Looking Through Windows

by Caren J. Werlinger

  Ann had to force herself to take care of Meg first. She unloaded her at the boarding stable, and bedded her down. Unhitching the trailer, she quickly drove back to town. Seeing Emily's car parked at the Gundlachs', she pulled up behind it and ran to the front door. When Mr. Gundlach answered, she breathlessly asked for Emily.

  Perplexed, he didn't reply for a moment. He invited her in and said gently, "I'm afraid you've missed her, Miss Ann. She left yesterday."

  It was Ann's turn to be perplexed. "I don't understand. Left where?"

  He explained about the driver coming to pick her up, assuming that Ann knew of the job in Switzerland. "She said she would write to let us know how long she'll be there."

  Dazed, Ann thanked him and left. She drove to her apartment in shock, not quite comprehending what was happening.

  When she entered the apartment, she looked around, just in case Emily was there, just in case this was some strange joke or dream. Seeing no sign of her, she sank into the couch, still wearing her jacket. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but she became aware of the gathering darkness in the apartment. She went out to get her suitcase, and brought it into the bedroom. When she turned the light on, her eyes lit on the folded paper propped on the pillow. She stood there for several minutes, just looking at it.

  When she picked it up, the key slid out and landed with a soft plop on the comforter. She held it, and looked at it as if she couldn't quite grasp what it was doing there. At length, she opened the note and read it. She had to start over several times, trying to make sense out of the first paragraph. 'Since I haven't heard from you, I have to assume that you have made your decision, and I must respect that.'

  In her dazed state of mind, she tried to comprehend the words, tried to remember. What decision? She couldn't recall any plans for her to call. Was this some sort of test, a pop quiz to see if she knew how to play this game? She finally read through the entire note and left it on the bed. She didn't know what to do. She looked blankly around the apartment. She felt like she needed to move. She went for a walk, not to any particular destination, just walking, hoping the cold air would blow away the fog and allow her to make sense of all this. She walked for over an hour, until her chin and cheeks were numb.

  She still could not understand why Emily had left. It was beginning to sink in that she was gone, but she couldn't figure out what had happened. She stopped suddenly. Could something have happened with Emily's family? With a renewed sense of hope, she hurried back to her apartment. She had Emily's parents' phone number there. Maybe they could give her some answers.

  When she got back, she reread the note and realized that there was no indication of any conflict with Emily's family. The entire note sounded as if Emily thought Ann wanted to break things off. As she sat there reading it over and over again, angry tears began to flow. She crumpled the note and hurled it. The small wad of paper landed softly at the base of the Christmas tree. She fought the urge to throw something heavier, more satisfying in its impact. Not knowing what else to do, she went to bed. She didn't expect to sleep, but almost immediately she fell into an exhausted slumber, her mind's way of shutting down for awhile.

  When she woke the next morning, it took a few minutes for the recollection to sink in. When it did, she pushed the thought from her mind. She forced herself to get up, shower, eat breakfast. Normal things. As she sat with her second cup of coffee, she considered her options. Classes wouldn't resume for a week and a half. There was certainly time to go home. The thought of facing her parents with this news grated on her. She felt like a fool, having gushed to them about loving Emily, only to return to a 'Dear Ann' letter.

  "What an idiot you are," she chastised herself. She laughed mirthlessly at the thought that she, always the breaker of others' hearts, was on the receiving end. She knew she would have to tell her parents at some point, but she wasn't ready to do that yet. She decided to stay. She could fill her time with long rides on Meg, working out and reading.

  There was no sense sitting around and crying over a situation she had no control over. With a stern internal discipline she focused her energy and her thoughts, refusing to let Emily in.

  Chapter 44

  Emily entered the terminal at Kloten airport outside Zurich and was immediately greeted by Suzanne Choubert, an imposing woman in her early fifties. She extended a firm handshake to Emily. "How was your flight?" she asked in excellent English, already propelling Emily towards a waiting limousine.

  "Uh, it was fine," Emily said, "my bags…" pointing to the baggage claim area.

  "Give your claim ticket to Gustov," Madame Choubert instructed, indicating the extra occupant of the limo's front seat. "He will collect your bags and take them to your flat."

  Emily realized that Madame Choubert wasn't being rude; she was simply accustomed to making decisions and having them carried out. Her clothing, hair and makeup were subtle, conservative, but everything about her exuded an aura of authority.

  "We will tour L'Ecole first," she said. "It is located on the West Bank of the LimmatRiver, where most of the banking and business takes place," she explained. "Although our main function is the language training of people in the diplomatic branches of various governments, we have many clients who are involved in international business."

  They passed beautiful old buildings, some with very ornate architecture. Emily was surprised at how clean everything was.

  "Your flat is one of several in a separate building," Madame Choubert continued. "It is small compared to apartments in the U.S.," she said looking over at Emily, appraising her, "but it is clean and comfortable."

