by Kim Harrison
“I can’t say anything for certain, ma’am.” Daniel was looking at the parking lot, his thoughts clearly on Christopher. “There’s a reason he’s in the hospital.” His attention came back to Meg, and he tapped his head as if to say he was crazy.
“Oh.”
“Call me if you see him again,” Daniel said as he walked backward to the open-aired stairway down to the ground level. “The longer he stays off his medications, the more erratic he will be.”
“Yes sir. Thank you.” Meg shut the door, wondering why she thanked him. “I am such a doofus,” she whispered. She should have told him about the dog instead of sending him halfway across campus, but something didn’t sound right. How had he known her name if he was doing a casual door-to-door, and why would he tell her the man he was looking for was a mental-hospital runaway? That he was potentially dangerous? Daniel hadn’t owed her any explanation, and he’d given her one.
“Six thirty already?” she whispered as she went to the window to watch Daniel walk away, his arm swinging eagerly and his pace fast as he talked to someone on his phone. No car? she mused silently as she sat on the arm of the couch, arms crossed over her middle.
Daniel’s card was still in her hand, and after a moment’s consideration, she dropped it into her purse. Her phone made a silent statement, and her worry that Austin hadn’t called her back returned. She’d only said she’d wanted to talk to him, not knowing how he’d react to the idea of a double date when their last conversation had gone down bad.
Frustrated, she stared at the TV, tuned to Austin’s favorite show of a professional couple redesigning someone else’s living space. It was the big reveal, and the screen alternated between the dingy, cluttered, disjointed before to the open, clean, uncluttered after. Everything was perfect, the designers idea of what should exist.
Mood sour, Meg sent her gaze to her own apartment, dark with its mostly northern exposure and tiny windows set to look out over the parking lot. Everything was brown: Austin’s lumpy brown couch, worn brown carpet she hated, raggedy brown drapes that came with the place, flat, brown walls that still had holes in them from the previous tenants. Even the tile and cupboards in the open kitchen behind her were brown, glinting dully in an overhead light half as bright as it should be.
Her paintings were the only thing in the entire apartment that stood out, the small canvases scattered over the space to bring in spots of color. The one of the clock tower in the spring was a vivid blue and black. Her favorite was of the nearby lake on a hot July day, all green and white; she could almost hear the cicadas. Her latest of a imaginary tree was set on her work easel in an artificially bright spotlight to mimic the sun. Over the TV was the first painting she’d done after her mother had died: a self-portrait whose disjointed lines made an uneasy expression. It never failed to amaze Meg how little there needed to be of a face for the mind to complete the picture, and it had been the first hint of her new style that had gotten her a job, and perhaps a place in the art history books.
Suddenly she realized that though she and Austin had been sharing the apartment for almost three years, her canvases were the only things that said she existed. Austin’s magazines were still where he had left them, and his gaming console waited at his favorite chair. His shoes were tucked under the couch, and the lamp he made in high school shop cast a paltry glow over the dull banality of her existence. Her heart ached at Austin’s coat hanging beside hers at the door, his heavy winter shoes next to her boots, abandoned when she’d began wearing sneakers this spring.
Her eyes flicked back to the TV, and she grimaced at the homeowner crying in joy over the transformation. Meg’s existence was a depressing comparison to the bright openness on the TV. But then Meg smirked when she noticed that for all its light and airy design, the redesigned living room didn’t have a TV. Two days after the designers left, the homeowners would probably stick one in their new reading nook or in place of that specially designed picture on the wall. Two weeks, and all the things that the TV crew had taken out to declutter would be back: the family photos, the bar-themed coasters, the old chair that was comfortable but shabby, the foot massager and tattered couch throw for the dog that didn’t fit with the designers color scheme—all fighting for space with the new art-deco balls and scented candles.
“You can’t live in perfection,” she whispered. “We are a cluttered mess.” With a snap, she turned off the TV. She stood, her chest tightening as she looked at Austin’s things scattered over the apartment as a painful reminder. If she didn’t go out, she’d be sitting in this brown room eating mac and cheese and watching home improvement shows on a Friday night.
