apparently_so

wee.

2006-11-17T04:13:02Z

Nano 2006 - Part Four

2006-11-13T02:54:03Z

She was stalling, she knew, but then she told herself she was just giving him some time before she called him and dredged it all up. Isabel nodded, forcing herself to swallow the lie right along with half a bottle of water. She settled the bottle to the side table that stood uneven next to the couch, leaning down into the phone, unsnapping the phone cord with a quick and slight hand. She let the thin cord drop to the floor and she ran the back of her hand against her forehead, swiping at the sweat that had formed there.

She’d gone for a run, later in the evening than was usually safe, pepper spray in the palm of her curled fist and hair back in a severe ponytail. Isabel shifted the strap of her tank top before dropping the pepper spray off on the couch and snagging the half empty water bottle. She toed off her shoes, swallowing hard from the bottle while heading to the kitchen. Her hands were quick and sure as she swung open the miniscule closet that was in one tight corner, hidden from view by the old refrigerator. Isabel swung it open, looking over the art supplies that were piled messily inside. They were disordered and in random piles, but then she knew where everything was, and exactly what kind of condition it was in. She thought on it a moment before grabbing the easel and an old rustic fishing tackle box. She set the box to the counter and stood the easel in the center of the kitchen, knowing it was the best light in the entire apartment. Isabel let off a quiet smile, running a hand on the tackle box her grandmother had turned into an art box when she was seven. With quick hands she flipped it open, pulling out the top tray that held brushes, glancing over the paint tubes that were tossed and strewn in the bottom.

With a blank canvas from the closet and a stool from the other room she started painting, hands moving unknowing and fast. Her movements were smooth but short, the brush stabbing at the canvas in quick movements. The colors were bright but jarring, a stark white and cadmium red, some russet and rustic browns and solid black. She let her hands move, not really attentive, just moving on instinct, uncaring of what was going on around her.

**************************************

He could feel the little girl watching him as he leaned over the mattress, trying to hook the sheet on one corner and having a bit of difficulty. The mattress was old but not really in bad shape. He’d gotten it from the older woman who lived two doors down. Mrs. Barker had been sensationally generous when showing up on his doorstep, offering the mattress and sheets, telling him that she could watch Lauren while he was at work, shoving food on them in the form of an actual edible casserole. All of which led him to the conclusion that what Aston had done had become the most famous tidbit of gossip in the building.

“That was awfully nice of Mrs. B.” he turned his glance back, watching Lauren lean into the small office desk he’d shoved out of the way for the twin sized mattress. “The mattress and food and everything.”

“Yup.” he’d quickly learned that the one word response was essentially Lauren’s answer for everything.
Brannon nodded, finally straightening and turning toward her, “Brush your teeth?”

Lauren looked up, chin raised as she flashed him a wide but fake smile, flashing the small but freshly brushed white teeth. He let himself smile, bending and snagging her up by the waist, lifting her to the desk and setting her socked feet on the top of it. She was about his height now, one of her hands set on his shoulder. Brannon nodded, kissing her lightly on the forehead, before letting her wrap her arms around him, climbing against his chest and forcing his arms up.

“Sorry I don’t have more for you kiddo.” he murmured, moving toward the mattress.

She didn’t answer but when he leaned down to settle her on the mattress she also didn’t let go of him. The girl’s arms tightened on his neck, snapping and locking and refusing to move as he tried to put her on the makeshift bed. Brannon stayed bent like that a moment, quiet as she snuggled her face against his neck and tightened her arms, nearly choking him, her legs gripping against his waist as well. Brannon just nodded in understanding, one hand lifting to press the back of her head.

“Okay.” he agreed, already moving out of the room, turning off the light with some difficulty before heading toward his own bedroom. “But no cookies in my bed.”

Lauren didn’t loosen her grip, but her head lifted, “Yup.”

************************************

He’d left her curled in his bed, wearing one of his t-shirts and watching some brainless reality show on the small television that was set on his dresser. He couldn’t make her sleep, it was a physical impossibility, but he could at least put her in a position where sleep may at some point come. He was worried about her stillness, how quiet she was. Although she hadn’t ever really been too talkative.

Brannon settled onto his couch, feet up on the opposite cushion, pushing dark hair out of his eyes and pulling off his glasses. He settled them onto the coffee table, beside one of the photography books he’d actually had published. With an unfounded glare he stretched his long legs, setting his socked feet on top of the book that carried his name across the bottom. He leaned forward, snagging up the yellow legal papers he’d scribbled all over. He was working on a new set and he had some people to call about getting some portrait times set up. Brannon glanced lightly over the names, pausing when he’d reached the bottom.
He’d added a name but didn’t remember when he’d scribbled it on there. Probably somewhere in his drunken stupor.

Brannon snagged the phone from the coffee table, dialing Isabel Rios’ number, rehearsing an apology.

He let it ring over and again, but no one ever answered.

*********************************

There was paint on the floor tile, red and black, and the easel was still in the center of the kitchen, standing directly under the main light. Noah glanced over the painting that was there, studying the image of a white sink and mirror, thick red paint swiped and splashed over it. He shook off the image before moving to the coffee pot, dumping the old grounds and pulling out the new. He glanced at the clocked while picking up the scattered paint brushes and small white tubes of acrylic, noting that he’d gotten home later than he’d planned. It was after ten and Isabel was still sleeping. That in and of itself was a bit unusual.

But really, he decided, frowning as he dumped a half full ash tray, she needed the sleep.
He’d give her awhile longer.

**************************************

She wasn’t necessarily asleep when the phone let off a sharp trill, and she knew by the fact it was plugged in again that Noah had trailed his way home from Emmanuel’s. Her thoughts were still a little dazed and groggy and she wasn’t sure that it was the first time that morning that the phone hand rang. She swept a hand up, pushing it through her the mess of her hair, running it off her face as she rolled toward her bedroom door. She could hear Noah’s footsteps coming toward her room, his voice a soft and hushed mumble of words that she couldn’t really make out yet.

Isabel drew her arm up over her head when he pushed open the door, his voice still quiet, “Iz? Phone for you.”

“Don’t wanna talk to the cops.” she demanded, peeking out from under her arm at him when she smelled the coffee that was in his hand. “Leave the coffee.”

“The coffee and the phone are a packaged deal.” he disagreed, setting the ceramic mug on the bedside table and the phone on the mattress beside her head. “Detective Derrin already called this morning. This time it’s Brannon Grady.”

She didn’t snap to attention or anything like it, instead her arm just dropped to her side, hand curling into the mattress while she passed a glance at his face. It was passive and calm, honest. He wasn’t screwing with her as she’d expected. Isabel rolled slightly, grabbing both the phone and the coffee and glaring in his direction.

“I’m going.” Noah lifted his hands defensively, “Christ. Can’t blame a boy for trying.”

“Leave the speaker phone alone.” she tossed after him, taking a short swallow of coffee before putting the phone to her ear, “Mr. Grady.”

“Brannon.” his voice was slow and measured and it almost made her smile. “It’s just…you can - ”

“Brannon.” she agreed, sitting up carefully in the bed, making an effort not to spill the coffee. “Sorry, I just woke up. I’m a little…”

“Can we talk? In person, I mean.” his words were fast, “I’d like to apologize for what happened. There’s no reason you should have had to deal with the situation.”

Isabel frowned. “Situation?”

“What Aston did was...” she could hear him swallow hard on the other end of the line before speaking again, “Can we get lunch or something? There’s something else I wanted to discuss with you.”

She took another drink, “Sure.”

****************************************

“Jesus Christ.” Isabel’s hands tightened hard on the door handle, the other palm flattening against her chest as she pulled a hard and heavy breath. “You just scared the shit outta me.”

“Well, I was going to knock.” Detective Derrin shrugged. “You beat me to it.”

Isabel stepped back into her apartment, tugging her coat tighter against her chest as she let the police detective into her living room. Serah took quick and light steps, turning to the shorter woman with ease. She gave Isabel a comforting smile, waiting for her to catch her breath and shut the door to speak.

“I was going to call you again.” the blonde informed her, “But I was already two blocks down on another case. Figured I’d check in.”

Isabel nodded, “Can I call someone in for cleaning?”

“Exactly what I came for.” Serah nodded and took a few more steps into the room, glancing over the worn but adorable furniture, “The lab’s cleared the scene. As far as they’re concerned, you can bulldoze it. Although, they did want me to pass along a recommendation.”

Serah turned back to the darker woman, face going suddenly passive. “They’d like for you to get some tests done. You were exposed to foreign blood, maybe potentially diseased bodily fluids. One of the guys is telling me that you should have an HIV test run as well as some Hepatitis tests.”

“HIV and Hepatitis.” Isabel repeated with a shallow voice. “You’re kidding me.”

“It’s just precautionary.” Serah nodded, “The odds are supposedly infinitesimal.”

“So you’re just bringing it up for fun.” the shorter woman nodded, glancing out over her apartment, knowing that Noah was in one of the other rooms, probably with his ear shoved against the wall.

Serah gave her a patient glance, “Precautionary Ms. Rios. Entirely precautionary.”

Isabel squinted, eyes meeting the other woman’s, “Did Aston Grady have one of these diseases?”

“The lab says its standard procedure.” Serah was already on her way to the door. “I’d appreciate it if you let me know when you’re getting the testing done.”

And she let herself out, leaving Isabel in worry and confusion.

***********************************

She recognized him when she saw him, remembered his dark looks and solemn face as soon as she saw it. They hadn’t spoke in quite awhile, hadn’t really had much contact besides the checks she sent him when his photographs sold, minus her cut of the profit. Isabel tried to get a smile from him, passing off her own as he offered a chair at one of the small lunch cafes in the East Village. He didn’t answer the smile, instead his face was passive and freshly shaven, eyes dark and but a thick sinking blue. She watched him swipe at his dark hair, pushing it back to trace the tops of his ears.

“It’s been awhile.” she offered, voice intentionally light.
Brannon finally smiled, thought it was weak and cheap, “I guess.”

