Flower Girl

Forty-Nine

"Go on," Annabelle urged Poire forward with a gentle push. "Tell her," she said.

Poire entered the kitchen. Her steps were uneasy, shy. "Mother?" she mumbled. "There's something I need to speak to you about."

Poire's mother perked up on her chair. "What is it, Poire?" she asked.

"I..." From behind her back, Poire revealed her career sheet and placed it in front of her mother's eyes. "I want to be a journalist," she said.

"Poire!" her mother gasped. "Have you even thought this through?" she cried. "It's such a dangerous job. And there's no guarantee that you'll be able to make proper living out of it. What if you leave us just like your father? What if—"

"Mom," Annabelle said as she joined Poire's side, "I think Poire's old enough to make her own decisions now, don't you?" She rested a hand against Poire's shoulder. "Besides, I told her that if she fails she could always become an English teacher. Don't you think that would be nice, Mom?"

Poire's mother's hands trembled as she grabbed the cross that hung around her neck for support. "I..." She sighed. Her voice was weak. "I suppose you're right," she said before glancing up to Poire once more. "Do what you must," she said with a shaky smile, "but please don't forget about your home—and please, for the love of God, take the liters of holy water left in the basement. I wouldn't want them to get ahold of you during your journey."

Poire forced a smile across her lips as she and Annabelle nodded in silence and left for the living room.

They sat down on the couch.

Annabelle wore a look of pure and utter confusion across her features. She leaned in closer next to Poire's ear and whispered, "Has Mom been taking her meds?"

"Oh, trust me," Poire said, "she has, and she's much better now than she was before. We actually managed to hold a conversation this time. Can you believe that?"

Annabelle's grin wavered. She seemed haunted by a thought Poire wanted to know about, but a thought that Annabelle did not tell her.

"What's wrong?" Poire asked.

"I'm...I'm just worried about her," Annabelle said. "Timmy just started primary school. What does she do all day? I mean, you know how this stuff goes if you leave them alone for too long, and it would be a shame for it to get worse when she's obviously making the effort to pick herself up again after Dad's departure."

Poire clasped her palms together and leaned forward. She stared at the toy cars scattered across the old rug beneath her feet. "Yeah," she said. "It would be, wouldn't it?"