Page 35 of Skipping Stones
* * *
Derek heard the last car drive away, and he looked across the lawn just in time to see the rain start, and Linney close the door behind her. He checked his watch and decided to give her half an hour.
Thirty minutes later, he kissed his mother goodbye. The storm was in full force by then, the rain coming almost sideways off the lake. Derek knew his umbrella would be no match for the weather so he put on a baseball cap, pulled the collar of his trench coat high on his neck and ran quickly the short distance between the houses.
He pulled open the screen door and rapped on the solid wood door behind it. There was no response. He turned the handle. It was open, as always. “Linney?” he called. “It’s Derek.”
Nothing.
Derek took off his wet hat and shoes and peeled off his dripping coat, hanging it over a dining room chair. He saw Linney’s discarded heels. He took a few steps and called again. Getting worried, he went further into the house. And that’s when he noticed the blue door. In all the time he’d spent in this house, he had never seen it open. Linney had always spoken of her Gran’s private space in reverent tones. He started up the steps. “Linney?” he called again. “Are you up there?”
Derek climbed the tight circular stairs and when he reached the top, he found her standing in front of the window, clutching a book to her chest and rocking silently back and forth. She’d discarded her glasses, so he knew she was staring at nothing, and her face was as pale as it had been in the church. He put his hand on her shoulder and she jumped. “Linney, I’ve been calling you. Are you alright?”
“I can’t cry, Derek,” she whispered, still staring out to the lake. “I keep trying, but I can’t cry. I should be able to cry for my grandmother. Jake did. But I can’t cry, Derek. Why can’t I cry for my gran?”
Derek put his arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her close. “It’s OK, Linney. I’m here. You’re safe.”
Linney jerked with a start as if realizing he was there for the first time. “Oh,” she said exhaling. She took one ragged breath in and another out. And another. Her eyes filled and her shoulders started to shake. Finally, release. She buried her head into Derek’s chest and clung to him as he guided them both to sit, sobbing in the comforting arms of her best friend.
* * *
“I always wondered what was up here,” Derek said when Linney was finally spent and had wiped her tears.
“Remember when I got sick after falling through the ice on the creek? She showed this room to me way back then. And she let me write here. Then and whenever I wanted to. I wrote my first story right here on this chair. I knew right there and then that I wanted to write and tell stories for a living.”
“I remember that,” he said, smiling at the memory. “You were what—seven? You were so proud of that story when you came back to school. And you let me read it!” Derek stood up and held out his hands to her. “Have you eaten today?”
Linney’s stomach chose that moment to growl.
“I guess that answers the question,” she said, putting her cold hands in his warm ones. “Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I ate. I haven’t been hungry.”
“Well, clearly your body is trying to remind you,” said Derek gently. “Mum says people have been dropping off casseroles all week. Come downstairs and let’s find one.”
He turned on the oven and pulled a glass dish out of the fridge. It was wrapped in foil with a strip of masking tape across the middle marked “roasted vegetable ziti” in black marker. While they were waiting for it to heat, he made some cocoa. “This always cheered you up when we were kids,” he said. He lay a fire in the living room fireplace and lit it, cheering up the room a bit as the storm continued to rail outside. Derek busied himself, clearing the remains of the reception. Linney sat at the kitchen breakfast bar sipping her cocoa, staring into space.
The oven beeped. Derek pulled the casserole out and let it sit for a minute while he chopped up some lettuce and tomatoes for a salad. Linney picked at the meal robotically, not tasting it. Once he was satisfied that she had eaten enough, Derek poured some whiskey—just a bit—into her remaining cocoa. “This should help,” he said, rubbing her shoulders.
He washed up the dishes and joined Linney in front of the fire. Her phone started to buzz. Jake was home now and checking in to make sure she was alright. She closed her eyes. Answering him seemed like a huge effort.
“Tell him I’m here with you,” Derek said.
Linney nodded. She sent the message and turned the ringer off. They sat for a while, saying nothing.
“Now what?” she asked. “What do I do now?
“Tonight you sleep, my friend,” said Derek. “We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”
“Will you stay? I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
14
Derek made coffee the next morning, stretching his back from an uncomfortable night on the couch, while Linney called Gemma and told her it would probably be a week before she’d be back. There were things to take care of, and she needed some time to grieve. “And Gemma,” she concluded, “I’ve made some decisions while I’ve been here.” She mouthed her thanks to Derek for the mug he pressed into her hands.
“Take the time you need. Our thoughts are with you.” The two women hung up and Linney texted MJ.
Hey—just checking in.
How’d it go yesterday?