They chatted on things that didn’t matter at first, ordering salads and pretending the world was just dandy. It was sincerely awkward and she realized it was hard to swallow when she took a drink. So she set her water glass back down and tightened her hands on the table, looking down over her fingers as a silence fell between them. He broke it after a moment.

“I don’t know how to apologize or what to say.” his tone was hushed and he let off a sprinting glance to the tables around them. “It’s caused you so much trouble, I just…”
Isabel finally looked up, “Please, stop apologizing.”

He was taken back at first, eyes moving over her face and then down to the table. He pulled a long swallowing breath, his chest moving hard but slow. Isabel tried to take another drink and it was easier this time. They’d broken into the subject, and done so without too much frustration. She set the glass back to the table slowly and both shifted as the waitress brought their food, setting it to the table noisily. She jaunted off soon after and Isabel gave him a passing glance.

“There’s a little girl right?” she picked up her fork and stabbed at her salad, “Detective Derrin mentioned...and in one of your photographs.”

He nodded, following her lead and picking up his fork as well, “Lauren is Aston’s only child. She’s almost five now. I’m not at all parent material but we seem to be getting along all right. She needs her own room so I’m gonna end up converting my office space.”
His voice had become more fluent, easier and smoother.

Isabel nodded as she chewed and swallowed, “Aston left her with you?”
Brannon nodded in the affirmative before answering, “Payback for all the times I told her she was a horrible mother.”

At the glint of confusion in Isabel’s eyes he explained how Aston had often found a heavy bottomed bottle more interesting than her only child. He confessed how often they fought over it, how judgmental he’d been on Lauren’s behalf. She listened as she ate, catching how his tone softened when he discussed his niece, but broke hard and grating when he mentioned his sisters name. He moved on to telling her how difficult it was for a lapsed Catholic to plan a funeral mass for someone who had committed suicide. She almost laughed in agreement when he told her how long it had been since he’d been at Mass.

“Your parents?” she questioned.

Brannon swallowed, “Both dead.”

“Mine too.” she offered softly. “Well, my mother and my grandmother. I have no clue where my father is. He could be dead for all I know.”

“I dunno where Lauren’s is either.” he shrugged. “Actually, I dunno who Lauren’s is, so...”

After a beat of silence he met her eyes, “Will you come? To the funeral, if I can pull it off. I don’t think many people will be there and I don’t want that to upset Lauren.”

Isabel nodded. “Just let me know when you get everything figured out.”

They moved on in discussion, talking about his niece and the gallery, discussing the blonde detective that had interviewed them both. Isabel told him about the gallery re-opening and he shared his new project idea with her. Something about women and art, whether artwork or music, even writing. She watched a light flicker in his glance as he shared the idea, something passionate but controlled.

“I’ve got a few names already.” Brannon pushed away his mostly empty plate. “Some of my personal friends, and some of their friends.”

“I know a few people,” she said lightly. “I could see if they’d wanna be involved.”
He nodded, letting a genuine smile touch the corners of his mouth, “That’d be good.”

“I’m sure I could fit it somewhere in the gallery.” Isabel nodded.

Brannon lifted his jaw, “That’s not really why I wanted to tell you about it.”

At her glance of confusion he smirked, “I wanted you to be a part of it.”

“I’m not an artist.” she refused, knowing that she was lying, that she’d spent half an hour in the shower just trying to get all the paint off, “And I’m not photo friendly.”

Brannon leaned back, “I think you’d be surprised.”

“We’ll discuss it.” she glanced down at her mostly empty plate.

“We certainly will.”

Nano 2006 - Part Three

2006-11-13T02:53:04Z

“Is it illegal for me to contact the family?”

She swallowed hard, feeling the heat of the bitter convenience store coffee warm her chest. Isabel let her glance move up, meeting the other woman’s fresh blue eyes with a meek glance, worried at the judgment the detective might cast over her. Instead of glaring her down, Serah Derrin just gave mild shrug, both her hands wrapped against the Styrofoam cup in her hands.

“No. Not necessarily illegal. As long as it’s not harassment.” The detective softened her voice, “But be careful about it. Different families deal with tragedy in different ways. Understand that Brannon Grady may not take too kindly to you showing up and trying to soothe his mourning.”

“I don’t plan to soothe anything.” Isabel’s body automatically bristled. “Christ. You and my brother.”

Serah gave her a sidelong glance. “I didn’t mean anything by it. He’s dealing with his sister’s death and trying to care for the child she left behind. I’m not sure he’s really handling it well. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t expect him to be open to meeting you.”

The memory of the photograph flicked into her mind at the mention of a child. The image of a laughing toddler made her suddenly uncomfortable in the police station, remembering the wide eyes and new teeth. The framed photo was still tucked safely in her bedroom, leaned on her dresser with other pictures of her own family. Photos of her half brother and her grandmother. She’d shifted her own family to make room for an unknown little girl.

Isabel shifted in the small, hard metal chair, wondering if they made them intentionally uncomfortable. She glanced out over the messy but rushed office. People were in an out around them, uniformed officers and well as suited men and women. The heat was on high and she could feel sweat tingling against the back of her hairline. Isabel met the other woman’s eyes once more, pulling another drink of strong coffee.

“Did you sleep last night Ms. Rios?” Serah’s voice had lightened considerably. “I have the number to someone you can call, if you need to talk.”

Isabel groaned as the detective yanked at a drawer in her desk and started shuffling through it, “Don’t worry about it Detective.”

Serah’s hand paused in the drawer, “You can call me Serah.”

Isabel nodded, still thinking about the child that had now lost her mother. She finished off the last of her coffee before leaning off the side of the chair, dropping the cup into a small plastic trash can that was tucked to the side of the other woman’s desk. When she shifted back up, sitting straight in the chair, she caught the curious way that Derrin was looking her over.

“Did I answer all of your questions?” she had tried to curb her tone but caught that there was an icy flare to her words. “I need to get some work done so that I can re-open.”

The detective nodded slowly, silently noting the change in the other woman’s tone and demeanor, “I’d like to keep in contact with you though. In case something else comes up. You can call me if you think of anything else.”

Isabel took a long breath, letting her hands settle against her legs, “Can I re-open within the week? I’d like to get someone in to clean up the room and get things working again.”

Serah shifted once, setting down her coffee and sweeping a hand against her blonde hair, fingers light and long, “Let me make sure that all evidence has been removed and that the lab is comfortable with closing the scene. I can call you when I get the confirmation. I have some numbers for companies that specialize in cleaning up crime scenes.”

Isabel gave a soft laugh, one that tipped into hysteria, “Don’t you find that odd?”

“I certainly find it upsetting,” Serah agreed, “that there is a need for companies of that sort. Although it does help to have someone unconnected come in and take care of it.”

Isabel nodded, breathing deeply, “Those phone numbers I’ll take.”

“I’d really like for you to talk to someone about this. It might help you deal with what’s happened.”

She just looked to the officer, shoulders straightening, “I’m dealing with it.”

“I know you are.” Serah nodded, “But if you need someone to bounce things off of…even if you just call me.”

Isabel gave her a wary smile, “I appreciate it but my brother is already worrying about me enough. His obsession with my emotions is sufficient. He’s already made me his famous pecan cranberry cookies and forced half of them down my throat.”

Serah gave her a light glance, “He cares about you.”

“Yeah, well,” Isabel stood, tugging her coat up off the back of the chair and onto her shoulders, “They’re disgusting. Next time he makes them I’ll be sure to drop some off.”

The blonde gave her a comforting laugh, standing as well; the weapon holstered at her hip flashing briefly, “I’m sure I can pawn them off on the guys around here.”

*************************************

“I’m gonna call him.” She demanded, glancing up as her brother moved into her office, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

Noah watched as she started flipping through some of her accounting paperwork. Her shoulders had slumped a bit but he was assuming it was because she’d been there for at least a few hours after meeting with the blonde detective. Noah stepped forward, hooking one the computer chair from off the side of her desk and pulling it forward, turning the chair so that he was sitting in it backwards, facing her with his arms slung across the back. He leaned in, balancing against the backrest of the chair.

“Right this second?” his jaw lifted amiably.

Isabel flashed him a smirk, her face relaxed and eyes calmed, “No. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning. Right now I’m catching up on stuff.”

“You’ve been backed up for months.” He reached out a hand, picking up a couple of vendor receipts and looking them over before dropping them back to the desk. “Making use of your free time?”

“Exactly.” She agreed, looking over the paperwork instead of at him, “I can’t re-open until the lab people at the police station give Detective Derrin the thumbs up so I’m trying to get everything finished while I have the free time. She’s gonna call me when I can open the doors.”

“Need anything done?” Noah questioned, feeling much better seeing that she was bouncing back, body language and facial features returning to normal, “I’ve got some free time.”

Isabel dug an appointment book from the top drawer of her desk and tossed it to him with a knowing grin, “Wanna re-schedule my artist appointments for the rest of the week. Just tell them that I’ve had to shutdown the gallery for unforeseen reasons and ask that they make new appointments for their viewings.”

Noah stood, heading for the doorway with a crooked salute, “Yes ma’am.”

“They still need to have portfolios and slides available.” She called after him, watching as he waved her off with a flippant hand.

*******************************

It was a tragic surprise that she took it so well. Brannon watched as Lauren walked away from him, snagging one of the worn Little Golden Books from her disheveled backpack, climbing on the couch and tugging it to her chest. He knew she’d understood him. There had been a brief but iron comprehension in her eyes when he’d told her that her mother wasn’t coming back. None of the innocent denial he had expected, just blatant acceptance that Aston was dead.

“Want me to read that to you babe?” he took a wary step toward the lumpy couch, watching her as she pushed the book to her knees, looking over the cover, fingers tracing Grover and Big Bird.

Lauren shook her head, curls turning in front of her eyes as she refused him, “No thank you.”

There was still an unlearned fuzziness to her words but he caught the sharp rejection she was passing him. She didn’t look at him, refusing his help, pretending not to need it. She was acting more like him than her mother and it scared him a bit, knowing that she should have someone to talk to. That she should at least have the chance to cry or mourn or…who was he kidding? He had no idea what to do. Who to call. Whether she should have therapy or something. He wasn’t a parent.

