One Degree of Separation (17 page)

In time? In time for what? Before you go? Right. And then what?

Dojo, she decided, glad it was open on Sundays, and then she really needed to do more reading. Yesterday had been too unsettling.

Swear to freakin’ god, she thought irritably. She wouldn’t waste another day wondering about Marian the Librarian and that Mona Lisa smile and gold-green eyes that looked right into her heart.

Flowers, sugar, a card—it took more than that to turn her into a pathetic, lovesick, mushy, goofy ...

She hadn’t stopped at the library to get that book, though.

Smiling slightly, she went upstairs to change.

“No, Hill, you are not going for a ride. Let’s go for a walk, though. It’ll be too wet tonight.”

Hill danced about her for a few minutes, certain she did not really mean to take him out on the leash. She finally got him calm enough to snap it on. At the foot of the driveway she turned left, away from Hemma’s and Amy’s. She’d go the other way later and be in time for breakfast.

She liked her neighborhood. It wasn’t as ritzy as the faculty zones, and the houses were a mix of owned and rented. But the flowerbeds were for the most part kept up and almost without fail she knew all of her neighbors by name. Hill knew every tree by smell.

The lots tended to be small, but there were exceptions. Amy and Hemma had chosen theirs precisely because it was oversized. The garden was a prize, and watching it go to someone else’s care—and likely left to wither, she thought depressingly—was going to be difficult. But that was the way it was going to go.

You need to be careful, she warned herself, of making not having the house about not having Hemma. That if only you had the house, your life would not be falling apart.

Hill spotted a squirrel and barked furiously in his “Danger, danger, Will Robinson” way.

“Hill! Heel!”

After a last furious bark, Hill subsided and took up a less ferocious stance.

“Good boy, that’s a good boy, protecting me from the vicious squirrel of death,” Marian crooned.

“Marian!”

“Heya, Patty.”

Patty mopped her brow, but kept jogging in place. “Hot as hell, but we’re going to the beach later. Hopefully the storm front will hold off until tonight.”

“It’s supposed to be late afternoon. The beach at McBride?”

“Yeah. Maybe rent a pontoon for lunch. Wen’s a little down.”

“I’m sorry about that.” She didn’t add that Patty was looking very fit this morning. Flirting with Patty in front of Wen had always felt okay. But when they were alone, it didn’t feel quite right. Like she needed another married woman in her life, she reminded herself.

Patty was just plain attractive, that was all, but there was no reason to play with that particular fire. “Is the new hot tub working out?”

“Yeah. It’s really great. She sleeps well after a good soak.”

“You’re going to die of heatstroke if you keep that up much longer.”

Patty grinned. “Yeah. Okay, talk later.”

“Don’t forget your suntan lotion,” Marian called after her. She watched Patty’s trim, muscular figure lightly running away and allowed herself a brief appreciation of the view. She wasn’t dead, she told herself. Noticing Patty was perfectly natural. Noticing Liddy was, too.

She’d done more than notice Liddy, Inner Slut smirked.

“Come on, Hill, stop ogling.”

Hill gave her a resentful look, but Marian was content to blame everything on Hill for now.

They were greeted at home by Trombone, who told a whopping lie about how starved she was for food and attention. Hill wisely didn’t brag about his walk, so there was no squabble to settle.

It was nearly ten and Marian realized she was dreading going next door. Never had she not eagerly bounded across the lawn. Maybe she was just depressed from the scene with Liddy. It was hardly a scene, she had to admit. Liddy hadn’t yelled or screamed or ... done anything remotely like Robyn. Robyn had not liked being disagreed with or her plans in any way countermanded.

Don’t think about that overmuch, Inner Therapist suggested. It didn’t pay to dwell on something that would surely give her a headache.

The sunlight was so sharp that it seemed impossible a storm front would be in by late afternoon. She shaded her eyes as she walked across the lawn, hoping she didn’t fall apart the moment she saw Hemma.

“Hey.” Hemma leaned on the doorjamb as Marian came up the front steps. “Amy said you were joining us for pancakes.”

“I’m honored.” She tried to find a casual air but she didn’t feel the same inside. It just hurt too much to look at that gentle smile and those luminous dark eyes. Never for her—and now going away.

