Read Online Yarrow by Charles DeLint - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles DeLint
Tags: Science Fiction/Fantasy
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the sobs dwindled into sniffling. He fetched her a Kleenex that she accepted gratefully, though she wouldn't meet his gaze.
"God. I feel so… stupid," she said after she'd blown her nose.
Peter shook his head. He switched off the store lights to take away the glare, knowing she'd feel more comfortable if she didn't think he could see her too well. The room was lit by the light in the storeroom/kitchen, throwing her face into shadow.
"Don't feel stupid," he said, drawing up the chair he kept for visitors.
She kept her head down so that her hair spilled across her face. "I can't help it. I can just imagine what you're thinking."
"I'm not thinking anything bad. I'm wondering what's upset you, and hoping it wasn't me, but Jesus, Cat. People cry all the time. If you want to talk about it, I'll listen. If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay too. But don't feel embarrassed just because you let go for a minute."
"Yes, but…"
She looked up finally and Peter shook a finger back and forth in front of her.
"But nothing. I don't know what's upset you, but if you need a shoulder to cry on, it's okay. What do you think I'm going to do? Write it up as a news flash for Locus or something?"
Cat sniffled, but the beginnings of a smile started on her lips. "I can just see it," she said. "'Writer Has Breakdown in Sci-Fi Store.'"
"Ouch."
"Okay. Ess-eff store."
"Better. Not perfect, but better." He regarded her for a moment, wondering not for the first time just who the person behind the writer and occasional visitor was. "Say," he said. "You got anything planned for the next couple of hours?"
"No." Sniff. "Why?"
"Well, I thought maybe we could go out and get a bite to eat."
Cat put her hands over her eyes. They were a bit swollen and would look all red. Everybody'd stare at her and know she'd been bawling.
"Oh, no," she said. "I couldn't."
"Well, how about having something here? I can offer you leftover chili."
"No. I really should be getting home…."
Except she didn't want to go home. The cats were probably still off wherever it was that they went. She'd just sit there, knowing the typewriter was standing silent upstairs, feeling the big empty house all around her. It was funny— she never used to feel that way about it.
"Okay," Peter said. "I just know that when I'm feeling lousy, nine times out of ten I feel better just being with someone. But if you've got to go… Well, at least let me walk you home."
Cat barely heard what he was saying. She kept thinking of the big lonely house. And what if that man came by and stared at her again? She just knew it wasn't the first time he'd stood there. What if he did more than stare tonight?
"Earth calling Cat, earth calling Cat."
"What? Oh, I…"
If this was what it was like being real, Cat didn't know if she wanted to be real. Everything was wound up tight inside her again. She wasn't relaxed like she always felt in the Otherworld, but if she couldn't go night-visiting, she wanted to stay here. She couldn't go home. Not yet. But it was hard to get the words out. When she finally did speak, she surprised herself.
"Peter, I haven't written a word in three months."
As soon as it was said, she felt better. She realized immediately— just as she had with Melissa— that it wasn't such a hard thing to say after all. She stole a glance at Peter to gauge his reaction. Don't let him shrug it off, but don't let him make a big fuss about it either. God, she didn't know what she wanted him to do.
"Jeez," he said. "No wonder you're feeling so shitty. You must be climbing the walls. How'd it happen, do you know?"
"I…"
She wanted to tell him about Kothlen and the Otherworld, but everything closed up inside her.
"Hey," Peter said, sensing that she was beginning to withdraw again. "Why don't we talk about it later— if you're up to it. Meanwhile, let me show you how a rich bookseller lives."
The pressure inside her eased as soon as the subject was changed.
"I'd like that,"
"God. I feel so… stupid," she said after she'd blown her nose.
Peter shook his head. He switched off the store lights to take away the glare, knowing she'd feel more comfortable if she didn't think he could see her too well. The room was lit by the light in the storeroom/kitchen, throwing her face into shadow.
"Don't feel stupid," he said, drawing up the chair he kept for visitors.
She kept her head down so that her hair spilled across her face. "I can't help it. I can just imagine what you're thinking."
"I'm not thinking anything bad. I'm wondering what's upset you, and hoping it wasn't me, but Jesus, Cat. People cry all the time. If you want to talk about it, I'll listen. If you don't want to talk about it, that's okay too. But don't feel embarrassed just because you let go for a minute."
"Yes, but…"
She looked up finally and Peter shook a finger back and forth in front of her.
"But nothing. I don't know what's upset you, but if you need a shoulder to cry on, it's okay. What do you think I'm going to do? Write it up as a news flash for Locus or something?"
Cat sniffled, but the beginnings of a smile started on her lips. "I can just see it," she said. "'Writer Has Breakdown in Sci-Fi Store.'"
"Ouch."
"Okay. Ess-eff store."
"Better. Not perfect, but better." He regarded her for a moment, wondering not for the first time just who the person behind the writer and occasional visitor was. "Say," he said. "You got anything planned for the next couple of hours?"
"No." Sniff. "Why?"
"Well, I thought maybe we could go out and get a bite to eat."
Cat put her hands over her eyes. They were a bit swollen and would look all red. Everybody'd stare at her and know she'd been bawling.
"Oh, no," she said. "I couldn't."
"Well, how about having something here? I can offer you leftover chili."
"No. I really should be getting home…."
Except she didn't want to go home. The cats were probably still off wherever it was that they went. She'd just sit there, knowing the typewriter was standing silent upstairs, feeling the big empty house all around her. It was funny— she never used to feel that way about it.
"Okay," Peter said. "I just know that when I'm feeling lousy, nine times out of ten I feel better just being with someone. But if you've got to go… Well, at least let me walk you home."
Cat barely heard what he was saying. She kept thinking of the big lonely house. And what if that man came by and stared at her again? She just knew it wasn't the first time he'd stood there. What if he did more than stare tonight?
"Earth calling Cat, earth calling Cat."
"What? Oh, I…"
If this was what it was like being real, Cat didn't know if she wanted to be real. Everything was wound up tight inside her again. She wasn't relaxed like she always felt in the Otherworld, but if she couldn't go night-visiting, she wanted to stay here. She couldn't go home. Not yet. But it was hard to get the words out. When she finally did speak, she surprised herself.
"Peter, I haven't written a word in three months."
As soon as it was said, she felt better. She realized immediately— just as she had with Melissa— that it wasn't such a hard thing to say after all. She stole a glance at Peter to gauge his reaction. Don't let him shrug it off, but don't let him make a big fuss about it either. God, she didn't know what she wanted him to do.
"Jeez," he said. "No wonder you're feeling so shitty. You must be climbing the walls. How'd it happen, do you know?"
"I…"
She wanted to tell him about Kothlen and the Otherworld, but everything closed up inside her.
"Hey," Peter said, sensing that she was beginning to withdraw again. "Why don't we talk about it later— if you're up to it. Meanwhile, let me show you how a rich bookseller lives."
The pressure inside her eased as soon as the subject was changed.
"I'd like that,"
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