In a surge of self-preservation, Meg vowed that wouldn’t happen. “I will make positive patterns,” she said, arms swinging as she strode into the bedroom and into the huge walk-in closet. “And I don’t need Austin to do it.” God help me, more brown, she thought, blanching as the overhead light flickered on and held steady. “I’m not going to stand Haley up, even if I do look like a tree hugger next to her,” she muttered as she pushed past her usual outfits to where her gallery event clothes hung. “Even if I have to leave in the middle of dinner, I am going to try.”
From the living room, her phone tinkled an incoming call. Meg froze, then ran to get it, having to shuffle past the empty diary Dr. Jillium had given her to find it. It was Austin, and fingers fumbling, she hit accept. Six thirty-five. It’s not too late. He might be able to make it if he is on campus.
“Austin, you got my message?” she said breathlessly, their past argument making her sound needy even to herself.
“I did,” he said, his ever-present acceptance and patience easing tightness in her chest. “But I was going to call you tonight, anyway. I wanted to find out how your class went today. I called admissions. Fifteen students! Way to go, Meg. I’m impressed.”
“Thanks. Class was great,” she said, her gaze going to her tree, and he grunted in a pleased surprise. “I started a new canvas.”
“That’s wonderful. What is it?”
“A wisteria-draped tree.” Phone to her ear, she headed back to her closet. “I’m using my new technique. It’s not as effective on an organic form as one the human brain is wired to fill in the blanks with, but I brought in a little of my watercolor techniques, and it worked. I really like it.” I have nothing to wear.
“I can’t wait to see it,” he said, and she fumbled for her next words. There was so much more that she wanted to say than invite him on a double date.
“Dr. J says I need to talk to you,” she said as she flipped past a blue jumpsuit. Good God, why is that even in here? “And I want to,” she added, hearing how that sounded. “Not just because she says I should. Damn it, this is coming out wrong.” Head bowed over the phone, she touched his sweater hanging beside hers. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too,” he said softly, but the expected, “I want to move back in,” didn’t follow, and as she pushed aside her cardigans as being too frumpy, Meg wondered how long they could both live in this limbo. Austin had been more than good for her, helping her through her panic attacks until they were daily instead of unending, and encouraging her without letting her lie to herself that avoidance was actually progress. She owed him a lot, and that he’d left to give her space to find herself hurt.
And in a flash of insight, she realized that was why he’d left. She wouldn’t make any real progress if he stayed, a helpful, loving crutch, so he had left, leaving enough of himself that she wouldn’t feel as if he’d abandoned her forever. And I yelled at him for leaving, she thought, warming in embarrassment.
“Dr. J started me on a therapeutic level of that new med,” she said, rushing to fill the silence. “I was able to teach an entire class before I got antsy.” Antsy was her code name for panic attack, and Austin made a knowing, encouraging sound. “I, ah, met a new teacher this afternoon, and she wants to go out on a double date.”
“Really! Meg, that’s great,” Austin said brightly, and
Meg cringed, feeling as if she was being pushy.
“Tonight…” she said hesitantly. “If you’re not busy. And you want to.”
“I’m not busy, no,” he said quickly, and Meg breathed easier, glad his purposeful abandonment didn’t include this. “It’s kind of short notice, but I’m the last person to say no to spontaneity.”
Thank God, she thought in relief as she flicked through her skirts, all of them too long or of a heavy wool. Frumpy, frumpy, and more frumpy. “Thank you so much, Austin,” she said, deciding on a pair of dark blue jeans she’d only worn once and which still looked new. “Her name is Haley. Haley and Rorry. She’s a guest teacher for the semester.” A black sweater. Not the long one, but the short-sleeved one. “They want us to show them the town.”
“Meg…” Austin said warily, and she warmed, the memory of having left him holding the bag on their last double date filling her.
