Tina's stayed here a few nights now, and I'm not sure what we're going to do. Mrs Belafont—whose name I am ashamed to admit I still do not know—wants Tina back. Westley does not. I haven't heard much else really, aside from some angry comments about corrupting his daughter, and thankfulness for protecting her daughter. It's an intractable situation, and I'm fairly sure at this point she will be leaving him. Proof that having money will not be able to buy you everything. I can't help but a feel little sad for him though—I really don't like him, but if things were just a little different he wouldn't have to suffer the way he always has.
Joan and Tina are on the couch with me, watching the news. There's a few violent hotspots, and a high speed chase elsewhere in the country, but not a lot of really newsworthy items. Something about a talking parrot, the second or third generation in the same experiment that used Alex. Must be a slow news day. Joan has to get ready for fencing as well, and I'm not quite sure what to do with Tina in the meantime. I only know how to deal with one teenage daughter—and that's when she's behaving.
"Tina?"
"Yes, miss Bergman?"
"Will you be okay by yourself for a while when I take Joan to fencing tonight?"
"I'll be fine," she pats me on the thigh, smiling. "You worry about us too much."
Maybe she's right, but if I don't worry about them, who will? I'm only trying to keep them safe, after all. She might not be my daughter, but it feels like she should be family. Ohana. That takes me back. What was I, eight? nine? when I knew her. Hawaiian girl, Lilo. She was weirder than me, and came from a broken home. I remember she nearly got taken away by social services once. I frown, trying to remember more about her, but all that springs to mind is that she had a blue dog. I shake my head, bringing myself back to the present. Kristoff calls out from the kitchen that dinner's ready, and all three of us on the couch scramble through the door to the dining room.
Nothing really stands out about the evening, and driving back from dropping Joan off leaves me preoccupied with what we're gonna do about Tina. Hopefully Mrs Belafont can find a place nearby, and she and Tina can live there. Seems unlikely though, and in the meantime I guess we'll just have another guest in the house. I've got the day off tomorrow too, and in the morning—after Westley leaves for work—I'll be stopping in to collect a few of Tina's things from Mrs Belafont. But that's tomorrow.
After she's back home, and after a shower, Joan is pressing me for more story. It's not some great cliffhanger where we left off, but its where things started not adding up. Enough that you actually agreed to check my place out after our date—no obligations on either of us.
—∞—
I was at least smart enough not to try the mall again. Instead, I arranged to meet Elsa at a small cafe in the better—or at least pricier—part of town. It was a nice day for early autumn, the leaves had turned the colour of my hair, ready soon to fall. There was a slight chill in the air, and I really felt it in my low cut dress. That's why I wore the jacket, zipped up to the top. I planned to strategically unzip the jacket at some point during our date, both to gauge Elsa's reaction and also to show her that the scars really were healing—except I really couldn't do that if anyone else was looking at us.
While I was waiting I wound up playing games on my phone. It had been a while since I did that, and I wasn't sure about Elsa's punctuality if I wasn't the one dragging her around, making sure both of us were fashionably late. Well, later than we intended to be. I remember the push and pull of our first dates well, and in all honesty this would have been the perfect time to stand me up. But she didn't. Never. Not once. Sometimes she was late, but she always had good reason.
When I saw her it took my breath away. I'm quite sure what she was doing to those jeans was illegal in seven states, and the blouse—what I could see of it under my old jacket—was an intricately patterned pale blue covered with a snowflake motif. She unzipped the jacket and took the rest of my breath away, her figure so well accentuated by those clothes. She had a slight limp, placing the jacket over the back of her chair before pulling it out.
"It's a nice day to be outside," I opened with something neutral. I had to, really, considering the last time.
Elsa looked past me, craning her neck high. "Not if those clouds keep rolling in."
"Think we should move inside?"
"No," she placed her hand over mine. "The company out here is better."
I graced her with a smile, but wondered why she would rather stay outside with the risk of any rain. Maybe she wasn't like me. Maybe she liked the rain. I asked her as much and she laughed, smiling at me, as if she expected everyone would like the rain.
—∞—
"But you do like the rain, Mom."
"Shush, you," I hold my finger up in an admonishing gesture, and Joan laughs. "I learned to like the rain because she liked it too."
—∞—
"So, would you like something to eat? to drink?" I paused, fishing around in my jacket pocket for my card. "My treat."
"You don't have to, Anniken. I can pay." Her eyes were guarded, and I wondered whether she was trying to be chivalrous or selfish. I couldn't tell.
I stood. "I want to. I'd like to—and while we sit here sipping overpriced coffee or something, I'd like to learn more about you."
"You… coffee?" She gave me a skeptical look. I just shrugged. Coffee was what everyone who went to these places actually had to drink. I didn't care; I'd just order a hot chocolate. I waited for her to make a decision. "A small coffee; and an almond biscuit if they have one, please."
