The Artist And The Spectre

Chapter 10

Yasmin had always been an early bird by nature, so it was only natural that she'd be the one to find the notes first.
Ever since she'd attempted to confront her niece over the Ava incident, she began finding cards on the kitchen counter: each new day a stylized sketch of Rowan in humorous poses would inform her that the girl had gone on a walk, that she'd be back for dinner, that she loved her and that there was absolutely nothing to worry about.

The backpack and sketchbook would be gone, along with a sizable amount of cookies and one single red apple (and it had to be red, as the girl wouldn't ever touch a green one).

Yasmin winced the first time she found a card, raging at her own oafish handling of the delicate situation; but her husband was quick to comfort her.

"You aren't a therapist, dear! The squirt needs a bit of time to think. Give her space. Eventually she'll come around, we just need to be here waiting with open arms for when she's ready to talk to us."

This was good, sensible counsel. Incidentally, there was little in the world that Yasmin loathed more than waiting for things to happen.
So she didn't.

She bought a hoard self-help book for foster parents and read them religiously. She prepared lunch boxes in the evening and left them for Rowan to find with a note of her own. She trimmed the trees in the garden, dusted the bookshelves, manicured the whole house until she could see her reflection in the floorboards.

In moments of greater restlessness, she facetimed her sister Aisha to rant.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Yasmin lamented, squeezing the mop in her hands as if the poor thing owed her money.
"I swear to God that little girl of yours will be the death of me!"

A somewhat lifeless chortle piped from the phone's speaker.

"She's a... unique child, to be sure. I was her guardian for three years and I don't think I know half of what goes on in her head at the best of times. But, Yasmin," she urged, "please be patient with her. Rowan is a sensitive child; and in all frankness I have no idea of how she's handling this situation."

"Considering the present state of things, I'd venture the answer is 'rather poorly'."
She felt Aisha bristle on the other end of the line.

"What did you bloody expect, Yaz? She's a bloody teenager. Young one at that!"

Chastised, the big woman wrung her hands around the mop's handle.

"You're right. Sorry. I swear I'm not mad at the lass, she's an absolute sweetheart. I'm just worried."

A sigh. Yasmin saw her sister working a hand over her temples and tight-shut eyes before pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I have to go to work now. Keep me updated. And, please," she added, "tell Rowan... well, that I think about her a lot. And I miss her."

"Will do! Although I'm sure she already knows."

Aisha tilted her head to the side, her mouth pulling itself in a tired smile.

"Maybe. Doesn't hurt to remind her, I suppose."

Time passed, and a few days turned into over a week in the blink of an eye.
Even Omar was starting to feel antsy about Rowan's escapades. Sure, she'd always come for dinner looking bright-eyed and jovial (or at least as much as her timid nature would allow), but seldom if ever mentioned anything about where she'd been; what she'd done; and most pressingly, with whom.

One night, Omar gingerly tried to breach the subject at the table.

"So, how are you enjoying our little town, Rowan? You must've seen every inch of it by now!"

The curly-haired girl happily popped a piece of pasta in her mouth before answering.

"It's lovely, uncle. Exploring the area has been a lot of fun!"

"I'm happy to hear that! But, you know," he bit the inside of his cheek before continuing, "there's plenty of nice villages and historical sites around here. We could go on a little field trip together, the three of us. What do you say, habibi?"

Rowan became absolutely still.
Oh boy, he thought.

"It wouldn't be too long! Just a day or two. To 'spice up' our time together as the youth would say," Yasmin chirped from across the kitchen.

Under the table, Rowan's hands balled up into fists.

"Sure."