“Want something to eat?” he tipped his upper body, trying to catch her glance and frowning when she didn’t look at him, staring at the book instead. “I can make toasted cheese.”

She just shook her head negatively.
Then again, maybe she wasn’t taking it so very well.

********************************

He was hanging up the phone, leaned over the main administrative desk on the first floor when he heard the pounding on the glass windows. Noah stood from the wooden stool, leaving the paperwork scatted over the desk and beside the cash register as he slipped around the edge of the heavy maple desk. He headed quickly for the locked entry door, leaning into it and finding a heavily bundled woman on the other side, her face looking frantic but familiar.

Noah let off a groan and started undoing the locks on the door, letting his voice carry in a yell to catch Isabel’s attention, “Iz, Claire’s here.”

He swung the door open without waiting for his sister to reply, letting in the redhead and watching as she shoved into the entry hall, pushing past him while she unwrapped her brightly colored scarf. She sent him a brief glance before looking and leaning down the hall.

“Where’s Bella?”

Noah just shoved the door closed, ignoring the way the other woman’s strong New Jersey accent pushed on his ears. “Upstairs getting some work done.”

“I heard what happened.” The slight framed woman was already shedding her coat, leaving it on the stool he’d been sitting on and swinging her scarf over top of the papers and the schedule book he’d been using to make phone calls. “Why didn’t she call me?”

“Because you’re hyper, hysterical, and you don’t mind your own business.” He sweetened his voice sarcastically as he slipped the locks and moved to follow her. “And she was dealing with shit.”

Claire Taggert, a self-proclaimed artist and musician, turned to him, flashing a pronounced glare as she shoved up the sleeves of the thick cable knit sweater she was wearing, shaking out her long red hair with an intentional tip of her head. There were silver drop earrings in her ear and heavy lipped leather boots on her feet. Noah just ignored her glance and waved toward the corner café before moving back to the desk.

“There’s coffee.”

“Bella?!” Claire was already across the room and heading toward the stairs, “Where the hell are you?”

Noah let off another huff of breath, reaching out a hand picking up the padded parka from the stool with a finger and thumb. He dropped it to the floor when he heard the two of them talking, not catching the words but hearing his sister’s voice blend with the other woman’s. He made a face and snatched the scarf from the desk as well, dropping it onto the coat and sliding back on the stool, elbows pressing onto the desk.

“Noah?!” Claire was leaned over the railing on the second floor. “Can you get us some fresh coffee?”

He rolled his eyes and slid back off the stool, growling and grumbling all the way to the café.

************************************

“Why in the hell,” Claire hopped onto the desk, uncaring of the papers that were scattered over the top of it, “didn’t you call and tell me what was going on? I had to find out from Amy. The sniveling, snotty, little - ”

Isabel just lifted a hand, waving it off, “I was going to call you.”

“I was going to call you.” Claire mimicked, throwing up a hand, “Bullshit. You were wallowing all by yourself. Are you okay? Is there something I can do?”

“It’s not like I’m the one who died Claire.” Isabel waved it off, setting into the chair that Noah had pulled out. “I just found her.”

“Yeah but that’s creepy enough.” The pale redhead let off a shiver, hands running into her hair and pushing it from her face. “And you’re still in the building. Is it cleaned up yet?”

She gave her friend a patient glance and just leaned forward in the chair, rubbing a hand against the knee of her jeans. Isabel shook her head negatively, casting her glance to the floor and swallowing hard. She shifted once more, listening to the noise that Claire made in her throat, matching it with a faked shiver.

“Gross.” Claire threw off a wave, “That’s gross. When can you clean it up?”

“When the cops give me the okay.”

Claire shook it off again, hands settling against her thighs as she shifted once leg over the other, “Is it weird that I wanna see it?”

Isabel gave her a quick glare.

“You’re right.” The other woman lifted her hands, “Sorry. Inconsiderate. So...”

“Yeah.” Isabel nodded.

“Let’s go get a drink, you can tell me everything you wanna tell.” Claire slid off the edge of the desk, pushing papers back as she stood.

Isabel watched as her best friend scooped up her coat, handing it over before shutting off the computer monitor. Claire settled her hands on her hips and glanced out over the rest of the small office before nodding and moving toward the door. Halfway out of the door she stopped short, almost stepping into Noah, causing him to tip the coffee cups and slosh them a bit. He caught and curbed the movement before they spilled.

“Shit, sorry Noah. I forgot about the coffee.” Claire gave him a pert smile and Isabel winced, “We’re going out. Thanks though.”

Claire was already out the door and half way down the stairs when he passed his sister a growling glare, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m sorry mi hermano.” She leaned in, kissing him on the cheek. “You know she’s flighty.”

He gave her a softening glance, “She’s not flighty, she’s fucking vacant.”

Isabel downed her head, glancing at him through full dark lashes, “I love you.”

“Damn well better.” He started drinking from one of the mugs, “Call if you need a designated subway rider.”

“I’m not gonna drink that much.” She explained. “I haven’t eaten much today and I think I’m gonna call him tonight.”

Noah nodded as she moved out the door, pretending to believe her. “Uhkay.”

********************************

She really hadn’t had that much to drink but it was settling into her stomach and aching her lungs by the time she and Claire had really gotten into what happened. Her tall redheaded friend had demanded that she talk about it, brooking no argument from Isabel’s side. Really, she supposed she did need to explain it to someone who wasn’t connected, just to get it out from inside her. Instead of letting it fill and consume from the inside out. She was halfway through her third Malibu Coke when Claire tossed out her hands, shaking her head at Isabel’s description of the event.

“Aww kid.” Claire called her ‘kid’ often enough, though she was only three years older. “That’s horrific. How were the cops?”

Isabel shrugged, “All right. The main detective is a woman. All the other guys just stood around giving me these big deer-in-headlights looks until she got there. Like they expected me to turn into a pile of quivering Jell-o at any moment.”

“A man just can’t handle an upset woman.” Claire finished off her drink and waved toward the waitress for another, one of the silver rings on her fingers glinting in the light from the antique hanging lamp above their heads.

Isabel studied her for a moment, remembering the instant jealousy she’d felt for the other woman the first time they’d met. Claire was tall and lean, winsome limbs and long red waves of hair. There was a crisp translucent paleness to her skin that was less sickly and more ethereal. Her features were strong but elegant and she had the most intoxicating jeweled green eyes. Claire Taggert looked exactly how Isabel had always wanted to look while growing up a short Latina girl in central Brooklyn.

When they had first met, Claire bringing in some of her artwork on a trial basis for the gallery, Isabel had desperately wanted to despise her. The combination of her looks and her talent for mimicking the most famous of Impressionists had Isabel nearly growling and baring fangs in her direction. Still, there had been a flamboyant and idealistic air to the woman, an innate happiness that was often infectious. Noah still couldn’t stand her demeanor, because it was so distinctly opposite his own sometimes cynical and often morose attitude, but Isabel had fallen for it easily. And the fact that the redhead had hit on her within the first hour had most assuredly pumped her ego, even if she did gently turn her down.

“So this detective.” Claire flicked her a smile, “Is she a ‘Cagney and Lacey’ Tyne Daly or a ‘Judging Amy’ Tyne Daly?”

Isabel couldn’t save the smirk, “She’s pretty’ish.”

“Ish?”

Isabel nodded slowly, knowing that Claire was fishing for her next date. “Blonde, tall, skinny, business suits, Doc Martins.”

Claire gave her a cascade of laughter, “Perfect.”

Isabel added to the other woman’s laughter, knowing it was exactly what she needed. She knew, internally, that she could rely on Noah to be there when she needed solemnity, when she needed to pout and wallow and cry. The same way she knew that Claire would be the one to make her let it go, in laughter or a smile, an inside joke that blocked the outside world as well as blood stained bathrooms. It was as though the two of them knew it as well, handing her off, relinquishing control to the other as her needs shifted. She was being taken care of, and at the moment she didn’t necessarily mind.

“Brannon Grady.” Claire sobered slowly, a smile still twitching her thin lips, “I know that name.”

“Photographic journalist.” Isabel added. “He did a lot of September 11th stuff. He was on Newsweek’s payroll for awhile. Freelance in Sarajevo and Kuwait.”

The redhead nodded slowly, pulling another swallow of her drink, “You’ve got some of his personal stuff in the West Room.”

“How do you remember that?” Isabel demanded, voice going higher in pitch, “I knew I recognized the name but Noah found it for me.”

“You weren’t really in the mindset to remember that kind of stuff though, were you?”

There was a lace of arrogance in the other woman’s voice. Or rather something that could be construed as arrogance. Isabel knew that really it was just Claire’s way of speaking, the rhythm and cadence. The tone she used when she distinctly knew that she was right. Isabel just shrugged it off, turning her glance out over the rest of the bar, watching as people drank their sorrows out of barely clean glasses. She could feel Claire’s eyes on her, knew that the other woman was waiting and calculating her thoughts, checking them before letting them off her lips.

“What?” Isabel slid her glance back, catching the other woman’s worried eyes.

Claire just nodded and took another drink, “You’re gonna call him. I know you.”

“Is there really something wrong with that?” she demanded, pushing away her half empty drink, sick of people judging her actions and suspected motives.

Her best friend looked down, “Just watch how far down that rabbit hole you go, Alice.”

Isabel swallowed the sour taste in her mouth, “Oh, don’t throw Lewis Carroll at me.”

******************************

He’d finished cleaning up everything in the gallery, except for the untouchable mess in the women’s rest room, before locking the doors behind him. Noah headed east, taking the first subway entrance he got to and riding the underground train until he made it to Greenwich. The train had been grubby, full of hot breath and stagnant air and he felt much more comfortable when he broke onto the surface, taking the stairs two at time and coming up at the corner of Lafayette and Bleeker. He let his sneakered feet carry him easily to Emmanuel’s doorstep.

