Forging a Desire Line

by Mary P. Burns

  “Don’t let her work you to death.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And call me if you need anything.”

  “I will.”

  Charley gave Ted all her phone numbers. As the elevator descended, she turned the phone over and over in her hand, feeling as though she’d ceded something precious to him, hoping he would be worthy of the job of safekeeping it. An emptiness arose in her. With a tap to the “contact” icon, Joanna’s phone numbers appeared. She shook her head and put the phone away. She couldn’t torture herself. Although she knew that was exactly what she would be doing all week.

  * * *

  Back in her apartment, too ill at ease to do anything productive, Charley called Brooke.

  “The doctor is in. Please deposit five cents,” Brooke said. “Who is it today, Tricia, Joanna, or your mother?”

  Charley would’ve laughed, but Brooke was spot-on. “All three?”

  “A marathon. Do I need to tell Annie to postpone lunch?”

  Charley sat on the floor by her desk and began pulling catalogues out of the large wooden cranberry scoop where she kept them, ripping her name and address off the back covers of the summer and fall catalogues so she could put them out in the recycling room. Might as well make space for the onslaught of holiday catalogues that had already begun to plague her mailbox.

  “No. I’ll make it quick. I’ve just come from Tricia’s. I think she had an attack of hypercalcemia this morning. At least, that’s what I told Dr. Gerard, and he concurred.”

  “You’re getting pretty good at this stuff. You’d probably qualify for an LPN at this point.”

  “Don’t want to, believe me. She was pretty bad, throwing up, wanting to stay on the bathroom floor because it was cold. It was hard to see, Brooke. I was scared.”

  “I’m sorry, babe. Not pretty. That tile move is usually for migraines and drunks. Were you able to help her?”

  “Yeah, I got her into bed, and got some water and food into her at Gerard’s request.” Charley sighed. “She’s just so…fragile. And I feel like I can’t do anything for her in moments like this.”

  “You’re there for her. That’s more than a lot of people would do. Anything from Joanna?”

  “No, but she’s only going away today, after the funeral.”

  “Still, I’m kind of surprised she didn’t at least text, aren’t you?”

  “She just lost someone very close. No, I’m not surprised.” Charley began stacking the catalogues inside each other until she had four fat piles to take out. It wasn’t true. She’d hoped for at least a single reassuring text, but nothing had come.

  “Mmm, I suppose. Okay, now the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Your mother?”

  “I can’t get it out of my head, the way she looked at me at the wake. She knows.”

  “Mothers always know, Charley. It’s their job. And anyway, don’t you think it’ll be the same old same old? You won’t say anything about Joanna, she won’t ask.”

  Charley wondered if that finally shouldn’t change.

  “Listen, Annie’s going out with Lindsay tonight,” Brooke said. “Jamie’s coming over to watch the LSU game. Why don’t you join us?”

  “What are you serving?” Charley was always leery of what might appear on Brooke’s table if Annie wasn’t in the kitchen.

  “Whatever you’re buying us for takeout.”

  “I’ll be there by kickoff.”

  * * *

  When Charley walked out of the Hunter Library Tuesday, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and turned it on. She and Neely had decided on a “phones off” policy while they worked, which really helped Charley block out the world for several hours. Now she saw the little number one inside her green phone icon and went to the call log. There was a message from a number she didn’t recognize. Probably a spam call, but she hit the voice mail prompt.

  “Hey, Charley. I didn’t think you went to the pool Tuesday nights. Anyway, just calling to say hi, and…well, hi. I’ll try you later, at home.”

  Charley wondered how much later Joanna might call and considered grabbing a cab. Instead, she ran for the approaching Second Avenue bus.

  The message light on her phone was blinking.

  “Hey. It’s Joanna. Okay, well, ten o’clock is about as late as I call anyone, but you can call me no matter what time you get home.” Joanna left a phone number she assumed was Madeline’s landline, and Charley called it. The sound of the honeyed voice was like a pair of arms wrapping around her.

  “Hi, it’s Charley.”