  Emily smiled. She knew how accustomed Americans were to living spaces that would be considered enormous by most Europeans. "I'm sure it will be satisfactory," she said.

  The school was housed in an immense eighteenth century building, which had been updated to serve this unique purpose. In addition to larger classrooms, there were several private offices, each equipped with a computer, fax machine and secure telephone line. The set-up was quite impressive.

  "For the most part, your role will involve teaching the subtleties of American English, trying to enhance the fluency of your students," Madame Choubert explained as they toured the building. "But you may be called upon to assist with preparing and translating some sensitive material."

  She opened the door to one of the private offices and gestured to Emily to enter. After closing the door, she invited Emily to sit.

  "Your absolute trustworthiness and confidentiality will be required," she continued. "My background check of you indicated only one potential problem."

  At the surprised look on Emily's face, she said, "Of course I did a background check. Dr. Brooks' recommendation was glowing, but hardly sufficient to entrust you with politically sensitive material."

  "I understand," Emily acknowledged. "So what's the problem?"

  "Your homosexuality," Madame Choubert stated bluntly.

  So unprepared was Emily for this that her first response was to laugh aloud. "Why is that a problem?"

  "Do not misunderstand. I am not concerned about the fact of it; I am not American, remember. I am only concerned if it is a secret which could be used to manipulate or blackmail you."

  "Madame," Emily's tone became serious. "I appreciate your forthrightness and honesty. Let me assure you, my being a lesbian is not a secret. My family and friends know. It is not an issue which can be used against me."

  "Good." Madame Choubert ended the subject as decisively as she had begun. They continued their tour after which she walked Emily to a building two blocks away. From the marble-tiled entry, they took an old cage-type elevator up to the third floor where Madame Choubert opened the door to Emily's flat. As promised, it was small, with a sitting room, a tiny kitchen and a bedroom with a small bath. Emily's bags were sitting neatly next to the bed.

  "I'm sure you would like to rest now," Madame Choubert said, handing Emily the key. "I will see you tomorrow morning at ten."


  "Merci, Madame," Emily said. Left alone, she looked out at the unfamiliar roofline of Zurich. She closed her eyes and conjured an image of Ann's face. "I miss you so much," she whispered.

  Chapter 45

  Ann threw herself into her classes with great fervor. She was grateful for the structure provided by reading assignments and studying. She had Lise for French again this semester and quickly found she was going to demand even more from her students this semester as they delved into French literature. Most of her other classes were second semester continuations of her fall classes and were also more demanding as the instructors built upon material from the previous coursework. In her chemistry class, she had a new lab partner, a tomboyish redhead named Maggie O'Brien, who didn't seem to have much of an aptitude for chemistry. By their second week of classes, Ann figured she had saved the class at least twice from explosions or spills caused by Maggie.

  Outside of classes, she maintained a disciplined schedule of riding Meg early before classes, and then working out at the student athletic complex in the evenings. Combined with her studies, this level of activity ensured that she was tired enough to sleep most nights. There were nights, however, that found her sleepless and achingly lonely. At those moments, her self-control dissolved with her tears. She had played her last days with Emily over and over in her mind, searching for any clue that might indicate why she had left. She could find no answers, and that unknown was the hardest part of all.

  She had avoided conversation with her parents, letting her answering machine take messages and calling at times when she knew she would get their machine. She realized she couldn't keep this up much longer. She had to tell them soon, but somehow, irrationally, it seemed that if she could just avoid telling them Emily was gone, then it would not be so concrete, so final.

  "Hi."

  Ann was startled by a voice next to her as she jogged on the indoor track one evening. It was Maggie, jogging alongside. "Hi," she returned.

  "That lab today was really complicated," Maggie complained, keeping pace with Ann.

  Ann glanced sideways at Maggie. "Not really. You just had to stir the ingredients before you heated the mixture, not after."

  "Oh." Nothing for a few steps. "Um, I was wondering if, uh, if you would mind helping me study for our first exam?"

  Ann groaned internally. She really wasn't in the mood to be sociable or to carry on conversations with anyone these days. "I don't know… I've got a pretty full schedule," she hemmed.

  "I'm sorry," Maggie stammered. "It just seems so easy for you…"

  "I could probably spare an hour to go over some things with you," Ann relented.

  Maggie's face lit up with a smile. "Thank you. Tell you what, I'll repay you with food. My roommate is Italian, and she's a wonderful cook. Could you come to our apartment tomorrow evening at six?"

  Ann smiled in spite of herself. "Tomorrow at six."

  The next evening, Ann drove slowly down Chestnut Street, looking at the house numbers. Seeing 348, she pulled over and parked. The house was a large brick affair with a separate outside staircase hanging rather precariously on one side, leading up to Maggie's third floor apartment. She passed a grill smoking in a bare spot on the brick patio that had been cleared of snow. Tucking the bottle of wine she had brought under one arm with her book bag slung over her shoulder, Ann clung to the handrail as she climbed the rickety stairs. Before she had a chance to knock, the door was opened.

