She found that his silences made her sad
she had not heard from him since the other day —the day after ….and a lot of things had happened that day —but….
and she berated herself for feeling this way….how his silences made her sad….this was just something she never encountered before that sense of loss of —being locked out; ostracized and why should she care? who was he to her anyway? and it served her right that she learned the same lesson again for ….falling for all the things he claimed to promise ….she was exhausted of being a dumb pawn object to some guy who really didn’t care about her
it felt like a rock in her stomach ….the sad feeling of betrayal ….why didn’t he call?—send a message? after everything, she deserved some acknowledgment ….but as the busy days at the shop followed,
And the new strange evidence that they had missed due to witches brew
What strange evidence, indeed. As it had happened Faun had said that next morning, rushing to get ready for the shop, leaving his bed,
“how embarrassing! I’m sure you and our cop friend had a good laugh over how my bedroom looked? All my underwear everywhere—I was in such a hurry!—I overslept, you see—so that’s why my clothes are all over the floor like that! I usually make my bed too.”
Grant had looked at her blankly for a moment.
As she noticed that his morning sleepy face was so appealing; his bed head hair a sexy mess that it made her want to ignore facing the day outside and just stay here in bed with him.
“What?” she had missed what he said—was it the accent or her thoughts?
“I said, don’t be silly— that your room looks very tidy—the bed was made, as it happens, it looked like a hotel, to be honest—that’s what Officer Sullivan said anyway.”
“What?” she just had her arms back through the burgundy dress to go back downstairs and then back up to her own room next door to get ready for a day at the shop
Grant looked blankly back at her,
“which part?”
“I didn’t make my bed,” she said this like someone trying to reassure the other person that they were not insane
“What?—you….but no—we saw—it was—because it even had the hotel edges—that’s why he commented, we were impressed at your bed making skills.”
“Shut up!” she blurted this out. It was just insane what he was saying. Clearly he was teasing, ‘having her on’ as he’d say ….she looked at him sideways, “are you teasing me?”
“About….?”
With arms still half pulled through the dress, she systematically collected her strewn belongings as she walked to and through his bedroom door, down the stairs, through the kitchen doorway(still left ajar) and then up her stairs to her bedroom.
She stood outside her bedroom door. She stared into the room. After a few moments she walked to her antique and battered up Victorian dresser with the layers of paint peeling away; now pink; now blue; now gold; now white….and in three neat stacks done with professionally laundry style attention to care, were all the clothes she had left in rejected piles on the floor!
She remembered this vividly ….and she didn’t know how to fold that way …..
Someone had been there
If that didn’t give it away, who was there decided to leave a calling card —across the pillow lay one of her camisoles; this one black lace with tiny satin ribbons
No comments:
Post a Comment