Chapter 87 Quiet Healing
The gentle, hazy morning light greeted Annabel as she awoke.
The light that came through the blinds was soft and gentle. With the burden of the previous two days gradually easing off her shoulders, she lay motionless.
She found herself in a room and bed that weren't hers and the air had a clean cinnamon-like scent.
It wasn't the oppressive silence of the mansion but it was still there. This calm silence was a comfort to her tired spirit.
The crisp sheets rustled as she slowly sat up. She heard a coffee maker's rhythmic far-off hum.
A fresh reality was taking hold.
She stepped out of bed barefoot on the cool floor and made her way to the door.
Fred stood with his back to her in the kitchen. In a mug he was pouring a dark liquid. In a fragrant plume, the steam rose.
She was standing in the doorway when he turned.
“Good morning.” He said
He indicated a chair at a tiny circular table in the kitchen's corner.
“I made coffee.Do you like sugar or cream?” He asked
“Please, just a little cream,” she said.
He went to the refrigerator and got a small carton and another mug. Before setting it in front of her he added a little cream to her cup.
She put her hands around the ceramic which was warm.
The warmth provided a slight sense of comfort. Opposite her he took a seat.
“How did you sleep?” He asked.
“Better than I have in a long time. I appreciate you letting me stay.” She said,
“Don't thank me. You are welcome to stay as long as necessary.” He said.
They were enveloped in silence. She sipped some of her coffee.
“This smells far better than lilies.” She said,
Fred gave a small smile.
“I’m not a fan of lilies either.” He said.
They sipped their coffee in quiet comfort. The only noise they made was their spoons clinking against the mugs.
Annabel could feel the strain in her shoulders starting to ease. When their coffee was done, Fred stood up and began to clear the table.
“Today is my workday. Will you be able to handle this alone?” He asked
“I think so,” she said.
He vanished down the hall into a room. After walking to the living room, Annabel took a seat on the big couch.
The bright morning sky had turned the city lights of the previous evening into nothing more than buildings.
She found a book on the side table and picked it up. It was a paperback with a worn cover and dog ears. She didn't read it.
The weight of the book felt real and substantial as she held it. The hours went by.
Every now and then she heard Fred's voice, a low rumble on the phone or the click of his keyboard.
Wrapped in a blanket he had left for her, she remained on the couch. She was a hurricane that had at last located its calm core.
It was already getting dark when he came out later.
“You haven't moved,” he remarked.
“I haven't felt the need to.” She said and smiled.
“I'm going to order some food,” he said.
“I'm not really hungry.” She said
“You have to eat,” he said. “You can't compromise on it.”
When the Thai food he ordered arrived, the apartment was filled with the aroma of spices.
He brought to the table two forks and two containers.
“Let’s eat,” he said.
They scraped the cardboard with their tiny plastic forks as they ate from the takeout containers.
“This is good.” She remarked
“I told you,” he said.
When they were done, they turned off the TV and sat on the couch. The silence returned but it was different this time.
A calm sense of camaraderie had taken the place of the tension.
“I still can't believe it” She said in very little more than a whisper.
“What?” He asked
“That he just stood there,” she said. “He watched me leave.”
For a long time Fred was silent.
“He’s afraid of losing his comfort. His wealth and position.” He said.
“I really thought he was different.” She said
“He isn't” he stated. “The actual Carson was the person you saw. Simply put, he had a lot of money to conceal it.”
“I feel like such an idiot. How was I able to be so blind?” Anabelle asked.
“You weren't blind. You were in love. He made use of that.” Fred said.
A tear trickled down her cheek as she said “It just hurts so much…I trusted him.”
Fred reached over and touched her arm tenderly.
“I understand,” he said. “But Annabel, you're not a victim. You recovered your life. That is a courageous action.”
His hand on her arm caught her attention. Her heart was cold in sharp contrast to the warmth of his skin.
He didn't continue speaking. He remained by her side, a silent presence. He accepted her grief and allowed her to feel it without attempting to make it better.
“Thank you, Fred,” she said in a rough whisper.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
He withdrew his hand and stood up.
“I will prepare a cup of tea. Would you like any?” He asked
“Yes, please.”She replied.
When he returned two mugs were there, steam rising from them. He gave one to her.
“There you go,” he said.
Her face was warmed by the steam as she held the mug. She felt a deep sense of thankfulness.
After finishing her tea, she got to her feet.
“I think I'm going to go to bed.” She said
“All right,” he said. “Get enough sleep.”
She made her way back to the guest room. After glancing at her image in the bathroom mirror,, she turned on the faucet.
Her cheek still had a dark shadow from the bruise. This time though she ignored it. Clear and determined, she saw her own eyes.
The tears had dried up and had been replaced by a firm silent resolve.
There was still something to rebuild, something to work with. A tiny glimmer of hope ignited in her heart.
Even though it was brittle, it was hers and there.