I watch the game from the field for the first time ever, standing next to Bree. The game plays out differently at field level. The viewpoint is limited, so it’s harder to see the flow of play develop. This makes me even more appreciative of Jaye’s abilities, how she leads the team and directs play amidst all the movement and controlled chaos. One can see the confidence she has in her game now and how her teammates feed off of it.
“You’ve seen her play before,” I say to Bree after we high-five on the last goal, another Stokes-to-Longstreet special. “Is she always this good?”
“She’s never been this good,” Bree says. “Jaye’s always been decent, but she’s never been the playmaker. This year she’s a playmaker.”
I’m happy for Jaye. I’m proud, too. I don’t think it’s because of me, but if Jaye does and it works, why deny the beautiful result? “She’s amazing,” I say.
“She says the same thing about you.”
“What?”
“Oh, honey, it’s meant to be.” Bree says sincerely. Fondly, even. “You two aren’t fooling anybody.”
“We’re not trying to.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I wish Nickory thought so.”
Bree’s tone does a complete one-eighty. Curtly, she says, “She’ll come around.”
Whoa. I want to pursue the subject, but the game has ended, and Jaye and Nickory are walking over.
“We have to do autographs,” Jaye says to us, “but afterwards maybe we can take you up on dinner?”
“Sure,” I say easily. I’ve been offering all week to treat the Musketeers to dinner out in exchange for my rooming with them. “As long as it’s not five-hundred dollars a plate, anywhere’s good.”
“There’s a great barbecue place near the townhome,” Jaye says. “We’ll go there.”
“Are there any bad barbecue places here?”
“The Texas-style ones,” Nickory says. I glare at her, but refuse to let myself get angry.
“Careful,” I counter, “or it’ll be Taco Bell.”
“Aaugh!” Jaye grabs her friend’s hand to pull her away and limit the damage. “Let’s go.”
“See?” Bree says after they’ve gone. “She’ll come around.”
I wish she sounded more sure.
Chapter Six
On Sunday morning I get a very pleasant surprise.
“Remember what you said about getting time off?” Jaye asks after we’ve kissed our way into wakefulness.
“Yes. Does that mean you can do Provincetown?”
“Probably. But I can also do today and tomorrow, if it’s all right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have today and Monday off. If I catch an early flight on Tuesday, I’ll be back in plenty of time for practice.” Jaye’s face is alight with eagerness. “I want to see your house. I want to see Colorado. I want to spend two more nights with you.”
I want to make this wish come true. “Won’t a plane ticket cost a fortune?”
“No more than what you spent going to Portland.”
Fair enough. “Can you drive a stick shift?”
She can.
After a quick breakfast and some frantic packing by Jaye, we set off.
Never has the Kansas prairie passed as quickly as it does with Jaye keeping me company. We talk sports, play the alphabet game, listen to a writer’s podcast, compare music, and misbehave a little, not quite to the point of running the Toyota off the interstate. Nine hours fly by, and we pull into my driveway Sunday evening happy to know road trips are another point of compatibility between us.
I live in the northern suburbs of Denver, a nothing-special, upper-middle-class subdivision, typical except for the view of the mountains.
Jaye gets out of the car and gazes west, staring. “Wow.”
I stand next to her and we watch as the sun, hovering above the not-too-distant Flatirons, gradually stains the sky pink and orange.
“Yeah. You get used to it, but it’s always beautiful.”
She’s impressed by the house, too. It’s big for one person, two stories plus basement. An open floor plan gives one the impression of even more space, which, along with the view, is why I bought the place.
“Come upstairs,” I say, taking her hand so she doesn’t have a choice. We climb to the second floor, where the stairs open onto a loft area with a bay window. The original design had three small windows set into the bay, but as part of my remodeling frenzy I’d had the upper half of the wall redone into one big expanse of glass, added a window seat, and given myself a favorite room. I’ve kept the furnishings simple: overstuffed recliner chair, lamp, and a little table. I plan to spend lots of time here reading, writing, and admiring the spectacular mountain view.
We watch the sun some more, then Jaye says, “Can people see in through the window?”
“I had a reflective coating put on the outside glass, so no. Not unless I turn the light on.”
Jaye takes me in her arms. She gives me a kiss which guarantees all my nerve endings quickly become fully alert and ready for action. “We’re not going to turn the light on. Do you have some blankets?”
Quilts. I have quilts, and they do nicely for a first go ’round, but we discover floors are not conducive to the comfort of either a thirty-one or a fifty-two-year-old body, and before round two we move in the mattress, sheets, blankets, and all, from the master bedroom. We make love as the moon becomes visible in the great bay window, talk a little, then enjoy each other’s closeness as we lie entangled in the sheets. Jaye, I’m sure, is about to fall asleep when I suddenly burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“In the past week” I say, still giggling a little, “with your enthusiastic participation, I’ve scandalized the entire floor of a Hampton Inn, braved the knowing stares of your snickering roommates, and risked life and limb to have sex in a car going seventy-five miles an hour.” I pause. “I am not living your grandmother’s retirement!”
