Mrs Flannery

Mrs. Flannery

Claire had spent a while thinking about it, and by the time the machinist showed himself again, she was confident that she did recognize him, and had a guess as to where.

She pressed 314 on the beverage machine again, and as she brought the man his mug of coffee, she decided to ask him about it before she lost the motivation.

C: Can I ask you something?

He took a sip of his coffee first before answering.

B: Okay. What is it?

C: How did you know Mrs. Flannery?

The man raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

It was a simple question, but as he asked it he looked at her with that oddly piercing gaze, not unfriendly necessarily, but strangely intense. She got the feeling that he was pretending to be confused, but in reality was several steps ahead in the conversation. Then again, she always thought that others had their conversations played out in their minds, while she was always panicking for the next thing to say. But she doubled down.

C: That was you, wasn’t it? At the funeral? I mean, not to pry…

As she said it, she knew it was already too late for that. She continued,

C: but there were only like, five people.

B: Mmmm. Right, Mrs. Flannery.

He thought for a moment, maybe deciding exactly how to phrase his answer. For a second he moved as if he was about to speak, but stopped short. And then,

B: Didn’t know her too well. But she sounded like a nice person.

C: She was. She was my neighbor. She was like one of those cat ladies, you know? She kept to herself. But she was always really nice to me. One time I came home upset, I don’t know I was just being stupid. And she made me some tea and listened to my problems, like she was my mom or something.

He nodded, staring into his coffee again. After another moment of inert silence, the man suddenly leaned forward the tiniest bit and looked her and gave her that look again. And again she wanted to take back what she had said, except that as far as she knew she hadn’t said anything interesting.

B: How far along are you?

She glanced sharply at her belly, and realized that she had been unconsciously touching it.

C: Twelve weeks. I don’t think anyone else has noticed.

The man simply nodded. It occurred to Claire that this was a rude, invasive question to ask — at least, it occurred to her that she ought to feel this was the case, but he asked it so casually and confidently that she found herself answering almost involuntarily. She glanced around the room for a moment to see if anyone was listening to the conversation. The only other person there was Rachel. She was in the opposite corner making jewelry as usual, by all appearances minding her own business. But she probably heard, Claire thought. Don’t constructs have super hearing or something?