It’s time for Flora’s bottle and I’m glad I don’t see one prepared on the counter. I’m quite sure Ada had her way with her while I was gone this morning. She’s been far too quiet all afternoon. It sickens me to know what state that poor baby is in.
“Flora cannot stay awake crying all night. Do you understand? You must keep her quiet,” Ada says.
“Of course.” Another impossible situation I must agree to, but I will not poison her daughter.
The bedtime routine for the girls drawled on for what felt like hours before they both settled down. All three of the girls are quiet and Flora is asleep even without a helping of bourbon in her last bottle.
I make my way up to the attic, my feet throbbing from not sitting down much today, and my shoulders heavy from tension. Inside the room, a folded piece of paper starkly contrasts withthe old dark floors. I close the door behind me before picking it up to inspect.
I turn it from side to side, finding nothing written on the front or back, but I can see there’s writing inside. My hands tremble as I unfold the note, knowing it could be anything and from anyone given how absurdly this family behaves.
Hali,
Marlene is the only one to call me that since I was a young girl with a handful of friends living with me in the orphanage. I suppose I grew out of the nickname.
I hope you’re resting now, after a day that felt longer than most. I found this paper and pencil on your desk and I couldn’t help myself. Also, I needed to leave something behind, even if just a few lines. I hope you don’t mind.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. When you were sent out of the house last week, I didn’t know what might have happened to you. Admittedly, I kept glancing out the window, listening for your footsteps along the gravel, hoping I’d see you making your way toward the front door.
Needless to say, I was relieved when you returned, and from what I could see, physically unscathed, I hope. But you’ve been quiet since then and our paths have barely crossed even though we’re under the same roof.
It’s incredible how quickly someone’s distance can make the entire world feel out of place…
I overheard the girls talking about starting school tomorrow. I started working here just a few days before they were released for their summer break. From what I noticed, Ada likes to take that time to run errands. If you find the house too quiet or your thoughts are too loud, maybe you could come visit me. Only if you’d like to, of course.
Sleep well tonight, Halina.
I’m thinking of you.
Gavriel
The note sends a warm flutter to my heart, an unexpected warmth. He’s kind. Thoughtful. And it occurs to me that I’ve never lived in a time where I was allowed to see the people around me as anything but a sibling sharing the life of an orphan, or now, older, as children I care for.
Connections with others have never been a part of my life, not with how frequently people come and go. And if I leave my heart unguarded, I know pain will inevitably find me. On the other hand, I don’t remember the last time I allowed myself to risk a chance of pain. Maybe pain is the consequence of something wonderful. Could that be?
I press the note to my heart just long enough to feel the weight of each written letter. I’ve been quiet around him, so I don’t chance him getting in trouble, or myself for that matter. I signed a paper. A foolish paper. Allowing someone to dictate more of my life. I’m tired of the rules. I hate being afraid. I want to feel something. I want to live. I want to be me.
I slip the note beneath my mattress, tucking in the corners with a gentle touch. A smile tingles at the edges of my lips before I can stop it.
I sweep away the dander from the bed quilt that’s accumulated throughout the day. The ceiling must be covered in dust, but aside from the slope in the corner, I have no way of reaching the top panels.
Within seconds of dropping down on the lumpy mattress, the silence stews and I’m convincing myself the house is making noises when I know that’s not what I’m hearing.
Flora slept all day. I shouldn’t expect her to be asleep all night too.
Part of me knew I wouldn’t get a chance to change out of my clothes.
I whisk down the steps and rush into Flora’s room to scoop her up before her cries grow any louder.
“I know there may be mice and rats upstairs, but I’ll keep you safe from them,” I hush as I carry her upstairs.
Once closed in my room, I sway side to side with her, finding her cry softening but not stopping completely. “What if I tell you a story?” I whisper to her. “Would you like that?”
As if she understood, she takes a breath and coos a response.
“Is that so? Do you understand what I’m saying?” I ask, gently poking her little nose.
Another coo and a touch of a smile this time.
