He stayed for a while after that, neither of us talking much, though he did leave before the others came back. I stayed out on the porch for a long time, watching the fireworks, though you couldn't properly call what I was doing "thinking" – it was more like sitting there while thoughts happened to me, or maybe while thoughts ran past and shouted at me. Mostly yelling "He hates you now!" or "you're going to ruin your friendship with Celes!" or, just for variety, "You're going to ruin your friendship with him!" Not that any of it was that coherent; it was like wind in my ears. I couldn't focus on anything. The fireworks were pretty, though. There were some big mortars, which I didn't think the boys had managed to get hold of, thankfully. I didn't hear any screaming.
It was an overwhelming relief when I began to notice shadowy shapes making their way up the path. Company, come to save me from my own mind. They resolved themselves into my family. Annie, Henry, and Margie led the way, running towards the house and in circles around each other and the others. The pack was anchored by Duane and Kat with, judging from the top-heavy shapes, armfuls of sleepy child – I'd guess that Kat had both Rosie and Charles, while Duane was carrying Cassie – and the older kids probably trailed after. I thought we'd picked up an extra, a lanky shape in the rear, but then two of them stopped at the gate and I realized someone had been walked home by someone else.
I'd guessed right about who was carrying who, and I called out a quiet greeting, went inside to put the still-wired middle three to work at lighting the lamps so we could find our way around. Byram and Theo still had all their limbs and full heads of hair, so the fireworks must have gone all right. They also had a full plate of sandwiches, and had retrieved all but one of the dishes we'd supplied for the refreshments. They held these out like peace offerings, which I pretended to accept grudgingly.
Isabella came in last, made a great show of yawning and badly feigning drowsiness. I kissed her on the cheek, told her to go on to bed and finish her chores in the morning. The rapid thudding of her feet on the stairs led me to believe she wasn't at all tired, but I just grinned to myself and put the sandwiches on the table. Then I was hit with a stab of regret over the way things had turned out towards the end with Locke, leaving neither of us to run off giddily to bask in privacy, though I wasn't sure if he'd have done that anyway. I might have. Then there was a surge of delight that things had turned out at all, and then Kat came downstairs from tucking-in duties and asked "What are you smiling about?"
"We have sandwiches!" I told her cheerfully.
"Yes, that is a miracle, isn't it?" she agreed blandly, and I tried to put one in her mouth, laughing to cover the shock of realization – I'd never actually said anything to let Locke know how I felt about him. He had to know, didn't he? Kat had realized it, so surely Locke had too. But I found myself returning to the thought as I bustled about, tidying the kitchen.
The sandwiches were a bit of a miracle, though. I'd already made all the kids still conscious sit down to eat, in hopes that stillness would make them sleepy. It worked, more or less, and once they were all in bed, Kat cornered me in the hall. "So, you and Mr. Cole left the party early..." she began.
"He's leaving tomorrow, we just wanted to say goodbye, that's all," I said, but I was blushing furiously.
"Yes, well, I just hope you two used protection," she said.
"Katarin Annamarie Whitehead!"
"Oh, honestly, my middle name holds no terrors anymore," she said dismissively, grinning. "You realize you just referred to the two of you as 'we,' don't you?"
With a strangled 'arrgh' of frustration I pushed past her and headed for my room, but I let myself smile once I got in there. The teasing had done its part to cheer me up, enough to distract me from wallowing in my own guilt. I'd see Locke in the morning. Maybe I could explain everything then. At least we'd made a start.
Like the first day, he showed up at the store at midmorning. I must have brightened at his entrance, because the slightly worried look on his face cleared once he spotted me – I was off by one of the walls, measuring the windows for new curtains, rather than in my usual post behind the counter.
"Well... this is about it," he said, and I nodded. "You promise to write?" he added.
"Of course I do, Locke. I said that last night. I wasn't going to change my mind..."
"Yeah." He sighed, and held his arms out to me. I walked into them, tried to hold him as tightly as he was holding me.
"Don't go," I said, almost tearfully. "Please. Stay with me."
"It's not for that long," he said. "It's just, right after this... I hate to leave."
"I'll miss you," I said into his shoulder. I kept going hot and cold all over, but he tightened his arms around me and I thought maybe I'd finally said something right. "I wasn't able to say... I mean, last night..."
"I'll miss you too," he said softly, and cupped my face in his hands, kissed me lightly on the lips. "Whatever it was last night, if you need to tell me, I want you to feel like you can, but if you want to keep it to yourself, you know..."
He was flailing, a bit, so I said, "I don't want to talk about it just yet. I swear, it's not about you, I just..." and he nodded, kissed me again. I hadn't drawn back this time, at least. Maybe I should have, I thought guiltily.
"I just want you to feel like you can, that's all," he said, and sighed. "I guess I'd better just make myself go. I'll stay all day if I don't."
"What's wrong with that?" I asked, and he grinned, ruffled my hair – "I'm not a kid!" I yelped, only too glad to have a break from nearly crying on him – then shouldered his bag, turned to leave. I followed him out onto the porch, hugged him one last time, awkward around the pack, and watched him go down the steps and mount his chocobo. He winked at me, which made me smile, and waved. I waved back, and stood around on the porch for a while, watching him until he was out of sight, and feeling the thick press of tears at the back of my throat.
