her lap, as was her way.