FEBRUARY, 1994, SEATTLE, WA
THE ONLY DOWNFALL of working the night shift at the hospital for Lindy was the unfortunate circumstance that occurred every time she was able to clock out and leave.
She was always left with a full day available to her and nothing to do with it.
As noontime came around, Lindy pulled her car into her apartment complex, trying to brainstorm a diagram of fun-filled ideas on how she could spend the rest of her day. Nothing splendid stood out, especially when all Lindy could focus on was her own stress.
Sighing, she turned her car off and gathered her things as she usually did, slinging bags over her shoulders and tromping up to her apartment stairs.
Lindy felt hyper-aware of the ring Kurt had given, which she had taken to carrying around in her purse. She knew carrying it around with her was stupid — the ring was clearly safer in her bedroom, resting on her nightstand where it could neither disappear or be stolen, unless she suffered a robbery.
It felt wrong though, leaving the beautiful ring to collect dust by her bed. She stood by her adamant stance of not wearing it until Kurt was officially divorced, but at the same time, keeping it close by her was a small reminder that she was his and he was hers, even if they could not outwardly show their love.
No one knew yet about Kurt's proposal. Lindy had come close several times to revealing the secret to Trae and Beth, but whether it was laziness or fear stopping her, she had ended up keeping her mouth pressed into a thin line every time she considered telling them.
It doesn't make sense to let them know, Lindy reprimanded herself as she began the slow climb up the stairs. Why let Trae and Beth know about the wonderful news when there would be no wedding, at least not any time soon? They would have looked at her like she was crazy, partially accepting the proposal of a married man. It made sense to no one except her.
God. She had to stop stressing. It was starting to show in her eyes and physically across her body. Beth had just finished remarking on her rail-thin arms and legs that morning.
Lindy had her head down as she approached her front door, fiddling with her keys and locating the skinny silver one assigned to her lock. Once she found it, she would have let herself inside, but a man in a puffer coat was blocking the entrance.
Lindy froze, not moving another inch forward as she registered the man's presence standing directly in front of her apartment. She briefed herself through her options, wondering if the man intended to rob her. She could either fight him — keys jutting out between her knuckles, just like Trae had taught her — or she could run away.
"Lindy Clayton?" the man asked, looking relived to see her.
Lindy took a cautious step backwards. "Who are you?" she demanded. It would have to be option one, then. She was already sliding her keys into the spaces between her fingers.
"I'm supposed to be driving you today," the man explained kindly.
"Driving me?" Lindy said suspiciously. She had most definitely not ordered a driver. In fact, she couldn't even afford to have a driver.
"Yes m'am. I was sent by Kurt to drive you to the airport."
Lindy lowered her key-laden hand but remained apprehensive. Perhaps someone had sent the man to her apartment as a mean joke — someone who obviously would have known that she and Kurt were together.
Or maybe it was Kurt, trying to tease her even from thousands of miles away. It didn't seem like his taste in humor, but it very well could have been. The coincidence of a man standing on her doorstep who knew their secrets was hard to believe.
"I don't have a flight booked," Lindy told the man. "You must have me mistaken for someone else."
"I don't believe so. Kurt was very specific in his instructions."
Lindy raised a single eyebrow. Either the guy was a really good actor, or Kurt actually knew him and had really sent a driver to Lindy's place with intentions on flying her out to god only knew where.
"Excuse me just a second," Lindy managed politely, holding up her finger and trying to squeeze past the man to her door. He obliged, moving away readily and allowing her inside.
Once Lindy dropped her things by the couch, she marched straight to her phone. Not having a direct number on hand to reach Kurt at, she decided to dial the one that Krist had last left with her only a day prior.
"You better pick up you little shit," Lindy muttered, raising the phone to her ear as the trill of the dial rang on the other end.
"Hello?" Krist said. He sounded tired.
"It's Lindy. Can you put Kurt on the phone? Now?"
"Oh, fuck. Let me guess. The driver showed up?"
Lindy huffed, close to snapping at Krist but choosing otherwise. He may have been in on the joke, but she was saving all of her venom for Kurt.
"Just put him on, please."
Krist did as told, and after a few minutes of shouting background voices and scuffling noises, Lindy heard Kurt's usual greeting through the receiver.
"Hi Linds."
"Kurt Cobain," Lindy began in a deadly serious tone. "Why the fuck —," she hissed, now spitting through her teeth, "is there a random guy standing at my door waiting to drive me to the airport?"
"You weren't supposed to call, it was going to be a surprise," Kurt whined, oblivious to Lindy's enraged command for an answer.
"Oh yes, because I was just going to hop in this strange man's car and go wherever with him. Be serious, Kurt. What the hell is going on?"
"I got you tickets to France. So you could come spend the night with me here and watch us perform."
Lindy, now stunned into losing the ability to speak, barely spluttered words from her lips upon hearing Kurt's reasoning behind his actions.
"WHAT? You want me to come to France?"
"Well, yeah. Just for a night though, I know you have work."
"Yes I have work! And I've never heard of anyone hopping on a plane to spend the night in a different country!"
Lindy was trying to keep her voice down for the sake of the innocent man outside, but she felt like the louder she yelled, the closer she'd be to waking up from the wild fever dream she was now in. There had been many strange things in her life, but an invitation to spend one night only in Europe had to be the strangest invite to a sleepover that she'd ever had.
"You don't have to come," Kurt said lightly, trying to stick to his promise to not to be angry with her when she could not make it to his gigs.
"It's not that I don't want to come," Lindy deadpanned. "It's just really sudden. It's . . . it's random as hell, Kurt."
It was the truth that Kurt's plan was outlandish, but then again, it was oh so typical of him to act on the moment, deciding on the most spontaneous plans. He was by no means bathing in endless money despite his fame, yet when he did have a wad of cash in his wallet, he was more than happy to spend it frivolously on Lindy.
"I know. I'm sorry," Kurt apologized, honesty weighing true in his words. He was getting harder to scold; like a sad puppy, Kurt was not someone you could simply yell at and then walk away from feeling good about yourself.
Sighing defeatedly, Lindy closed her eyes and tried to envision herself in France. She would have to call the hospital before she left. And she'd have to pack. What a person packed for France, she didn't know. So far, the farthest east that she'd ever been was New York.
"Okay, Kurt. I'll come."
"You will?" Kurt exclaimed happily.
"Yeah. But when I get there, I'm going to kill you for this."
"That's fine. Make the killing part fast, though. I love you."
"Love you," Lindy grumbled, slamming the phone down and biting her tongue to keep from screaming.
It took ordinary people years to plan cross-continental trips. Yet here she was, getting ready to hop on a flight that she'd had no idea had even been booked.
It was insanity, but it also invoked a flattering pleasure within Lindy. Kurt loved her enough to bring her halfway across the world just to be with him.
But then again, this couldn't have been all good news. Lindy assumed that he must have not been feeling well — that would only have given him more ammunition to bring her straight to France on a whim.
"Fuck," Lindy muttered.
"Er, miss . . . Lindy? Do you need time to prepare for your flight?"
The man, now Lindy's driver, called out to her from the doorway, having neglected to step inside. She'd left the door open when she'd charged towards her house phone. The driver was peeking in hesitantly.
How the hell am I going to tell Trae that I'm going to France? Lindy thought, silently praying that she'd have a window seat on the plane to sleep again through the strangeness of what was happening to her.
"Yes. I just have to make some phone calls and pack my bags and then we can go."