John
Once he'd overcome the shock, he got up and felt her head. No blood, that was good. She'd looked like she'd fall on her elbow and hip first, but then twisted mid-air and hit her head with a nauseating thud.
"Stupid, stupid!" he muttered to himself. Holding her hand, he got out his cell phone to dial an ambulance, when he felt her grip tighten
"Please John, put that away. I don't have insurance."
"What are you talking about? What if you're hurt?"
"I'm serious, John. I can't afford it, I can't afford this to happen."
Of course, all this invoked in him was the incredible desire she'd say his name again. Because he was a special kind of moron.
"As you wish."
This made her smile. No, not smile, she grinned.
"Best wishes," she said.
And now he was sitting at his desk, holding the picture he'd just retrieved from the attic. It had him and Hank on it, sitting on a pool chair. Katherine was nudged in between, ruffling up their hair and making a crazy face. The dogs, Maggie and Red, were giving each other the eye. The one that said: "I think I might want to play, but I'll bite you if you taunt me," using a lot of white.
He smelled her before she walked in. She'd just taken a shower, and was wearing all her clothes again.
"You didn't have to put those back on. They're dirty."
She shrugged, saying: "I didn't have anything else. I think I'll best be on my way."
Something had changed, he could sense it.
"What's the rush, Katherine? Come here, look at this picture."
She hesitated by the door. He could almost hear the gears in her head grinding. Then she sighed, and came to sit next to him, balancing on the armrest of the chair.
"I'd forgotten about that day. I seem to have forgotten many things."
"I bet you didn't forget Red."
She laughed, "Oh, how I loved that little bastard."
"And he loved you." And so had John.
She sprang up, looking frazzled. He looked for something in her eyes, and when he found it, he looked back at the picture, at her crazy face. He couldn't bear to look at her anymore. It was too much. There was too much of her, too much of her smell, of her wet hair dripping on the floor, of her freckles that didn't seem to know boundaries.
She turned around and walked out of the room. She came back. She stopped outside of the door, started walking away again. Then a sliding sound, and silence.
When he finally gathered the guts to walk into the hallway, he found her about a foot away, sitting on the floor, stroking a picture.
"Your yeti," she said. Then she pointed at the baby. "Baby yeti," she whispered.
"Yes."
She handed the frame to him, and started bawling. Almost like a baby, without shame, without concern for who might hear and judge. Every breath sounded sharp and painful. He patted her red hairs, feeling how they made his fingers moist. This only made it worse.
"J-John, hold me, this is your fault, t-this your all your fault, hold me and make it better."
He'd already been holding her after she's said it once, the words came out slow and fragmented, in between her attempts to pull in enough air.
"If you keep this up, you'll start hyperventilating."
"T-too late," she answered, her eyes wide.
"I'll get a paper bag."
He left her there, lying across his hallway, gasping.
"It's like I was made to cry," he could hear her whisper.