I moped the rest of the day, spending most of my time staring into space and forgetting tasks while I was in the middle of them. Kat decided again to be kind to me, taking over my share of the chores and instead letting me listen as the kids recited their lessons. As always, I found it impossible not to cheer up around them, even as they struggled with long division and rote recitation of poetry. But after dinner that night I stared, morose, at the dishes in the sink, until Kat gently took one out of my hands and nudged me aside. Duane took up drying position, and I wandered back over to the table, sat down.
Neither of them pushed me to talk about it over the next few days – not that Duane usually did – and I was mildly hurt by the indifference, until I realized they thought my problem was simply missing him. Oddly, Duane was the first to realize something was wrong. He was helping me to sort the mail, one day, and I got a letter from Celes. I ripped it open on the spot, which normally I didn't do with my mail. Then a wave of queasy guilt washed over me as I scanned it; she was saying that she'd come for a visit in mid-April, which I'd already known but had almost forgotten. I'd been looking forward to this, had been planning it excitedly, and now all I could think was Oh, no. Part of me was convinced I had to tell her and that she'd hate me for it.
"What's wrong?" Duane asked, alarmed. At least the paper wasn't black-bordered. I knew of that tradition, and wondered about it – did people keep a stock around just in case a family member died? That was what I'd concluded, and so, superstitious, I refused even to have any in the store.
"It's... nothing."
"Cole do something?" he asked, almost belligerent. I looked at him.
"No. Why? Did you think he would?" What did you think he'd do?
Duane shrugged. "I don't know. You're all happy when he's here and depressed when he's gone, but he leaves anyway. I don't like men that just run off like that." Even when he and Kat had been fighting about the baby, he'd stayed around. He just hadn't been as happy as she'd have liked, which of course was why they were fighting in the first place. He more than made up for that when Rosie was born. I'd never seen a man so overjoyed. "Thought the letter might have been from him," he added, a bit lamely.
"It's not. He had to leave, he couldn't just dig up the vegetable garden," I said. "It's not that. I knew he couldn't stay too long."
"Well... whatever it is..." he said, and sort of indicated the letter with his chin while trying not to look at it. I folded it up.
"It's... a friend of mine's coming for a visit." I didn't normally confide in Duane, for no real reason – I was just closer to Kat, more than anything – but I was beginning to feel like I'd explode if I didn't say something. "And..." But I couldn't say it.
"Oh, gods. She and Cole have a thing? What is it with that skinny little—" He cut off abruptly at my glare. "Or, uh, not."
"Okay, I'm sorry you don't like Locke, but you don't have to—"
"No, no, I'm sorry, Terra. It's just... well, hell, it's your business, not mine."
"Yeah," I said, shortly, stuck the letter in my apron pocket and went back to sorting. So did he, and the uncomfortable silence persisted until he sneezed. "Bless you," I said, automatically, and I guess he took that as an opportunity to say his piece.
"If you figure he's okay, then I guess he is, but it's hard for me to tell when I don't know any of these people that well. And I don't know what it is with your friend. But I just think he should be treating you right and not giving you any reason to get upset about your friends or get your friends upset or whatever the problem is."
"She... I shouldn't talk about it."
"Well, Kat liked the guy, and I figure you told her everything, so he's probably okay. Just me being me," he said, with a half-angry shrug, and I smiled a little.
"You're getting better," I said. "You at least pretended to be friendly with him."
"I liked him well enough, but I didn't know you were gonna get like this if he left. You ask me, he's got an obligation to make you happy."
"Well, not quite," I said, but I couldn't help smiling.
"You mention this about your friend to her?" he asked. "To Kat, I mean." I nodded. "And she's kinda psychic about people, so I guess it'll be okay."
"Except that I have to look my friend in the face," I pointed out. I wasn't worried that Locke was in love with her, exactly, though it was a thought that crossed my mind – it was dealing with Celes herself. It was knowing that she'd had feelings for him, that I'd known that and acted on mine anyway, that I hadn't had any right to.
That night, I started writing a letter to Locke, but I couldn't seem to get more than a few sentences on paper before I decided that I sounded foolish – too sentimental, too casual, too silly and flirtatious, too distant. I couldn't get it right, and when I tried to get back to normal, write to him as I always had, I came up with something akin to Celes's sections on military matters. And when I had that thought I had another stab of guilt. Finally I just signed it and sealed it, too tired to think about it further and unwilling to waste even more paper. He'd be bound to write to me, and I'd take my cue from that.
Once he finally did, there wasn't much of a cue to take. He sounded like he always had; possibly a bit more formal. My heart sank the first time I read it, and while I tried to tell myself he was just having the same problem I had with letters, it was impossible not to mind it. After having him here, the letters were no substitute at all, and I couldn't help feeling that maybe he'd decided, after my strangeness the night of the dance, that I just wasn't worth the trouble of wooing, or that I wanted him to leave me alone.
