Wallflower Ink

Chapter 7

· Jace ·

After we'd finished unloading then packed all the equipment inside, Kyle had left, promising to return the next afternoon. The plan was to pick me up then take me to get my vehicle, and anything extra I might need while I'm staying with the Lonán woman.

Until then, I'm stuck here.

I've seen very little of Merri in the hour we've been alone together, for which I'm not sure whether to be grateful or annoyed. Though it's only five o'clock, she seems to have retired for the night, closing her bedroom door and not making a single sound since.

My stomach grumbles irritably and I frown. Am I supposed to make myself at home, fend for myself? I'm not real clear on the rules of this whole thing. She had shown me my room--which is as sparsely furnished as the living room, with only a twin sized bed and some hangers in the closet, a change of linen on the shelf above them--as well as the guest bathroom and kitchen.

After that, she had excused herself and left me alone in the empty house. With a frown, I look at the boxes around me, then at the heavier equipment that Kyle had helped me move before leaving. I need to start setting up everything else, but finding something to eat is my top priority at the moment.

With a frustrated sigh I walk toward the kitchen, roughly running a hand through my hair as I go. Merri's role as friendly hostess seemed to grow old the moment Kyle left, and I wonder idly if I've made a mistake. I don't really want to be here if my presence is going to make her this uncomfortable.

I could just as easily drop by to help her out, if that would make this whole thing any easier. It certainly would make things easier for me.

In the kitchen, I flip on the overhead light then let my gaze travel over the room. This room too has little to offer in the way of decor, barren but for the cabinetry, steel appliances, and a matching coffee maker next to the fridge. Even the windows over the sink are bare, giving an unobstructed view of the western horizon.

Between myself and the far wall sits a rectangular island, a breakfast bar and two wicker-topped stools on the side nearest to me. To the right, another archway opens to a small dining room, devoid of any furnishings that I can see from where I stand.

I scratch my cheek and furrow my brow. What exactly is going on here, I wonder? It's as if she's a monk in lady's clothing, seeming to be as modern as the next woman yet living a secret life of self-inflicted deprivation. And for what? I can't begin to guess.

From the way she speaks and carries herself, she seems like a well-educated woman, another of the reasons I had initially doubted the sincerity of her proposal. She speaks as if she has money--not necessarily rich, but well enough off to not flinch at the thought of giving me a large chunk of it for my services. So why the pauper lifestyle?

She'd hinted that she'd soon be moving, which might have made sense if it was within the next week or so. But, considering how long it will take to finish her back piece, she obviously has no intention of leaving anytime soon. So why ship everything that would make her comfortable until then, reside here like a squatter in an abandoned house? It just doesn't make any damned sense. She's an odd one, I have to give her that.

With a shake of my head, I walk to the fridge and open the door. Inside I don't find much: my half empty beer--alongside two dozen or so of its much fuller brethren--the usual condiments, a package of chicken, a crisper drawer full of fresh vegetables.