ShadowDance

      Elaine Hartsell sat on the sofa on this rainy, damp summer morning letting her words come freely, as one did with a trusted friend.  “Honestly, sometimes I just cringe.  It takes me forever to get going in the morning!  What would Maggie say?  If I’m honest, it’s not that grief over her death has me so immobilized anymore.”  She sighed, as she felt she always would when mentioning her beloved partner’s name.  “Yes, I will always miss her dearly.  But this—” She shook her head, scratching lightly at the top of her head, haloed with attractive, silver-white hair.  “I think this could just be laziness, or old age, or complete lack of focus.”  She gestured with a wave of a hand.  “Look at us!  It’s going on eleven o’clock and we’re still lounging around!”

     Sparky gave a low growl from somewhere deep in his chest without moving his huge head.  Her dog’s baritone response was so timely that Elaine laughed.  “What, buddy?  You don’t like me lumping you in with lazy me?”

     In the next instant, the Newfoundland emitted a ferocious bark, loud enough that the woman was first startled and then irritated.  “Sparky!  What in the world—” But the mountain of a dog only barked again, and now his head was up, coal black eyes alert as he looked toward the door.  Another bark, and Sparky shot from the sofa with surprising agility, running through the kitchen to the back hallway, where he planted two huge paws on the windowsill so he could see outside.  Once again, he barked.

     Elaine trailed quickly behind, wondering if her pet had heard a buck making its way through the thick copse of pines that bordered her property, though how he could hear anything but the rain bulleting the roof was truly astonishing.  It was raining so hard that when she looked out the window, it was all Elaine could see, with perhaps just a glimpse of the dark trees far in the distance.  The woman stroked her dog’s head in a kindly manner as she had probably done a thousand times, her fingers sinking into the mass of black fur to offer reassurance, but finding comfort there, too.

      “Listen pal, you are just the best boy for looking out after us, but I think this time it’s a false alarm,” she murmured, dropping a kiss just above Sparky’s eyes.  She chuckled.  “Although you did manage to get this old body off the couch, didn’t you?”  Now, the Newfie let go a cascade of thunderous barks, just as Elaine lay eyes on the figure of a man or woman struggling their way through the storm.

     “Who in the world?”  Maybe it was the storm, maybe her advancing age, but the feeling that came first was alarm.  “Oh, my.  I can’t imagine who…”  Her thoughts began to race.  It was at moments like this that she missed Maggie the most.  The vulnerability of being so alone---as well as uncertain and even afraid—so very often drained her of every ounce of energy.  Even her massive Sparky didn’t quite take the sting away. 

     However, just now the dog was still barking, and this jolted Elaine from her inertia.  Should I get the .22 just in case?  She had a strong dislike for guns, but Maggie had talked her into it before she died, going so far as to enlist the help of a neighbor to help them buy the small rifle, then teach Elaine to handle it safely and shoot competently.  Oh, okay, okay.  Quickly, she moved to her left, unlocked a bottom cupboard, and grabbed the weapon, one eye on the emerging figure that was slowly coming into focus.

     With her attention on loading the rifle so concentrated, Elaine failed to notice the point at which Sparky’s threatening barks turned to silence, then whimpers of anticipation.  She lifted her head from her task, shoulders squared.  The woman seemed to comprehend Sparky’s changed state at the very same instant she could finally see the struggling visitor clearly.  She shook her head, feet planted still with shock and disbelief.

     “Oh, my god!  Oh, my god!  Therese?  Therese?”  Panic and fear were overwhelmed by a pulsating concern that brought Elaine’s heartbeat to her throat.  She threw open the door, rain gusting in as Sparky shot out like a ball of hairy black thunder, barking his wild greetings.  Bursting out into the storm, Elaine shouted, “Therese?  Therese, darling?  Oh, darling girl!  Oh!  Oh!”

     Therese had dropped to the sand, as if the amount of water her clothing had absorbed had pulled her down, too exhausted and perhaps too relieved to take another step just now.  Elaine shook her head, dismissing any questions, lowering her old, chilled body until she could see her young friend’s face.  Therese was pale white, except her lips which seemed slightly blue.  There were dark, crescent moon circles under her eyes and her usually silky hair was plastered to her face like spikes of wet, black paint.  Her hands were icy cold, so much so that the older woman was quickly yanking her to her feet. 

     “Let’s go, dear.  Now.  Let’s get you out of this rain.  Come on, up!”  Therese hadn’t said a word, allowing herself to be hoisted from the cold ground, seemingly unaware of Sparky, who barked with excitement still, prancing in circles as the women made their way to the door as if in the throes of an ancient, canine welcome ritual.

     Reaching the door, Elaine pushed her dog aside with an ample hip.  “Come on, Sparks.  Good boy!  Out of the way now as we get Therese inside.  One, two more steps. There we go,” Elaine directed, speaking now to the cold and stiff young woman with calm reassurance.  She tried to push away the impinging thoughts.  What in the world is going on?  Why had Therese come, and in this horrendous state?  Where the hell was Carol?  Should she be called immediately?  Should I call Alicia?

