In the last few months, as the summer had wound down, Veronica had secluded herself in the still dusty and abandoned wings of Dig's home with books and papers, stuck in a limbo that left her unsure of how to move forward from where she had, essentially, stuck herself: between a horrible slip of a tongue and the loss of a career she had loved, and now with a man whom she also loved, but was unsure about in every possible capacity. She couldn't find it in her heart to leave him, but yet she could barely find her voice to talk to him. She avoided him. She didn't pay attention. Instead she absorbed herself in her own dank and moldy corner of the Ballycroy manor.
Sitting on the hallway carpet below an open window, the sound of the fire filtered in and caught her attention, causing Veronica to lean up on her knees and peer out at the grounds, where flames seemed to be consuming the overgrown forest.
She dropped her book on the rug and climbed to her feet, immediately off at a jog down the stairs and through the kitchen where she stopped dead at the sight of the package sitting open on the table. Oh sweet fucking Circe. Tentatively she moved forward, pushing open the screen door and immediately spotting Dig with his drink, watching the fire with what looked like a very strange combination of (if it was even possible) anger and indifference.
"Dale?" she asked in a small, croaky voice, standing there in the glow of the flames in her rolled up slacks and loose blouse, looking startled and afraid. "What on Earth is going on?"