  “Oh, good, there you are. Is Tuesday night not good? I thought you didn’t go to the pool Tuesdays.”

  “I was with Neely at Hunter Library. We were going over some chapters.”

  Charley was met with silence.

  “Oh, crap. I didn’t tell you that I’m not seeing her anymore, did I?”

  Joanna chuckled. “Except that you just saw her tonight.”

  “Yeah, but I…Oh, this is going to sound convoluted.”

  “Go ahead, try me.”

  “We were dating. But, like I told you, I just didn’t see anything there. I mean, she’s twenty years younger than I am. I don’t know what I was thinking. Sometimes I felt like I was talking to R2D2. But she’s an extraordinary writer. And I need that. From her. She’s teaching me a lot. And she has amazing editing skills.”

  “Okay, I think that works for me,” Joanna said quietly. “And, maybe she was the bit of fun you didn’t think you were looking for?”

  The remark stung just a little, reminding her of Joanna telling her she’d been looking for someone fun when she’d met Charley. “I don’t think so.”

  “No?”

  “I think…she was a key to open a door I didn’t know was locked.”

  “You do surprise me every once in a while. So, tell me what else you’ve been up to.”

  The first thing Charley told her about was Tricia.

  “You must’ve been frightened. And how did you know it was hypercalcemia?”

  “I don’t know, it was like one of those obscure Jeopardy questions you pull the answer out of the hat for at the last nanosecond. I remembered one of the doctors at the very first meeting talking about it.”

  After telling Joanna about the rest of her thankfully dull week, she nonchalantly inquired about what she and Georgia had been doing, listening with interest to the list of places they were going, the things they were doing, all of them mundane. Toward the end of the conversation, Charley asked her if she was still planning on staying the entire two weeks.

  “Hmmm. Do I detect the shallow end of the pool threatening again?”

  “You know, I’m sorry God didn’t give us the option to turn on sound when we roll our eyes. No, and even though I know you just got up there and you went up there to unwind and think about things, well, I should’ve proffered this invite weeks ago. I feel foolish doing it now, but I’d feel worse if I didn’t and then found out you’d have wanted to come.”

  “That’s way more convoluted than the explanation about Neely.”

  “I’m getting there. I’m having a dinner party on Sunday. It’s a weekly get-together a group of us do during football season. We watch the NFL game, eat, swear at the referees, and drink a fair amount. I don’t even know if you like football, but I thought if you decided you’d had enough of nature and the small-town life with ex-girlfriends and came back to the city early…”

  “Charley, I have four younger brothers, I’m fluent in every sport on earth so that I can talk with them. And yes, I like football. So, I could think about chasing that carrot you’re dangling. Georgia’s not driving me crazy yet, but I’ll see how things feel later in the week.”

  When they hung up, Charley felt a little better than she had after her conversation with Brooke on Saturday. The thought of being second, of being the woman waiting around to see if the woman she wanted, wanted her in return, was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. But she had a feeling Joanna was wor
th the wait.

  Wednesday morning, Jenny ran into an Emily meltdown and called Charley in a panic.

  “What happened?” Charley asked.

  “I got the time of a meeting wrong in her schedule, so they held it without her.”

  “Go get the minutes of that meeting.”

  Jenny was silent a moment. “Okay, and then what?”

  “Now. Go get them now. We can figure out from those who she has to see individually to recoup the information she needs, and you’ll set up separate meetings for her with those people. I’ll wait here until you’re back.”

  After she and Jenny ironed everything out, she picked up the phone to call Tricia but realized that not hearing from her or Ted probably meant she had weathered Tuesday just fine at the office. She decided it might be a good idea to dial back on trying to mother her, knowing it was futile anyway. Tricia had never cottoned to Charley’s maternal instinct, which Charley had decided years ago was borderline anyway.

  The next day, she decided to call Joanna after breakfast.

  “Prescient timing on your part,” Joanna said.

  “Oh?” Charley asked.

  “Just had a tiff with Georgia.”

