Chapter 26
The day of Eddie’s anniversary comes the way it always does – not like a sudden one punch knock out eclipsing Dani’s mind and forcing her to stay curled up in bed with Jamie next to her, seeking warmth and comfort and only occasionally getting up for certain human necessities (food, bathroom – that’s about it, and even then, if it were like that, Jamie would bring her food so that she wouldn’t have to get up at all) – but like that constant storm cloud you might see hovering over the horizon, told that it’ll sweep past you, but seeing it loom closer and closer, seeing the lightning flickering as the clouds grow darker and darker – swollen with rain and gloom and doom – and knowing, knowing that despite everything you’ve been told it will come straight for you anyway, knowing that if you are outside, you will be struck with lightning – even though it’s not even that likely of a chance in the first place, but just that absolute certainty pooling in the center of your chest as the wind grows harsher and harsher, so harsh that the thinnest branches on the trees break off and fly at your face, and the wind damage is enough, you don’t even need the storm, but it’s coming – it’s coming – it’s coming—
Dani can feel the storm looming on the horizon, and she stands in front of the window, and she stares out onto the clouds, breathing heavy, and doesn’t force herself to relax. The storm is here. The feelings are here. She closes her eyes and breathes. Let the storm come. Let the emotions come. Let them roll over and through you. Breathe and accept that they are here.
Easier said than done.
The anniversary should just be a pinnacle of grief, one that slowly fades over the years. Dani loved him – a part of her still does, if she’s honest with herself – and while she didn’t love him the way he loved her, Eddie was still her best friend. The best friend she’d had growing up. If he hadn’t died, she hopes they would have kept in contact. Even if they would have been exes – even if she had broken off their engagement – she likes to think they would have still been friends. Eventually. Eddie would have understood that it was better for him to marry someone else, for him to marry someone who was as excited to be with him as he was to be with them. That maybe having his eyes set on her that entire time blinded him to the very realities she had come to know and experience and come to realize were one hundred percent real the older she’d gotten.
1987 and mid-twenties and being born in the sixties during free love and realizing that hey, maybe this and trying to brush that aside because you knew the sort of stigma that came with it and then there was the disease, right as you were starting college, and watching the government prove over and over again that you were less than and now it isn’t just a social stigma – everyone you know personally will likely want nothing to do with you, but maybe they’ll change – now it’s a government sanctioned cultural stigma where the people you love will just think that you are a carrier of a disease—
It had taken so long to accept it. She hadn’t wanted to accept it. She hadn’t wanted to believe it. But as much as she fought against it, the feelings were still there.
Maybe, if she hadn’t met Jamie, Dani wouldn’t have pursued anything at all. That would have been easier. In fact, if Eddie hadn’t died, if she hadn’t felt like she needed to get out, to get gone, to get away from it all, she might’ve been an old maid. A crazy cat lady – except that she’s allergic to cats (not horribly allergic, just a sneeze here or there, but if she lived with one, it would be worse, and if she was a crazy cat lady? No, thank you).
It is hard to consider the what ifs of Eddie not dying. Most days, Dani doesn’t think about it. Most days, they don’t cross her mind. But it is impossible not to start thinking on it today, when half of her aches for the best friend she will never get to speak to again and the other half is afraid that he’ll suddenly pop into view just to remind her that their current situation is all her fault.
Dani wonders, briefly, if the storm she imagines looms within her as well, if Viola, on waking (if she ever does sleep anymore) finds it to be pouring down rain.
The thought of the creature in the dark, who has so recently been slowly
replaced with the image of Viola as she truly is, returns to that faceless being
she had seen at Bly, soaking wet, the white nightgown stuck sopping to its
skin, the hair a seaweed shine. She remembers the creature’s slimy wet
fingers clasped so tight on her throat as it dragged her, remembered being
unable to find a grip on it the same way it had on her, scraping at its skin so
wet that she can’t cling on. She imagines, briefly, Viola standing at the one
large window in that room of hers, seeing the rain patter down its panes,
and pressing her hand flat against it, her face slowly fading away as she
looms large inside.
The thought sends a shiver down her spine. She has enough to worry about with one ghost today without having to think about the other. Dani hopes that it isn’t raining in her mind, although she isn’t sure how completely she can control that. Perhaps simply hoping it will be enough. Of course, hoping that Viola won’t interfere is another attempt at something she knows she can’t control, so really, perhaps hoping that the weather in her head will actually listen to her might be far beyond her abilities, too.
She doesn’t know. She hasn’t tried before. And she doesn’t plan on going in to check today’s rate of success, either.
