Coffee (14 page)

Etty
was dead. His knee bumped the chair where she had sat only a few
days before. He reached to push it aside, but his hand lingered
delicately on the fabric. “Why?” he whispered. So
perfect, so genuine. Why would fate let such a unique article slip
from it’s grasp and shatter. The first woman in his muddled
life worth a lasting friendship, or even more.

He
raised his hand close to his face. He could smell his cane’s
leather handle on his palm. Outlines of his fingers were barely
visible as he slowly gripped them into a fist. “I’m
nothing. I can’t even see my own skin. Why didn’t you
take me?”

The
message tone quietly beeped from his phone, but no way he wanted to
listen. Not tonight. He couldn’t bear hearing the long line
of data research requests, not yet. He picked up a half empty
coffee cup from Friday night and threw it in the trash.

Knut
had been in the Student Union having a beer Friday night when he
heard the news. While he sat silently in a corner, he followed the
wave of gasps and sighs that spread like brush fire across the room.
A table of students nearby began exchanging the sketchy rumors.
“Someone killed in a car.” “Big explosion.”
“... lived up the hill.” “Ph.D. student, woman
in finance.” The picture fit. He had talked to Etty only an
hour before, as she was preparing to leave. He grabbed his cane and
stood up next to his table. “Who was in the accident!”
he shouted out. After an initial pall of silence, a young man spoke
up, “It was up on Trescott Ridge Road, a blue two door - some
think it might be Harriet Bishop. She lived up near ... “
Knut snapped together his cane and stormed out toward the exit,
hitting tables and chairs clumsily. Students rushed ahead of him to
move what they could out of the way, seeing his obvious anxiety.

In
the anteroom near the front door, Knut found a phone and quickly
dialed Warren’s home. “Yea?” Warren said
groggily, having again fallen asleep in the chair.

“Warren,
it’s Knut. Something terrible, Etty may have been in an
accident up on the ridge. Come and get me at the Union, I’ll
call the police for more details.” Before Warren had a chance
to respond, Knut had gone.

Warren
pulled up a pair of warm-ups, and threw on a thick sweater. He
skidded off in his red BMW, leaving the TV on and warm food on a
little table.

Knut
walked out as soon as Warren pulled up, knowing well the hum of
Warren’s expensive car, an oddity among students and faculty.
Knut started right in as he closed the door. “Warren, it
sounds bad, really bad. The police gave me the ‘relatives
have not been notified’ line. It was her car, on her road,
and it happened right about the time she would have been leaving for
the airport.”

“My
God!” Warren said, unable to believe it, as he turned up
Wheelock, heading for Trescott Ridge Road.

“Someone
said the car plowed down a steep bank into a tree, and exploded.
Warren, this is unimaginable. This can’t be.”

The
two remained silent until the sparkle of blinking blue, red, and
yellow lights appeared through the trees. Knut leaned up to the
windshield as if he could see. “Can you see the car? Tell me
everything!”

Warren
pulled over before the blockade. “They have the whole road
cut off. They’ve got spot lights shining down the hill.
There must be twenty, thirty officers here, a bunch of them down
with what looks like the car.” They opened the door. Burning
rubber smell lay heavy in the air. Buzzing radios, shouting men, a
megaphone shouting out commands. “It’s a mess, Knut.”

“Can
we get closer? Is there anyone in the car? Maybe she’s
standing around at the top of the hill. Maybe she got out. Can you
see her?” Knut strained to see, holding Warren’s arm
firmly. Only the dimmest dots of light cut through to his field of
vision. An ambulance started its wailing sirens. Two policemen
pulled aside the temporary barricade to let it pass.

“Warren,
an ambulance! This is good, why would they take her to the hospital.
She must be alive!” Knut held on to any sliver of hope.

“Just
stay here for a moment, Knut, I’ll talk to these guys.”
Warren stomped through the heavy blanket of new snow. Knut ignored
the request and followed. “Officer?” Warren asked. One
turned, agitated. “Officer, who was it?”

“Can’t
say yet. We’ve got work to do, so please move on.”

“Was
the driver seriously injured?”

The
policeman stopped and reviewed the two concerned men, one wearing
only a thin tailored shirt. “I’m afraid so. Now please,
go on home.”

