Chapter 100 The Silence
There was silence in the apartment surrounded by the peaceful luxury of a Saturday morning.
Slowly, Annabel awoke to soft, diffused light coming through her curtains. She stretched her muscles, still slightly tense from the previous night.
The man downstairs was her first thought. She rolled out of bed and stepped onto the cool familiar floor.
She wore jeans and a basic t-shirt and she pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail.
At the top of the stairs, she stopped and inhaled deeply. She went down the short set of stairs.
She was greeted by the heady aroma of sizzling bacon and coffee. She went to the kitchen and found Fred. As usual.
Standing by the stove, he was flipping pancakes with a deliberate practiced motion.
He had dark sweatpants and a gray hoodie on and his hair was a little wet from a recent shower. He looked grounded, solid and entirely different from the terrified man who had run from her room just hours before.
She moved toward the counter.
“Good morning.” She said in a purposefully neutral tone.
Fred was slow to turn.
He waited until the pancake was on a plate that was warm.
“Good morning, Annabel,” he said.
While using a paper towel to clean the skillet, he maintained his gaze on the stovetop.
From the coffee pot on the counter, she poured herself a mug. There was a noticeable distance between them as the silence dragged on.
The silence felt like a charged wire now but most days it was a comfortable one.
“It smells amazing.” She said as she sipped the steaming coffee.
“Thanks” he said, turning to face her at last.
He briefly glanced at her face before quickly returning his attention to the kitchen counter.
“I made your favorite.” He said.
“That's more. Pancakes, bacon and an unexpectedly high quantity of coffee.” She said,
She gave him a smile.
His own smile was brief and rigid.
“It’s Saturday.” He said.
“It is” she affirmed.
She dragged her mug to the sink where some straggling pots and cooking implements were kept.
Fred had already begun to wash the dishes.
“Let me take these.”She said.
She rolled her sleeves up and set down her mug. “You finish the cooking.”
“Annabel, you don't have to do that.”He said
He extended his hand toward a bowl close to her but he stopped short causing the bowl to be awkwardly stretched out.
“I would like to” she said.
With a slight sense of comfort she turned on the water. Her rhythmic motion grounded her as she began to scrub a skillet.
Back at the stove, Fred was preparing a new batch of pancakes. The rhythm of their work was quiet and parallel.
“What are your plans for today?”She asked.
“A great deal of reading” he said.
He did not look back at her.
“I need to review a few reports.” He continued.
“On a Saturday?” she asked.
“It’s not work-work” he said. “Just background studies.”
Annabel rinsed the soapy skillet.
“I was considering possibly beginning that painting.” she said. “I drew a sketch of the city skyline last week.”
“That sounds nice.” He remarked.
She gave him a sidelong glance. His body was angled slightly away from the sink where she was standing and he was standing farther back from the counter than normal.
He was making space on purpose. He would give her a sponge if she needed one but only after fully extending his arm and letting his fingers barely touch the air close to her hand.
To avoid any contact, he would take a wide exaggerated step if he had to reach past her for the trash can.
She gave him the large mixing bowl that she had just finished cleaning.
“Can you dry this?”She asked.
He approached her but stopped three feet away before he took the bowl.
“Just place it on the rack” he advised.
“The rack is full.” She said
With a barely perceptible burst of breath he sighed. Despite his approach, he maintained a half-step distance from the edge of the counter.
He cautiously picked up the bowl avoiding her soapy hand with his fingertips.
“Annabel, it's not full.”He said.
He set the bowl next to a sanitized plate on the drying rack.
“Oh” she said. “It must have been a miscount.”
She returned her hands to the sink.
“I'm going to go make another pot of coffee.” He said.
Unnecessarily far from the stove, he walked past her to the coffee station.
“Why?. There is a pot full.” She asked
The coffee pot was full when he removed it from the warmer.
“This one is getting old.” He said “The fresher the brew, the better.”
Once more he was avoiding her gaze with rapid rigid movements. He was fabricating tasks that kept them at a comfortable distance from one another and making excuses.
The coffee pot, the dishes and the location at the stove were all designed to prevent their hands from touching and their bodies from inadvertently brushing.
She used a dish towel to wipe her hands after turning off the sink.
“Isn't it a little quiet in here?” she asked.
Fred was occupied with measuring coffee grinds for a fresh filter.
“Is it?” he questioned.
“Yes”she said. “Typically we would be discussing something…either the news or work.”
He switched on the water and put the filter back in the machine.
“There isn't much happening today” he said.
“I'm talking about last night.” She said sharply
His shoulder muscles became rigid. The silence was momentarily broken by the machines low gurgle.
He did not look back at her.
“Annabel, there's nothing to talk about.”he said in a flat tone.
“Really?” She asked, disappointedly.
With his arms folded across his chest, he turned and leaned his hip against the counter.
This time his eyes remained steady but cautious.
“Look” he said. “I expressed my regret for being a creep. That moment was foolish, I'm sorry for starling you. Let's just go on. Please.”
“You weren't a creep.” She said.
“I was hovering over someone who was sleeping. That is eerie textbook style.” He said
“No” she said, taking a step toward him and enclosing the well-kept distance between them.
His eyes flicked down to her lips as he shifted his weight.
With a low warning he said “Annabel. It's too early”
“Too early for what?” She asked.
He averted his gaze and gazed at the window beyond her.
His eyes were blazing with a feeling that was anything but apathy as he turned to face her again.
“I like you, Annabel” he said. “I really like you. But that isn't important.”
“So what is?” she inquired.
Putting a hand over the back of his neck, he sighed.
The closeness she had imposed was broken when he took another step back. Taking up the two pancake plates, he walked over to the table.
“Breakfast is ready” he said. “We should eat now before it gets cold.”