Invisible, as Music

by Caren J. Werlinger

  They both lay stiffly for several minutes.

  “Are you okay? Am I crowding you?” Ryn asked, though she was as close to the edge as she could get without falling out of bed.

  “I’m fine.” Henrietta reached for her hand. “You don’t have to stay so far away.”

  Ryn shifted closer, taking Henrietta’s hand. Henrietta squeezed it.

  “Relax. You’re not going to break me.”

  Ryn snorted. Turning on her side, she rested her other hand on Henrietta’s shoulder. “If I snore or talk in my sleep, just push me out of bed.”

  “Deal.”

  Ryn closed her eyes, listening to Henrietta’s breathing as it slowed and deepened. What would it be like to fall asleep listening to that every night?

  Breakfast on Saturday morning felt almost normal. Meryn and her mother made pancakes and bacon for everyone, and Walt made sure Henrietta’s coffee cup was topped off each time it got half-empty. After breakfast, Walt insisted on checking the birdfeeders. With an apologetic glance in Henrietta’s direction, Meryn accompanied him, leaving Henrietta alone with June.

  “Are the boys excited for their senior year?” Henrietta asked casually, trying to steer the conversation to safe topics.

  “Absolutely,” June said, seeming equally glad to have something benign to talk about. She went on about the summer basketball camps the twins had attended, and their hopes for scholarships. “Probably only to a mid-level school, but still, a scholarship is a scholarship.”

  Henrietta wondered, with three days looming before them, if they should tackle the reason for this get-together right away, or if they should pretend it was a normal holiday visit for a while. When Meryn and her father returned, she took the initiative.

  “Where would you be most comfortable talking? Here in the kitchen? At the dining table? In the living room?”

  Meryn looked slightly panicked at such an upfront approach but, in Henrietta’s experience, when something painful was hanging over your head, you’d best get it done with as quickly as possible.

  When the other three simply looked at one another, Henrietta took charge.

  “Meryn, would you please bring me a cup of coffee?”

  While the Flemings bustled about in the kitchen getting fresh cups of tea and coffee, Henrietta headed to the dining table, taking a seat at one end. This was clearly a family that avoided confrontation—or perhaps, Henrietta thought, they’ve never had reason for a confrontation. She decided this would require some tact.

  When the others were seated—Walt at the opposite end of the table, with Meryn and her mother sitting across from each other on either side—Henrietta waited a moment to see if one of them would begin, but seconds ticked by, accompanied only by nervous sips or twirling of mugs in clenched hands.

  All right, then.

  “June,” she began, “I think you had some concerns about Meryn’s living arrangement here with me.”

  “Well…” June paused, her face a brilliant pink. “It’s not so much the living arrangement, but, yes.” She straightened her shoulders. “I think Ryn should be in a place of her own, if she’s to stay in Bluemont.”

  A puzzled frown creased Walt’s brow, and Henrietta had the distinct impression that the poor man had no idea why he was really here.

  “Why would she move?” he asked, turning to Meryn. “Do you want to move?”

  “No.” Meryn glanced at her mother and quickly lowered her eyes. “I like it here. With Henrietta.”

  “Then—”

  “It’s not the house,” June cut in. “And I’m sure Henrietta is a perfectly lovely person.” She couldn’t look at Henrietta as she said it. “It’s everything else.”

  Walt looked from his wife to his daughter and back again. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m in love with Henrietta, Dad.”

  Henrietta was certain Meryn hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but there it was. Out in the open.

  “Oh.” Walt blinked a few times in Henrietta’s direction.

  “And she’s in love with me,” Meryn added, which, Henrietta was relieved to note, saved her the necessity of saying it aloud.

  “And that’s the problem,” June said.

  “Why is it a problem?” Meryn asked.

  The flush in June’s cheeks had become splotchy patches of red, and Henrietta wondered if she had a temper like her daughter’s.

  June’s nostrils flared. “I’m sure I don’t need to point out the obvious…”

  “You’re referring to my handicap,” Henrietta said.

