Draft
It began almost as abruptly as it ended. It was the middle, she thought later, that mattered.
* * *
Fall began suddenly that year. It descended quickly onto the small southern town bringing cool winds, pleasant evenings, and that certain sharp smell in the morning that promised more autumn than the South could ever hope to actually provide. Emily was up early and mindlessly going about her tasks for the day. Coffee pot going – check. Food and water for Edgar – check. Enough clean clothes to cobble together a meagerly respectable outfit – check.
She walked to the bathroom, eyes half-closed, stepping over the random piles of books, laundry, and detrius from last night's dinner with the precision of one who lives life on repeat. Emily's days and evenings blended together to create a comforting sense of sameness. Mornings were quiet and performed half-away. The day was winnowed away in an archive or a library or some other sweetly musty repository for other people's eventful lives. Afternoons saw a litany of errands, chores, and obligatory social events swim by in a blur of semi-professional, mostly sloshed faces. Evenings were spent either with Edgar the cat or William the boyfriend in quiet dining or discussion. Nothing stimulated. Nothing dampened. Life for Emily flowed by unimpeded in a soothing color of beige.
That is, until September 22nd. The autumnal equinox brought change into Emily's life as surely as it brought an early fall to the Southeastern United States.
Eleven AM on September 22nd found Emily thumbing through archived photo albums of Stewartsville's most prominent citizens. She was employed, by the grace of God and several federal grants, as a research assistant to a professor at St. Mary's College in Stewartsville. She aided Dr. Cabot in her research into some of the more sordid labor affairs of the affluent turn-of-the-century families in town. Emily had been with Dr. Cabot nearly six months at that time and the job, while dull at times, provided her a good line on her resume and a legitimate excuse to secret herself away from people.
“Oh dear, Mr. Smith, your wife was certainly unfortunate facially.” Emily glanced through the Smith Family album from 1902. “It's amazing you had twelve children.” She smirked to herself as she noted the names and details of the photograph in her notebook.
Her cell phone buzzed loudly against the plastic table and she gasped. The elderly patron two tables down shot her a nasty look. Emily scurried from the room to take the call.
She glanced down at the offending object and saw a picture of of close-set eyes and one large brow appear in her screen. Clicking the phone open, she said, “Hi, William.”
“Hey Emily.” There was an awkward pause. “What's up?”
“You know what's up. I'm at the archives today trying to finish the Smith Family Tree. Dr. Cabot thinks that someone in the Smiths family was quite active in unionization but she's not sure who. She decided if we could track the family we might be able to find the black sheep by noticing who isn't-”
William sighed. “Rambling – you're rambling. It all sounds so...eh. Well, I called because I'm nearby and I was wondering if you wanted to get a cup of coffee. I want to talk to you about some stuff.”
Emily couldn't read his tone. William, always William and never Bill, had a tendency to be a bit brusque. He was a decent, stable guy who was pleasant to be around. She wondered sometimes, often when almost asleep as that seemed to be the only time Emily ever seemed to wonder about her beige existence, if William was interested in her or if she was interested in him. Perhaps it was just convenience – a reason not to be alone. Whatever it was, she was happy with William, safe with William.
Pulling herself out of her reverie, Emily heard an impatient cluck on her phone. “Er, sorry. Sure, coffee's fine. Give me twenty minutes to finish going through this scrapbook and I'll meet you at the place across the street – the one with free wi-fi.”
“That's fine. See you soon.” She heard the click before she could say goodbye. This didn't seem promising.
* * *
Twenty minutes to the nose later, Emily zipped across the street and plunked herself down in a chair across from William. A small half caf/half decaf with a smidge of milk waited in front of her – he always got it right. William's look of concentration gave him an even more pronounced uni-brow than he already had. Taking note of what appeared to be concern, Emily felt her heart flutter. He may have been a slightly serious guy but he was never quite this bad. She placed her hand on top of his but he drew it away and looked slightly pained. It was right then that Emily thought, “Crap. He's breaking up with me” and William sighed and said, “I'm breaking up with you.”
The seconds seemed to stretch for Emily as she stared across the table. Breaking up?!? They had always seemed so sound. There were no bumps, no bruises. No shouting matches or tears or hurt feelings.
“You're leaving me? I...” Her voice faltered.
“Well, erm. It's just that...” William took a deep breath. “I've met someone. She works at the coffee shop down from my place and she's just really great!” His enthusiasm spilled over and Emily winced.
“How long? When did you know?”
“Well, I mean, we haven't started dating or anything but there's something there. We've been talking for a few weeks now and it's like sparks all over the place. I'm really sorry Em but we just don't have that. You're a sweet girl but we just don't have a connection like that. Never have. This is better for both of us. You'll see. You'll find yourself someone who sparks for you instead of me – just someone to have dinner with.” He tried to take hold of her hand and she found herself being the one withdrawing.
