Calliope: Voice of the Writers

 

 

The Great Novel Race 2008:

Shattered Places

by Emily Craig

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Chapter 1

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The small, ten by ten foot office had been repainted. Three of the walls were lined with the same old bookshelves, also repainted. A thick rug was rolled out over the entire floor and two black leather chairs sat side by side before the large, mahogany desk. Dark, quiet and still, the whole place was devoid of life. Not even a small green plant grew in an empty space on the shelves. But in the corner of the heavy desk was a silver frame. She came around and sat down in one of the twin chairs. Here she could see the framed picture quite easily. The vibrant reds, and greens and blues stretched from one corner to the other. Were the lights switched off, that drawing might illuminate the whole room. And it certainly contained the echo of a child’s laughter.

      Kae shuddered and scooted back in her seat. It was a dismal place, and certainly different than how it used to be. Not even the window was opened, but shut up, the outside world covered up with dark fabric. The desk lamp was turned off.

      The secretary, a rather gawky kid with a big book in his bony hands, had warned her that “Mr. Windsor” wouldn’t be there for another fifteen minutes. If she wanted to sit in that office waiting, that would be fine. She’d accepted the invitation and gone in, and now was peering at the clock on the wall. The fancy minute hand slid ever so slowly, the second hand tick-ticking. She pulled her feet up into the chair and waited.

      When the door opened softly behind her, she nearly jumped. Standing up and turning around, she offered her hand to the man who’d come in and then let it down with a frown. What was she doing? What should she do? 

      “Hi, Andrew” she said quickly.

      His lips curved up at the corner. She wrung her hands. What a familiar look. His hair was darker, she noticed. Brown, a wave gently swooping against his forehead. Don’t stare, she warned herself. She nearly offered her hand again, not knowing what to do next. “He—your secretary told me to wait in here. Or said I could.”

      “It’s fine,” he spoke. His whole face was the same—just older. Same laugh lines, always distinct…and the voice, soft and ominous; the melancholy eyes added just another twist to the quiet, drawn-in figure. The familiar features reassured her and some of the discomfort eased. She let out a long breath and looked down. Steam rose from his tea cup.

      “I’m sorry, would you like something?” he asked. 

      Her brows bent. “I remember those cups.”

      “They’re ancient. May I get you something to drink?”

      She looked up. “No. No, thank you, I’m quite fine.”

      Those lips curved up again. His left hand wrapped around the warm surface of the glass cup. “Please have a seat, I don’t have to do anything for a while. We can catch up.” 

      She slid back down into her chair and he took the one beside it. They both sat, speechless for a minute. She shivered. Their forms filled the chairs perfectly now. Of course they used to be different chairs before, but they had been the same size. They had swallowed him and her up back then. 

      “I’m very sorry about your aunt,” Andrew said presently. “She was a kind woman.”

      Kae looked across the empty space at him and smiled. It was genuine, not forced or anything. How perfect to be able to fall back into place, for the twenty years between their last meeting to be so translucent. “Thank you.” She frowned, glancing at the framed drawing that sat on the desk. Then again, were the years so invisible? Her face twisted and she groped for words. Death in the family was so common. Everyone knew the right words to offer for that. “I’m sorry” was the only thing expected. But this? How to offer her empathy…

      He saw her staring at the drawing and biting her lower lip, struggling for words. “You don’t have to say anything, it’s quite all right,” he offered.

      She sighed, relieved. No, the years were visible. She had not known the married Andrew, the father he’d become. He was all grown up. Obvious fact, but it was as if she had only now realized it.

      He crossed his legs and sipped at his tea. “Miriam—“ he looked up at her, realizing the name might be unfamiliar.

      “Your wife?” Kae asked.

      He nodded. “She and I are planning a vacation of sorts. Next weekend.” 

      Kae understood the significance of the words. It was his subtle way of saying, “we’re moving on”…probably a hard thing to come right out and say. 

      He sipped again at his tea. The empty silence that filled the gaps weren’t awkward, they were normal. “She certainly deserves it,” he said.

      “How long have you been married?” Kae asked. She’d brought her feet back up into the chair and was curved comfortably, leaning against one leather arm.

      “Ten years,” he said. “Anniversary is next month. We didn’t celebrate it last year,” he said quietly into his cup.

      The clock ticked on in the background.

      Kae watched him a moment, all old feelings gathering up inside her. 

      He caught the look and they exchanged reminiscing smiles. 

      “Funny what I can remember about Faye and what I can’t,” she said, laughing comfortably.

      “For example…?” His voice remained the same, very soft, but ever smooth and soothing.

