Desert Places

by Erica Abbott

  Lea said quietly, “We should get back before it gets any darker. Follow me down, okay?”

  Clinging to Amelia’s back as they descended the little hill, Jean felt almost dizzy. The air at dusk had cooled the desert, but she realized that she wasn’t cold anymore. Lea’s kisses had warmed her from the inside out and set her skin alive with electricity.

  The white fence of the corral shimmered ahead of them in the gathering darkness as they rode in. A silent Jean helped Lea unsaddle the horses. Lea tossed Jean a curry comb and Jean brushed Amelia down, welcoming the mundane routine of the task to calm her turbulent emotions.

  When the horses were safely back in their stalls, Jean said, “I think we both need something to drink.”

  “Yep. I’ll go inside and grab some water.”

  “Aren’t your parents home?”

  “No, they’re at some church function tonight and Loren is apparently still out with your friend Rita. Meet you on the porch?”

  Jean found a comfortable seat near the front door and watched the last streaks of reflected pink fade from the clouds in the east. Wyatt and Doc came out to join her, each dog taking a spot on either side of the padded bench. She dropped her hand down to pet Wyatt’s floppy ears and he leaned his head against the bench in happiness.

  Lea emerged from the house, a tall glass with ice in each hand. “There was lemonade in the fridge, so I made an executive decision. Okay with you?”

  “Wonderful,” Jean said, taking a glass from her.

  They sat in the quiet for a while, enjoying the lemonade and petting the happy dogs. The stars began to appear as pinpricks of sharp light in the darkening sky. The moon, waning down to a half circle, hung low over the horizon.

  Jean asked, “Why did you kiss me?”

  She heard the clink of ice against glass as Lea set it down on the porch. Lea answered, “It’s not hard to figure out, Jean. I like you. You make me laugh. I like being with you, I’m attracted to you and I wanted to kiss you. Was that all right?”

  Jean sighed. “Lea, I like you too. But we can’t have a relationship other than friendship, so I don’t think we should act as if we could.”

  Lea was silent for a long time before she said, “You’re not interested.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said we shouldn’t become involved.”

  Turning toward her, Lea said, “Does that mean you are interested?”

  “You’re not listening to me,” Jean snapped at her in irritation. “It’s irrelevant whether I am or not. We can’t date and that’s all there is.”

  “Are you going to tell me why?”

  “First and foremost, you’re my client. Lawyers can’t date clients, end of discussion.”

  “I’m willing to assume you’re right about that,” Lea answered, “but we both know there are ways around that.”

  Jean frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll go to your boss and ask for another attorney to be assigned to the sheriff’s office.”

  “If you do that, you’ll have to give him some explanation.”

  “Well, here’s a radical thought,” Lea remarked dryly. “I could tell him the truth.”

  “You’re really willing to come out to Del Franklin?” Jean asked in astonishment.

  “I am if that’s what I need to do to go out with you.”

  Jean shook her head. “I don’t want you to have to do that. Even if we could have a relationship, I—I can’t.”

  “You can’t,” Lea repeated stoically. “I ask again: are you going to tell me why?”

  Jean sighed. “Because of Charlotte.”

  “Charlotte is…?”

  “Oh, sorry. Charlotte was my partner.”

  “Ah. The chef, right. She’s the reason? How long has it been since she left?”

  “Not quite two years.”

  “You’re still in love with her,” Lea said flatly and Jean could hear the ache behind her voice.

  “What?” Jean was astonished.

  “You told me that she left you. You haven’t gotten over her, that’s why you don’t feel as if you want to date anyone else. You still love her.”

  Jean couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “No, that’s not it.”

  “You don’t still love her?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if I did or not,” Jean said bitterly. “She’s dead.”

  She couldn’t see Lea’s face very clearly, but she could feel Lea’s astonishment even in the darkness. “Oh, God, Jean, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

  Shaking her head, Jean said, “Don’t apologize. You didn’t know. I just usually tell people she left me because it’s easier. No explanations needed.” She drank the rest of her lemonade, finding the last dregs sour in her mouth.

