I rub my eyes. It’s so late that even the owls have stopped hooting. Yawning, I absently place my book on the nightstand, leaving the light on, and fall into a dreamless sleep.
Tomorrow coming too soon.
three
Rory
Iknowsomethingisoff as soon as I step through the doors.
The blinds are still closed from the previous night. The fatty smell of the grease heating up in the fryers usually invading my nose as soon as I opened the door, absent. Alma nowhere.
Pushing the swinging door, I tuck my bag in the corner, clock in, throw my hair up into a messy bun. Ignoring that lingering feeling in my gut.
Eyeing the sink, I sigh, starting the water. Day number four of my punishment.
Alma’s leaving her office as I’m finishing tying up my apron. The smile I was going to give her dying when I see her expression.
Grabbing for the wall, her eyes are downcast, face twisting in anguish. She has no idea I am standing here. I clear my throat. She looks up, hand flying to her chest. Why is she jumpy?
“You scared me.” Her voice rising an octave, too upbeat. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
My eyes crease, confusion marring my features as my suspicions grow. I’m here the same time I always am. Something is off.
“Is everything alright?” I ask cautiously.
“Uh, yes,” she rushes out, spluttering. “Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”
I arch an eyebrow. Alma’s voice is fidgety, choking up. Is she trying to hold back a sob? My skin prickles in awareness when I see Alma’s glance flick behind her.
My fingers twitch. “Who’s behind the door?”
Something deep down is telling me this isn’t going to be good. Whatever is about to happen isn’t going to be easy.
Alma tries to block me, but I barge past, shoving the door open. The force making it hit the wall with a smack. Startling the woman seated wearing a tweed pea-green blazer and matching skirt.
She stands, extending her hand, introducing herself. Eyeing it, I don’t move. She drops it, picking at a nonexistent piece of lent on her skirt instead.
“You must be Aurora.”
“It’s Rory.”
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” She smiles, and it’s genuine. I could spot a fake a mile away, and this lady is authentic.
“Why are you here?” I ask bluntly.
She chuckles awkwardly. “Straight to the point, like your father.”
I stiffen and she catches it. Her forehead creasing in confusion.
Discomfort sits low in my gut. If she knows my father, then that means something happened. Abram made it clear he wanted nothing to do with me a long time ago.
I ask again why she’s here.
She purses her lips, pointing at the chair. “Would you like to have a seat?”
I shake my head and look past her at Alma. Wordlessly questioning what is going on, but it is useless. She is staring down at her entwined fingers, avoiding me.
A somberness hangs in the air. They are acting as if someone died, it’s so stale.