Chapter 5
Ella
Monday
Miss Amara walked toward me and greeted me with the tightest hug, as she always did.
“This one is like a granddaughter to me.” She smiled, turning to look at a boy standing right next to us. “Ella, meet Miles. Miles, meet Ella.”
“Hi,” I smiled at him. “Nice to meet you.”
His face didn’t look familiar. Was he part of Miss Amara’s family? She never mentioned having a family, and I never saw anyone come to visit her.
“Nice to meet you too, Ella,” he replied.
“We just met outside the Village Oven.” Miss Amara looked at me happily. “He offered to help with all the bags and drove me here.” She rested her hand on his arm. “Thank you very much, darling.”
“Oh, of course! You’re very welcome,” he said and smiled back at her.
“That reminds me!” Miss Amara turned to me. “I brought all the cardboards we agreed we needed.” And she turned back to Miles. “We’re planning the end-of-summer village party! Good music, great company, and lots of chicken pies!”
He laughed warmly at the end of her sentence.
They exchanged a few more words, which remained background noise to me while I simply watched him — the dimples in his cheeks, his tousled chestnut hair, his green eyes, like two chameleons matching his sweater.
And then those eyes caught mine.
“You know what, honey? We’re short-staffed for the whole organization,” Miss Amara told him, as if pretending to have just discovered something important. “Don’t you want to come back on Friday to be part of our meeting and help some more?”
He opened his mouth, as if still pondering his answer, but she wasn’t planning on letting him decide.
“Excellent!” she said. “I’ll see you both later. Olive is demanding something of me!”
Miss Amara cheerfully slipped away from us and headed for Olive, the lady in charge of the Center’s dining area.
“So…” My lips curved up. “Now you’re joining the workforce?”
A soft laugh escaped him. “Apparently.”
“Friday’s meeting is at 2 p.m.,” I warned him.
“Ah, noted.” He pressed his index finger to his forehead, pretending to memorize it. “So, you… are in charge of something for this party?”
“Yes, I am,” I answered. “I volunteer here.”
I rearranged my shoes with my feet as I spoke, trying to put them on again, but before I could ask him anything, he did it first.
“What exactly is the purpose of this place?” He looked around the garden. “Are all these people volunteers?”
I looked around too. There was a group playing a card game at a table, Mrs. Barnesa standing up from her seat to tell Mr. Nobel he couldn’t cheat.
Saga was reading a book to a group of 4-year-old kids sitting on the grass under the shade of a tree.
Mrs. Ethel and Mrs. Mabel were chatting over their crochet embroideries.
A group of teenagers I had seen earlier coming from the library were now also on the grass, sharing laughs and stories. And others, too.
I tilted my head to invite him to walk with me as I began to answer him.
“The purpose is to be a place where the community can come for help, in many areas,” I explained.
“There’s a big part dedicated to kindergarten.
There’s a library, which is really cool for our studies!
” I said, a little too enthusiastically.
“Which is opposite to where the babies are, of course.” He laughed at that.
“There’s the cafeteria that always serves a meal a day at an affordable price for everyone.
Next to that, there’s an area for donations from local markets and restaurants to combat food waste — which works as a food circle for the cafeteria.
There’s an area for physiotherapy, and a large part of that side of the building,” I pointed out as we kept walking through the garden, “contains rooms for patients who are undergoing treatment, have health conditions, or need long-term care, especially for the elderly.” He listened attentively, his eyes fixed on mine, but I felt I might have overwhelmed him with my giant statement.
“That is, for those who no longer live alone at home or need to stay for medical support!” I summed it up.
“That’s why this is such a huge building, really,” he said.
“And we also have offices for psychologists to give medical consultations!” I interrupted, saying it a little too enthusiastically, again. “I’m sorry, you were saying…”
“It’s okay.” He smiled, his dimples showing. “It’s an amazing place,” he continued, his eyes now unfocused, somewhere in the garden. “And they all hang out here? The kids from the kindergarten, the elderly, the teenagers?”
“Yeah,” I looked up at him and smiled back. “A community.” I remembered my thoughts from earlier.
He nodded briefly. “It’s like… everyone feels part of something,” he concluded, with a slight questioning tone, turning to me.
That was precisely it.
I grinned at him in confirmation. Suddenly, I realized I hadn’t even asked him what he was doing here. I hadn’t asked him anything except his name. And my brain had been distracted, but I was almost sure it hadn’t even been me who asked for his name.
“And you,” I started, “where are you from?”
He hesitated for a moment. “From Wayneth, practically my whole life. But moving here right now.”
“Oh, really? From Wayneth to live here? Evermere? Now? Why?” My curiosity surfaced.
His lips lifted in a very soft smile. Maybe five questions in a row was not what normal people did. “Yeah, I lived with my mom and her boyfriend in the city. But they broke up.”
After a few long seconds of silence, I realized he wasn’t going to give me much more information than that.
So, I respected it.
And we kept walking. We talked about who was at the CIC doing what. As we moved along the garden, discreetly pointing at people, he would make assumptions, and I would tell him their truths. I guess I wanted him to get to know some life stories before sharing his own.
To feel partly part of something too.