At first it was the fact that he needed to work to get it out of her that kept him engaged. Then it was her way with words. But ultimately it was the way the subject matter hit a little close to home.
What House learned in bits and pieces was that Kelly and her husband Mark had been married at the tender age of 24; they had meant to wait but when his military service ended abruptly after a heroic but grave injury in the line of duty, the value of time and the wastefulness of waiting became painfully clear. They were married in a small ceremony in his hospital room. And people called it a miracle the day they walked out of the VA together as man and wife.
They lived in a small west coast town because neither could imagine leaving the ocean. He got a job with the local newspaper and she finished her Masters degree online while working at the girls' shelter where she and Mark resided as house parents. They had no children except the girls they helped, and that was enough for them. For six years, this was their life.
Then Mark died. It was winter, and he'd arrived back at the shelter after work to find the girls in their pajamas at 7 at night. Apparently a movie marathon had been planned, and Kelly had smiled a big smile and suggested that perhaps before he took off his coat he might run to the convenience store for some microwave popcorn. The car that collided with his had lost control on a patch of ice. The driver was fine. Mark never woke up.
"Do you believe in fate?" House had interjected then, surprising himself.
"You mean, do I believe that something conspired to take my husband's life through a series of unrelated events and made me the unwitting catalyst? Or are you asking me if I blame myself?"
House thought of Amber and said nothing.
"The answers are "no". And "sometimes", depending on the day. But not today." Kelly removed her hat and ran her fingers through her hair, thinking. "Usually I don't regret my request. But I always regret not having made the last moment count, to feel like there was closure. After that day, I promised myself that whenever I was with someone I cared about or was starting to care about, I would always be sure to say a proper goodbye, just in case."
After that she'd tried to keep it together, but the feeling that something was missing in her life was too great to overcome. She knew it was HIM that was missing, but felt sure there was something out there that would fill part of the void. The day that the last of the girls who had been in the shelter when Mark had died was settled into a good foster home or established out on their own, she gave her notice and started making arrangements. Most of her belongings were put into storage or moved to her parents', her car was serviced and made ready for a long trip, and she spent an afternoon wading in the Pacific and mourning him all over again before starting on her journey.
That was 16 days ago. In that time she'd seen a great many things and met a great many people, having deliberately and fearlessly began conversations with strangers in hostels and in coffee shops and on park benches and at roadside rest stops.
"I didn't feel well," she answered one of his questions, one of the only that seemed at all related to her health. "Looking back now, I can see that there was something wrong, even before Mark died. But I haven't felt like myself for so long, physically or mentally, and so while I noticed a difference I just thought that it was more of the same, plus the more recent stress on my body from such a long trip and bad food and not always a lot of sleep. But obviously it's never been like this."
She'd pushed off most of the blankets by now, and House had turned down the heat for his own sake; he was perspiring heavily while she was only mildly flushed. It was obvious that her energy was starting to falter, and when House glanced on the wall and noticed the time he felt obligated to let her sleep, though his compulsion was to stay. "It might help if you could make a list of all the places you've been on your trip, as best you can -"
"Actually, I wrote it all down," she interjected. "Times, places, people. I've never been much for journaling, but I knew I'd want to remember it all. That someday it would be important." She paused and smiled. "I hadn't expected that "someday" might be today."
At his request, she gave him her car keys. He would have her belongings brought to her room, he promised, and her car would be checked from top to bottom for environmental factors that might have contributed to her condition.
As he turned to leave she grabbed his wrist. "My journal is in the glove box. It's... There's a lot of personal things in there."
"I'll get it myself and bring it to you. Maybe you can go through it and pick out -"
"You can read it, if you need to." Her smile was sleepy and a little shy as she laid a hand on his arm, an expression of a budding familiarity. "I figure I can trust you with it; I'm no longer convinced you're as big of a bastard as you like to pretend you are. You may have everyone else fooled, but not me."
She was expecting a biting and ironic comeback, which was fair because he would have expected it from himself. So she was surprised when instead he pulled away and his expression darkened.
"I'm afraid you don't know me very well."
And without another word, he left the room.