If she were really honest, she knew she’d be wondering the same thing if it were someone else in her situation. She’d never have believed she could love a woman this much, in a way that didn’t have to be sexual. Didn’t mean there hadn’t been occasional urges, but those were easily taken care of. Just being with Henrietta was enough most of the time.
But will it always be that way?
She longed to talk to Henrietta, but she couldn’t call from home and leave her parents to see the call on their bill. And she didn’t feel she could call collect, though she didn’t imagine Henrietta would mind.
Another week of this. She’d hardly seen the twins, but their basketball camp was due to end this week, and then they were all supposed to go to Kennywood on Saturday. She’d promised Janie they could partner up for the rollercoasters.
She pushed to her feet. On the way home, she’d reminded herself she hadn’t seen her family for almost six months. One more week wouldn’t hurt anything.
Gordon McCourt sat at his desk, staring out the window, his hands tented while his index fingers tapped against his lips. In front of him sat the paper with Henrietta Cochran’s lab results. The clinic was closed for the evening, and a large stack of charts awaited his notations, but he stood and stretched.
“Tina, I’m going out to see a patient. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Startled, Tina immediately began sifting through the messages littering her desk. “But who—”
“I need to speak with Miss Cochran.”
Tina stopped her frantic search. “Oh.”
He nodded and went out the clinic’s back door to the old carriage house now serving as his garage. Within a few minutes, he pulled into Henrietta’s driveway, noting that the other car wasn’t there. What was that young woman’s name? Something unusual.
It took a long time for Henrietta to answer his ring of the bell, but he waited patiently, watching the golfers across the road. Everyone told him he should take the game up. Of course, they also told him he should have a wife. It seemed there was never enough time. Maybe when he retired. For the golf, anyhow.
When Henrietta opened the door, she didn’t appear to be surprised to see him. She walked into the living room, leaving him to come in on his own.
She was, he noticed, wearing one of her old, familiar outfits, a dark blouse and skirt. Durable, sensible. And utterly unlike the bold colors she’d been wearing when she’d come to the office. He could almost see her retreating again into her shell.
Henrietta paused on her way to the sofa. “Would you like some coffee? Or something to eat?”
He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that it was past six o’clock. He frequently worked through what was dinnertime for most people before going upstairs to his living quarters above the clinic to make himself something.
“Have you eaten? How about I whip up some eggs and bacon.”
She glanced at him. “Bacon? I thought doctors were opposed to bacon.”
He grinned and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Don’t tell anyone.”
He was, of necessity, handy in the kitchen. A man living alone had two choices: spend a lot of money eating out, or learn to cook.
Within a few minutes, he served Henrietta a cup of coffee and a plate with two eggs, bacon, and toast.
“How has no woman snatched you up before this?” Henrietta asked, nibbling on a crispy piece of bacon.
He chuckled. “There have been a lot of ill-guided attempts, believe me.”
They ate, talking about a variety of topics. He asked about Henrietta’s art, and she told him about the upcoming show in Albany. They discussed the likelihood that Gary Hart would get the Democratic nomination over Walter Mondale—“I can imagine that Democratic sign in your yard drives the country club folks mad,” he observed—but that, sadly, neither was likely to defeat Reagan.
When they were done eating, and Henrietta sat with her coffee cup cradled in her hands, she said, “This has been delightful, Gordon, but are you going to tell me why you’re really here?”
“I’ve always admired your directness, Henrietta. The way you face things head-on.”
“What am I facing this time?”
He sighed. “Nothing. That’s the problem. Your blood work came back completely normal. No anemia. No elevated white count. Nothing that would account for what you’ve been experiencing.”
She nodded. “In other words, nothing that’s treatable. I suspected as much.”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m sorry. I wish this was something I could take care of with a transfusion or prescription.”
Releasing her hand, he asked, “Are you living alone?”
“No. Meryn went home to visit her family in Pennsylvania. Some of her friends from the college have been staying with me at night. I’m expecting one of them later this evening.”
“But she is coming back. Meryn?”
He tried to make out what was going on in her mind as he watched her face. This was beyond his role as her doctor, beyond even the bounds of professional ethics, but to hell with boundaries. “Henrietta.” This time he clasped both of her hands. “Don’t let this post-polio diagnosis close you off. Don’t let it rob you of the happiness you’ve found. This girl has been so good for you.”
He longed to say more, but stopped himself. Scooping up the dishes, he carried them to the sink.
“You don’t have to—”
“It’ll only take a minute.”
When the dishes were clean, he turned to her again. “Thanks for dinner. And the company.”
“You cooked.”
“You gave me someone to have a conversation with.”
She followed him to the front door. He hesitated again before bending to kiss her cheek.
“Good night, Henrietta.”
He got in his car, watching her silhouetted behind the storm door. Until he felt brave enough to have an actual relationship, not just meeting men in the city, he had no right to lecture Henrietta.
Chapter 23
Unlike her after last trip home for Christmas, when Ryn had followed a hunch and stopped at Mrs. Middleston’s boarding house to find Vanessa’s mother packing her room, this time she was determined to go straight to Henrietta’s. This separation had been much harder. The long expanses of highway stretched on forever.