The food was overpriced as expected, but I had the money—I'd spent very little on myself, or at all, when I was with Hans. The server commented on how lovely my friend looked, and asked why she was limping. I considered giving her the whole story, but then just explained she had a broken leg and was having physio, and the server seemed impressed with her fortitude being here at all. If only she knew…
Elsa thanked me as I sat and handed over her items. I had a hot chocolate myself, and a small—and expensive—slice of rich chocolate fudge. Elsa bit off the sides of the almond biscuit, and dunked the now appropriately sized biscuit in her coffee. My first thought was that it was all wrong; only British people did that, and with tea besides. My second thought was to wonder if maybe it was normal wherever she was from—she hadn't yet told me about her past life in Norway. My third and final thought was to stop analyzing what she chose to do with her food, and actually drink my hot chocolate, quickly becoming lukewarm chocolate.
I figured if I stayed quiet she might open a conversation with me, but all that led to was five minutes of silence, each of us taking the occasional drink, or a bite from our food. It left a strange kind of tension between us, and when she looked me in the eye after taking another drink I had to look away, feeling my cheeks flush. She let out a little laugh, but I saw the way she covered her mouth in surprise. More when a sudden gust of wind flicked leaves across our table, one nearly landing in her drink. I gestured towards the interior of the cafe but she shook her head. I gave her what I hoped was an understanding smile.
She finished her drink and stood, pulling her/my jacket on again. I had no idea if the date was already over or she was just restless and needed to stretch. She leaned in, pressing her hands against the table for balance, and gently kissed me on the cheek. So the date was over.
"Today was nice. Thank you." She smiled at me. I brushed my fingertips across my cheek, feeling the ghost of her lips.
"But we didn't even talk about anything." We hadn't. At all. Just sitting in silence eating and drinking.
"I didn't know we had to talk for you to have a nice time." Okay, that was kinda low. But somehow she was right in what she hadn't said. I did have a good time, just being in her company. Maybe, for now, it would be enough. Then she was gesturing for me to stand, to follow her somewhere. Hot and cold by turns, and I couldn't figure out why. She wanted me and yet pushed me away. There was a paradox in there, but never did I think that she didn't have good reason for what she did.
I followed her a short distance down the street. She stopped and leaned against the wall between two storefronts, hands massaging her right thigh. Her lips were set in a grim line and I frowned—I wanted her to see me out, but I didn't want her hurting herself because of it. She caught my look and shook her head softly, offering me a small smile.
"It just hurts sometimes?"
"Yes. Oaken warned it might when I started getting more active." She grimaced but held out a hand, keeping me back. "It will pass. I need to rebuild muscle tone is all."
"Would you like help getting back?" I offered her my hand.
"I took a taxi to that corner"—she pointed to the end of the street—"and walked from there."
"That's cheating."
"How did you get here?"
"Taxi," I blushed, looking away. Pot, kettle, black. She had me on that one, and had me good. I mumbled something about the offer of help still standing.
"You–you said…" damn but she sounded so unsure. What hadn't I been clear about? "Your house feels empty?" Oh, that.
"It does," I nodded. "I–I wanted—I still want—some company. I have a spare room now, and a big bed, and a really old couch, and a working shower and—"
She kissed me on the cheek again. "Hush, Anniken. I did not mean to make you so flustered." I didn't believe that, but I didn't challenge her on it either. "I… I would like to see your room—I mean the spare room you have."
I was tempted to ask what had changed, why it was now she chose to ask about it instead of when I had first offered it to her a few weeks back. Maybe she couldn't stay at the hospital any longer—maybe she was healed enough they had to release her. Maybe she finally got bored of hospital food—though that should have happened in the first few days. Maybe she wanted to spend more time around me—but like I said, she kept pushing me away then pulling me back. Putting those thoughts aside I hailed a cab, opening the door for her before sliding in next to her.
Her hand found mine on the seat, and I felt her squeeze it. She was nervous. So was I—I had no idea what she would think of my place, or… crap, I really had left it in a mess that morning, and I really wouldn't have time to clean anything or even really kick stuff under the bed or towards the walls. She was going to think I was a complete slob. I facepalmed, and she looked at me quizzically, one eyebrow raised in silent question.
"I didn't get time to clean," I explained. "I didn't know you were coming over."
She laughed, a bright, happy sound, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. "It can't be worse than a college dorm."
"You went to college?"
"Dance major." Now I felt even worse, because she was college educated, and here I was sitting in the back seat of a taxi, with nothing more than a few trade certs and a high school diploma. I didn't know what to say, and Elsa was her usual quiet self. I wished it didn't feel so uncomfortable, these silences, but I couldn't help it. I wondered if perhaps I'd been away from other people too long and just couldn't be normal anymore. Not that I was really normal to start with, but maybe that was why I fit in so well with Kristoff and Audrey. All of us were outcasts of some kind, loners, but good at our jobs, and able to get along with people like us.
I led Elsa from the taxi when we reached my house. It still felt odd to call it that, even if it was legally mine after the divorce. We walked slowly up the front path, my hand at Elsa's waist, half supporting her and half holding her close because I was afraid she might run away. She moved slower than usual, taking everything in, I assumed. Unlocking the front door, I led her into the living room, and she commented rather unfavourably about the old couch. Not two steps inside and she was insulting my furniture? It was not an auspicious start, but I bit back my reply, leading her into the kitchen.
