by Kim Pritekel
Denny chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, wondering what to do. She knew she hadn't given that to Hannah, and had never seen it before. Curiosity got the best of her, and she reached up, taking the small, delicate box from the shelf, sitting on the end of the bed to examine it. It was a rich mahogany, and quite beautiful. Denny ran her fingers over the lead glass top, tracing the etched flower pattern. The lid squeaked slightly as she lifted it. Inside was a gold watch, again new to Denny, some ticket stubs that looked like were from Broadway shows. Looking at the names, Denny recognized a couple of the standards- Chicago, Beauty and the Beast, then a couple she'd never heard of. Gingerly fingering those aside, she saw what looked to be upside down Polaroid's.
Yet again Denny was chewing on her lower lip, trying to decide whether to disturb Hannah's privacy, or sate her curious nature. Something inside her told her to close the lid on the box, put it away, and continue on with her day. Her fingers itched to move, to be doing something, though they were frozen in Denny's indecision. Taking a deep breath, Denny plucked the pictures from the bottom of the box, turning them over. The first was some sort of scenic picture, boats and water, some sort of harbor, perhaps. Sliding the picture behind the stack of three, the second showed Hannah, her hair in the pixie cut Denny was getting used to, and a smile plastered on her face. She was standing next to a woman with medium-length red hair, kind brown eyes gazing at the lens of the camera. She was also smiling, though it was closed mouth, more of a smirk.
"Pretty girl," Denny muttered. The two women were standing on what looked to be a dock, maybe the same dock of the harbor from the first photo. Sliding it behind the first picture, Denny's breath caught, eyes glued to the image on the third Polaroid. Hannah held the redhead in her arms, one hand cupping the back of her head, their foreheads resting against each other, both grinning broadly in profile. It looked as though the photographer had just caught them after or before a kiss.
Denny felt her face pale, blood rushing toward her stomach as nausea set in. She couldn't take her eyes off the picture, the still taking action in her brain, the women's lips meeting, Hannah's eyes closed as the redhead plundered her mouth, drawing her close.
The brunette tried to shake the image out of her head, but couldn't. Who was she? Why had Hannah kept the box and pictures? Denny could only guess the redhead had given it to her, as well as the watch, and had gone to the shows with her.
Slowly, she put the pictures back as they'd been, carefully placing the stubs and watch back over them and closing the lid. She caressed its smooth surface absently for a moment, lost in thought. So I'm not the only one who found love. Though it was true, and technically Hannah had done nothing wrong, it didn't help her stomach, nor the hurting of her heart. Denny couldn't help but wonder how Hannah could feel anything for anyone else, when she thought Denny was dead. Would she be able to? If Hannah had been dead for more than a year, could she move on? How long had the relationship gone on? Was it still going on when Denny had miraculously returned from the dead?
The thought sent the brunette to the bathroom, forehead resting against the cool glass above the sink, shoulders hunched as she leaned against the sink. Had that redhead touched Hannah the way Denny had the night before? How long had it been since they'd been together?
Running a shaky hand through her hair, Denny pushed off the sink and headed toward the kitchen, grabbing her car keys off the hook by the door.
* * *
"Hello?"
"Hi."
Silence.
"I'm sure you don't want to hear from me, but I need to talk. Please, Tiffany, I need a friend." Hannah placed her hand on her pounding forehead, trying to will the pain away.
"Are you okay?" Tiffany sat back in her desk, more than surprised to hear from Hannah after two months without a word, just as she'd asked it to be. It had been difficult, seeing news of the Island Six's return plastered all over every damn TV screen and channel, and knowing that Hannah was in the same building, just a few floors away.
"Not really. It's Denny. God, I feel like she came back from war or something, shell shocked and changed." Taking a deep breath, Hannah sat back in her chair, wincing as it squeaked. "Last night we made love for the first time-"
"Hannah, I really don't to hear this." The accountant could feel the ache deep in her heart, and roiling of her stomach.
"Please, Tiffany." Hannah heard the heavy sigh and reluctant agreement to listen. "She's not herself. At all. Last night she wouldn't let me touch her, like my touch burned her or something. And even when she touched me, I felt," Hannah paused, trying to remember back, thinking of what she had felt and thought, even during the bliss of sexual release. "I felt like I was being touched by a robot, some sort of drone or something. I don't even know if she was truly there." Hannah whispered the last words.
Tiffany squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the mental images that her brain had conjured up, Hannah's beautiful body in the throes of ecstasy from another woman's hand. Clearing her throat, she spoke. "What would you like me to do about this, Hannah?" She didn't want to sound cold, but had no idea what the researcher expected of her.
"I want to see you," Hannah whispered desperately.
"Oh, no!" Tiffany shoved away from her desk, eyes wide. "I am not going to play that game with you, Hannah. You made your choice."
Hannah nodded dumbly, feeling like a bitch for even suggesting it. "I'm sorry. You're right. I need to go." She carefully replaced the handset into the cradle, tears of confusion stinging her eyes.
