Rum Spring (17 page)

Dylan had to admit her Catholic faith didn’t have the greatest track record when it came to gays and lesbians, but she thought the tide was slowly beginning to turn. Her parish priest, for one, was incredibly understanding and accepting. Perhaps the pope would eventually share his progressive views.

Even though Dylan understood Rebecca’s dilemma, she couldn’t relate to it. Not completely. It was easy to say she wouldn’t deny who she was in order to comply with a set of archaic rules because she would never be faced with the choice. She tried to put herself in Rebecca’s shoes. If she were told she could be with the woman she loved only if she never spoke to her family again, what choice would she make? Would she be able to forgo sharing hours of late-night girl talk with her mother or listening to her father crack one of his (many) corny jokes in order to live her life with the woman who made her feel complete? What would she really do if push came to shove?

“There’s my valedictorian,” Grandpa Richard said after Dylan and her fellow graduates tossed their mortarboards into the air. “Come here and give the old man a hug.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground. “You were wonderful, sweetie.”

“Thanks, Grandpa.”

“You make me so proud.”

“Thank you, Grandma Joan.”

“How did you get so smart having this big lug for a father?” Grandpa Richard lightly punched her father on the arm.

“The big lug picked the right woman to marry.” Grandpa Malcolm wrapped his arm around her mother’s shoulders.

Her mother had Grandma Siobhan’s auburn hair and emerald eyes, but she had Grandpa Malcolm’s height. Dylan had all three plus the trademark Mahoney dimple in her chin.

Grandma Siobhan steered Dylan away from the crowd of well-wishers. Her lilting Irish accent had not faded despite the fact she had lived in the States for decades. “The summer between high school and college is the longest of your life. How are you going to spend yours? Are you going to go to summer camp with Willie and get out of the city for a while?”

“No, she’s taking her girlfriend so I won’t have to worry about putting on a happy face for six weeks.”

“Willie has a girlfriend?”

“She took Danielle Kim to the prom and they’ve been inseparable ever since. They’re going to be bunkmates at summer camp. If all goes well, they plan to room together when they get to Bryn Mawr. If I tagged along, I’d feel like I was interrupting their honeymoon.”

Willie had been a counselor at Camp Wannamuck (Camp Run Amok to those on the inside) for the past three years. Each year she came back raving about what a blast she’d had. Each year she would try to convince Dylan to go with her. Dylan hadn’t been to summer camp since she was ten years old. She’d gotten homesick after the first couple of days and had spent the next five weeks miserable and covered in bug bites. The experience was not one she cared to repeat.

“Why don’t you spend the summer in Albany with me and Grandpa Malcolm? We have a spare room with your name on it.”

“Thanks for the offer, Grandma, but I’ve decided to enroll in summer school. I’m going to take a few classes and get my feet wet before the real work begins this fall.”

“What are you taking?”

“A couple of film classes, a journalism class, and a class on Irish politics. I start next week and finish in August.”

Grandma Siobhan’s eyebrows shot up. “It sounds like you intend to do much more than get your feet wet. Are you even going to have time to see the sun?”

“I’ll have a couple of weeks off between the end of the second summer session and the beginning of fall semester.”

“You’re going to spend your last summer of freedom tied to a desk.”

“What else would you have me do?”

“Break a few hearts? That’s what your mom did when she was your age.”

“I’d rather heal my own heart than break someone else’s.”

Dylan could have commuted from home or taken her courses online, but she thought a change of scenery might do her good. There were too many memories in Lancaster. Too many reminders of what she had lost. Then again, Philadelphia wasn’t much different. Each time she passed the Liberty Bell, the ballpark, or the museum, she knew she would think of the times she and Rebecca had spent at each site.

She sat on the twin bed and looked around the room that would be her home for the next two months. She had brought four of her favorite film posters from home and hung them on “her” side of the room, but the artwork couldn’t completely dispel the institutional feel of the space.

