Chapter 11: As We Travel the Land
The time whirled away once their decision was made. Intent on proving himself, Kirby launched into his cleaning service with more fervor and passion than even Toaster thought possible. Word of mouth spread from his park ladies, and Kirby soon found himself with plenty of clients and houses needing attention. Mothers were wary at first of handing over their children to such a tall, stern-faced fellow, but those who observed him with little Robbie knew he could be trusted.
Confident with his own progress, Kirby encouraged Toaster to register for her veterinarian assistant certificate. With Rob's help, she selected courses for the following spring and began studying the books he lent her in earnest. She worked in the clinic as often as she could, gaining the experience and loving every animal that came their way.
It was the move to the Meyer house, though, that made everything real for her. While the realtor chatted about plumbing and carpets, Toaster quietly observed the empty three- bedroom house. Its stillness reminded her eerily of the cabin.
"But they look nothing alike," Kirby remarked when she mentioned it to him.
"You're wrong," she replied, recalling the quiet, isolated place that had been her first home. Kirby was focused solely on the value of the space. Toaster sensed quiet evenings curled up on a sofa, watching the sunset; mornings in the kitchen, watching Kirby whip up some new delight; sitting on the porch, studying for her new career.
A future of possibilities.
Suddenly eager, Toaster concurred with Kirby when they signed the paperwork. Rob and Chris lent them the money to make their first rent payment- a loan agreement that Kirby insisted on.
"You've already done a lot for us," he said, and Toaster agreed.
By late October they had moved in, and in November they found themselves furnishing their new home. They made store clerks' days living nightmares as they spoke with each appliance.
"Does it ever singe edges of the bread when it feels left out?" Toaster asked about each new toaster model, perturbed that she couldn't give each one a chance. Kirby caused his own brand of confusion by claiming that one vacuum model had a nasty attitude. They couldn't explain to the overwhelmed sales associates what personalities meant for their new home, and they had to be certain that they found the right ones: the ones that would last.
Perhaps, Toaster realized wistfully, they were hoping to assemble another team. Even though Kirby never said a word, she knew their friends were never far from his thoughts either.
Thanksgiving came and went in the midst of their preparations; hardly noticed. Oh, sure, Toaster was excited to celebrate her first real human holiday, but the true excitement for her was to be in the middle of her own room in a bed with Kirby fast asleep at her side.
Now Christmas was coming, and even though their décor boasted of little more than a pine tree her height with one strand of blue lights and Robbie's paper snowflakes, Toaster couldn't help her pride at their decorated house. The next day or so she'd persuade Kirby to track the fields with her, looking for mistletoe and evergreens to tuck around the rooms. He'd be a grump about it, of course.
But he would be with her.
"Home again. Home again. On steady ground…" she sang as she sat curled up in the armchair. The picture window poised a lovely winter scene before, lovely snow just settling, as the sky mixed shades of dark blue with the fading light. At her right, too far from the window, the tree sparkled.
Home. Home at Christmastime. She rubbed her cheek against the armrest and hugged her knees against her chest. Had she ever had a lovelier moment in her life?
Behind her a pencil snapped, and a deep voice swore. Smiling, she turned her head away from the window and smiled at the figure sitting at the desk.
"What?" he demanded, gruffly, without looking around.
She was flabbergasted. "What do you mean what?"
"I can feel you looking at me." He twisted the chair to look at her, cocking his eyebrow as he studied her somberly. Far too somberly for such a lovely night. "What are you thinking now?"
She chuckled, and bounded out of the armchair to throw her arms around his neck. "I was thinking we should put the tree closer to the window. No one from the street will see the lights…"
His groan made her laugh louder. "For the last time, the tree is FINE in the corner. Just FINE. WE can see the lights, and that's all that matters. No one looks in the windows anyway…I'm not moving that blasted tree again!"
"Okay, okay." She stroked the short hairs over his ears to soothe him and kissed his cheek. "It was just a thought."
