Two chapters at once, just because I can! Enjoy!
~5~
Now
Tim was scritching away in his notebook, so Elsa softly fled to the inner sanctum of the inn, the two-way radio in her hand. She paused a moment, looking into her bedroom. The room was muted against the sun with drawn curtains, making the marks on the walls nearly decorative. Anna was asleep, snoring softly, tightly hugging a body pillow. Elsa's throat clenched to see her partner merely asleep in those sheets and not dead as she was at night.
Precious, innocent sleep. Elsa was envious of it.
Not wanting to disturb any of Anna's rest, Elsa retreated further down the hallway, down to their own private living room with fireplace. She could hear Cub padding softly behind her; the white-furred Borzoi dog curled on her dog bed near the dormant fireplace as soon as Elsa sat on the recliner.
"Kristoff?" she asked, after pressing the radio button.
"I'm here," came the softly delayed reply. "Did Haley call?"
"Yes, she's expected in Bangor at 6 pm. Do you want to get her?"
"Sure, Renee and I can go pick her up, if that's what you'd like."
"We better play it safe. Besides, Haley said she could drive home."
Kristoff laughed. "Haley and her lead foot. We should really invest in a radar detector."
Elsa paused, thinking of Tim and the way he had looked at her. After a moment of silence, Kristoff asked, "Elsa, is there anything wrong?"
Elsa wanted to ask him and Renee to come home right now, to help check Mr. Near-Stalker out of the inn, but she knew it was a ridiculous thought. Who knew how deeply the two of them had meandered through their property, the acres of orchards and gardens a selling point nearly as dear as the proximity to the ocean. Besides, it was only her overactive imagination playing tricks on her again. The best friend of a writer, they said, and a very deadly enemy as well.
"No, everything is fine. Anna is having a nap. You guys will be back for lunch?" After such hearty breakfasts, and Anna's nearly daily need for a nap, lunch really meant two in the afternoon; well understood by her only surviving sibling and his wife.
"Yes, we will. See you soon."
It took substantial effort to leave the haven of their private portion of the inn. As Cub got up to follow her, limping with her arthritis, Elsa nearly asked her to stay there, but then felt safer with the dog at her heels. She made herself comfortable in the kitchen, paging through a book without seeing the words, waiting for eleven o'clock, glad to hear telltale noises of packing from the direction of Tim's guest room.
As she had suspected, it was eleven o'clock on the nose when he pulled all his bags into the entry way. He waited only a moment before dinging the small bell on the table where they kept a guest book, along with brochures about sightseeing in Maine. Elsa forced a distant smile on her face as she went into the entry way. "I hope you enjoyed your stay," she said, ringing up his tab. She couldn't quite bring herself to ask him to return soon, as she did with all her other guests.
"Thank you, Ms. Kelly, I surely did," he replied. "Good atmosphere for writing here."
"The coast brings all sorts of artists," Elsa replied noncommittally, yet a stab of fear passed through her. He couldn't know, could he?
She had to tell herself not to lock the front door behind him. She contented herself with surreptitiously watching his car pull away in a cloud of fallen leaves, hoping never to see his licence plate from Virginia ever again.
Quite a long road trip for a pedantic near-stalker on a writing retreat. Elsa wondered what his real profession was.
That worry, and all of her worries, seemed to fade into dimness when Anna woke up. The two of them cleaned the guest rooms together, speaking of this or that little thing. By another ancient pact, Elsa was the one to clean the bathrooms (a job Anna loathed) while Anna stripped and remade the beds (Elsa's nemesis).
"Any problems with Mr. Tim?" Anna asked as they finished up the room he had been using. Her face looked strained for some reason.
Elsa peeked around the corner of the ensuite bathroom. "No," she said. "Why do you ask?"
"Nothing," Anna replied. "I'm sure it was only my imagination." Elsa frowned and would have asked more, but she had her own suspicions and worries to keep close to her heart. Opening a two-way dialogue with this intuitive Anna of the unseen world could lead to revealing more than she had intended.
Elsa always protected herself. Always.
Kristoff and Renee returned from their work outdoors to join them for a hearty lunch of leftovers at two in the afternoon, and everyone grilled her on her conversation with Haley. Anna seemed distantly sad that she couldn't go pick up Haley from the airport, but it was more than a two hour drive to Bangor each direction. So many things could go wrong on the road, from a flat tire to sudden wildlife; a fact both of them knew all too well. It was better to stay home and not risk anything. Besides, Anna had planned a welcome-home feast for Haley.
By the time Kristoff and Renee left at 3:30 pm, Anna was up to her elbows in kitchen witchery. Elsa was very content to sip a glass of red wine and scribble in her own notebook on the kitchen table, a prop, really, because she enjoyed watching Anna cook. No matter how many ingredients she used or how fast she wielded her knives, Anna was always calm and serene in the kitchen, even dashing from pot to pan. That magical flush in her cheeks, the red hair up and away, velvet teal eyes sparkling and wondrously present; Elsa looked at her and tried not to think of the upcoming twilight.
