Kelly Sofie - Curiosity Thrilled The Cat

Andrew’s face suddenly filled my memory—his big smile, his deep blue eyes, his blond hair that curled down over his collar when he was overdue for a haircut. Maybe it was what seemed like Rebecca’s genuine interest, or maybe it was two glasses of Ruby’s wine. Whatever it was, I answered honestly. “I ran away.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “From what?”

“From my life at the time. From my family—I love them, but they can use up all the air in the room.”

Rebecca nodded her understanding.

“And from the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.”

I looked away for a moment. Violet and Roma had a photo album out now.

Rebecca leaned over and squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Do you mind my asking what happened?”

I twisted my watchband around my arm instead of looking at her. “He married someone else.”

“Then perhaps you’re better off without him.”

“That’s what my friend Lise said. She also called him a no-good, scum-sucking elephant turd.”

Rebecca was silent for a moment. “I think I’d like your friend Lise,” she said finally, a bit of a smile playing on her lips.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that,” I said.

“I’m listening,” Rebecca said.

“Andrew—that’s his name—wanted me to take a leave of absence from my job and see the country. All of it. With him.”

“I take it you didn’t want to.”

“No, I didn’t.” I rubbed a finger over my thumbnail. “Rebecca, I lived in a lot of places growing up. Small towns, big cities, and everything in between. I’ve already seen a lot of the country. I want to stay in one place. I want to belong somewhere. The way you and Violet and Roma do.”

I looked around Violet’s welcoming living room. “Violet grew up in this house. The two of you have been friends almost your entire lives. I don’t know how many different places I’ve lived, and my whole childhood is in one cardboard box in a storage unit in Boston.” I twisted my watch around my wrist. “I just want to belong somewhere.”

“Your Andrew didn’t understand that.”

I looked over my shoulder, through the front window to the darkened street. “No, he didn’t. He went on a two-week camping trip in Maine after I said no. He came back married.”

“After two weeks?”

I nodded and tried to clear the lump in my throat. “Married. I went to work the morning after he came back, saw Everett’s notice about the job here and applied.” I held out my hands. “And here I am.”

Rebecca studied my face. “You miss him, though.”

“Sometimes. But it’s over. Time only moves in one direction: forward. So no matter how much I might want to change things sometimes, I can’t.”

Rebecca got a faraway look in her eyes. “There’s something special about first love,” she said. “But you’re right, it’s important to move forward. And your Andrew’s loss has been our gain.” She smiled at me. “I hope you’re starting to feel you belong here.”

Before I could answer, Roma poked her head in from the dining room. “Rebecca,” she said. “What used to be on the corner opposite the market?”

“Anderson’s,” Rebecca said at once. “They sold fabric. He was a tailor.”

Roma tapped the side of her head. “Anderson’s. Of course. Thank you.” She turned back to the album Violet was still looking at.

Rebecca looked at me. “Would you like to see what Mayville Heights looked like back in the good old days?”

“I would,” I said. We walked over to join Violet and Roma. The framed black-and-white photograph was remarkably sharp and detailed. Rebecca walked me down the street in the old photo, pointing out each building and sharing stories about herself and Violet.

“You know, the downtown really doesn’t look that much different,” I said. “I would have recognized the hotel and all those little stores.”

“That’s because the buildings were built to last,” Rebecca said.

“How about another cup of coffee?” Violet offered. “It’s decaf.”

“All right,” Roma said. I nodded, as well. I probably drank too much coffee, but as vices went it wasn’t that bad.

“How about another piece of blueberry tart?”

“A sliver,” Roma said, holding up a thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

“Kathleen?” Violet looked at me.

“Don’t make me eat alone,” Roma said. Something in her smile seemed forced.

“A tiny, tiny piece,” I said.

Rebecca took the album from Violet. “Why don’t you take that into the living room?” she said. “I’ll be right in.”

“Could I help?” Rebecca asked.

“Show Roma and Kathleen more of the old photographs. I can get the coffee.”

We settled on the sofa on either side of Rebecca, who laid the album across her lap. “Look,” she said, pointing to a picture of a somber-faced girl in a dark dress with a white collar and cuffs. “That’s Violet, senior year of high school. You know the building that’s the River Arts Center now? That’s where we went to high school.”

I leaned in closer to look. “She looks so serious.”

“Look at this one,” Roma said, putting a finger on a snapshot on the adjacent page. It was Violet in some kind of party dress with a little purse and a very unfortunate bubble hairdo.

“Interesting hair,” Roma said, struggling not to laugh.

Rebecca did laugh, covering her mouth with one hand. “Oh, my,” she said. “I’d forgotten about that. That was the first time I did Vi’s hair.”

“And it was almost the last,” Violet said, coming in with the coffee tray.

I got up and took it from her, and set it on the coffee table.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca said. “Maybe a little too poufy.”

“She back-combed my entire head and used a full can of hairspray on it.”

“Well, I didn’t want my handiwork to go flat.”

“It was windy and raining the night of that party,” Violet said as she poured. “The wind almost pulled the screen door off its hinges, but my hair didn’t move.”

“Then it was a good thing I used lots of spray.” Rebecca smiled sweetly.

I had the feeling they’d had this conversation many times before.

I took the album off Rebecca’s lap so she could reach her coffee. Roma had already started on her sliver of pie, which really wasn’t a sliver at all. I flipped through the photographs. Violet looked so young. In most of the pictures she was smiling, even laughing in a few, and I wondered what she’d been like as a girl. My favorite shot was one of Violet and another young woman, arms around each other’s shoulders, standing by the water, both of them with huge, happy smiles. “Rebecca, is this you?” I asked. She set down her cup and I turned the album toward her.

“Heavens, yes, it is. That was just before Violet left for Oberlin.”

“That’s the first picture I’ve seen of the two of you,” I said.

She shrugged. “I don’t really like having my picture taken,” she said.

“You look very pretty in this one,” I told her.

“Thank you,” Rebecca said, sliding the album back onto her lap so I could pick up my pie. “That reminds me, do you have any pictures of your family? I’d love to see them sometime.”

“I do,” I said. “Remind me and I’ll show you.”

“Kathleen, how’s the work coming at the library?” Violet asked, settling in a chair with her coffee.

“A little slower than I’d like,” I said. “Larry Taylor has the wiring almost done in the new computer room. The circulation desk is finished, and I’m hoping the police will let us back into the meeting-room space in a day or two.”

“Why have the police been at the library?” Roma asked. “Gregor Easton died at the Stratton.”