“Did you?” Odette looked at her, frowning slightly.
“Oh yes,” Penelope smiled gently. “When I was younger, I used to sneak out into our garden and pretend I was traveling the world. Just for an hour or so, I’d imagine I was somewhere else. Not because I didn’t like my home, but because sometimes you just need space to think.”
Odette turned her face forward again. “That’s kind of how this place feels.”
“I’m glad you showed it to me,” Penelope said, after a pause.
“I don’t usually bring anyone here,” Odette tilted her head.
Penelope felt something warm bloom in her chest at the confession. She reached out and gently brushed a leaf off the girl's shoulder.
“Well,” she said lightly, “that makes me feel very special.”
“You’re not like the other grown-ups,” Odette gave a little laugh. “I feel that you actually understand me.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Penelope grinned. “But I do hope you’ll tell me things. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
“I guess so,” Odette said with a soft smirk. “Even though you make me play the piano.”
Penelope laughed. “That’s true. But I also bring you to walks as a reward. So I think that makes us even.”
“Fine. We’re friends now.”
They sat down on the grass. Penelope leaned back on her hands, tilting her face up to the sunlight as Odette threw a twig for Apollo to chase. He made a lazy attempt, then gave up halfway and flopped back down.
“He’s the laziest dog I’ve ever met,” Odette said.
“He’s clever,” Penelope replied. “He knows we’re not going anywhere. Why waste the energy?”
Odette laughed softly. For a moment, Penelope just watched her, her posture more relaxed than usual. This was the Odette she liked best.
“Comfortable?”
Odette gave a noncommittal shrug, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I guess.”
“You know, since we are friends now, maybe you should tell me a little more about yourself,” Penelope started. She did not want to rush her.
“You already know more about me than most,” Odette replied, smiling.
“Yes, but I know there is still a lot more I need to learn,” Penelope noted.
Odette plucked a blade of grass and began twisting it tightly around her finger. She hesitated, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she said, “My mother died when I was born.”
Penelope blinked. “I’m sorry, Odette. That must have been very hard.”
Odette didn’t look up. “I never knew her. Not really. She died in childbirth. I don’t even know what she looked like. There are no paintings of her at home.”
Penelope’s heart ached at the quiet finality in her tone.
“I used to come here when I was younger,” Odette continued, nodding toward the old stone well a few paces away. “I’d throw pebbles into the water and make foolish wishes. I used to believe that if I wished hard enough, the well would bring her back.”
Penelope reached out, gently brushing her fingers over Odette’s hand where it rested on her knee.
“I don’t think that’s foolish at all,” she said softly.
Odette didn’t pull away, but she didn’t respond either.
“My father never talks about her unless I ask,” she said after a while. “And even then, he barely says a word. I’ve always taken that to mean he didn’t really care. They were only married a few months. She got pregnant quickly, and then… she was gone.”
