clocks

14

Dream

We get back home pretty late. The sky is completely dark now, and the cars headlights shine brightly across the house as we pull back into the graveled drive. Neither of us move to climb out of the car.

"Thank you— for today," he says gradually, still sitting rigid in his seat. His head is facing mine, and he looks so genuine, like he couldn't think of anything else he would've loved more. "I had fun, a lot of fun."

I smile back, my head hurting, feeling so tired overall that I could fall asleep here right now. The car ride has made me drowsy, I can't remember the last time I've been in a car when I haven't been driving it. "I'm glad you did," I tell him. "So did I."

We spend the next little while unloading the car, taking in the things we brought with us, and surprisingly, George doesn't complain once. In fact, he chats to me as we make trips in and out of the house from the car.

After a little while, on our final trip in, Nelly slips downstairs as I'm closing over the front door. A short breeze moves through the hall as I do so. She hovers on the last step, smiling at me. "You're back," she smiles, "how was the day trip?"

I smile back at her, leaving my keys on the table by the door. "Good, we had fun," I answer shortly, because there isn't much to tell. "Went to the beach, had something to eat, a simple day. How about you? Good day?"

She nods, rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet. She's still stood on the last step of the brown stairs. "Yeah, Sheilas still here. We didn't do much— we baked, cookies, they're on the top of the stove if you guys want some. Didn't burn the house down," she grins.

"I can see as much," I nod, looking around us, at the house we're in that is still standing. "So, you're okay, then? You and her?" I ask lightly, leant a little against one of the walls of the hall. Gracie wanders down the stairs, clearly having heard my voice.

"We're okay," she smiles, suddenly looking a little shy. I keep watching as she averts her eyes to the kitchen archway, and then back up the stairs. Was I so obvious at her age? "Can she sleep over?" she adds, as an afterthought.

Then, I look back to the kitchen, and then back to Nelly. "What cookies did you make?" I ask, carefully surveying her.

"Chocolate chip," she answers with a slight amusement to her voice. I realize I can still smell them in the air, the lingering of their baking, the smell of the chocolate and dough.

"Then yeah, I suppose she can sleep over," I answer, wandering quickly towards the kitchen, hearing her laughs as she heads back up the stairs. "Tell her to call and tell her mom, though!" I shout after her.

I think I hear a call back, or maybe I don't, I'm too busy taking a bite out of one of the cookies. It practically falls apart in my mouth, they're still fresh. Beautiful, I think. These are Sheilas, not Nellys. Nells can't bake, not even if it was to save her life.

I'm just planning on taking a second, when I hear George on the stairs. I told him to take a shower around halfway through the unpacking, just to give him an out. I could tell he was putting on a smile so he wouldn't ruin what has essentially been a perfect day out.

He wanders to the kitchen, hair wet, in an old looking t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. He looks at me for longer then he usually would, an odd look on his face, until I realize he's staring at the cookie in my hand.

"Oh," I cough, taking one from behind me and holding it out to him. "Nelly— well, not Nelly, Sheila made them," I tell him, as he closes in on me to take the cookie. He looks at the cookie for a second longer, before taking it. I watch as he takes a small bite.