I worked up there for a few of months completing it all. During that time I'd really gotten to know her. She would always compliment my work, telling me what a good craftsman I was. It was nice to hear, especially from someone as particular as Marion was.
She was forty-six, making her ten years my senior, but her long blond hair gave her a youthful appearance. Her late husband had been twenty-five years older than her. He was a Canadian ambassador who had worked in embassies all over the world. I thought that Marion had been to pretty much every country you could go to, every one you'd ever want to go to anyhow. She had souvenirs all over the house from the places she'd been.
She was most proud of her Oriental rug. First time I saw that carpet I didn't know what to think. I was afraid to touch it for fear of damaging the thing. Then I became fascinated with it. It was so intricate, as Marion put it, every time I looked at it I would see something new and I never tired of looking at it. It was like a puzzle, a rare and beautiful puzzle. I'd never been that close to something that was so beautiful and exotic. The delicateness of the pattern was actually quite deceiving for it had a rigid underside. Its funny, for all its intricacies it was really no better then any other floor covering, she just thought it was.
The rug covered the newly refinished floor in the sitting room, which was where we would sit and talk over the tea that she made me. She'd made Bill tea as well. In a way, that's what got us into this predicament.
"Where are we going to?" Bill asks me with a bit of resentment still in his voice. He sounds like a pouting child, sort of a 'but I don't want to' voice.
"Toronto," I reply.
"I don't want to go to Toronto," he whines.