And Yesterday Is Gone (23 page)

“Mind if I join you, or am I an orphan?”

“Of course, be my guest,” he answered, not missing a bite.

He and Ma were having such a good time talking and laughing, I might as well have been back in the city.

Holding out my own plate and utensils, Ma cut me a sliver.

“Girls,” she called. “If you want any of this cake, you'd better hurry.”

“That's the best cake I've ever eaten,” Juan declared.

Ma whipped that cake off the table, wrapped it in waxed paper, and said, “Take this home with you.”

“Hey, Ma—what about me?” I asked as I forked up the last crumbs.

“You're tired of cake—try a cookie,” she said as she set a plate of cookies on the table.

Juan said, “I'll put this in the car so I won't forget it or Steve will eat it all.”

Ma called again, “Cookies, girls.”

As they came out of the bedroom laughing, Sis said, “Cookies? Where's the cake, Ma?”

“The boys ate it all,” she said.

Juan came back and had a cup of coffee and a cookie with the girls, Ma included.

Rica and Sis were still talking about diapers and formulas, and Ma was saying, “Juan, you better stick with painting—you'll never make it as a cook. It's
four
eggs and
one
cup of sugar, not one egg and four cups of sugar.”

Everyone was laughing and enjoying the camaraderie. Almost everyone—seemingly my tongue had been lost.

When the last cookie was gone and the pot was near empty, Ma said to me, “Why don't you show Juan and his friend the baby chicks and the lambs?”

“I will,” Sis said and led them to the barn.

“Ma, I better go down to the chicken coop and shut up that rooster. We don't want any casualties.”

“Good idea. Oh, Steve, I'm so glad you have such a wonderful friend. How could you not just love him? I'll stack these dishes and come down, too.”

As I walked down the path, I was glad for the brief respite. I needed to sort out my conflicting emotions—the anger boiling just below the small talk, and yet that other feeling pushing back… The question drummed in my brain: Why? Why had she come?

I shoved the belligerent rooster into an empty cage and fastened the latch. The mother hen indignantly clucked her babies away from my big feet.

The door opened just as I turned. Rica stepped in. Wordlessly, we looked at each other, then my anger exploded, wanting to hurt her as deeply as she had hurt me.

“Rica, why are you here?” My voice was so thick I could hardly force the words.

“I want to talk to you,” came a shaky reply.

I replied, “After four months, you have a word for me? How nice. Perhaps to invite me to the wedding? What the hell do you want from me? Is Steve a play toy?”

She stepped toward me, but I held up my hand.

“Doubtless that asshole bores you to death, but get your kicks from some other witless fool. I did my time.” Adding a crude lie, I continued, “And it wasn't that good—I've had much better. But here's one for the road and don't let me keep you.”

I grabbed her and pulled her close, heard her gasp for breath as I kissed her—hard, bruising, insulting kisses. Her arms went around my neck and she melted into me.

The creak of the hinges on that old henhouse door jolted me back to the here and now. Lifting my head, I looked directly into Juan's shocked eyes. He leaned into the doorjamb limply as though he'd been drowning and I had pushed the lifeline away.

Suddenly I saw Ma's disbelieving face, with Sis behind her.

Rica turned her head, her arms slipped from my shoulders, and she pushed her way out. Juan followed. Then came the sound of the car as it drove away.

I stood drained and dazed. What could I say?

“Well,” Sis said, always ready with a comment. “What did you do? Steal his wallet?”

Ma, who could contain herself no longer, demanded furiously, “Steven, how could you do that to your best friend? The moment Juan's back was turned, you had his girl wrapped up tighter than a Christmas package, kissing her all over her face. You should have seen Juan's face. Shame on you.”

“Well, Ma,” my talkative sister interposed, “Guess you missed the look on Rica's face. They're
both
in love with Stevie.”

Ma turned a bewildered face to her. “I don't understand. What are you saying?”

I glared at Sis, but there was no shutting her up.

