Just Yesterday (8 page)

I choose to ignore the warning bells in my head. Instead I methodically change my airline reservations. Then I call Joanne and calmly explain that I am staying until Sunday. She asks no questions. I volunŹteer no answers.

I do two things that afternoon at the funeral service that cause me immediate shame, which I admit to no one. The first is that I am completely distracted by the time I arrive at the service. I feel myself grow impatient to be gone and away from the cloud of pain and death that has hovered over me since I’d first heard about Connie’s accident.

The simpler truth is that I want to be with Grace. Time is now suddenly a commodity to me, and I want to spend every possible moment with her.

As a result I hang back, observing, and find that I am seeing the proceedings as I imagined Grace might see them.

She is correct in her assumption that nearly everyone in attendance is gay or lesbian. I file this information away, imagining that I will tell her she was right. I already know her reply. I know that I will get that I-told-you-so grin.

The second thing I do that afternoon is nonŹchalantly flip through the guest book, assuming that I’ll never find Grace’s signature. But there it is, on the bottom of page two, the bold strokes of her handŹwriting. I am instantly repentant for thinking the worst of her, and reprimand myself immediately for thinking she’d been lying to me.

I stay no longer at the funeral than is socially required. Grace is waiting for me in the parking lot of the rental agency where I’d rented my car. She is impatiently tapping her fingers along the steering wheel of her MG while her eyes scan page after page of the most recent Time magazine.

As I approach her car, she lifts her face, revealing dark glasses and a bright, jaunty smile. “Get in,” she tells me, her voice hovering between intimacy and lust.

She practically throws the car into gear, and we fly to the highway. Four miles later, she is pulling over to the shoulder of the two-lane road, cutting the engine, and twisting in her seat until her mouth finds and covers mine hungrily. Greedily.

“I missed you,” she growls.

“I love watching you do the news.” I can barely get the words out around our kisses.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Her hands are inside my shirt, reaching up to cover my breasts.

“I was lying in bed, watching you.” The throbbing between my legs is unbearable. “Wanting you.” Our mouths are open, our kisses anything but soft.

“I want you now.” One hand is reaching for the zipper of my pants. Then I know nothing, feel nothing, except the exquisite pleasure of Grace’s mouth and hands.

We are giggling like schoolgirls. The top of the convertible is down, the wind is whipping our faces, and we are laughing.

“And here I thought you were so worried about being outed,” I call out. “What if we had been caught?”

“Who cares,” she laughs carelessly, grinning as she squeezes my hand. “I’m so glad you can stay.” She brings my hand to her lips and kisses two knuckles.

Her smile grows serious for a moment, and she lets her eyes wander from the road to my face. “How was the funeral? Are you okay?”

I shrug and nod at the same time.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“Later,” I say, curling my fingers around hers. It’s too soon to switch back to the funeral and the topic of death. Right now I just want to look at Grace and revel in the moment.

It is Sunday morning. The day we have both dreaded. The day we have completely avoided. As if by ignoring its looming presence it might pass us by, completely unnoticed.

I feel her beside me before I open my eyes. She is watching me, lying on her side, elbow propping herself up as her chin rests in the palm of one hand.

Her eyes are dark. Nearly black.

She is crying. Silent tears swell and spill down each cheek and drop to the pillow below. I can’t help notice that the path is well marked from tears before.

My throat constricts and tightens. I recall the last time I saw her in tears. In the Miami airport. When she’d held me and we’d sobbed uncontrollably. Always at an airport. Always saying good-bye.

“I don’t want to lose you again.” She chokes out the words. I know how rare it is to get this close, for her to let anyone in. Her voice caresses me, soothes me. Seduces me.

“You won’t, Grace,” I whisper. “Please believe that.”

“You don’t understand,” she says. But I do. I’ve never understood anything more in my life. What I can’t believe is that she is giving voice to the very emotions I am feeling.

“Understand what?”

Her jaw sets tightly as she gains momentary control of the tears. I watch the struggle play across her features, and my heart swells as I watch this proud, stubborn woman.