“I...I don't know what to say. Just a person to have dinner with?” Her voice cracked as the tears began. “Well, good luck then William. Good luck with everything.” Emily gathered her items and quickly stood up. Before William could do or say anything, she was off at a quick pace with her eyes full of tears and her mind racing.
Three years of board games and movies and quiet evenings together wasted. She could have kicked herself. What a waste of her time! William was right though – not that she'd ever let him know – they didn't have sparks. Just as there were no bumps or tears, there were also no laughs or sweet, secret words. They were happy together only in that they weren't alone.
“But I'm alone now.” Hearing her own voice bouncing off the buildings around her stopped her in her tracks. She looked blearily around and realized she was near St. Jude's Episcopal Church. “St. Jude, patron saint of lost causes. That'd be me.” She made her way to the small walled graveyard and found a bench beneath a large tree. Saint Francis of Assisi looked at her kindly from across the path while he fed birds of stone with pebbles. It was there, in the quiet of the crowded church yard, that she mourned her solitude. She didn't mourn William and she didn't mourn their lost love. Ironically, for a person who shied away from people, what she mourned was the loss of companionship.
Emily sat for the rest of the afternoon amidst the headstones and thought. She thought about her beige life – her empty dining room table, empty hearth, and most of all, her empty bed. She had gone through all the rest of her empties; cell phone, social calendar, Christmas card list, emergency contacts; and had just come to the greatest of all empties – her heart – when her phone rang. The sharp ring tone sent the birds keeping her company in the trees crying for the sky and made Emily gasp. She slowly pulled out the offending, for the second time that day, instrument and wondered if this call would bring about even more heartache. She could see on the screen the name of her employer and she hastily wiped her eyes and cleared her throat.
“Hello, Dr. Cabot.”
“Hello, Dr. Cabot.”
“Good afternoon, Emily. How has your research been going today?”
“Well, truth be told, I only got through one scrapbook today. I had a personal emergency come up and have been absent for the rest of the day. I apologize.”
“Personal?” Dr. Cabot raised an eyebrow on her end of the line. Emily never spoke of anything person – her only family members and close companions seemed to exist between the pages of the scrapbooks and archival records she perused daily. “Well, I hope everything is alright, my dear.” Dr. Cabot's Brahmin accent had not dimmed after twenty years in the South.
“Yes, ma'am. Everything is fine. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I am most happy to hear that. Should you need anything, please let me know. I am calling you with a most exciting opportunity. Do you recall that collection we were speaking of, the one located at Brown University? Well, my dear, I have just received word that we have been granted access to this collection!”
Dr. Cabot's enthusiasm came through her restrained demeanor and had the unintended effect of eliciting a giggle from Emily. She coughed to cover the fact and entreated her employer to continue. She also began to gather her belongings and walk toward the exit gate.
“Well, as I have already promised some colleagues of mine in Boston that I will be present for this fall term to teach a series of lectures, I cannot take advantage of this opportunity. This is a collection that has not yet been accessioned so it's completely intact – random bits and all. This is really unprecedented. I would love for you to be able to make the journey up to Providence and go through the papers with a fine-toothed comb. The family that left all of this behind are central to my argument. I know you have obligations here and therefore I can't require it of you but I trust you very much and would love for it to be you rather than an intern sifting through the collection. What do you say?”
Emily paused, her hand on the wrought-iron knob of the cemetery. “What are you looking for exactly? Thank you very much for trusting me but aren't you worried I might miss something of importance? How long would I be gone?”
“Oh Emily, you'll do fine. You are brilliantly smart and a dedicated digger. I'll be providing you with everything I have and am hoping to find. The length of the trip all depends on what you can find there but I would surmise that it might take you until Christmas to get through everything they've just received. You're perfect for this. What do you think?”
Emily paused a moment, glanced behind her toward the beautiful plot full of the remains of lives, and stepped through the gate. She was not completely sold on the idea of a long trip and what would she do with Edgar. She opened her mouth to decline the invitation when the church billboard in front of her took her voice away. It was a typical church sign with the name “St. Jude Episcopal Church” written above the hours of services and with five blank lines available for those moveable letters so many churches used for pithy sayings or stern warnings. What was not so typical was the message that greeted her. “Long trips are a renewal for the soul,” the big black letters admonished her. Emily nearly dropped the phone.
“Emily, are you there child?” Dr. Cabot's voice sounded impatient.
“I...I'm here. I'm sorry, I lost the grip on my phone. I'm here. Dr. Cabot, I'll go on the trip. It'll be good to get my feet wet with some new aspects of research. Besides, there's not much keeping me here now anyway.”
“Wonderful! I'll phone my colleagues at Brown immediately and begin the preparations. Meet me in my office at 9am tomorrow morning and we'll set all the details in stone. Have a lovely evening dear. Bye now.”