Jaye lies there, silent. I’m beginning to think I’ve screwed something up when she says, “Does this mean you want knitting needles for Christmas?”
My giggles blow back into laughter. I see the twinkle in her eyes by the light of the moon. Then she’s laughing too, and tickling me, which of course I have to counter.
After some general messing around, we stop to catch our breath. Our faces are close, and the beauty in Jaye’s nearly stops my heart. I love you, I think, then kiss her, soft and slow, so I don’t say the words. But Jaye must feel it, because she pulls back from my kiss enough to meet my eyes.
“You’re still scared, aren’t you?”
How is it she gets me, so well and so quickly? I roll over onto my back, eyes aimed now at the white blankness of the ceiling. Easier to talk about difficult things, sometimes, when you’re watching nothing.
“I’ve lived with depression for thirty-five years, Jaye. You’re the first person who’s wanted me like this, I’ve never lived a life where I could believe this was possible. It’s wonderful, but it feels fragile, too. Like I’m holding it with a gossamer thread. If I say the wrong thing, or make a wrong move, the thread breaks and you’ll float away.”
Jaye’s hand slides against mine, gently connecting me to her. Her to me. I finish up my little pity party. “There’s been so much disappointment, and the depression caused so much pain.” I pause and swallow. “Hard to overcome, even now.”
With complete sincerity, Jaye says, “So I’m balancing it out.”
Not at all what I expected. “What?”
“The first half of your life was dull and sad. The second half will be adventurous and happy.” Jaye moves close and wraps me in her aura and her arms. “We’ll bring each other joy, Rachel. We’ll make each other whole.”
I’m overwhelmed by her words and by the warmth and security of her arms around me. But I can’t help the laugh that tumbles out.
“O
h, Jaye, you’re a fucking lesbian wet dream. You’re too perfect.”
“No, I’m not.” Jaye cuddles up against me. “Let’s sleep now. Tomorrow I’ll tell you the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
“Worse than losing a close-held dream?”
“Shh,” she says, kissing me good night. “Tomorrow.”
We have one full day together in Colorado, and rather than spend it all in bed, tempting though the idea is, I get us up and dressed and out of the house by eight-thirty a.m.
“This had better be good,” Jaye grumps as we set off in the car.
“Breakfast at the Walnut Cafe in Boulder,” I say. “Then Estes Park and a day in the mountains.”
She brightens. “Plan!”
“Then this evening we’re having dinner with my friends Toni and Paula. They want to meet you.”
“Is this like ‘meet the parents’?”
“More like ‘meet the mega-protective big sisters.’ But don’t worry, we’ll have most of the day to ourselves.”
Breakfast and coffee go a long way toward lifting Jaye’s spirits. Rocky Mountain National Park completes the job. We are rewarded with abundant sunshine and, since it’s a Monday during the school year, a day nicely bereft of tourists. I regale Jaye with a few of the more interesting facts about the park and Colorado as we drive toward Trail Ridge Road. We stop briefly at a huge open meadow and take in newly-blooming wildflowers and listen to the sounds of nature and birdsong, wonderful birdsong. I’m hoping to spot an elk, but it’s the wrong time of year, and we don’t get lucky.
Jaye enjoys herself thoroughly. I enjoy her delight and her presence, marveling at how comfortable it feels, being with her. I’m in entirely new territory here: spending time with a lover, taking her places I think she’ll like, trying to please her, and liking the challenge.
We drive up Trail Ridge Road as far as it’s been plowed this spring, about nine thousand feet in elevation. I am astonished when Jaye tells me it’s the highest she’s ever been.
“I grew up in Iowa,” she reminds me. “And you don’t need mountains to play soccer.”
I stop at a pullout and motion her out of the car. “This is why I told you to bring a jacket.” We stand at the rock wall dividing us from a thousand-foot drop and some spectacular mountain scenery. Even with the sun, the temperature hovers right around freezing.
Jaye stares out at the view, appropriately awed, her breathlessness more than the mile-plus altitude. “You’re so lucky to live here!”
“I’m lucky to be here with you.”
She turns to me, touches her forehead to mine, says softly, “Thank you.”
We stand there, suspended in contentment, until a gust of wind comes up and threatens to freeze us in our tracks.
Jaye shivers. “Car now?”
I laugh through my chattering teeth, and we go back to my Toyota. I turn the ignition and crank up the heater, but before I can put the car into gear Jaye stops me.
“I haven’t forgotten I owe you a story,” she says.
I take my foot off the clutch, undo my seat belt and get comfortable. With the beauty of the mountains around us, Jaye has chosen a good place for what I’m guessing is a hard thing for her to talk about. Smart woman.
I reach across the console and take her hand. “Fire away.”
“Remember when you asked if I’d ever been depressed?”
“Of course.”
“I let you believe it had to do with me not making the National Team, but that’s not true.” Jaye takes a deep breath, then continues, her voice quiet but clear.
“When I was sixteen I fell in love. Up to then, soccer was all I thought about, and it was great. I played for an elite travel team, there were colleges all over the country scouting me, and I made the Under-17 squad, my first national team.