“Amy’s got a huge stack going. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yeah. I even took Hill for a walk so I could work up an appetite.” She followed Hemma to the kitchen, dying with every step. How many times did she have left for the simple intimacy of a meal with Hemma—and with Amy. Family, they really were the family she had adopted when she’d moved here. Losing them both at once felt ... bad.

Oh. She stopped for a moment, nonplussed. What day is it? June ... . why was that important? Abandonment, Inner Therapist said sharply, is a familiar theme in your life, Marian. Pay attention!

“Heya, hope you’re hungry!” Amy carefully transferred a yellow-corn pancake from the griddle to the platter on the table. “That’s the last one.” She paused halfway back to the stove. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry—”

“So am I!” Hemma threw her arms around Marian and they were crying together. Hemma’s body was warm, soft ... flush against Marian’s.

Her hands trembled on Hemma’s back. She wanted to touch, to feel Hemma arch slightly against her.

Not yours, she told herself. Not yours. Never was yours. It was all in your head.

“I’m so sorry, this isn’t your fault. I just remembered today’s the day my folks died and all of a sudden it was too much.” She pushed Hemma away gently, not daring to look into her eyes. “I know that you’re not going away forever. I will see you again. But ...”

“A little close to the same nerve?”

“Yeah. I think even a marginal therapist would have spotted that one.” Marian summoned a smile.

Amy waved a hand at the steaming stack of pancakes. “Food is good for the soul, you two. And it’s better while it’s hot.” Hemma got them both a tissue. “I feel like I’m moving away from my little sister.”

Marian was glad of the tissue to cover her face for a moment. A sister, she thought. In that moment, something turned to lead inside her. What had she been doing all these years? Wanting a woman she could not have, yes, but she’d also been yearning after a woman who did not want her. A woman who would
never
want her.

Amy’s pancakes were light as air and smelled of sweet corn and honeyed butter. They tasted like ash in her mouth.

“So I checked a couple of sites to see what kind of mortgage I could qualify for, and I just can’t put together what you need to have.

It was a lovely dream, but I just can’t afford it.” She sipped her water and hoped Amy didn’t think her lack of appetite was the fault of the pancakes.

“I wish we could afford to loan you the money somehow,” Hemma said. “But we’re going to need every dime.”

“It’s okay.” It’s a decision made, Marian thought, like library school. A done deal, one to be lived with for all of the future. “I think if I went back to therapy my buying your house would easily keep me there for ten, twenty sessions.”

“Why? The garden is half yours.” Hemma’s eyes still swam with tears.

Because building a shrine to someone who doesn’t love you has got to be some sort of diagnosable disorder, Marian wanted to say.

Abandonment phobia? Just plain stupid waste of time and energy syndrome?

She adopted a gentle, reasonable tone. “Would you say that your decision to live in your friends’ house was an act of denial, Marian? I think we need to explore that—oh, I see our time is up.”

“Therapy isn’t that bad,” Amy protested.

Marian sighed. “I know. It’s just ... been there, done that. I don’t need the Nice Lady once a week. I can have all the conversations on my own.”

“E-mail,” Hemma said. “And chat rooms, and aren’t there cameras for computers now? We’ll stay in touch, Marian, I promise.” A Web cam, Inner Slut mused. If they left it on, you could go on peeping.

Vexed, Marian told Inner Slut to shut up. “I know that we will. After all, if you’re living in Hawaii it would be the best time to stay on your good side.”

“Mercenary wretch,” Hemma said fondly.

“Just remember,” Amy warned. “You can’t get in the door without pickled ham.”

Swallowing hard, Marian nodded. She hoped it was a smile on her face. “I’ll remember. You can count on it.”

Sunday noon, June 8:

They’re my family and I’m losing them. That explains a lot of the
sudden tears and feeling so out of control. That they think of me as their
family explains why HER will never love me back. I should have known
that part. I didn’t want to know that part.

When something gets broken, the things that were never healed become
more obvious. That’s why I’m thinking about Robyn. I swear my wrists
ache. My shoulder hurts.

Headache looming. As if there wasn’t cause enough, storm front. Work
later. I hope it’s a slow day.