"Dare I ask what you are making?" Elsa asked.
"Thought I'd try something new," Anna replied. "Haley's always adventurous."
"Haley would eat a camel if you cooked it right," Elsa laughed.
"Perilously low on camel tonight, I'm afraid."
"No camel, then. What is your substitute?"
"Goat," Anna replied, vigorously rubbing fresh pineapple over large chunks of now identified meat.
"Uh huh. Is it really easier finding a goat than a camel?"
"Not here it isn't. For some reason, everyone around here wants to sell lobster."
"They're a bunch of kooks. Why are you rubbing pineapple all over your meat?"
"It's a natural tenderizer. The enzymes help break down the cells in the meat, and it becomes juicier." Anna set the pineapple aside and began to layer the meat in a deep pan.
"So how did Kristoff find you goat?" Elsa dared ask.
"As soon as he mentioned some nefarious dealings regarding black market kittens, I told him I didn't want to know." Her partner began layering green chillies, salt, black cumin, and freshly cut cilantro and mint leaves over the meat. "I'm really glad that the new owner of the supermarket in town has started branching out with the produce."
"After your enthusiastic reaction, how could he not? I've never seen someone go into such hysterical delight over a fig before," Elsa replied, starting to feel a hint of the wine in her system. She watched Anna continue her near-mystical dance, her writing totally pushed to the back of her mind. Several dried leaves of garam masala and other spices went on top as well as a bunch of fried onions. "Um, really, what are you making?" Elsa finally asked as Anna covered the entire concoction with thick plain white yogurt.
"Hyderabadi Katchi Biryani with goat."
"Two words were English, right? With goat?"
Anna grinned. "Come here, you goof. Wash your hands."
Elsa got up and washed her hands, her skin tingling in anticipation. Then she stood by Anna, who gently pulled her in front of the pan. Standing behind her, her warmth tangible, her scent as bewitching as ever, Anna carefully took Elsa's hands in her own, and then plunged them both into the ingredients. "You always mix by hand, you know," Anna whispered, so near to Elsa's ear. "You know how they all say the extra ingredient is love?" her partner continued. "Bollocks. It's the hands."
Her hands wrist deep in the pan, turning the ingredients over and over, Elsa turned to look at Anna, supposedly to tell her lover that the word "bollocks" could only be used by the British, and that she was in copyright violation since she was not British, but found that Anna was kissing her instead.
It didn't matter how many hundreds of times Anna had ever kissed her before, imprinting herself on Elsa's skin, her scent, her soul, a tattoo over her very heart; every time was a beloved recitation of the first time. That had also been in a kitchen, surrounded with the fragrance of Anna's cooking, their lips coated with hot cocoa and cream. Now it was nine years later and Elsa was still entirely in love.
Anna completely surrounded her; their fingers entwining so delightfully in the pot all covered with yogurt and spices, Anna's arms about her in this embrace, Anna's lips kissing her in a slow and languorous fashion, no hurry and no fear. She pressed deep with gentle insistence, and Elsa could feel all her nerves igniting, one by one, each racing downward, inward, spiralling to the core of her, a hotter, wetter place. She let herself go, relaxing into the sensation, giving Anna the opportunity to see what sort of sounds Elsa could make by pressing here, by stroking there, exploring as if this were the first journey and not one of thousands.
Elsa could have wept for the glory of it.
To feel hot, to feel young, to feel desired and wanted and needed. Anna's fingers pressing into her palms, her lips and teeth fastening lightly on Elsa's lower lip before their tongues met in greeting. Elsa tilted her chin, recapturing Anna's lips now, drawing Anna deeper inside, feeling that heat, that wet, begin to blaze outwards from her core until it must spill from her fingertips. Every part of her felt connected to her lover; Anna's breasts hard against her back, Anna's legs pushing harder, pinning her to the counter.
They could kiss like this for hours, pressing deep, giving way, retreating and then hungry and then wickedly insistent for more. Stolen, heated breaths, the rustle of clothing, the far ticking of the clock and the rest of the world non-existent, in a moment where twilight and impending death simply did not exist.
Then Elsa became aware of Anna's eyes, the universe of ocean and sky, and the most precious heat was written in them; a wanting, an undeniable and volcanic urge.
And more.
The connection, an unseen chain of immense strength, baptized in seawater and anchored in love. The gift of making love to each other over the years had only strengthened their bond, so that in these times of doubt and fear, when twilight was a menace and dawn the only hope, Elsa could look at Anna and know she was alive.
It was Anna who was a wraith.
"Bollocks yourself," Elsa whispered. "It is love."