The conflict with her mother hadn’t helped. Ryn had never had a real argument with her parents. She’d never gotten into trouble as a kid. Maybe I should have, she thought as she drove. Might have prepared both of us.
Even the revelation that Henrietta had interceded with the college on her behalf hadn’t swayed her mom much, though she’d grudgingly admitted it was nice of Henrietta to have done that.
The music that usually soothed Ryn couldn’t calm her frazzled nerves as she drove. She kept breaking into muttered arguments while the Alan Parsons Project warbled through the speakers.
“She’ll come around,” she insisted over and over. “When Mom sees how happy Henrietta and I are together, she’ll learn to be okay with this.”
It seemed naïve now to believe that, after finding such easy acceptance from Sandy and Maxine, and from Franny and Roberta and Steph, it would be like that with everyone.
“It’s her job to be protective of you,” Ryn reminded herself. “She’s your mother.”
But, damn, it was hard, knowing her mom disapproved of something that made her so happy.
When she pulled into the driveway, she threw Nelly into park and ran to the house without even pausing to grab her duffle bag.
“Henrietta!” The living room was empty, the house quiet. Ryn hurried to the studio, but it, too, was empty.
Deflated, she checked the garage. The Chrysler was gone.
“But I told her when I’d be back.”
She yanked the back door open and went to collect her things from her car. She unpacked and started a load of laundry. The afternoon turned into evening. She made herself a peanut butter
and jelly sandwich and tried to read, but she kept finding herself staring out the picture window, wondering where on earth Henrietta was.
Finally, too impatient and worried to wait any longer, she reached for the phone.
“Roberta? Hi, it’s Ryn.”
“Hi! How was your visit home?”
“It was… okay. Hey, I’m back, but there’s no sign of Henrietta. Do you guys know where she is?”
“Not specifically. She did say something to Steph about cards with some friends tonight. But I don’t know where.”
Ryn’s nerves gave a warning jangle. “Everything go okay while I was gone?”
“Yeah.” Roberta hesitated. “Well, it was a little strange.”
“What?”
“About a week ago, she suddenly got real quiet. And she went back to wearing the dark clothes she used to wear, you know, the conservative skirts and hose. Not the bright colors she’d been in recently. We all noticed. Don’t know what that’s about.”
“Okay. Thanks so much to all of you for keeping an eye on her. When do you leave for the motherhouse?”
“This weekend. Will we see you before that?”
“I hope so. I’ll try to come over tomorrow. Bye.”
Ryn hung up. Cards? That made no sense. The only people Henrietta ever played cards with were those women from the country club.
Unless she’s regretting giving up her friends from the club. She’s known them for years. And me for less than one, Ryn reminded herself.
It was easy to forget that. Sometimes, she felt she’d known Henrietta forever.
It was well after dark when Ryn saw the sweep of the station wagon’s headlights and heard the rumble of the garage door as it opened. Ryn jumped up and opened the door to the garage before Henrietta could get there.
Henrietta stopped and stared at her. Ryn tried to read her eyes, but saw only a blank expression. If Roberta hadn’t warned her, the sight of Henrietta in her staid, conservative skirt and blouse would have been a shock.
“When did you get back?” Henrietta asked, pressing the garage door button on the wall and stepping inside.
“When I said I would,” Ryn said sullenly. “About four o’clock. Thought you’d be here.”
“I’m sorry. Mary Ellen Greene called and asked if I could join a bridge party she was hosting at her house. I haven’t seen my old friends in a while, so I said yes. Have you eaten?”
“Yeah. Made a sandwich. Do you want anything?”
“No.” Henrietta led the way through the kitchen. “I ate at Mary Ellen’s.”
Henrietta paused. “I’m glad you got your trip over safely. Bonnie washed your sheets on Wednesday, so your bed is freshly made. Good night.”
Ryn stood, watching in disbelief as Henrietta turned toward her room. A moment later, the door closed. Henrietta didn’t slam it, but she might as well have. All the anticipation, all of the excitement Ryn had felt at getting back here, back to Henrietta—it burned like acid in her stomach now.
Moving like an automaton, Ryn clicked off the living room lamp and checked the front door. She took a quick shower and brushed her teeth. In her room, she lay in the dark, trying not to give in to the tears that welled up in her eyes. This was like some horrible movie, where Henrietta—the laughing, loving, approachable version—had been replaced by some replica, a likeness that was cold and indifferent.
“What happened?” Ryn whispered in the dark.
Henrietta sat in her studio, watching Meryn down at the landing near the pond, playing her guitar. Her heart felt pinched and empty, where for a blessed little while, it had been full to bursting.
It’s the right thing to do, insisted a nagging voice in her head.
But it didn’t feel right. Not when she saw the hurt in the girl’s eyes. Hurt Henrietta knew she’d caused.
She’d been so looking forward to the summer, to having Meryn free from her classes so that they could travel—back to Owasco Lake or the other Finger Lakes. The show in Albany was due to open in two weeks, and she’d tentatively planned for them to spend a few days there, enjoying the opening and touring the city.
