Letters never sent, p.20
Letters Never Sent, page 20
“I’m teasing,” Annie said gently. “I’m just offering you a place to stay for a day or two so you won’t have to interact with Claire’s family. I don’t even have to be here.”
Katherine looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I can stay with a friend and leave you my room,” Annie said. “You could make yourself at home, relax—”
“But where would you stay?” Katherine interrupted quickly.
“With a friend,” Annie repeated.
Katherine frowned as she remembered the woman who was leaving Annie’s room the morning she had come to return the books.
“Margie?” Katherine asked. She could hear the edge to her voice.
“Yes,” Annie said.
Katherine deepened her frown, and she shook her head, suddenly furious that Annie would suggest leaving her alone in her grief to go do . . . whatever with that woman.
“You’re kind to offer,” she said tightly. “But no thank you.”
Annie frowned. “What’s wrong?” Her expression was one of genuine concern. She leaned forward and lightly touched Katherine’s arm.
“Nothing,” Katherine said and pulled away. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I probably should just stay in my own room.”
Annie tipped her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. “Does this have something to do with my going to stay at Margie’s? Because—”
“I couldn’t care less what you do,” Katherine said with feigned indifference.
Annie pursed her lips thoughtfully and nodded again. “All right. But if you change your mind—”
“I won’t,” Katherine interrupted. “In fact, I probably should be going. I’m tired. It’s been a long couple of days and I just want to try to rest.”
“Kate . . .” Annie began.
“I’m fine.” Katherine stood up.
Annie also stood. They looked at each other awkwardly for several moments until Annie pulled Katherine into her arms. At the contact, Katherine felt her anger disappear, and she allowed herself to lean into Annie’s body. The tears came in huge, racking sobs.
“Oh, Annie,” she managed finally. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be short with you. You’ve been great. I’m just so tired, and I feel like this is my fault. If I hadn’t fallen asleep, Claire might still be here.”
“No, sweetheart, no,” Annie murmured. “It’s not your fault. There is nothing you could have done.”
They stood that way for a long time, Katherine crying and Annie holding her and gently rocking her.
Katherine finally broke the embrace. “I’ve stained your dress.” She gestured to her eyes and runny nose. “I’m sorry.”
It will wash,” Annie said. “And, even though it might not seem like it right now, you’ll heal.”
Katherine sniffed and swiped at her nose.
“Are you sure you want to go home?” Annie asked. “You really can stay here. I’ll run over to your room and get your things.”
“No, I need to go home,” Katherine said. She turned, picked up her purse, and opened it. She pulled out a handkerchief and unceremoniously blew her nose.
Annie watched her with an inscrutable expression.
“I’ll see you at work,” Katherine said as she shoved the handkerchief back into her purse, snapped it closed, and walked to the door. “Thank you for the tea.”
Annie followed her and, as Katherine stepped to the side, reached for the knob, though she didn’t open it immediately.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she pressed.
“I’m sure,” Katherine said.
Annie nodded, studied her for several long seconds, and rose up on her toes and brushed a light, chaste kiss on Katherine’s cheek.
Despite her weariness, Katherine felt her cheeks warm.
“Why did you do that?” she asked as Annie opened the door.
“Because you looked so . . .” She shrugged. “Broken . . . and sad.”
“I am,” Katherine admitted and wished that Annie would hug her again. When she didn’t, she stepped through the doorway and down the hall toward the stairs. Behind her, she heard the door softly close.
“WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Katherine asked several days later when she opened the door and found Annie standing in the hallway. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I begged off sick,” Annie said as she took in Katherine’s rumpled clothing, bare feet, and unbrushed hair. “I was worried that you were missing Claire so I came to keep you company.”
Katherine smiled ruefully. ”You’re right.” She held up the book she still clutched in her hand. “I’ve been trying to read, but I think I’ve read the same passage about two hundred times and I still don’t know what it says.”
Annie reached into her bag and produced the familiar Walker’s bottle. “I just might have the remedy for that.” She grinned. “That is, if you invite me in.”
Katherine widened her eyes, and she jumped backward, pulling the door open with her. “I’m sorry. I was just so surprised to see you. I didn’t mean to be rude. I . . . please, come in.”
Annie stepped inside and headed to the table where Katherine sat to eat and to write letters. As she passed, Katherine caught the whiff of one of the colognes they sold at the perfume counter. It was different than the scent Annie usually wore, and Katherine wondered absurdly if it had been sprayed on for her benefit. The thought made her blink. What was she thinking, she chastised herself? Why had that even occurred to her? She closed the door and with her back to Annie, tried to compose herself. The grief over Claire’s death was making her thoughts unpredictable. They were making her needy.