Summer session wasn’t very busy—fewer than four thousand students took part—but the dorm teemed with activity as new and returning students hooked up, introduced themselves, and shared their life stories. Dylan didn’t feel like sharing. She pulled out a scrapbook and flipped through it. When she got to the pictures of her and Rebecca at senior prom, she wistfully fingered the souvenirs affixed to the pages. A takeout menu from Lolita, a jewel from her prom king crown, the boutonniere she had worn in her lapel. She picked up the spray of flowers Rebecca had worn in her hair and held it to her nose. Though the flowers had dried, she could still smell their scent.

“Bad breakup?”

Dylan had been so caught up in the scrapbook that she hadn’t heard the door open. She snapped the book shut and turned around.

The new arrival was tall and loose-limbed. Athletic without being intimidating. Her white tank top and camouflage cargo shorts showed off the well-defined muscles in her arms, legs, and abs. Her straight dark hair was cut short like Demi Moore’s in 1990’s Ghost. Her blue eyes were piercing, even from ten feet away. Her voice was a sexy contralto that would have been equally at home onstage in a smoky jazz club or across a shared pillow.

“I’m Erin.” She dropped two large duffel bags on the floor and extended her hand. “I’m going to be your roommate this summer. You must be Dylan.”

Dylan wiped her sweaty palm on her jeans and shook Erin’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“I’m going to be honest with you, Dylan. This whole Unabomber look isn’t working for me.” She indicated Dylan’s outfit—Doc Martens, jeans, and a hooded T-shirt. “The way I see it, you have two options: change into something else or be prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon telling me all about the girl in the scrapbook.”

“You don’t mince words, do you?” Erin’s bluntness was going to take some getting used to.

“Nice women don’t make history. If I’m going to make some, I can’t afford to spare anyone’s feelings. So which is it to be, costume change or sob story?”

Dylan wasn’t up for pouring her heart out to a complete stranger. “Is there any particular outfit you’d like to see me in?” she asked with what she hoped was the right amount of sarcasm.

“Given a choice, I’d say a thong and a peek-a-boo bra, but we can save that for next week.” Erin stood in front of Dylan’s closet and pulled out a pair of khaki shorts and a T-shirt that asked How many licks does it take? “These will do. Get changed.” She tossed Dylan the clothes. “We can split a pizza while you tell me about Mystery Girl.”

“I thought it was either/or. Either I change clothes or I tell you about…Mystery Girl.”

“There’s something you should know about me, roomie: with me, it’s always and. It’s never either/or.”

Dylan kicked off her boots and unbuckled her belt. She cleared her throat when Erin continued to stare at her.

“So you’re the shy, retiring type. Remind me to fix that before summer ends.”

Dylan waited for Erin to turn and face the wall before she continued to undress.

“So where are you from?”

“Lancaster. What about you?”

“I grew up in Pittsburgh but my family is from Charlottesville.”

“What’s your major?”

“Journalism.”

“Mine, too. Print or broadcast?” Dylan pulled off her thick cotton socks and slid her jeans over her hips.

“Broadcast. Nice tush, Lancaster.”

Dylan looked up and saw Erin staring at her reflection in the floor-length mirror. Erin wiggled her fingers and cheekily waved hello.

Dylan pulled on her shorts and zipped them up. “I would tell you to kiss my ass but I’m afraid you might do it.”

Erin flashed a wicked grin. “Now you’re learning.”

They walked to a popular hangout a few blocks away and ordered a pizza with the works.

“Relax, Lancaster. You don’t have to tell me about Mystery Girl until you’re ready. And I’m not going to try to get into your pants until I’m ready.”

“I don’t get a say?”

“I’ll think about it and get back to you. Thought about it. No, you don’t.”

Dylan laughed for the first time in weeks. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So I’ve heard. And you’re really cute.”

“Thanks. So are you.” Even though Rebecca had told her to move on, the admission felt like a betrayal. Was it too soon?

“Come here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come here.” Erin’s eyes were half-lidded, her tone sultry.

“No.”

“Okay, then I’ll come to you.” Erin slid to Dylan’s side of the booth. “I’m not going to bite you, Lancaster. I’m just going to kiss you.”