Warren
and Knut stood side by side facing the activity. The biting air
felt distant and unreal. Knut’s untucked shirt waved in the
wind. They listened, spellbound, to the tow truck winch pulling the
car out of the ravine. The front end was buckled from bumper to
windshield. Only the back end showed recognizable coloring, as the
front had charred. “It’s her car. ... Let’s go.
There’s nothing more here.” Warren had to tug to get
Knut to follow.

By
noon Saturday, the police sent an official announcement to the
school. Newspapers covered the story in the Sunday edition.

“
Harriet
Bishop, Doctoral student at Dartmouth College in Hanover, NH, died
on Friday night as her car careened off Trescott Ridge Road into a
tree. Winter storm conditions created hazardous driving. She leaves
her parents, Duane and Geri Bishop of Nashua, NH, who confirmed the
identity of Miss Bishop. In lieu of flowers, they have requested
donations be made to support Nashua’s Memorial Hospital
Children’s Hospice Wing
construction project.”

Heavily
bundled mourners filled the main quadrangle of the College on Sunday
morning. Dartmouth’s Chaplain led with a prayer. The College
President spoke briefly. Warren gained permission from the Bishops,
and gave one of the eulogies to Etty. He spoke of inner spark, lust
for accomplishment, and a dramatic dedication for those things she
held dear. Knut leaned up against one of the buildings behind the
make shift stage to listen, out of sight. He sobbed quietly in his
darkness.

Nashua’s
Memorial Hospital received two major gifts, one from Dartmouth
College and a second, anonymously. Together, they covered
construction for the new hospice wing. Although the two never
talked about it, Knut knew Warren was responsible for both.



After
wasting away Monday on naps and food, Knut felt good getting back to
his computer lab. Here his research could consume him, so the hours
would pass with less pain. Tonight he planned to settle in, clean
up, try to build up strength for the start of the next day.

He
poured a glass of his Schmirnoff, and leaned back uncomfortably in
his wheeled chair. As he often did late at night in his isolated
sanctuary, he spoke aloud to the empty room.

“Etty.
I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral, or talk to your
parents. I haven’t even talked to Warren since that night.”
He swallowed half the glass of Vodka. “You’re not going
to disappear.” He sat up straight and logged onto his
terminal, pulling Mantis to his eyes. “For one thing, I’m
going to finish that paper of yours. I don’t know what Global
is up to, but I’m going to find out. It might not be as well
done, but you’ll still finish.” He reached up to his
safe and pulled down the disk he’d made of last Tuesday’s
price statistics. “I won’t even put my name on it, only
Harriet V. E. Bishop. You’ll still be the hero.”

The
sound of a woman’s shoes outside the door, and a knock
startled him. She edged the door open. Without thinking, he
blurted out, “Etty?”

The
woman heard the name. Just as Bart Maslow thought. Knut Olafson
must know the Bishop girl is alive. But who else knew? She
answered with false hesitancy, “Hello?”

The
unfamiliar voice shook Knut out of his stupor. He sat down to see
the time on Mantis. 2:04am. “Who’s there?”

The
young woman pushed the door open wide. “You’re working
in the dark? I’m looking for the Human Resources department,”
she lied, in airy, low tones.

Knut
laughed out loud. “Human Resources? You’ve got to be
kidding. A little late, don’t you think? ... Turn the light
on, it’s to your right.”

“Actually
I’m dropping off my resignation letter. I quit today,”
she said from the doorway.

Knut
turned his chair to face her. A strange visitor to distract him
with small talk might just be good. He knew from her subtle accent
she came from the south. “Resigning? In the middle of the
night?”

“I’m
a secretary in the History Department. I had a bunch of paper work
to do before I left so it wasn’t a total disaster in the
morning. I’m done, and now I’m out of here.” She
was proud of her story, having worked it out on the flight up from
Texas.

“You
work here, and you don’t know where HR is?” Knut
wondered.

“I’ve
been over before, but the last time was when I picked up an
application. I forget where it is.”

Knut
whistled a laugh. “First floor, north end, fourth door on the
right after the elevators. It’ll be locked, but there’s
a wide mail slot in the door you can shove your letter in.”

“Thanks.
Mind if I come in?”

“For
a few minutes I suppose. Sure.”

