Ch.8, Pt.3: She tried to do a little more work…
She tried to do a little more work at her desk, reading and jotting down notes for future interviews, but her mind kept wandering. She pictured herself gaunt with AIDS, but the smiling healthy face of Rick floated into her mind’s eye and she shook her head. She read a few more lines, and imagined holding a baby, patting its back and felt a warm surge of love flow through her. She cleared her throat and leaned back in her chair, cradling the book instead. A man’s hand cupped her left breast and she started to feel warm… She slapped the book shut and stood up. “Going to the washroom,” she told Janine.
She ran cold water over her hands and then put them against her face, looking at herself in the mirror with an appalled expression. You are losing your mind. Losing control. Focus. Concentrate. Or give up and go home. Someone from accounting came in and Katherine straightened up with a smile and reached for the paper towels.
As she came out of the bathroom, she saw Blaise walking down the hall in her direction. His tall frame seemed to fill the space and he seemed to be widest through the hips, a bit like a bowling pin, she thought. As he approached, she braced herself and smiled.
“Hello Katherine, how’s it going?” he said as always. “How’s the show?” He positioned himself close in front of her, leaning on the wall, so that she couldn’t slip past him.
“Just fine,” she answered as always.
“There’s something I want to discuss with you,” he said, and his hand brushed the hair on her shoulder. “But I haven’t time now. It can wait. Maybe we’ll go out for a drink after work to discuss it.”
“Oh. Well, ah…” Her heart sank as she struggled to come up with an excuse. I have a new puppy at home? I have this elderly couple to visit? I’m waiting for an important phone call?
“But it can’t be tonight,” Blaise was saying, wagging a teasing finger in her face. “I’m busy. We’ll have to make it another night.”
“Good. That works for me. Works better for me.” She could feel herself blushing, and was horrified when he put a finger on the end of her nose, repeating “Good.” And he walked away down the hall, his hips almost hitting the sides.
Katherine sighed and returned to her office. Will this day never end, she thought. With relief, she saw that she had only about 20 minutes before she could leave. She forced herself to sit down and concentrate on the book she was reading for an interview next week.
When Janine unfolded her computer dust cover, Katherine closed her eyes thankfully. She quickly straightened up her desk and then reached for her coat. “See you tomorrow.” She left Janine staring with a slightly open mouth. Usually she didn’t get away right at 5:00.
When Harry opened the door at her knock, a delicious smell of baking wafted around her. Irma padded up to sniff at her knees, and put her ears back in a smile as Katherine patted her. The house seemed to glow in a comforting light. From the kitchen came the soft sounds of classical music on the radio. Immediately, Katherine began to relax.
“You look exhausted,” said Harry. ”Let me take your coat. Come have a cup of tea.”
Katherine glanced around as she followed Harry. She noted the polished wood banister along the stairs to the upper floor, the worn runner in the hallway to the kitchen, the comfortable old chairs and dark tables in the living room. This house feels lived in and loved, she thought. Wish mine did.
In the bright kitchen, Clara was kneading dough. “I’ve got some scones just made, but I want to finish this loaf while the oven’s hot.”
“Don’t let me stop you. I just wanted to drop in and say hello.” Katherine sank onto the wooden chair that Harry offered.
“Did you have a tough day at work?” asked Clara, rythmically pressing and folding the dough.
Katherine accepted a steaming cup from Harry. “Does it show? Nothing seemed to go right today. It felt like it dragged on forever.” She stared at the bold red flowery pattern on the tea cup. It reminded her of her childhood, when her mother used to get this kind of china in boxes of laundry detergent.
“But no real trouble?”
“No, just irritations and distractions all day. Frustrating mostly.”
“Everybody gets their share of those kind of days,” said Harry. “But they pass, and tomorrow could be a lot better. Worst thing is to waste more time dwelling on it. I always try to handle the present and let the past roll away.”
“Good idea. Want to come on my show and discuss it?” Katherine laughed and took a sip of hot tea.
“I don’t think I’d have much more to say than that,” Harry said with a smile. “But surely you’re not having trouble finding guests?”
“Hardly. There are always more people than we can handle. And there seem to be more people moving into health fields all the time. Sometimes we have trouble balancing the show so that it’s not all New Age healers.”
“I much prefer the old age healers, myself,” said Clara, the heels of her hands surely squashing the dough. Harry nodded in agreement.
“Herbalists, you mean?”
“Yeah, and people who use ancient techniques. Acupuncture, massage, laying on of hands, homeopathy - there are all kinds of old-fashioned ones that we’ve mostly forgotten.”
“Much better than untried new ones, like crystals and having someone relive their birth,” said Harry. “Can’t buy those.”
“What’s this laying on of hands?” asked Katherine.
“A type of faith healing, I guess you could say, eh Clara?” Clara shrugged and nodded, and Harry continued. “A priest calls on the Holy Ghost or Spirit to heal someone, and he puts his hands over the person.”
“Or she,” added Clara working the dough. “The priest could be female.”
“Of course,” said Harry. “He or she lays hands on the sick person.”
“Maybe even a minister,” Clara added thoughtfully. “Probably doesn’t have to be a priest.”
“And the person gets well?” Katherine cradled the hot cup.
“Sometimes.” Harry put his hands behind his head. “A lot of people find it comforting, at least. A sign that someone cares.”
“There’s a whole movement in the Anglican Church devoted to it,” said Clara, repeatedly kneading and turning. “What’s it called again?”
“Something like the Order of St. Luke. He was a doctor, you see. So it’s named after him. I don’t remember the full name.”
“That might be something for the show,” mused Katherine. “Maybe you could give me a lead on someone to contact about it.”
“I’ll ask around,” said Harry.
“Now try one of my scones,” said Clara, flouring a wooden rolling pin. “There’s wild berry jam, too.”
Katherine saw a small Mason jar half full of dark red jam on the counter. “You make your own jam?”
Clara nodded, saying “It’s easy,” and began rolling out the dough.
“You are a lucky man,” said Katherine to Harry, slathering some jam on half a hot scone.
“I know that,” he said, smiling at Clara.
“I should have you do a piece on long, happy marriages.” Katherine bit into the scone and closed her eyes in pleasure.
“I think I’ll stick to talking about gardening, if you don’t mind,” said Clara. She rolled the flattened dough into a coil, folded each end under, then placed it in a pan with a gentle slap, and covered it with a dish towel. After rinsing her hands clean, she sat down on a chair and reached for a scone.
“You ever use a woodstove?” Katherine asked, trying to sound casual.
“Used to, until about the ’60s, when we got an electric range.”
“I had a bit of excitement recently, when I tried to light my old woodstove for the first time. Rick Burman was over showing me how to do it - ” she caught herself as a glance passed between Harry and Clara, and quickly added “how to start it burning, and the chimney caught fire. I had to have the fire department put it out.”
“It wasn’t too serious, then?” Clara poured out some tea.
“The fire? No, fortunately. We had it pretty much under control. They checked everything and said I needed to have the chimney cleaned.”