Dearest - George Harrison Fan Fiction - Beatles Fan Fiction

Chapter Two - The Nightingale Sister

Annette held the coffee pot under the faucet, filling the chamber halfway with water. She grabbed the canister off of the kitchen counter, placed it inside the electric coffeepot, and scooped several spoonfuls of coffee grounds into it. She yawned, plugging the coffeepot into the outlet, and placed the lid on top. She briefly glanced at the kitchen entrance, hearing the sound of the door open and close.

Florence shuffled tiredly into the kitchen. "Good morning." She slipped the strap of her purse off her shoulder and set it on the table.

The overnight shift at Bellevue was exhausting, but Florence was a dedicated nurse. She'd never been the type of person to shy away from hard work.

Annette smiled, grabbing two cups from an overhead cabinet. "It is a good morning." She replied brightly, pouring both of them a cup of coffee.

"Feeling better?" She prompted, taking off her coat, and placed it on the back of the chair. She sat at the table, opened her purse, and pulled out her pack of Camels and lighter.

"I wasn't feeling bad."

Florence pointedly stared at her daughter, lighting the end of her cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaled a could of smoke through her nose.

Annette backpedaled hastily. "I'm feeling fine now." She joined her mother at the table, holding their cups of coffee in her hands. She placed one in front of Florence and settled down across from her.

These early morning talks are a tradition that was informally established when Annette was in her early teens. It wasn't a coincidence that these chats coincided with the onset of her trouble with anxiety.

"What happened?" Florence sipped on her coffee and smoked her Camel.

She smiled radiantly, thinking of George. "I saw him yesterday."

Florence shook the end of her cigarette into the ashtray, studying her daughter's taken expression. Annette hadn't come right out and said she was involved with this young man, but Florence had put two and two together.

"He's staying at the Plaza Hotel. They have the entire twelfth floor to themselves." She motioned animatedly with her hands.

Florence laughed softly. "Those boys are making quite the fuss. The younger nurses on the overnight shift were talking about them. A band from somewhere over in England a topic of conversation on my unit. The girls talked about the funny way those English boys speak and that hair of theirs. All of them really could use a good haircut. Is that why you were upset yesterday?"

Annette stared down into her unsipped cup of coffee. "Because of their hair?" She played badly at being clueless.

Florence stubbed out her cigarette and lit herself another one.

Annette continued. "After work, I have to pass the Plaza on the way to the subway." She paused, acutely recalling the sense of fear she felt at being so close to the chaos.

Florence reached out, placing her hand over her daughter's.

"It was just — it was just all too much. The girls in hysterics. The press. The police couldn't control it. I just couldn't deal with it." She lowered her head. "You saw me right after that."

"I feel terrible. I want to fix this for you. I just don't know what to do."

Annette picked up her cup of coffee with shaky hands. "It's not your fault."

(————)

"I'm fine, Lou." George accepted the cup of tea from Louise and placed it on the bedside table. "You haven't got to look after me."