Fiona
After that first night in the kitchen, it started happening more often than I expected. Once or twice a week, sometimes more, Archie would appear after most of the staff had gone home, and instead of retreating to his study the way I imagined a man like him usually did, he'd sit across from me at that small table and let the silence stretch until one of us finally spoke.
I told myself I should discourage it. Every extra minute I spent talking to him as my mother was another minute where one wrong word, one slip in my voice or my posture, could unravel everything. But there was something about those quiet hours that I found myself looking forward to more than I wanted to admit, and I didn't have the heart to close a door that seemed to mean so much to a man who otherwise carried him
