Chapter 14: Handwriting (Part Two)

David shut the office door behind him and made his way silently to his desk. He had a pounding headache now. The sound of his own raised voice, yelling at Ginger, reverberated inside his skull. He closed his eyes with a groan and slowly massaged his temples with his fingertips.

"It's just - the handwriting is a little hard to make out," she'd said. That was all it took to set him off. One perfectly innocent comment. Perfectly reasonable. Perfectly true. In the two years that Penny had worked for him, he couldn't even count the number of times he'd teased her about her handwriting.

David's mouth curved into an expression halfway between a smile and a wince as he remembered one time. Not the first time, and certainly not the last. His first evening back in his own apartment, the day the hospital released him. Penny had been the one to escort him home and help him ease himself into his own bed. She'd bustled around the room, drawing blinds and switching off lamps, as he'd reclined against the pillows and scanned his eyes across the handwriting on a pink 3x5 notecard.

"Penny, am I supposed to be able to read this?"

He'd glanced up at her. She'd crossed her arms in front of her chest and scowled. "Maybe if you stare at it long enough, it'll come to you."

He nodded vaguely and rotated the card so that he was looking at the writing upside down. "Oh I get it," he murmured. "This is one of those inkblot tests they give you to test if you're insane, right?"

"A Rorschach test? Yes, David. It's a Rorschach test."

He'd squinted at the card. "I see two butterflies and a unicorn."

He'd been exaggerating of course. He could read her handwriting well enough, but he'd pretended to struggle that night. He could see she was getting ready to head out. It would be his first night on his own after the long weeks spent convalescing at Mount Sinai. She'd carefully laid out all the supplies he would need on his bedside table: a glass of water, a bedtime snack, the TV remote, his cell phone plugged into its charger, and that single pink notecard scrawled with her handwriting. His chest had clenched with anxiety as she stood next to his bed and started pulling on her coat. He'd picked up the card and crinkled his forehead in bafflement to delay her.

They'd started with the notecards back in the hospital, back when he still had the tube down his throat. She must have stolen them from the office supply closet at work. She'd left a thick stack of them next to his bed so he could write down when he needed something, and the cards had remained there even after he could speak again. Each day at the end of visiting hours, she'd pick one up and scribble a note - a little pick-me-up to keep him company until she resumed her post at his bedside the next morning.

He hadn't expected her to keep it up with the notecards once the hospital released him, but she'd laid one on his bedside table that first evening. He'd turned the card back right side up and ran his index finger over the first word.

"No no," he pretended to correct himself. "Now I see. It's a Smurf."

"Interesting." She had her coat on and began fastening the buttons. "Any Smurf in particular?"

"Are there different ones?"

"Sure. There's Papa Smurf. There's Smurfette. There's the geeky one with the glasses...."

He'd squinted some more and pointed his finger at the colon she'd used for punctuation. "Are those the glasses?"

"It's not a Smurf, David."

"Some kind of woodland creature, then."

"No, it's actually words."

"Words?"

"Uh huh. Kind of like all the other cards I've left you?"

"So.... Not a chipmunk?"

"Not a chipmunk."

"Oh, I see." He'd pretended to be struck by a sudden burst of clarity. "That's your name."

"Yes, David. That's my name."

"Is that a phone number?"

"That's my Blackberry."

He'd looked up at her. "I have it in my phone."

"I know," she'd shrugged. "But just in case. I'll keep my ringer on all night."

"OK."

Her coat was fully buttoned. She slung a purse over her shoulder and looked back at him. "Do you need anything else before I go?"

"Nope."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"You have enough water there?"

"Yep." He'd nodded. She'd stood still and met his eyes. He'd tried to smile to reassure her, but she hadn't smiled back. "You're not OK," she'd said.

"I'm fine."

"Should I stay?"

"I'm totally fine." He'd waved the pink notecard at her. "I'm all set."

She'd snatched the card out of his hand and laid it back down on his nightstand. Then she began to unbutton her coat. "I'm staying."

"Penny...." He hadn't worked up much of a sweat, trying to fight her.

