It is early in the mornin' when the sound of the engine of the skiff interrupts the eerie silence. Birds around the house fly up and the batting of their wings, makes me inch one eye open. Groaning and stretching, I climb out of bed and reach for my robe. 

Still half asleep, I thunder down the stairs and stroll towards the kitchen. It is incredibly silent and as I look through the window that looks out over the jetty. I realize it is because Reed has already left.

I sigh before I turn to the provision cabinet and search for some sweet chocolate to nibble on as I am slowly waking up. Reed has left me alone again on my tiny island in the bayou. I lean against the cabinet and let the early sunshine roam across the room, leaving not a single corner uncovered. 

I stretch my neck until I hear a satisfying crack. This is my sign to get started with the day. As I walk out of the kitchen, I notice a pair of trousers tossed on the counter, a tiny note attached to them with a safety pin.

"Good Morning Annabelle, could you please fix the button on this pair? Reed"

I look around a little dazed. Not even married for a week and already receiving orders. I shrug and go back upstairs. I immediately claim the tiny bathroom to myself. Ever since I first set foot in here, the room is filled with brushes and hair pins, lipsticks and makeup brushes. A single toothbrush and razor are proof of Reed's existence in this room.

I sleepily put on some water on the stove and open the window for some fresh air instead of the dampness that filled my room last night. As soon as I have enough lukewarm water to somewhat fill the bathtub, I sink inside of it and let my head hang back. 

Somehow, today reminds me of Sundays back at home, when I didn't have to go to the Trade and had the entire day to myself. I observe my hands and nails carefully in the slightly scented water, before I decide to climb out of the tub and rub myself dry with one of the thick towels underneath the sink.

I observe my image as I twirl my dark brown hair inside the towel. The ring on my ringfinger shines dull in the morning light. 

Wrapped in my towel, I dart towards my bedroom and get changed, this time choosing a simple black dress with tiny white buttons. I ignore my shoes and let my damp hair hang down my shoulders, before I decide to put a hairpin to keep it from falling into my face.

In the mirror I catch sight of my clothes from previous days all crumbled up into a pile on the chair. Perhaps, I should do laundry today.

The pile tucked between my arm and my chest, I head towards Reed's room. I can only imagine he too has clothes that need washing. Even though, I know he's not here, I hesitate to enter the room. Flashes of his previous state of undress yesterday morning catch up with me and make my breath hitch. I swallow it away and push the door open with an unexpected force.

His bed is neatly made but as if he too didn't know what to do with his clothes, they are piled up on a table next to his dresser. Without staying any longer than necessary, I lunge for his clothes and storm down the stairs.

In the kitchen, I dump all of our clothes on the counter and head for the provisions room to find any sort of bucket or washtub big enough to fit the pile of clothing. Finally after a while, I've managed to require all what I deem to be needed to do our laundry. If Reed gets back I will seriously suggest a washing machine of sorts, I think as I add some soap into the warm water and start picking out certain colored clothes to wash. With a swing, Reed's shirts disappear into the water. The smell that lingers on them fills my nostrils. Strong, masculine and perhaps even tabacco twirl around me.

I shake my thoughts away and focus on the task ahead of me. Once the first pieces are done washing, I need a place for them to dry. I look around the house for any sign of a line that is already hung up with that sole purpose or even a rack although it would surprise me if Reed would grant himself such a luxury. Finally I decide to twirl some twine to the supporting beams of the porch and hang our clothes up outside. The sun is shining down on them, so I believe they will be dry soon.

I return inside. The silence is overwhelming, especially after living twenty years in a hectic household like the Mcgoldnicks, so I head to the living room, wondering if the radio would go all the way to the kitchen. It creaks to life as I turn and twist some buttons. 

A cracking symphony disturbs and a jazz song follows, until the warm voice of the male host echoes through the empty living room. I turn the volume up as much as I can, before I return to the sunlit kitchen.

