...The White House holds many secrets. It invites visitors to reconnect with nature by spending their weekends with a family who lives in a white house located in the middle of the woods. But nature is not the only connection that this inn provides...
Claro stood up from the stool where he sat. He stretched his long legs a bit. Then he moved around the kitchen leisurely while he waited for Kat's return. He began to look at the pictures hanging on the kitchen wall. A particular frame caught his attention. It housed a poem written by Ella. He read it and smiled at the play of words. She has a writer's heart, indeed. And it seemed that she really liked writing for children.
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He moved to the window and looked outside. There he saw Robbie busy with the fallen leaves. On an impulse, he decided to go outside. It's a good time as any to look for a good story. And he felt that he'd get a scoop from the boy. Not that the family lacked interesting stories to tell but he needed a tangible one - something he could hold on to. He went through the kitchen door. It was already daylight but the temperature was still cold that mid-October. And although there were only two seasons in the country, more leaves would fall between the months of November to early December. He carefully walked toward the young man. Claro assessed him to be in his late teen. Dark and muscular, the young man's body showed signs of hard labor. Robbie had curly hair and a charming pair of smiling eyes. But when he saw the writer approaching, he turned his back as he swept the ground.
"Hi," Claro tried to break the ice, "Too many leaves, huh?"
Robbie smiled timidly but did not speak. The writer tried again.
"Have you been working here long?" The older man tried to make conversation.
"T-two years," came the shy reply.
"Really?" The writer asked patronizingly, "I'm Claro." He extended his hand.
Robbie was taken by surprise at the casualness of the writer's greeting. He took the hand and shook it vigorously. The ice was broken.
The two men talked while Robbie continued to do his chores. And when Robbie took hold of a taktak (a garden tool used for digging hole on the ground), Claro got curious.
"What are you doing? "The writer asked.
"Digging holes," was the casual reply.
"What for?" Claro persisted.
"For planting." Robbie smiled patiently at the man from the city.
"I see," Claro nodded to himself, "Can I try?"
Robbie suddenly stopped, looked at the older man keenly before handing him the tool.
"Here," the lad's casual tone reassured the older man, "Be careful!"
"What do you mean?" Claro asked uncertain.
"Don't hurt your foot!" Robbie laughed, "I'll just get the seedlings in the shack."
"I won't!" The writer answered. As soon as Robbie left, he began to look for a good spot to dig. Before he lunged the first thrust, he saw the gray sedan passing by. He waved his hand in greeting and Ella waved back. As soon as the couple were far from sight, he stabbed the earth with all his might. The ground shook a little. And he felt funny. He saw Robbie coming back, holding young plants in his two hands. Claro's face felt numb and cold. Why is Robbie running? He watched the boy as he rushed closer. The writer's eyes slowly dimmed until darkness completely obscured Robbie from his sight.
