Challenge: the story takes place in the early evening.
The sun glints off the snow and into Grandfather's office. The silver pens he has situated on the oak desk reflect the light into my eyes.
I bite my lip as I step into his office. For as long as I can remember this place has been off limits, but this is the only place in the house that holds the answers. I glance behind me before I head to the desk. I kneel to the left of the chair and pull on the handle of the bottom drawer. It creaks and I look to the doorway. Even though no one's home I feel like they'll walk in at any second.
I take a deep breath and open the drawer all the way. There, sitting by itself, is the journal many of my ancestors have cataloged their lives in. But there's only one I want to know the full story of: Kenyon Ernst.
I start to reach for it as the garage door starts it trek open. I curse and close the drawer before standing. I tip-toe out of the room as quickly as I can, taking a last look around to make sure everything is as it should be. I'll come back later once Father has drunk himself into a stupor and Grandfather has taken his sleeping pills.
*That's all I got on May 13; just one handwritten page. What follows is May 14.*
I sneak down the hallway, pass the only photo of Grandmother, and into the kitchen. I run across the tile and slide onto a stool at the island in the middle of the kitchen. I grab the mug I had placed there earlier when I had been working up the courage to go into Grandfather's office.
"Lyndel?" Father's voice comes from his office on the opposite side of the house from Grandfather's, tucked under the stairs and near the garage. The place he sleeps and makes a quick getaway into his Aston Martin.
"Kitchen," I call back. "Want a cup of tea?" I drain the last gulp of my cold tea and stand.
"I'm going to need something stronger than that," Father says and I hear his shoes squeak on the tile of the kitchen.
I sigh and walk around the island to the electric kettle sitting beside the sink. I fill it again and plug it in before turning to Father.
"Nothing like a good scotch," he says and knocks back the tumbler he had just filled.
I sigh again and watch him pour another couple of fingers into the glass. "Isn't it a little early?"
Father scoffs. "After a day like today I'm going to need an entire bottle."
I wince. "Oh?"
Father slams the glass on the counter after downing the contents. "I am grateful every day you're not like your godforsaken mother," he grounds out from between his teeth. He slides the tumbler towards the sink.
I wince as the glass catches the lip of the sink and shatters against the stainless steel. The kettle starts to whistle and I pull the plug as Father grabs the bottle and storms out, most likely heading back the way he came. Another wince as the door slams and I open the cupboard above my head. I grab a bag of Earl Grey and drop it in my cup, pouring the steaming water over it. I'll never understand why Mother can't leave Father alone.
*Not as much as other days but I quite like Lyndel and might play around with her more. Maybe even build this into something!*
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