Iris
It’s late, and I’m still up reading. The crickets are chirping outside, the room illuminated only by the faint glow of the lamp on the bedside table. Miles is fast asleep beside me, curled up beneath the covers.
I started reading the book from the beginning, since I forgot most of the plot. I forgot how funny and romantic it is –it’s a love story about a farmer hiring a nanny after his wife passes away, and the two of them slowly fall in love. It’s sweet, meaningful, and makes me laugh on more than one occasion.
But it’s not just the book that makes me smile. It’s the way that sitting here, propped up in bed with a romance novel in my lap, reminds me of days gone by.
Sure, I might have been in my old bedroom back then, not the guest room. And Miles wasn’t here then. But everything else is the same—the faint hum of the city below, the crickets, the trees rustling in the breeze through the open window.
That is, until I hear the sound of glass shattering downstairs, followed by a curse.
I frown, quietly closing the book and carefully slipping out of bed so as not to wake Miles. I pad down the hall- avoiding all the creaky floorboards out of a habit that I long since forgot about–and make my way downstairs.
The first thing I hear is Arthur’s voice muttering strings of curses. When I peek around the corner to the living room, I see Arthur crouched with his back to me in front of a mess on the floor. It looks like one of his highball glasses fell and broke, dark brown liquor spilling across the hardwood.
He’s picking up shards of glass, and he doesn’t see me.
I almost go to him and offer to help, but for some reason, I don’t. Rather, I watch covertly from around the corner as he picks up the shards, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying aside from a curse word here or there, but he sounds frustrated. And his hands are shaking ever so slightly, which is strange for him.
When he stands, he sways slightly as if drunk.
I quickly hide behind the wall, pressing myself to the wallpaper as he shuffles into the kitchen. His footsteps sound slow and heavy. So he is drunk.
Now, I’ll be the first to admit that Arthur always loved an expensive drink at the end of the day when we were together. He used to pour himself a glass of bourbon, and I would have some red wine, and we would nurse our drinks slowly in front of the fireplace while listening to music on the record player. I never saw any issue with that.
But getting drunk, all by himself… It doesn’t feel like him. Arthur was always dedicated in his belief that one should never get drunk without company, and even when drinking with company, one should know one’s limit before getting sloppy.
This is different, though. This isn’t like him at all.
I
peer around the corner one last time, only to see Arthur new hunched over the sink, gripping the edge with white knuckles. His hair is hanging in his face, and he’s inhaling deeply as if trying to calm himself. I watch him for a moment, confused and concerned.
Suddenly, he lifts his head and begins to turn.
Before he can see me, I quickly slip away and hurry back upstairs. If he hears me, which I don’t think he does, he doesn’t call out or follow me.
1/2
Chapter 66
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The next morning, while Arthur is at work, I complete the gainting of the park bench and leave it to dry next to the open window. I already have a plan for the second painting, but I’ll need some more shades of green paint and a special brush, so I briefly leave Miles with Cliff and run out to the art supply store.
In the store, I inhale the scent of paints and paper, filling my basket with various things. I try not to splurge, although it’s difficult; I’m a sucker for new art supplies. My current financial situation is a factor, though, so ! keep it to a minimum, just picking up what I need before heading to the counter.
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