Page 22 of Starlight & Dark Nights

"I'm making chicken fettuccini," Jude said, turning her back on Catherine to put the eggs and chicken into the refrigerator.

"Mmm." Catherine popped a grape into her mouth and chewed. "I'm starving."

"You barely eat." If it sounded like an admonishment, that's because it was meant to be one; Jude did not like Catherine's persistent dieting. She understood that being svelte was a prerequisite for a dancer and an actress, but the idea that Catherine wanted to make herself into something that she wasn't just to please the strangers who cast their gazes upon her was tiring for Jude to contemplate. It was enough that she herself had endured a lifetime of trying to make herself into something that was more palatable to others--she did not want Catherine to have to live that way.

“I eat enough to get by,” Catherine said simply. “And I’ll definitely be eating some of the fettuccini you make tonight.”

“Can I pour you a glass of wine?” Jude reached into the cupboard and took down two glasses, which she turned upright as she uncorked a bottle of red. “I want to hear more about the scene you were supposed to do today.”

Catherine pulled a stool up to the counter and accepted the glass, holding it by the stem as she lifted it up and settled in. Talking in the kitchen together as Jude cooked was one of their favorite things to do, and most nights they did it while sharing a glass or two of wine.

“Well,” Catherine said with relish, holding up one hand as if Jude would not believe it. “We were supposed to be doing a Vegas scene today, where all the women were dressed as showgirls. Feather headdresses,” she said, holding a hand up to mimic a tall feather on top of her head, “beaded body suits, and tons of choreography. I had this one dance where I was supposed to be front and center, and…”

Catherine went on, sharing details of the scene she’d missed out on as Jude cut up vegetables, boiled pasta, and prepared the chicken. She nodded, sipped her wine, and inserted questions and comments where they were supposed to go, but as she moved around their tiny kitchen, all Jude could think about was how beautiful Catherine was. How much she glowed. She wanted to stop cooking and just stare at her. To watch her freely. Instead, she topped off her own wine, lifting an eyebrow at Catherine to see if she wanted more.

It was as close to domestic bliss as the two women had ever been in either of their lives, and for Jude, it was as close to feeling like herself—to being free—as she’d ever been. During one long evening with a full bottle of wine between them, she’d told Catherine about her trip over from Japan, about the fact that she never saw her mother again, and about her relationship with her dad and his wife and kids. And, much to her surprise, all Catherine had done was listen sympathetically.

When Jude was done talking, Catherine had reached over and taken her hand, watching her with an open, curious, intense gaze.

“You’ve been through so much, Judith,” she’d said breathlessly. “You’re so brave, and so strong. I admire you so much.”

She hadn’t been entirely sober when it happened, but Jude had been sober enough to know the truth in that moment, and to acknowledge it—at least to herself.

She was in love with Catherine Maryellen Hamnett.

* * *

Mr. Harrison Watts is a man with things to do, places to go, and people to see. He lets his newest client stare out the window for a long spell as she thinks about God knows what, but then when an amount of time has gone by that feels almost uncomfortable, he clears his throat.

“So, Mrs. Majors. What would you like me to do?”

Jude’s gaze sharpens as she looks at the private investigator sitting there in a shaft of sunlight, dust motes settling all around his office.

She smiles.

“I want you to find her,” she says. “I want you to find Catherine.”

CHAPTER11

Bill

Arvin North has kepthimself busy. Busy and unavailable. There are meetings to attend, documents to read, to create, to file, to pass on, and there are always people from the various press organizations who approach and want interviews, comments, or sound bites.

Bill watches all of this from the sidelines, keeping his eyes and ears open and his mouth shut. This is how it’s been for the past month and a half since the accident, and this is how it will remain until such time that things return to normal.

But will they? Will they ever really return to normal? Bill is sitting at his desk during the lunch hour one day, enjoying the fact that the floor is nearly empty. He usually appreciates taking his break with his coworkers and spending the time talking about the news of the world, but today all he wants is peace and quiet. He’s feigned busyness during the traditional break time, and will head over to eat the meat loaf sandwich packed by Jo after everyone else has cleared out of the lunch room.

It’s his hope that, by avoiding the time when idle chatter and gossip rule the conversation, Bill can steer clear of any questions about, or discussion of, the accident. He’s suffered through enough sleepless nights since then, wondering if and what he might have done differently to get a different outcome, and in truth, he knows this is a fool’s errand. But, by the same token, so is talking about it. Even in hushed tones.

Not to mention the fact that Arvin North has asked himnotto talk about it. There is still a hint of trouble on the horizon, and Bill is doing his very best to ignore it and avoid it. He comes to work, he does as much of his job as his mind will let him, and he tries to take solitary breaks in the morning and the afternoon as a way to stay focused.

“Hey,” a female voice says.

Bill nearly jumps out of his skin as he turns around. He’s been so lost in thought that he wasn’t even expecting Jeanie Florence to appear. And that’s unfortunate, as he’s looked forward to talking to her—to seeing her one-on-one—because now that she’s right here, he isn’t even sure that he can speak.

“Jeanie,” Bill says, standing. He looks around; the desks are empty. There is one solitary engineer sitting far across the giant room at a desk by the window, and he has his back to Bill and Jeanie as he holds the receiver of his desk phone to one ear and looks out the window.

“How are you?” Her eyes are soft, kind, concerned.

---