Moondance (30 page)

And today, her unsettled, vacant eyes.

Althea was lost. Michael knew how that felt and that, he reasoned, was why he was here. Today, if she’d let him, he’d try once more to take her home. He wasn’t sure how she’d respond. He also wasn’t sure how hard he’d try.

He sat on the ledge in the lobby and waited. Staring at his hands, he twisted his wedding ring off his left finger and put it in his pocket, looking up just as the elevator doors opened.

• • •

ON HER WAY OUT, Althea was surprised to see Foster in the lobby, his hand in his pocket. He stood up as she approached, and her senses reached out to him, wanting to understand his motive for being here. Compassion.

“You knew what was happening.” Althea said.

“Yes, I did. Let me take that for you?” Althea had emptied her desk of her personal belongings and put them in a box: shoes, licorice, tissue, the notebook Vince had given her, the framed picture of the hawk rising over the lake on top.

“Take it where.”

“To my car. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Is this an Exeter policy?”

“No. In fact, Stefan wouldn’t approve. But he’s on his way to New York at the moment, so I really don’t care.” Althea thought about the train ride that morning. She was too tired to argue.
Not a dream. She was leaving White Light. And she was going insane.

“Okay.”

Foster took her box and backed out the lobby door, leaning against it so she could pass. They walked to his car in silence. She felt nervous, on edge. Being with Foster was better than the GO Train, but not as desirable as being alone.
Such sadness inside him
. In the car, she mentally created a wall between them to shelter herself. Foster felt softer now, less like paper, and more like light wool, possibly because he was away from the office. Because he was less intense than some, more mutable, shielding herself was effortless, like holding up a cloth divider.
Silence, yes. Calm. Almost invisible
. She stared out the window. Five minutes later, they pulled onto the highway.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Haven’t really had the time to think about it, Mike.”

“Of course. Would you consider consulting again?”

“God no.”
Why did people feel the need to interrogate her?

Althea wanted Foster to shut up. He was pressuring her with his questions, trying to gain access to her and he was an unwelcome guest. She tightened the wall around her. It took effort. For a few minutes, Foster was quiet. Then he started again.

“You know, if you needed to talk or something, that would be okay with me.”

“Talk or something.”

“Yeah, if you needed someone to talk to. About leaving. And also, I don’t know. I sort of sensed —” Althea stiffened, protecting herself. She could feel his questions like physical fingers. She found that if she stayed angry, she felt more protected. She kept her voice level as her muscles tensed.

“You sensed what?”

He was probing into her, curious, and it felt light, a ticklish sensation. Her face hardened. She turned to watch the passing traffic, struggling to keep the wall between them intact.

“Yes, well, I’ve been through a few difficult things in my life and I notice if people are, I don’t know, a bit off.”

“I’m a bit off.”
That’s an understatement. She bit her lip to keep from reacting
.

“Well, no, you’re okay, considering, it’s just that I thought that in the meeting today, you seemed distracted.”

“That would be one way of putting it.” She laughed, her voice higher than normal. She clasped her hands in front of her, her nails digging deep.

Caught
.

He pushed into her.

Like she had done to him
.

He couldn’t feel her, at least not in the same way she could feel him. He had to use words. Earlier, she had entered his consciousness uninvited.
Tit for tat. Now it’s your turn
. She resisted.

“So what’s going on?” Michael asked.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I might understand.”

“Because you’ve been through a few things.”

“Yes, I’m going through a divorce, and I’ve lost people close to me. It was really hard, it hurt, so I understand.”

Like Kevin. Like Tori. Like Daniel. Like Vince. Like the family she never knew.
No
.

“You understand what.” Her voice was cold. She wanted him to back off and instead, she felt something snap within him, his superficial banter taking a plunge, an unfathomable resonance.

“Okay, I’ll just say it, I
understand
that today you came into the office, spaced out, not really there, you looked pale like you were nauseous or high or something, every one could see it, but didn’t say anything, and I didn’t want to ignore it. I like you, Althea, and I want to know if you’re okay and help if I can, and if you want me to fuck off and mind my own business, then just tell me, and I’ll be happy to. But don’t shit on me for caring.”

He saw through her. Why did he care so much? Not a dream
. And instead of asking, she thrust into him, past his layer of calm, his curiosity, further, until she felt his grief, saw Lara, Elizabeth
the smiling blue light
, his childhood, the chop of a helicopter, and his wedding ring in his right pocket, and beneath that
kindness
.

His warmth was overwhelming,
he really did care about her
and then she was ready to tell him, tell him everything, about Sophie, the green-eyed hallucinations, about reading people, about her fear of going insane and the moon, and it was there, her confession, its sweetness perched on her tongue, seductive
not a dream
.

She allowed herself to move closer, further inside him, and again felt cradled by his sadness, soothed by his kindness, and buoyed by his curiosity and there she saw herself reflected, walking on the side of the road, talking on a cell phone in the dusk, and then at Sophie’s holding a martini glass.

How could he know that
.

She froze, and backed out of him and as she did, his jaw stiffened.
He couldn’t
. She felt the fury rising within her and she pushed it down. He had been delving into her life as clearly as she was penetrating his consciousness, masking it with caring and it was offensive, an abomination. Her confession lodged in her throat and she wanted out of the car, wanted out
now
, but didn’t move because she dreaded the crowds outside more than his feigned interest in her.

She spoke barely above a whisper.

“Are you finished?”