“Good bye.” Emily clacked the phone shut and stared at the sign fifty feet in front of her. She slid her phone into her purse and walked closer. Ten feet from the sign, she stood there and scratched her head. “Well, it really does say it. Lord, Emily, you just took advice from a kitchy billboard. This trip is bound to be interesting if it's starting off this way. Edgar will be thrilled.” She gave a sardonic laugh, turned on her heel, and headed back up the street.
Two
The next morning found her sitting nervously outside Dr. Cabot's office. Weird dreams and numerous re-hashings of her encounter with the advice-giving sign made for a rather exhausting night. Dr. Cabot sat behind her desk patiently tapping her pen on the planner open in front of her. She smiled tightly to Emily and mouthed the words “I’m sorry” while slowly nodding her head and making encouraging noises into the phone she cradled to her ear. Emily shrugged and smiled and sat back in her chair. Whoever had her boss’s ear was at least giving her a bit more time to process all that had gone on in the last twenty-four hours.
First, she thought, was the dumping. It wasn’t really even the dumping but the lack of emotion behind the dumping. William had not cared that he was leaving. He almost seemed happy to be leaving what Emily had felt was a good situation. Sure, it wasn't great but it was steady and comfortable and wasn't that enough!? She sighed and caught Dr. Cabot giving her an odd look mid-head bob. She sheepishly smiled and slipped back into her own thoughts. After the dumping was the sign. So weird – so jaw-droppingly weird. What kind of church puts up a sign encouraging their parishoners to leave? And what kind of cosmic joke, or nudge, was it that she was standing right in front of it getting an offer to do just that – leave? She shuddered, sat up in her chair, tried to focus on her employer, and unconsciously rubbed away the goosebumps that had formed on her arms.
The phone finally clicked onto its receiver and Dr. Cabot turned to face her. “My apologies, my colleague in Providence can be quite the talker. He's absolutely thrilled to have you on board. I have to admit that to get you in to see the papers untouched by the archivist's hands I promised you would assist with some of the accessioning.”
Emily began to protest but Dr. Cabot raised her hand. “I know, child, I know. You have no experience with such things. Well, you're bright. You'll learn. It's not exactly rocket science. You keep what is important and you throw the rest away. Well, that is, you throw it away after you have begged, borrowed, and stolen what they won't immediately relinquish and what might be relevant to my research.” Dr. Cabot gave a sly smile.
“Of course.” Emily, despite her employer's somewhat dictatorial tendencies, felt a deep vein of affection for the woman. She was a tyrant but she was a tyrant that would utz you along until you had done everything in your power to become the best that you could possibly be. Dr. Meredith Cabot demanded, make that expected, perfection and (most of the time) that is exactly what she got.
“Just follow along with the other archivists and keep your eyes and ears open. That place has always been a vault. The only reason I'm getting in to look at this collection is that Phillip and I have, ahem, a past.” The septegenarian managed to look chaste and wicked all at once. “Dr. Winthrop is a good man and he is someone you can trust. He is expecting you a week from Monday, bags in hand. He claims to have found you a small house to sublet while you conduct your research.”
“Does this house allow pets? I have a cat. Since I'll be gone...well, how long will I be gone?”
“A cat? Hmm. Phillip didn't mention but I will make sure it is not a problem. I'm not really sure how long you'll be gone. I anticipate it will likely take all of autumn and possibly longer. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.” Emily let out a tiny sigh. “It's not a problem at all. My cat and I are prepared to be there for as long as necessary. I certainly don't have anything, or anyone, tying me here.” Her eyes filled with tears and she hastily scrambled for her bag and stood up, seruptitiously wiping her tears away as she moved.
“Excellent, my dear. I'll give you a call tomorrow once I've had another chance to speak with Phillip regarding the cat and all the details. I don't think I could bear another call to him today. Feel free to take the next week or so to get your notes, personal items, and whatnot in order before your journey. Why don't you say we meet this coming Wednesday and set out some of the finer points that we'll be looking for through the collection?”
“That sounds lovely, ma'am. I'll get my details in order and see you in a few days. In case I haven't said it, thank you very much for trusting me with this opportunity. It's come at a seemingly divinely inspired time and I definitely need some fresh air. If you need anything before we meet, just give me a call. Have a great weekend!” Emily scurried out of the office before she could either burst into song or tears – apparently she was rather at an emotional crossroads. As she walked out of building, stepping over underclassmen seated on the floor waiting for classrooms to clear out and dodging distracted students and faculty on cell phones and ipods, she allowed herself a small leap of joy. “I have a good feeling about this,” she murmured to herself as she walked into the setting sun and back to her apartment.
Three
“Alfred, I'm home fuzzbutt!” Emily's keys clanked into the pottery bowl resting on her entry table as the door shut behind her.
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