Happily Ever After

Chapter 2 - The Walker

The pain didn't come back. At least not right away. Wendy sat through the dullness of the meeting, listened to those in ASB gush over prom themes then speak about the parking lot with all the business manner they could muster, and left with Ari upon it's end. More talk of James ensued, since Ari couldn't help but process things verbally. Over. And over again. But no pain or weird sightings. 

All the better, Wendy thought. It was much more easily dismissible.

Ari dropped her off at home--a house that revealed the looks of something that didn't quite fit in it's surroundings. While Ari lived in a typical suburban house that was designed to look exactly like it's neighbors, Wendy's house sat outside in the outskirts of the suburbs of Tulsa, Oklahoma. It was enough in the country to be far, and enough in county limits to be close. The perfect medium in her opinion. 

Painted a light yellow, her house popped amongst the flatlands of the country. A few trees sparked the exterior in green, complementing the rolling of the grass that stretched a mile or so to the other houses on her street. A white trim decked the house and wrapped around the edges. A very clean and modern country home that almost looked too perfect. 

Wendy's mom blamed it on her father. Apparently he took the time to upkeep it while she was out, due to a need to control things. Which Wendy could believe. 

Stepping inside, she threw a wave back at Ari's really beat-up car. A wave was returned before she closed the door with a smile. 

She discarded her boots in the doorway, letting her white socks lead her into the house. "Hey!" she called out from the entry hall. 

"Hey!" came her father from upstairs. "How was school?"

"Typical." She went upstairs, making a sharp right into her room. "Mom still at work?"

"Yeah, she had to stay late today. Some meeting."

Dropping her backpack down, she walked back down the hall towards her father's study. Or his studio. Or his office. Wendy was unsure what to call it at this point. The room had many uses over the years. 

She went to the door and leaned against it. Her father had his back to her, a canvass in front of him. A shirt covered in splotches of paint matched his stained jeans. 

She eyed his work from her vantage. It was a landscape. Not one that resembled the view outside the window right across the canvass. But some other place, with a jagged mountain line in the distance. 

"Where's that?" she asked, breaking his silent space. "Colorado?"

"Nope," he mused. His brush danced delicately upon some trees in the foreground. "It's just a beautiful scenery. Nature in all it's wonders."

Wendy cocked her head. "Hm." Not like her father to draw upon his imagination. "The mountains kind of look like a bird," she added.

His hand paused. He took a look, then turned to her. His white face was such a contrast to her russet hue. Truly, the only feature she feels she inherited from him were her nose and face shape. The rest--all her mother and her Cheyenne-Native American heritage. 

"A bird?" he asked, comically. "What?"

Wendy chuckled, she stepped forward. "This peak, and this peak are the wings," she pointed to the two outer peaks, "and the middle one resembles the head and beak."

Her dad raised an eyebrow. "Sure," he said, unconvinced. "Whatever you say." 

"You didn't intend that, I take it?"

"It's a mountain, Wendy." He smiled. "I didn't intend anything but rock."

"Just giving you some creative help," she said, with a shrug.