Dani sits up in bed and draws her knees against her chest. It’s early – too early. Jamie’s still curled up on her side, auburn curls scattered in her face, one hand outstretched under her pillow in a position that will just leave it feeling numb eventually. It’s an easy thing, her exhaustion, and its steady impact leads to full, necessary rest. Dani’s exhaustion is just as real but of a different sort; it makes it harder for her to rest, harder for her to be able to sink into comforting dreams. No, other than that which isn’t really a dream – the tucking away that finds her in Viola’s room in the back of her mind – all of her recent dreams have been nightmares. Much as she hates to admit it, the tucking away has been much more relaxing than her attempts at rest are. It doesn’t leave her feeling restless.
A quick glance over to her girlfriend again – Jamie snorts the slightest bit, the barest hint of a snore. It’s spring, and as much as Jamie might be almost impenetrable where allergies in her home country are concerned, it takes a bit of getting used to the new environment before she’ll be that way here. Her nose has been stopped up more often than not of late, and the box of Kleenex they have in their bathroom is so close to empty that they’ll be needing to buy another box or two soon. Perhaps that is something she’ll do—
Not today. There’s no fooling herself. Dani knows well enough that she won’t be able to be that productive today. Driving, walking along the sidewalk with the cars that like to zoom past and splash the inky, oily melting snow puddles into her face would be an absolute horror today. She knows this. She knows better than to try. Some days, you have to put your mental health first. So no, she won’t be getting out for more Kleenex today, but tomorrow, perhaps. Or the next day. She’ll feel better on those days. Not today.
Dani pushes herself out of their bed, careful not to rouse Jamie as she does so. It’s just the same as it was that first time at Bly – unable to truly rest, she feels the need to wander and pads on bare feet down their hardwood hallway to the kitchen. She fills their kettle with water and puts it on the stove, flicking it on and letting it warm while she picks out a packet of tea.
One packet. She remembers this vaguely from her time spent with Viola – the appropriate way to make a cup of tea is one packet in one cup. The problem is that without Viola with her, she isn’t sure exactly how long she will need to leave the packet in the boiling hot water.
Well. What better time than to play around with that than now?
Dani sets the singular packet into the bottom of her cup, lets the little string hang out over the side, and then waits. She moves the kettle from the stove just as it begins to whistle – it probably won’t wake Jamie. She hopes it doesn’t wake Jamie. She honestly hadn’t been thinking about that when she put the kettle on the stove. Does that make her a bad girlfriend? (Probably not as much as not being able to make a good cup of tea for a British native is. If Jamie can forgive her the transgress of the latter, than she will probably forgive her the former as well. Probably. She isn’t particularly worried about it.)
A part of her thinks she really should put multiple packets in the teapot and just let them sit. That would make it faster, wouldn’t it? Instead of having to reheat the water and get another packet? And then it would still taste good even when it had grown cold, and if it didn’t, she could just reheat the flavored tea the same as she reheated the water. This takes so much more work than making a pitcher of tea the way she normally does. It still doesn’t make any sense to her.
Still.
Dani pours the boiling water over her packet and leans up against their back counter, leaving the teapot on a pot burner, where the water will just grow cold while it waits on her to make a second cup. She leaves her packet in for a couple of minutes – not near as long as she left it while she was talking with Viola, at least, not as long as she thinks, but time doesn’t really seem to matter much there; she can spend what feels like hours talking with Viola and come back to the world after what must be only a few minutes at most. It isn’t that consistent – and then pulls the packet out by the little string she’d left hanging over the edge of her cup. She takes a sip.
Too watery. Not enough flavor. Yech.
She puts the packet back in and leaves it while she searches for their sugar pot and some milk. This one is a wintery, peppermint sort of tea, which is a more seasonal anxiety relaxer than the chamomile Jamie would normally prescribe, but it needs a bit of sugar to make it really candy cane flavored and a little bit of milk to cut the bitterness. Not that it’s too terribly bitter at the moment, but by the time it loses the water flavor, Dani is certain it’ll be bitter. There’s always a bit of bitterness to her tea, something that is sharp at the back of her throat. Of course, this hadn’t been the case when she’d been with Viola, but that had been different. Dani assures herself of this.
By the time she gets back to her cup, Dani is certain that it has been long enough. She takes her packet out, sips at her tea – yep, that’s plenty strong – and considers throwing the packet out before remembering, again, what Viola said – that she could just reuse the same packet later instead of getting a new one. It’s a weird thought, but she’ll give it a short. Then she drops three cubes of sugar in – that’s how many she had needed before for her singular cup – pours in a little bit of milk, and then lifts her cup and starts toward the living room only to be stopped by a figure looming just out of the hallway.
Dani jumps without thinking about it. A bit of the tea in her cup sloshes over the side, but she keeps her grip on the cup’s handle so that it doesn’t drop to the floor and shatter. She takes a deep breath. “Jamie?”
