I’ve adjusted my schedule to his, which hasn’t been difficult at all. The coffee machine is still perking at seven in the morning, but I’m not there to supervise it. I’m more likely having a cup of tea in my own little corner of the universe and supervising Tish’s departure for school. Which means I’m doing nothing more than reading and sipping. After Tish is gone, I get myself together for the day, make my list of things to do, and hit the stores.
By the time Alex is dragging himself from bed, I’ve got my outside chores done. Then it’s making the bed and running the laundry, if needs be. After that, the afternoon is my own until supper, and I’ve spent the better part of that time scouring shops for more furniture and decorating finds.
All in all, it’s simplified our lives, including Juliette’s, who now appears on Tuesday and Friday afternoons instead of mornings.
And I’ve reserved those times for the library.
This week I feel I’ve begun a routine of sorts for my library visits. I generally have a reason for being there, but I can see that I would probably just go for an hour or so if only to have tea with Nyle and listen to her commentary on the day, on the world, on me, on life.
“How’s the patient?” she asks me today, the way she asks me every time I see her.
“Fine. Actively engaged in a worthwhile pursuit, I’m happy to say, and there have been no more episodes.”
“Hmm, good. His phone skills leave a lot to be desired, though.”
Nyle likes to remind me of that. Repeatedly. I’ve said nothing to Alex about it, because I know that he found Nyle’s phone ‘skills’ equally lacking. I just find it amusing that they’ve rubbed each other the wrong way over something I would consider trivial. I think they would actually get along in ‘real life’, if they ever met. But I’m not ready for that yet. Mickie was one thing; a fluke. I had no idea that Alex would know of her and admire her. Nyle is a stranger with no ties to Alex other than the tenuous thread of phone calls where the both of them have hung up on each other in impatience.
Both of them are very impatient.
“Thank you for the book recommendations,” I say, changing the subject. I’ve plowed through two textbooks on Psychology this week, and am holding a third in my hand.
“You’re welcome. Two texts in one week. That’s some impressive reading,” she says.
“I’m a quick study.”
“So I thought, which brings me back to an initial observation. Why aren’t you in school? You have the time, Siobhan.”
“I can’t COUNT on the time I have. My schedule’s just changed again.” I sigh, then smile. I know she means the best, I do. I just can’t do the things she thinks I should right now. It’s too much. As the two month anniversary of my arrival in California approaches, I feel myself growing more tired than energized. So many changes, so many new things all at once; I’m a little done in from it and would like to let myself drift for a while. Not long, just a while. Let things be.
“One course. Just one,” Nyle says in a conspiratorial whisper that does exactly what it’s meant to do, it makes me laugh. She laughs, too. “Are you busy this weekend?”
“No, I don’t think so. Things can be last minute with my work schedule, though.”
“If you’re free, would you like to go for dinner tomorrow night? Dinner and a lecture?”
“Are you lecturing?”
“No, no. But there’s an interesting one going on here tomorrow in the humanities department. I thought we could have a little food for the mind, then follow it up with a little food for the stomach.”
“Pencil me in. I’ll have to see if Tish is occupied at her friend’s or...”
“Erin will watch her if you need a sitter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Nyle assures me. “I’ve already asked her about it, in case.”
“You’re downright Machiavellian, Nyle.”
“My momma raised me right,” she says with a laugh. “More tea?”
“I shouldn’t.”
“But will you?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Don’t get up, I’ll get it,” she says.
She leaves me alone with the ocean and my thoughts. I always seem to have a lot of thoughts after my encounters with Nyle. I don’t have that comfortable kind of relationship with her that I have with Mickie, where Mickie and I share some basic issues in life, like children and odd schedules and juggling a house. My relationship with Nyle is more fragile and new. Not unlike my relationship with Alex. That one still feels a little raw, even with all that’s gone on. It still seems new and unsettled. Unsettled. That’s the best way to explain it.
