Morning all. It seems appropriate to start the day with a sentence using the word drip. Rain is still coming down and the few potted plants on the back patio had to be tipped out to get rid of excess water and then taken into the sun room so they didn’t drown. Although I did notice that my potted mini-rose desperately need a bigger pot. I’ll have to pick one up and then wait for the rain to stop to replant it. But for now it is in the lifeboat and not floating away so i will call that my rescue mission for the day. For now, we write. so timers at the ready and off we go!
Huh, I suspected I would end up writing something about the rain. How odd.Not bad, Just unexpected.
Thursday, June 22nd: It dripped slowly down the wall.
It dripped slowly down the wall. She sniffed. ‘Egg.’ Her nose identified. She knew if left to dry it would pretty much need a chisel to get off the walls. She looked around. This was not the first time she cleaned up a mess such as this. She looked at all the spatters. Most of them were from substances that, even dry would be easy to remove.
She had no desire to clean this mess yet again, but there was the egg. She knew if she argued, there was a good chance she would lose. Win or lose it would take time. ‘Maybe just the egg first then.”
She knew it was tantamount to accepting defeat first, but she did not want to risk spending the entire day attempting to get dried egg out of textured wall paint. Not for the first time she wondered why anyone would choose textured wall paint for an eat in kitchen area. While she doubted anyone anticipated this much food throwing and temper tantrums over breakfast, surely the occasional spill must be anticipated.
She went to the sink, picked up the sponge and got to work on the egg. As the whites would have been cooked firmly it was only yolk and no invisible crackly white that needed to be removed. She took care of the yolk and took the sponge back to the kitchen.
With a sigh, and a heavy feeling of dread filling her, she left the kitchen and went in search of answers. She found the cook in her room. Her left hand was bandaged and she was throwing her belongings into her suitcase, muttering dark words under her breath. They weren’t a language she recognized but she could certainly sympathize with them.
“Anna,” she said. The cook spun around startled. On seeing her, she relaxed.
“Mrs. Wilson,” she said. “I was going to come find you once I placed this in the car. I am leaving.”
“I saw the kitchen,” Wilson said. “Is your hand hurt badly? May I see?”
Anna nodded slowly and walked over. She held her injured hand out tentatively. Wilson took it gentle and unwrapped the bandage. There was a long cur across the back of her hand. There was a nasty burn on top of the cut, partially cauterizing it. Wilson could almost see the sequence of events, still she had to ask.
“This wasn’t an accident,” she stated. Anna shook her head. “Kevin did the cut and Robert the burn?” Again Anna nodded. “Did you clean it well?”
“I did,” Anna said. “I used the first aid kit you gave me for my bathroom.” There was a note of accusation in the words.
“I meant it as a safety precaution, nothing more. The extra bits I thought might come in handy for someone working in a kitchen with knives and hot pans, nothing more,” Wilson clarified. Anna nodded. Seeing there was nothing more she could do, Wilson carefully rewrapped the hand. I will help you finish packing and help you out with the bags so you aren’t lifting anything with that hand,” Wilson said. “Then I am going to speak to Mr. Harper. I would like you to come with me, to get your last paycheck if nothing else so you don’t need to wait for it.”
Anna nodded. “That would be appreciated.”
“Do you have a place to go?”
“My sister’s,” Anna replied. “She has a spare room and there is a job in the restaurant waiting if I want it.”
Ten til Midnight 