  June gave a curt nod. “Yes.” She hesitated. “That and the age difference.”

  “Mom,” Meryn began, but Henrietta interrupted.

  “I told Meryn as much myself.”

  At that, June’s mouth opened and then closed. “You did?”

  “I did. She didn’t agree.” Henrietta gave Meryn a small smile. She turned back to June. “I’m not trying to steal your daughter’s future.”

  “Those things don’t matter,” Meryn insisted stubbornly.

  “They will,” June insisted.

  Henrietta nodded. “Your mother’s right. Time is not on our side.”

  Meryn started to push back from the table. Henrietta knew she needed to pace and move, but she restrained herself and scooted her chair back in. “No one knows how much time they have. A car accident. A heart attack. Cancer. Anything can happen to any of us.”

  “But the chances of those things are smaller than the likelihood that Henrietta is going to need more and more help.” June avoided Henrietta’s gaze. “You’re going to become her nurse. It’s… it’s selfish!”

  For a stunned moment, no one said anything.

  “Mom…” Meryn said, her hurt palpable.

  “I suppose it is,” Henrietta mused. “It is selfish that the best part of my day is the moment she comes home. I watch the clock, waiting for Meryn to light up this house with happiness it never knew before.”

  Meryn turned, her eyes shining at this admission.

  I should have told her this before now.

  “It is selfish that I laugh and smile now, something I haven’t done much of since I was fifteen. It is selfish that, through her, I’ve met a wonderful circle of friends who support us. My world is so much larger for knowing Meryn.” Say it. “For loving her.”

  Meryn reached for her hand, and she took it briefly.

  She focused on June. “You’re absolutely right. It is selfish.”

  June looked ready to cry herself. “But, beyond a nice house, what can you offer her?”

  “Nothing,” Henrietta said simply.

  “Everything,” Meryn said.

  In frustration, June turned to her husband. “Walt, say something!”

  He gazed out the window for a long moment, watching the activity at the birdfeeders. “Shall I cut her in half, like King Solomon?” he said at last. “June, all we’ve ever wanted is for Ryn to be loved, to be cherished. I think it’s obvious she is. Isn’t that enough?”

  June’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Henrietta felt only empathy for her, but she wasn’t certain June was ready for kind words just now.

  “If it helps,” she said instead, “I promise not to call you Mom and Dad.”

  Meryn snorted with laughter. Even June couldn’t help but laugh through her tears.

  Chapter 26

  Autumn, Ryn decided, was definitely her favorite season in Bluemont. It wasn’t just the brilliant colors of the trees around the house and pond, or the still-new feeling of the school year on campus. This time of year would forever be tied to her memories of meeting Henrietta, moving in with her, of the visit with her parents.

  Before June and Walt left, they had elicited a promise from both Ryn and Henrietta to come to Uniontown for Thanksgiving. It was, Ryn knew, a kind of truce between her mom and Henrietta, and she was grateful to both of them.

  Her women-and-history class had been so popular last year—once she was the one teaching it—t
hat word had spread, prompting Talbert to suggest offering it fall and spring. The extra course kept her busier than she’d have liked, but she couldn’t complain when she was doing what she loved with a colleague she enjoyed.

  Andy might have been born in the States, but he had absorbed more than a tea habit from his time in England. His sense of humor was decidedly British—cutting and subtle—and he had Talbert tagged from the get-go.

  “He’s got his sights set on bigger and better things, hasn’t he?” he observed after an attempt at a history department meeting.

  “I kind of screwed that up for him last year, and he hasn’t forgiven me.”

  “That chap whom I replaced?”

  “Yeah.” Ryn shook her head. “He was planning on becoming department chair after Talbert moved into a dean’s slot. They had it all lined up.”

  Andy sat back with his mug of tea. “I take it he got involved with a student?”

  Ryn gave a short nod. She didn’t want to say too much. Turned out, she didn’t have to.

