“Cool. No dishes left in the sink. Got it.” She scooped out another spoon of granola.
Linnea licked her lips. “Anna, look. This was my grandmother’s beloved house. And Cara loves this beach house more than the grand house she’s living in now. And so do I. We treasure it. We take care of it.” She paused, clenching her hands tight in her lap. “If you don’t feel you can embrace that, then…” She shrugged. “This is not going to work.”
Anna dropped her spoon. It clattered loudly against the bowl. In a swift move, she leaned back against the wood chair, arms clamped together, and swung her head to look out the window a moment, a tic working her jaw. When she faced Linnea again, her eyes were cold.
“I never had any intention of not doing my part. You’re dumping this on me because I don’t want to share recipes with you.”
Linnea opened her mouth to speak, but Anna swung out a hand toward the paper on the table. “Go ahead, write up one of your little schedules for cleaning. I promise I’ll follow it. I won’t leave dishes in the sink. I’ll pay my share of the bills. Okay? But don’t ask me to be happy, because right now I’m feeling a little bummed. I’ve basically lost my job. I’ve no money in the bank, I’m dependent on you for a place to live, and I have no idea what my future holds. So forgive me if I just don’t feel there’s anything to be particularly cheery about.”
“I lost my job too!” Linnea shouted, her frustration finding voice.
“But you have your family!” Anna’s eyes flashed “They have your back.”
“I have your back. I offered to let you stay here, didn’t I?”
“You just threatened to kick me out!”
“Jeez Louise, listen to you,” Linnea shot back. “I did not threaten to kick you out.”
Anna glared at her.
Linnea felt a twinge of shame. “Well, maybe I did. Sort of. I’m sorry. What I mean is, I’m giving you an option.”
Anna gave her a skewed look.
Linnea took a breath, not wanting to escalate the argument more. She felt her anger flow away, leaving her deflated. “I’m sorry if you feel threatened, Anna. I didn’t mean that.”
The tension dissipated. Anna blew out a plume of air. “I’m sorry too. I’ve been a bitch, I know that. I…” She sighed again and shrugged. “I’ve been pretty depressed.”
Understanding brought compassion. “I wondered.”
Anna shrugged. “I’m scared. I don’t know if I’ll ever get my job back, and even if I do, I don’t know if it’s what I really want to do. For the future.”
Linnea leaned forward, curious. She’d thought Anna loved her job working at the sea turtle hospital. “What else do you want to do?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. Being stuck at home, I’ve been forced to take stock. I feel pretty bleak about the future. What’s the world going to look like? Will we ever get back to normal? Hell, what is normal anymore? Sometimes I feel I’m a breath away from screaming.”
“Oh, Anna. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Well, I knew you weren’t happy, but I didn’t know why.”
“Hey,” she said with typical bravado. “It is what it is.”
“Is it? I’m worried too. But if we sit around and feel sorry for ourselves, when the pandemic ends—and it will—we won’t have anything to show for this time. Maybe you could use this time to explore other options.”
“Yeah.”
Linnea could see Anna had already shut her out. “Do you want to talk to someone?”
“I’m talking with you.”
“No, I mean, a therapist? Someone objective to help you through this?”
“And how am I going to pay for that?” Anna shook her head. “I’ll figure it out.” She pushed back her chair.
Linnea stopped her by putting a hand on her arm. “Wait, there’s something else I have to tell you.”
Anna tilted her head. “Oh yeah?”
“Gordon called. He’s arriving in a few weeks.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Linnea cringed. “He’ll be staying here.”
Anna’s brows shot up. “He’s moving in here?” She looked away, thought a moment, then turned back. “Unbelievable.”
“Yeah.”
Anna twisted a smile. “So, is he going to chip in too? Dishes, laundry, follow the schedule?”
Linnea lifted her shoulders. “I suppose he will.”
“Cool.” Anna rose and picked up her bowl, spoon, and coffee cup. “Got it, roomie. No wallowing. Neat and tidy.” She turned and went to the sink, where she promptly washed her dishes and set them in the strainer. Then she sponged off the counter, rinsed the sponge, and dried her hands.
“I’ll try to find something to help me feel better.” Anna stood quietly for a moment, as though she wanted to say more, but only turned and walked out of the kitchen.
A minute later, Linnea heard the bedroom door close.
* * *
THE LONG-AWAITED WARM weather returned. Despite the sunshine, however, the pandemic worries and fears hovered over the lowcountry, as they did the world. It was strange not to participate in Easter church services, neighborhood egg hunts, or spring breaks. April was the beginning of the peak wedding season, and Charleston and its surrounding plantations and beaches were the top wedding destinations in the county. Yet this year the spring weddings were canceled, shops were closed, restaurants were shuttered, and few people ventured from their homes. Linnea could walk down King Street on one of her rare ventures into the city and see maybe one or two others peeking in the windows, not venturing inside.
Nonetheless, Linnea noticed that the natural world outside her window continued in its normal pattern. She looked out the window and chuckled, as she always did when she saw the Rube Goldberg contraption John had built when he’d installed the new bird feeder. It hung from the kitchen window in such a clever way that no squirrels or varmints could reach it. There was even a trap tray underneath it that somehow opened and closed to contain the dropped seeds. It looked a bit wonky, but it somehow worked.
The feeder was a happening place. All sorts of birds visited for the seed she was careful to keep full in the tray. She usually spied a cherry-red cardinal, or a noisy blue jay, or a bossy mockingbird. Her first instinct was always to call for Hope to come look. Linnea began a journal, writing down the names of the birds she identified to share with Hope. By the month’s end, she was surprised how many birds she’d listed: tufted titmice, grackles, finches, chickadees. Plump gray mourning doves with their sweet coos swooped in when the others left. And the ever-present squirrels were comical as they desperately tried to get to the seeds, only to fail again and again. She looked at the long metal arm John had constructed for the bird feeder and smiled. He truly was the master builder.
As she watched a particularly showy painted bunting at the feeder, she thought about what she’d said at the house meeting when Anna had arrived. How she wanted to be able to look back at this time of sheltering in place not as a time of fear and distress, but as a gift of time she would not otherwise have been given. Time. That was the salient word. Time to do something different. New.