'The First Snow'

Friday

Scene I

SUNNY WATCHES THE OUTSIDE OF HER HOUSE, ON THE HEATED FLOOR, WITH HER CHEEK PRESSED AGAINST THE COLD GLASS. The Finch house is half castle and half glass and steel, surrounded by green overgrowth. It makes for a very dark background during the night, when movements are sly and if the moon isn't bright enough, cast suspicion on every movement in the corner of your eye.

Her father, Vaughn Finch, had always been fascinated by old castles when he was a kid.

He was raised, practically, by an older sister who had passed before Sunny could meet her. And as they grew up; her, her father, and the young brothers who are only months apart, she had taught them to love fairytales. Read well-worn Grimm brothers books at night, just before bed. She translated them in Czech in a soft, scratchy voice, her father said. 'Agáta said the words as if she sung the story to life. She smoked since young, so her voice is very rough, but she always dabbed vanilla on the tip of her tongue so we wouldn't be able to smell it. We could, of course, but she was always sweet when she tried.'

These copies are kept in her father's office, beloved and encased in glass.

Sunny had once asked to see it, and her father had carefully taken it out with gloved hands, pointing at notes his sister had made in different times with different pens. The last one, he said, was the blue-inked words left on the last page of Iron Heinrich 'Finch musí vždy číst.'. A personal mantra, a promise, just before she died.

Sunny had never learned Czech, or Japanese for the most part, but her father had brushed back her black hair, that of her mother's, and pinched her red cheeks, that of her father's, the easy way they burn in splotches of reds and pinks, and translated it for her curious little eyes and ears.

'A Finch must always read'.

"You have to be able to read between the lines, Sunny," he had said. "There are so many layers to the human mind, speech, and act. Just like books are never just ink on paper. You have to see it, the several layers of meaning and truth. Ink on paper is just the beginning."

"Ink on paper..." Sunny murmurs, her breath fogging up the glass. With a pinky finger, she draws a smiley face.

"You staying there, malá myš?"

Sunny slowly turns at the familiar voice and outline of one of her uncles, Charles Finch. He's tall with a seemingly lanky frame and light hair. There has always been a boyish air to the younger Finch boys. A seeming mischievous glint. Charles Finch had an air of a light prankster, an easy guy in the eye, but he was ruthless in his job, a cunning tilt hidden under a layer. A face.

He just got off work, whatever it is, with a loose tie and a wrinkled shirt.

"Hm," Sunny nods lightly.

Charles smiles despite himself. Sunny observes her uncle, the exhaustive lines and the slight hunch on his shoulders. "You look like a widow waiting for her husband to come back from war."

"I feel like one."

He laughs. "Want me to wait with you?"

"No need." Sunny's head perked up, her arms tingling. She turns her head to the sway of the trees outside and her shoulders sag in relief. Kit's familiar pattern of walking- his posture, his hands, always cold, furiously being warmed up but never wearing gloves because he's not able to access his phone as fast - is seen entering through the gaps of swaying trees. "He's here."

Charles didn't need to see who it was. It wasn't that his niece was predictable- Sunny was unpredictable on her own right - but there is only one person who would visit at this time of night and not have the house in a complete uproar.

And the fact is: it hardly seemed appropriate to imagine Sunny without Kit. It didn't make sense, almost obscene to think about.

"Don't stay up too late," Charles reminds her even if it's futile.

Sunny is the ghost of the manor; the odd sounds, its footsteps and heartbeat. You'd hear the castle break apart, shuddering walls and floors to let pass a long-haired, white-dress wearing girl. Several times, Terrence had been scared stiff when she wanders around and he went out to get water, half asleep as he was, woke him- and his soul - straight up. It's a habit she can't break, so everyone else learned to take note of her. Now it just felt odd going around the house, late at night, without bumping into a roaming Sunny. A book in her arms, a mug perhaps, or even lugging around a painting. What she does to it is a mystery until the morning.

She was always doing something, walking around at night.

"Have fun," he adds instead, quieter, as she twists a Rodin's finger, the marble making a click and the wall behind it disappearing. Her steps echo in a soft tone, and soon, the wall is back to its original place with the slow turn of the Rodin. Like parlour tricks, a small little magic.

Charles didn't think she heard him, but he swears he heard a faint, 'I will' along with the echo of her footsteps.

It could just be the wind, or the castle itself- a bustle of music that it is, a heart beating. Nevertheless, Charles is smiling as he reaches his room, feeling just a little bit better.

Scene II

SUNNY TURNS OFF THE STOVE AS THE KETTLE WHISTLES IT'S BOILING POINT. She takes out a spoonful of honey for each mug- one, hers, with milk - carefully mixing it with the tea, Kit in turn takes out his choice of homemade marmalades, the leftover pannenkoeken, and vanilla ice cream. The hearth is open and warm, and it's made for a cosy late night snack.

"Everyone's asleep?" Kit asks, setting down on a turned chair as he slathers ice cream all over the pannenkoeken, as well as adding a generous dollop of yuzu marmalade, something Yuko Finch takes pride in making during the cold weather.