He let his fist fall lightly on the door, knocking softly so that if his lover was already asleep then he could creep away in his own dejected silence. After a few brief moments Noah turned, shaking it off and lifting his jaw, starting to step away. He was stopped by the opening of the door, Emmanuel leaned against is, phone perched to his ear as he let out the opposite hand, looping Noah’s wrist with his fingers. The older man pulled him in slowly, nodding into the phone.

“Si mama.” he rolled his eyes at Noah as he shut the apartment door behind the both of them. “Pero, tengo que leer los papeles de mi clase.”

Noah studied the tall and well built man, watching him try to get off the phone with his mother, a half amused glint in his dark eyes. He watched Emmanuel lean back against the door, phone tucked between a muscular shoulder and his ear, thumbs tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. Noah peaked over the other man’s slim waist and down his long denim clad legs before glancing back up, running his eyes over the gray hair that speckled into short dark hair.

“I really need to go Mama.” Noah noted the use of English, knowing that it was Emmanuel’s way of brushing off the rest of his mother’s conversation.

He pulled his glance from the other man and moved into the cramped living room, noticing the papers strewn over the coffee table and couch. He shucked his coat, letting it hang over the back of the couch before he toed off his shoes and tucked them underneath the piece of furniture. It was a recognizable and comforting routine to follow as he listened to the other man close the conversation with his mother.

“You shouldn’t just cut her off like that.” Noah commented when he felt long and sinuous arms wrap his chest from behind, “Someday she may not be around to harass you about your eating habits.”

Emmanuel nodded into him, breath brushing warm onto his neck, “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“How was class?” he questioned the older man, leaning his head back as Emmanuel just tugged him tighter into his chest.

The older man shrugged, “My students are hardly truly interested in the effect the plague had on medieval literature.”

“Can you blame them?” Noah grinned.

Emmanuel just shrugged it off, “I suppose not. How’s Isabel?”

“She just ran off with Claire.” he could hear the petulance in his words and tried to curb it, drawing in a sigh, running fingers against Emmanuel’s hands. “Not that I didn’t expect it.”

The literature professor unlinked his arms, stepping away slowly so that Noah could regain his balance, before moving past him and toward the small but brashly lit kitchen at the back of the apartment. Noah followed him with a slow gait, watching as Emmanuel leaned into the refrigerator and snatched out a half empty bottle of Pinot, tugging off the cork and tossing it on the counter.

“You can’t really blame her Noah.” Emmanuel shifted his small framed glasses back up on his nose, looking the younger man over briefly before setting the bottle to the counter and reaching for two thinly stemmed wine glasses, “She can’t just run to you all the time, for everything. You’re her little brother. Not her savior.”

“I know.” Noah defended quickly.

Emmanuel nodded with a high browed glance that told Noah he was really just placating him, “Of course you do.”

“Don’t - ”

The other man just lifted a hand, “You’re not pissed at me Noah, so don’t take it out on me. Have a glass of wine and let it go. Then you can tell me the rest of the story.”

He just took the proffered glass in silence.

Nano 2006 - Part Two

2006-11-13T02:51:31Z

She watched the water tuck and swirl against the drain, the color a milky brown. The combination of the other woman’s blood and her soap was wringing a strange scent over the room and Isabel just stood and waited for it to disappear. Waited for all the color to run from her skin, leaving the water at the bottom of the tub clean and clear. She decided easily that it was all taking too long and she started scrubbing at her skin with frantic fingernails.

*********************************

She was feeling better later. Enough so that she did actually eat some of the disgusting cookies that she’d always pretended to adore while watching her brother dance around in her small apartment kitchen to Gloria Estevan. His hair was falling into his face, dark curls that had been allowed to grow too long were waving in front of his eyes as he danced around in wool socks and jeans. Isabel just watched him, letting his actions soothe her, letting his humming smooth the frayed edges of her nerves.

Suddenly his movements stopped and he turned a glance toward her, “Have you decided how long you’re keeping the gallery closed?”

Isabel shrugged, “Until I can get it cleaned up and the police officially release it.”

“So essentially,” he turned down the music, hand twisting at the knob on the small countertop stereo. “No work tomorrow.”

“Probably not.” she groaned, stretching her arms forward, twisting her wrists. “Although I will probably run up to the office, get some paperwork, get the mail.”

“Keep busy.” he nodded, turning the music back up, hips swerving once again while he lifted his hands. “I’m gonna go dancing tonight. Sleep all day tomorrow.”

Isabel just nodded, watching as he stopped, body freezing sharply, “Unless you need me here. I can stay. I’ll stay. Sorry, I didn’t think about it.”

“You can go Noah.” she let off a laugh with the words. “I’ll be okay. Really.”

“I’ll be home by one.” he pointed at her. “I won’t stay out all night.”

She flashed him a weak smile, “Bullshit.”

**************************************

He honestly didn’t know what to do. Whether is was better for him to stay and wait and see if she needed him to comfort her, or if he should just get out of her way and let her figure things out for herself. In the end he decided to leave, seeing how quickly she was becoming annoyed with his softened words and meaningful looks. He’d rather be gone for part of the night and come back to find that she missed him, than be there all night, letting her plow into him for various things. Including the fact that she was his sister and he cared about her.

Instead of wondering on it anymore Noah just showered, noting that she’d been in the small shower stall long enough to use up all the hot water. But then he couldn’t really complain, considering that he wasn’t actually paying rent and had only been covering the utilities since he had moved in a few months before.

He let the soap lather against his skin, the tone of his body a shade lighter than his sister’s, trying not to think about the darkness of her eyes in the wide white room. The cold water moving him quickly through the shower routine. By the time he was out and brushing his teeth, spying on her as he leaned out the open bathroom door, she was huddled on her hand me down couch, knees tucked up against her chest, eyes dazed and an unopened book clutched in her hands.

“You sure you don’t want me to - ”

Isabel gave him a tiring glance, “Just get the hell out Noah.”

**************************************

It had taken two hours of idleness, motionless sitting and thinking of nothing but a dead woman to actually get her moving again. Some two hundred minutes after Noah had left she’d dug the blonde police detective’s business card from her jeans pocket. Dialing the hand written cell phone number without a thought to the late hour. Isabel was leaned hard into the back of her couch, phone tucked to her ear as a distinctly impatient voice answered the rings.

“Detective Darren.”

“Sorry to bother you,” her free hand rubbed idly against the almost threadbare knee of her jeans. “I just needed to ask a few questions.”

“Ms. Rios?” she could hear the small lightening of the other woman’s voice.

She nodded to herself, knowing the detective couldn’t see it, “Is this a bad time?”

“What can I do for you?”

She questioned herself for a moment, second guessed her reason for calling. It was stupid, thoughtless and really just a bit immature. But then, she had to know who the woman was and what her reasoning had been for ending her own life. Isabel shifted once, letting her legs stretch out over the plump cushions of the couch. She inhaled sharply and just let the words fall off her lips.

“Is there a way for me to find out who that woman was. I mean, can you give me that information?” she knew she was talking rapidly, feeling a bit pathetic for being this obsessed. Still, she wanted to know. Needed to know to reconcile it in her brain.

“After the family is notified I can release the name.” Serah Darren’s voice had taken on a professional edge, but it wasn’t necessarily rude or impatient as it had been earlier. Her tone was a bit more understanding than it had been all day. “And I’ve let the next of kin know. I can only release the name though. Finding out anything else would have to include some of your own detective work, within legal limits of course.”

“And - ”

“Aston D. Grady.” the detective spelled the name distinctly, voice crisp and clean over the phone. “I notified the next of kin, Brannon Grady. I’m sorry but that’s all I can give you.”

Isabel just nodded, scrambling at the small table beside the couch, writing both names on the back of the other woman’s business card, “And you still want me to meet you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Just for some follow up information.” the blonde woman added, “You can get to the station all right?”

“Yeah.” Isabel nodded, breathing deeply before speaking again, “I’ll be fine.”

*********************************

She turned off her cell phone, watching it shut off as she stood, leaning against the back of her desk chair. Serah glanced out over the messy police office, watching as the people working the night shift got things started, working on reports, making phone calls, other busy work until they were called again. Other detectives were pulling on their coats and gloves and other winter accessories to ward off the cold. Some of them had already left. She passed a hand against her computer monitor, turning off the screen but leaving it running, knowing that someone else may use it, moving slowly as she wondered at the phone call she’d just received.

Isabel Rios wasn’t necessarily a reliable witness. She’d been shaken and upset when Serah had first attempted to question her. To be completely honest, she had been down right surly and almost uncooperative by the time they had finished with the questioning. But then Serah knew, from being on the job too long, that people dealt differently with events like this. And the Latina woman had seemed much more polite and reserved on the phone. Almost embarrassed that she had called for the information.

She didn’t blame the gallery owner for wanting a name. If she herself had been the witness to someone killing themselves, waiting with a dying woman and half soaked in blood, she would have wanted a name too. And a reason. It’s what both of them really wanted, or rather what the both of them needed.

***********************************

It was a familiar name. Not the woman’s, but the name Brannon Grady rang over and again in her head. A niggling in her brain that set her up on her feet, pacing. The woman though, Aston. While the name wasn’t necessarily familiar the face had been. Isabel wondered what the ‘D’ stood for. Whether she had children. If Brannon was her husband and whether they were still married or divorced. Most of all she wondered on what would have led the tall brunette to off herself in a considerably strange public place.

They were connected to the gallery somehow. That much she knew. They weren’t a part of her family, and she was fairly sure that they hadn’t come out of her distant past. They weren’t school friends or even enemies. Somehow, she’d seen or heard evidence of the both of them in the gallery, long before she’d stepped into a blood soaked bathroom. She was leaned against the sill of her small fire escape window, forehead pushed against the cool glass when the phone rang, her body jumping against the sound.

She wanted to ignore it, wanted to just pull the plug on it, leaving her an unconnected void in the world. She knew though, that if she did that, Noah would have a fit. And she was placing bets against herself that he was the one calling, probably to check on her. Isabel loved her little brother but she found him considerably annoying at the best of times.