“I'm saying that Juan is a homosexual, Ma. I said something about his pretty girlfriend and he told me straight out—right there in the barn—that she was only a friend and that he was gay.” Sighing, she added, “Such a gorgeous man going to waste.”

I was enraged with Sis. I would have told Ma in my own time, knowing how straightlaced she is, but Sis had ruined that opportunity.

Ma stalked to the house and we followed. Sis, knowing by the look on my face that she'd better do a disappearing act, said, “Sorry, Stevie, didn't mean to get you in trouble. Guess I'd better take a long walk. Doctor's orders, you know.”

Sitting down with a cold cup of coffee, waiting for the sky to fall didn't take long.

“Steven, what is going on with that hussy? I hope he drops her like a hot potato. I don't believe he's queer—Sis is trying to be funny. He is such a gentleman and treated me like a queen. He meant it, too. I could tell if it was a put-on.” She paused to catch her breath.

“I know in my heart that he is not one of those. Sis has just about spoiled my day with her silly idea of a joke. She'll hear about this—she's not above a good switching if she wasn't pregnant.”

Interrupting, I said slowly, “Ma, I never wanted to tell you about the year up there on that mountain. It was a living hell, and a man was murdered. Juan and I were forced to dig his grave. The next one was for me, but Juan stood between me and the man who held the knife—even though he knew it could mean his life.

“I wouldn't be drinking coffee in our kitchen if Juan hadn't put his life on the line again to help me escape. He is an honorable man and I love him like a brother. If he grew horns and had a forked tail, he would still be my brother, and that's the end of it.”

“That Sis,” Ma said. “I knew he was a decent man.”

T
he silence was broken only by the quiet hum of the car as it sped homeward.

Juan's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. His face had no expression—a mask that covered the agony of his longing that he finally accepted would never be. The unbearable knowledge nurtured the almost paralyzing pain.

With a distance between them, Rica sat with her mind in chaos. She sensed his torment and her heart ached for the part she played.

But Juan had to know that somewhere in Steve's virile young life, he was going to love a woman and she prayed that somehow, somewhere, Juan would find the love that would make his life whole.

She moved to Juan, lay her arm across his shoulder.

No response. Juan was lost in despair.

Who are the people who have the right to love? Why am I different? A wall of no understanding built by unseen hands. There is nothing strange in my loving Steve—it is as natural as breathing.

Strange
is that he cannot love me as I love him. Yes,
strange
is the love that is only acceptable to those who are fashioned in life's rigid pattern.

I, who would give my life so freely—must I go through life empty- handed as a beggar pleading for alms?

The God who designed me has destroyed me.

The quiet lengthened.

Rica's arm tightened about his shoulder.

“Juan, it has taken me some time to accept the very real truth that I love Steve.” Hesitating, she added, “And what the future will bring lies before us. I know that we both love him—not the way you want him to love you, but what we offer you is our love, always. Perhaps that is a sorry exchange, but you must accept the fact that Steve can offer you no more. Juan, isn't it better me than someone else? We're family.”

Juan's lips twisted around his words, “Yes, let's keep it in the family.”

•  •  •

“Juan has been very quiet—I'd almost say depressed since the day he spent with Steve in the country.”

Sara spoke with concern to Teddy as they lay together in the big four-poster bed.

“Do you think they quarreled?”

“I doubt it, my dear. Do you remember the day they were reunited? I told you I liked Steve, but that he would break your boy's heart? It was inevitable, Sara, they are what they are. East is east and west is west and never the twain shall meet—if I may quote Kipling.”

Juan had not painted for several days. Explaining to Sara, he said, “Rica has been unavailable and I have gone as far as I can with this. I'll see if Mr. Mackey needs any help with the roses.” He was gone before Sara could respond.

Sara painted by herself, missing Juan's laughter and warm companionship. Later, the hurrying steps that sounded made her smile expectantly, but it was a distraught Rica who stood in the doorway.

“Rica, come in. I was about to take a break. I'll make some tea.”