Mom? Dad? I miss you. How would I explain what I’ve let happen to
me? Wasting my life with unrequited love, and flirting with danger as if it
was a cure? Turning my back on someone sweet and honest who at least
wants me back? I wish you could meet Liddy.

Work. I really ought to call in queer.

“Yes, sensei.” Liddy adjusted her stance and began the form again. Sweat poured down her back as she executed the series of punches and kicks required, then rolled into a leg sweep. Her left palm made awkward contact with the mat and she went sprawling.

Fuck and fuck it. She whacked the mat as she got up.

Sensei Kerry asked, “What did the mat do to you?”

“Nothing, sensei.” She resumed her stance and tried to quiet her breathing. “You could say I’ve had a problem with anger management.”

“Had?”

“Thank you, sensei,” she said, her tone very dry. “Your student is grateful for your insights.”

Sensei Kerry might have laughed, but it was lost in the barked order to resume her forms practice.

She ended up on her back instead of her face, but she still wasn’t rolling up to her feet. Again, again and again, until her legs wobbled and her butt ached from hitting the mat. It was a relief when the sensei sent her to practice simple kicks. She loved the satisfying thud of her foot into the practice bag.

R, she intoned with the first kick. O-B-Y-N. Robyn fucking Vaughn. Someday she would stop being angry. Maybe even today.

Maybe today she’d say good-bye forever to Robyn fucking Vaughn, and instead think about Marian. Think about being in bed with Marian. It was a much more pleasant fantasy to contemplate.

When she finally stopped she had to mop her face with her gi.

She opened her eyes to see the sensei holding a towel for her.

Honored, she thanked him, but he cut her off.

“Whatever it is that makes you angry, it clouds your judgment and leaves you vulnerable to indecision.”

“Thank you, sensei,” she said automatically. Was she being indecisive in her life? Incoherent with anger at Robyn, she’d still accepted the job, found a place to live, driven across the country and started the project.

But she hadn’t been decisive with Marian, now that was true. It wasn’t as if Marian made it easy, after all. Tearful one minute, the next turning on those gold-green bedroom eyes ... Marian didn’t make thinking easy. Then there was the magic she worked with her fingertips and her mouth. How did she do that?

What was it about her?

It had only been a few days, and there was obviously so much about Marian she didn’t know. But the way she felt when Marian was near her was hard to argue with. It was sexual, yes, but it was more than that.

She stopped at Hy-Vee on the way home for soda and light bulbs.

The bakery department still had those buns Marian had brought her.

She felt stupidly nostalgic for them, though it had only been that morning. She wandered the candy aisle and found a bar of dark chocolate with raspberry filling. Given Marian’s penchant, it might be wise to have some in the house.

She wished she knew where Marian lived. She’d leave the chocolate for her. She could not get through a minute without thinking about Marian and somehow she wished she could tell her so without being a fool.

She found herself looking through the greeting cards. Hmm, there didn’t seem to be one that said,
Can we fuck first and talk later?

Nor one that read,
I’m not her, and you shouldn’t treat me like I am. I’m
not going to hurt you. I just want to make you feel good
. She sighed heavily and browsed the aisle slowly.

Marian had had pet hair on her overshirt yesterday, so she selected one with a cat and a dog sleeping peacefully side-by-side. It simply asked,
Why can’t we be friends?
She’d been rude this morning, throwing Marian out like that. Well, it was true that if Marian had stayed another minute, Liddy would have touched her. The sponta-neous combustion would have endangered neighboring buildings.

Back home, she surrounded herself with her books, typing notes into organized documents about women in medicine and the basics of securing a medical degree. Statistics about the teaching hospital’s patient load and specialties offered mounted up rapidly. Every time she ran across a comment about medical ethics from a woman’s point of view she recorded that, too. She ignored the quality-control reports themselves but recorded the labels used to describe hospital “errors.” She wondered if “disadvantageous patient outcome” meant somebody had died. She’d have to find out.

Dana Moon was paying her handsomely, and she would get Liddy’s best effort. At least she could do that right.

Her stomach twisted hard for food, and she realized the time. It was nearly three. Time for lunch. Time to get that book from the library, too. Maybe both errands could be accomplished at the same time. The card and chocolate she tucked into her small carryall.