8.04
Sunlight streamed through the windows where curtains hadn’t been drawn. Probably intentional on Sandra’s part – an unobtrusive alarm of sorts to ensure the guest wasn’t up too late.
The girl in the checkered scarf -she did still wear the scarf, having fallen asleep in the armchair- was already wide awake. A blanket had been draped over her, tucked in at the shoulders and by her hips, and she left it where it was, joining her scarf in half-covering her face.
Her eyes were fixed on her knees, her mind as active as her body was still. Her thoughts walked the razor’s edge of inspiration and there wasn’t much footing to be had, if any. A misstep meant succumbing to panic.
Through the kitchen doorway, she could see Sandra walking through the kitchen, and raised her head a bit to get a better look. A portion of the blanket fell aside as she reached up to push a lock of hair out of her eyes. She didn’t fix it. Out of sight, plates clinked.
That ferret-thing passed across the narrow slice of the kitchen the girl could see, running along the edge of the counter.
A moment later, it passed the other way, roughly half of a package worth of bacon clasped in its jaws.
“All of the remaining bacon, Hildr?” Sandra asked. Her voice was barely audible. “Give me half of that and I’ll get the sausage out for you.”
A pause.
Sandra stepped into view, meeting the weasel and collecting the requisite bacon.
The woman’s head turned toward the armchair. “Don’t worry. I’ll cook it in a separate pan from yours. Hildr and I are practically family – a little bit of troll spittle won’t kill me.”
“Uh, sure,” said the armchair’s occupant. She stood and stretched, unwinding her scarf a bit where she was too warm. After a moment’s consideration, she took off her winter jacket.
“The bathroom is that way,” Sandra said, pointing. “Do you have a preference for what you drink with your breakfast? Tea? Coffee?”
“Do you have cranberry juice?”
“Yes. I’ll get it out.”
“And, uh, I don’t know what to do about clothes.”
Sandra gave her a once-over, a careful, searching look, before deciding, “Wear what you have for now. You won’t be too badly off if you wear those clothes for one more day. When you’re done eating, you can use my shower and dry off before you set out.”
“Thank you,” she replied, laying her jacket over the arm of the chair. The plate and glass from last night were already gone from the little table.
She took her time going through the bathroom, her mind still darting through possibilities.
Go to Toronto? No. Padraic was right. A bad idea on a number of levels. Padraic could return, and she needed to look after her dads.
She washed her hands and then her face, using her wet hands to push her hair back. As usual, it immediately rebelled against her attempts to get it in order.
After sniffing her clothes to judge her body odor and resigning herself to a maybe, she headed to the kitchen.
Hildr was devouring a raw sausage roughly a third her size, while Sandra was setting the table.
Croissant, crepes with blueberries and strawberries, bacon and a glass of juice.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she told Sandra, sitting down.
“I didn’t. But I like to eat well, and it’s hardly hospitable to give you gruel while I prepare this for myself,” Sandra said. She tapped the spoon of icing sugar to lightly dust her crepe. “While you washed up, I was thinking about the clothing situation. I do have clothes from when I was about your age. I grew up in this house and left it behind when I moved to Toronto. I’ve never had cause to get rid of it.”
“That could be good,” the girl replied. She took a bite.
“I’m not sure it would be. You’re coming unraveled, so to speak, and you’ll want to hold tight to those things which tie you to your identity. Physical objects or otherwise.”
Like going to see Molly? She made a note of that. She also noted that she still had her scarf on – she had been wearing it for a large portion of the winter. She downed a mouthful of the cranberry juice.
She sputtered, covering her mouth before she could cough it out on the table. That only served to get it in her nose.
Her hand pounded the table a few times while she fought to regain her composure. The ferret thing was hissing at her, baring vicious looking teeth.
Sandra barely flinched. “It shouldn’t be off. It’s fairly fresh.”
“Bitter.”
“Oh. When you asked for Cranberry juice, I thought you meant real cranberry juice. The stuff you usually find in stores is primarily apple or pear juice, with a bit of cranberry added.”
The girl with the checkered scarf sputtered a bit.
“You can get used to it,” Sandra said. “I prefer it mixed with a bit of orange juice. Should I get you a glass and orange juice?”
“Please.”
While she did so, Sandra said, “I’m assuming you don’t know how to put together a model?”
“Depends what kind.”
“It’s a technique enchanters pick up when first learning. Sometimes you try to manipulate a connection and it goes poorly. When that happens, it can help to have a sense of what exactly has happened. I’ll show you after.”