Anna slicked the ingredients from her hands almost savagely, Elsa following suit. An eagerness to tear off Anna's clothing rose within her, to taking the hard nub of Anna's breast in her mouth. Elsa could see the entire plan unfolding before her: she would propel Anna down the hallway and throw her on their bed. Once there she would pin her down and erupt inside of her until her eyes grew wide and she screamed Elsa's name.
This was need, the need to possess, to invade, to press inside and swallow, to taste and touch until the friction and heat would consume them both.
In the end, Elsa only rotated completely within Anna's embrace, about to start enacting her plan, when the front door slammed open. The wind chime from the porch softly accompanied the excited voices of the couple from Regina. Their faces would be wind-chapped and bright, daytime stars in their eyes mirroring the universe in Anna's.
Such was the magic of Maine.
Then
Anna was only aware of the book in her hands, the dire mistake of a little girl who decided to take a short-cut through the woods. As she read the words, Anna could recall the trees outside of Ashland, the slender paths downy and soft with fallen leaf and needle, the air crisp and near violent on her skin. She could see the slightly raised mound of the dog's grave, and taste of hope on her tongue. The library and everyone in it had passed away, including the magnetic attention of the woman in the carrel and the soft murmuring of the Goth girl manning the front desk.
A fake, carefully applied cough, and Anna looked up, realizing she was curled, cat-like, in the comfortable library chair, her shoes popped off her feet and her feet dangling over the edge, slowly bobbing in the tide of words flowing through the novel and into her skin.
The woman standing in front of her had the look of someone who had once been formidable, a shade more stout than slim, but for whom life now had the taste of weariness and despair. Her face was youthful, but for some reason the youth was jarring, unnatural, almost out of place on her torso and hips, thickened with age and much hardship. Her hair was severe, pulled back into a bun, yet there was no sign of grey.
The woman held out her hand. "Anna Blake?" she was asking. "I'm Gerda Maynard, the Director of Patten Free Library."
Anna tumbled over her feet in her attempt to rise and shake the woman's hand. It was a wry smile that greeted her back, a strong hand that engulfed Anna's enthusiastic shake. Anna was glad she had chosen to use her maiden name on her resume; the sound of it in her ears was like the rediscovery of a lost and precious childhood plaything, much beloved and much missed.
"If you have a minute to spare," Gerda was saying in all graciousness, very much aware of Anna's lack of anything better to do than get lost in a book, "would you come with me to my office? I have some questions to ask you about your application."
In her socks, fumbling into her shoes and draping her jacket over one arm, Anna followed the Director, painfully aware that her clothes still smelled a little like a fast food restaurant. She tried to tell herself that this was a good sign, that the woman had no need to be inviting Anna in to her office unless... unless she was about to tell Anna what a waste of time she was, and that no one who spent their previous three years being a gas jockey and a grease monkey had any experience in the slightest to offer a library.
Her mouth was dry and chalky. Anna tried to find a pocket of saliva to moisten her mouth with, but the apprehension was too thick.
The woman in the carrel looked in her direction as Anna followed Gerda through the library. The sun was still igniting her hair ablaze; almost too bright to look upon. There was a very small smile on the woman's lips as their eyes briefly connected.
Then the library wall came between them, and Anna was led past the genealogy room to an office upstairs that glowed in stale happiness, thin curtains drawn over the windows to keep out the youthful exuberance of the autumn sun, and the entire space buzzed with an undercurrent of financial queasiness, as if the taxpayer's hard spent dollars couldn't come this far. The walls were painted an unrelieved industrial yellow, and greenery of some genera was spilling from plant pots on the window sill. The desk was lightly cluttered with papers and a computer monitor that faced the back wall; the mark of a busy woman with many cares. There were several cheaply framed pictures on the desk that actually had no glass in them; one of a slightly younger Gerda with a plain-faced and jowled man, and one of a toddler sitting among the spectacular ruination of spaghetti and meatballs.
The child had golden curly hair and a wide smile. Noodles hung from her head like a wig.
Still puzzled and scared spitless, Anna took the proffered plastic seat across from Gerda, laying her jacket over her knees and trying not to look overly eager. Not knowing what to do exactly with her hands, she clasped them together and put them in her lap.
"You are new to Bath, Anna?" Gerda asked.
"Yes, I just moved here from Ashland," Anna replied, not wanting to spill any of the sordid story. She was determined to pass or fail this interview on merits alone, not on pity.
"Where you worked in a garage for three years," the woman continued, her voice even, no inflection whatsoever to hint at her thoughts.
"Yes," Anna replied, nearly clamping her jaw down over words that could spill all willy-nilly from her mouth thinking they would be beneficial. She would not babble in front of this woman. Would not.
"What assets would you bring to the Patten Free Library?" Gerda asked, tenting her fingers over Anna's one page resume and looking at her.