"My mom is," Sunny is, handing over the mug and settling herself over the kitchen table, her socked feet on a chair's top, weighing it in an uneven stance. "And I think Uncle Charles, but he's probably working too. My dad and Uncle Terrence are in his office though. It's the only room that's soundproof so I can't really hear anything."

"And it's not like you to snoop."

"I could snoop," she defends, affronted. "But my dad blocked the little hallway in between the Yoshida and his office."

"Hm. Little mouse." Kit takes a few more bites before all the cloudy thoughts in his head finally spits them out. "I talked to Marigold."

Kit observes the slight pause she does, a rigidness that warms easily as she takes a sip of her tea. Then, without looking up, focusing on the warmness of her mug, Sunny asks, "What about?"

"A hunch."

"A hunch?"

"That she had an abortion."

Sunny truly stilled this time, wide-eyed and nearly choked. Her 'What' was more breath than word. Then she shook her head. "Explain."

Kit exhales, tilting his head back to stare at the warm lights until they hurt his eyes. "I kept thinking about it, my talk with Marigold and what I know of her and things just... didn't seem to add up. She's not the type to go missing, not the type to feign amnesia."

"I thought you didn't think she was lying about amnesia?"

He smiles faintly, tilting his chin back down. "I'll always trust your gut. Before my own conclusions even."

Sunny smiles faintly. "Go on."

"The compliment or... ?"

"I will stuff your face in strawberries."

Kit makes a mock aghast face. "The horror."

Sunny pulls the small jar of it away from him. "Stop getting it, by the way. You know you're allergic."

He sighs. "Not enough to die, but enough to look like I have mushrooms growing inside my face. They also taste good you know. In the small, sparse bites I could taste while I can still breathe."

"Off topic, Pouliot."

"Right. Where was I? Feign amnesia, yeah, and so- remember how I went through the recordings? Focused on Marigold's right after I figured there was something funny about Isla's sudden evasiveness and disappearance in common high school gossip? When she kept saying about problems, how agitated she sounded... there are only a few things Marigold really cared about to that degree, and one of those things is her future. She wasn't just good at it, she needed to utilise it. To get out of here. To get away from her mother without hurting her feelings. To find a future outside of this town."

"And a pregnancy could destroy that," Sunny mumbles.

"A pregnancy could chain her to this place. Her mother is a devoted catholic. She'll force her to marry him and she'll never be able to breathe out of this town ever again. If we're really thinking about it, it could be her worst nightmare come alive."

"So Isla... knew somebody who could help her with it? Who?"

Kit sighs roughly. "She says she doesn't know. Isla did everything apparently. Contacted the person, had the appointment set up... it took weeks because, apparently, something bad had happened during the surgery. She had to recover and she was under a lot drugs. Isla visited her a few times to make sure she was okay. When I asked her if she knew what Isla did after, or what was she planning, she says she doesn't know."

Kit began drawing circles with his finger on the table, mind occupied. "The few things I got from her was that Isla was upset when she found out something had almost happened to her. She kept asking if she really okay, and if the doctor did anything... off. But Marigold was under heavy sedation, so she was barely awake for most of it. When I asked her why she was found at the hospital in Alberta, she began... well, she just didn't know how she ended up there. When she woke up the next day, she was in the hospital and she couldn't contact Isla ever since."

Sunny watches his finger as it breaks off from making circles to tracing the lines of the table's wood. It's ridged lines and old make. "The supposed clinic where she got the abortion though, is in Alberta. The doctor looked young and she says she thinks she can identify him. We might go after the funeral, if she somehow miraculously remembers the address or else it'll be the most awful roadtrip known to mankind."

He looks up then, meeting her eyes with a lit up half smile. "Wanna come?"

"No, thank you." Sunny stretches her spine, suddenly awake at the film roll of what that roadtrip could entail. "I don't think she likes me really well."

Before he could refute, because it's true, Marigold doesn't hate Sunny, she just isn't used to her- Sunny looks ahead, eyes sharp. "It's snowing. I can hear it."

Kit purses his lips before he stands up to go to the nearest window and smiles. "The first snow of the season." With a sharp heave, he forces the rusted panes open and the smell of the open field whistles in; the snow falls in soft but continuous streaks to the ground, fast covering the trail. Soon, the woods will be blanketed in soft, cold powder.

"The funeral will be cold," Kit says. "I hope it doesn't snow then."

Sunny settles herself on the window's ledge, her arms over it with her chin on top of her fingers. Then she inhales. "Something's coming."

"... Good something, bad something?"

"I don't know. But I don't like the restlessness in my heart."

"Hm." Kit rests his head wholly on top of Sunny's. She whines but doesn't move. "No matter what happens, I'll be prepared for it. And it's the first snow. The first snow of the season demands to be appreciated."

"I don't really like cold weather," she murmurs.

"Alright, that's it. You can't be my friend anymore." He laughs until she does. "I'm sleeping here by the way."

"The floor is already warmed in my room and mom pulled out the old comforters."

"Oh, I do adore you."

Sunny laughs again. "Good night, Kit Pouliot."

"Good night, Sunny Finch."

TRANSLATIONS:

malá myš - little mouse