Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 22 - Bonding

Willow

"Knock-knock," my mother says, knocking on my bedroom door. She enters when I answer and crosses to my bed.

I've just changed into my sleep shirt and am hanging my clothes in my closet. I turn to join her and am surprised when I see her place a flat box on my bed, giving it a gentle pat when I give her a quizzical look.

"Ryan is replacing some of the work laptops with upgraded versions. I... b... bought one of the old ones from him."

She seems a bit uncomfortable. The way in which she said that last sentence sounded more than a little suspect, making me wonder about the nature of the transaction.

"I thought you might need one. Here you go," she continues, pushing the box towards me. "It has pretty good specs."

"Oh!" I gasp. "Thank you, Mommy! This is wonderful!" I crawl over the bed to give her a hug. Letting go, I sit back down and pick up the box and hugging it to my chest, I give her a suspicious look.

"Uncle Ryan actually sold you this laptop. Really?" That does not sound plausible. Not if she's talking about the Ryan Drake I know. I place the box back on my bed and run my fingers over it. I'm too happy to care too much about the business dealings behind the gift.

Besides, I've decided to fully embrace his request to just let him be who he is and pretend that I don't see it. The alternative is too tiring anyway and might inadvertently end up hurting him. I am growing very fond of Uncle Ryan.

"In a manner of speaking," my mother shrugs. "We made a trade," she pulls a face and shakes her head. "All I'll say is that the Drake men are truly strange and more than a little impossible."

And with that cryptic answer, she wishes me a good night and leaves my room. I would have loved a longer chat with her, but I could see that she was exhausted. That's fine, we have a whole weekend ahead of us. Besides, it's long past my normal bedtime. I've spent quite some time in the study doing my homework and copying Ronja's notes.

Little-Piddle is nowhere in sight when I'm ready to call it a night and go to sleep. He is no doubt having a ball somewhere getting in somebody's way. The Drakes are all very tolerant of him. Even my mother seems to be warming to the creature, even though to her he is a stark reminder of where she'd escaped from and everything she'd had to endure.

But then I am an even worse reminder.

Aunt Beth should rather be asking my mother the question she'd asked me the other day. "Is Little-Piddle's presence causing you pain?" Or better yet: "Is Willow's presence causing you pain?"

The dog's appearance is vastly different from what he'd looked like under my grandmother's strict rule, though. He's no longer shaved and styled and turned into some kind of exhibition art piece. He is now just a messy little dog. A happy one, as far as I can tell.

Certain that he would eventually come to bed, I open the door into the hallway a crack for him, slide under my duvet and turn off the bed lamp. I've barely settled down when there's a knock at the partially open bathroom door.

"Missy, are you sleeping?" It seems that Hunter has completely given up on calling me Willow, but I'm starting to like it. The nickname makes us seem closer somehow.

There's no way I'm calling him Hunny.

"No, come in," I say, sitting up.

"Wanna see something cool?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe. As usual, I'm not sure what the safest response to that kind of question would be when it's coming from him. It all depends on his current mood.