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Chapter 12
QuebecWill grabbed the armrest and pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing as he did so. He raised his left eyebrow.
“So . . . ever consider a career in professional boxing? You've got quite the right hook.”
His skin blanched and he sank back against the sofa. The room was spinning, and he felt like he'd been run over by a lorry.
Anne stood frozen in the middle of the room, tears welling in her haunted hazel eyes.
“I'm so sorry! So very sorry. I don't . . . I can't . . .” She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, in an attempt to keep from shattering. If that happened, she didn't think she could put the pieces together again. “I just . . . I don't know what to say . . .”
Will patted the cushion beside him in invitation.
Anne shook her head vehemently and clutched her body tighter. Her nails dug into the backs of her arms.
“Please sit. We need to talk about what happened. You panicked. Not blamin' you. I . . . can't begin to think what it must be like for you . . .”
“I . . . I hurt you . . .”
Will managed a wry smile. “Had worse at school, I'll wager.”
Anne took a tentative step forward and then another.
She carefully sat at the far end of the sofa, as far away from him as possible. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. If she held on to her own body, she wouldn't be able to strike out at him, if that unexpected rage returned.
“I don't know what's the matter with me. I hurt you, and for some reason, that surprises me. I guess I thought . . . I don't know what I thought. That I had the right to take my anger out on you and that would be okay? That you were some kind of . . . punching bag . . . and I could hit you and you'd bounce right back? Like a cartoon character that falls off a cliff and gets run over by a truck and is just a splat on the road . . . and seconds later, pulls himself up off the pavement and is fine? How could I think that? I don't understand any of this! But if somebody did to me what I just did to you, I wouldn't want to be around them, and now that you're not going to die, I should leave.”
“Well, I can't say that this has been one of the better afternoons of my life, but I don't want you to go. Please stay. There's obviously something odd occurring, and I think we'd best suss it out.”
Anne thought for a moment, and then nodded tentatively.
“Right, then. D'you suppose you could fetch me some ice from the freezer? And perhaps a towel to wrap it in?”
Anne jumped up; glad to be able to do something helpful for a change.
“Sure. I can do that. I'll just get the ice.”
“You don't happen to have a cigarette about?”
“No . . . I don't smoke.”
“Neither do I. Past few days I've been gettin' sudden cravings. Not sure what that means. I've never smoked; never had any desire to do so. Yet, right now, I'd bloody well sell m'soul for a fag!”
“No, you bloody wouldn't!”
“Sorry?”
Anne looked puzzled. “I don't know. I guess I just thought . . . souls make us human. And you shouldn't joke about losing yours. It might not be so easy to get it back.” She gave an embarrassed laugh. “I've been spending way too much time with nuns, I guess. All this talk about souls . . . I'll just get that ice!”
Will leaned his head back and shut his eyes. He hurt like hell—but he guessed he'd live. He worried about Anne, though. What kind of violence had she lived through? Will couldn't even imagine what her life must have been. He wanted . . .
Will rubbed the spot between his eyes, smoothing out the lines of concern that had formed. They made his right eye feel like it was on fire. His uninjured eye flew open as his thoughts coalesced. He wanted to show Anne that the world didn't have to be hard and cruel and violent. He had grown up surrounded by love—he had never doubted that no matter what trials and tribulations he may face during his life, they would not break him. His parents had loved and respected each other and they loved and respected him. They believed in him.
Whatever anchor Anne had was currently lost. She was alone and adrift in the dark of uncertainty. He wanted to bring her out of her darkness into the light with him. If she'd let him.
“I found some plastic bags and put the ice in them so it wouldn't soak through the towels.”
Anne gently positioned the smaller bundle over his right eye.
He smiled his gratitude and Anne caught her breath. How could he look at her like that after what she had just done to him? How could he show her so much compassion and caring when she had acted like a . . . a . . . an evil, disgusting . . . thing?
Anne tried to look away and found she couldn't. Will gave her such a sense of warmth and support and . . . belonging . . .
She slowly lowered her head until her lips were hovering just over his. He didn't move away. She touched his mouth gently and was preparing to retreat, when his hand encircled the back of her neck. She felt a flare of desire as he kissed her back. She gasped as his tongue traced the contours of her lips. He gently bit her lower lip and sucked it into his mouth. Anne pressed her body tightly against his and he groaned.
Wait! That wasn't a groan of desire. That was—his ribs!
Anne pulled away and frantically pushed his sweater out of the way. He looked worse than before—and was that bone supposed to be at an angle?
