It had never rained much down in Texas, but Carla Jean had come to find that she didn't much mind it. Months of nothing but that same bright sunshine had come to grate on her nerves, especially in the two months since Llewelyn died. Cold and inconvenient though it may have been to walk in the rain from her hut to the Compound, she definitely preferred the storm clouds. It felt less as if they were trying to force her to be cheerful
( ... )
"I'm not!" was the immediate response. Though Carla Jean could be considered something of a close friend outside of Chuck, Olive and Digby, that didn't make being caught red-handed (and red-faced) with a book aimed toward a more select audience that much better.
It might have made it worse, in fact.
Ned cleared his throat and closed the book, holding it behind his back awkwardly as he turned to face Carla Jean. "It was just - I picked one at random and this was it, that's all. Hi, Carla Jean how are you? Good? How about this rain, huh?"
The pie maker was not above making pleasant small talk to escape an embarrassing situation.
Ned's seeming so flustered was about as amusing as the book itself, and Carla Jean did let out a laugh then, albeit a short one. She'd still have called it progress. "S'alright," she replied easily, with a shake of her head. "Damn shelf never gives what you want to see. I know that." As for herself, she'd been given naught but books on grief and how to cope with it. She wanted nothing to do with any of them. Coping with her husband's death was something she was perfectly capable without the assistance of any goddamn self-help manual.
She didn't dwell on that, though. Any excuse for a lightened mood was fine by her, and she had no intention of doing anything to ruin that. "I'm alright, though, yeah," she continued, supposing she ought to answer his questions, even if they'd just been to change the subject. She was still grinning, anyway. "Kind of a mess out there. Ain't too bad, though. Could definitely be worse."
One thing could be said for Carla Jean; she was good enough to go along with Ned's feeble attempts at avoiding the conversation. He appreciated it very much, and relaxed slightly in relief.
He was, of course, still holding a pop-up book about pin-up girls - and if Ned ever relaxed completely, it only happened around Chuck under certain circumstances better left unsaid at this moment.
"Good," he said, and even managed a smile for a second. "About you being alright, not the rain. If Digby could talk," he pointed over to the corner where Digby was sound asleep, "he'd be complaining for days."
Carla Jean cast a sympathetic glance in Digby's direction before she turned back to Ned. Alright, in her situation, may have been a relative term, but it was something, anyway. As far as days went, this was a better one, and she had to hold on to that while she could. Probably when she went back to her hut to sleep, everything would catch up to her all over again.
"Poor guy," she said, reaching up to brush a loose piece of wet hair from her face. "Well, knowin' this place, maybe it won't last too long? You never can tell, 'round here." She had a good deal of experience with the island pulling strange tricks, after all. Hers had been one of the cruelest.
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It might have made it worse, in fact.
Ned cleared his throat and closed the book, holding it behind his back awkwardly as he turned to face Carla Jean. "It was just - I picked one at random and this was it, that's all. Hi, Carla Jean how are you? Good? How about this rain, huh?"
The pie maker was not above making pleasant small talk to escape an embarrassing situation.
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She didn't dwell on that, though. Any excuse for a lightened mood was fine by her, and she had no intention of doing anything to ruin that. "I'm alright, though, yeah," she continued, supposing she ought to answer his questions, even if they'd just been to change the subject. She was still grinning, anyway. "Kind of a mess out there. Ain't too bad, though. Could definitely be worse."
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He was, of course, still holding a pop-up book about pin-up girls - and if Ned ever relaxed completely, it only happened around Chuck under certain circumstances better left unsaid at this moment.
"Good," he said, and even managed a smile for a second. "About you being alright, not the rain. If Digby could talk," he pointed over to the corner where Digby was sound asleep, "he'd be complaining for days."
Reply
"Poor guy," she said, reaching up to brush a loose piece of wet hair from her face. "Well, knowin' this place, maybe it won't last too long? You never can tell, 'round here." She had a good deal of experience with the island pulling strange tricks, after all. Hers had been one of the cruelest.
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