Chapter 2

By the time Vera and her relatives made it back to their house and had dinner, the moon was high in the sky and the town had gone quiet.

"Is it always this quiet here at night?" she asked her aunt as they cleaned and dried the dishes from dinner.

"You don't hear silence that often when you live in the city, huh?" her aunt smiled back in reply and Vera shook her head.

"There are always cars and people out late. It's almost unsettling how quiet it is here in contrast."

Aunt Belinda nodded her head as if in understanding. "Most schools haven't let out for the summer just yet; there'll be more people out and about then. Mind you, we aren't a large bustling metropolis, so any festivities or night-life we have here will probably seem small and toned-down compared to what you're used to. No worries though," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "we aren't so small and outdated that we don't know how to have fun when the opportunity arises."

"It just depends on what your definition of fun is, right?" Vera teased as she began drying one of the pots her aunt deposited on the drying rack.

The older woman gave her a calculated look and for a moment Vera worried if her indirect attempt at assuring her aunt that she would be fine came out as more of a sarcastic comment than one made in good humor. Since she was young, Vera had had trouble expressing herself and her thoughts sometimes, resulting in a number of painful and awkward conversation over the years. But the smirk that gradually crept its way onto her aunt's face allowed her to rest easy and let out a small sigh of relief.

"You can be just like your mother sometimes, Vera," she shook her head. "Rose always had that sharp wit about her growing up, and although she was more prone to sharing that with people than you, I can tell you've got it in you as well."

Vera smiled. "It's one of the few things she says I inherited that wasn't from my father. Aside from my brains and work-ethic."

"Rose did always think about everything," Belinda stated more to herself than anyone in particular.

"Yeah, and that's why I always overthink things," Vera added with a slight frown as she bit her lip.

Aunt Belinda shut the water off in the sink and turned to look at her with a frown of her own, her brows slightly creased in concern. Taking her gloves off, she wiped her hands on the dry dish towel on the counter next to her before returning it to its place. "There's no such thing as overthinking, Vera," she said carefully and placed a hand on her niece's shoulder in a comforting gesture, rubbing it gently. "Some people just think about things more than others; that doesn't make it a bad thing. And the more you think, the more you will know and notice, and the more other people come to realize this, the more they will find what an incredibly intelligent and deeply wonderful person you are."

Vera was lost for words. In the short amount of time she had spent with her aunt, and as little as they knew each other, Belinda had spoken as if she had understood Vera all her life. Being sisters, she figured that her mother and the woman had spoken about her on many occasions, and while she had expected her aunt to anticipate her regular bouts of uncertainty and anxiety, Vera had never imagined she would respond in such a positive manner as if she were Belinda's own child. Not that Vera had thought poorly of her aunt, but most people didn't seem to fully grasp the concept of anxiety and what it could entail – or even be open to understanding it for that matter. Now, she felt nothing less than respect and admiration for the woman before her.

Placing the dish she had been drying on the counter beside her along with the dishcloth, Vera stepped forward and encircled her arms around her aunt.

"Thank you," she spoke earnestly, not sure how else to respond. The gesture felt somewhat awkward to her, seeing as she still wasn't especially close with the woman, but when her aunt brought her arms up to return the hug, Vera knew she understood – at least well enough.

Deep breaths. Everything's okay.

The next two days Vera spent organizing the corner guest room her aunt and uncle had set aside for her to stay in.

The room itself was painted a light sandy brown with two large windows against the wall opposite the door. Against the left wall stood an old wooden dresser of medium-height with a mirror hung above it. To the right of the doorway was a decent-sized closet where Vera could store her suitcases, and against the right wall rested a full-sized bed that matched the dresser, its mattress piled with off-white quilts and tasseled pillows. Although it was a bit of a tight fit, her uncle had also moved the old desk and chair from the sitting room to the right of her bed should she need to work on her own in private – something Vera was sure she wouldn't need, but appreciated the gesture anyway.

While the room had been cleaned and the bed prepared for her, both lacked any personal touches that would have distinguished the room as being inhabited by anyone, and Aunt Belinda had kindly offered to drive Vera into town to help her look for any decorations or furnishings to breath some life into the room. Vera had quickly accepted her offer, and by the end of the second day, the room looked much more inviting: light green flowered curtains bordered the windows and several posters of rural scenes and cityscapes decorated the walls. Along the top of the dresser Vera had placed various bought trinkets and objects she had brought from home – a purple stuffed dog that was her favorite growing up, a couple pictures of herself with her parents and friends from school, a small necklace given to her by her mother for graduation, a small blue glass bird – among other things, while the bedside desk held a couple books and a diary. Realistically speaking, it was probably the nicest her room was going to look before she got more settled in and allowed things to get cluttered.

Letting out a sigh, Vera allowed herself to flop down on her bed, spreading her arms and legs out like a starfish as she gazed at the golden orange glow of the setting sun as it cast its dying light against the wall opposite the windows. Tomorrow she would be going down to the library in the mid-morning to meet Mrs. Peterson, the head librarian, so as to learn more about the work she would be doing for the next several months.

The job description her uncle had passed on from the librarian was fairly vague but supposedly included a number of diverse tasks with steady pay. To be perfectly honest, she was quite surprised the librarian was willing to hire someone younger with little experience and whom she hadn't even met in person. If anything, it sounded like the woman was desperate for help, and Vera silently prayed that that didn't insinuate something negative or questionable about the job. As grateful as she was to her uncle for arranging the job opportunity for her, she would never be able to admit to anyone that it embarrassed her a fair amount. From Vera's perspective, it made her seem incapable of finding a job on her own. But beggars can't be choosers, she had managed to convince herself somewhat, reasoning that she was only taking the job temporarily until she either found something of greater interest to her or received some divine inspiration that made clear what she wanted to do with her life.


Early that evening, in the warm summer air, a figure stood alone near one of the town parks, silently watching as a group of children played in the field across the street, a low rumbling sounding in its stomach as its gaze lingered over each of them. Four boys and one girl it counted, the oldest among them looking to be about eleven or twelve years old. All perfectly ripe for the picking.