Chapter Ten

I hadn’t seen Annie in three years. The last time was down at the Oilman’s Bar, one of the seedier bars in town. Actually, all bars in Prairie View would be considered seedy by Seattle standards. There were three types of bars in Prairie View: seedy, seedier, and seediest.

She was sitting at the seedier bar with Wayne, her husband, sipping a girly-looking drink. I came in with Billy to shoot some pool and have a beer. Annie and I caught each other’s eye in the mirror behind the bar. My heart jammed; it looked like hers sank, considering the frown she donned. She rose to the occasion, however, and gave me a tepid hug. She didn’t extend herself much to glance her cheek off mine. I took the hint and kept it to a hug you’d give a heterosexual acquaintance. Hands on each other’s shoulders, cheeks tapping together, barely a peek into the eyes, hips a couple feet apart, of course.

Wayne invited me to join them, while Billy went to play pool and flirt with a farmhand. We talked about family news, town politics, and sports. As usual, Wayne was warmer to me than Annie. While it was good to be in her presence, comforting somehow, it was clear she wasn’t interested in being anything more than a distant old friend. Ex-lover was not to be in our job descriptions for each other. I left the bar that night aching again for her. Her laugh. Her hair. Her eyes.

And that’s why I made sure I didn’t see much of her over all those years. Because every time I did, I would get reactivated like an LSD flashback, and my heart wouldn’t have room for anyone else. Love unrequited, a toxic condition.

Now my dad was dead and I wanted to see Annie. I think I had some ulterior hope that her sympathy for me would encourage her to comfort my pain. However, all I had to do was remember that bar scene three years earlier and I knew better.

So I was floored when, knees shaking, I entered her store, and she shouted, “Jilly!” She swooped around a display case and clutched me into an almost loving hug. Well, hips still weren’t touching, but it was a hell of a lot more expressive than that last time. I held on to her for several seconds and milked the bereft daughter role.

She pulled back and looked into my eyes. “I’m so happy you came in. I’ve been thinking of you all morning. I’m so sorry about your dad. I found out yesterday and feel terrible about it.” At the lost look on my face she moaned “Awww” and hugged me again, a little tighter and a little longer. “Tell me how I can help, sweetie,” she said into my hair.

“Oh, Annie, I…” I was a little kid all of a sudden. My voice quavered and embarrassing tears started spilling down my cheeks. My emotions were so intense that, even now, it’s difficult to describe them. My father dead, my semi-estranged lifelong love comforting me. Having her arms around me, soothing me, was both exhilarating and strange. I buried my head in her shoulder.

After a few minutes of enjoying her closeness and floral smell, I pulled back to look at her. She held my eyes for a few seconds, then looked away toward the door of the back room. “Wayne, look who’s here. It’s Jill O’Hara.”

Wayne emerged from the swinging doors separating the back room from the front. “Hey, Jill, good to see you. Sorry about Dean.” And he came over to give me a warm manly hug. He smelled like cigarettes, Old Spice, and beer.

“Thanks, Wayne. Look, you guys, I just wanted to stop in and say hi. The funeral is Saturday. Maybe we can go out sometime later next week. You know, catch up and all.” I wondered where that courage came from.

Annie looked pleased and thoughtful. “We’d love to, but aren’t you on nights all next week, Wayne?” Wayne nodded. “Then you’ll have to entertain just me. But, Jill, isn’t there anything we can do to help for the funeral?” Annie was actually reaching out, so I decided to take her up on it.

“Well, look, Billy is going with me to the funeral. That’s just two of us for the whole front pew of the church. Connie, her husband, and sons have the second pew. Would you two mind sitting with Billy and me in the front?”

They took a moment to look at each other, a slight nod from Wayne, and then Annie said, “We’d be honored. Your father was an amazing guy. He was always kind when you and I were in high school and, afterward, spoke to me whenever we’d run into each other downtown.” The mention of high school put an uneasy look on her face.

“Thanks, you guys. It means a lot to me to have your support.” We stood looking at each other, shy and speechless. I hated pregnant interpersonal moments, except when I was interviewing someone. “I have to get something to eat, so I’ll see you Saturday, okay? The funeral will be at ten thirty.”

“We’ll definitely see you then, Jill,” said Wayne. “Do you want us to wait so that we can all go in together?” Wayne was more empathetic than I gave him credit for. Another check in the plus column for Wayne.

“That would be great. See you then.” And I scurried out of the store, uneasy at how well it had gone. Then I got uneasy about my unease. In other words, as usual, seeing Annie left me screwed up.