I lift the pendant to look at it. Yes, I’m wearing it. I feel obligated, in a way, but I also like it very much. One of the things I did this week here at the library is look up what kind of stone this is. Alexandrite.
Now what does that mean? And I wonder if he did that on purpose.
“That’s a lovely piece,” a voice says from behind me. I turn my head and recognize Nyle’s, well, I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend. It’s the gentleman she introduced me to last week, and his name, something to do with a bird, I can’t remember it.
“Thank you.”
“David,” he says. “Ravensdale.”
“Right, David. How are you?”
“Quite well, thank you. I see you’re back visiting us again, Siobhan. It is Siobhan, is it not?”
“Yes, it is. I’m just having tea with Nyle.”
“Not a bad idea at that. Lovely day.” He looks out at the sun shining on the ocean. A common sight. Only he doesn’t look at it that way. “Lovely indeed. Would you mind very much watching this? I think I’ll have a cup myself.”
Before I can protest he leaves his briefcase on top of a stack of papers he’d been carrying in his free hand, and goes off in the direction that Nyle had. Why do I feel trapped? Put upon? Invaded?
“I see David’s been here,” Nyle says. She hands me a steaming cup.
“He went to get some tea.”
“Yes, I ran into him on the way back. I assume he’s invited himself to our party.”
“Seems so,” I say, blowing across the surface of the hot liquid.
“He’s new here this year. Humanities department. Still feeling his way around.”
“Where’s he from?”
“England. Cornwall, to be exact.”
“Ah, so that’s where the accent comes from.” I laugh to myself, and Nyle raises an eyebrow to me. “I thought that maybe he was one of those New Englanders who are ‘so very, very’,” I tell her, and she laughs, too.
“No. Old Englander,” Nyle says.
“Disparaging my character again, Nyle?” David asks her as he approaches with his own Styrofoam cup full of tea.
“Can’t pass up the opportunity, David,” she says.
I notice that David doesn’t walk, he lopes. He has long legs and long arms that might be considered gangly, yet he has a sort of elegant way of moving that doesn’t draw attention to his limbs. He has an elegance in the way he crosses his ankles and lowers himself to the ground in a single fluid motion.
“I rather think you make them, Nyle,” he quips.
“Moi?” she asks.
“Oui,” he replies.
I laugh into my cup. ‘Tres pretentious,’ I think to myself, until I realize that neither of them really know any French, they’re just needling each other. In fact they seem past masters at needling and verbally sparring, the way they go at it. I realize very quickly that both of them take a great deal of enjoyment from it.
“Shi, I’m going to have to ask you to be quiet now, you’re taking over the conversation,” Nyle says to me, and she startles me out of watching the two of them.
“Sorry, I’ll try and hold back.”
“How terribly rude of us,” David says. “I’m afraid that Nyle and I have a certain rapport we fall into.”
“I think it’s amusing,” I tell him.
“So. How do you come to know Nyle? And whyever do you come to this campus? I recall someone telling me that you’re not a student.”
“I come to use the library. I met Nyle there,” I offer.
“Really? And she didn’t bite your head off within the first thirty seconds? Amazing.”
“Do shut up, David,” Nyle tells him, and he ignores her.
“See there, she’s terribly rude. All of the time.” He checks his watch. “Damn, I’m late.”
“As usual,” Nyle says, not so under her breath.
“And it’s your fault, as usual,” David says. He gathers up his things. “A pleasure, Siobhan. Perhaps we’ll talk again sometime. Nyle, I know I’ll be seeing you.”
“Nice to see you,” I say. Nyle just waves the back of her hand to David, who laughs at her as he walks away. “I suppose I should go, too,” I say, hauling myself up from the grassy area we’ve been sitting on.
“Yes, I need to get back to the stacks. Call me this evening to confirm tomorrow.”
“Right. What’s the lecture about, anyway?”
“Umm, A Brief History of Independent Women,” she says, gathering herself up. “I thought it might be interesting. David’s the speaker. Call me,” she says, and then she’s gone, back to the library.
Interesting.
I’m sure.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
