A/N: I know this isn't the story most of you are wanting to read right now. I hope you like it anyhow.
"I sent away for every small town newspaper I could find an address for," Kate says, facing Betty on the couch. Each has one arm up on the back, one leg tucked underneath her; a cock-eyed mirror image.
"Some women were returning home; the girls from the factories had a taste for the city and weren't so keen on leaving. Myself, I thought I could use a little more space and a bit of a slower pace."
A couple of hours before, Lucy had introduced herself with a warm smile and a firm handshake that Kate tried to return in kind; tried not to shrink into herself.
"The ads were plentiful but not all that diverse. No real surprise there. Typists, receptionists, nurses… teachers."
Lucy was tall, or maybe she just carried herself that way. She smiled so serenely, seemed so comfortable in her skin; Kate couldn't help but feel intimidated. Even Lucy's bold facial features, which could have been unfortunate on someone else, suited her well.
"I did help raise my brothers. I thought that might have put me off children forever, but I helped out in Leon's Sunday School sometimes, and oh…"
The dress Lucy wore, on her way out to the Ladies' Auxiliary meeting, was subtle but very stylish. Kate was mostly focusing on things she could see and name, because she didn't really yet know how to deal with the way the two women looked at one another, their easy physicality. She hadn't been there to see Betty change.
"The war babies were just reaching school age, and I fell in love so quickly. It's a small town, a tiny school; a simple life."
Betty has been listening attentively, leaning her head on her hand. "A normal life?"
A trace of a smile on Kate's lips. "That was what I wanted, wasn't it? I'm thirty-four; officially a spinster, though not yet beyond hope. I rent a room from an older couple whose own child has left the nest. It's no VicMu." She hesitates before saying, "There's no one like you, that's for sure. Not a Gladys or a Vera in the bunch. Oh, they're nice enough. They're good people. But we had something special there at VicMu, didn't we?" For a moment they look straight into each other's eyes, Kate thinking, We had something special; you and I.
Finally Betty smiles and nods, keeping her head low. After a moment she clears her throat and says, "Have you prospects in that small town? Will you stay?"
Kate stares for a moment, gaze level. "I could be happy there, happy enough. Teach until I'm old and wrinkled, call one after-school drink at the only bar in town every other Friday my social life.
"No, I don't think I'll stay. I miss you; I miss Gladys. I miss having a family. I don't know where I'd live, but surely there are more options near the city. Maybe I could find a roommate…"
"I know of a few bulletin boards," Betty says, lifting her chin, and Kate smiles gratefully. Glancing past her at the clock on the mantelpiece, Betty says, "Are you hungry? It's just about dinner time."
"If you don't mind the company," Kate says, cocking her head and smiling a smile that is just slightly cheeky.
"Never," Betty replies without hesitation, smiling back as she gets up to head to the kitchen. Kate takes a second to sigh out the emotion conjured in her breast by that response, then follows Betty down the short, dim hallway. Over her shoulder Betty tosses back, "I usually stick to cold sandwiches when Lucy's out for the night. Will that do?"
Kate says, "Certainly," as Betty goes to the refrigerator and Kate pulls a chair out from the table and sits facing Betty. She still sits primly, knees together, hands folded in her lap, spine straight. Since their drinks are already poured and Betty is more than capable of making a couple cold sandwiches, Kate just sits and watches.
After donning an apron (a solid green, contrasting sharply with the other apron hanging on the cupboard door: flowers everywhere) Betty pulls a roast from the refrigerator and sets to slicing the meat thinly and stacking it on white bread. She adds a leaf of lettuce to each, then holds a jar of mayonnaise up for Kate's approval, which she gives.
Soon enough Betty brings over the plates and sits on the other side of her tiny kitchen table. She hasn't removed her apron and Kate can't help smirking. (Of course, Kate's version of a smirk is pursing her lips together against a smile, affection in her eyes. Yes, the use of the word 'smirk' is generous.)
"What?"
"You've gotten quite domestic on me.
"Wait 'til you hear this, then: I've quit smoking."
Kate mimes a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. "And? How's that?"
"The withdrawal was hell, but I admit I don't find a flight of stairs quite as daunting anymore."
Smiling at Betty over her sandwich, Kate says, "I'm happy for you."
"You've got—" Betty reaches out, almost makes contact, then stands, flustered, and fetches a paper towel. "Just a little mayo. I should have had these out anyway. That'll show you for calling me domestic." She's babbling, circling the room, and Kate has to say, "Betty, sit back down. It's fine."
She does so, looking crestfallen, and Kate casts about for a topic of conversation. Unfortunately the best she can come up with is: "How did you meet Lucy?" Frowning, Betty looks away in consternation, and Kate laughs gently. "Betty, I told you, I'm moving home. It won't do me any good to dwell on a past long gone. Please, don't guard yourself for me."
Looking back, Betty's eyes are sad. "I know you're strong. I just don't want to cause any more pain than necessary – for you or me." She looks down at her lap.
Kate takes a breath. "Are you happy I'm here? Should I go?" Betty takes a long moment to answer and now, yes, now Kate is waiting on tenterhooks. If she can't even have Betty as a friend—If she can't move home—She's gotten her hopes up now—
Folded on the table are Kate's hands—she leans forward over them without any intention—she needs to hear—
Betty sets her palms flat on the table and slides them forward to frame Kate's. For a beat she leaves them there, inches from Kate's on either side, and then she moves them out to the sides to grip the edges of the table.
Speaking to the table-top, Betty begins, "It really isn't much of a story…"