  “How did she die?” Lea asked gently. “Natural causes? Or was there an accident?”

  “Neither one, really,” Jean considered. “There was nothing natural about it and it was quite intentional, so it hardly qualifies as an accident.”

  It was still hard to say the word so she let Lea put it together herself. Finally Lea said, “She committed suicide.”

  “Yes,” Jean was able to release a long breath.

  “Tell me about it,” Lea said simply.

  Jean had never really told anyone, she realized. Only her best friend back in Texas knew it all because she’d lived through it with Jean long distance. Her other friends and Charlotte’s knew enough of the story not to need any explanations and the rest of it was none of their business. Her family didn’t care and her new friends didn’t know to ask. “When I met her, she was enthusiastic, energetic, entertaining. She was on top of the world, there was nothing she couldn’t do, or wouldn’t try. She was almost reckless, but so very charming. Then, a few months after we moved in together, she fell into a depression that seemed to last a long time. She didn’t talk and she couldn’t sleep. She could barely drag herself to work. It was awful. I tried to help her and eventually she regained her energy. Incredibly, we went through the same pattern for three years before I finally figured out she had a mood disorder.”

  “It’s hard to see when you’re so close to it,” Lea said softly.

  Jean shook her head. “She was practically a textbook case of bipolar disorder, what they used to call manic-depression. I thought I should have seen it sooner. But I didn’t. I kept thinking there was something happening to her at work, or something I was doing or not doing that would trigger the mood swings.”

  “You know it wasn’t your fault, right?”

  Jean gave her a sad little smile. “That would depend on who you ask. Her psychologists—and she had several over the years—told me that regularly. Charlotte had a different opinion. It was a lot easier for her to blame me than acknowledge that she had a mental illness of any kind.”

  “God, Jean. That must have been so hard for you.”

  “It was. It was worse for her. The doctors would put her on meds, the drugs would help, then she’d go off them again, convinced she didn’t need them, sure she was fine. We’d have to get through whatever mood she was in, find a new shrink and start over again. And again.”

  Lea finally said, “And then she killed herself.”

  Jean dropped her head into her hands. “I told her I was going to leave her if she didn’t stay on her medications and focus on getting better. I told her I loved her and I knew how hard it was, but we needed to be together without always having to fight whatever phase of the illness she was in. I went to work, I came home and I found her. She was in our bed. She’d slashed her wrists and there was so much blood—”

  Jean broke down and the next moment she felt Lea’s arms around her. She let the tears come, not that she could have stopped them. She’d cried a lot of tears for Char, but after a time she realized that on this evening, her tears were really for herself, for the pain and loneliness—and the guilt—she’d had since that night.

  To her relief, Lea didn’t try to tell her it would be all right or tel
l her to stop crying, as other friends had done. Lea just held on while Jean sobbed against her shoulder, Lea stroking her hair gently but doing nothing more than just being present. When Jean’s weeping began to subside, Lea produced tissue for her to wipe her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Jean said. “I really didn’t see that coming. It’s been a long time ago now.”

  “There’s no timeline for how to recover from things like this,” Lea said. “Everyone is different, every situation is different. You never have to apologize to me for being sad.”

  “She left me a note,” Jean added abruptly, in a hurry suddenly to finish the story. “She was very clear that her death was my fault, that if I’d been a better partner everything would have been all right.” She dabbed at her eyes again with the tissue. “Her most recent psychologist thought she didn’t really intend to die, that the suicide was a gesture and the note was a dramatic attempt to keep me from carrying out my threat to leave her if she didn’t get treatment. I don’t know if that’s true. I didn’t get home later than usual that evening. Maybe her therapist was right, she didn’t intend to be successful and she just misjudged how fast she would bleed out. Or maybe she really wanted to die. I’ll never know.”