  The wind went right out of her. She should be happy about anything coming between Joanna and Georgia, but she didn’t want to see Joanna hurt.

  “She doesn’t want to come back to the city on Saturday.”

  Charley wanted to stand up and cheer as though some unknown college freshman quarterback had just connected with his wide receiver on an eighty-yard bomb to the end zone because that admission meant Joanna did want to come back “But it’s really your decision, isn’t it?” Charley asked. “Madeline’s lending the cabin to you.”

  “Mmmm-hmm.”

  “Oh. Is she there or can you talk?”

  “Oh, no, she dramatically slammed out five minutes ago. It snowed last night and the driveway needs shoveling. I told her to go make herself useful.”

  Charley thought about the handcuff necklace again. “So, you’re considering coming back early, then.”

  “Yes. I think I’d like to come to your dinner.”

  Charley’s breath caught and little fireworks went off in her head. Whatever Joanna and Georgia had, this time Joanna was choosing Charley. “I’m glad. Because I miss seeing you. But I don’t want to cause any problems.”

  “Oh, that ship sailed long before I met you.”

  When she hung up, Charley sent Brooke a quick text: Christians, 1. Lions, 0.

  Brooke: She’s coming to dinner Sun?

  One of the things Charley had long loved about Brooke was that she’d always understood her obscure references. Yes.

  A second later, ten thumbs-up emojis came back, and Charley laughed.

  Late Friday night, Charley’s phone dinged with the text message buoy tone. She hoped nothing was going wrong for Emily, because who else would text her at this hour? She quickly sat up when she saw Joanna’s name.

  Joanna: Compromise. Driving back to the city Sun a.m. Give me your address so I can come over early and help you with the dinner.

  Charley sent it, along with two hugs. As she waited for a reply, she wondered why there was a compromise, and what it might’ve cost Joanna. And then the thought Charley had been fighting all week strode right in: had Joanna and Georgia been sleeping together this week? It wasn’t like she had any ground to stand on in that arena, but the thought still made her stomach churn.

  Joanna: Thanks. I needed those hugs. It’s running hot and cold up here. And I don’t mean the weather.

  Charley rearranged the stack of pillows behind her and lay back, staring at the little screen. Sounds like you need some advice.

  Joanna: ?

  For that hot & cold? A cold shoulder and a Teflon heart.

  Joanna: You are too funny. You didn’t use those on some poor woman.

  Women. Plural.

  Joanna: Tell me you weren’t a player when you were younger.

  Asked the woman who was recently looking for someone to have fun with…

  Joanna: Touche. Hv to turn in now.

  Charley took a chance and sent a kiss. A moment later, a blushing emoji came back to her. She turned out her light and eventually fell asleep after thinking about what it was going to feel like working in her kitchen with Joanna.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  After grabbing a quick lunch on Sunday, Charley vacuumed the living room again even though the apartment had been spotless for a week. Glancing at the TV screen in the living room, she saw the score on the Chiefs-Bills game, and just as Joanna had predicted when she called from the road this morning, the Chiefs were ahead by three points.

  She rearranged the pillows on the couch for the tenth time, went to the bedroom to change into her Packers jersey, and got to work in the kitchen. With the ingredients for the guacamole on the butcher block, Charley pulled out the two five-quart enamel pots and got to work on the chili. Minutes later, the vegetables she used for a base were sweating nicely and the beef browning. The doorman called to let her know Joanna was on the way up. She opened the door and bolted the lock to keep it ajar after checking that the cats were asleep on the couch. At the stove, she reached for two jars of spices and shook them into the pots before realizing one of them was paprika, not cumin. The string of words that escaped her caused Bing to sit up. Joanna knocked and opened the door.

  “Uh-oh…that didn’t sound good.”

  “Damn spices! I thought I’d picked up the cumin, but it was the paprika.”

  Joanna took off her fleece vest, peered into the first pot, and then studied Charley’s spice shelves. “Please tell me these aren’t arranged alphabetically.”

