Who: Willa and Clint What: Adult kind of worries Where: Their living room When: Wednesday evening Rating: PG-13ish? Status: In Progress
Willa sat in the middle of a semi-circle of papers, spread in a very boring sort of art tableau in the center of their farmhouse living room. The dates on the official looking documents ranged over the course of the last decade. Loan statements. Invoices. Tax records and medical things. They didn't seem to have much rhyme or reason to their pattern, besides that they were all important enough to be saved in the really big box that sat next to her, propping one elbow so her hand could cradle her brow.
The economy crash hadn't skipped over Grey Haven because of it's isolation. Besides the occasional summer festival that came through (like the music one coming up, which she hoped would loosen their belt some), the main tourist influx during the winter months didn't do a lot for the Masons, and things had been declining. Nothing was a sharp drop, but the bucket had a leak, and their savings was starting to dwindle. Thing was, Willa had known this for at least three years, and she'd never dug all The Papers out for inspection.
Right now, she was staring at them as if they'd give her an answer. They wouldn't, she knew deep down, but it was a place to start. Something very important had been flickering like a weak flame in the back of her mind for the last two weeks, demanding more and more attention as each day passed by. Something that, for some strange reason, she was looking for financial comfort before actual medical confirmation. It wasn't logical, but then again...she hadn't been feeling very logical lately.
All thanks to an influx of hormones that'd hit her over the last month, compounded by the fact that after fifteen years of being a human woman, she'd been hit by a change she didn't know how to deal with.