Survival

11. Changes in the Brickwork

            Stephanie lay back on her new bed, arms behind her head and legs crossed. Even though none of her stuff was unpacked, and this wasn’t her house, it felt homier than anything had felt since she’d left her life behind. She supposed that she should at least attempt to finish the homework, but there was still plenty of time, and she really did not want to reopen that at that moment.

A lovely, simple room was the one Stephanie was staying in. A small, flat desk sat on the wall opposite to the bed, allowing more space to unfold around the double bed. White toned drawers sat adjacent to the door, leaving one wall left for a beautiful view from the window overlooking the forest.

Stephanie bathed in the gentle breeze from the open window, blowing the curtains like sails into the room. It was so peaceful, and Stephanie didn’t have to worry about anything more than what homework was due soon.

It was heaven.

There was the absence of worrying over food, shelter, safety… she was a teenage girl again. That was such a simple thing, but a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders, letting her breathe easily.

Stephanie closed her eyes, listening to the language of the house. The wind whisked around the house, humming over the stone slightly. Lily’s incessant chatter filtered through the floorboards, coming up from the kitchen. A smile tugged at the corners of Stephanie’s lips. Lily’s pure joy at life was contagious; it gave the house a whole new light. The sound of pots clanging and cooking carried up with the little girl’s voice. Leaves rustled outside of the window, a wonderfully soothing sound. Other than that, the house was quiet, steady on its foundations.

Stephanie breathed in the smell of soft, freshly washed duvet from her bed, letting the feeling of tranquility and laziness rush through her veins.

“Stephanie, can you come downstairs?” Miranda stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a heartening smile.

The instant lurch in Stephanie’s chest was unbidden, but there anyway. She nodded, returning the smile hesitantly as she swung her legs off the bed and followed Miranda back downstairs. Heat emanated from the kitchen, warming the lower floor with the thick scent of food. Stephanie’s stomach panged with hunger, but she kept it under wraps. There was no need to worry about food now, not for a while.

Mr. Seymour turned the dial on the stove to lower the heat on the pan he was cooking in. He switched the panhandle inward and away from the edge before approaching the table. Stephanie looked toward Miranda for a prompt, or something. The tall woman gestured for her to take a seat at the table, while pulling out a chair for herself.

Steeling herself for inevitable questions, Stephanie slid into her seat facing the couple and took a deep breath.

“We just want to ask you some questions before we let you live here with us,” Mr. Seymour began, nodding in encouragement. “You understand that, right?”

“Of course,” Stephanie responded earnestly.

Miranda didn’t speak; she just looked at Stephanie, keeping her eyes trained on the young woman in her home. It was intimidating, and Stephanie understood that that was the point. She attempted to keep the uneasy glances between the couple to a minimum, though it was difficult.

“Where have you lived before now?” Mr. Seymour asked.

He was starting with the easy questions, Stephanie noticed. “You mean city-wise?”

“I mean city-wise and condition-wise.”

Stephanie let the images flicker through her mind, too many to really count. “I’ve lived with my real parents in a house, foster parents in a little apartment, a foster home, a few motels and my car, all across the country.”