  "You found it!" Maggie greeted her with a smile.

  "Yes, but I'm not sure I would have braved it if I had known I would be taking my life in my hands," Ann said ruefully, looking back down the stairs.

  Maggie laughed. "It hasn't fallen in yet."

  "Oh that's reassuring." Ann remembered the wine. "Here, I wasn't sure what was on the menu. It's white zinfandel."

  "Uh, I usually drink beer."

  "She wouldn't know a white zinfandel from a white Russian," said a voice from the far end of the kitchen.

  Ann stepped forward and looked toward the voice. "Hi," she said to the small woman at the stove, her long, dark hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.

  "Come in, Ann. I'm Cris." Ann shook the proffered hand. "The corkscrew is in the drawer by the sink and a glass of white zin sounds great," Cris instructed, busy making a salad and stirring a large steaming pot.

  Ann found the corkscrew and poured two glasses of wine while Maggie squeezed a slice of lime through the mouth of a fresh bottle of Corona.

  "Can I help with anything?" Ann asked.

  "No. Just have a seat and keep me company," Cris said. "Maggie, when was the last time you checked the chicken?"

  "Oh my gosh!" Maggie exclaimed, jumping up and running down the stairs to the grill burning on the brick patio below.

  Cris shook her head. "That's why I do the cooking."

  Ann looked toward the door Maggie had just run through, one eyebrow raised. "That's kind of what she's like in chemistry," she observed dryly.

  "You have no idea how brave you are to be her lab partner," Cris laughed. "I think her last partner's eyebrows are just beginning to grow back."

  Ann smiled. She found herself liking Cris despite her continued irritation at allowing herself to get roped into this study session.

  "It's okay," Maggie gasped, coming back into the kitchen out of breath. "They're almost done."

  "At least let me set the table," Ann insisted.

  Cris agreed, and directed her to the appropriate cupboards and drawers. Soon they were seated, enjoying a meal of grilled marinated chicken, pasta salad and sweet peas.

  "Oh, that was good," Ann said contentedly, as she pushed her plate away.

  "Let's put the dishes in the sink and I'll make dessert while you two study," Cris said. "Maggie, would you get the blender please?"

  Ann frowned in puzzlement as Maggie took first the motor, then the pitcher of the blender out of the refrigerator. Cris caught this also, and put her hand over her eyes, shaking her head.

  "What?" Maggie asked, not seeing what was wrong.

  Cris looked at Ann and explained, "I asked her to chill the blender."

  Ann started giggling, and Maggie still didn't understand what she had done that was so funny.

  "You don't have to chill the motor," Ann was finally able to explain, wiping tears of laughter off her cheeks.

  "Well, how was I supposed to know?" Maggie pouted.

  "Oh, sweetie," Cris consoled her with a kiss and a quick hug. "You're one of a kind." Ann quickly looked away.

  "Just make the dessert," Maggie grumbled, but with a grin twitching one corner of her mouth. "Come on in the living room, and we'll get this chemistry out of the way."

  Ann got her books, and went through their class notes with Maggie, trying to help her understand the chemistry equations.

  "You mean it's just math?" Maggie asked indignantly when she finally grasped the concept.

  "Yes," Ann said emphatically as she collapsed her head on her forearms on the coffee table.

  "This sounds like a good time for dessert," Cris announced, bringing three plates loaded with pieces of chocolate mousse, topped with whipped cream. "Maggie, would you get the coffee, please?"

  "This is incredible," Ann mumbled, with her mouth full of her first bite.

  "Thanks," Cris grinned, pleased with the compliment.

  "Are you a student, Cris?" Ann asked as she set her empty plate down and sat back with her coffee cup nestled in her hands.

  Cris nodded. "I'm working on my Master's in English and teaching some of the undergrad courses."

  "How long have you two known each other?" Ann asked casually.

  Maggie and Cris looked at each other and clasped hands. "We met last year when I took one of Cris's English composition classes, but we've been together for about four months," Maggie answered.

  Cris noticed Ann's expression and asked, "Are you okay with this, Ann?"

  She hastened to reassure them. "Yes. Absolutely."

  "Ann, I
didn't make any assumptions about you when I asked you to help me study and come to dinner tonight," Maggie said. "I just thought you seemed nice, and…"

  "Back on the subject of you," Cris said, looking at Ann. "Are you with anyone, dating anyone? Male or female?"

  Ann realized she had never answered a question quite like this before. What was her status? Well, the answer was the same for both men and women at the moment. "No, I'm not," was all she said.

  "You're kidding," Maggie said. Cris gave her a jab with an elbow.

  "Ann, do you want to tell us about it?" Cris asked quietly. Maggie looked back and forth between Ann and Cris. She knew she had missed something, but she had learned to trust Cris's perceptions of people.