Mary and Layla

Chapter 8 - Playing House

The weekend has finally arrived, and I am very excited.

As promised, I visited Layla to help her fix the various broken things around her house. I consider it a small way to show my appreciation for her. Besides, now I have an entire day to spend with her.

Upon arriving at Layla's house, I immediately got to work. The first task was to fix the broken boiler in the basement, which had forced her to use the fireplace. It was a challenging repair, but not too much of a problem to handle for an engineer like me. After a few hours of tinkering, the boiler was up and running, and the warmth it provided was a comforting change from the chilly basement.

Next, I moved on to the refrigerator, which had been making strange noises. It turned out that the condenser fan was starting to get loose. After tightening it up, the appliance was working like new again.

I also addressed some faulty wirings in the kitchen that might cause problems in the future while working on the refrigerator, ensuring that her home was safer and more reliable.

As I continued with my repairs, I stumbled upon a broken lawnmower tucked away in the garage. It seemed to have been forgotten for some time. Looks like another job for an engineer like me.

I disassembled the machine, cleaned it thoroughly, and repaired the damaged parts. Took more than an hour, but now the lawnmower is working, ready to help Layla maintain her garden.

Throughout the day, I worked diligently to fix these household issues, not just as a skilled engineer like myself, but as a friend who wanted to make Layla's life a little bit easier.

"Well, Sergeant Annemarie Arbor, you did well today." I pat myself on the back as I wipe the sweat off my forehead. The sense of accomplishment is certainly fulfilling.

-

Of course, I did not forget my other promise. But that would have to wait until after lunch as I restore my energy. As I sat down at the kitchen table, I was eager for the fact I could eat Layla's cooking for two days in a row.

"Thank you for your hard work, Mary." She thanked me with a warm smile.

"No sweating it!," I replied, probably also grinning because I'm happy with that.

She then presented some flatbread sandwiches she had prepared, and I eagerly dug in. The flavors were incredible, and I found myself enjoying the meal immensely.

"These sandwiches are amazing," I remarked, savoring each bite. "Is this another Italican delicacy?"

She chuckled. "It's called 'La Piadina.' It's a traditional Italican flatbread sandwich."

I nodded, genuinely intrigued. "La Piadina, huh? It's absolutely delicious. You'll have to teach me how to make it sometime."

Layla's smile brightened. "Of course, I'd love to! I'll teach you sometime."

Clara's small footsteps echoed as she descended the stairs from her room. With a bright smile, she held up a piece of paper and proudly declared, "Look, Mom! Aunt Mary! I finished my math exercise!"

"They already teach multiplication in kindergarten now?" I asked, amazed by the fact that all of her answers were correct.

Layla chuckled and gently ruffled Clara's hair. "Oh, it's not homework. Clara just loves playing with numbers. She finds it fun."

"Wow, I guess your mother doesn't have to worry about your grades then." I joined Layla in ruffling her hair, but I got a little carried away, resulting in a bit of mess.

Clara's eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned to me and asked, "Aunt Mary, can we go play in the garden now?"

I looked at Layla for approval, and she nodded with a gentle smile. "Of course, you can, dear. But remember, no getting dirty, and please don't do anything too dangerous."

Clara's boundless energy was contagious, and I was more than willing to accompany her for some outdoor fun. With Layla's permission and a promise to keep things relatively clean and safe, we headed out to explore the garden.

-

In the serene garden, I knelt down beside Clara and asked, "What do you want to play, Clara? We can play anything you like."

Clara, however, had a different request. She looked up at me with her wide, curious eyes and said, "Aunt Mary, can you tell me a story?"

My eyes widened a bit at that request, but she's still a child after all. "Of course, Clara. What kind of story would you like to hear?"

Clara's little brows furrowed as she pondered the question. "I want to hear a story about what you do. Mommy makes clothes, but I don't know what you do."

I decided to simplify my explanation for Clara. "I was in the military, in the Air Force. I worked on planes."

Clara, still eager to understand, asked, "What did you do with the planes, Aunt Mary?"

I smiled at her innocence and decided not to delve into the more intricate or sometimes distressing aspects of my military service. "I helped repair them, making sure they stayed in good shape so that they could fly safely. It was an important job."

Clara nodded in understanding, and I was relieved that she didn't press for more details.

Her curiosity continued to shine as she asked, "Aunt Mary, can you fly a plane then?"

With a grin, I replied, "Yes, I can. I am, in fact, a licensed pilot."

Her eyes sparkled with wonder, and she asked, "What does it feel like to fly, Aunt Mary?"

I decided to give her a playful demonstration. I gently scooped her up into my arms and, with a mischievous grin, lifted her high into the air. We ran around the garden, creating the sensation of soaring through the skies.

"That is how it feels to fly!" I said to her.

Clara laughed as she enjoyed the wind blowing on her face. "It's so fun, Aunt Mary!"

Clara's delighted laughter filled the garden, and it was a simple yet amusing moment of shared imagination. Flying was exhilarating, and I am glad I could give Clara a small taste of the sensation, even if it was only in our playful pretend flight.

"Clara?"

The joyful playtime was interrupted by a man's voice calling out to us. Clara and I came to a halt, and I turned to see a man standing on the garden pavement.

He appeared concerned and slightly stern as he asked, "Who are you, and what are you doing with my daughter?"

Clara's smile faded, and she fell silent. It was as though a sudden shift had occurred. Understanding the situation, I gently lowered Clara to the ground. Her warmth dissipated, and she seemed somewhat indifferent to the man who had just called out to us.

My gaze shifted to the man's attire and the large suitcases nearby, and it became evident that he was no stranger.

The man was Anthony.

Layla's husband and Clara's father.
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