Never Too Late (28 page)

“I always carry her bags,” Jamie said to the empty room before collapsing onto the bed, tears rolling down her cheeks.

All the optimism she’d let Carla talk her into was gone. She was going to lose her house, and for all she knew, the DA would press charges against her. Clutching the bedspread she battled mounting anxiety with forced deep breaths that did nothing. Sheryl’s car roared out of the driveway and an unwelcome silence filled the room. Everything she cared about was slipping away, and she was afraid it was too late to stop it.

Jamie watched the sprinkler spraying back and forth across Carla’s lawn as she rolled the corner of the yellow place mat. Melissa’s voice was coming through the open patio doors—a song from her first album. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Plates with sunflowers and a small white vase with two of the roses Carla had called Secret leant a festive air, but Jamie wasn’t in a festive mood.

The energy from their run was wearing off and fatigue was replacing it. She’d barely slept Friday night after Sheryl left, and she’d stayed at her office until after midnight yesterday, matching the last of the patient files against the EOBs. She’d be ready with whatever the DA wanted. A preliminary total of the dollar amount of Marjorie’s embezzling shocked her and sent her into another sleepless night.

She should have cancelled out on the run but just couldn’t face a whole day in the empty house fighting the panic that Sheryl might not forgive her. If she’d known Sara wasn’t joining them for breakfast she would have backed out. Holding up her end of the conversation would be hard and hiding that something was wrong, harder.

Carla had asked her too many times yesterday if she was all right. She couldn’t exactly confide in her. Another thing she hadn’t handled well. If Sheryl was this angry over the IRS problem, what would happen if she found out who her office manager was? Could this weekend get any worse?

The chime that meant she had a text startled her, and she snatched her phone from her pocket, praying it was Sheryl. Penni. Her heart plummeted, but she had to smile as she read the joke. She’d been sending them all weekend—her way of trying to boost Jamie’s spirits.

“Something wrong?” Carla set plates on the table, one piled high with blueberry pancakes, the other with bacon.

Jamie put her phone back in her pocket. “No.”

Sitting down across from Jamie, Carla stacked three pancakes and twice that many pieces of bacon on each of their plates. “Extra crispy,” she said. “Just the way you like it.”

“I can’t eat all that,” Jamie said, her stomach rebelling.

“You always eat this much after a run.” Carla sounded hurt.

Jamie reached for the butter and syrup, feeling guilty for her bad mood. It wasn’t Carla’s fault her appetite was lost in anger at Marjorie and fear about the DA meeting and financial problems and worry about Sheryl. “You didn’t have to fix breakfast just for me.” The butter she slathered over the pancakes was soft and dripped down the sides as she added her usual liberal amount of maple syrup. The syrup was warm. Jamie stared at the plate. Was there any end to Carla’s thoughtfulness?

“You know how much I love to cook, and it’s hard to get used to cooking for one. You’re doing me a favor.”

“Sara will be sorry she missed this.” Jamie finished the fresh-squeezed orange juice. “What’s wrong?” Carla looked like she was about to cry.

“Sometimes I miss my old life.”

“I’m sorry it’s hard.” For all Carla’s competence and thoughtfulness, Jamie sometimes forgot that she had struggles, too. She squeezed Carla’s hand. “How’s Lissa?”

“Better. Last night she asked more questions about how I decided I was a lesbian. It’s a little awkward to explain.”

Jamie looked up from cutting the pancakes into little bites, hoping she could get them down. “You didn’t—”

“Of course not, but that night affected her, too.” Carla’s eyes had a mischievous spark.

“Her name.” Jamie had suspected it. Why had she thought that night hadn’t mattered to Carla?

“If she’d been a boy she would have been Bruce. Springsteen is Mike’s favorite rock star. I never had a favorite until that night. I love this song,” Carla said, air tapping her fork to the beat. “I remember it was the last one she played that night.”

“When did you start going by Carla?” Jamie asked, when the song was done. It was one of her favorites, too.

“Shortly after Lissa was born. Carla sounded more like the name of a woman with a baby.” Carla hesitated, swirling a bite of pancakes in syrup, as she seemed to gather her thoughts. “That night…you gave me something to pass on to my daughter—a sense of what it felt like to find myself. I decided before she was born I’d make sure she had that chance, too.” Carla’s eyes held Jamie’s. “I never forgot how out and proud you were. I want her to know she’ll always be loved for who she is.”

