Forty Days and Nights: Love Stories. 7. Tea and Curry

He started to tell her but she left the room.
He watched where she had gone and thought about that for a while, long enough to eat a shrimp and something on crunchy toast with sun dried tomatoes, and then walked briskly after her out onto the patio.
She was nowhere to be seen.
That was a poser. Momentarily stumped, he dithered in front of another table of food, trying to remember how it had gone before and felt fairly sure he had gotten all the way through the first two times, at least, and most of the way through the next several times. She had not walked away from him til he had been telling her for a couple of weeks, and he couldn't remember her ever disappearing completely.
He made up his mind, walked all the way around the garden, searching carefully, practicing and improving what he had to tell her and ended up back in front of that same table without once spotting her. He ate bean dip and corn salsa and thought some more. The restroom. Had to be. Off he went.

She was loading a plate with green curry and raspberry cheesecake when she heard him coming. This was unbelievable, just unbelievable. She hovered, moving back and forth between possible escape routes and then grabbed a big glass of ice water and headed to the library, where she set her food on the host's desk, shut the door, sighed happily and started scanning book spines. She'd been in here once before and had longed then to spend more time with these books. She was stuck til the people who gave her a ride decided to call it a night, but she could happily wait it out in here with the books. One thing for sure, she wasn't going back out there as long as he was floating around, waiting to tell her. No. Never again. If she ran out of food, she thought she could slip into the garden or the kitchen without being seen, if she were careful. There were food tables everywhere. She would be fine. She took her plate and a stack of books and curled up in a big chair from which she could see anyone coming through the library door. She paused, staring out over the book in her hands, then got up and turned her chair around, pushing it back out of sight of the door and moving a little table over for her books and the curry. She decided she'd rather not be able to see who was coming in the door after all since it meant they could also see her. She climbed into the big chair and for good measure tucked her feet up under her. There. Hidden. Nothing showed. She opened a book and took a big bite of the curry. Through the open windows she could hear the music and see little lights all over the garden. Lovely.

She was asleep when he finally thought to come looking for her in the library. He was talking and talking as the silent host held the door and then turned on a lamp, saying the same things he had said to everyone for the last two hours. He just needed to tell her, he was only wanting to tell her, but he couldn't find her anywhere. No one seemed worried, which he could not fathom, and no one was helping him find her, which was driving him crazy. He couldn't understand it, for the life of him he couldn't understand it. Now he had thought of hunting her in the library, he was sure she would be here, he knew how much she loved books.

The host stood back and let him look around book stacks and peek into corners and under the desk. He talked about her the whole time, saying and saying the things he was needing to tell her. He walked and searched and talked and talked and finally walked swiftly out of the room, down the hall and out the front door. Through the open window the host could hear him talking and talking as he strode through the soft, dark garden and down the street. The host watched quietly, arms folded, standing near the open window, back to a chair that faced out into the dark garden, waiting til all the words faded. His attention had been fastened on the stack of book resting on a little table pulled close to the big chair, and he crossed to them now, turning them softly over, wondering at them. He bent and picked up a book that had fallen to the floor and turned it over and over in his hand, shaking his head and smiling in delight. Then the host set the book back down gently and closed the windows, turned the lamp very low and spread a blanket over the girl sleeping in his big chair. He took her empty plate with him to the kitchen.

When she woke it was light and birds were singing in the wet garden. The host had left a cup of peppermint tea on the little table next to her and next to the books she had left piled on the little table was a new stack of books with a note on top. The note told her the host had looked at the books she had chosen and thought she might enjoy these, as well, that he had informed her friends he would give her a ride home himself, and that he hoped she wouldn't mind. She picked up the cup of tea; it was hot. She walked to the window, open again now, and looked outside. The host was standing under an apple tree; its branches, heavy with tiny green apples, reached down to brush the top of his head, his hair. He looked up and there she was, standing startled and sleepy at the window. The host raised his hand to her silently and she put up her hand in a tiny wave, then checked her hair and smiled back, shy. The host smiled, looked around at the early morning, the garden and the sky, and began to walk happily to toward the house.