Katherine turned around. Annie had set the bottle on the table and was unbuttoning her coat.
“Let me take that,” Katherine said and stepped forward.
Annie slid out of her coat and pulled off her gloves. She handed both to Katherine. “You can just lay them over the chair. You really don’t need to worry about hanging them.”
“Nonsense,” Katherine said and walked to the closet.
“Mind if I use these?” Annie asked.
Katherine looked over her shoulder. Annie was holding up two small jelly jars that Katherine had brought from home.
“Those aren’t glasses,” she said.
“I know, but I don’t care,” Annie said. “And they look clean.”
Katherine shrugged. “Be my guest.” She carefully hung the coat and returned to the table were Annie was pouring several finger’s worth of whiskey into each jelly jar.
She handed one to Katherine and raised the other. “To Claire.”
Katherine raised her own glass and touched it to Annie’s. “To Claire.” She raised the glass to her lips.
The whiskey burned warmly as it slid past her throat to her stomach, and she closed her eyes. She opened them. Annie was in the stuffed cloth chair under the window where the light was best for reading.
Katherine went to sit on the corner of the bed across from the chair and realized just how messy the room was. The bed hadn’t been made in days. The ashtray was almost overflowing with the burnt remains of cigarettes and books were stacked in crooked piles. It looked more like Annie’s room than her own.
“I’m sorry everything is such a mess,” she said. “I haven’t been interested in housekeeping the past few days.”
Annie shrugged and leaned forward, her dark eyes full of concern. “So, how are you, really? You haven’t been to work and, quite honestly, you look like hell.”
“I’m all right,” Katherine said with a shrug. “Tired. Sad. I’ll be going back to work in a couple of days.” She sighed. “I can’t afford not to. I just needed some time . . . alone.”
She looked around the room.
“Is it hard being here?” Annie asked. “With Claire’s room just down the hall?”
Katherine nodded and felt the familiar sting of tears. She covered her face with her hands.
“Oh, Kate,” Annie said and stood up. She put her glass on the window sill and went to the bed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
She sat down and put her arms around Katherine, who still sat with her head in her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she said, slowly rocking Katherine. “I didn’t mean to say that. I shouldn’t have reminded you.”
Katherine’s shoulders shook as she cried. “You didn’t remind me. I can’t seem to forget it. Every time I walk down the hall to the bath or try to go out, I pass her door and it’s all I can think about. I just keep replaying it in my mind, thinking about what I could have done differently.” She sighed miserably and lifted her face from her hands. She swiped at her nose, embarrassed. “She took care of me, you know—when I moved here. She made sure I was safe. And now she’s gone. I feel so alone.”
Her body shook with a fresh wave of sobs.
“It’s okay,” Annie murmured. “You’re not alone. You have me and you have other people at work who care about you. And your family. You’re not alone.”
Katherine lifted her head, her teary eyes meeting Annie’s. Her nose was running.
Annie laughed softly and pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “You do need looking after.” She blotted the tears. “Blow.” She held the handkerchief to Katherine’s nose.
Katherine laughed, despite herself. “I can do it myself.” She took the handkerchief from Annie’s fingers, wiped her nose, and crumpled the cloth in her hands. “I’ll wash it and get it back to you.”
Annie gave a tiny smile and nodded as Katherine took a deep, shuddering breath and leaned forward, her head down, her elbows braced on her knees. Annie put her hand on Katherine’s back and gently moved it back and forth.
“I’ve never lost anyone close to me before.” Katherine straightened and turned to Annie.
Annie smiled affectionately and tucked several strands of hair behind Katherine’s ear. She let her fingertips linger on Katherine’s jaw.
Katherine blinked and felt her heartbeat accelerate. She stared at Annie. Her expression had gone from one of gentle affection to something else—something Katherine had seen before. Her jaw twitched, and Annie pulled her hand away. She stood quickly and walked to the windowsill for her drink.
“So, it’s strange knowing you’re not at work,” Annie said as she settled back into the chair. “Did Ansen give you a hard time about taking off?”
Katherine shook her head. “Not really. I don’t think he knows how to deal with crying women.”
Annie nodded. She studied the amber liquid in her makeshift glass and gently swirled it. “I stopped by a couple of times on my way home the last few days.” She didn’t look up. “You didn’t answer when I knocked on your door. I wasn’t sure . . . I didn’t know if you just wanted to be alone or if you were upset with me.” She seemed to choose her words carefully. “You seemed angry with me when I offered to let you stay in my room.”
“I was upset about everything that had happened,” Katherine said.
“So you weren’t angry?” Annie asked.
“I just wanted to be alone,” Katherine said.
“Ah.” Annie glanced up at Katherine and raised the jelly jar to her lips and took a sip. “But, you didn’t answer my question.”