  Andy’s face darkened. “We all know it happens, but I swear, if any man ever takes advantage of my daughter—or my son—like that, I’ll take care of him myself.”

  He kept throwing little bones like that, little signals that he was perfectly fine with gays, with the possibility his kids could be gay, and Ryn wondered again if he’d had any relationships with men in the past.

  She zipped up her backpack. “You guys sure you don’t want to come over to watch the debate tonight? Ferraro will grind Bush into the dust.”

  “Thanks, but the kids will open up more if it’s just us. Don’t worry, we’ll be watching.”

  “Cheers, mate.”

  His laughter followed her down the corridor. She waved goodnight to Beverly and hurried home.

  Franny, Roberta, and Steph were already there, having taken over the kitchen. They’d decided to just do a kind of potluck buffet. Ryn had already made a vat of beef stew. When she came in and saw all the food on the dining table—three strudels, a potato casserole, and a loaf of zucchini bread—she laughed.

  “Well, if the debate’s a bust, we can always drown our sorrows in food.”

  She quickly changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. By the time she emerged from her room, Sandy and Maxine had arrived with a pot of their lentil soup.

  “Mmm.” She sniffed. “Did you bring cornbread, too?”

  “You bet.” Sandy grinned. “Can’t have lentils without cornbread.”

  For a moment, Ryn watched Maxine and Henrietta, standing side by side in the dining room. Maxine looked regal in a knee-length tunic of deep plum that highlighted her beautiful skin, while Henrietta had chosen a cozy sweater in a gray-blue that, when she turned and caught Ryn looking, matched her eyes almost perfectly.

  “Oh, stop making googly eyes at each other,” Maxine said with a deep laugh. “Ryn, make yourself useful and bring those plates to the table, will you?”

  When Gordon arrived with a pan of brownies, Ryn gave up.

  “I’m going to die happy.”

  They ate until they were stuffed, waiting for the debate to begin.

  “I have got to walk some of this off, or I’ll never sleep tonight,” Franny said.

  Ryn jumped up and grabbed her jacket. “I’ll go with you.”

  The October evening was brisk, reminding them that winter was just around the corner in this part of the country. They strolled down the road, collars turned to the cold.

  “Oh, that’s better.” Franny breathed, taking the biting air deep into her lungs. “Eating too much makes my brain go all foggy.”

  “Me, too. I’ve been so busy between work and volunteering, I haven’t spent enough time with my music and fun stuff. I swear I don’t know what I’ll do if we have to put up with Reagan for another term.”

  “I’m with you, but…”

  “What?”

  Franny shrugged. “I just think there are too many people who don’t think the way we do. That’s all.”

  They walked for a while. Overhead, stars winked through the mostly-naked trees.

  “How are things going?” Ryn asked.

  Franny didn’t answer right away. “Better.” She bumped her shoulder against Ryn. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “No problem.” Ryn grinned. “I owe you ten pep talks.”

  Franny gazed down at her. “Things are good with you and Henrietta.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah. They really are. The visit with my folks kind of turned things around for us. She is so much more open now.”

  “I’m happy for you, Ryn.”

  “I mean, we’re still not… I share her bed most nights, but we just cuddle. I never thought that could be enough, but it is. It’s weird, but it’s easier, in a way. There’s none of the trying to read her mind, like with my last girlfriend. Is she waiting for me to initiate something? Did she mean something else when she said that?”

  Franny’s voice was so soft, Ryn almost missed it when she said, “I remember that tension.”

  Ryn squeezed Franny’s elbow, pulling her to a halt. “Fran, please don’t think I’m judging your decisions or anything, but… Do you think maybe part of the reason you’re having a hard time is because, you know… you want to be with someone? A human someone?”

  Ryn held her breath, afraid she’d overstepped.

