4338.207 · July 26, 2018 AD
The Morning Inventory
Between seven and nine, three of Louise's children pass through the kitchen at Jeffries Manor. Rebecca arrives like a storm, searching for a missing file and leaving chaos in her wake. Kain's morning takes a mortifying turn when Louise forgets to wait for an answer before opening his door. Katie drifts in last, ink-stained and thoughtful, offering quiet reassurances that land like predictions. Each encounter reveals something. None of them ease the worry taking root.
A household this size requires constant inventory. Who's where. Who needs what. Which silences are comfortable and which ones are warnings.
Rebecca crashes through first—coat half-on, curls rebelling, the Bartlett file missing and Helen Bartlett's housing hanging in the balance. Louise finds the folder, fixes her daughter's hair, swallows the conversation about Thomas that neither of them has time for. Then Rebecca is gone, fierce and capable and lonely in ways she'll never admit.
The visit to Kain's room goes catastrophically wrong. There are certain images a mother's brain should automatically redact. Louise's, unfortunately, came without that feature. But mortification gives way to purpose: she needs Kain to check on Jamie. To drive to Berriedale and actually lay eyes on her brother. He agrees, kisses her cheek, and heads out the door toward whatever waits for him there.
Katie appears last, emerging from hours of predawn writing, ink on her fingers and a pencil behind her ear she doesn't know is there. She's already tended to Thelma, already accounted for everyone's movements. It'll be fine, Mum, she says. It usually is, in the end.
Louise wants to believe her. She's not sure she can.