* * *
"You think I don't realize I sell coffee here? As I told you, I'm out of French Nut Surprise for the time being. You can either chose something else, or go somewhere else." The older woman's icy gaze nearly froze the rude patron where he stood. Without another breath, he quickly ordered something else, then scurried to his seat at the back of Mile. "That's what I thought," Joni Sanchez muttered, hurrying over to the drink station to make the order. She heard the bells above the door jingle to life. "I'm out of vanilla whoever you are, so don't even ask."
"Good thing I'm a chocolate gal."
Joni froze, the hair prickling on the back of her neck. "Goddamn, son-of-a-bitch!" Drink creation forgotten, Joni hurried around the counter, taking Denny into a choking hug. "Wondered when you were going to show up around here." She gave a painful squeeze. "Took you long enough!"
"Yeah, well," Denny had nothing to say as she was led around back, into Joni's office. "You stay. I'll be right back."
The brunette sat back in the space she knew well. Even when she'd already established DiRisio's, she'd come back from time to time for advice or just simply to chat. The office was small, crammed with boxes of syrups and cups that wouldn't fit into the tiny storage room. Joni's desk was covered in papers, purchase orders and packing slips.
"Okay. Had to get Robert from outside to take over," Joni said, breezing back into the office, throwing herself into the squeaky desk chair across from Denny. The older woman sat forward, elbows resting on a small stack of Mile brochures, a few floating to the floor. "Can't believe you're back, Denny. Hot damn, what a story."
"Mm," the brunette agreed, playing with her bottom lip.
"How are you doing, Denny?" Joni asked, her voice growing soft.
"I'm fine."
"No, I mean, how are you. You don't look good. You look tired and- haunted."
Denny looked into narrowed eyes, which scrutinized her from head to toe. "You see a lot, Joni." Sighing, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs.
"What's going on, Den? Everything okay? At home."
Was everything okay? Denny saw that picture in her mind again, her eyes closing. Then she felt the cool distance she felt from her own life. Lastly, she saw Rachel's face, felt her touch. No. Nothing is okay. Even so, she didn't want to talk about her turmoil. She wasn't ready to speak about what she didn't quite understand yet.
"I'm just trying to adjust, Joni. I had no idea what a huge feat t
hat would be. I thought I could come back, immediately rejoin the world of the living, and fall right back into my relationship." She shook her head. "Harder than I thought."
Joni had a feeling her old friend wasn't going to say much more, so decided to not push. "Well, what are you doing these days to occupy yourself?" Since your damn wife betrayed you and sold your business.
Denny shrugged, sitting back in her chair, jiggling ankle crossing her knee. "Cleaning the house, bumming around the neighborhood to reacquaint myself with things, neighbors, that kind of thing."
"Sounds- exciting."
Denny smirked, shaking her head.
"Come work for me," Joni tossed out, eyeing the beautiful brunette, head cocked nonchalantly. Somewhere inside, the coffee shop owner had a feeling that it would be the best thing for her, get out of the house and around something familiar. Joni had no idea what was going on, but could tell her old employee and friend was deeply disturbed by something.
Denny studied her friend for long moments, contemplating her offer. Finally she nodded. "Okay."
Joni smiled big. "Good. I could use someone around here who knows what the hell they're doing."
* * *
"Are you sure about this, Michael? Think maybe you should hold off, get through the holidays?" Meredith asked, hands on hips as she looked around the small house, packed boxes stacked high.
"No. I need to try and get their lives as normal as possible as quickly as possible." The mechanic blew out a breath, proud to finally have his own house again, even if it was a tiny three bedroom rental at the edge of town. It was rundown, dirty, but cheap. Michael figured he, Jennifer and Conrad could make themselves a home there, painting, cleaning and decorating for the upcoming holidays.
"Alright, son." The older woman leaned up, giving her son-in-law a kiss on the cheek, then went out to join Walter in the truck.
Once left alone, Michael looked around, trying to decide where to start. The kids were still at school- he hadn't wanted them to have to deal with this, so their grandparents, a couple guys Michael worked with and himself had gotten everything moved into the new house. Jennifer would drive she and Conrad to their new home after school. Over the weekend he'd take them to the store so they could pick out stuff for their rooms, personalize them a bit. Maybe put up some sports memorabilia in Conrad's room, and whatever new actor or singer Jennifer was into.
It still amazed Michael, the way his kids had grown up, seemingly over night. Granted, he'd only been gone for just over a year, but he'd noticed changes in all three. Maybe it was the situation, having to grow up over night. Or maybe his babies truly were just growing up.
He pulled the box cutter out of his back pocket and began to open up boxes, kept in storage over the past year and a half. Meredith had kept much of their belongings, thinking it would help the kids when they got their own houses. In fact, Alan had a set of their dishes, and the downstairs furniture, in his own house. He was coming over later that night to help unpack, and the four of them were going to enjoy a quiet night together, celebrating the new home.
The big Texan got busy unpacking, putting things away and breaking down boxes, getting the kitchen and his own bedroom completely unpacked. He was surprised when he heard car doors slamming outside, and the voices of his two youngest. Glancing at his watch, Michael saw he'd been at it for more than six hours.