“I love you, Liz.” She isn’t smiling. “It’s that simple for me.” The words leave her lips in a whoosh. She hesitates briefly. “You’re the woman I want to be with. Whatever it takes. I still want the puppy and the white picket fence. And I still want those things with you.”

I cannot believe that I am hearing these words from her lips. I cannot believe she’s expressing the same dreams we had shared so many years ago. After all the times I’ve thought of Grace throughout my life. After so much regret.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. But my heart begins to cave inside my chest, and the vision of her brown eyes, hovering inches above mine, begins to blur as tears win out over laughter.

“Grace,” I say. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.” I blink hard and wipe the back of my hand across my eyes. “Don’t get me wrong,” I begin to sniffle. “I haven’t been pining away or anything. But you’ve always been right here.” I tap my chest above my heart, and she places the palm of her hand in that very spot. Her smile is wistful. “Like a constant reminder of what I once had. And what I once lost.” I think about never seeing Grace again. Never touching her. Never kissing her. The tears begin in earnest.

“I don’t want to lose you either, Grace. Not after we found each other again. That would be too cruel.” I shake my head. “Never again. Never.”

She gathers me up in her arms and I bury my face in the hollow of her neck. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” I whisper the words and she returns them to me, lovingly, adoringly.

“Promise me we’ll get through this.”

“I promise.”

“Promise me we’ll be together.” “I promise.”

We won’t make the same mistakes again. We promise. This time will be different. We promise. We’ve learned from the past and won’t let anything get in our way. This time we will be together. For certain. We promise.

Joanna’s car is in the driveway when I finally arrive home. I sit in my car longer than necessary, looking up at the house, then out at the vegetable garden that is already overdue for spring planting. I expect to feel something. Anything. Guilt. Remorse. Loss. But I feel only a strange detachment.

What will I say to Joanna? It is the first moment that I’ve allowed myself to think forward to the consequences of the last few days. Will I crumble the moment I see her? Should I tell her right away?

I let these thoughts circle my brain as I close my eyes briefly, squeezing them tight. I can see Grace’s face if I close my eyes. Her smile brilliant. Wide and toothy with laughter. Then I recall her face as we’d left each other’s arms just hours before at the airport. Her brown eyes dark with intensity as the tears subsided and she grew solemn and urgent in her plea. “Don’t forget.”

“I promise.” I’d tried my best to reassure her. Then the flight attendant was calling for all passenŹgers, and I had to leave her.

Grace is still too close to me, her physical presence too clear. My lips are bruised and chapped from hours upon hours of kissing. And even now I want more. Want that mouth on mine with an inŹsatiable hunger that I cannot satisfy.

I finally step from the car, retrieve both bags, and fling one over my shoulder as I make my way to the door.

Silence greets me first, followed quickly by the sound of Ginger and MaryAnn purring with delight as they wind figure eights between my legs.

“Anybody home?” I call out into the silence as I make my way down the hallway to the bedroom.

“In the kitchen,” is the faintly distracted reply. I utter a loud harrumph and dump my bags to the floor. I can’t help thinking that in the old days Joanna would have greeted me eagerly at the door.

“Things sure have changed,” I mutter aloud, then cringe a little as I catch my reflection in the wall mirror. “That’s an understatement,” I tell myself before taking a deep breath and heading down the hallway.

Joanna is sitting at the kitchen table, her attenŹtion focused on a notebook computer propped up in front of her. As I enter the room, she glances up and smiles sweetly.

“Hi.” She holds out a hand, and I reach out to take it. Bending over, I receive the quick kiss she lands on my cheek before dropping down in the chair across from her.

“How are you holding up?” She wrinkles her freckled nose as she inspects my features. “Was it awful?”

“The funeral?” I ask stupidly.

She only nods. “The funeral. Connie’s family. Seeing old friends.” She stares at me closely, eyes narrowing. “I can’t believe you stayed longer than you had to.”

It is my turn to stare at Joanna while I search for a reply. “I needed to stay. I needed to work through some things.”

Joanna nods again. “Well, I’m glad you’re home. The kitties and I missed you.”