She swiped the handset up and clicked the button in frustration, “I’m fine Noah. No preocupe.”

There was the dead click and hum of disconnection on the other end.

***********************************

Brannon let the phone fall lightly to the kitchen table, mentally cursing himself for having called so late. Having called at all. He shouldn’t have even picked up the phone, let alone dialed the number. But then he’d spent half an hour just looking for Isabel Rios’ business card in his desk. He’d only kept it as a reserve. A back up if he needed some extra cash. She’d been good to him a couple times, buying up some of his better photos, but they hadn’t spoken in almost twenty months. And now he knew he shouldn’t have kept the card. Even if he told himself it was because of his art and not because someday he’d catch the nerve to call and beg her to dinner.

He pushed the phone away and turned in his kitchen, tipping his head toward the doorway, glancing out over the half lit living room to find his niece still tucked into one corner of the couch, her long mop of curls the only thing that he could see under the multi-hued afghan that he’d wrapped her in. Brannon stayed where he was for a moment, watching to be sure that he could see her breathing, the steady rise and fall of her body as she slept wrapped in the blanket.

When he was sure of her safety he turned back to face the brashly lit kitchen, sliding his feet against the floor quietly. Brannon brushed some disorderly brown locks of hair off his forehead and bit against his bottom lip. Reaching for the top cupboard above the sink, he pulled out a bottle of scotch and a thick bottomed glass.
By the time he’d gotten the bottle open, he’d decided against using the glass.

*************************************

Knowing that should he call while she was gone, he would go into hysterics wondering where she was, Isabel easily dialed her brother’s cell number, toeing on her shoes while she waited for him to pick up. When he did there was a hell of a lot of background noise and she pushed the phone closer to her ear to pick his voice out of the din.

“Noah?”

“What’s wrong?” the sound was getting fainter as he poke, his voice slowly becoming the most prominent sound while the rest of the jumbled music and shouting voices quieted, “You need me to come home?”

“No. I’m leaving.” Isabel pulled her keys from her pocket, leaning into the frame as she undid yanked at the thick apartment door, “I’m heading to the gallery.”

“Why?” there was distracted worry breaking up across the crackling cell reception, “Why are you going back there in the middle of the night? Are you crazy? It’ll be fucking spooky in there.”

Isabel shut the door hard, checking it to make sure it was locked while she tucked her cell tighter between her ear and shoulder, “I have to look some stuff up. Relax Noah, I’ll be all right. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“I’ll meet you there.” he demanded and before she could deny him he’d hung up on her.

************************************

He ended up watching the four year old sleep, back bent and slumped in the decade old easy chair, legs splayed out and stretched straight against the thin carpeting. Brannon had pulled off his glasses and set them to the table beside him, the bottle of scotch tucked tight in one fist while he rubbed against his stubbled jaw with the other hand.
He wasn’t sure how to tell her. What to tell her.

He didn’t know how to tell a small child, innocent and bright, that her mother had abandoned her. That Aston had been selfish and depressed enough to kill herself, without a backward thought to the two of them. Brannon pulled another swallow, watching as the little girl shifted in the couch, rolling onto her back and flopping a short arm out from under the blanket. The movement almost gave him a smile but he just looked over the child’s face instead, seeing his sister reflected in the long jaw and the short nose. There was something of Aston in the small girl’s eyes as well and he was just as happy to see them closed right now, rather than having them stare him down in sadness.

He didn’t know what to do to be a good parent. All he knew was that he’d never really appreciated the way Aston mothered the girl. His sister had always been in too much trouble to give her daughter any considerable attention. Too drunk or high, too caught up in a new man who would always end up leaving her. Now he felt a bit hypocritical for his out right disparagement of his sister’s parenting abilities. He wasn’t sure he could fare any better.
When put to it, he’d hidden in a twenty four year old bottle of scotch.
Now he was halfway through it and he still couldn’t figure out how to tell her that her mother was dead.

*********************************

“I told you not to worry about it.”

Noah nodded, “Shut up and unlock the door please. It’s fucking freezing out here.”

There was a slight flush in his cheeks and she couldn’t decided whether it was the mid November cold, the alcohol that lingered in his mouth, or the fact he’d been dancing his body around with countless other men in one of the gay dance clubs he liked to frequent. Isabel just looked down, fumbling the right key into the lock and shoving open the door, trusting him to nudge it closed and locked behind them.

“I talked to Detective Darren.” she informed him, watching as he flicked all three of the locks that were lined down the edge of the door. “She gave me the woman’s name.”

“And?” he turned his head, brushing one leather gloved hand into his hair, pushing it off his face with light fingers, “Did you know her?”

“The name wasn’t really familiar, but the next of kin was Brannon Grady.” Isabel squinted a little in his direction, “Does that ring a bell?”

Noah tipped his head, “It does. An artist?”

“Seller?” she shrugged, “Buyer. I have no idea. That’s why I came down here.”

“And what was the woman’s name?” he questioned, shuffling her down the dark hallway, hand reaching out past her to snap on the gallery lights.

They both blinked against the sudden bright white flash of high wattage lighting, “Aston Grady.”

“They had an eclectic parentage.” he murmured. “Maybe they had a sister named Moon.”

Isabel gave him a low energy glare before moving away from him, heels echoing against he hard wood floor of the main gallery room. Noah followed slowly, watching the way she walked with a sudden purpose. There was still a slight slump to her shoulders but she was moving faster, more intently.

“I dunno. I figured they were husband and wife.” she tossed back. “I’m gonna check the records and see if either name crops up.”

Noah shrugged, “And what am I supposed to do? Watch the door for men in dark clothing?”

“Something useful.” she gave him a weak smile before heading toward the stairway that led to the upper level. “I’m hungry.”

“You ate half a batch of cookies.” he answered back, already heading toward the café corner, still tucked in his coat and gloves, “You think this is all part of some black market, underground, art thing?”

Isabel’s voice carried as she paused on the stairs, looking across the spacious room to her half brother, “I don’t think it was murder.”

“Why not?” he turned up his jaw, walking backwards as he spoke to her, “If it was we could have a book deal.”

“She wanted to die Noah.” she broke his glance, eyes falling to the stairs before her, hand gripped hard and tight to the railing. “I could see it.”

He suddenly felt a thick remorse for the way he’d been referring to that afternoon, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Want a sandwich then? The pre-wrapped stuff for tomorrow was probably already put together.”

“And coffee?” her face lifted again and he could see that she’d regained some composure.

Noah groaned, “You’re gonna turn into a mocha latte.”

“No soy, please.”

*************************************

“You want the Sweet Rachel or the Reuben?” he danced two plastic wrapped sandwiches in front of her, waving them between her and the thick wood desk she was leaned into. The carafe of coffee was hooked between his forearm and torso, hip flared slightly, ceramic mugs hooked on thin and nimble fingers.

Isabel rubbed a distracted and flippant hand against her forehead, “I hate corned beef. Gimme the Rachel.”

“They’re both on grain breads,” he set one of the sandwiches in front of her, “I don’t wanna hear it. And I only made regular coffee. Live with it.”

For the moment she ignored the fact that he was endlessly harassing her about her carb intake and instead just set a hand on the wrapped sandwich, the other arm pressing onto the paperwork before her. Isabel cast a glance at the computer screen in front of her, letting a solid huff of breath pass her lips.

“Nothing in the computer seller listing. Nothing so far in the buyer records.” she waved over the stack of receipts and other papers. “Nothing with the name Grady on it.”

“You’re sure that they’re connected with the gallery?” he’d already ripped open the plastic of the sandwich, biting into the Reuben on rye with zeal. He chewed for a minute before swallowing hard, “Maybe it’s family related.”

“What was your gut feeling?” she started picking at the plastic, tugging it open quickly, realizing how hungry she was. “My first thought was the gallery. And I think I’ve seen that woman in here before.”

“Previous owners?” he wrapped the words around a bite of sandwich and shrugged, “Maybe it’s the building more than anything else.”

She just shook her head, pulling off a ragged section of the sandwich and chewing on it while she looked back to the computer, a perpetual frown cast on her features. Isabel let off another disheartened shrug and picked up the sandwich, eating quickly while Noah poured two cups of steaming coffee. She squinted brown eyes at him while swallowing, reaching for one of the two ceramic mugs.

“What?” he cast a glance down, checking to make sure he hadn’t dumped anything on his shirt.

“Earlier. You said artist.”

Noah shrugged, eyes wide and watching as she stood, leaving the sandwich but taking the coffee as she headed to the door to her office. He followed her easily, still taking considerably smaller bites of his sandwich as she took the stairs quickly. Noah moved slower down the staircase, watching as she moved through the gallery, piece by piece, eyeing the plates that were fixed beside each work of art. Without a word to stop her he turned as he reached the bottom step, heading in the opposite direction and glancing over each of the artists’ plates with slow steps.

He’d moved easily into one of the small off set rooms, organized and dedicated mostly to photography when he paused, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He swallowed hard, nodding as he looked over the various black and white photos that were mounted over one entire wall of the room. Noah took a solid drink of coffee before turning to the open doorway.

“I found him Iz.”

She was beside him in moments, hands still hooked around the warm mug as she looked at first the nameplate and then each photograph. A smile broke over her face and he studied each of them as well. There were eight photos in all, each of them with a pleasing angle, but a different subject. Isabel stopped hard in front of one of them, reaching a hand out to touch against the edge of it without a thought to the various signs telling people to keep their hands to themselves.

“I found her.” her hand drew back and pressed against her mouth before she ran it down her throat. “She’s in this one.”

“Are you sure?” he leaned in beside her, “It’s just a profile.”

He glanced over the image of a woman and child, the older female’s head turned almost away from the camera, the child laughing toward it, eyes squeezed shut and mouth wide open in full blown humor. He couldn’t help the smile, studying the little girl’s new teeth and light curls. There was an elephant dressed as a ballerina on her t-shirt, barely visible but easy enough to make out if the viewer really looked.