  Somewhere far away a coyote yipped and then several others joined in a group howling. Wyatt lifted his head and Jean heard a small growl before Lea said, “Wyatt, it’s okay. Good dog.”

  He settled down and Jean reached down to fondle his ears again. Jean wondered what Lea might be thinking. Anyone hearing the whole story would have to have doubts about how much blame Jean should bear for the end of the relationship. God knew Charlotte’s parents blamed her for their daughter’s death and a couple of their mutual friends had grave reservations about her degree of fault. Lea, who didn’t know her half so well, must be suffering from the same misgivings.

  Lea would now withdraw from her, backing away from a relationship with a woman whose love was so toxic her lover preferred death to living with her. She’d known it would happen once she told Lea the truth about Charlotte’s death, but part of her still mourned the loss. Lea had come to mean more to her than she had suspected another woman ever could.

  Better to stop it now, she told herself sternly, before it goes any further.

  The sky had darkened to a blue one shade lighter than black, the moon risen to a shiny silver cup above them. A lyric from a song came into her mind, something about the moon being a harsh mistress. She shuddered.

  “Are you cold?” Lea asked beside her.

  “Not really. Just sad.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?” Jean asked. “I’m not sure I can explain to you why I believe I can’t be with you—or with anybody. It scares the hell out of me just to think about it. I’m a wreck, barely able to hold it together during the day. I’ve had nightmares about Charlotte. Sometimes I can’t concentrate. I’m afraid I don’t have anything to give you. I wanted you to know that’s it not about you, not at all. I like you, I really do. I just need for you respect what’s going on with me right now and not push me.”

  Lea leaned back and stretched her legs out before her, crossing her boots at the ankles. The posture looked relaxed, but to Jean it seemed that she was tense and drawn, like a lasso thrown tightly around a cow’s neck.

  Lea spoke, her voice very soft. “Up on the mesa tonight, I thought you were hoping I would kiss you and you seemed to want it as much as I did. You have a lot of your life left to live, Jean. Are you so sure you’re going to have to be alone the rest of your life? Or are you telling me it’s just too soon?”

  Jean spread her hands helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe it is too soon though it seems like it’s been a long time. Or maybe my heart is just too damaged to try again.”

  “Is it?”

  “Stop asking me questions! I don’t know what else to tell you. And why the hell are you even still interested anyway? I’m not long-term relationship material. Isn’t it pretty clear?”

  “Not to me,” Lea said gently. “What I see is that you tried everything to honor your commitment to your partner even when it was hard to do. What could be a better blueprint for a long-term relationship than that?”

  Jean stood up abruptly. “Lea, stop it. I’m not available right now. End of story. Thank you for a nice evening. And don’t worry, I can find my way home.”

  She walked across the yard, half expecting Lea to call her back or try to catch up with her. But as she drove away, she could still see Lea in shadow on the porch, surrounded by the two dogs, a still figure in the moonlight.

  Chapter Nine

  The first person Jean saw when she got to the office Monday morning was Rita Lopez. She was sitting at her desk, typing and smiling.

  “Good weekend?” Jean stopped by.

  “Oh!” Rita exclaimed. “Ms. McAllister, how will I ever be able to thank you?”

  “You can start by calling me Jean, remember? So yesterday’s soccer game went well?”

  Smiling shyly, Rita said, “Well, Jay’s team did score a goal, though the other team scored three, so it wasn’t a victorious day, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s not really what I meant and I think you know it.”

  “Loren did come to the game and he was great. Just great. He was so nice to Jay and Jay seemed to like him too. Though Jay is kind of shy, Loren was joking around with him. I’d sort of forgotten how funny he was.”

  Jean said, “So, I know it’s none of my business, but are you seeing him again?”

  Rita blushed a little, but answered, “Yes. Thursday night. Pizza, he said, because he wanted me to bring Jay. Isn’t he nice?”

  I’m glad romance is going well for someone, Jean thought. “That’s fantastic,” she said to Rita. “I’m so pleased for you.”

