She wasn't as much of a nuisance as I thought she would be. Genevieve's questions died down, and I nearly got used to her snoring in one of the extra bedrooms. If anything, we had a mutual intolerance of each other and ignored each other's existence entirely. Well, until the questions started again over breakfast almost a week later.
"Why did you pull me out of the fuel room?" she asked between bites of steaming hotcakes.
"Kingsley and Lionel were becoming uneasy. Curiosity got the better of me, I'm afraid. If you scared them, there's obviously something off about you."
"You had a pretty rude way of showing you were curious. "
"I'm not sorry," I shrugged.
"Didn't think so. What's in the fuel room?"
"Workers," I answered. That was the truth, of course.
"What do they do? And don't say they work, I want to know what they actually do."
I felt myself nearly smile. Genevieve was catching onto the sarcasm fairly quickly. I tested to see how easily she would pick up a lie.
"There are two types of workers. There are the machinists and engineers, who make sure the fuel is in the position we need it. They basically do what you did in Pipeworks, they supervise and do the jobs that require a higher intelligence."
"Would I have gotten that job? Would that have been my promotion?" she asked, hope rising in her voice.
"No," I answered, shattering Genevieve's little hope with upmost pleasure. "You would have been one of the secondary workers. They'd make you undergo some tests beforehand, though. Honestly, the second type of workers are much more important to keeping this place running."
A similar flash I had seen from before flickered through the darkness that I had come to know. This was the second time, but it was just as calming as the first. It made my chest swell and melted the icy mask I had tried desperately to keep over the dim smile I hid when it happened the first time. I tired veering my thought process back to the subject, despite the childish smile flickering across my face.
"I would have been that important?" she asked, drops of sunlight seeping out of her words.
It was horrible lying to her like this, but I couldn't quite tell her the truth. She wanted to feel important, so I would let her.
"Yes. You would have been just as important as the foundation itself."
The light grew brighter after I said it, pretty soon, all of the darkness had been replaced with the soft whiteness. I still didn't see my surroundings, but what mattered is there was such thing as light.
"And you pulled me away from that opportunity." she stated, sounding very upset. The light flickered.
"You needed medical examination."
"Yeah, I guess.." I heard her fork scrape her plate a few times, and the light died. She was playing with her food.
"How's your foot?" I asked, knowing she was upset.
"It's good. It doesn't hurt anymore."
"That's good.. What's your opinion on books?" I said, quickly changing the subject.
She shifted uneasily in her seat. The subject made her uncomfortable, and I was determined to find out why. Genevieve often walked by the study, but never went in. Even if Brixton ran in to say hello to me, she would stand at the doorway instead of following him.
"Well...I haven't actually..read a book." she finally said, fidgeting.
"It's about time you did," I said, getting up. "Come on."
She hesitated, but eventually, I heard her chair scrape the floorboards and her limp followed me to the study. She sat in a seat on the other side of the writing desk while she waited for a a book to be placed in front of her.
"You don't want to choose one?" I asked, running my fingers along the countless paper and leather spines.
"I trust you'll have a good choice." She chirped.
Some days, her voice was the song of a canary in a coal mine. Other days, I wished that the coal dust would fill her lungs and choke her. Today was one of the days I was glad to hear it. I found myself not caring what I pulled off of the shelf, merely just happy to think of what she might sound like concentrating on trying to figure out what the words in front of her may say.
I handed her a small book, relatively thin with a hard cover. The edges of the pages were rough, and nearly felt like braille. (I was still absolute rubbish at reading braille. I had all legal documents hand written so I could feel the pen's indentations in the paper.) I heard the spine crack softly as she opened the book to it's first page. I sat down, waiting for her to start. She paused, possibly sounding out the first words mentally.
"If you are.." she began, stopping again to sound it out before going on;"..inter...interested in stories with happy en..endings, you would be better off reading some other book."
I recognized the book immediately. It was a favorite of mine in a fantastic series, and I couldn't believe I didn't identify it when I picked it off of the shelf.
"Well, I guess that's all for this book," Genevieve said, sounding defeated. "It doesn't even want me reading it."
"Nonsense!" I said, trying to turn her back into a sweet canary. "I was brash at first too. Keep going, it gets better."
"But it doesn't have a happy ending."
"Not very many things do, Genevieve."
"Cornelius, don't be such a pessimist."
Something fluttered at the sound of my own name. I was used to being called Mr.Minister or Director or Director Minister. I'd never really liked my name. It was god awful and hopelessly showy. Maybe it was the way she said it. Maybe it was the way I saw the warm light almost every time she did. Something clicked. Something suddenly made sense. Something changed in my entire mind.
"Genevieve, are you smiling?"
"Yes, how'd you know?" she asked, as confused as I was at first.
When she smiled, I saw light. I saw and felt a sweet warmth you would get from sitting in front of a fire on a cold day, sipping chamomile tea with a certain lapdog dozing on your lap as two giant furry monsters lay at your feet.On your shoulder,a head of silken hair sighs blissfully and dozes off. You let her. She was up late last night reading.
"Cornelius." she said, snapping me out of my daydream.
"I saw it." I reply finally, trying to avoid addressing the moment of silence.
"You saw it?"
"I saw it."
I smile, and I see her smile a little too. I let myself fall in love with smiling. I let myself fall in love with her voice. I let myself fall in love with feeling this.
And for a second, just a small second, I let myself fall in love with Genevieve.
