Pineapple Candies

*******

    "So that was it? She just left like that?"

    "Yep.  Just like that." I answer without looking at him. I pick up my glass, clearing enough room to refresh the ice before I refill it.

    I remember just smiling at her when she told me. Whether it was her expression, or delivery, or the fact that she had become such an integral part of our department, her leaving seemed incomprehensible.

    "Watching her bike out of the garage that evening, I fully expected to see her in her office on Monday, the same as usual."

    "Didn't she even come in to clear out her personal belongings?"

    I shake my head. "She already had." I look over at him. "I don't know when. She only had her laptop and backpack with her when she left on Friday, so it must have been sometime over the weekend or before anyone came in on Monday. Her stuff was already gone when I stopped by her office first thing that morning.

    Our department head happened by as I was standing in the doorway of her empty office, obviously looking a little shell-shocked."

~

    "You're not the only one." She says placing a supportive hand on my shoulder and offering me a consolatory smile. "She didn't tell anybody, and she asked me not to either."

    "But, when... why-" is all that makes it out coherently - and I already knew. Or I would have if I'd believed her on Friday. I can only imagine what the rest of the department is like.  It's going to be a long day.

    "She actually gave me her resignation a month ago."

    "A month?!" Aside from it being planned so far in advance, the fact that there hadn't been so much as a breath of it escape in that length of time absolutely floors me.

    "She said she didn't want her impending departure to be detrimental to the normal work flow, so I agreed to keep it between us until after she left."

    Claire's looking at me and she's either reading my expressions or my mind because she's answering my questions right on the mark.

    "She didn't go to another firm; she said she had some personal projects that she needed to devote her energies to for a while. I tried to talk her into just taking a leave of absence, but she said she was unsure how long she would need."

    She takes a deep breath before her smile returns fixedly to its place. "I know." She says with a nod. "But on the upside, if there is one, there won't be any added strain to anyone's workload. She finished up everything she was working on before she left, so other than any minor, last minute client dictated changes, her projects are complete. Plus, she already found and trained her replacement. He starts tomorrow.

    Let the rest of your team know for me. It's a big loss, so try to emphasize the up points." She offers me a final sympathetic pat on the shoulder before she continues toward her own office.

    The best I can do is nod and look silently after her, what with my jaw still being somewhere in the general vicinity of the floor. I watch her turn the corner at the end of the hall, then turn back for one final look at Kelley's empty office.

    Maybe I was hoping the actuality of it would have changed in those few seconds I looked away, or maybe I was thinking another look would bring the reality of it home. Neither of those things happened.

    I turn around and head off to disseminate the the news to the rest of our group.

    Yeah, it's gonna be a long day.

~

    I'm jolted back to the present by a sudden outburst of laughter from the group at the other end of the bar. Dean and I both sit watching them, ruminating in a silence that's more than a little layered with envy.

    We were there once. Did we enjoy those days as much as we could have? Did we live like that; the embodiment of what life should be like at that age, overflowing simply with the joy of being alive on this planet and being able to spend time with people you love?

    The weighted sigh that comes from Dean after a moment says he's as unsure of the answer as I am.

    He picks up his glass, downing most of it before returning it to the bar. His focus still on the group opposite. "So what kind of things did you do together over those four weeks?"

    "Normal stuff. Just everyday, ordinary, normal stuff - like you'd do with a good friend. Or your 'bestie' as she would say." I smile remembering some of the texts I'd gotten from her; 'Hey Bestie -Whatcha doing? You done work yet?', or 'Hey Bestie - give me a call when you get up.' It could easily have worn thin, but there were only a few of them and they always managed to show up at just the right moment to make me laugh.

    "And we talked. A lot. Not just small talk for the sake of conversation or filling empty air, but really talked - shared secrets, in Kelley's words. Laying out the thread-bare details of our lives for the other's perusal, would be mine.

    I don't know whether it was her intense honesty about herself or just the way she had of making people feel genuinely accepted, but she probably knew more about me than anyone ever has. Or ever will, for that matter; I can't imagine ever being that open with anyone else."

    The previously unacknowledged truth of that statement leaves a decided lump in my throat.  The scotch does little to remove it. I sit it down again, half finished.

    "I don't know, I mean, most of the things we did together seemed more or less spontaneous. We played video games, or watched old movies, went biking and played tennis a few times. We went to a midnight double feature, played Frisbee in the park; that kind of thing. Just normal stuff, like most people take for granted.

    Out of those four weeks there were only two things that had any advance planning involved. One was an overnight trip we took down to D.C., and the other was dinner at a pop-up ramen shop that was only in town for a week every year.

    And even those two things...

    I mean, I get it now. Those four weeks, the things we did, they were basically her bucket list, but it was all ordinary everyday stuff."

    I pick up my glass and finish what's left in it. I keep waiting for the numbness to kick in but it's still all just salt and open wound.

    "How am I supposed to know it's her bucket list when it's all just things everybody does everyday? Who has a bucket list full of ordinary, mundane stuff like that?" I pick up my glass again, forgetting I just finished it. It goes back on the bar hard.

    "Who does that?  Who fucking does that?" My unchecked volume incurs a brief sidelong glance from the bartender.

    I reach for the bottle to fill the glass again and Dean's hand is on it. He doesn't move it. I look over at him, meeting his eyes.

    "If you're concerned about finishing the interview for your story, don't be. I've got a long way to go before I'm out cold."

    He takes his hand from the bottle. I refill my glass. And his.

    "Besides, the drive I gave you has enough information on it that you could probably piece together a decent story from that alone." I pickup my glass and hold it up in the light, temporarily lost in the slow swirling patterns of the melting ice as it invades the alcohol.  I can feel his eyes still on me.

    "It's not about the interview. Or the story." He looks away from me momentarily, picking up his glass and emptying it in one go. He refills it and his scrutiny returns.

     "I know." I sit my glass back down, untouched, and look over at him. "And you can keep that look. I don't need it." I turn away from him and pick up my glass again. His eyes remain trained on me for another minute before he does the same.