"I'll just sleep on the couch," she'd said as she shrugged off her coat and draped it over one arm. She'd bent to straighten the covers tucked around his chest. "I'll be right on the other side of that door."

"You really don't need to-"

She'd taken his hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm here," she said softly. "I'll be right here if you need me."

David dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets now as he remembered. She'd ended up camping out on his living room couch for weeks after that. At least she would start out the night on the living room couch. More nights than not, she'd wind up in a chair next to his bed, holding his hand and shushing him back to sleep. But at least she kept up the appearance of sleeping in the living room. And each night before she drew the blinds and switched off the lamps, she'd leave another little notecard by his bed. She'd kept it up with the notecards right until the end - right until that last evening before he headed back to work, and she'd left his living room couch once and for all.

He had a whole stack of them now, tucked away in the bottom drawer of his nightstand. Every once in a while, he would take them out and read through a few cards at random when he was having trouble sleeping.  He didn't need help with the handwriting. Not anymore. He probably could have recited those stupid little notes by heart if he put his mind to it.

"Hey, I drew you a picture of a Smurf to keep you company tonight. Or is it a chipmunk? You decide. Sweet dreams."

He kept them all there next to his bed - those handwriting samples. All except one, of course. The last one she'd left for him, that last night before he headed back to work. He'd folded that notecard in half after she'd gathered up her things and said goodnight. He'd stuffed it into the billfold of his wallet, and there it had remained.

With a sigh, David reached down now and took his wallet out of his pocket. He pulled the notecard free and looked at it, absent-mindedly straightening a dog-eared corner. She'd written her cell number once again, followed by those scrawled lines, sloppy to the point of illegibility. Those lines he'd run his thumb across, so many times the ink had bled:

"If you need me, you only have to pick up the phone, and I will be here right beside you. Anytime. Any reason. Day or night. Always."

The sound of his office door clicking open startled him out of his thoughts. David hastily stuffed the card back into his wallet as his boss entered the room.

Leo came to a stop on the other side of David's desk and looked at him in silence for a moment before he spoke. "You OK?"

"Fine." David shoved his wallet into his back pocket. "What's up?"

"I just found your secretary crying in the supply closet."

David winced. Ginger. He would have to make it up to her. Maybe he should give her the rest of the day off. "Sorry," he said to Leo. "I'll go talk to her." He started to stand, but Leo raised a hand to stop him.

"David, how long is this going to go on?"

"What?"

"Come on. Get it together."

David met Leo's eyes for a moment and then looked back down at the surface of his desk. "I'm working on it," he murmured.

"Well, let's show a little professionalism, shall we?"

"Yeah."

"This is about the other one? Penny?"

David pressed his lips together as he stared down at his desk. "I don't know. Maybe."

"She was more than just a temp?"

"She was a temp. She left. That's what temps do." He could feel Leo's eyes studying him. "I'll go talk to Ginger."

"Maybe Ginger isn't the one you need to talk to."

David shrugged. "I don't even have a phone number."

"How is that possible?" Leo asked.

"I just had her Blackberry. She sent it back when she quit." David looked up and met Leo's eyes. "I went by her place the other day, but she moved out. Her roommates didn't know where she went."

"You went by her place?"

"Yeah. Brooklyn." David sucked in the air between his teeth and faked a shudder. Leo didn't even crack a smile.

"You think she's in some kind of trouble?"

"Nah." David shook his head. "I'm sure she's fine."

"Sounds to me like she doesn't want to be found," Leo said.

"Guess not."

Leo stood still on the other side of the desk, studying him with a curious expression. David waited in silence for the scrutiny to pass. When Leo broke the silence at last, he spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "You love her?" Leo asked.

It was strange to David, to hear the words spoken out loud. "You love her?" They were words he'd asked himself in private, at home, in the dead of night. Not words he had ever dared to utter aloud.

David swallowed hard to clear his throat before he answered. "Maybe," David said.

"Did she know?"

David shook his head. "No, I never--that's the thing, I guess. I never told her. It just kills me that I never told her."