I wanted to get rid of these time-robbing parts, but nothing worked. Maybe working with them will? I glance over to the black notebook and can feel it teasing me, daring me to open it. I reach for it, open it, and find another message. Although I expected it, it gave me a fright.
I slam the book shut and shoot upright, almost falling over Prince, who hasn’t left my side. I catch my balance and kneel, stroke his coat and scratch behind his ears. In return, he licks my hand as if to say, “I’m on your side.” I guess having a friend isn’t such a bad thing as long as it has four legs.
“Good boy. Come.” Prince gets up and waits, his eyes fixed on the backdoor.
“What are you telling me, boy? Do you need to go outside?” He’s been with me for only two days, but it feels as if I’ve known him forever. His eyes tell me I’ve guessed right. I open the door and let him out. He rushes to a bush and relieves himself. Then he sniffs around.
“I’ll leave the door open. Come in when you’ve had enough fresh air.”
He lifts his head as if to say, “Go ahead, I’ll be back soon.”
Back inside, I pull out the piano chair from under the loom and sit. Although nothing soothes my nerves as weaving does, it has been an age since I have had time for it. Horace always had something more important for me to do. I let my hands stroke over the wooden frame, smoothed by the busy hands of generations of weavers before me. Stripped of its warp, the loom looks abandoned and I’m eager to breathe new life into it.
There is a basket next to the loom filled with a great number of balls of wool. It’s gigantic; it can’t decide whether it’s a firewood basket or a cot. I might even fit into it. A picture of a smiling little girl lying in the basket snuggled up in a mountain of wool blitzes through my mind. A wave of recognition ripples through me, sending my heart fluttering.
I have been here before. It shouldn’t surprise me. It’s my aunt’s house; it makes sense that I have been here, even if I don’t remember. I chose a ball of purple boucle and put it on the table and then a ball of, dark blue wool that feels like Merino. I take a while to decide on a third ball. Green. Dark green like the surrounding forest. Yes, they are beautiful colors.
It doesn’t take long warping a twenty-inch wide piece on the loom. I put the shuttle aside. For this small piece, a weaving needle will do. It doesn’t take long and I’m weaving the dark green weft back and forth. Back and forth. A deep peacefulness spreads through me as the rhythm settles. Back and forth. I know what I’m doing. My hands work the loom in a synchronized dance letting the needle flow through the gap in the warp and picking it up with my left hand.
I almost forget the pain. I change the color, only using half the length of the warp, creating a small triangle before I take the purple and fill up the other side of the warp. By the time I’ve woven a twenty-inch by twenty-inch piece, I am relaxed. I’m back. I’m me. And I’m not a sissy. I can read a note in the notebook destined for me and written by… me… or if you want to be picky, a part of me.
I cross over to the table and open the notebook.
Dear Elise,
It’s Lilly again. I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t intend to freak you out. I guess there is no easier way of saying you are not alone. And please, don’t try jumping off the chair again. We are not loose marbles inside your head you can shake out through the ears. The little ones had a hard time with the sprained ankle. Whatever you do—whatever we do—it affects all of us.
The squashed hand is a prime example. My apologies. Amadeus slammed the door shut to get you out of the suicidal thoughts you had. Given how much it hurt all of us, he’ll think twice about doing it again, I’m sure.
I drove into town earlier and bought a computer, a printer, and a new cellphone. Luke threw your old one away when we ran out on Helen. The new one is on a prepay plan, so we don’t have to open an account Helen or her cronies can track. Don’t underestimate Helen she is dangerous. Helen has gone to the police and put an official notice into the newspaper. The national newspaper! With a photo. This makes it rather difficult for us to move around.
“Elizabeth Reid, a mentally ill woman has gone missing from her family home in Waitakere Flats in the early hours of 18 November 2015. She was last seen at her husband’s funeral the previous day. The police have reason to believe she is in the Bay of Plenty. Her concerned family is asking everyone to help find her. Mrs. Reid has shoulder length brown hair, and blue eyes. She has a long history of mental illness and has been known to become violent in the past. Please approach her with caution. If you have seen her or know about her whereabouts, please contact your local police station or the Reid family under 09-387.3977.345 or 027-387.3977.345”
I push the notebook away and lean back, staring at my shaking hands. These messages… it would be hilarious if it didn’t make so much sense. I push the back of my hand against my
