All the Colors of the Dark — Chapter 165

165

Charlotte arrived on the doorstep of the Mad House with a small white suitcase decorated with blue butterflies. Her grandmother stood at the end of the pathway and nodded to Patch, and in that simple gesture he understood the exact weight of his responsibility.

She walked into the hallway and cast a critical eye over the detail.

Down at the parquet floor, each strip laid by Patch in exacting lengths.

Charlotte did not touch anything, kept her pink coat buttoned and her case clutched to her chest. She looked at artwork, which coated each wall, then at the chesterfield, the hide rug and the heavy drapes.

“Do you want to see your room?”

“Nothing here is mine.”

He followed her up the stairs.

The bed was white, the frame ornate with carved roses and leaves. A pink canopy hung above in case she wanted to shut out the world. And to that end the white shutters he had made himself, adapted to louvers because her room faced south sky. He worried it would get too hot in the summer, so vented the frames; too cold in the winter, so tore down the drywall and added another layer of mineral wool before building it up again. He had painted several times, varying shades of pink that seemed right going on and wrong on reflection. A reading sconce because Misty said she had lots of books. A triple closet because Misty said she had lots of clothes. A dozen soft toys because she liked animals.

She turned and headed back down, and in the yard she saw a large oak and from it hung a swing. She walked over to it, running her fingers over the larch seat. “My mother’s swing?”

“Yes.”

She sat there in cool sunlight.

He did not know how to be around her.

It took near three hours for her take off her coat, another to take off her shoes.

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