“I . . .” Katherine paused, unsure how to explain what had happened—unsure if even she understood it. She sighed. “Perhaps I was a little upset.”
“Why?” Annie asked.
Katherine shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it felt like you were abandoning me so you could go to Margie’s.” She shook her head miserably. “It makes no sense. I know that.”
Annie set her glass on the table and went to sit next to Katherine on the bed. “I was trying to help. I wanted you to have someplace to go, but I also know that you’re uncomfortable around me because of my . . . because of the people I spend time with.”
“The women you spend time with,” Katherine said pointedly.
“The women I spend time with,” Annie acknowledged. “And I didn’t want you to worry about me . . . to think that I would . . .” She hesitated and chewed on her lower lip as her eyes darted around the room. She took a deep breath. “I didn’t want you to think that I was going to do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.”
Katherine nodded. “No, you made it clear that you were going to go someplace else to do that.” She was surprised at the bite in her tone.
Annie pulled back, apparently surprised as well. “You asked me where I would go. I told you the truth.”
“Um,” Katherine said, her voice tight.
“Kate, what is this about?” Annie asked.
“Nothing,” Katherine said.
“I don’t believe you,” Annie said. “I was—I am trying to be a good friend to you. But all I seem to do is make you angry.”
“I’m sad about Claire,” Katherine said.
“I know,” Annie said. “But I think it’s more than that.”
“No, it’s really not,” Katherine said shortly. “I just would have liked to have had you offer to stay with me rather than running off to Margie’s. That’s all.”
Annie pursed her lips and shook her head in exasperation. “What do you want from me? I want to help. But every time I think I’m doing what I’m supposed to—what you need—it’s the wrong thing. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. So now I’m asking you. What do you want?”
“I want . . .” Katherine felt her eyes sting with tears. “I want . . .” Her throat constricted. “I want things back the way they were.”
She leaned forward, buried her face in her hands, and let the tears flow.
After several seconds Annie pulled her into her arms. “Shhh,” she murmured against Katherine’s hair. “It’s all right. I’m sorry.”
They sat like that for several minutes until Katherine’s sobs eased, and she pulled away from Annie.
“It seems like all I do is cry,” she said and opened her clenched fist to reveal Annie’s wadded handkerchief. She blew her nose loudly and wiped ineffectually at her eyes with the back of her wrist.
“You are kind of a slobbery mess,” Annie said as she pulled at the edge of her sleeve and used it to blot the spots Katherine had missed. She gently touched Katherine’s cheek with the backs of her fingers.
Katherine’s heart stopped for a moment and her breath caught in her throat.
Annie heard it and froze. She looked intently into Katherine’s eyes and in that moment, Katherine understood that Annie was about to kiss her. And more to the point, she realized with surprise, she wanted Annie to kiss her. She parted her lips in anticipation, her breath slightly accelerated.
Annie continued to gaze at her. “Oh, Kate,” she said finally, her voice little more than a whisper.
She cupped the other side of Katherine’s face and gently caressed the crest of her cheek with her thumb.
Katherine could see the internal struggle reflected in Annie’s expression. She leaned into Annie’s hands. Annie lifted Katherine’s chin and, pressed her lips to her forehead for several seconds, and sat back.
“So, when was the last time you had a meal?” Annie asked, her tone neutral and businesslike. She stood and walked toward the table.
Katherine stared at her back in disbelief, her lips still parted in anticipation of the kiss that hadn’t come. She blinked and closed her mouth, unprepared for the wave of anger that washed over her.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
Annie turned, and Katherine could tell from her expression that she not only sensed her anger, but also recognized the cause.
“Kate,” she said simply, “you have to understand.”
“Oh, I understand,” Katherine said shakily as she stood and walked to the window. “I understand all too well.”
She stood with her back to Annie, her arms crossed over her chest, her hands balled into fists. She felt stupid and confused. Outside, the gloom of the day was giving way to the gloom of dusk. She heard the soft creak of the wooden floorboards and felt Annie’s presence behind her.
“You just lost your best friend.” Annie put a gentle hand on Katherine’s shoulder. “You’re grieving and in shock. This is not what you need right now.”
“Please don’t presume to tell me what I need,” Katherine snapped, aware that her words sounded like something from one of the novels Annie disliked.
“All right,” Annie said evenly. “I won’t. I’ll tell you what I need. I need to be true to myself. You know how I feel about you, but I don’t want you this way. You’ve just lost your best friend and you’re vulnerable. You want to be comforted and I want to help if I can. But I don’t want you making decisions that you’re going to regret, Kate. And quite honestly, I’m not in a position right now to do more than be your friend.”
