Let the Lover Be

by Sheree L. Greer

  Kiana looked in his direction but kept going, past the bar and through the dining room. She stepped up to the front desk.

  “Excuse me,” she said.

  A woman with skin the color of coffee beans greeted her with a warm smile and gentle eyes, her navy suit and pinstriped collared shirt neat and official.

  “Can I help you?” she said.

  “I hope so,” Kiana said. “Do you have computers for guest use? I need to book a flight.”

  The woman smiled. “Of course. I can help you with that,” she said.

  Kiana smiled back. She noticed the woman’s name tag. It read “Vivien.”

  “Thank you, Vivien,” Kiana said.

  “Oh, you’re welcome,” Vivien said. “Let me show you to the business center.” She came from behind the desk, the skirt to her suit stopping just above her shapely calves. She glanced over her shoulder, smiled, and led the way. Kiana followed close behind.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Sunday

  The sun crept in through the blinds, a wide stripe of light landing across Kiana’s eyelids. She blinked awake and sat up. The bedside clock read ten a.m. Her flight was at six. She climbed out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face and met her eyes in the mirror. She looked tired, but couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so soundly. She didn’t remember her dreams, if she’d had any, but did remember the previous day. She remembered her evening. No gaps. No darkness. She could recall it all. Though thinking of Genevieve’s expression when she had looked at her before getting on the motorcycle made her heart ache, she held on to the memory. It was a moment full of horror and shame, but she was present for it. She hadn’t run away.

  Kiana showered and dressed. Having run out of clothes, she pulled on the same jeans she’d worn the day before and the only semi-clean shirt she had. The blue button-up she wore to dinner at Genevieve’s. She packed the rest of her things so she’d be ready to go when she got back to the hotel. Vivien, the hotel manager, had told her while helping her book her flight that she could leave her luggage behind the front desk while she took care of her last-minute business. She zipped up her bag and carried it toward the door. She stopped at the desk. Her flask, still on its side, glinted in the sunlight. She set it upright. Liquor sloshed inside as she moved it. Her hand rested on top of the screw cap. She drummed the curved body with her fingertips. She took a deep breath and held it. She teetered the flask back and forth, the sound of the whiskey inside whispering like an old lover. Just one taste.

  Kiana blew out a sigh and rolled her shoulders. She took her hand off the flask and left it there beside the lamp. She hefted the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The streetcar screeched to a halt. Kiana checked the stop, scanning the streets to make sure she was in the right place. She was taking one hell of a chance, but she had nothing to lose. If Genevieve was right, and there were no such thing as coincidences, then she would be there, visiting her nana as Kiana suspected. As she stepped off the streetcar, she hoped Genevieve would be willing to talk.

  To her own surprise, Kiana remembered the way. She walked up the cement path, the patches of grass and sprouts of weeds bending beneath her feet. She remembered the trees, the resurrection ferns growing on their trunks, the stone crypts and monuments, the rusted gates, crumbling stone, and water stains. She came around a corner, the angel with wings solidifying her sense of direction. She heard crying. She heard Genevieve.

  “No. No. No,” Genevieve said when she looked up and met Kiana’s eyes. She shook her head and pushed herself up from where she crouched beside her family’s gravesite. She had a small white candle lit. Fresh fruit—plums, an apple, and two oranges—plopped to the ground when she stood.

  “Genevieve, please,” Kiana said. She held her hands out in surrender. Her voice wavered but didn’t falter. “Please let me talk to you. Please listen. You owe me at least that.”

  Genevieve screwed her face. Her hair looked wet, the curls shiny and slick. “Owe you? Owe you? I don’t owe you shit,” she whispered the curse word, looking around as if she’d be scolded.

  “You’re right. You don’t owe me anything.” She still held her hands up; she slowly stepped toward Genevieve, who held her body at the ready, her knees bent like she would leap over the graves and disappear into the sky. “It’s me who owes you.”

  Genevieve pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I don’t have time for it. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to know you. You’re not welcome here.” Her words stabbed Kiana.

  She had no right to be offended, to be hurt. She knew that, and she was ready to face it.

  “V,” Kiana said.

  “Don’t call me that,” Genevieve said. “You don’t get to call me that.”

  Kiana dropped her hands in defeat; her chin dipped to her chest in shame and disappointment. “There is no excusing what I did to you Friday night. I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been in my life,” she said. She looked at Genevieve, who stared back at her saying nothing.

  “You don’t have to accept my apology,” Kiana continued. “I know that. But I had to say it. I have to be responsible for my actions.”

  “Your actions? What you did to me?” Genevieve laughed. She shook her head. “Get over yourself, Kiana. You didn’t make me do anything. Nobody makes you do anything. You do what you want to do. I did what I wanted to do.”

  “That’s not true,” Kiana said. She stepped forward. Genevieve didn’t back away. Kiana continued, “Friday night. I was in a bad place. The darkest place I’d ever been. I saw Michelle for who she was that night. The way she manipulated me. The way she’s always manipulated me. The way she made me—”

  “Did you hear what I just said?” Genevieve said. “No one and nothing makes you do anything. Not Michelle. Not the alcohol. You do what you want; you do what you feel. Whether it’s to escape or forget, to pity yourself or make others pity you, YOU do it. YOU DO IT!” she yelled. Her chest heaved, and she turned to catch her breath.

  Kiana didn’t know what to say. She thought back to what she could remember of the night. Memories mixed together, blurred and overlapped. She’d done so many things to forget. She’d done so many things to hide, to blame, to force. She’d done. She did.