“It’s just dinner,” she said. “I promise I won’t leave if I have a panic attack. I’ll just go sit in the bathroom.”
“For twenty minutes?” he said, and then he sighed. “I just don’t want to get out somewhere and then have you want to leave.”
Meg frowned. Suddenly the sweater looked too dull, and she fingered a light brown one. It was almost gold, really. “If you don’t want to come, that’s okay,” she said defensively. Maybe she was wrong on why he’d left.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Austin asserted. “I want to go. You know I want to support you in you making new patterns, but I also know your track record and I don’t want you to try to do too much and end up in your room again for a week.”
The sweater wasn’t gold, it was brown, and she hung it back up. “I haven’t done that in over a year,” she said coldly.
“Sorry,” Austin said, and she could almost see his eyes crinkled in dismay. “Look, I don’t want to argue. You know I’d do anything for you. I want to meet your new friends. What time should I pick you up?”
A surge of excitement washed through her, and her fingers reaching for that black sweater curled under. Still didn’t know what she was going to wear or where to take them, but she was adamant that Haley not see their old-lady car. It had belonged to her mother, the maroon, late model Volvo still serviceable even after Meg had run it into a tree three years ago. Austin was the only one who drove it, but the dented front had never been fixed, and she was embarrassed.
Anxiety pinched her brow, and Meg touched her pocket to be sure she had her pills. “We were going to meet at the fountain and go to one of the restaurants within walking distance,” she said, planning on blaming the restaurant’s lack of quality on their limited range. “Haley doesn’t have a car, and she wants to get to know the campus.”
“What time?” Austin asked patiently.
Meg fingered a yellow sweater. Her mother had given it to her, and she’d never worn it, thinking the gold thread highlights were too flashy. Next to Haley, they’d probably never be noticed. “Can you be ready by seven thirty?”
“Shaved and dressed?” Austin echoed, and Meg warmed again. “Sure. I’ll come over and walk you to the fountain. It’s easier to park in our slot and walk than find a place in the student parking.”
“Thank you, Austin. You’re the best.” He was going to come with her. Relieved, Meg decided the yellow sweater was too much. She’d wear her interview slacks with the black sweater. That meant heels, and with a wash of worry, she decided that wouldn’t work either. Haley might think she was trying to impress her, even if she was.
“Don’t thank me, Meg. You know I’d do anything for you. I’m glad you feel ready for a night out.”
“Love you,” she whispered, breath held as she waited.
“I love you, too. See you in ten.”
He hung up, and before Meg could end the call, the tight walls of the closet seemed to close in on her. Her pulse raced, and her chest hurt. She was going out on a double date, and it was going to be a disaster.
“No, damn it, no!” she whispered as her hands began to shake. It was the beginnings of a full-blown panic attack. Eyes wide, Meg pushed back into the clothes, surrounding herself with the warm fabrics and the scent of Austin still lingering among his shirts. Breath fast, she fumbled for the bottle of pills in her pocket, frantic as she shook one out and swallowed it dry.
“Not this time. Not this time…” she whispered. “Please, not this time.” Eyes closed, she leaned against the wall and waited for her pulse to slow. Slowly her calm returned. Pushing back up and out through Austin’s cotton shirts, Meg took a slow breath.
The yellow sweater would be fine, she decided as she reached for it, her hands once again steady. Her sneakers wouldn’t look odd with the jeans, and she’d make sure they didn’t go anywhere they would look out of place.
Taking everything in hand, Meg left her closet, wondering if she had time to put on a little makeup. She wasn’t going to ruin this chance. She’d make this work.
Five
Meg had always thought that the chatter of the quad’s fountain was louder at night. The hiss and bubble of the angel forever pouring her vial into the pool among the waterfalls and spray was peaceful and serene when the campus grew quiet, the shadow and light created by underwater and overhead lights giving an unexpected softness to the woman’s face. Her smile became beatific, and the folds of her garment seemed supple enough to move in the breeze.
