Moira and Billie stand covered in hot water and coffee grounds while Leah rushes and dabs at them with paper towels. Billie’s blouse is white, and it’s translucent as it clings to her skin. Water squishes in Moira’s heels.
When Leah runs to find a towel, Billie finally speaks. “Moira?”
Moira ducks her head down. “I just started working here last week. Haven’t seen you since…” She shifts in her shoes. “Camp.”
In Billie’s eyes, something scared snuffs out the spark from before. “Yeah. Camp.” She brushes off her blouse. “Well, I have to go,” she says. Then she grabs her coat from the closet and leaves. It’s quarter to five.
Moira’s wet skirt is cooling against her skin, but she waits five minutes before leaving herself. She skirts the puddles, puts her ash-coloured umbrella up, and huddles down the street.
When she looks ahead, she realizes Billie’s yellow trench coat is bobbing ahead of her. She slows down. So does Billie. Moira takes a quick right, thinking she can dash onto Eighth Street. But there’s a red light, and Billie pulls up to her. Her nostrils narrow when she sees Moira, but both women nod.
When the light changes, Billie strides ahead. She veers away from the puddle, and Moira does too. Billie’s still heading in the direction Moira needs to go. Billie’s heels tread the sidewalk like a clock firm in its pronouncements. Tick, tick, tick.
Moira switches back to Seventh. She stops in at the bakery, Chelsey’s, and buys a blueberry muffin with a cream cheese centre. She stuffs it in her purse and starts walking again. When the sidewalk opens up into stairs leading to the subway, she dashes down them, pays a token, and rushes onto a train right before the doors close. Fumbling for a pole, she sees Billie reading a book a few people down. Billie seems to feel her gaze. She looks up and scowls. It’s familiar.
They get off at the same stop. Billie heads to Moira’s usual exit, so Moira picks the east one instead. The wind’s starting to gust, and Moira tucks her blowing hair behind her ear. Across the street, Billie’s yellow trench coat gets onto a bus. Moira gets on her own, and ten minutes later it shudders to a stop in what looks like her neighborhood. There’s something different about it, but she doesn’t know what. She’s walking for five minutes when she hears the firm tick, tick, tick behind her. She doesn’t look back, but she ducks down a small road and steers for the longer way around, the path by the tugboat docks.
The waves have a hard edge to them, like the rind of a cheese. She wants to eat them. She wants to look away. Moira hears the tick, tick, tick again behind her, but it’s slower now. Less sure. She can hear a hint of something in it. It feels like longing. It feels like it wants her.
When Moira turns around this time, she doesn’t know if she should run or wave or scream. Billie’s face looks like a mix of all three. Her steps waver, but she follows Moira onto the tugboat dock. Or maybe Moira follows Billie. The water splashes between the boards and hits their feet.
“Have you tried it since?” Moira asks. Then she steps off the dock.
When Leah runs to find a towel, Billie finally speaks. “Moira?”
Moira ducks her head down. “I just started working here last week. Haven’t seen you since…” She shifts in her shoes. “Camp.”
In Billie’s eyes, something scared snuffs out the spark from before. “Yeah. Camp.” She brushes off her blouse. “Well, I have to go,” she says. Then she grabs her coat from the closet and leaves. It’s quarter to five.
Moira’s wet skirt is cooling against her skin, but she waits five minutes before leaving herself. She skirts the puddles, puts her ash-coloured umbrella up, and huddles down the street.
When she looks ahead, she realizes Billie’s yellow trench coat is bobbing ahead of her. She slows down. So does Billie. Moira takes a quick right, thinking she can dash onto Eighth Street. But there’s a red light, and Billie pulls up to her. Her nostrils narrow when she sees Moira, but both women nod.
When the light changes, Billie strides ahead. She veers away from the puddle, and Moira does too. Billie’s still heading in the direction Moira needs to go. Billie’s heels tread the sidewalk like a clock firm in its pronouncements. Tick, tick, tick.
Moira switches back to Seventh. She stops in at the bakery, Chelsey’s, and buys a blueberry muffin with a cream cheese centre. She stuffs it in her purse and starts walking again. When the sidewalk opens up into stairs leading to the subway, she dashes down them, pays a token, and rushes onto a train right before the doors close. Fumbling for a pole, she sees Billie reading a book a few people down. Billie seems to feel her gaze. She looks up and scowls. It’s familiar.
They get off at the same stop. Billie heads to Moira’s usual exit, so Moira picks the east one instead. The wind’s starting to gust, and Moira tucks her blowing hair behind her ear. Across the street, Billie’s yellow trench coat gets onto a bus. Moira gets on her own, and ten minutes later it shudders to a stop in what looks like her neighborhood. There’s something different about it, but she doesn’t know what. She’s walking for five minutes when she hears the firm tick, tick, tick behind her. She doesn’t look back, but she ducks down a small road and steers for the longer way around, the path by the tugboat docks.
The waves have a hard edge to them, like the rind of a cheese. She wants to eat them. She wants to look away. Moira hears the tick, tick, tick again behind her, but it’s slower now. Less sure. She can hear a hint of something in it. It feels like longing. It feels like it wants her.
When Moira turns around this time, she doesn’t know if she should run or wave or scream. Billie’s face looks like a mix of all three. Her steps waver, but she follows Moira onto the tugboat dock. Or maybe Moira follows Billie. The water splashes between the boards and hits their feet.
“Have you tried it since?” Moira asks. Then she steps off the dock.