But the house echoed with a cold silence. Henrietta had offered no explanation, and Meryn didn’t know what to say. The girl’s eyes spoke volumes—unlike Henrietta, she had no skill at hiding her emotions. Everything she felt was right there.
What if she leaves? asked that voice.
It might be better if she did, she replied.
Henrietta knew her own heart would never recover, but Meryn was young. Hers would. And she deserved a whole life, not a half-life tied to… to someone like me.
Where Henrietta had once dared to hope that she and Meryn could be happy together, even given the age difference and Henrietta’s physical restrictions, that calculation had changed. She’d fooled herself into thinking they could get beyond those barriers, but if her health was going to deteriorate further, she could not, would not, burden the girl with being her nurse.
Resolutely, she turned back to her canvas, but scowled at the painting. It was horrible. Stiff, stilted. Just like me.
Giving up, she cleaned her brushes and went to the kitchen. Scribbling a quick note that she was running some errands, she went to the garage.
A few minutes later, she had parked at the library and made her way inside.
“Henrietta,” said Maxine from behind the front desk. Her dark eyes swept up and down, but she said nothing about Henrietta’s appearance. “How nice to see you. Looking for a summer read?”
“Actually, I needed to do some research.” Henrietta looked around. “But I don’t really know where to start.”
“We can help you with that.” Maxine set down the books she’d been holding. She led Henrietta to the reference section. “What’s the general category?”
“Medical.”
Maxine paused and glanced sharply at Henrietta before leading her around the corner to a desk lined with a row of books. “Then you’ll need this set of references. Make a list of any pertinent articles, and we’ll see if we have them. If not, we can probably get them through an inter-library loan.”
Henrietta felt like a heel, not acknowledging Maxine in a friendlier manner. “Thank you.”
Maxine must have read her hesitation. “I wish I could stay to help, but I’ve got a meeting. I’ll send Sherry over in a few minutes to see if you need any assistance.”
Maxine left her. Henrietta and Sherry spent the next two hours looking up everything they could find on post-polio syndrome. There wasn’t much. The few articles there were seemed to be based on case studies, not actual research. And, just as Gordon McCourt had said, they offered no predictive data on what she could expect.
“I hope your search was productive,” Maxine said as Henrietta waited for Sherry to make some copies for her.
“Sherry was helpful,” Henrietta said noncommittally.
“Would you and Meryn be available for dinner this week?”
“No.” Henrietta realized how sharply that had burst out. “No, we’re… I’m busy. But thank you.”
Sherry brought the copies, and Henrietta handed over a few dollars for the copying fee.
“Thank you for your help,” she said. “Good-bye, Maxine.”
In the car, she closed her eyes. You were so rude. But it was the same as Meryn, wasn’t it? They all needed to be pushed firmly away. If she was indeed going to be dealing with the effects of this syndrome, she would do it her way, with things under her strict control. It was how she’d always managed. This… this circle of people who had worked their way inside those defenses, this was what weakened her.
I will not be weak.
The sun was fully up, slanting through the crack between the curtains, when Ryn opened her eyes. For the last few nights, she’d been staying up late reading, and then sleeping in later in the mornings. It was easier this way. Henrietta would have already had her breakfast and gone to her studio.
For the first week after she got back, Ryn
had kept to her usual schedule of getting up early, making breakfast for both of them, trying to engage Henrietta in conversation, but it was like pulling teeth. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what had changed.
“Are you feeling okay?” she’d asked.
“I’m fine,” Henrietta had snapped. “Why do you keep asking me that?”
It was like their early days together, when it had felt like walking on eggshells to be around Henrietta.
But Ryn had seen her—when she was down at the pond or out in the yard refilling the birdfeeders—she’d seen Henrietta standing at the windows, watching her.
It made no sense.
She was trapped. She couldn’t go back home to Pennsylvania, not with the way things had been left with her mom. And she didn’t want to go, not now that Franny and the others had left for the summer. It would have meant leaving Henrietta alone at night and, no matter what else was—or wasn’t—happening between the two of them, Ryn still felt protective and responsible.
So, she spent some time on campus, preparing her fall courses and catching up with Beverly, who told her she still hadn’t heard which of the candidates had been hired. She tried to question Beverly on whether her sister had said anything about Henrietta.
“No,” Beverly said. “Bonnie and I spoke just yesterday, and she didn’t say anything. Why? Is there a problem?”
“No.” Clearly, there was, only Ryn couldn’t articulate what.
The evenings were no better. Dinners were mostly silent. Henrietta spoke stiltedly of the upcoming art show in Albany, but she sounded as if she no longer wanted to go. After four attempts to get Henrietta down to the pond or out for an evening walk, all of which Henrietta declined, Ryn began retreating to her room after the dinner dishes were done. She played her guitar or read or just listened to music.
And she thought, replaying those last days before she’d left, trying to figure out where things had gone so horribly wrong. She couldn’t find anything that could explain this.
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