“It’s her.” Isabel nodded, “Holding the girl. I don’t know why I didn‘t remember her in this picture.”

“Because you can’t really see her face. You wouldn’t have committed it to memory.” he explained lightly.

The woman in the photo was mostly cast in shadow but Noah could make out the long lean line of her jaw and the straight fall of her hair. There was no title listed on the plate but the date that the photographer, Brannon, had given her was only two years old. Isabel nodded, recalling that she’d purchased the photographs more for the angles he used, his use of shadow and light and the crisp quality of each picture, not necessarily the substance of the image.

“So now what?” he questioned, turning away from the picture, trying not to think about the little girl laughing. “You gonna just call him up? Hi, I was with your wife, sister, daughter, whatever, when she bit it. Sorry about that. Have a nice day.”

“I wanna know why.” he noticed the perfunctory way she crossed her arms against her chest as she said it, the telltale pout of her voice that told him she was just getting started and she was going to be stubborn.

Noah shook his head, “I’m not sure he would have an answer for you Isabel.”

“But he’s got to know something.” she cast him a hopeful glance, “Right?”

“Is this turning into a crusade?” Noah questioned, trying to block the bite from his words and failing a bit.

She just gave him a passing glare before stepping toward the photograph and unhooking it from the wall. He watched as she tucked it against her chest with one arm, sipping at the coffee cup that was still tucked in the other hand. Isabel turned away, heading toward the main gallery room and he assumed back upstairs to get the phone number for Brannon Grady. Noah just rolled his eyes, heading back up the stairs behind her to wait while she did what she felt she needed to do, noticing that his coffee was fast turning cold.

******************************

Even after gleaning what information she had, Isabel had trouble sleeping. It wasn’t bad dreams that kept her awake, or worry really. It was a feeling that she needed to help. That she needed closure. And then she would chastise herself for feeling that she was the one needing closure when she wasn’t the one who had lost a family member.
But then, the situation was so odd. So unexpected and strange.
There had to be a reason.

She stretched out on the full size mattress, trying to figure an explanation and not coming up with anything plausible. Anything that could explain the downfall of a person’s will. She knew though that depression wasn’t just a phase and that suicide was sometimes a direct result. She rolled slightly, shifting onto one side, putting her back to the muted television in her bedroom and glancing at the photograph she’d nestled onto the top of her dresser, looking it over once again.

She couldn’t explain the obsession to understand.

*******************************

“Remember when Abuela Rosanna died?” she was freshly showered, hair still settled on her shoulders in damp curls.

Noah just nodded, trudging into the kitchen on tired feet as he foraged the kitchen for coffee and something to eat, “Finding your grandmother dead in her living room when you’re nine years old isn’t really something you forget Izzy.”

She ignored the sarcastic slice to his tone and just nodded into his words, “But remember how badly mama took it?”

Noah nodded, pulling out an unopened carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. He popped it open easily and started drinking straight from the cardboard carton, sitting hard at one of the mismatched kitchen chairs. His eyes were dark, skin sallow, and his hair was a mess. He gave her a bland glance and took another long swallow of juice.

“Think she thought about committing suicide?” she questioned, leaning into the table, arms pressing hard into the wood. “Do you think she was ever that bad?”

He shrugged, “Everyone thinks about it at some point. Yeah. She was that bad. What’s your point?”

Isabel shrugged. “I don’t remember ever thinking that I wanted to die.”
Noah arched a brow, “That’s it though. You don’t remember a time. That doesn’t mean that there wasn’t one.”

“I think I want to talk to him.” Isabel told him succinctly, standing and moving toward the small coffee pot. “Is that a bad idea?”

Noah didn’t answer, all at once too grumpy for this sort of discussion and worried about her need to insert herself into someone else’s drama. But then, she’d already entered the situation, and not because she’d wanted to. And that thought had him feeling some remorse for his morning attitude. He took a few more swallows of the juice, watching as his sister dumped the old coffee grounds into the plastic garbage can, ready to make another pot.

“How much coffee have you had this morning?” he questioned, intentionally keeping his voice stable and neutral.

Isabel nodded but didn’t look at him, “That’s your subtle way of telling me that it’s a bad idea.”

“Not necessarily.” he answered back quickly, “But it just happened yesterday. Give him some time. You can’t bring all your wounds to him when he’s the one that just lost a family member. I just don’t think he’d take it well. How well do you actually know this guy?”

“I’ve only spoken to him personally a couple of times.” she shook her head, turning and pushing her hips back into the counter, hands already tightening on the ledge. “I don’t even really remember what he looks like. And what do you mean my ‘wounds’?”

“Nothing.” Noah waved it off, “I’m just saying maybe you should wait. Give the man some time to process.”

She nodded, glancing down to her socked feet. Her head stayed tipped down, eyes studying the tile of the floor while he stood and moved toward her. She didn’t look up, just let him lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. Isabel smiled, knowing that he was just trying to be a comfort and that she shouldn’t have questioned him when he’d just woken up. Noah certainly wasn’t a morning person.

“You’ve got that thing with the cop today?” he asked, swinging open the fridge and shoving the almost empty carton back into it.

“Yeah.”

He was already halfway out of the kitchen, “Play nice with the police.”

*******************************

She stopped at the gallery long enough to pick up the mail and some of the paperwork she needed to work on during the day. There were people she needed to contact, as well as a few artists that she would need to reschedule with. Isabel had pile all of the paperwork into her leather bag before heading down stairs.

One her way out of the building she paused in front of the door to the ladies room, questioning whether or not she wanted to look. Her hand stretched out, fingers tapping along the door handle a moment before she finally just snapped her wrist back, hand passing along her black linen skirt. With a solid breath she stepped away from the mossy green door, heading toward the main entrance of the building.
She decided, as she let herself out and locked the gallery back up, that she would have the interior designer come back in to rework both of the bathrooms.

Nano 2006 - Part One

2006-11-13T02:48:14Z

This is what there is so far. It's a fairly large chuck. Almost a third of the 50,000 needed. Obviously I still need to check facts, spellings for pop cultural stuff, police stuff, timing, the usual.
I'm behind for today but I'm not writing tonight. I'm in a pretty horrific mood. Word count for the moment is: 16,122.
I'm going to work on it tomorrow morning before my job interview. Part of an unfinished scene at the end hasn't been posted. Hopefully I can catch up tomorrow.

The tile had been imported, expensive enough, but not ostentatious. Grey and white stone tile recommended by the designer that she’d worked with, argued with, wheeled and dealed with for almost seven months. But now it was stained, miniscule droplets and meandering drips of red flooding the walkway. Amoeba like pools of red were straining under the door of one of the white washed toilet stalls. At first glance, not really understanding what she was seeing, she wondered which of the staffers she could pay to clean it up. But the nagging glint of harsh red, the permanent cherry flash in her eyes, clicked in her mind.

It was like a horror movie.

Bathrooms were always the most dangerous rooms in horror movies.

That thought held her there, the toes of her high heels balanced and poised against her previously immaculate tiles, a mocha skinned hand shaking against her lower rib cage. She didn’t think of herself as a stupid person, but then, it had taken her this long to realize that someone was bleeding all over the public restroom of her newly opened art gallery. So she tried not to step in it as her hand slapped at the stall door, remembering that the police wouldn’t be happy if her size seven high heels landed in the middle of their evidential blood splatter. She was letting her thoughts chatter away so that she could pretend someone wasn’t bleeding to death on her newly installed Florentine tile.

“Do you need help?” the door was jammed shut, not necessarily locked, but there was a weight on it, something refusing her entrance. “I can help you.”
And the hysteria in her voice told the room that she was lying.

No one answered her and that silent moment was what she needed to gain some control, to ground her thoughts. Isabel moved back quickly to the entrance of the ladies room, swinging it open with a ragged push of her petite body, calling for help the entire time. She didn’t like the tattered string of her voice. It was all high pitch and worry but it was the scattered break in her voice that caught one of the staff member’s attention, a perky blonde art student who was working part time to feed her Marlboro and exotic clothing addiction.

“Call 911 Amy.” she let the door swing back again behind her, “Now.”

It was like the bathroom was flooding with slick red, as if she and the floor were sinking under it as it encroached on the porcelain sinks. She knew that, really, she was exaggerating the quantity, but then she wasn’t sure how much blood the body could lose before -
And the stall door stumbled open, a pale and gaunt female body tumbling from behind it.

The woman was tall but all her length had crumpled beneath a long torso and weak limbs, the fall placing her directly in the puddle of fluid. Isabel set her knees to the floor, feeling the stagnant cold of blood leech her nylons, inching against the hem of her skirt. The impact of the floor connecting with her knees lurched her body forward and she shot a hand against the stranger, fingers touching into dulled auburn hair, running against her scalp. She ignored that fact that it was a decidedly intimate pose and drew the woman’s head and shoulders toward her, cradling them with a rough breath and soothing hands.

“What did you do?” again there was a flicker of desperation on her words, trailing and skirting them. “I don’t know what - ”

But then she didn’t really need the words anymore, just her eyes as the nearly gray woman lifted both her hands, palms and forearms up, ribbons of blood making solitary stripes down each forearm. She let her free hand out, pressing a fixed grip against the woman’s slender wrist, trying to stop the pump and flow of blood. Her other hand was tangled in flat locks of hair, gripped hard against the other woman’s scalp. Isabel looked down over the stranger’s jeans and too large t-shirt. Then she caught the flicker of blue eyes, almost blank, almost hopeless, but mostly sublimely resigned.

“Why did you do this?” it was surprising how suddenly still and calm her voice had turned, honestly curious and concerned.

She knew from seeing the other woman’s barely parted lips, and the nearly transparent sheen of her skin that she wouldn’t get an answer. Instead the woman just tugged her wrist down, trying to free it from Isabel’s fisted fingers. At first she shook her head, about to deny the woman that was pressed into her lap. Instead she matched her eyes, seeing the pleading that was coming from unfamiliar blue eyes and a pale face. Isabel looked at her hand, already layered in blood. And then she let go, fingers uncurling as she dropped the weak arm down, letting it settle against a pair of worn jeans. She rested her red painted hand against the floor, using it to hold her body up, the other hand loosening as well, fingers running against auburn hair. She was absent-mindedly soothing the suicidal woman, trying not to pay attention to the whistled breathing that was steadily growing slower and slower.