Carefully, I check out every cabinet as the radio presentator talks about the delights of a new movie that's premiering this Saturday in Paradise Grove, the neighbourhood where Reed grew up. In our quick passing of the streets, I didn't notice a movie theatre, but the plot of the film sounds promising.

As the host continues to interview one of the actors, I am standing inside the provisions, surrounded my food in bowls and jars. I read the labels carefully and place them all by type; vegetables on the middle shelves, fruit the shelve above, the salted meat right underneath. Sweets and biscuits on the highest shelve. Absentmindedly, I return to the living room and take a look inside Reed's book case but not a single cookbook can be found.

After deciding to prepare dinner in advance, the calm sphere in the household is suddenly interrupted when an incoming newsflash thunders through the living room. Immediately triggered by the change of mood, I inch inside the living room and sit down on one of the couches as the host, who used to be calm and inviting, is suddenly talking rapid and hurried.

"Newsflash. Councilman Edgar Banner has just been shot in front of his office in the Inner City of New Paris. The shooter managed to escape. Onlookers share that we're talking about at least two offenders, who are still on the run. Councilman Banner is escorted to the hospital in critical condition."

I stare in silence at the radio, shocked that in clear daylight such crimes happen in the center of New Paris. A rumbling noise outside, wakes me up from my daze. Immediately I walk over to the window, a relieved sigh escaping me as Reed throws the rope around the pole before walking towards the front door. I catch him looking at the laundry and he frowns.

I walk towards him as he enters the house. "Reed, did you hear the news?"

He grunts and places a map biled up with papers on the kitchen counter.

"I did, that's why I tried to come home as soon as possible." He says and he takes of his jacket and unbuttons his sleeves before he rolls them up. He stretches his neck and then his eyes finally acknowledge me.

"By the by, Annabelle. I'd prefer it if your underwear wasn't hanging outside for everyone to see." He smirks, reaching for a glass of water. Despite my attempts, I blush and immediately counter his remark.

"As if anyone would ever pass here... This house is quite deserted, remember?" I turn around and head back to my preparations for dinner.

"Did you know Mister Banner?" I ask, trying to steer the conversation towards a different topic and focusing on the vegetables I'm cutting. Reed shakes his head.

"Not in person, no. But I've heard about him."

"Do you think he'll make it?"

"I don't know, Annabelle. It all depends on how bad his condition is." Reed leans against the counter, observing my hands working a bit rugged on the greens.

"It's critical."

He lets out a snort of kinds. I look up at him surprised he's able to produce such a sound. The scar on his cheek is pulling his skin against the way he tries to curve his lips. It leaves me wondering about what his mother has told me and about that woman, Joane.

"Reed?" I ask, letting the knife drop onto the wooden chopping board. He looks at me.

"Yesterday, I met this woman... And I'd rather hear from you who she is exactly." He frowns at me, a gesture that's becoming all too familiar. I sigh before I dare to speak up again.

"Her name is Joane."

Reed looks at the glass in his hand, twirls it around so that the water moves along. He continues staring at it, as seconds tick by. The frown on his forehead deepens even, his lips are pressed sternly together, a muscle in his undamaged cheek twitches.

"You are quite a direct woman, aren't you, Belle?" he asks, and he's tasting the nickname on his tongue, his lips, trying to figure out if it works if he pronounces it out loud. It doesn't bother me, but I'd rather have he'd give an honest answer.

"I think I merely deserve to know."

He sighs and lets his head fall back, his dark hair falls back a little. To my own surprise, he lets out a chuckle.

"I believe you're right."

He steps away from the counter and suddenly stands next to me as he leaves his now empty glass of water near the kitchen sink. The smell that lingered in his shirt this morning, wraps its arms around me and I am hugged by the warmth of it. He leans on one arm, picking up some pieces of vegetables with the other, and carefully chews, obviously thinking of ways to announce the news. 

Perhaps he was in love with her but she betrayed him. Or their families didn't approve of one another. Though that would make no sense with the words Joane's mother had uttered in Jennings yesterday. Nervously, I wait.

