birds flexing their wings and moving along their perches.
Chick stood and came around the desk to greet her. “Hi, Barbara Jean. This is a nice surprise.” A quizzical expression crossed his face as he looked her up and down, taking in her anachronistic outfit.
She saw him staring and said, “I’m supposed to be pretending to churn butter.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he nodded as if what she said had made sense.
For several awkward seconds, Barbara Jean stood in front of Chick regretting that she hadn’t rehearsed something to say to him during her walk from the hospital. She was struck now with a strong urge to run back to the elevator. But she thought about the promise she had made and, instead of running away, looked directly into Chick’s eyes, hoping the force that had always moved her to give voice to her feelings when she was near him, whether or not she should, would take over. She said the first thing that came to mind: “Odette—”
He put his hand to his heart and interrupted her. “Is she gone?”
“No, no, she’s not gone. She’s awake, even speaking. But she’s saying some strange stuff.”
He smiled. “Well, being that it’s Odette we’re talking about, saying strange stuff could be a good sign.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Her doctor was sure she wouldn’t make it through the day and I don’t think he’s changed his mind.”
“I hate to hear that,” he said. “Well, let’s hope she surprises him.” He gestured toward two high-backed, copper-colored leather chairs that sat facing his desk. “Would you like to sit down?”
She answered, “Yes, thank you,” but her feet carried her past the chairs and on toward one of the tall windows instead. Chick followed her and stood by her side, so close that their arms almost touched.
From the window, Barbara Jean could see the hospital where Odette lay. She thought about Odette, and she tried to draw strength from imagining how her brave friend would approach this. Odette would get right to it, Barbara Jean thought. So she did the same.
She said, “I’m an alcoholic, just like my mother was. It’s a struggle, but I haven’t had a drink in a while.” That was something she hadn’t meant to say, something she had never said outside of an AA meeting. But, after it had been said, it felt like as good a way to start as any.
He furrowed his brow, as if he were searching for the proper response to what she had just blurted out. He settled on “Congratulations. I know how hard that is.”
“Thank you. I came to see you because they tell us at AA that we have to make a list of the people we’ve harmed and try to make amends.”
His head jerked back a little and he looked confused. “You want to make amends? To me?”
Barbara Jean nodded. “I know how bad I hurt you and—”
He interrupted her again. “You don’t need to feel bad about any of that, Barbara Jean. You were just a kid. We both were.” He paused. “And we were in love.”
“That’s what makes it worse, Ray. That’s the thing I used to think about when I sat up at night drinking. I knew you loved me, or at least that you had loved me once upon a time, and I used that. I think maybe I could have gotten past the guilt if I’d done the honest thing and shot Desmond myself. But, instead, I took your love for me and I twisted it to make you pull the trigger. Now, both of us have had to live with it. I can’t even imagine what that must have done to you.”
Chick remained silent. His only response was to slowly shake his head back and forth.
Barbara Jean wondered why she wasn’t crying or shouting, or something. Lord knows she felt as if she were bursting at the seams. But at the same time, she was strangely calm. Well, not calm, she thought. More like purposeful. She could feel something, or someone, willing her on. She imagined voices whispering in her ear saying that every word she spoke was moving her incrementally closer to a place she wanted to be.
She went on. “According to the twelve steps, making amends shouldn’t injure the person you’ve harmed. So I hope and pray that saying this and dredging it all up again doesn’t hurt you more. It’s just that I want you to know that I’m sorry for what