Excerpt from a working novel: No Bounds
A robin hoped along the flagstone path, cocking its head to the side at me before going about its business. As I slowly turned my head in Agatha’s direction, I brushed my nose against my shoulder, briefly comparing the meadow fantasy of the clean clothes to the reality of this garden’s aroma. Though nothing could be compared to the physical presence of nature, the smell of the clean clothes was a nice substitute. Pushing myself up to go back inside, I took one last glance up into the sky and breathed in again the lavender and rosemary.
Beatrix graciously offered the chair next to hers, as I came back into the kitchen. I made an unnecessary effort in ensuring that my chair didn’t groan or mark the tiled floor as I pulled myself closer to the table. I didn’t want to give away that it had been five years since I have sat on a chair— five years since I have sat at a table. Neither of the two women seem to notice. Beatrix was too preoccupied relaying how she wanted to take me shopping with some of her friends and showing me around town at such a energetic speed I thought my head would implode just to keep up with her. My only responses to what she said came in the form nods and a few words.
The doctor places a ceramic plate of a B.L.T. sandwich in front of me. My eyes widen at the sight of the sandwich. Similar to the chair and table, it has been forever since I have had a plate of fresh food that I am afraid to touch it, lest it be a mere illusion. As I study every aspect of this sandwich, I notice that the bread isn’t stale and the sliced tomato isn’t on the verge of going moldy. Carefully, I allow my finger tips to skim the surface of the sandwich and discover it is indeed not an illusion. Had my stomach not betrayed me, I would have marveled at the sandwich all day. Grasping it on either side, I slowly lift the sandwich to my nose and sniff it. The smell of the bacon alone was heavenly and when I took a bite— oh my! The bread was so soft, the bacon seemed to melt with the mayonnaise, and the tomato was refreshing. The bacons’ grease and the tomatoes’ juices were dribbling down my chin.
With each bite, I had a hard time focusing on anything that wasn’t this sandwich. Well that was until Beatrix’s back talk to Agatha’s pleas to not overwhelm me had raised to such a high volume that I was brought back to my surroundings. My brow knitted once again in surprise that Beatrix was still not being punished for speaking out to a woman fifteen years her senior. Was it because her brother was the leader and pulled rank because of it? With this preview of free speech domino effect into vulnerability for their pack to outside intruders?