“The person who told me about the U-17’s was the travel team’s assistant coach. She’d always been there for me, pushed me hard, but told me when I did good, too. I wasn’t exactly the teacher’s pet, but I see now she favored me.”
I can guess what’s coming. I brush her fingers with my thumb and let Jaye tell it at her own pace.
“She told me I’d made the team when we were in the locker room, after practice. Everyone else had left. I was literally jumping up and down, I was so happy. I jumped right into her arms and hugged her, and she hugged me back. She told me how delighted she was for me, and I thanked her for helping me, yadda yadda yadda, but the whole time we’re standing there with our arms around each other. After I said thank you for the fifth or sixth time, she stopped smiling and kissed me.”
Jaye’s face softens as she casts herself back through the far distance of memory, and I comprehend how even now, that moment of first love is still sweet.
“It was like something inside of me exploded. Like something woke up. All I wanted her to do was keep kissing me, and she did, for a long time. Then she took me back to the office, locked the door, and made me come.”
An interesting choice of words, I think, but definitely don’t say. Not “had sex with me.” Not “made love to me.” Made me come.
Her eyes focus again, turn to meet mine. “I was instantly in love. She was thirty-four, and I thought she was the end of my world.”
“And you were sixteen?”
Jaye heaves a deep sigh. “Yeah. Total jailbait. But I was crazy for her, and I thought she was crazy for me. I knew we had to keep it secret, which wasn’t hard after I made the national squad. We couldn’t get together very often, although my dad was letting me borrow the car by then, and I used it to get to where she was a couple of times.”
Another sigh. “I thought when I turned eighteen we’d go public and be together forever. I kept saying this, kept assuming it, and she let me believe it, right up until the day she dumped me. She just dumped me and left. Never talked to me again.”
She speaks those last words with a finality leading me to believe I shouldn’t ask for details. Hard as it is to resist, I don’t ask. I let her tell me what she will.
“She did it the day before I left for a big tournament in Venezuela. I was completely shattered, but I used soccer as an escape and it worked. I had a great tournament, scored two goals and impressed everyone. But I wasn’t talking off the field, not to anybody. Nickory was my roomie in Caracas, of course she noticed, and got me to pour my heart out one night. That’s when we became good friends. She got me through it.”
This time, without actually meaning to, I do voice my thoughts. “And she’s been taking care of you ever since.”
“Nickory?” Jaye’s tone is fond. “Yeah, I guess she has. But I was depressed for a long time. I was almost out of college before I slept with anyone again.”
“And even then, you said you focused on one-night stands.”
“Yeah. Not too many of those.” Jaye squeezes my hand. “Guess I’ve got some pent-up libido, too.”
“And another older woman in your bed.” Older even than the soccer coach bitch.
“You’re not her, Rachel.” Jaye’s tone is sharp. “You’re completely different. And completely wonderful.”
I shake my head. “And you are so a fucking lesbian wet dream.”
She doesn’t laugh. “No. After the tournament, when I got back home, I was moping so much my parents got worried, and eventually I told them what had happened. They made sure the coach got fired. She never worked in soccer again, so far as I know. I ruined her career.”
I beg to differ. “No, you didn’t. She got what she deserved.”
“She was a great soccer coach. She could have gotten a college job, easy. Maybe even a spot on the national team staff.”
“So? It’s not your fault she couldn’t keep her libido in check. She took advantage of you, and it probably wasn’t the first time.”
Jaye winces. “My parents kept telling me the same thing. But some of my teammates, when they found out . . .” She t
rails off, but I can guess how those teammates might have reacted. “I mean, it wasn’t like I was twelve. I was practically an adult. In some countries it all would have been perfectly legal.”
“You weren’t twelve—but what if one of her other victims was? Or what if some girl in the future would have been? Then you saved her, and maybe a few others, too.”
Jaye stares at me, shocked. “I never thought of that.”
I bring her hand up to my lips and gently kiss the back of it. “I’m sorry your first love was so traumatic. I’m glad you came through it. I barely survived being seventeen myself, and I wasn’t in love with anyone.”
“Can I ask you something?” Her tone is low and quiet, cueing me in to the fact that her question might be difficult.
“Anything.”
“Did you ever think about suicide?”
As soon as the words are out, I know how Jaye would answer, and my heart aches for the teenager she was. “Yes. Pretty much my last two years of high school.”
“But you never tried—?”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head slowly. I came frighteningly close once, but I’ll save that story for another time. Or another existence. I kiss her hand again, putting all the empathy I have into the gesture. “It’s such a twisted space. Isn’t it?”
She glances away, but not before blinking back tears. “Yeah. It was awful. I know now those feelings were mostly hormones and teenage angst. But it was still hard.”
“You were strong enough to escape. You survived. And I’m so glad you’re here.”
Jaye puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to her. It’s an awkward hug, with the car’s center console in the way, but her head ends up resting on my shoulder, my jacket absorbing her tears. The sun moves from my moonroof to the back window before Jaye speaks again.
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