     The silver-haired woman was flummoxed, but all this had to wait.  Therese sat so still it frightened her.  “Right.  Okay.  Now honey, let’s get this wet jacket off you, and those shoes.  Can you help at all?  We’ll get a hot bath drawn right away, get you warmed up and comfortable.”  Her motions were economical; the soaked clothing was removed with gentle competence.  Unnervingly, the younger woman neither assisted nor objected. 

     As the washer and dryer were in the home’s back hallway, Elaine took off all but Therese’s underclothes, leaving them in a sopping heap on the floor.  She reached to grab the tea kettle and start the flame beneath it before taking Therese by the hand.  “Come on, darling, this way.  I’m sure you don’t want to be sitting around in your underwear, do you?”  She glanced at Sparky, and her heart spilled over with love at the sight of the Newfoundland, dripping wet and standing at attention with concern in the depths of his soulful eyes.  “Sparky’s worried about his friend, too, see that?  He wants you nice and warm.”

     In the bathroom, Elaine immediately got the hot water going in the tub, adding a few drops of rose-scented bath oil—Maggie’s favorite—and pulling clean, fluffy bath towels from the linen cupboard.  As steam began to fill the small room, it seemed to breathe life into Therese, slowly.  The thin young woman began moving on her own, warmed even by the sight of the bath after her long, long walk through the storm.  She reached out an arm to touch Elaine’s back.

     “Thank you.”  Her voice was solemn.  “Thank you, Elaine,” Therese repeated quietly, with as much dignity as she could muster as she stood naked but for her undergarments.  She waved a hand, trying to say something more, but it fluttered to back to her side like a lost, flailing bird.  “I know this must look…well, I don’t know how it looks,” she faltered, dropping emerald eyes that seemed ghosted by shame.

     The older woman laid a gentle hand on Therese’s forearm.  “Not yet, dear.  We’ll talk after your bath is finished.”  She pointed to the back of the door.  “There’s my robe for you to put on.  I just laundered it.  And while you’re in there I’ll rummage up some clean underwear, although heaven knows you’re going to swim in them!”  Her smile was rueful but genuine, and the younger woman was reminded of Elaine’s goodness, her authenticity, her grace. 

     At the door, she turned back.  “Therese…you do want me to call Carol, don’t you?  She’ll be worried sick about you.”

     The response was succinct, quick, and pained.  “No!” Therese shook her head, eyes pleading.  “Please, no.  She won’t—I can’t—” Her slender shoulders sagged.  “Just not now.”

     I soaked in Elaine’s tub, grateful for the hot water.  The heat seeped in slowly, defrosting all the places so frozen by the long walk from the train station in that godawful storm.  I wasn’t even sure how I’d arrived at Elaine’s.  I hadn’t planned on coming here; I suppose I just knew Dannie was out of town and I couldn’t walk all the way to Albany to see Alicia.  I can’t tell you how I really felt.  Anger, guilt, shame, helplessness, so much fear—they were all in the mix.  Truthfully, I was just an emotional mess.  Selfishly, Carol was not my first concern.  I’d left at 2 a.m. and she still wasn’t home.  Lately, she’d been going out after work, sometimes with Abby, sometimes with some of our other friends.  I was always asleep when she arrived home.

     All I can tell you is that while I soaked in the hot water, I felt out of danger.  I know that doesn’t make much sense.  It’s not like working at the Times exposed me to mayhem, and Carol certainly wasn’t going to physically harm me.  (Incidentally, I could swear I saw a rifle of some sort propped up against the wall in Elaine’s kitchen.  Is that even possible?)   All I know is that I needed safety more than anything, and I didn’t want to leave the warm confines of Elaine’s bathtub.

     I stayed there for a very long time.  Maybe my eyes were closed against the world, against my life with Carol, against my roiling feelings.  But I felt safe.  For the moment, that’s all that mattered.

      Elaine had put on dry clothes and run a towel through her short hair.  She paused in the act of combing it, looking at her reflection in the mirror.  Her deep blue eyes were filled with grave concern, the heaviness of a worry she felt deep in her gut.  A sigh escaped her.  She took a shaky breath, then turned to walk back to the living room where she intended to build a fire and dry dear Sparky.

     The huge, damp dog waited for her dutifully on the kitchen linoleum, still dripping.  She rushed to him, her heart spilling over.  As she rubbed at the wet fur, Sparky waited patiently, seemingly knowing that Elaine needed him to be a good boy at this time.  Calmed by his measured breathing, the woman began to confide.

     “Sparky, boy,” she whispered, “I’m a bit lost at the moment.”  She sat back on her haunches, seeking out the dark depths of the dog’s consoling eyes.  There was patience there, and understanding, and a strength she needed badly.  “I’ve been praying ever since I saw Therese, and I really, really want to call Carol!  And then Alicia!”  Closing her eyes, Elaine could almost see her thoughts racing.  She saw Maggie’s beloved face, too, which gave her strength, but no answers.

     “What should I do?” she implored, to her dear dog, who still stood patiently still, his warm breath on her cheek.  “Should I call Carol?  Should I call Alicia?”