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“Not the houses,” she says. “The people. Life. Every day. It’s all the same.”
“Hmmm. I haven’t given it much thought…”
“Well, now’s the time, Sadie…”
I watch as she nurses her glass of red. Something is clearly bothering her, but like most women, Ann isn’t the type to just spit it out.
She hasn’t yet noticed I’m not drinking, and I hope she won’t. I’ve already pegged the potted plant meant for the contents of my glass just as soon as I can divert her attention. After last night, drinking anything in her presence doesn’t seem like the smartest thing to do. “Look at my lights…” she points. “This is a disaster.”
I do look. A few bulbs are blown—maybe a quarter of them—actually, an entire strand or two, but it’s not what I’d call a disaster.
She runs her hands over the length of her face, pausing to massage her temples. “Wait until Paul comes home.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen her look anything close to tired. “This is unacceptable,” she tells me. “He works so hard, Sadie. So hard. I only wish you knew what he has to deal with. The least I can do is make things bright and cheery for him when he comes home. The least.”
“I don’t think—”
Her eyes focus in on me. Her stare is icy and cold. Heartless. “That’s right, Sadie. You don’t think.”
“I—”
“I paid the guy to purchase and install my holiday lighting. And you know what’s missing? THE LIGHTING, SADIE. The lighting is missing.”
“I’m sure if you called him…”
Her cheeks are flushed, and I don’t think it’s the wine. She cocks her head first, and then her brow follows as though on command. “You think I haven’t thought of that?”
“Well, I—”
“What do you take me for?”
“It’s just—”
She cuts me off, lowering her voice to a near whisper. “I wanted our first Christmas here to be perfect. That bastard—”
I press my lips together tightly in an attempt to suppress a smile. I can’t help myself. I’m almost amused by her anger at something so…so…trivial. It isn’t like her. Everywhere I go I can’t get away from hearing about how great she is. How kind and lovely. How she’s changing the world by motivating the masses. And yet, here and now, live and in color, she’s nothing at all like she portrays herself to be in public. Her emotions have hairpin turns. “Maybe—”
“There is no maybe. He gypped me. Claims he can’t fit me in his schedule for another two weeks. Paul will be home well before then, and the holidays will be half over.” She lets out a long and heavy sigh. “And then there’s the Christmas party to think about…”
“It’ll all work out.”
She looks at me like I’m crazy. The way my husband used to. “What’s the point?”
This time I smile, because she is not the person everyone thinks she is—and not just because she may or may not be a murderer either. This is not sunny Ann; this is not the cheerleader for all. This is someone who cares deeply what other people think and is desperately trying to hide it.
I do my best to redirect the conversation. Something that should feel familiar to Ann—a trick right out of her own book. “I don’t see how you find the time.”
“Are you kidding? I have nothing but time.”
“What about your work?”
“This is work, Sadie. That’s why you’re here.”
Her words sting. I’m still learning the boundaries of our relationship. The borders aren’t quite mapped out. Are we friends? Or am I just her employee?
“Are you writing?”
“Only every second of every day. But it’s not enough, Sadie. It’s never enough.”
