Sara had enough sense to realize that her gloomy demeanor chased them all away. She couldn’t pretend things were okay when they weren’t. She couldn’t laugh when she wanted to cry. She couldn’t talk about it, and everyone wanted to talk about nothing but it. Her soul had been ripped out; what was the point in pretending it hadn’t been?
So she was shocked when there was a knock on the door and she came face to face with Spencer Johnson. He’d been a good friend of her husband’s, one of the last to give up on her. It had been at least a month, maybe two, since she’d last seen him. Time had no meaning for Sara, other than to mock her with its endless sorrow. Spencer looked the same; big and dark-haired and dark-eyed.
He shifted his feet and shoved his hands in his brown leather coat pockets. “Hey, Sara,” he said, shoulders hunched.
“Uh, hi.” Sara pushed hair out of her face and waited.
Spencer met her eyes and faintly smiled. “Can I come in?”
With a hot face, Sara opened the door wider. “Yes, of course. Sorry.”
He ambled by and stopped in the kitchen, did a slow circle, and faced her. “Place looks the same,” he commented.
She closed the door and pulled at the hem of her shirt, eyes downcast.
“Clean,” he continued.
Sara glanced up and caught his grin. She looked away as she answered, “It keeps me busy.”
“Right.” He nodded. “So what’s new?”
Sara swept past him and began to fiddle around the kitchen. “Nothing. Would you like something to eat? Drink?” She had a carrot cake on the counter and coffee going before he had a chance to answer.
“Sure.”
Manners and small talk were not something one had to worry about by oneself and Sara found herself struggling to act human. “Um…sit,” she commanded and pointed at a chair. Spencer gave her a look of surprise and she modified her drill sergeant tone. “I mean, please sit.” She gestured toward the table.
Spencer pulled a chair out and slowly sat down. “How are you doing?”
The coffee stopped percolating and Sara kept a sigh inside as she turned her back to Spencer. It was easier to lie that way. “Fine. Everything’s fine.” She grabbed two mugs from the cupboard, recognized one as his, and put it back and chose a different one. She knew without looking Spencer was watching her and was glad when he made no comment.
“Are you doing any painting?”
Coffee sloshed over the rim of the mug and onto her hand. Sara yelped. Spencer was instantly by her side, pulling her toward the sink. He quickly ran cold water over the angry-colored flesh of her hand.
“Coffee‘s sneaky that way,” he murmured, still holding her hand. They both went still, studying the slim pale fingers of her hand within his larger, darker one. Sara snatched her hand away and moved to put distance between them.
Spencer acted like he didn’t notice and said, “Why don’t you sit and I’ll get the coffee? Still take it black?”
Sara nodded, realized he wasn’t looking at her, and answered, “Yes. Thank you.”
He set the coffee mugs on the table and slid one over to Sara.
“Thank you,” she said again.
“No need to thank me for your own coffee,” he told her, opening another cupboard and removing two plates.
“I don’t…” she began, but stopped at his lethal stare.
“Yes. You do. You’re skin and bones.”
Sara held the cup between her hands and looked into the black depths. “I’m fine.”
Spencer went about the task of getting them each a piece of cake, making no comment. He sat down, immediately digging into the cake with a fork. “Mmm, this is good. You make this?”
Sara nodded.
He squinted his eyes at her. “Yet you don’t eat it?”
She shook her head.
“Why do you make it?”
Sara rubbed her finger over a line in the wood of the table. “For something to do.”
“What do you do with it?”
With a shrug, Sara responded, “Give it away.”
“To whom?”
“Neighbors mostly.”
“Eat,” he said, pointing his fork at her untouched slice of cake.
Sara took a small bite to pacify him.
“I’ll have to move into the neighborhood. Or stop by more often,” he added.
Sara didn’t respond. She didn’t want or need someone checking up on her, least of all Spencer, regardless of his good intentions. She searched her mind for something to talk about. “How’s Gracie?”
Spencer paused with the mug of coffee close to his lips. He set the mug down without taking a drink. “Gracie and I broke up.” He finished the last bite of his cake and sat back in his chair.
Sara jerked, startled. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She was, in that place deep inside of her that still felt things like empathy.
He shrugged with a little smile on his lips. “It was months ago.”
She met his eyes, and then slid her gaze away. “You didn’t mention it the last time I saw you.”