She looked over the room, no longer caring about the tile or the sinks or how much it would cost to rework the room. Instead she turned her head from the woman, offering some shred of privacy, watching the door and counting the seconds until she could hear sirens.

**********************************

She’d never been a fan of police officers. She was even less impressed that all of the big surly uniformed men had waited until a diminutive blonde detective had arrived to speak with her. Isabel looked the woman over once, noting the tailored pant suit and the thick soled Doc Martins. With a wandering glance and a brief breath she listened to the monotone sound of the female detective’s voice, ignoring the words entirely.

“Ms. Rios?” the blonde leaned into her line of vision, interrupting her daze. “I’m sorry but I need these questions answered as soon as possible.”

Isabel crossed one smooth thigh over the other and turned back to the policewoman. “I don’t know who she is, why she did it here, or when exactly she started filleting her arms. All I know is that she did do it here and I don’t appreciate the fact that you’re using some almighty accusatory tone on me. It doesn’t work. I grew up in Brooklyn.”

The detective gave her a patented patient smile, a weakly made one that set Isabel’s nerves on edge. She turned her head slightly, watching as various people tromped in and out of the gallery’s rest room with a sense of authority. She leaned back in one of the overstuffed chairs that had been nudged up against the broad street windows, hands clasped tightly against the arm rests, fingers digging on smooth sage fabric.

“Just a few more questions and we’ll get out of your way.” the other woman nodded, “You’ll have the place to yourself again.”

Isabel let a ‘bullshit’ drift on her breath and just shrugged, swallowing against the sharp sting that was pressing her throat. She let the officer question her for at least another half hour, her answers tight and closing her throat. The words were hard to get out and she could feel pinpricks in her jaw, in her eyes. She mentally ordered herself not to cry, pushing away the urge as she shifted in the chair, head tipped.

“And you’ve never seen this woman before today?”

Then again…she had seemed a bit familiar.

“I dunno.” she shrugged. “I don’t know her personally but…maybe.”

“Was anyone else in the rest room?”

Isabel eyed her with a despondent glance, “I don’t keep a tally of who uses the rest room.”

“I mean while you - ”

“No.” she shook her head and looked down, one hand brushing her stained clothing. “There wasn’t anyone else in there.”

The detective nodded, her tight blonde ponytail bobbing once, “Did you check the other stalls?”

“Why would I have...no.” she waved off the question, tossed off the thoughts that the question was tossing in her brain. “Are we done here?”

She didn’t pay attention to the other woman’s answer.
Instead she headed upstairs, aiming for her office, slamming open the door.
She threw up in the garbage can, still swallowing against tears.

*****************************************

He was sacked out on his sister’s couch, wrapped in one of her fuzzy blankets while he watched The People’s Court and ate some of the leftover Halloween candy from a week before. The first two times the phone rang Noah ignored it, knowing from the caller ID that it was Isabel and that she probably just wanted him to cover an extra shift in the small eclectic café that was nestled in one corner of the gallery she owned. He wasn’t in the mood, so the first few times she called, he ignored her. It was the fourth time the phone trilled in the room that he finally slapped a hand toward it, swallowing the rest of a mini Snickers bar as he punched the ‘talk’ button hard with his thumb.

“I really don’t wanna work another eight hours this week Iz. I covered that extra six hours for Kay yesterday.” he let a little whine into his words, knowing that if he just kept playing at her then she would get frustrated with him and hang up.

Instead there was a slow calculation to her voice, methodical or mechanical, “I need you to bring me some clothes.”

Noah nudged the phone between his shoulder and his ear, listening for some explanation that his half-sister might offer. He was quiet for a few moments, wrestling open a Milky Way before finally letting off a dreadfully heavy sigh. Stuffing the small candy bar into his mouth as he questioned her order.

“Why? You looked fine this morning.” his head tipped slightly, “Did something rip?”

“It’s not just a wardrobe malfunction Noah. Can you just please get me some jeans and a sweater or something?” there was a hitch in her voice that easily had him on alert and he sat up, socked feet planted on the floor as he finished chewing the chocolate.

Noah swallowed hard, “You okay Izzy?”

“Don’t call me that.” the rubber band snap of her words had him already standing and toeing on his sneakers.

Noah nodded, “I’ll be there in a few, I gotta catch the train.”

“Yeah. The gallery’s closed for the day. Don’t forget your key.”

She hung up on him within the breadth of a second, long before he could ask why.

************************************

The subway wasn’t really as full as he’d expected. It wasn’t quite three thirty so the evening rush had just started, less of a rush and more of a steady trickle of barely tailored business suits and skirts and bottom shelf wool coats. He tucked the bottom hem of the worn leather jacket tighter against his hips, flicking a brief smile to the trim and toned black man that had just settled into the seat across from where he was standing. Still, the remembered sound of Isabel’s voice had him tossing off thoughts of chasing tail and just getting to the gallery instead.

Something strange must have happened for her to have shut down the gallery for the day, but then she’d been the one to call him so he was assuming that she was physically all right. There were random thoughts floating in his head and by the time the subway trained had reached his stop he’d narrowed it down to a fire that had somehow damaged her Anne Klein skirt and the white dress shirt, or a finitely planned robbery that somehow included his sister losing her clothes. Or waters pipes exploding all over the building and causing a wet white shirt fracas. Or health inspectors attacking her with their clipboards for allowing people to bring their dogs into the building when there was a café in it. But the requested change of clothing was really the part he couldn’t explain. Instead of trying, Noah hooked the faded back pack of freshly laundered clothes over his shoulders and moved easily off the train, sneakered feet heading toward the stairs and up to the still sunlit sidewalk.

*************************************

It was odd that the entirely gallery was empty. Even when she closed at night there were other staff members there. Usually someone from the gallery and a couple people who had been cleaning and closing up the café. At least one other person as well who would have been running the cash register in the gallery. There was always someone around to work the café in the morning when she came in early to set up. The absolute vacancy of it had her heart beating a little too fast and the blood roaring in her ears.

This time, she’d cleared them all out, standing alone in the middle of the spacious white walled room, eyes passing over the various styles and colors of the paintings, drawings, sculptures and photographs that were displayed around her. She tried to continually bring together a collection that drew on both high end talent and originality. Isabel had spent years putting together a modern collection that was cohesive but one in which each piece had its own individual life. Now, in a spacious and empty room, it seemed almost useless. Within the scope of the day’s events, what she did seemed a little futile.

She glanced up, noting the extraordinarily high ceiling that opened to the second level, showing the entrance to her personal administrative office. The second floor of the building was dark and she gave one last glance to the high ceilings and the circular lights that were fixed on ceiling runners and angled toward the artwork below. Without a thought she scooped the crumpled pack of cigarettes from her suit jacket pocket, eyeing the bent box briefly before pulling one out and lighting it. Isabel inhaled hard, staring up at the water sprinklers high above her head. Knowing that if she happened to set them off, it would just make a bigger mess in the ladies rest room. She let herself swallow against the smoke, listening to the thud of her pulse.

********************************

“I’ve decided, all on my little lonesome,” he turned and pushed back against the door, hands fumbling with the bag and his keys as he caught the click of the gallery’s main door shutting behind him, “that next time there’s an opening on the Supreme Court, that cute, little, Latina judge on The People’s Court should be the nominee.”

Noah frowned as he glanced over the entry way, a small white walled hall that led to the main desk. He’d expected her to be waiting for him, expected that she would be there, tapping her small foot impatiently with a stern look on her dark round face. Instead there was only the hollow echo of his voice. He stuffed the keys in his jeans pocket and turned back a hand, making sure the door was locked tightly before moving down the hall.

“Isabel?” it was a little creepy to not see anyone in the entry area. “You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m right here.”

Noah turned to her voice, studying the way she stood in front of the rest rooms, her head tipped and turned toward the muted green ladies room door. The public bathrooms were just two easily avoidable doors at the very entrance to the main gallery room, the softened shade of moss green going almost unnoticed.

Finally pulling his eyes from the doors he looked over his half sister, watching the way she crossed one arm against her rib cage, as if in protection, while the other arms dangled a cigarette. He let his face wrinkle into another frown as he watched a considerably long ash drop from the Marlboro and scatter to the polished hard wood. He glanced her over, intentionally discriminate as he glanced from her feet on up. There was an unappealing ruddy stain catching the hem of her skirt and parts of the tailored suit jacket, turning the gray material to a dark brown tone. Her shirt was smeared in red, her arms and hands lit with it as well. If he didn’t know better he would have thought maybe she had been on a painting spree. But he knew it wasn’t paint.

“What the hell happened?” his voice had suddenly turned dark and grinding, losing its flamboyance within moments. “Is that your blood?”

The bag dumped to the floor and he rapidly crossed the few feet that had separated them as she minutely shook her head. Noah gripped one hand loosely at her wrist, watching the smoke curl from the cigarette as he turned her, catching the large spots of burnished red that stained the front of her shirt. There were spots on her knees as well, the dried blood causing the fabric to stick to her skin. It wasn’t really that much blood, but it was decidedly enough for him to worry.

He finally looked up, noticing that the long black waves of her hair were mussed, the ponytail loose and messy, and she wasn’t wearing her reading glasses. “Isabel. C’mon.”

“I need to change and go home. I need to shower.” she tried to talk him off, forcing some form of sincerity into her words.

Her fake out only served to piss him off and Noah tightened his fingers against her pulse, gripping her to face him. He watched as she dropped the still half lit cigarette to the floor, the sharp toe of her shoe pinching it out, grinding out a hiss before she scuffed her foot back.

“Let’s go home.”

