Unclaimed

Chapter Four- Visitors

It's been a week since I walking out from the royals party.

Carrying a woven basket of vegetables and herbs loaded to the brim, on my back. The sun beating down on the white sandy shores that weren't too far from my home. My once white clothes now stained with dirt and sweat. Wiping my face away with the bottoms of my shirt. Raising it every so often to clear the sweat from my forehead.

Breathing hard as I make the hill up to my backyard. A clear but narrow dirt path leading up to the back door. Nothing but clovers surrounding the outside of my home. Wiping my bare feet on a towel before I enter, the house made from nothing but the trees for the forrest around.

Rose vines over taking one side of the house. Wrapping itself around the columns that's supported the roof. Clean cut woodwork around the door frames, and the railing of the stairs.

Once I get to the living room it looks more like a church. The ceilings high with windows on all sides letting the sunlight in. The sunlight hitting the rainbow colored shards of glass, that hung of the wooden beams that kept the ceiling up. The wall were covered in paintings I'd bought from a local artist. The paintings themselves were massive and covered the boring wooden walls well.

I sighed as I dropped the heavy basket on the kitchen counter. The kitchen right where the living room is sharing the open space. After Thomas died I installed white granite countertops. The wooden ones were old and I wanted something sturdier. If he were alive Thomas would never have let me get away with it.

Too bad.

I let out a low whistle and in comes running the two terrors. Or more specifically, mastiff's. One dark brown haired Tibetan, and one grey haired Pyrenean. They both jump on me almost toppling me over licking face and sniffing my clothes.

"Yes, yes, I know I'm dirty." I say and head to the bathroom for a shower. Thirty minutes later I'm in the kitchen washing and scrubbing the dirt off the root vegetables. Then I hear a knock at my door.

"Mary Anne, if that's you I have a fat wheel of Parmesan with your name on it." I call out.

"I'm not her." My father shows up at the open doors . "I would still appreciate a wheel. Thomas used to let his age for thirty-two months, it was perfect every time." He says stepping in as he looks around the house. His lips pressing into a thin line. I pause with the bristled brush in hand, the faucet still running as I stare at him through the open doors.

"You really made this place your own." He says.

"What do you want?" I ask tossing the vegetables into the basket and circling around the kitchen island.

"To talk. To see Thomas's grave and pay my respects."

I see no reason why not. I lead him through the house to the back and into the trees. Following an old beaten path next to a small stream. Walking for only a couple minutes before we came to a clearing. In the middle was Thomas's grave stone. His name, date of birth and the date of his death.

I let him approach alone and left him to grieve. Back home I continue washing the vegetables and then move onto the fruit. He comes back soon enough his face blank but his eyes holding pain.

"Believe it or not we were good friends. We were like brothers." He says.

"I believe you." I say and turn my attention back to washing the fruit.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He questions.

"Maybe because I was grieving too. Maybe because I was angry and pissed off at the world for taking away the only person that made me feel safe. Maybe I didn't want the hassle of sharing my grief with people, who would sooner judge my pain than understand it. Maybe I choose to grieve quietly." I say calmly.