Sitting on the dry edge of the fountain, Meg craned her neck to see the angel’s face, recalling the spiders ballooning off her head this afternoon. Most were gone now, but several had stayed as evidenced by new, tiny webs among the folds of stone, billowing in the air currents created by the rushing water. On the far side of the fountain, a young couple laughed as they threw coins and wished for high marks in their chemistry class. The rhythmic thumping of running shoes came and went with the jingling of a collar as a jogger and his dog rushed past. In the near distance, a guy in plaid ran for a building, a ruler falling from his stack of books, unnoticed in his headlong dash to make his class.
“I love the beginning of the semester,” Austin said from beside her, and Meg’s smile widened. He had an unexpected polish tonight, looking good in the casual jacket, slacks, and clean shirt he’d taken from their closet. He’d shaved at their apartment, too, and hearing him getting ready had filled her with a surprising sense of peace: the small sounds of the water, the clink of the razor, the moist warmth of the bathroom holding the scent of his aftershave. She missed him, even if it had been only a few days.
Austin checked his phone for the time, his hand looking awkward and wrong as he held it. Some of the tendons had never healed properly, but that wasn’t why Meg warmed. Haley was late.
“There were spiders ballooning off the statue this afternoon,” Meg said to distract him, and Austin turned, his thin eyebrows high.
“Really?”
Nodding, Meg leaned to get her phone out of her purse currently sitting on the pavers at her feet. “I’m going to use it as a painting prompt on Monday,” she said as she swiped through her photos and showed him. “Maybe pull everyone outside and do an onsite demonstration.”
Austin’s smile widened. “Fifteen easels at the fountain will certainly increase the campus awareness of your class.”
Meg’s smile faded. “Then again, maybe not.” She closed her phone down, guilt rising as she saw her diary still in her purse. She’d write something tonight after their date.
Sighing, Austin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned deeper into the cold stone, his bad leg stretched out to ease the tension in it. “You’re sure she said the fountain?”
Nodding, Meg’s gaze went deep into the darkening quad, looking for Haley’s bright presence. Maybe it was all a bad joke and Haley was in one of the surrounding buildings, laughing at her and taking bets with the other beautiful people as to how long she would wait.
“You should call her,” Austin suggested, and Meg winced.
“I, ah, don’t have her n
umber.”
Smile never fading, Austin reached for his phone. “What’s her last name? I’ll look her up in the campus directory.”
Cringing, Meg muttered, “I never asked.”
Expression blanking, Austin’s reach faltered. “You didn’t ask? Meg…”
“I’m not that good at this, okay?” she snapped, angry at herself. “I didn’t know there was a protocol to making new friends.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Austin put an arm around her, tugging her sideways into him with a gentle admonishment, but it made Meg feel even more stupid.
“Then what are you saying?” she mumbled, eyes down as his warmth eased against her.
“That it would be easier to get in touch with her if you had her last name or phone number,” he said with a dry humor, and she met his gaze.
“You think?”
Austin gave her another squeeze before turning his head back down over his phone and his news feed. Meg’s brief flush of contentment faltered. The sound of the water seemed to fade behind the squeak of a food cart, the scent of popcorn reaching them long before the man pushing it would. Frustrated, Meg took a breath to come up with an excuse for Haley’s tardiness, then hesitated. There was a dog looking at her from under a nearby bench. It was that same scruffy mutt, and Meg’s brow furrowed. “I had a guy from the FBI banging on our door this afternoon,” she said, and Austin looked up from his phone.
“You’re kidding. What did he want?”
“He was looking for the guy who owns that dog,” she said, and Austin followed her gaze to the bench. But the bench was empty. “Wow, he was just there,” she said, and Austin sighed as he put his phone away.
“Maybe the popcorn cart scared him off,” he said, then added softly, “I don’t think they’re going to show.” Anxiety was a hot dart through her, but Austin seemed happy; all but one of his fingers curled under to touch his palm as he gently arranged her hair and smiled fondly at her. “I almost hope they don’t,” he added. “You want some popcorn?”