Monday Mourning читать онлайн

“Lore?”

Charbonneau took a pink wad from his mouth, studied it, rolled his eyes up, and tipped his head toward my wastebasket.

I handed him a Post-it.

Charbonneau wrapped the Bazooka and arced it into the bin.

“Ryan told me about your drop-in at Menard’s crib on de Sébastopol. Sounds like the guy’s a real piece of work.”

“Yeah.”

I rubbed circles on my temples with the balls of my fingers.

“Headache?”

I nodded.

“Try eating something real spicy. That works for me.”

“Thanks.”"

"“Not much news from my end. Menard’s got no jacket in California.

One correction on his academic career, though. Squirrel wasn’t tossed. He actually registered for the second year at Chico.”

“And?”

“No show.”

I stopped rubbing. “Menard paid tuition, enrolled in classes, then never showed up?”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

Charbonneau shrugged. “Squirrel didn’t RSVP. Just never showed up.”

“Did he terminate his lease? Close out his accounts?”

“I’m working on that.”

“Where was he until he landed in Vermont in January?”

Charbonneau grinned.

“I’m working on that, too.”

The condo was dark when I arrived. Birdie was sleeping on the sofa back. He raised his head and blinked when I turned on a lamp.

“Anne?” I called out.

No answer.

Birdie stretched, dropped to the floor, and went belly up.

“Anne?” I called again as I rubbed Birdie’s tummy.

Silence.

“Where is she, Bird?”

The cat rolled to all fours, stretched each back leg, then strolled to the kitchen. In seconds I heard the crunch of Science Diet nuggets.

“Annie?”

Her bedroom door was still closed.

I knocked and went in.

And my heart sank.

Anne’s belongings were gone. A note lay on the desk.

I stared at it a moment, then reached out and unfolded the paper.

Dearest Tempe,

I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your kindness and patience. Not just this past week, but throughout the entire course of our wonderful, joyful, precious friendship. You have been my buttress, the wind beneath my wings. (Remember “our” movie?)

We’re alike in so very many ways, Tempe.

I’m not good at talking about my feelings. I’m not even good at thinking about my feelings. You were perfect for me.

Now it’s time to wrap this up. Though I can never say it to you, know that I love you so very very much. Please don’t be angry with me for doing it this way.

Anne

A whole catalog of emotions gripped me.

Love. I knew my friend and understood how hard those words had been for her.

Guilt. Engrossed in my own problems, I’d not really focused on Anne’s.