“She’s a lucky girl,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say. Jamie was so far from that person. They hadn’t talked about that night since the day Carla hurt her back. It was the past and they’d moved on. Ex-lovers and new friends—wasn’t that the lesbian way? “Tell me about your book club,” Jamie said, looking for safe ground as emotions swirled through her.

“More coffee?” Carla asked, when their forks stopped for good.

“Half.” Closing her eyes and stretching her legs out, Jamie tilted her face to the sun, seeking the relaxation it always gave her. She yawned. A nap in the sun sounded heavenly. By the time Sheryl got home she’d be rested and ready to fix her favorite dinner. She’d make this up to Sheryl. With luck, tomorrow she’d have good news and all this would be behind them. Jamie relaxed into the sound of Carla’s voice as they sipped coffee and Carla talked about her garden. Finally, coffee cups empty, they gathered up the dishes and carried them to the kitchen.

“Did you have a birthday recently?” Jamie looked at the cards arranged across the sideboard.

“Would you believe it’s today?”

“Wow…forty-two.”

“How did you know?”

“I asked that night.” A rush of memories captured her and she shook them off. That was the past. “I wish I’d known it was today. I would have—”

“Your company is present enough.” Carla was standing next to her, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

Jamie fingered one of the cards, and her heart clenched with emotion she couldn’t name.

“What’s wrong, Jamie? Is it the meeting tomorrow?” Carla put her hand on Jamie’s back.

Jamie shook her head. Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t move away from the warmth and comfort. When Carla pulled her into a hug she didn’t fight it. She held Carla’s waist and counted the seconds. How long was too long for friendship, and how had this friendship come to mean so much to her? How badly she wanted to tell Carla everything. Stepping back she looked down at Carla’s bare feet so close to her tennis shoes, the nails a tasteful pink. She put her hands in her pockets and took another step back.

“What are you doing for your birthday?” She’d get a present next week—something for her garden or her kitchen.

“Mike’s taking me out to dinner. I was thinking of treating myself to an afternoon curled up on my couch with popcorn and my favorite movies. There’s something decadent about watching movies in the middle of the day. Kind of like playing hooky.”

“I could use a day of playing hooky.”

“Join me.”

“I should get going.”

“It’s my birthday.”

It was a small thing to ask, and after all Carla had done for her how could she say no? Maybe doing something nice for Carla would cheer her up and she’d be in a better mood when Sheryl got home. Maybe she just didn’t want to go home to an empty house. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I am.” Carla’s face brightened and Jamie was glad she’d agreed.

“I should go home and clean up—”

“You can shower here. Come on, guest bath is this way. I’m sure I have a T-shirt that will fit you.”

*

Carla tried not to think of a naked Jamie in her shower as she did the dishes. And then as she sipped a third cup of coffee she didn’t need, her hands trembling as she leafed through a cooking magazine, her mind wandering into versions of a shower fantasy. Maybe she was reading too much lesbian fiction, but her heart couldn’t resist a hopeful flutter—Jamie, her couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, maybe the accidental brush of their fingers.

She shook her head, disgusted with herself. She’d made her uncomfortable with the hug. She’d pressured her into staying. Boundaries, always boundaries. She was sick of them. She looked out at the flats of purple pansies and yellow Iceland poppies she’d bought to cheer herself up. Was this her new life—gardening and book clubs, dating people she’d never fall in love with, cooking for people she couldn’t keep?

“Thanks for the T-shirt.”

Carla sprang out of her chair and the magazine fell to the floor. Sexy was the only word her mind would offer as she looked at Jamie. Her face was flushed, hair damp, strands curling over her ears and forehead. The V-necked blue T-shirt was too tight in all the right ways. Sure her face was beet red, she collected her cup and hurried to the kitchen. “Think I’ll take a quick shower, too. Make yourself comfortable. There’s more coffee if you want.”

Carla took more care dressing than she knew was sensible, choosing a sleeveless peach blouse she always got compliments on, putting on her favorite gold bracelet and a touch of makeup and dab of perfume. This wasn’t a date but she could pretend. It was just one afternoon and it was her birthday.