I tried not to think about it. I definitely didn't mention any of my doubts or fears in my letter back to him. I did mention that Celes was coming to visit. I thought, as I signed it, that I should have just gone with "Love, Terra" the first time around, simple acknowledgment that something had changed. Too late now.
I don't think Duane mentioned our talk to Kat, because she never asked me about it. Neither of them prodded me on the subject of Locke or the coming visit. I tried not to feel lonely or let down, tried to focus on the kids. It worked, most of the time. The time stopped crawling so badly. And it was heartening to see Isabella spending so much time with Jesse Luther, even if they did still seem awfully shy with each other. She seemed happy, even when Byram and Theo teased her about it.
I tried not to get my hopes up about letters, too. At first I thought that was working, but from the rush of first joy and then disappointment when I got another letter from Locke, I realized that it wasn't. I threw myself into work; paid back the first installment of my personal loan from Edgar, began putting together the plans for the census.
It was spring, here. Spring brought rain, and rain brought memories. Weeding the flower garden, I realized I remembered another time, planting flowers in a windowbox when I was younger. I remembered watching rain on the windows, remembered sitting in a windowseat and reading while I listened to Celes doing her vocal exercises. I couldn't remember a context for that scene, couldn't clearly remember her face at the time – how old had we been?
Rain brought memories, but it also brought mud, and a bunch of kids afflicted with intense cabin fever. I took to lurking out on the porch to get away from the noise and the demands on my time - not the best maternal behavior, but it wouldn't kill Duane to be forced to handle some "she hit me!" arguments for a change. One day, Kat came outside and found me leaning against the wall, thinking about the gray harshness of Vector; rain there had fallen as if it were angry at the buildings, or as if it had some goal in mind. Here, we got meandering showers that pattered on the roof and dripped lazily off the eaves.
"All right, what's wrong?" she asked.
"What? Nothing's wrong." It hadn't been until I'd been startled into thought, and still nothing was immediately going down the tubes. I'd accepted that I'd ruined things with Locke, though I hated myself over it, and hated myself further for minding because I really had no right to him in the first place. At least that minimized the guilt with regard to Celes, or it should have, but it didn't, because I didn't at all want for the two of them to be together, either. "I just wanted some peace and quiet. And to think. About perfectly normal, contented things." She knew of my memory problems, but I didn't keep her up to the second on any developments with them. It's not as though other people's pasts are usually that fascinating, and so far neither was mine.
"Right. Well, if you say so."
"Really! If I were going to brood I'd have found a chair."
She laughed. "All right, then. I just wondered, you didn't seem very happy about this friend of yours that's due next week." I can only imagine that I must have looked horribly guilty. "What is it really?" she asked.
I sank to the porch floor, my back sliding down the wall. "She was the one that was in love with Locke."
"Ohh... and now that you two are together, you have to tell her, and..."
"Well, we're not exactly together I don't think."
"Why not?"
"I don't know... I mean, I know why, but..."
"I saw you two kissing in the store," she said.
"Katarin!"
"I'm sorry, but I did. I wasn't trying to spy or anything, but you were right in front of a window, I caught a glimpse and I walked on." She paused. "So why aren't you together? I mean, aside from the obvious of him being halfway up the Trench right now."
"I... sort of... I screwed up, I didn't know the right way to write to him after all that, and I kind of freaked out the night before he left, and that on top of the not writing love letters..." She looked at me expectantly. "Over Celes and everything. I couldn't tell him, it's her... her secret, I guess, but I started feeling guilty and so..."
"Oh, gods." She sat down next to me, legs folded in front of her. "What, you think if you sabotage things with him, it somehow makes it up to her? It's not like you can just forget about him. Or make him forget about you."
"I think maybe he managed that," I said, miserably. "Forgetting about me."
"Right. I'm sure."
"Well, there's no need to be sarcastic..."
"No, I think there's a need," she said. "Honestly. Tell you what. You let me write all your letters and everything—"
"No!"
"Well, I'd have to be better at managing your life than you are!"
"I'm the founding mother of our country, thank you," I said, with dignity. "If my personal life is a bit confusing sometimes—"
"Well, you're entitled to a confusing personal life, with your amnesia and all," she said. "I'm just trying to help."
"Maybe you could keep the kids quiet?" I suggested.
"I was thinking we'd just send them outside to play." She stuck a hand out in the rain. "It's warm enough, they should be fine."
"But their clothes," I pointed out.
"Have 'em strip naked. Charles and Rosie still think running around with no clothes on is the greatest thing ever, and Cassie's inclined to agree."
"I remember when I was her age, I thought my clothes were designed to torture me. I couldn't get them to sit right, I was always tugging on them and trying to get them not to wrinkle up..." And I did remember, too. These were the memories I treasured, the ones that came out of nowhere and gave me some idea of who I used to be. Knowing how my education went was nice, but not the same.
"Me too," Kat said. "So I don't think they'd mind at all."
"But the neighbors might," I said, and she grinned, and we turned to gossip. I didn't realize until later how much better I felt for having spent some time dwelling on someone else's life.