  “I’ve thought about that.” Franny linked arms with Ryn, and they kept walking. “In fact that was a big part of my retreat. Have you ever read The Song of Songs?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s in the Old Testament. A love poem. Many of the verses are incredibly erotic and sexual. My retreat director kept giving me these passages to pray with. It was like she knew, and she was forcing me to remember what it was like to make love with someone, to feel a woman’s arms around me. God.”

  Franny ran her other hand through her bushy hair. “You know going in, that you’re giving that up. Freeing yourself from human entanglements and commitments so that you are able to say, ‘Use me as you will.’ But knowing it and doing it are sometimes two different things.”

  Ryn wasn’t sure what to say. “Where are you now?”

  Franny gave a half-laugh. “I’m on the proverbial fence. And it’s as uncomfortable as it sounds.” She heaved a sigh. “We should get back or your woman is going to think I kidnapped you.”

  They turned around.

  Ryn smiled to herself. My woman.

  Stepping back, Henrietta frowned at the painting she’d never finished. It wasn’t quite right. She turned to the large windows, staring down at the pond, trying to remember what that day had been like. Meryn in the boat—not yet realizing she’d brought the snake along for a ride—her guitar case on the dock on the far side of the pond, sunlight dappling the water through the trees, as it had only been early autumn and the leaves hadn’t yet fallen.

  The day my life changed.

  She closed her eyes, no longer alarmed by the racing of her heart when she thought of Meryn or how very much she loved her. She pressed her hand to her chest, savoring the sensation.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw what the painting needed. She’d never done it before, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to, but this was to be Meryn’s birthday gift.

  Think of her, she told herself, reaching a tentative brush to the canvas.

  The studio was rather barren, the deep stacks of completed canvases now much smaller. Nearly everything she’d sent to the gallery in Albany had sold. Since then, she’d had gallery reps from all over the Northeast contacting her, not for one-woman shows, but looking to take a few of her paintings. They’d been selling well, and Henrietta had decided to put all of that money into a long-term investment account with Meryn as the beneficiary.

  In fact, she’d contacted her attorney and altered her will. With the exception of a set sum of money to go to St. Aloysius, everything else, including the house, would be bequeathed to Meryn. Henrietta had no idea if she wou
ld want to live here after Henrietta died, but it would be hers to keep or sell. She hadn’t discussed it with the girl—anytime she’d tried, Meryn had accused her of being morbid. To Henrietta, it was simply being practical.

  Despite the exercises, she was weaker, her breathing a bit more labored. She was under no delusions that she was going to grow old with Meryn. But she was determined to enjoy every moment she had.

  She still had her doubts that Meryn was truly content without a more physical relationship, but Henrietta had finally set aside her constant questioning of that. If Henrietta was feeling under the weather—and somehow, Meryn always seemed to know—or if Meryn had to stay up late grading exams, she slept in her old room so that she wouldn’t disturb Henrietta’s sleep. But they spent more nights together than not. When they did, Henrietta often lay in the dark, just listening to the sound of Meryn’s breathing beside her, shifting her arm over to feel the warmth of Meryn’s body beside hers.

  She’d forgotten what it used to feel like to sleep with Una, and she liked to think Una would approve of the happiness she’d found.

  When she was done painting for the day, she cleaned her brushes and then went to the dining room, where a large stack of envelopes lay on the table.

  “I will not call strangers to ask them whom they intend to vote for,” she’d said, flatly refusing to participate in the local telephone campaign.

  But she’d agreed to help stuff and stamp envelopes and address postcards. Personally, she felt this effort was in vain. She was certain Reagan was going to be re-elected. There were too many powerful white men in control behind the scenes, pulling Reagan’s strings. But Meryn and Sandy and the others were so thrilled with having the first woman on a major party ticket, that she hadn’t the heart to argue with them.

  In fact, she kind of envied them their enthusiasm. “You’re just old and jaded,” she muttered aloud as she added another envelope to the stack waiting to be mailed.

  Outside, the late afternoon light faded, and Henrietta listened for Meryn’s key in the front door. When she heard it, her heart leapt.

  “Hi,” Meryn said with a big smile.