Cold War - Jerome Preisler [127]
The situation at Cold Corners gave Annie pause, though. Its water supply plant was down, its security compromised . . . existing predicaments that would be magnified by what were only nuisance problems elsewhere. The last thing the crew here needed was to have their difficulties compounded, to become more isolated than was usually the case because of radio and satcom disturbances. And the last thing Annie wanted was to be leaving when they were in a pinch. Many of the researchers were longtime friends. There was Megan. And yes, there was Pete.
Annie sighed. Like it or not, she was shipping out, soon and without any choice. But she still had time to make herself useful, talk to Meg about the latest info she’d gotten off the computer, give her recommendations on how to address some of the technical hiccups that might be expected during the solar outbursts. Her soap, dental floss, and makeup could wait till afterward to be tucked away in their luggage pouches.
She rose, strode to her door, started to pull it open.
And then blinked in surprise.
Pete Nimec stood in the partial opening, his hand raised in the air, frozen as if he’d been about to knock.
“Pete,” she said, startled.
“Annie,” he said, his eyes as surprised as hers.
They stood there in silence, her hand on the doorknob.
Nimec lowered his arm and indicated the parka he’d left on after hitching a ride back from the chopper pad aboard one of the big-wheel shuttles.
“The reason I’m wearing this is I was about to leave base—” He cut himself short. “Well, I’m pretty much on my way out . . . there’s a helicopter waiting to take me into the valleys right now. . . .”
“I’d heard.” Annie nodded toward her open carry bag. “It so happens I’m busy packing myself. . . .”
“Ah,” he said. “If I’m getting in your way—”
“No, no. It was just a comment.”
“Ah,” he said.
“About the timing,” she said.
“Right.”
There was another beat of silence.
Nimec inhaled.
“Annie . . . can I come in a minute?” he said. “I’d like to talk. That is, I’d like to apologize for not . . . you know . . . talking to you sooner . . .”
“It isn’t your fault.” She opened the door a bit wider. “We’ve both had our hands full here at Cold Corners, and our paths just haven’t crossed—”
Nimec was shaking his head.
“I don’t mean talking to you here. I mean, well, before this particular occasion.”
She looked at him, but said nothing.
“Months before this occasion,” he said.
She remained quiet.
“I want to explain why I never called you,” he said. “After you invited me for the Thanksgiving holiday—”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do. Really. If you’ll let me.”
Annie stood watching Nimec another long moment. Then she nodded slowly, opened the door the rest of the way, and shut it behind him.
They faced each other in the room.
“Okay,” Annie said, a step or two inside the door. “You were saying . . .”
Nimec swallowed hard, his throat even scratchier now than it had felt in Megan’s office.
“Annie,” he said, and halted. Which he guessed made it three, or maybe four times he’d already done that like a bumbling fool. “When we first met . . . in Florida, remember . . . ?”
“Yes, Pete,” she said. “I told you I’ve been busy. But I think my recollection’s fairly intact.”
“Good,” he said. “Of course, that is. Anyway, when we met . . .”
“In Florida . . .”
“Right . . . well, I knew right off we could never be friends.”
She arched a puzzled eyebrow.
“Oh?”
Nimec shook his head, frustrated with himself. Had he just said what he thought he’d said?
He held up his hand.
“No, wait, that isn’t what I mean,” he said. “What I mean is that I didn’t want to be just friends. That meeting you was special . . . I felt we really clicked, you know—”
“I know, Pete. I felt the same way,” Annie said. “I thought we both realized it.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Exactly . . .”
“What surprised me was that you could choose to let something that special go.”
Nimec’s heart was racing in his chest.
“I didn’t,” he said.
“Pete—”
“I never let it go.”