01-15-2023, 08:18 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-15-2023, 08:22 PM by Tristan Wells.)
Surely there had to be a mistake! Tristan stared back at the glaring number he had just computed under the inky line. He had never had a head for numbers. His elementary school teacher had frequently called him to the front of the classroom to scold him publicly for his stupidity. He was now grateful to recall it. His teacher had been right. He didn’t know how to do his sums!
His pen followed the digits down along the page while he did his calculations over. And over. And over. Finally, he put the pen down forcefully, sat back, put his fingers over his eyes and pushed his eyebrows together. A long-stretched sigh escaped his lips. He had not made a mistake. For the second month in a row, his expenses were greater than his earnings. All those little sums he had thought wouldn't matter that much, had for some mysterious reason added up to a much larger sum than he had considered possible.
He dropped his hands and leaned over the ledger again. His eyes moved over the page under an ever deepening frown. He flipped back to last month. The approaching footfalls were lost on him. The knock started him. He looked up.
Tristan quickly closed the ledger as if he had been caught in something criminal, even though this time Pippa had not stumbled upon the literary expressions of horny yet melodramatic teenage boys.
"Pippa," he said, almost as a reminder to himself that she existed. "Actually..." Now that he was handling all the unpleasant household business, he might just as well talk to her. He had put it off constantly, and then regretted it at night when it weighed on his mind. It couldn't be put off for much longer. Pippa's belly was starting to show. The last thing he needed on top of his foundering business was a scandal. "I need to talk to you," he continued.
He got up, passed the young maid in the doorway, got a chair from the dining room across the hall and placed it on the opposite side of the desk, as if she were a patient in his practice. "Sit down, please," he said, returning to his own chair. He put his elbows on the table and looked at her over his folded hands. "Have you had a chance to speak to your fisherman?"
His pen followed the digits down along the page while he did his calculations over. And over. And over. Finally, he put the pen down forcefully, sat back, put his fingers over his eyes and pushed his eyebrows together. A long-stretched sigh escaped his lips. He had not made a mistake. For the second month in a row, his expenses were greater than his earnings. All those little sums he had thought wouldn't matter that much, had for some mysterious reason added up to a much larger sum than he had considered possible.
He dropped his hands and leaned over the ledger again. His eyes moved over the page under an ever deepening frown. He flipped back to last month. The approaching footfalls were lost on him. The knock started him. He looked up.
Tristan quickly closed the ledger as if he had been caught in something criminal, even though this time Pippa had not stumbled upon the literary expressions of horny yet melodramatic teenage boys.
"Pippa," he said, almost as a reminder to himself that she existed. "Actually..." Now that he was handling all the unpleasant household business, he might just as well talk to her. He had put it off constantly, and then regretted it at night when it weighed on his mind. It couldn't be put off for much longer. Pippa's belly was starting to show. The last thing he needed on top of his foundering business was a scandal. "I need to talk to you," he continued.
He got up, passed the young maid in the doorway, got a chair from the dining room across the hall and placed it on the opposite side of the desk, as if she were a patient in his practice. "Sit down, please," he said, returning to his own chair. He put his elbows on the table and looked at her over his folded hands. "Have you had a chance to speak to your fisherman?"
