DISCLAIMER:
This book contains mature subject matter and triggering topics that may not be suitable for every reader.
• • •
"What is it that I always tell you, Winona? You'll always come back to me. A bird never forgets its home."
Winona Horton ha...
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July 2010 • • •
Harry leaned over, landing a kiss on her cheek. "I'll be home by the afternoon, no later. I have to go to the city and get a few things for the house and deliver the crates of apples that some customers ordered. We're also running low on groceries and I need more supplies if I'm gonna get the barn fixed. The door's been a pain in the ass."
She put the spoon down next to her bowl of oatmeal. "Just be careful. The forecast said there's a thunderstorm coming this way."
"Don't worry about me, I'll be alright." He dumped the contents of his mug into the sink and turned on the tap, quickly rinsing it out. "We don't know how bad it's gonna get, so make sure you stay home today. If anything happens, call me. Do you remember my number?"
"Yes sir," sarcasm dripped into her voice.
"Say it to me."
"Why?" Winona's face dipped into a stubborn frown.
It earned her an eye roll from him. "Just say it, Winona. Come on."
She recited it for him as evidence.
Harry was a man of traditional values, one who believed that the blessings of technology were outweighed by its ills. For him, the only conduit to the world outside was the humble landline phone nestled in the cozy confines of their living room. Rarely would he venture out, save for the occasional trips to deliver his carefully nurtured and naturally grown apples, much loved by his patrons, or to procure the supplies they needed for the upkeep of their household.
Though he carried a cell phone when he left the property, it remained dormant and untouched, save for the single number saved on it: their home's. Winona's mother had been a chatterbox, her phone perpetually pressed to her ear. But Winona knew better than to succumb to the temptation of such devices. She had been raised to find pleasure in simpler things, and the flickering screens and endless notifications of modernity held no allure.
For Harry, distraction was anathema. So, Winona never dared to request the latest gadget or trinket that caught her eye. The work they had to do to survive was paramount, and Harry would accept nothing less than complete focus and dedication.
"Will you be okay by yourself?" he questioned, shutting off the tap, and drying his hands on the green cloth neatly folded by the dish rack.
"I'll be okay, Mr. Meyer." Her heart beat a little faster as she thought of Wes. She couldn't help but feel guilty for wanting to see him despite the danger of the storm. But being cooped up alone in the house for the entire day was a daunting prospect, and she needed someone to keep her company.
"I might get you a little surprise, Winona." Harry approached her with a kind smile gracing his lips, illuminating his face with a gentle radiance. Despite the still-fresh bruise adorning his nose, his demeanour was amiable, belying any hint of resentment towards her. "That's only if you behave today, otherwise you won't get it."
