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The garden vegetables sitting on the table along with the freshly baked baguette turned Christine's stomach into a roaring lion she couldn't quite tame. Pappa Valeruis noticed and chuckled along as her grumbles kept on; getting aggressively louder every time. "Lass, have ye not had anything to eat in the past furty-eight hours?"
"I'm embarrassed to say I have not Pappa but I'm very grateful for the meal we are about to eat. Obviously, as you can tell," she said patting her tummy.
"Yes, of course," he smiled kindly and looked to his wife who was making tea. She instinctively turned her head after some silence and frowned matching his concerned gaze. He reached his hand over the tabletop to lay his palm over Christine's resting hand.
" I dinnae ken what sort of troubles you've kent the past few days, months, and even years, but what I do ken is that here, bòidhchead fionn milis, yer home, and yer loved deeply by yer dear Ma and Pa." Christine nodded.
Also, if this wailing we were hearing earlier was caused by a misfortunate lad I shall vow to strangle him to death meh self. Just provide meh longitude and latitude, dear." A hoarse laugh escaped her throat.
"Thanks," she mumbled and kissed the old man's cheek.
They ate and quickly enough she was back in the small room. Incongruent thoughts passed through while plotting her revenge. She struggled to find the determination to hate the man that got rid of her so suddenly. He used to be so kind, so loving, and so different. But what was the past to her now but a cobwebbed reality? She had to move on and speedily at that.
Christine would come out on the other end shiny and new like a jewel. Grief wasn't a choice; she'd known too much of it in her latter years and anger was much more useful.
The sunset was casting a blazing red and orange hue on her skin. She fell asleep absorbing the heat from the window and dreamed of fire and splattered blotches of ink.
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