"Yeah, well, it's dangerous when you think." He tilted his head back to look up at her, his eyes deep and adoring, and his face crinkling with wrinkles; his hidden smile.
How she loved the way he smiled. "I just want to do something," she confessed. Something special, she added.
"Then, go get another pencil for me." He tossed the broken one into the trash bin at his feet. "I've got to get this budget done tonight."
"Alright." She started for the kitchen, but he caught her arm first and drew her back for another kiss. She shared a smile with him, knowing, grumpy or not, that he was as happy as she. She twirled out of his grasp, humming as she left.
This was her life now; she realized, pausing in the doorway to flick on the kitchen light. The two of them. She fished around the kitchen cabinets for a pencil. And even while the delight captivated her, the oddness that it brought still tingled inside of her.
The sight of a shiny chrome platted toaster with black accents resting at the end of the kitchen counter reminded her of that. Forgetting the pencil, she reached out for the appliance and picked it up, seeing her reflection peering back. As odd as it felt to see the brown eyes that gazed back at her, she knew it was even odder still that they inhabited a human face. She handled the toaster carefully, running her finger along its top with care, remembering what a human touch could mean.
"Are you pretending to toast bread?" she asked, stroking a finger over its handle. "Or are you wondering what it might be like to be human and have all these wonderful feelings?"
"Hurry it up!"
Toaster gave the appliance once last look before returning to the living room.
"What's got your cords in a twist?" she teased, slapping the pencil in his outstretched hand. She leaned against the table to watch him flip through his notebook pages.
"I have to get these expenses figured out before the end of the month," he replied. "Our money won't grow at the rate we've been spending it, and it's not like we make enough between us."
"We'll manage," she assured him.
"We will manage." Kirby's voice was firm and determined as he opened a box of receipts. "We will manage because I am going to keep track of our expenses." He tapped a page that read "Cleaning Supplies". "I'm going out tomorrow. What do we need?"
"Polish," Toaster replied, thinking. "And more dust rags for the bathrooms."
"Toilet paper." Kirby quickly jotted everything down.
"…And some Christmas spirit, maybe a little holiday joy…" Toaster grinned as Kirby seized and kissed her hand.
"That's your prime directive," he grumbled in response, his head half buried in receipts. Toaster shook her head at him, placing her hands on her hips.
The doorbell rang, followed by a firm pounding.
"Just make sure you get a double roll this time," Toaster insisted as she went to answer. "I don't want to run out so fast again."
They both froze at the knock on the door: a distinctive tapping that retrieved a distant memory from their minds.
"Luckily, my war training included inter-appliance codes."
No, it couldn't be.
Toaster hesitated with her hand on the doorknob, looking over at Kirby. His expression told her little, but he rose from his chair so fast the poor thing teetered on its legs.
She twisted the knob and pulled the door open.
Six in the evening saw tired workers headed home, and mothers anxious for their kids to be fed and settled for bed. Late night walkers had their dogs out on leashes, both breathing in the cool air even as the smells of dinner beckoned them home.
With their lives so preoccupied, those outside the newly rented house took only minor notice of startled cries and greetings. They might have noticed the three strangers standing on the doorstep, cheering and talking at once. They might have wondered at the poorly fitting things they had on, making them look like mismatched hobos. They might have shrugged in some fond memory at the way the couple swept each one into a crushing hug. They might have smiled at the way the short, dark-haired woman lifted up the little golden-haired child, shouting, "Blanky!" while the child chanted over and over, "Toaster! Toaster!" They might have laughed at the way a lanky fellow leaned on the broad gentleman, while a red-haired man danced a jig at their feet.
They might have seen it all, but, like most people, they thought nothing of it. They continued their own lives, writing other stories that few might hear. As for the family themselves, they weren't upset by the lack of attention. The couple ushered the newcomers inside the house and firmly closed the door on the world; in their joy leaving explanations and stories untold.
Untold for this story that is.