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She looked around the room. It was dark. She tried to remember what happened that would have lead her there. She was driving home from the walk, that she remembered clearly. She got out of the car, walked in the front door, okay. She went into the kitchen and that's where things started to get a little hazy. She gingerly turned her head to look up at the table beside her. Had she come into the dining room to ... lay down? Because she was tired?
She noticed that Greg's chair was askew, set back slightly from the table. It looked like something had bumped into it or … pushed it back.
The memory of what happened came flooding back. She had passed out. And the reason that she had passed out was because... she had had a panic attack. Veronica felt her face flush with embarrassment. She looked around her again. The house felt dark, foreboding. She slowly raised herself to her feet and walked into the kitchen. Christ, did her head hurt.
She grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and filled it at the sink. As she gulped the water down, cutting through her parched throat, she glanced at the clock on the stove and almost choked. It was 4:15. She must've been asleep for hours.
Dinner. She had to make dinner for Greg. She looked around the kitchen at the bare counters and stove top. Her mind raced: what did they have in the fridge? Vegetables? She could cook pasta, but she didn't have any sauce. Sandwiches? A steak?
She settled on breakfast-for-dinner and began getting things together right away. An hour later Greg walked through the door, just as Veronica had finished setting the table. The food was being kept warm in the oven.
"Mmm, is that bacon I smell?" he called out.
"Hi sweety!" Veronica called back from the dining room. "I thought we'd have breakfast for dinner tonight!"
A pause. "I had breakfast for breakfast."
A pang went through Veronica's stomach and she ignored it.
"Well, you know what they say! Two is better than one!"
Greg walked into the dining room and watched her putting down the utensils.
"Yeah," he said noncommittally and turned into the kitchen.
"So how was your day?" Veronica asked, following him.
"Good," he said, fixing himself a drink. "Sampson finally turned in that report like I told him to, but I took one look at it and said to redo it. The thing was shit, you should've seen it! I said to him, look buddy, if you don't ..."
Veronica took the food into the dining room and began serving it onto their plates. Greg stayed in the kitchen as he spoke, whiskey and ice in one hand, gesticulating with the other. When Veronica had
finished serving she stood patiently in the doorway and waited for him to finish, a smile planted on her face.
"... was much better, but I swear that this is the last time," he concluded. He took a sip of his drink and Veronica waited to see if there was going to be a follow-up, but it looked like that was it.
"Wow sweety, that's tough. Why don't you come and eat, you can relax."
Greg nodded. "Yeah, that's not a bad idea," he said, and he walked past her into the dining room. Veronica followed, her face expressionless until she sat down, when she forced another smile on.
The two ate in silence. When they had finished Greg left to go watch television while Veronica stayed in the kitchen and cleaned up. As she washed the dishes she heard the drone of the television coming in from the other room. The sportscaster was narrating on whatever the hockey players were doing, his voice bouncy with enthusiasm and life. Veronica's eyes stared dully at the tiled backsplash as she scrubbed bits of egg from the frying pan.
When she finished she drained the sink and, instead of joining Greg in the TV room, decided to read a bit of her book. She sat down in the chair and turned to her page, picking up where she left off. The kidnapped wife, Lady Violet, was down in one of the holding cells of the ship, and the pirate whom she loved had brought her a meal.
~~~
'Here is your dinner, m'lady,' Emmanuel said to Lady Violet, offering her a plate of food on a grubby-looking tray.
She looked at the muscular man through the bars of the cell and made an effort to keep her voice steady. If he knew that her heart had quickened at the sight of him, she wouldn't know what to do.
'I do not know why you keep trying to feed me,' she managed to tell the pirate with mock irritation. 'I would rather die than be on this ship a moment longer.'
'Well m'lady, there are more than a few of us who have voiced their opinions that having a woman aboard the ship is bad luck. But then again, there are those of us who enjoy the company of a woman, even when she is so stubborn when it comes to food.'
He glanced down at the previous dinner's tray. It was still laden with meat and biscuits, albeit significantly less than there was when he had brought it down.
'I see you are not immune to hunger, at least. Personally I find the thought more appealing that you eat rather than starve.'
'And why exactly would that be, Emman- ... pirate?' she inquired.