Dylan froze, uncertain if she should relent or resist. She wasn’t up for a one-night stand, but she had to know if she could feel something—anything—for someone other than Rebecca. If she could, she could do as Rebecca asked and move on. If she couldn’t, all was lost.

When Erin leaned forward, Dylan met her halfway. Their lips pressed against each other. Gently at first, then with increasing purpose. Erin’s tongue caressed Dylan’s. Dylan vaguely registered the comments from diners at surrounding tables, but she was more concerned with what her body had to say.

Erin pulled away. The corner of her mouth lifted into a half-smile. “That was…”

“Awful.”

Erin sighed with apparent relief. “I’m so glad you agree.” She stuck out her hand. “Friends?”

“Yes, please. I think I’m going to need one.”

Chapter Twelve

“Write to me,” Rebecca had said the night before Sarah left town. “Write to let me know you’re all right. Write before I won’t be allowed to read what you have to say.”

Sarah had promised to write, but each time Rebecca went to the post office, unlocked the little door, and peeked inside, the box was empty. Had Sarah received the many letters she had sent? If she had, why hadn’t she responded in kind? Rebecca was almost ready to give up hope when one day she checked the box and found not one letter but two. One was from Sarah, the other from Dylan. Clutching the prizes to her chest, she hurried back to the bakery so she could read them in private.

The bakery’s storage room was filled with dozens of industrial-sized containers of flour, sugar, baking soda, and other ingredients, but Rebecca had managed to carve out a bit of space for herself. An area she could escape to when she needed some time away—to have lunch, to read or just to sit and think. She called it her office. It wasn’t as nice as Mrs. Dunham’s office, but she didn’t care. It was hers. That was all that mattered.

She turned on the bright fluorescent overhead light and closed the door. Then she examined both envelopes. The postmark on Sarah’s letter was a week old, the one on Dylan’s only a couple of days. Anxious for news of her sister’s new life, she decided to open Sarah’s letter first.

Her hands were shaking when she slid her finger under the flap. She took a deep breath, ripped the envelope open, and pulled out several sheets of lined, wide-ruled paper. The kind she and Sarah used to use to complete their assignments when they were in school. She unfolded the pages and began to read.

My dearest Rebecca,

It was a joy to receive your letters. I am sorry I have not written before now, but it has taken me this long to adjust to the many changes that have come to pass since the last time I saw you.

I have so much to say I hardly know where to begin. First, I hope this letter finds you well. I am sure these past few months have been nearly as difficult for you as they have been for me. I find it hard to believe it took something this drastic to make me appreciate you as much as I do now. It is true what they say: you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. If I had only known before now how kind and generous you are, life might have turned out different for me and for you. We could have been as close as sisters instead of feeling like distant relatives.

There was a chasm between us even before we ended up on separate coasts. I felt it but I was powerless to do anything about it. No, I made a vow to be honest from now on so I must be honest with you no matter how much it hurts or how awful it makes me seem. The truth is I never tried to establish a relationship with you. I intentionally kept you at a distance because I thought we didn’t have anything in common. I see now I should have celebrated those differences instead of allowing them to come between us. I will regret that for the rest of my life.

It may be too little, too late, but I feel I should take the time to thank you for all you have done for me and what you continue to do for our family. I wish I could be there to help you—all of you—through this difficult time. The knowledge that I cannot weighs heavily upon me each day. I will continue to keep you in my prayers. I hope you will keep me in yours.

How are my boys? Are they growing big and strong? Are they being well looked after? I miss them so much that it is all I can do to get out of bed most days but I tell myself it is for the best. After all, I cannot undo the past. I cannot change what has happened no matter how much I might want to. I have made my mistakes and now I must pay for them.

I wish I had confided in you instead of Marian. If I had, the result might have been the same—I don’t know if you would have been able to convince yourself to keep the news from Papa—but I feel certain you would have found a better time and place to reveal the truth to him than she did. Marian did what she did in order to hurt me. I only wish I knew the reason she feels such spite for me. I have never done anything to harm her. I have never done anything but be her friend. I thought she was mine but I guess I was wrong. I hold no malice for her. It is my hope she will be able to find peace—as I have.