Calm. Composed.
Right.
"I'm very talented when it comes to systems," Anna began after taking a deep breath, almost surprised at the words that came from her mouth. She forced them to come out slow and clean. "Whether it is a computer system, an engine, or a complex recipe, I know how all the parts work together to make a harmonious whole. I'm also great with people, and I learn new things very fast."
"That's interesting that you would equate car engines with cooking and with the library," Gerda said. "You like to cook?"
"I love to cook, nearly as much as I love to read."
"What do you read?" Gerda asked.
"Just about anything in fiction," Anna replied honestly, "though if a book is too scary I'll have a hard time sleeping. I've dabbled in romance, though most of it is far too predictable. I could say I read the classics, but I find I don't have much patience for the language of Bronte or Austen. I also used to read a lot of fantasy, but I find it doesn't appeal to me as much anymore as it used to."
Dragons and dwarves and blood like cranberries. Hans sitting in his computer chair, hunched and oblivious.
Timid no more.
"The real world has more than its share of fantasy, doesn't it?" Gerda said softly.
Anna found herself looking at the woman again, really looking. There was that sadness, and that hard little needle of iron, all wrapped up in her face and in her voice. Anna found it difficult to determine how old Gerda really was; older than Anna, obviously, but to have a toddler so young?
What had happened to Gerda?
She nodded in answer to Gerda's near-rhetorical question.
"What happened to bring you here, Anna?" Gerda asked. Anna's cheeks burned and she ducked her head; Gerda immediately continued, "I'm sorry, it's none of my business. Please, forget I asked that. I do suppose I can ask why you feel your talents would be put to use here. I have already phoned one of your references, a Mr. Dave Blumel, who spoke very highly of you." Anna wished she could stop blushing, before Gerda could think that she was a fool. "He said you could get work in any garage you wanted." Gerda paused, giving Anna a little space, a little time to think and react.
Anna remembered the plain-faced man with the gun, and she touched the nick on her ear. "Do you believe in fate?" Anna found herself asking, and would have clapped her hand over her mouth in subsequent horror at her words would it have done any good.
Gerda didn't seem to mind the abrupt change in subject. She leaned back in her chair and replied, "Yes."
"I didn't have to come to Bath," Anna said slowly. "When I left my husband, my parents wanted me to come home to Bangor. I have friends there, or had friends. But every time I thought of my new life, my eyes kept coming here, down the coast, to Bath.
"And once I arrived here, the library pulled me in. First, as a resource to anyone who is looking for a new job. But the moment I saw the job posting and felt the thrill in my heart, I wondered if it was fate. I can't hope for a job like this, Gerda, to be among people, not cars, to feel the books, to smell them, to dive into them and their worlds. For a really long time I thought that being a gas jockey and grease monkey and a wife was really as good as it was going to get."
Gerda was watching her intently, as if she could actually see the words coming from Anna's mouth. "What do you think now?" she asked softly.
Anna paused, looking at the greenery, and then looking at the toddler in the picture. When she looked back at Gerda, her eyes were burning. "That your library is beautiful, and filled with beautiful people, like the purple-haired girl downstairs. Even if I don't get the job, I will still enjoy your library. Not too long ago I discovered that there was more to life than what I was experiencing, and the anticipation of that life means everything to me."
"Well said, Anna," Gerda said softly, after a moment's pause. Her smile got a little wider, and she leaned forward once more. Her washed-blue eyes were gleaming, and then she stuck out her hand. "Welcome to the ranks of the Patten Free Library, Anna Blake."
Anna felt a little clunk in her jaw as her mouth dropped open. Almost mechanically, she held out her hand, all callused and rough as it was, and it was enveloped by Gerda's similarly strong working hand. "You mean?" Anna breathed, her mouth suddenly all dry and chalky again, her chest inflated by a supersonic balloon of wild hope.
"I mean, if you would like the position of Library Assistant, Circulation, I would be pleased to offer it to you."
Anna's jacket spilled to the floor as she jumped to her feet. Before she could tell herself to back down and not be so scary, she had wrapped her other hand over the hand shake, pumping Gerda's fist up and down. Only then realizing what she had just done, her cheeks flushed crimson once more and she sat down again, fumbling for her jacket and apologizing.
Gerda chuckled, a rich and warm sound that lifted Anna's heart even further. "Let's introduce you to some of our staff, shall we?" she said, getting up from her chair and practically herding Anna from the little office.
Anna emerged downstairs feeling as if she had swallowed a rainbow and was about to vomit skittles. Anticipation and dread roiled within her as Gerda introduced her to her new coworkers. The symphony of names and positions and short histories was a din in her shell-shocked ears.
Finally the Goth girl, with the streak of purple hair and a heart as big as the ocean. "I'm Haley," the girl stated before giving Anna a hug.