Blind Eyes

Chapter Eleven

I feel a lot less sick the next morning, and I extremely relieved. Both my headache and sore throat are present, but a lot less painful. I wonder whether it is the pill I took last night or sleep that has made me feel better. I sit up in bed, grateful that I will not be coughing up the black substance, or feeling nauseous with numb fingers.

Climbing out of the warm bed unwillingly, I puff up the pillows and pull the sheets back on straight. I get ready and enter the kitchen, where my father sits at the kitchen, eating bread and honey along with an apple. He wears a different sweater today and it looks like he has showered, although the purple bags under his eyes have not gotten any smaller.

He immediately asks me how I am feeling and I tell him that I feel much better. He tells me that it was a good idea to go to Marcus and then asks if I know why it was so busy. I inform him of the sickness Marcus told me about, and my father's worried face only becomes more worried. I continue on to say that he shouldn't worry too much about it, and that I am fine.

I proceed to go to the counter and take the loaf of bread out of the breadbox. As I search for a knife to cut myself a slice, my stomach drops as I see the knife, the one Will used to stab my mother, lying by sink covered in bread crumbs. I look back to my father, who bites into his breakfast. The thought of him eating bread, bread which he cut using the same knife which was inside my mother's stomach, is almost enough to make me sick.

I need to throw the knife out.

I grab the knife and walk over the our waste bin and throw it inside. It clatters against the metal bin, and my father turns around in surprise.

He looks at me questioningly.

"We had a dull knife. I threw it out," I explain.

"We could have sharpened it," my father says, slightly confused.

"It was old," I reply.

He nods slowly and turns back to his breakfast, continuing to eat.

I walk back to the counter and pick a knife, an guiltless one, and cut myself a thick slice of bread. I coat it in honey and bring it to the table along with a glass of orange juice. My father leaves shortly for work after I start eating, saying a hurried goodbye and exiting the house.

I eat my breakfast slowly, enjoying each bite as I let my mind go blank for a little bit. I look around the kitchen, letting my eyes rest on the old stove and then on the portrait of my parents that hangs above a cabinet. I feel like taking it down; it feels like a lie, to have a picture of my mother hanging on the wall. My eyes drift to the window, taking in the partly cloudy, partly sunny day that I'm sure will be cold.

When I am finished eating, I walk quickly to work, my thoughts returning to Anne. Another wave of relief washes over me as I approach the garden shop, where I see her inside. I approach the door, which, strangely, is locked. I unlock it and then enter. Anne looks up at me and smiles.

"Hello dear," she says.

"Hi," I say. "Were you okay yesterday? The shop was closed. And the door was locked just now," I say, pointing to the door.

"I must have forgotten to unlock it," Anne says. "I was feeling a bit under the weather yesterday. I decided to have a day to rest. I hope you weren't too worried."

"Do you feel better now?"

"Oh yes," she says. "Much better." She walks over to me, handing me the green apron as always.

"That's good to hear," I say, taking it from her. "I was sick yesterday too. It seems like a lot of people have been getting sick recently."

"Oh my. Well I do hope everyone feels better," she says, handing me a watering can. "Would you water the plants please dear?"