What If Just...

13 Vivian

We are all clearing the table and washing the dishes together when I get a question from Lilia again.

"Vivian, have you decided yet if you want to work with us?"

"I don't know if I can do it. The last time I did something with my own hands was probably at school," I begin uncertainly.

"Come on, you'll learn everything, the main thing is your motivation," Grace interjects with a wink.

I don't think I have any other way out right now.

The job search may take a long time, and I'm in a desperate need of money.
Moreover, flowers inspire by their appearance alone...

"Okay, I'm ready to give it a try," I agree.

"Great, then we'll start your training in the workshop tomorrow," Lilia exclaims joyfully.

We just had breakfast, which means there is still a whole day ahead.

What else can I spend it on, if not on my precious stack of books?

I go up to my room, take Wuthering Heights and go out into the garden to continue reading.

Obviously, I came across a very special novel, because it doesn't really fit into my idea of romance, but this fact makes it more interesting to get acquainted with.

I've been reading fast enough since I was a kid. I've already finished about a third of the book since last evening.

Once upon a time I tried to read at night, but I was quickly punished for breaking the rules, so I had to abandon this idea.

Something tells me that the further the plot goes, the darker the picture of the whole work will become.

I am completely engrossed in the story, so I don't notice Grace coming up to the bench where I am sitting.

"It's good that you found something for yourself among the small number of books that we have left," she says, " You've been sitting here for a long time. Aren't you hungry yet?"

"No, I had a good breakfast," I answer, smiling.

"I put some things on your bed, I hope they'll be enough for the first time", the woman kindly informs.

"Okay, thank you," I retort.

There is something I've been wondering for a long time. Probably, there is no better moment to come up with a question.

"Grace, do Aiden's parents live in another city or town?" I ask, trying to tell from her face if I'm putting her in an awkward position.

"No, his parents died when he was fourteen, that is a little more than ten years ago. My husband and I raised Aiden together since then," she says affectionately, but sadly.

I look at her and can't find the words and, frankly, the courage to express my sympathy.

"I'm going to cook dinner, the time's coming," she quickly gets up and moves towards the house.

My question must have got under her skin.

I have to say no to my excessive curiosity.
Now I will feel bad as well.

The day passes in small chores and a huge number of pages read.

In the late afternoon, Grace informs me that my order will be delivered tomorrow morning (I suppose Aiden texted her), so we decide that I will visit the workshop after lunch.

I don't know what to expect from tonight - whether the nightmares will come again or not.

Perhaps the "no sleep" option will help to avoid an unwelcome meeting.