“Yeah, Poppins?” Jamie rubs a hand across her eyes and yawns as she stumbles into the living room.
“What’re you doing up?”
Jamie yawns again. “I could ask you the same thing.” One brow raises as she notes the cup in Dani’s hand. “You been trying to make tea again?”
Dani nods. “I just made a cup. Trying out this new way of making tea, I guess.” She presses her lips together. “Want me to make you one?”
“No.” The word is out of Jamie’s lips quickly and without a second of hesitation. “But I’ll make my own if you want someone to sit up with you.”
Dani bites her lower lip. “You don’t have to stay up with me. I was hoping this cup would help me relax.” She sighs. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“It’s alright, Poppins. It’s one of those days for you. I want to be able to help when I can. You know that.” Jamie passes her and pats her shoulder once. “Let me get a cup, and I’ll join you, right?”
“Sure.”
Dani curls up 0n one side of the sofa as she waits for Jamie. The scent of her tea is soothing in and of itself, and when she takes another sip, she smiles. Alright. So she can make a good individual cup of tea. Maybe she can convince Jamie to try some of this in the future. She’s sure that it’ll be better than the full pot attempts. And if she gets good at individual cups, then making a full pot should just be math from there. Figure out however much water is in a cup and then it’s just ratios on how many packets should be in the pot and how much sugar and how much milk comparative—
Dani was never the greatest at that kind of math, which is probably why she’s not a great baker, but she’s certain that if she runs her theory by Owen, then he’ll tell her that it’s sound enough. On second thought, she should just ask Owen how to make tea. But then, he’s a chef. He probably has some complicated way of making it. That would be worse.
Jamie curls up on the other side of the couch with her cup of tea in one hand, playing with the string of her tea packet with the other. "So,” she starts, voice soft, “this about Eddie?”
Of course, Dani wants to say. Of course, it’s about Eddie. What else would it be about? But she doesn’t say any of that. It would sound snappish, and she is far too tired to be snappish. Besides, what Jamie’s asked is no reason to be frustrated. She presses her lips together and takes a sip of tea. “I’m sorry,” she says instead of answering Jamie’s question. “I’m trying not to let it upset me, but—”
“It’s alright, Dani. I don’t mind. I get it.” Jamie reaches over and touches her hand. “You’ve got a lot on your plate, and killing your ex-boyfriend—”
“Hey.”
Jamie smiles – a small, spry little thing – and winks at her. “You’re around a murdering ghost quite enough, you are. I think you can cut yourself a little bit of slack. You haven’t done anything like what she’s done.”
“She can’t remember that,” Dani replies with a shrug. She doesn’t even think about it as she says it, but as soon as she realizes what she’s said, her eyes widen. “At least,” she continues, eyes still wide, “that’s what she says. I don’t know if I believe her or not. I mean, I can’t not remember what happened with Eddie, so it’s weird that she can’t remember all the people she’s killed. She can’t even remember almost killing me, and—” Dani presses her lips together and shakes her head. “It’s not important if she remembers it or not. A part of her still intended to do it. That’s what’s important.” She takes another sip of her cup. “We weren’t talking about Viola.”
“Think it’s easier for you to talk about her than it is for you to talk about him.”
Dani blanches. She doesn’t like to think about that, but it’s true. Viola – though much more intrusive than Eddie was – is a lot more…easy to deal with than Eddie. She can actually hold a conversation with Viola. She never really could with Eddie’s ghost. Probably because Eddie had never been there at all, probably because it was her own guilt looming over everything and reminding her of—
Dani shakes her head. “I had a nice talk with her earlier this week.”
“You did?”
“She seems…nice.” Dani doesn’t like the word. It feels weird to be using the word nice with Viola. “Don’t think I’d much like her if I met her in person. Don’t think she’d much like me either. But she’s easy to talk to. I can see why you like your conversations.”
Jamie lets out a groan. “I don’t always like our conversations. She prattles on about Shakespeare and tries to explain him to me, and it feels a little bit like being in school again, and I was never much good at school.” She pushes a hand through her hair, rumbling her curls the slightest bit. “Wish she would find something else to read other than him. No offense,” she continues, looking over at Shakespeare, “but he really is quite boring.”
“Don’t know why you don’t like him,” Dani says, pursing her lips. “He’s a proper British bloke. Makes a lot of crude jokes. Seems like he’d be right up your alley.”
“Been around far too many British blokes making dick jokes. Kind of tired of them.” Jamie leans back against the arm of the couch and stretches her feet out towards Dani. “Especially tired of the ones who think they’re better than everyone else doing it.”
Dani scoots further back against her arm of the couch. “Ew, feet!” She grimaces and meets Jamie’s eyes. “If you’re cold, we’ve got blankets for that!”