She
approached. Knut followed the sound of her feet on the wooden
floors. No clomping, light on her feet. “Isn’t it a
bit snowy outside for those shoes? What are they, slippers?”

“You
call these slippers?”

“Oh,
whatever, they don’t sound like snow boots.”

She
noticed he didn’t look at her feet. “You mean you’re
blind?”

“We
prefer the term ‘blind as a bat.’”

“Oh,
I’m sorry ... You do?”

Knut
relaxed a bit. The silly exchange helped him break out of his funk.
“I’m kidding. Don’t be sorry. I’m fine,
believe me. ... So, Miss, what made you decide to leave this
illustrious establishment of higher learning?”

“My
name is Sonya.”

“Okay
Sonya. I’m Knut.”

“Knut?
That’s different.”

“I’m
different.”

She
sighed. “I want more from a job, that’s why. Lot’s
more. Hey, is that Vodka?”

“Sure
is. Have some. You don’t work here anymore, after all.”

“I’d
love a swig.”

Knut
reached up for a glass, and found the one Etty had used. He felt
the edge of the glass between his fingers. He thought of Etty’s
lips, one of the last places she touched. He replaced it and
retrieved a clean glass from a lower cabinet. He poured a hefty
amount and handed it to Sonya. “Enjoy.” He picked up
his own. “May you find fame and fortune,” and tipped it
back. Knut could tell by the sound that she drank the whole amount
in a single shot. “Man, you drink like a long shoreman.”

She
heaved a breathy laugh. “Fill her up,” she said while
pushing the glass against his free hand. Knut poured.

“I’m
going to be a model. Maybe a movie star,” she mused.

“Ambitious
too. You must be pretty.”

“How
strange, that’s right, you have no idea, do you? Not a clue
what I look like.”

“Not
no
idea. You’re light on your feet, about five - five,
fairly thin. You wear flowery perfume, in fact you put some on only
recently. Kind of strange for 2 am. You expecting company?”

“No.”
Knut sensed a blush. She continued, “You’re pretty
good. How’d you know how tall I was?”

“I
can hear where your mouth is - about five feet off the ground.
Unless you’re standing on a chair or bending over, it’s
pretty obvious.”

“Neat.
God, this is strange.”

“Your
looks must be important to you. So you’re model material?”
Knut poured more Vodka, and downed it. The bottle was nearly done,
emptied it into her glass. “Here, finish it off. After that,
I have to ask you to go. The work has piled up in the last few
days, and tomorrow will be a long one.”

“Who’d
you think I was when I walked in?” she asked, now more direct.

“I
was just mumbling. Forget it.” A pang of grief returned to
his stomach. “Oh what the hell. Maybe I’ll start
another one.” He stood and pulled a new fifth of vodka out of
his safe and poured himself a half glass.

“Did
you say ‘Etty?’ Wasn’t that the girl who was
killed in the accident?”

“She’s
no girl. And I’d rather not talk about it.” He put
down the glass and tended to a pile of papers on the desk.

Sonya
focused on the corners of his eyes and mouth as she asked, looking
for clues of what he knew. “Oh. Ok. A close friend, huh?
Well, she’s gone now forever, I guess there’s nothing
you can do.”

Knut
jerked up his head. “She’s not gone - you’ll be
hearing from her again. I promise that.”

Sonya
nodded subtly. “Why, did you hear from her or something? You
and your friends?”

“It’s
nothing. Please, and I don’t want to talk about her any
more!”

Sonya
continued to stare. “So, no one else knows about this?”

“What
are you talking about? Drop it!” He looked as best he could
toward her eyes to show his sincerity. Then he eased the air with a
softer, “Sorry, it’s late. I’m kinda stressed.
Drink up. I got work to do.”

“Right.
I’ll go, let’s have one more for the road. I need it as
bad as you, believe me.” She couldn’t press her luck.
It wasn’t like he was going to list what he’d done after
the Bishop woman called him. But she did call him, Bart had proof.
Bart will have to deal with any others. Poor guy, she thought.

“Pour
me one more.”

Knut
poured. She gulped it down. “Thanks, tastes nice and warm.
Have a last one with me.” He obliged. She put the glass in
her purse. Rustling sounds made him assume she was preparing to
leave, but she started again. “You know, Knut, I’ve
never talked to a blind guy. It’s really weird.”