      “Well,” she said, pointing her forefinger for emphasis, “I do remember the people. How they’re like, you know. I remember the weather and the general feel of the place, but for the life of me I can’t remember much of myself…much of what I did. Not school days, or Saturday activities. We spent so much time together, but I can’t remember much more than snippets here and there—no offense.”

      “None taken.”

      She glanced at the desk. By the silver frame was a crystal bowl of peppermints. He’d always loved peppermints. “May I have a candy?” she asked.

      “Knock yourself out.”

      She put a foot down and reached over, grabbing one of the white and red drops, wrapped neatly in clear plastic. “We’d throw the wrappers in a big pile on the coffee table,” she recalled suddenly.

      “As we ate a whole bag while watching television.”

      She sat back down and pulled her leg up. She crumpled the wrapper and stuffed it into a pocket. Sweet and refreshing. 

      “If it makes you feel any better,” he offered, “I don’t remember much either. Childhood…slips away…” 

      She looked up, wondering if he meant something more, but his expression didn’t tell. She sucked on the candy and turned to the silver frame. “I like the drawing.”

      He looked at her and then at the drawing. For a moment he sat that way, staring, completely still. Had she stepped on an eggshell? Crossed a line? Finally he stood up, got the frame and sat back down. He handed it to her. “It’s only one out of hundreds,” he said, admiringly.

      She took the frame and peered down at all the bright colors. What a unique picture. Red houses rose up from green grass and purple trees twisted in and out of opened—or broken?—windows. More than one sun filled the sky, the rays washing down over the landscape. On the sidewalk was one little person, drawn with a thick blue marker. “Is that her?” Kae asked.

      He shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. He sounded as though he’d spent hours wondering just who it was. But then, of course he did. 

      “Maybe it’s you,” Kae suggested.

      He squinted, peering over at the little figure. There were no details. Just a little blue person standing there. “I think he’s just made up,” he said. “Maybe an imaginary friend.”

      Kae smiled. “I suppose she got that from you…the creative genes.”

      “She was destined. Her mother writes.”

      Kae glanced over at him. Her mother writes. No doubt that was one of many things which made Miriam a perfect companion for him. No doubt he spent countless hours reading her work and encouraging her on with helpful hints, gentle criticism. Kae smiled. “I’m glad one of us got married,” she said sincerely. 

      He laughed. “You’re young, Kae. As far as I can tell, you’re the same person you ever were. And what you did for your aunt—someone’s going to notice that.”

      “You’re too kind,” she said, and dismissed the idea. No one had ever paid much attention before… and why should they? She’d spent seven years cooped up in a house, scarcely making ends meet as she dreamt away about things that would never happen. Even now the money was tight and she could barely step out of Faye now that she was here. There was studying to do, work to do…dreams would have to wait a little longer. It was hardly anything to notice.

      She got back up and carefully placed the frame back on the desk. She wanted to see a picture of the artist who’d drawn it, but only now realized there were none out. Was it too painful to look at her? Or just distracting as he sat there and graded papers, and read through essays? 

      “You want to see her picture,” he said suddenly. 

      She looked back at him. He must have caught her looking around for it.

      She frowned and raised a hand. “It’s all right; I just wondered – ”

      He stood up once more. “It’s fine,” he said. He walked over to a bookshelf on the wall to the left and pulled out a leather-bound, gold-gilded copy of Peter Pan. He opened it up and slipped out a snapshot. “Here you go.”

      Kae took the picture and looked down at it. Six. She was six, she remembered from one of the letters Aunt Susan had received. And a beautiful six-year-old she…had been? Was? Kae frowned. No one knew. She had a pretty smile, her daddy’s eyes, silky hair pulled back behind her ears. She wore a corduroy jumper and held a baby doll.

      “That was taken two months before,” Andrew said, emotionless.

      “She’s beautiful,” Kae whispered. Emotion swelled in her and her face twisted. Why? How? Children don’t just vanish. Children don’t just vanish in nice little towns. 

      Her stomach turned and she handed the photograph back to him. He didn’t look at it. He just slipped it back into the book and then slipped the book back into the shelf.

      “She looks like her mother,” he said. “Do you still ride?”

      The misplaced question surprised her and she had to think a minute. “Ride?”

      “Your bicycle.”

      “Oh. Yes. I do.”

      “It’s been a while since I’ve ridden.”

      Kae nodded. “I like to ride…helps me think.”

      He looked up at her. “Think? Or escape?”

      She cocked her head. What made him say that? “Escape?”

      “Seems we were always riding…fast…away…from life.”

      “I don’t recall. Just the races. Was childhood really that miserable? Like I said earlier,” she shrugged. “I can only remember the past in little snippets.”

      He blinked and then smiled, sadly, softly. “I’m glad,” he said.

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