"Daddy?" Jennifer Dupree called out, looking around the small living room as she entered the house. The couch had been set against the paneled wall, a few boxes stacked on top of the cushions, a thick pile of broken down ones on the floor next to it.
"In here, guys!" came the deep, disembodied voice of their father, deeper in the house. She followed his voice back to his bedroom, the smallest, at the back of the house, by the back door. "Hey, Angel," he said with a broad smile, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Hey, big guy. How was school?" He knew better than to try to hug or touch Conrad, knowing the boy would pull away. As it was, he barely stood in the doorway of the room, hands buried deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, baseball cap perched cockeyed on his head.
"S'kay," he muttered.
"Good. Well, I left both your rooms alone. Your beds are put together, but you kids can put your stuff away. Alan will be over after work, then we can all sit down at eat some pizza. Wuddya think?"
"Sounds great!" Jennifer gave her dad a quick hug then bounced off toward her own room. She was so excited to have their own place again. She loved her grandparents, but never liked staying with them. Her grandfather was constantly a grouch, always had been, and her grandmother seemed overwhelmed most the time. Jennifer hated seeing her that way.
Conrad followed, trudging his way to his own room.
* * *
"It's been announced today that Paramount will be producing a feature film based on celebrated author, Rachel Holt's novel, Willing To Conquer, due out next winter."
Denny turned her eyes away from the book she'd been reading, glancing at the TV screen, only to be met by old file footage of Rachel. She was sitting behind a table, pen in hand, at what appeared to be a book signing gig. It was before the crash, Denny was sure. She sat forward, looking into the green eyes that she hadn't allowed herself to see. Any news footage over the months, she'd refused to watch, not wanting to be reminded. Seeing the author's face, that beautiful, wonderful face, Denny was amazed to look into her eyes, and not see the glowing light she was used to, but rather dull, lifeless eyes. When the brunette thought about it, those were the eyes she'd had when they'd first landed on the island. The eyes of a woman lost. Denny had to smile ruefully, knowing her own eyes looked like that now.
Grabbing the remote control, she turned the television off, trying to return her attention back to her book. She couldn't concentrate, her mind wandering back to the images from the screen, which then morphed into memories from the island. Her eyes, her face, her voice, the way her body felt against Denny's. Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to conjure up that last day on their ledge. The taste and feel of Rachel's skin, the sight of her half-naked body lying there, waiting to be made love to, begging to be touched.
Denny groaned, her body warming painfully at the memory. She was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of the garage door opening. Pushing herself up from where she'd begun to slouch in the cushions of the couch. Getting to her feet, she headed to the kitchen where dinner was already cooking.
"Hey, baby," Hannah said, coming in through the garage door, setting her purse and keys on the counter just inside.
"Hey. Hungry? Dinner'll be ready soon." Denny had to look away, or see the redhead standing next to her partner. She felt like a hypocrite as she took out a can of peas from the cabinet, using the electric can opener mounted under the cabinet to remove the lid.
"Yeah. Sure am." Hannah hugged the brunette from behind, placing a soft kiss to the bared neck. Hannah closed her eyes, trying to swallow down the sense of guilt from her brief conversation with Tiffany that morning. She pushed thoughts from her mind at what she would have done, or allow to happen, had the accountant agreed to meet with her. Instead she concentrated on the smell of Denny's hair and skin, the feel of her body, taller than Tiffany's, and a very different body type.
"Good. Chicken will be done in about three minutes."
"Smells like cornbread, too. You've been busy."
"I have been. Actually, I went to talk to Joni today."
Hannah paused, her hand on the fridge door handle. "Oh yeah?" Ever since the coffee shop owner had judged the researcher's actions in dealing with Denny's death, she had grown hard against Joni, hurt with her ever thinking Hannah could or would throw Denny away.
"Yeah. She's offered me a job."
Hannah turned, Denny's back to her as the brunette stirred the peas she'd dropped into a saucepan to heat them. "And what did you say?"
"I said yes."
"Honey, we don't need the money. I can support-"
"I know you can, Hannah. And I'm proud of
the promotion you got while I was gone." Denny turned to meet Hannah's eyes. "I need this. Sitting around here all day is killing me. I need something for me again."
Though she knew Denny hadn't meant it that way, the statement stung. She nodded, turning back to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water. "When do you start?"
"I'm probably going to go in tomorrow."
Hannah took a long drink, setting the bottle aside. She wasn't sure why she felt sudden anger wash through her. Joni had verbally attacked her character and her love for Denny, yet Denny was going there for a job at her coffee shop.
Perhaps it brought up her own feelings of guilt for selling DiRisio's. "Well, uh, I hope it goes well."
"Thanks." Denny gave her a quick smile, then turned back to the stove.
* * *
Rachel gasped, her head thrust back into the soft pillow, eyes squeezed tightly-
* * *
- holding her fingers still, Denny tried to catch her breath, her body-
* * *
- pulsing. The blonde's hips bucked as her body convulsed, her breaths-
* * *
- shaky, her emotions on a shoestring as she tried to push away the image in her mind, Rachel's face before her eyes, the passion shining in her green eyes.
"Wait, wait," she-
* * *
