A THORNE REMAINING

PART FIVE:

Leaning his left shoulder against the side of the archway that led from the

dining room into the kitchen, he observed the dynamic between the sisters.  Allison, her lap full of plates and silverware, was setting the table while

Addie bustled about near the stove.  There seemed almost more of a mother/daughter dynamic to it than one of siblings.

 
Addie was talking non-stop about the book she was writing, the intricacies

that had involved her characters in the beginnings of the American Revolution. Allison arranged the dinnerware and he saw her slide her hand down into
the pouch, her fingers caressing her tablet.

He  wondered what she was  thinking and wished he  had some  way of

communicating with her. Earlier, by the stream, she had repeated a couple

of phrases he'd said. Perhaps, if he tried really hard, there might be some

way he was able to get through to her thoughts? "Allison," he said, "I want

to know about the chair. Tell me about the wheelchair."

She sighed, putting her hands together in her lap, playing idly with her

fingers. "Sometimes it's just so...hard."

"What, Allie?" Adelaide asked, not turning from the pot she was stirring.

"Getting where I want to go."

Adelaide set down her spoon, leaning against a counter, looking at her sister.

"I know, darling."

"Like today," Allie continued, "just trying to get back from the stream."

"Perhaps you shouldn't go down there," Addie replied, bending to open the

oven door.

"I have to!" Allison blurted. "It's his...."

"His? Who his?" Addie threw a glance at her over her shoulder.

Allison bit her lip. She didn't really want to explain to anyone how close she'd

felt to Terry down there today. "Just that it's lovely there, that's all. And

I want to paint it."

"You said 'his'," Addie pursued. "What did you mean by that?"

"Mr. Thorne. Terry. His room has a view of it so I was just imagining he

must like that spot."

"Very possible," Adelaide agreed, "but no real concern of yours, now is it?"

"I suppose not."  Allie's voice trailed off. "It's just..."

"What?"

"I don't know, maybe because I've got his room. He seems sort of...real...

to me." She shrugged, trying not to make that seem as important as it

had actually become.

Adelaide came over, squatting beside the chair, her hands curved over one

of its arms. "Listen, little sister, I know you've been alone ever since I

married Rodney, but don't let yourself go off into some silly fantasy world

of the man who owns this house.  From what I understand, neither of us

is ever likely to meet the bloke and that's fine by me. You and I are
together again...like we used to be. Can't that be enough?"

Allison looked at her sister. Adelaide had had a rough go of it, married to

Rodney, who'd turned out not to be a one-woman man.  Addie had said she

was through with men and Allie believed her. Her sister was never so happy

as when she was in the midst of writing her books.  She tended to disappear

into them, though, much as if she poured her being through some funnel into

their midst.  Allie's art wasn't like that for her. She enjoyed it, knew she

was good at it, but it wasn't...everything.

Always she'd felt like there was more for her than that...than this. She'd

come out here with her sister because Addie seemed so alone after Rodney

had moved out, because Addie needed that comfortable feeling of mothering

she experienced when watching over Allie. It was a gift Allie was giving

her, letting herself be watched over. She'd lived alone for five years and

managed rather well but, newly separated from Rodney, Addie was searching

for a past that was familiar. Most of her days were spent mentally in Colonial

Virginia, but when she came up for air, she liked knowing Allison was there.

Allison had not expected to like this place so much, had been surprised by

her growing sense of expectancy the closer they had gotten to it. She'd

never been here before. How could a place she'd never been be calling to

her so?  Then when she saw Terry's room, saw the stream, she knew she

belonged here.  She thought of her own bedroom in the apartment she'd
rented in Coffs Harbour. It had held all her stuff and yet she'd not felt

as at home in it as she did in Terry's room with almost none of her personal possessions about. She hadn't wanted to put them out, to layer them over

his things. She loved it the way it was...his.

Perhaps she had been on her own too long after all?   At 22 she'd had

a relationship with a young man who'd thought he'd be able to handle the fact

of her wheelchair. In the end, he couldn't, and she hadn't dated since. She

just didn't feel moved to...look. 

Had all her feelings of femininity, then, been stored up over the years so

that she was letting them out by her daydreams of some man whose room

she happened to occupy, whose face she'd never seen, whose face she'd never

see?

She knew it  didn't make any sense and yet she  couldn't seem to help

herself.  This house, his room, the stream...it had all worked together and

now she was...involved.

She hadn't answered Addie, didn't want to answer, didn't want to say,

"No, Addie, I want more than that." After a moment, Addie stood up and

went back to the stove.  "I'll be right back," Allie said softly, and wheeled

herself across the hall, Terry following.

She needed to go back to his room, for just a moment, needed to refresh the

feeling of it in her heart. Rolling through its doorway, she paused, looking

across the room. She knew she'd not left the French doors open, yet there

they were, both of them wide to the porch.

"Oops!" Terry said. "Didn't think about that. Sorry."

She continued on to them,  putting her hand on one of the knobs. "Guess I

didn't latch you well enough and the wind blew you open." She sighed, looking

out at the porch. "If only it was you, Terry. If only you'd come home and

walked out to see your stream."

From two feet behind her he said, "I did, Allison." His hand reached out,

hovering just over her hair.

She leaned forward, burying her face in her hands. "How can you feel so

close? How can you be in Peru or China and yet I feel you so close in this

room?"

"Dinner, Allie!" Addie's distant voice called.

She was quiet during the meal, stirring her mashed potatoes aimlessly with

her fork, not really hungry. The phone rang and she jumped a bit. Adelaide

picked up the wall phone, listening intently, said, "Oh, my goodness," and

then, "Yes, I understand. Thanks for letting me know." She sat back down

and stared at Allison.

"That was the realtor. He's had news of Mr. Thorne."

Allison's eyes widened. Terry said, "Oh, shit! Not like this!"

"Seems he's been killed. Somewhere in South America.  But the realtor says

that it's all right for us to stay here for the duration of our lease."

Allison had gone entirely white. "K...killed? Terry?"

"Yes, some rescue work or something he was doing. I don't know any details. Realtor said he was buried right there where he died so there won't be any

body being shipped home or anything.  But at least we don't have to leave.

That's good."

Allison was already wheeling as fast as she could go back to his room.

"Allie!" Addie called after her, but Allison had closed the door behind herself, locking it. "Allie, let me in!"

"Not now," Allie gasped. "Just leave me alone."

She wheeled to the bed, leaning forward, burying her face in his blue covers. Something inside her was cracking in half. As foolish as it was, she had actually hoped, hadn't she, that one day he would walk into his house and find her

there. Now that was gone and the intensity of the loss of it was squeezing

her being unbearably. Fisting her hands into the blue, she began to sob, her

body sagging so that the chair rolled back and she slid to her knees down the

side of the bed, ending in a little heap on the oval rug.

He was stricken to his core, watching her mourn for him, and crouched beside

her, wanting to comfort her, wanting her to know that he was there, right

there. He'd never felt so blasted helpless.

She cried for a long time, huddled into a ball there on the rug, her hair

nearly hiding her face. Finally, worn out, she drifted into sleep, her right

hand falling limply out just past her face.  He sat as close as he could get,

his back resting against the side of his bed. his hand not far from hers.

Sometime, later, she moved slightly in her sleep and her hand groped out,

her fingers encircling his.

He stared at them unbelievingly. He felt no need for food or for rest...and

yet he could feel the warmth of her fingers.

"I'm here," he whispered to her. "It will be all right. I'm here."

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