He shook his head, knowing that any use of force was worthless, “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Her hand fisted and she snapped her forearm against his thumb, pulling free as he headed toward the ladies room. When he turned back to her, one hand against the door handle he caught the darkness that had evenly shadowed her eyes, painting the usually caramel brown into a deep black. Isabel shook her head negatively, letting both arms cross defensively against her body. The movement made her seem weakened and Noah squinted at her before turning the door handle.

“We should get that off you before we go anywhere.” he reached for her but she let one foot back fast, stepping away from his hand as he pushed open the door.

“Noah, don’t.”

His darkening glance passed over the room, hand moving against his mouth and nose, “Jesus Christ. What happened in here?”

************************************

He let his hands grip against the edge of the counter while he waited for her to change, knuckles white and tight. He could smell the acrid scent of the coffee brewing behind him but his eyes stayed locked against the door to the men’s room. She had left him with very few answers and a wounded look, bundling her clothes to her chest and leaving him standing helpless in the large empty room.

Noah finally forced his hands from the counter, flexing the tightness from his knuckles and joints as he turned full circle in the small café area. He knew his way around well enough and the coffee was an easy distraction. Even if she didn’t drink it the process of making it had served to calm his nerves a little. He turned back again to glance at the door, hands still curling and uncurling into fists while he waited for her to come back out. He decided that if she wasn’t out in two more minutes he was going in.

“Stop glaring.” she was barefoot as she stepped into the gallery area, her heels dangling from one still unsteady hand, the rest of the marred clothing clutched limply against her chest. “It’ll give you wrinkles.”

The smile she passed him calmed him a little but not enough for him to really notice. It was a fake smile anyhow. All small white teeth and show, but nothing real, nothing in her eyes to tell him that she was all right. Noah nodded slowly, relaxing his features intentionally, looking down at his hands, flattening them on the counter top.

“You gonna tell me what happened Isabel?” She flinched when he said her name, his voice moving into a strong accent, the word lilting like it had when their Abuela Rosanna had said it.

She ignored it. “You made coffee.”
Noah let the frown cross his features again.

“You should put it in the paper cups. I wanna get out of here.” she dumped the clothing from her arms into one of the half full garbage bins in the café.

Noah watched her tug the bag from it’s container, knotting it closed with almost sure hands, quick and thin fingers. He watched her move from the garbage to the coffee pot, pulling two paper travel cups from the stack that was settled precariously near the industrial sized coffee pot, her shoulders straight.

He noticed then that she was regaining control. With the change of clothing had come a change of demeanor. Her long dark curls were pulled back in a tight and clean ponytail, smoothing in a line down her neck and back. She seemed infinitely more comfortable in the tight knit sweater and jeans. The pale, faded blue jeans and the black sweater suited her coloring more and her body had relaxed some. She was still pale and even her mocha skin tone showed it.

“You think I can call someone to clean that up?” her head lifted as she poured the coffee, eyes moving from her hand only briefly before she finished off both cups with a bit of cream. “I mean the ladies room. There are people that do that, right?”

“Don’t do that.” he shook his head, taking the coffee that she offered and watching as she leaned down to pull on her shoes. “Don’t just shove it all down and pretend it never happened.”

“What am I supposed to do Noah?” she straightened one pant leg before standing back up, shoulders thrown back and body suddenly a couple inches taller. “Wallow in it?”

“At least tell me.” he let the words out in a dejected whisper. “What happened?”

She didn’t say anything at first and he assumed that ultimately her silence was her answer. Noah just threw his hand up and started to walk away, the other hand stuffed hard into the pocket of his jeans, feet hitting the floor hard in an intentional stomp. He knew that he was being pouty, but he also knew that when she kept things too bottled up, she usually fell to pieces later on. And being her official piece picker upper, he was trying to head it off before it became a problem.

“She cut her wrists.” a stone calm fell between them as she spoke. “She went in the bathroom and slit her wrists. I dunno who she was. Why she did it here… I have to talk to the police again but I answered the questions I could. They’re investigating it.”

Noah nodded a couple times before turning back to her, sipping on the strong coffee before he spoke, “Are there really people that clean up shit like that or are you gonna make me do it?”

He started moving toward her as she shrugged, “I think there are companies that…”

“That’s a dirty job.”

She gave him a real smile this time, weak but endearing. He tightened his grip on the coffee before stepping into her, hooking the other hand against her waist and tugging her hard into a hug. Isabel’s hands dug against his hair, her face rubbed against his shoulder while she inhaled heavily. Noah just let her stand there for awhile, keeping her close and comforted until she didn’t need the contact anymore, her body leaning back from him.

“I can make those pecan, cranberry cookies.” he promised. “Let’s go home.”

Isabel nodded, “You know I never really liked those cookies. I just told you I did so that you wouldn’t cry. You were always crying.”

Noah gave her a mildly surprised glance, seeing the humor in her eyes and letting it calm his stomach. “Too bad. You have to eat them.”

“I’m not eating all of them.” they headed toward the main door together, coffee cups clasped in cold hands. “They’ll go straight to my hips.”

“They’ll go straight to mine too.” he demanded, “You have to eat half.”

Isabel unlocked the door and tugged it open for him, “You’re such a woman.”

NANOWRIMO 2006

2006-11-02T21:38:06Z

Another year. Another Nano.
Maybe I'll finish it this year.
Heh. So yeah. I'll be posting words counts and parts soon.
Probably a character list as well. Something fun. I need a word counter.

I know I've got over two thousand from yesterday, but nothing so far today so...it's off to work I go.

I'm leaving posts from 2005, as a back up.
Comment when you like something/hate something/think something is stupid.

WC and next part

2005-11-04T06:52:45Z

What is this? Part Four?
So yeah, I'm adding more to the Kate & Jayme part but...I gotta get out of this chair. And I need to sleep at some point.

Word Count for Day Four (at almost 2am): 6,541
So tomorrow (and I define tomorrow as after I wake up in a couple hours) I only have to write 126ish words to be on schedule.

Her desk was full, her phone was blinking, her head was pounding, and she couldn’t get the smell of his aftershave out of her nose. Kate ignored the phone, keeping an eye on the muted television, watching the yea votes far outnumber the negative ones. Her pulse was settling the farther apart the numbers got.
“Amy?!” there was a drastic edge to her voice, her hands flashing over the pile of post-its and message notes.

“Yeah?” The girl was snapping her gum. Again. And over and over again and -
Kate just flipped up a pile of papers, “This needs to be faxed.”
Another snap met her words, “Uhkay. Your husband called to remind you that the dinner with Senator Prescott is tonight.”

“I’ll call him back when the vote is finished.” she watched the twenty-something buoyantly flip her hair from her eyes. “Can you do something about the phone lines? I can’t talk to these people until after this is all - ”
“I’ll take some messages.” the girl moved her ultra long legs from view, closing the office door behind her.

Kate forced herself to lean back in the chair, stretching her legs out under the desk before crossing them, fingers digging along her forehead as she watched the TV with hooded eyes. She was chewing her bottom lip unknowingly, brushing her hair behind her ear. Her attention flicked off the television only momentarily to catch the lights on her phone go off, on by one. She intentionally avoided calling her husband, instead dialing a number she’d only recently memorized.

“You’re crazy.” his voice was lighter than she expected, “I bet you’re sitting in front of a TV and ripping Amy into pieces.”
“Shut up.” her words were so fast they became a barely perceptible grunt.
“Wow.” she could hear the smile in his voice, “You’re still grumpy?”

“I slept on a couch.” there was little humor to her tone. “What do you expect?”
“Make it sound pornographic.” he tossed over the phone.

“No,” she countered, watching the vote count again, swinging her chair sideways to the desk, “If I was trying to be pornographic I’d mention the fact that I slept on a couch, between your legs all night.”

Danny gave her a soft laugh, “Make sure that when you relay that message to your husband, he knows that you were fully dressed the entire time.”
“Like he cares.” she dropped the words quietly, “When’s Jill showing up?”

There was an expected silence before he answered, “Around six. Wanna come over?”
“Yeah probably, but Jake Prescott’s thing - ”

“Is at eight, yeah.” he agreed. “I’m going too.”
“Well,” she nodded, “that’ll be suitably awkward.”

-----------------

“I’m gonna leave before Jill gets here.” she offered quietly, watching as Jayme shoveled more gravy into his mashed potato masterpiece. There were mashed potatoes on his knuckle and a dab of thick gravy on one wrist.

Danny just gave her a harsh glance and a thick swallow, “Okay.”
“Hey.” her fingertips were brushing into his hair, “It’ll be awkward if I’m here when she shows up. I’ll talk to you at the Prescott’s.”

She made a quick exit, gathering her things while Jayme finished eating. He was pouting as she pulled on her coat, his eyes down turned against her shoes. She bit lightly on her bottom lip, hands open and loose at her side.
“C’mere and gimme a hug.” there was a gentle order in her words and he stepped toward her sullenly.

She tugged the boy as close as she dared without breaking something, running one hand against dark curls, running her fingers over the crown of his head. She caught the tug of one small hand in her hair and she just smiled, watching Danny rub a hand against his jaw as he watched them both.

“See you soon.” she told the boy, kissing his forehead.
He flashed a smile that matched his father’s, “See ya.”
She wished she could believe him.

-------------

“Congratulations.” his fingers were against her hair and it made her back tingle.
Not because she found any attraction in it but because it was the memory of a movement.

“Thanks.” there was a reflex arch along her spine when his fingers fell. “But it’s not like it was my thing, I just bullied people.”
Richard gave her a sideways glance, fixing his tie in the mirror, “But you do it so well Katie.”

She didn’t look at him while she picked through her jewelry box, fingers falling over the gifts from various years. Her fingertips settled and rested lightly on a sapphire and sterling bracelet he’d gotten her during the first Senate campaign. She handed it over to him without a thought, turning into his body as he pulled the slip of jewelry from her.

“I had the hardest time picking this out.” there was a smile tingeing his lips and he just barely gave her an upward glance before fastening I around her wrist.

“I don’t see why.”
He shrugged, “Because I never really knew whether or not I actually knew you until our marriage was over.”

Kate just ran her hand down his chest, catching the glint of silver, “What scares me is that I understood that.”