She noticed the stain, the slight tide-mark on the floor. Blood was notoriously hard to remove—in the end we sanded the wood back and re-varnished it, but that came later. Here, she stood, frozen, eyes half-closed, pointing at the stain. I could see her lips moving, but could hear no sound. Before I could even move, before I could think on what to say, I felt strong, thin arms wrap around my shoulders and pull me close. I heard a slight sniff as her body pressed almost painfully into mine in all the right places. I shivered, but for once she didn't let go, didn't push me away. I still hadn't figured out why she was like that, and it bugged me, but I just turned my head and rested it against her shoulder, enjoying the moment of peace and love.
"It's okay," I whispered in her ear, my breath teasing strands of platinum from my lips. "I promise I'll never let anything like that happen to me again."
"If you do, and you die, I shall never talk to you again." I couldn't help but laugh at the dark oxymoronic humour there.
I broke from the embrace, took her hand and led her to the stairs. "Would you like to see my bed?"
"So fast," she mumbled, pretending to fan herself.
"You know what I mean," I rolled my eyes, helping her up the stairs. Having only one bed was also going to be an issue if she chose to stay—at least until we could buy another. I didn't know what it might signify to her, but to me it suggested that we might need to take turns on the old couch, beat up as it was. Sometimes I would sleep there, on particularly bad nights, and in my sleep I guess I vented my rage at what had been done to me so many times over the years.
I showed Elsa the guest bedroom first, devoid everything but a few boxes I'd dragged down from the attic the other day. I showed her the bathroom, then my bedroom—the master. It looked like a bomb had gone off in a wardrobe, and that was mostly because I'd had trouble deciding what to wear on our date in the morning. I tried surreptitiously kicking things into more organized piles—or under the bed—but I'm fairly sure she noticed.
"Huh, I was wrong."
"Wrong about what?"
"This is worse than my student dorm."
I groaned, looking for an escape, but there was none. Not any that left me a shred of dignity at any rate, and in front of a college educated blonde goddess I wanted to have at least some semblance of dignity, to try and look dignified. She fixed me with a knowing smile and I gave up, burying my face in the pillows. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently rubbing my back.
"You have a very nice house, Anna." Well, that was certainly better. Maybe I could salvage some dignity from this. I rolled over, looking up at her, and whether by accident or design her hand brushed against my breasts, and both of us blushed, her looking away; me trying very carefully to avoid her gaze. It had been an accident, right?
"Would you—" my voice was a high pitched squeak and I cleared my throat.
"May I… may I stay here tonight?" Damn that cute little smile. It got me every time she was scared or worried about something. And her voice, so soft and thready, afraid of being denied what I knew she deserved. I hated hearing that note in it. Especially the last time.
"I'll take the couch."
"It's… it's your bed, Anniken."
"It's yours tonight," I assured her. "Is there anyone you need to call; tell them where you're staying?"
"No," she sighed, inching closer to the edge of the bed, hands tense, gripping the covers. "Not anymore."
"The hospital won't be concerned?"
"I was sleeping in a small hotel. Since our first date. I don't… I got lonely. I thought of you."
"You thought of me?"
She shrugged expressively. "You were always kind to me. Not just polite like the doctors and nurses, or professional like the hotel staff, but kind and warm and even after everything I've done you're still kind to me. I don't understand you, Anna."
I sat up, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and resting my head against hers. "I don't understand you either, Elsa. I'm trying to, but you pull me close one minute then push me away the next, and I can never tell why. It's like we're dancing around something and neither of us knows the steps."
"It's a good metaphor," she smiled. I could feel it in her shoulders and through her body. She seemed to melt a little every time she smiled. I loved it.
"Will you tell me?" She stood so suddenly I nearly fell over. She did, falling backwards across the foot of the bed, bouncing onto the floor. Panic was my immediate reaction.
"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need a—"
A low groan answered me from the floor, and some foreign words I'm not allowed to repeat. I asked her again if she was okay and she nodded, sticking out her arm so I could help her up, lying her back down on the bed. I was determined to find out what it was that was bothering her so—and why she couldn't tell me—but for now I made sure she was comfortable and then headed down to the kitchen to fetch a drink for the both of us. I came back to find her snoring softly, dozing on my bed. I set her glass down on my nightstand and left, not wanting to disturb her. I turned before closing the door. She looked so peaceful, at odds with my biker jacket, her face relaxed and her hair starting to come loose from her braid. I wanted her to see how beautiful she really was, so from the door I took a picture with my phone camera—my first real picture of her.
—∞—
I could hear Joan's shocked gasp as she realized what picture I meant. It's still here, eighteen years later, taking pride of place on the shelf behind the couch, second only to two sets of wedding photos—mine and hers, and mine and Kristoff's. In that photo I had captured a moment of perfect peace, one that will now last forever. You still have that picture too, don't you? I look up to the sky, questioning the empty air. Of course you do. You asked if you could at least try to look like that at the end, after everything. And you did. I leave the room, leaving Joan and Tina to settle in for the night. I'll find Kristoff. He'll tell me it's okay to be sad about this.
