September 1

The Quiet Farm (Part 5)

 

[…continued from August 31 entry…]

 

So strange, to sense life in her father’s room once again.

Lara knocked on the door, crossed the bedroom with the intention of pulling back the curtains, lifting the shades.

“Please, don’t.”  Even the faint bleed of sunlight around the window’s edges was enough to make her guest squint her eyes.  Corrinne’s arm lifted, as if she prepared to throw it across her face like a stereotypical movie heroine, ankle caught in the tracks as a speeding train approached.

“The natural light will do you good,” Lara said.  But she lowered her own arms, kept the window covered.   “You’ll feel better once you’re out of bed, moving around.”

“The time is not yet right.”

Corrinne made no attempt to rise, and Lara wondered once again what trauma the girl had experienced, what damage had been done to her young body and inexperienced psyche.  How many hours must she stay in bed before rejoining the living?

“I wonder if you got up during the night,” Lara said.  “I thought I heard someone walking in the house.”  Then, after a moment of hesitation, she added:  “Someone whistling.”

“I never learned to whistle.”  As proof, she pursed her lips and blew a weak, silent stream of air through them.

Thinking some food would aid her guest’s recovery, Lara offered to bring her some breakfast.  After her own uneasy night, Lara didn’t actually want to prepare the meal, so she was secretly glad when Corrinne declined the offer.  Corrinne said she needed to build up more energy to eat — though perhaps her phrasing had been different; perhaps she’d said “to feed” instead of “to eat.”

 

[…continued tomorrow…]