“Thank you. Surely I would enjoy a cup of tea,” responded Rica, wiping at the tears that shimmered in her eyes.

Seating herself, listening to the tea preparation in Juan's so seldom used kitchen, she wondered at the friendship that had entered her life so unexpectedly and had grown into a near family relationship.

As Sara returned with the tea tray, Rica's shaky voice appeared. “Thought I'd find Juan here and I wanted to talk to him. He was so terribly upset when we left Steve's. Please tell him how sorry I am to have held him up for over a week—and what a week it's been.”

As Sara poured the tea, she asked, “Can I help? You look so sad. What's happening?”

“Everything. The good news, the wedding is off. The bad news, Mother is heartbroken and Dad is furious, not only about the wedding, but because I had quit school. In fact, he's angry that he's disowned me. Told me to find myself another place to live since he had wasted his money sending me to school…” She forced a weak smile. “Mother helped me find a small apartment and paid the rent for six months, so I guess I'm only half disowned. Do you want to hear the rest of this sad story?”

Sara nodded.

“Well, the wedding was only six weeks away and I was more frantic every day. I knew if I told them it wasn't going to happen that there would be a terrible scene and mother's dream would become a nightmare.

“Our mothers have been best friends since grade school and they have been matchmaking since Doug and I were in diapers. Of course, at first it was exciting. I had a schoolgirl crush on him—he was an ‘older man,' by eight years actually—and when he noticed me years later, I was flattered and our parents were very pleased. His dad was even going to buy us a house for a wedding present.” She paused as Sara refilled her cup.

“Doug was interning at UCSF medical school and always too busy or too tired. And I was in nursing school, so we didn't have much time together. My crush on him wore thin, but he didn't seem to notice. He spent more time with his friends than with me.”

Sipping her tea, she continued, “Our mothers were having a great time making all the plans. His mother even set the date to accommodate her New York relatives. My mother chose the color of the bridesmaids' dresses. I was praying for the courage to tell her.”

Interrupting herself, she said, “Miss Sara, sorry to be bothering you with my problems…”

“Rica, you're practically family so you're not bothering me—you've piqued my curiosity. Apparently you found the courage—and I'm sure it did take courage.”

“I didn't tell them. Doug did. And Dad almost threw him off the porch.” She laughed and continued. “Doug took me to dinner and, between the martini and the hors d'oeuvres, he told me he had fallen in love with someone else. He added, ‘The wedding is off. Please tell me I haven't ruined your life. Be strong.' Then he patted my hand and said, ‘Since this is my decision, I will break the news to both our parents.' Then he ordered another martini.

“Such an indescribable wave of relief swept over me—a reprieve as the trap door was about to be sprung. I covered my face and laughed hysterically, the tears running through my fingers. Of course, he thought I was crying and begged me not to make a scene. ‘Here drink this,' and pushed his martini toward me.

“He seemed delighted to tell me of this other girl—said she'd evoked feelings in him that he'd never had and added that they had met the night of your party. He told me that she lives with her very sick grandmother in the house next to this one, and ‘She is a very beautiful person, the only heir, but the money she will inherit means nothing to me.' ”

Rica set her cup down. “Guess it was the thought of that heiress that gave him the push to tell our parents—the martini probably helped. I spent the night at a girlfriend's house. Mother said that Dad threatened to punch him right out on the front porch and all the neighbors could hear. Poor Mother.” Rica sighed.

Sara said thoughtfully, “If ‘next door' means the house that is the nearest to us, that would be Mrs. Bradbury, a descendant of one of the old families. We know her well. She and Teddy played together as children. She has been a widow for many years—never had children. I wonder if that ‘granddaughter' could be Mrs. Bradbury's live-in girl Friday who drives for her occasionally and runs errands. Perhaps you should let Doug discover that for himself.”

They giggled like two schoolgirls.

“Why are you feeling so badly? You don't look well.”

“I think it must be the flu. I'm so nauseated, nothing stays down. I've lost three pounds. Plus it's all this stress, and moving.”