He nodded.

“Then fuck off and mind your own business.”

chapter 46

ALONE INSIDE SOPHIE’S HOUSE, Althea poured herself a glass of wine with trembling hands and finished it leaning over the kitchen sink. She poured herself a second, finishing the bottle. The crunch of Foster’s tires gathering speed had faded away, but not the memory.
When she felt inside of Foster, she had seen herself
.

Althea moved to Sophie’s couch, thankful for the silence. She allowed her anger to soften. The wine warmed her chest, her limbs felt molten.
More of that. Could use more of that
. She concentrated on dissolving the anger inside of her.
Feel nothing
. She hoped that Foster didn’t come back. If he did, she didn’t know if she’d be strong enough to ask him to leave.

As her anger receded, her restlessness grew.
Vince is gone. Job’s gone. Sophie’s gone. Celia’s gone. What now?
She wanted to get drunk. She wanted to sleep and never wake up.
She wanted Him
. Outside, she heard a metallic clatter and jumped. She got up from the couch, and opened the door. The wind gusted, and though it was only mid-afternoon, the sky was like bruised velvet. It would rain soon and possibly storm.

“Princess?” She looked left and right, the wind whipping through her hair. Nothing. She noticed a patch of red sticking up out of the mailbox and jumped when the wind caught its lid, slamming it against the brick with a clatter. As it rained, she grabbed the letter, which was addressed to her in Sophie’s handwriting. No postmark. Her skin crawled. She put the envelope on the counter, and poured herself another glass of wine. Then she opened the letter, handling it carefully, as if it was a piece of evidence at a murder scene.

Red. Handmade paper. Fountain pen.

Sophie had taken care to create this. Althea felt dread, but this time, there was no one around to blame for the feeling but herself. She leaned against the table and the kitchen slid and spun, an effect created by more than just the wine. She ripped open the envelope, the paper rough under her fingers. She held it away from her as the room moved, and she unfolded cream paper with red flecks.

Althea scanned the letter from corner to corner and end to end, the rich perfume-paper scent distracting her, the words coming at her in fragments.
Gave
, her eyes scanned center left,
Desire
further up,
You
down and right. She blinked, the tears coming, not understanding,
Chosen
in the center, the paper blurred
My Love
the swirling ink,
Forgive
and then, at the bottom of the page, the familiar curve of the S trailing left
Sophie
.

No. Not true
. Backing into the living room, she scrunched up the letter and dropped it, falling forward as the room continued to spin. It tumbled end over end, and Princess, who had been watching her from the corner of the kitchen, batted the ball of paper across the hallway and skidded into the dining room, accepting Althea’s invitation to play.

Sophie’s words weren’t specific. But now, Althea knew things. She felt it, the dread, the emptiness that teetered on the surface, the certainty, the grief. Still, her mind fought it. It didn’t make any sense.

She stumbled to the refrigerator and plucked off the post-it note with Sophie’s swirling handwriting, the information that Althea had
insisted she provided the morning that she left. She picked up the phone
and dialed. The number was not in service. She looked at Sophie’s writing and tried the number again. Nothing.

Princess sat upright on the kitchen counter staring at her, motionless, the scrunched-up letter forgotten. The wind rose to a howl, the rain pelted against the windows and the mailbox clattered. The lights flickered, and went off. She went to the solarium and pulled the windows shut. No moon tonight, she thought. No light, no wishes, no dreams. No job. No Vince. No Celia. No Sophie.

No life.

She swayed slightly as she surveyed her childhood home in the darkness. She salivated, nauseous, and stumbled to the bathroom.

Her stomach empty, Althea surveyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked like a ghost. It was how she felt. An unemployed ghost. A ghost who drank too much, and who was going a little bit nuts.

Not a little, a lot.

Her limbs were heavy. Princess leapt up onto the bathroom counter and rolled on her back in the sink, her paws boxing in the air. Althea stroked Princess who twisted and purred, straining against her hand and the energy flowed into her
want to love I know ... play with me love I’m here I’m here how can I
and Althea’s eyes stung, her face crumpled and she stood hunched over the sink, crying in gulping sobs.

Ten minutes later, she wiped her eyes with the arm of her shirt. Her eyes glowed bright blue, and the skin around them was pink and strained. She rinsed her face and dried it with a soft white towel. Feeling a bit better, she followed Princess into Sophie’s front hall, wanting to read Sophie’s letter again.

At the foot of the stairs, she inspected the living room, her hands clutching a moist ball of tissue. Where was it? Not on Sophie’s harvest table, not on the hutch that Albert had made. Not under the dining room table where Princess had been playing. She kept looking, at once trying to recall the words which had roused the dread in her heart, creating the certainty from which she now wished she could be released. Nothing explicit. Nothing on the surface.

But there wouldn’t be. That wasn’t where Sophie lived.

She went further into the kitchen, carefully rummaging through the stacks of paper Sophie kept to keep track of bills and errands. Nothing. On the way up the stairs, she found the red envelope, dispelling the notion that the letter was a delusion. She picked it up and tucked it in the pocket of her jeans, climbing the main stairs to Sophie’s bedroom.

Sophie’s platform rocker sat near the bay window, damp from the rain which had suddenly stopped, leaving behind an eerie stillness. She closed the window and blotted the rocker with her shirt, gazing into the silent room, past Sophie’s polished antique bed. Sophie had left her room the way she always did — everything in its place.