  Looking up at her, Rita said, “It wouldn’t have even started if not for you. And Sheriff Hawkins, of course. I’m really grateful to both of you.”

  Jean said, “You know what? You don’t need to be grateful. Just try to be happy. It’s hard to do, but Loren deserves a shot at it. And so do you.”

  “Thanks. I mean it.” Rita hesitated, then said, “Are you all right? You look tired.”

  Jean’s opinion was that she looked less tired and more like she’d been dragged behind a truck all night, but she said, “I’ll be fine. Just didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

  She dumped her briefcase next to her desk and took off her jacket. As usual, work files had reproduced on her desk over the weekend, producing offspring that covered every inch of the desktop. Sighing, Jean powered up her computer and began to go through her voice mail.

  No nightmares with Charlotte had taunted her the night before for the simple reason that she hadn’t been able to sleep at all. She continued to go over and over her conversation with Lea, wondering if she’d said the right things, said too much or too little. When she was exhausted from rehashing what they had said to each other, she replayed the kiss instead.

  Had Charlotte ever made her feel like that? She must have once, Jean assumed. In her memory though, her time with Charlotte was either exhilarating, like riding a roller coaster without a brake, or painfully wrenching. She couldn’t remember this feeling of searing desire, physical attraction melded with friendship. Charlotte had been many things to her: lover, opponent, housemate, but never, that Jean could recall, had they ever really been friends.

  Everything about Lea attracted her: her mind, her sense of humor, her body. Why am I so reluctant to believe that we could have a relationship?

  It had taken her all night to find the answer—or rather, to admit what she had suspected all along.

  She hadn’t forgiven herself for what happened to Charlotte. Some part of her believed Charlotte’s note was true, that if she’d been a better partner she could somehow have prevented Charlotte’s death. Jean didn’t deserve to be happy, to have someone as wonderful as Lea in her life. Her mind knew she was wrong, but her heart wouldn’t free her from her gu
ilt.

  What am going to do?

  There was no answer waiting for her. Restlessly, she rose from her desk and walked down the hall. Franklin was meeting with the board in their weekly meeting already, not that she particularly wanted to talk to him anyway. She remembered that she’d promised Lea to follow up on the Lambert case file, so she went down to Todd Moorman’s office, located on the less desirable east side of the building. Her promise to Lea was work-related, so she didn’t feel as if she was weakening in her resolve to not to pursue the relationship just by checking on the status of the file.

  She rapped on Todd’s door and when he looked up, she said, “Sorry to interrupt you. I wondered if you wanted to discuss the projects I gave you.”

  “Oh, um, yes. I, ah, sent the memo to the public trustee on Friday about the redemption period.”

  “Yes, I saw the copy you sent me. The memo was fine, just a little long. Most elected officials understand legal opinions better if you can keep your memos to one page. That’s not always possible, of course, but in this case you didn’t need to include the case law discussions. Lay people usually don’t care about court interpretations anyway. Just cite the statute and answer the question.” She wondered if no one had ever given him any guidance on his work before.

  “Okay. Yes, I see. Um, thanks.”

  Jean came around to sit in his visitor’s chair and glanced at the framed picture on the edge of his desk. She leaned forward to it and asked, “May I?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She picked it up and saw a studio portrait of Todd and a young blond woman in front of a fake-looking outdoor background. Todd looked to be a decade or so younger, just out of college.

  “Your wife?” Jean asked.

  “Yes, that’s Sandra,” he said.

  She tried to hear a hint of pride, or love, or any other emotion in his voice, but all she got was a sad wistfulness. She didn’t want to pursue it, so she replaced the photograph. “Tell me about your research on the Lambert case.”

  He shuffled papers on his desktop, not to check his notes but just to give his hands something to do. “Um, yeah. Well. I read the survivorship statute and it looks like he—I mean, his heirs or estate or whatever—can pursue the suit against the county.”