"What did she tell you exactly?" His words leave me astonished for a second. I recall the memory of the beautiful blonde woman in the drugstore, the annoyance with which she spoke and the rise and fall of her voice when the Whitacres were mentioned.

"That you two were engaged." I blurt out, unable to focus on anything else.

Reed stares at me directly.

"Nothin' else?" He asks and he seems the slightest bit surprised when I shake my head. He stands up straight, putting his hands in his pockets, before he leans against the counter once more, looking toward the jetty and the slowly bobbing skiff connected to it.

"We were indeed engaged... before I got the scar." He says as if that explains everything, but it leaves me even more curious than ever.

"You know, Reed, the scar isn't a justification for your entire social life goin' down the drain." I say and I feel his dark eyes burnin' in my side. I don't dare to look up so instead I continue cutting the vegetables as my words don't seem to stop.

"From whatever I can tell, ever since you've gotten that scar, your whole life changed. That shouldn't happen. It's just a scar, merely noticeable, really."

He chuckles besides me. "I know it was the first thing that caught your eye when we met. It always is." He says.

"But if this scar has ruined you as you seem to claim it has, then why do you still walk around New Paris without tryin' to hide it? If it has caused you so much pain, why let it continue?" I drop the knife next to the pil eof chunky pieces.

"You're right... Perhaps it wasn't the scar that exactly did it. But Belle, people change once you don't fit into their vision of society any more." He continues and this time he takes his time looking at me, observing my reaction. Amelia Whitacre's words echoe in my mind.

"So... After you got injured, people turned against you? Even Joane?" I ask and I finally dare to look up at him. The sun is slowly setting and enlighting every piece of his face in a warm yellow. The scar is left in the shadows cast across the other side of his face and it truly is barely visible at that moment.

He swallows and turns away his head, looking at the reflection of the sun sending shimmers on the water surrounding the house. His face is fully covered in the warm sun rays, the scar tissue looking like a stranger on his otherwise familiar features.

His hand quickly rubs over his forehead, before Reed continues to speak. "You deserve to know the truth, Annabelle. I'd rather have you know my motivations from me than from rumours spread by people who I once called my friends."

"After my last mission as a Night Guard, I returned injured and people thought I had failed. I wanted to tell them I hadn't but my superiors thought it wise to continue the image that was slowly surrounding me. So I said I had failed to capture those bandits, so they wouldn't know we were on to them. Although we captured them in the end, my part in it remained a secret for everyone else. The people I cared about most... They turned their backs on me, believed I was a coward and even worse, acted like that. People mocked me, humiliated me. It came to a point I couldn't stand to be with my friends, not even my fiancée since she too, wasn't free of mockery."

"It wasn't easy leaving everything behind, admitting that I no longer belonged amongst them..."

I hesitate. An urge to comfort him rises within me, but somehow I am just frozen, looking at this man, so clearly broken from the past but too fierce to admit it. In his eyes I can see the sadness his mother showed me yesterday.

He looks at me from the corner of his eye, and frowns. "Now, Belle, no need to feel bad for me." He says and he throws me a grin. "Believe me when I say, that the moment I received that scar... I saw how people truly were and it has been a blessing since then to be able to tell the good apart from the bad."

"You wanted an honest answer, no?" He continues as I remain silent and he suddenly stands up and walks towards his coat.

"By the by... It seems like you have a good influence on my ruined reputation, as you would say it." He says and he winks. The way this man changes emotions and dances between them, baffles me. I just look at him, not understanding what he is talking about as he retrieves a pale pink envelope from the inside pocket of his vest. Now, it is my time to frown.

"What is that?"

"Well, that is an invitation to a party in New Paris, offered to Mister and Misses Whitacre." Reed says and he grins.

"It seems like people are thinking that perhaps I belong with them, after all." Reed says, but the tone in his voice is lower, softer than it previously was. It is no longer mocking but more a question, a hint that perhaps he hopes people will accept him once more.

"Or they are merely curious about that wife you're hiding in the middle of the bayou." I grin as I take the envelope between my fingers and take it closer for further inspection.

"It seems like you already figured out their ways."