  Charley looked at her, surprised, and then at the shelves. “The ones I don’t use a lot, yes. But the five or six I rely on are right up front.”

  “You are a nerd.”

  “I am not. I’m acutely organized. Besides, that’s how the supermarket does it. Makes it so much easier. How do you do it, Julia Child?” Charley noticed the San Francisco 49ers logo on the red V-neck sweater that hugged Joanna’s curves. A wave of lust rose right up through her chest. She looked back at her spices to bring it under control.

  “I don’t have as many as you do, so it’s not a problem.”

  “I thought you were a serious cook, after your discussion with Terry.”

  “I am. But there are only a handful you really need on a daily basis. So…where are your Cs?”

  “Between the Bs and the Ds, where they should be.”

  “Your mistake is not the crisis you think it is.” Joanna found the bottle she was looking for and handed it to Charley.

  “Cinnamon?”

  “It hides a multitude of sins. You can rebalance the cumin and oregano later.”

  “I don’t use oregano.”

  Joanna pulled it off the shelf and handed it to her.

  “I guess I’m using it now.”

  “Keep the pots on low over the next hour and the cinnamon will meld into the other tastes. You won’t be able to tell the difference.”

  As Bing slinked into the kitchen and wound his sleek black body along the perimeter, Charley relocked the door, took Joanna’s vest from her, and hung it in the small closet by the door. She returned to stirring the pots on the stove. Anything to keep her hands busy so she didn’t reach out and touch Joanna. And then kiss her.

  Joanna draped her wrist over Charley’s shoulder, the cumin still in her hand, her thin silver bracelets sliding down her wrist with a melodic tinkle. There was an ease about her that Charley hadn’t heard in her voice all week. The light lemon scent blocked out every other smell rising from the stove, momentarily dizzying Charley’s senses.

  “You know you can’t really screw up chili. Even if this was your mother’s copyrighted blue-ribbon recipe. Almost any dish can be rescued from a mistake.”

  “Not the ones I screw up,” Charley snorted.

  “I’ll teach you. We’ll cook together some tim
e.”

  “Is that a promise?” Charley looked at her and Joanna’s eyes seemed to glitter.

  Joanna reshelved the cumin. “Oh, who is this?” she asked as Bing leaned up against her. “May I?”

  Charley nodded and Joanna picked up the black cat.

  “That is Bing.” Charley tried to keep the note of jealousy out of her voice, watching Bing wrap his paws around Joanna’s neck as she hugged and kissed him, his eyes becoming yellow slits reflecting pleasure. “Bob is on the couch.” Escaping the love fest, she put the cookbook with the guacamole recipe on the stand that sat on the butcher block table, open to the page she needed.

  A very cranky meow greeted Joanna as she peeked over the back of the couch. “Someone’s not happy.”

  “He knows the chili and guacamole mean his space will be invaded tonight by screaming, swearing women. He hates my dinner parties.”

  “Poor guy.” Joanna deposited Bing next to Bob and checked the score on the television. “Or maybe he’s a Bills fan. And what do you know, they’re losing.” Joanna walked back into the kitchen. “Nice jersey, by the way. I’m assuming the Brett Favre signature is real and not machine-made?”

  “It is.”

  “Very nice,” Joanna said, running her fingertips over the rise of Charley’s breast where the signature had been inked.

  Between the bubbly sensation racing through her, and Joanna’s emerald eyes catching her, Charley held her breath, trying to keep from reacting, to no avail. The blush was rising of its own accord. A smile ghosted Joanna’s lips. “How did you get it?”

  “I know the assistant to the Packers’ controller.”

  “That’s some serious networking. You are acutely organized. So. What can I do? Put me to work. Is this for guacamole?” She pointed to the vegetables on the table.

  “You know how to make it?” Charley asked, working to regain her composure. “Recipe’s right there.”

  “Don’t need it. You have a lime somewhere? And I’ll need your cayenne.”

  Charley held up the bottle. “Lime is still in the fridge.”

  As Joanna set to work, Charley leaned against the counter next to the stove and asked her about the week upstate.