“Right, right.” Jamie pulls one of the blankets off the back of the couch. It’s a bright orange cross-stitched thing – thick and warm – and she bundles it up around herself before throwing the other end over her feet, just within Dani’s reach. “You want in, Poppins?”
Dani shivers once, but it’s not from the cold. “No. I’m okay.” She takes a deep breath and another sip of her tea. Then she gives Jamie a look. “Shakespeare’s not as posh as you think he is, you know. He was just a normal person. Wasn’t a lord. Wasn’t a lady. Wasn’t royal at all. Just a normal person writing stories for normal people. Retelling some of them. Making up some words.” She continues to stare at her girlfriend. “He only sounds posh because language changed. Otherwise, he’d be talking just like you and me.”
Jamie shrugs. “Don’t matter. Still just a guy telling a bunch of dick jokes. Never been much of one for dick jokes, considering.”
“You’re right. Puns are better.”
“Batter,” Jamie corrects, “as Owen would say.”
Dani groans, and the groan turns into a big yawn. “Sorry,” she says through the yawn, covering her mouth with one hand. “I’m just so tired.”
“So sleep.”
“I keep having nightmares.” Dani rubs a hand across one eye, wiping away the tears that sprouted from yawning so much. “It’s better to stay awake, I think. I’ll get better rest tomorrow. After.” She yawns again. “Actually, you’ll think this sounds weird, but wherever it is Viola puts me is actually the most relaxing. It’s so quiet there. Most of the time, it’s unsettling, but right now—” Dani doesn’t know how to explain it – its silence that often seems almost too silent is nothing but relaxing when her mind is running so loud that anything else just feels overwhelming. She sighs. “I hate it there, but it’s quiet.”
Jamie gives a little nod. “Thought you didn’t like the quiet. Thought you liked being distracted.”
“I do,” Dani says, running a finger along the lip of her teacup, “but sometimes everything is so loud and so overwhelming that the quiet stillness helps more than a distraction does.” She doesn’t look up at Jamie. “It’s like when you and I need to have a little time to ourselves. With this….” Her eyes narrow, and she struggles to figure out how to say it. “I think sometimes even the distraction just adds to the….” She shakes her head and forces herself to say it. “To the noise.”
“Sounds to me,” Jamie says, slowly moving closer to Dani, “that you’re a normal human being.” Her head tilts to the side ever so slightly. “Normal for an American, of course. But normal enough.”
Dani looks up and meets her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Jamie shrugs. “Sometimes you need one thing, and sometimes you need another thing.” She reaches over and taps Dani’s hand. “Most plants need water and sunlight. But it’s a careful balance. Too much water and not enough sunlight can spell disaster. The opposite is true. Humans are the same. A little bit more complicated, but the same.” She leans forward and holds Dani’s gaze. “So you’re saying last year you needed a lot of sunlight and this year you’ve got a bit too much. Poppins, that’s nothing to be upset about. You just gotta let me know what you need.”
Dani leans forward and catches Jamie’s lips with her own. It’s soft, gentle – not needing as she so often is – and when she leans back, she feels warm all over in a way that Eddie had never been able to make her feel, no matter how hard he had tried. She can’t help but smile. “Thank you for understanding.”
Jamie’s eyes light up. “’Course. Wouldn’t be good at what I do if I didn’t.”
One of Dani’s brows raises in a questioning gesture. “And what, exactly, is it that you do?”
“Love you, of course,” Jamie says with a wink. “Is all I’m good for, really.”
Dani reaches over and gives her a little shove. She doesn’t have to say that Jamie’s good for a lot more than that, even though the words jump unbidden to her lips. That’s not the point of what she’s saying. Then she lets one hand take Jamie’s and give it a gentle squeeze. “Go on back to bed,” she says, pressing her lips together with a little nod. “You need your rest. I’ll get there if I can.” She gives her a little look, lips pursed. “I may just stay in here. You know what it’s like – when exhaustion hits, better give in then.”
“Got it.” Jamie raises her brows. She places her teacup onto one of their side tables and leans forward to kiss Dani again – another small, soft thing. “You want me to take these?” she asks, gesturing to the cups.
Dani shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Hopefully I won’t wake you if I make more.”
“And if you do,” Jamie says, reaching over and touching her hand lightly, “I’ll stay right where I am. Let you have your silence while you can.” She glances up, outside the window. “The world gets awful loud when people wake up. It’s like we don’t know how to be quiet.”
Dani shrugs. “People. Who’d a thunk it?” She grins and watches as Jamie returns to their bedroom before letting out a deeply held sigh. Then she takes another sip of her tea, letting it warm her from the inside out, and pulls the blanket even closer around her. It isn’t too cool outside anymore. Spring is coming. No, it isn’t coming. It’s here.
What a warm, warm thought.