The Man for a Missy (ON HOLD)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It's not here.

For the umpteenth time, Genevieve rummaged the pocket of an old suit where she was sure she'd deposited the test results. Then she felt under the pillow, the top of her closet, knelt to check under the bed. Nothing. Perturbed, she stood in contemplation, wondering if she'd disposed of it in the garbage can. But there was no way to be sure because the waste disposal unit had come by days ago for their trash bags.

In the soft, growing light of dawn, she glanced up at clock on the wall,and had to grab her bag and head out the door. Her workplace was at least an hour away or more, depending on the state of traffic. It was the volatile month of June. The road was barely motorable and around this time, one often waded through murky waters that inundated the potholes on the way back home or was trapped inside by the downpour. Today saw gloomy clouds gathered ominously. The results could wait, the rain wouldn't.

At Jachy's room, she drew a breath before slowly easing the door open, expecting to see her daughter curled up on one side of the bed. Light filtered through the curtain of the single window, and in the dwindling darkness, she observed Jachy's sleeping form then padded closer. Her body was cocooned in the wrapper Genevieve had placed over her as cover for the cold night, chin tucked into her arms, looking untroubled in repose. She gazed down at Jachy's face, recalling the times when nightmares haunted her sleep.

The weeks following her father's death had been the worst. A night never passed by without an episode. Genevieve couldn't count how often the heart thudding screams had jolted her awake or the times she'd pressed an ear to the door and heard the muffled sobs. Not once did Jachy let her in though. The door was always locked from the inside. The mornings after were dreary with few words. Whenever Genevieve had broached the subject, Jachy withdrew completely, so she'd desisted from badgering her and hoped just being within reach would hold some comfort.

Stooping to tuck the wrapper under Jachy's chin and around her feet, she pushed away the macabre thoughts that affronted her mind these days, steeling herself against the burn of tears, the quiver of her lips which she clamped together, but couldn't hold a sniffle. Cry, that was all she did now, even though it amounted to nothing. Before the onslaught of emotions overwhelmed her, Genevieve left the room, comported as she locked the front door.

***********

Jachy waited until the click sounded then sprang out of bed, tossing the wrapper aside, folding up the curtain for the unfiltered morning light. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and an oversized shirt, and wrinkled her nose at her shabby appearance in the mirror.

They were the last set of clothes she'd received from her father on his last return trip, before the illness started. Around this time of the year, her father would take them to swanky boutiques and watched while they shopped to their heart's content. He had been frugal with money but not when his family was involved because he flaunted them at every opportunity he got, so looking good mattered just as much as feeling it. Now they could barely afford rent, lest new clothes.

By past seven, she had eaten and entered her mother's room where she could better assess her reflection to brush and tie up her hair, humming. If everything went as planned, she'd be back before her mother or anyone knew. Hopefully, the weather would co-operate.

Satisfied with the way she looked after a once over, Jachy returned to her room, retrieved an envelope from under her pillow then sat on the bed, staring at it in the quietude. Her mother's habits were predictable, so deciphering the hiding spot had been easy. She pored over the content despite being aware of its despairing nature. Sure enough, the grave words seemed to glare back every time, unchanged. At the early age of seven, she already understood abstract concepts, and that of death was something she'd experienced much later.