“I really think you need a doctor!” There was fear in her voice.
Will was having difficulty breathing.
“Mrs. Hatcher. She's the next place down the lane. She'll know what to do. Take the skis. It's quicker.”
Anne covered him with the afghan and jammed her feet into her snow boots. She grabbed his parka from the hook next to the kitchen door. It would be more practical than her own cloak.
She had no idea if she'd ever skied before, but these were short—not like the long, clumsy down-hill skis. She was sure she could manage these.
Anne hurried down the porch steps and looked closely at the skis. She could do this! She peered anxiously at the sky. The sun was close to setting and she wasn't sure she could find her way after dark. She took a few practice steps. No. Not like walking. Like . . . ice skating. Bending her knees, she pushed off and almost immediately found the rhythm. This was wonderful! She was gliding smoothly—this was totally better than walking!
Ten minutes later, she saw the lights. Turning off the lane, she shushed across what was probably the lawn when it wasn't all snow-covered. She hoped this was the Hatcher's place!
Anne unbuckled her skis and hurried to the door. A woman opened it, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Why, Will . . .” she began, recognizing the jacket.
“Mrs. Hatcher? Will's hurt. His ribs are all bruised and he's having trouble breathing . . .”
“I'll be right there.”
Mrs. Hatcher was back in a few minutes wearing snow clothes. She slung a backpack over her shoulder and reached for her skis.
“My Robbie has the truck.”
She quickly buckled her skis and pushed off. Anne was right behind her.
Mrs. Hatcher was obviously a woman of few words. That was of the good. She was prepared to deal with the emergency and didn't waste time with questions that Anne didn't know how to answer. Anne breathed a sigh of relief. She could just concentrate on getting back to Will as soon as possible.
“Oh, please let him be all right!”
**********Bath
Willow and Giles had spent a pleasant evening at the local pub, and were now on their way home.
“Y'know,” she said, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm. “Englush beer is mush stronger than 'Merican beer!”
Giles smiled. “I'm well aware of that. I did spend most of seven years in the States, after all.”
Willow giggled. “I think I'm shlightly inebriated.”
“The walk home should clear your head.”
“We don't have anything like a pub at home. Why don't we have pubs? Pubs. That's a fun word—'pubs'. We have bars. We have restaurants. We have restaurants that serve booze and bars that serve food but we don't have any pubs. We don't have meat pies—well, maybe stromboli—but we don't have pickle or ploughman's lunch or pubs. We're deprived!”
Willow stopped and gripped the lapels of his coat. “We need pubs, Giles! It's your solemn duty as an Englishman to bring English pubs to the poor, deprived Americans. I miss America! Get it? 'Miss America'? There she is—Miss Ah-mer-i-ca” Willow sang loudly.
Giles tried to shush her and stifle his own laughter at the same time.
How long had it been since any of them had let their hair down? When had they lost the joie de vivre? For the last three or four years they had all been so bloody serious. 'World saveage' was important, yes, but must it turn him into Quentin Travers—that pompous, humorless git—or Roger Wyndam-Pryce in the doing of it? There was something very wrong in the way they were living their lives if they needed the lubricant of alcohol to smooth off the prickly edges and be able to relax and enjoy themselves.
“—your ideal! Not my ideal. Miss I-want-world-peace-so-I'll-let-America-judge-my-physical-appearance-so-I-can-earn- scholarship-money-to-get-an-MBA-and-become-a-corporate . . . where was I going with this?”
“Haven't a clue, actually.”
“I want to go home, Giles! But I can't, can I? I don't have a home anymore. As bad and as scary as Sunnydale was, it was home. And now it's completely gone. Giles! I'm homeless!”
“As Thomas Wolfe discovered before you—'you can't go home again'. As adults, we need to remember that home isn't a place—it's a psychological space one creates within oneself.”
“Wow! That is really . . . deep, Giles. But, it's more than just Sunnydale. I miss my friends. I miss the bond we used to have and I want it back.”
“Yes, well, nothing can be done in regards to the Sunnydale Canyon—which, by the way, has become quite the tourist attraction, I understand—but friendship is another story. I would think that if you were willing to put the time and effort into re-establishing relationships, something could be accomplished. I don't believe one can recapture past relationships—none of us are the same people we once were—but there's no reason why new bonds cannot be forged, if the desire is there.”
“Make new friends, but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold. I want the gold back, Giles! The silver is bright and shiny and new and wonderful, but I want the gold, too!”
“As do I, Willow. As do I.”
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Continue to Chapter 13
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