Picture Perfect: *Chapter Three- Food for Thought

Marissa awoke the next morning to a small voice outside her door. The clock read 10:15. She sprung out of bed, not realizing she had slept so late, and went down stairs, still in the jeans and tank top she had fallen asleep in. Karen was there, a pot of coffee in her hands, still in pajamas.

"Good morning, I see you've just woken up too," she smiled.

"Yes. I didn't realize how late it was."

"It happens around here, with nothing to do but sit around and look at the trees... and birds... and... sky..."

Marissa laughed. "You must not be from around here."

"I came from New York after Lara died to help him keep his feet on the ground."

"Big change there. What kept you here?"

"Melinda. She needs a female around. I know that Aiden is a good father, but every little girl needs a woman around."

"I understand. I left home when my mother died. I was off to college anyway, but I couldn't stay in a house with just my father."

"Where did you go?"

"I stayed here. In the room I'm in now... Strange how things work out, isn't it?"

"Yes... very..."

"Where's Melinda now?"

"Upstairs. I asked her to come down for breakfast, but she refuses. She's been a monster lately. I don't know why, but she just won't listen to me. I think it may be because I've been setting Aiden up on blind dates lately with some friends of mine. She doesn't want a new mother. She even told me to go home yesterday, that she didn't want me around and neither did Aiden."

"That's so sad. She's so young to be feeling that way. Give her time. It'll all work out in the end."

"Thank you. Coffee? Fresh pot."

"Yes thank you," Marissa said, taking the mug offered to her.

"Cream or sugar?"

"No, thank you."

"Well, I have to go down to the store. Melinda should be fine, if you don't mind keeping an eye on her for a little while I'm gone. I just need to get some groceries... and head to the dry cleaners..."

"... And escape from the house without Melinda for a little while?"

"How could you tell?"

"I've been down that road myself. I know the symptoms of a restless mind in the middle of no where."

"Thank God there's someone else out there who gets it."

"You go. I'll keep an eye on Melinda."

"Thank you."

Marissa watch Karen make her way to her room. A few minutes later Karen left the house and Marissa sat at the kitchen table. There were a lot of dishes left over from breakfast and she decided to help clean up. So she grabbed the plates around her and put them in the sink, followed by the now empty coffee pot and mugs. She sang quietly to herself as she filled the sink and baegan to wash the dishes.

"You have a pretty voice," a voice behind her whispered.

Marissa turned around to see Melinda standing in the doorway.

"Thank you, Melinda."

"Where's Auntie Karen?"

"She had to get out and go to the store."

"Good. I hate her. She tries to be my mommy, but she's nothing like my mommy!"

"She's just trying to help you and your daddy, Melinda."

"Well, we don't need HER help."

"Come here, Melinda. Sit at the table. Did you have breakfast?"

"No, she said, sitting at the table, her legs barely hanging over the side of the chair."

"Are you hungry?"

"No." she said, as her stomach rumbled. "Well, a little."

"How about some eggs and toast?"

"Peanut butter toast?"

"Sure."

"Yum."

Marissa laughed as she made Melinda her breakfast. When it was done she set it before her and continued to clean while the little girl ate. When the dishes were done she sat with her, taking in the girl's features. She looked a lot like Aiden, only instead of having blue eyes she had gray eyes, and her hair was blonde rather than brown.

"So, Melinda, how old are you?"

"5. I turn 6 in Febary," she replied, mispronouncing the month and making Marissa laugh.

"6 in February? Wow, you're a big girl."

"Yep!" the little girl smiled. "You're a lot different from Auntie Karen. I like you."

With that Melinda jumped off the chair and walked from the room, her blonde pigtails bobbing behind her. Marissa smiled and began to clean her plate when she heard a shriek come from the living room.

"Melinda," she cried, "what's wrong?"

"M-m-m-m...." she stuttered, pointing under the coffee table. Marissa saw, shivering in fear, a mouse.

"Oh, Melinda, don't worry about him, he's just a little mouse. Do you want to see how I used to get rid of the mice in my house?" She nodded. "Do you have a shoe box?" Again she nodded. "Go get that for me and the peanut butter that's on the table."

Melinda ran from the room, returning a minute later with the two things. "O.K. Now first we're going to take the peanut butter and put it in the box. Then, we put a little on the top and make it like a ramp to the box, like this. Put that in front of him and he'll climb right in," she said as the mouse began to journey into the box.

"Look, he's going!" Melinda said, smiling.

"Yep, when he;s in the box, we put the top on it, take a knife and..."

"Kill him!" Melinda said.

"No, we poke holes in the box and let him loose in the woods by the lake. Who told you to kill the mice?"

"Auntie Karen. She said mice were... ver ... vermill... vermace... ver..."

"Vermin?"

"That, and that they should all be killed so they didn't make people sick."

"That's just silly. He's just a scared little animal, see, he's shaking. Come on outside with me and we'll bring him home to his family."

"O.K. I never liked killing the mice. Auntie told me it was the right thing to do. I'm glad you aren't killing him."

"He's just afraid," Marissa said, bringing Melinda out side, the box in one hand, the girl's hand in the other.

She opened up the box at the edge of the woods in the back yard and watched Melinda's smile as the mouse shot out and into a hole in the ground.

"I'll always do that to catch mice now. Who taught you to do that?"

"Your father. I always killed the mice too, until he showed me how to do this. Just make sure someone else is around when you try it."

"Thank you Marissa."

Melinda ran up to the house, Marissa following close behind, thinking about things she hadn't thought of in 8 years.