I find myself staring at Joanna, thinking about the day we’d adopted the kittens. I wonder for the umpteenth time how it is that we’ve spent nearly every day of the last ten years together, only to drift apart. I don’t know if I even know her anymore.

“We need to talk.” The words spill from my lips, jolting me as much as they do her. These are the same words I always utter when trying to broach the topic of “us.”

“Do you really think now is a good time?” She doesn’t blink. “You just got home. It’s been a stressful week.”

I realize that she thinks I want to talk about us again, and I hesitate before continuing. “I need to talk to you.”

I am suddenly worried. Worried because I know we’d agreed to split up, but it is really too soon to be seeing someone else. Even if the relationship had been over for years. I don’t know how she will react to what I have to say.

My mind fast forwards, and I see ourselves explaining to friends. I know how our situation will be interpreted. I was the one who’d stepped outside the relationship. I would be the bad guy. It would be my fault. For the briefest of moments, I hated Joanna for this fact. Then I soften instantly. Contrite. Sad. I had really believed that my life was as close to perfect as it could possibly be. Now I don’t know anything. Except that I won’t let go of Grace. Not this time. Not after finding her again.

“Joanna,” I begin, my voice calm. “Seriously.”

She holds up both hands to silence me. “Jesus, Liz. You just got home. You’re stressed. Let’s talk about this later.”

Exasperated, I spit out the words. “Joanna. I’m seeing someone else.”

Her stare is level. Her lips a careful straight line. “You certainly didn’t waste any time,” she says dryly.

Finally, the moment arrives when I hate myself. “Joanna. I didn’t plan this. I swear. I had no idea this was going to happen.”

An odd glint enters her eye as she appraises me. “I can’t believe there’s someone else already. How long have you been seeing her? I assume it’s a her.” She says the last part sarcastically.

“You know better,” I quip, recognizing the bitterness in her tone.

“Joanna. You know that I have been completely invested in this relationship for ten years. I didn’t expect this. Honestly.”

She regards me closely before snapping the noteŹbook shut. “Are you just trying to get a rise out of me?”

My jaw drops, astonished. I’m appalled that she can think I am making this up just to get a reaction out of her.

“You can’t be serious,” I say.

Her face registers a number of different emotions before settling, becoming wounded. “There really is someone else?” she asks.

I nod slowly.

“So is it someone I know? Do I want to know who it is?”

I am tongue-tied as I watch a multitude of emotions flurry across her face. Then her face opens, eyelids drawing back as something close to recogŹnition comes over her.

“Grace Sullivan.”

I am floored. Completely. Dumbfounded, I simply return her stare.

“Grace Sullivan.” She repeats the name again, then begins alternately nodding and shaking her head. “Am I right?”

I swallow hard. “Yes.” The word is barely audible. “How did you know?”

“I don’t know whether to be angry or worried.” Her lips are twisted in a sardonic, know-it-all smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I am defensive.

“That I’m not surprised.” Her smile fades and her eyes cloud. “You never let her go.”

As we stare at each other, I find myself thinking back to our beginning. Joanna had rescued me from myself. From the pain of losing Grace. I suddenly feel quite small.

“I’m not going to tell you that this doesn’t hurt, Liz. And I’m certainly not about to give you my blessing.” She pauses. “Yet.” Her sigh is loud as she frowns. “Just be careful, Liz. She hurt you so badly before. Have you forgotten?”

I shake my head. Joanna’s words are like a dose of reality. “You fell apart. Literally.” She reaches out and covers my hand with hers. “How can you trust her?”

“She explained everything to me. We’ve talked.” I am defensive, my words sounding lame even to my own ears.

“Uh-huh.” Her smile glitters, but she is not happy. “Just be careful, sweetie. Watch your heart.” She sighs again, this time sadly, and shakes her head. “Not to mention your back,” she adds, her voice full of irony.

I search my mind for a quick and cutting reply. Something to defend Grace and our sudden twist of fate. But I come up empty. Joanne is out of the room before I can respond.

“I can’t believe she hasn’t said anything lately. Maybe she’s realized what she’s losing and is changing her mind.” Grace looks serious, and I consider the possibility briefly before discarding the idea.