Jamie was sitting at the patio table, and Carla halted in the doorway as her heart clutched at the rightness of Jamie in her home. She checked her phone again as Carla approached. Something was bothering her, but she was afraid to ask again. Jamie looked up, her eyes sad and the smile strained as she put her phone back in her pocket.

“So what are your favorite movies?”

“I’m hopelessly addicted to romantic comedies.” Carla sat and crossed her legs. It was safe for her thighs to touch now. She’d taken care of the ache between her legs in the shower, coming to an image of her wet body sliding against Jamie’s. Fantasies weren’t breaking any rules.

“Romantic comedies, huh.” Jamie rolled her eyes.

“You can never have enough romance.”

“I’m more of an adventure, thriller kind of gal.”

“Ahh, you want a little action with your kissing.” Carla’s heart broke into a rhythmic thumping. She remembered those kisses. “If you humor me today, I’ll humor you on your birthday.” She gathered up the placemats and walked back inside. “When is it?”

“April sixth.”

“That’s Lissa’s birthday.”

“Wow. Easy for you to remember,” Jamie said, as she followed Carla into the house.

Carla pulled a plastic box from under the TV stand and set it on the kitchen counter. “My favorite movies,” she said, as she lifted the lid. “I usually just pick one at random. Why don’t you do the honors while I fix popcorn.”

Jamie groaned. “On top of blueberry pancakes?”

“You can’t watch a movie without popcorn. Those are the rules.” Carla put a bag of Orville Redenbacher in the microwave and butter in a pan on the stove.

“
You’ve Got Mail
is the winner.”

“Don’t look so horrified. Have you seen it?”

“Nope.”

“You’re probably the only person on the planet who hasn’t.”

The microwave dinged, and Carla poured the popcorn into a bowl and stirred in the butter. She put the movie in and claimed her usual end of the couch, tucking her feet under her and setting the popcorn next to her, shamelessly forcing Jamie to sit close to her.

“I confess to having a bit of a crush on Meg Ryan,” Carla said, as the movie began. “Is that a lesbian thing?”

“I have no idea.”

“Some expert you are.” Carla threw a piece of popcorn at Jamie.

“How many times have you watched this movie?” Jamie asked, as Brinkley hovered around the kissing couple and the closing credits ran.

“Why?”

“You quoted half the dialogue with them.”

“Oops. I usually only do that in private. Pick another,” Carla said, as she retrieved the jar of tea she’d set out in the sun. She knew she was pushing the boundaries but didn’t care. She made another bag of popcorn and filled glasses with ice.

Jamie was checking her phone again when she walked back into the living room. “What did you pick?” She set the iced teas on the coffee table and pointed to the glass on the right. “That’s yours—extra sugar and lemon.”

Jamie stared at the tray, an odd look on her face, as she held up the movie case.

“
French Kiss
.”

“Huh?” Jamie’s head snapped up.

“The movie.” Carla took the DVD from her. “Back-to-back Meg Ryan. My lucky day.” The afternoon sun was coming in the French doors right into Jamie’s eyes. Carla set the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and motioned Jamie to scoot over. “Or you could put on your sunglasses.” Jamie didn’t respond to the teasing like she usually did. Why wouldn’t she talk about what was bothering her? She yawned as she slid over and helped herself to a handful of popcorn.

“How can you not like romantic comedies?” Carla asked, after the kiss-on-the-train scene, looking over at Jamie. Her eyes were closed and her lips were parted. Her hands lay palms up in her lap, a piece of popcorn between her thighs. “Jamie,” Carla said, softly, and touched her arm. Jamie sighed but didn’t move. Asleep. Her head fell to the side, and Carla knew it was a sore neck waiting to happen.

Putting her arm across Jamie’s shoulder she pulled gently until Jamie curled up on the couch, her head in Carla’s lap. What had made her so exhausted? Jamie’s chest rose and fell in shallow, even breaths. She stroked her fingertips through Jamie’s hair. Jamie mumbled something and draped her arm over Carla’s thigh. Shock waves of desire shot through Carla’s body, and that tingly feeling launched from her thigh and raced everywhere. Could she survive the rest of the movie with Jamie asleep on her lap?

*

Jamie closed her fingers around something soft. Her head was on a pillow and she smiled as she opened her eyes. That nap. She was on her side and a movie was on the TV.