Alice’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, and Jean’s heart ached again. What happened to Alice to cause that reaction? How many times was she given the cold shoulder simply because she didn’t fit societal norms? How many times had she been told she was too much, too bold, too strange ?
“I… thank you, Mrs. Blake.”
A shy smile crossed Alice’s face and she ducked her head briefly to hide it. Jean wondered what amused her. The doctor raised her head and directed another small smile at Jean, “Then it’s Alice.”
Alice’s posture relaxed minutely, her arms slacking as she uncrossed them from her robe. Underneath the aqua terry cloth material, Jean caught a glimpse of a simple pale yellow cotton pajama set and toenails painted a delicate pink peeking out from underneath the hem of her pajama bottoms. It made her smile.
“Would… you like some tea?” ” Alice cleared her throat, her softness fading and the uncertainty returning. Jean could almost see the walls building between them. It reminded her of her early run ins with Lucien, when his eyes held more shadows than light and he held people at arm’s length.
Those two were very similar, but Alice’s shadows ran deeper, tinging the very edges of her soul.
“That would be lovely,” Jean smiled again and she shifted her weight, something bumped against her hip and she remembered what she brought for Alice. “Oh! I brought some biscuits for you. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so they’re just shortbread.”
“Thank you, Jean,” The uncertainty remained, but Jean was a patient woman.
Alice led Jean into her small kitchen and walked over to the sink. As she started filling the kettle at the sink, Jean put her basket on the table.
“Would you like any help, Alice?”
“No thank you, Jean,” Alice flashed a smile over her shoulder, her hands moving on from filling the kettle to preparing the tea. As the water boiled, Alice set out two teacups (a yellow one for Jean, pale blue for herself), sugar, milk from the fridge, and a small pot of honey.
After years of service, Jean felt a little awkward being waited upon, but Alice insisted on doing it herself (“ It’s my home, Jean, let me do this for you ”). Few words were exchanged between the two of them as the tea steeped. Jean prepped her own cup, watching Alice curiously from time to time.
Her companion had relaxed, the routine of tea coupled with the quiet eased the slight tension in the air between them. Alice rested with her chin in her hand, staring out her window without actually seeing anything. She wasn’t pretty by conventional standards, but Alice certainly was striking and beautiful. Her wild scarlet curls, free around her head, softened the strong profile of her face and her cat-like eyes were a shade of pretty blue-grey. The faint speckling of freckles across her nose and sharp cheekbones tied it all together into a picture uniquely Alice.