  “I do it,” Kiana whispered. “I do it to myself.” The tears came, and she didn’t fight them.

  Genevieve cried, too. Genevieve’s shoulders shook like hers did, her breath came in sobs.

  “Friday night,” Genevieve said. “I chose to drink. You didn’t make me.” She sniffled and turned around; she wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand then crouched down to pick up the fruit that had fallen to the ground. “I’ve been out here all morning, talking to my nana. Trying to fill in the blanks.”

  Kiana walked over to Genevieve. She stood next to her and reached out to help her situate the fruit along the cement edge of the grave. Genevieve let her help.

  “And?” Kiana said, setting the oranges next to each other, holding them steady so they wouldn’t roll.

  “Even as I told myself otherwise, I thought it was my job to save you,” she said. She smirked, a tear falling before she could catch it with her wrist.

  “Because of how we met?”

  “Yeah. Running into you like that. It wasn’t what I thought.”

  “But I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences,” Kiana said.

  “It wasn’t a coincidence,” Genevieve said with a shrug and wry smile. “I’m never in the Quarter. When I ran into you, I ran into myself.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kiana said.

  “I was there…” Genevieve paused. She took a deep breath. “I was there to get a quick drink. My first in months. It was the only place I could go where I knew I wouldn’t run into anyone who knew me, who knew my nana, who knew that I had…sobered up.” Genev
ieve looked at Kiana and smiled, her warm, honey eyes sparkling with clarity. “I was hurting and feeling alone.”

  “I’m confused,” Kiana said. She sat in the grass beside Nana’s grave. She glanced at the stone etching. I AM NOT GONE. The words didn’t scare her like before. They comforted her.

  Genevieve sat beside her. “Don’t be,” she said.

  “I’m saying though,” Kiana sighed. “I came to apologize and…what does all this mean?”

  “It means,” Genevieve said, “that we both needed this. It means we found each other.” She pulled her legs up under her and stared straight ahead.

  Kiana bumped her shoulder against Genevieve’s, taking a deep breath and looking at the sky. Silence passed between them. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain, cool and life-affirming, dropped down from the heavy gray clouds. Kiana didn’t move. She kept her face turned to the sky, fat drops of water splashing against her forehead and cheeks. She exhaled and turned to Genevieve.

  “I’m Kiana, and I’m an alcoholic,” she said. She looked at Genevieve, who turned to face her, squinting against the gentle rain.

  “Hi, Kiana. I’m Genevieve, and I’m an alcoholic.” She wiped her hand on her jeans and offered it to Kiana. “It’s nice to meet you. My friends call me ‘V.’”

  Kiana took her hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, too, V.”

  They shook again, a firm grip that lingered after the shaking, after the introductions. Kiana held Genevieve’s hand, and Genevieve held hers. The rain continued to fall, making moist what had been dry, restoring life to what seemed to be dead.

  Kiana closed her eyes and remembered the strength, the comfort of Karyn’s hands. Karyn’s warm palm, the way her fingers linked with hers during their mother’s funeral. Karyn’s hand dangling loose and carefree as she draped her arm around Kiana’s shoulders as they walked to the bus stop. Karyn stroking her hair lovingly when she woke up from nightmares, pressing her palm against Kiana’s forehead when she felt sick. Karyn rubbing soft circles at the small of her back when Kiana cried over her first girlfriend. Karyn’s hand reaching for the steering wheel when she taught her to drive. Her hands lifting and pushing boxes; Karyn’s fingers curling into a fist as she joked and showed off her biceps while helping Kiana move into her first apartment. Karyn’s hand reaching across the car to unlock the door when she picked her up, lonely and afraid, from the 69th street Redline stop.

  Kiana glanced at the inscription once more. I AM NOT GONE. She looked at Genevieve’s hand clasping hers and thought again of Karyn’s hands. Her sister’s hands, which were her mother’s hands, hands that were always there.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Kiana dug her phone out of her pocket as she made her way to the escalator. She held her Chicago Card against the sensor and pushed through the turnstile. Gliding down the escalator to the train, she called Karyn.

  “Kiana!” Karyn said, loud and fast.

  “Yeah,” Kiana said. “I’m home.”

  “You were supposed to tell me when you landed so I could pick you up. Who did you fly in with? You at O’Hare or Midway? What terminal?” Karyn rambled on, at the ready as always. Kiana heard the click of her heels on the hardwoods, the shuffle of her slipping on her jacket, the swipe of keys from the cocktail table.

  “Slow down, slow down,” Kiana said. “I flew into O’Hare, but I’m getting on the train.”

  “Don’t get on the train.”

  “I’m getting on the train. It’s fine.” Kiana stepped off the escalator and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “I would appreciate it if you scooped me from downtown though.”

  “Are you all right?” Karyn asked. The screen door creaked and slammed shut.

  “I’m great,” Kiana said. “A little jet-lagged, but I’m good.”

  “You sound different.” Wind whooshed against the receiver. It stopped abruptly with the slam of the car door.

  “Good different or bad different?” Kiana said.

  “I’m not sure,” Karyn said. She jingled the keys and started her car. The seat belt indicator beep sounded off, the radio coming to life. “Say something else,” she said.

  Kiana laughed. She walked toward the train, readjusting her bag on her shoulder. She boarded behind a brown-haired couple with hard case valises.

  “Hold on a second. I need to find a seat.” Kiana maneuvered around several other people with their luggage. She settled on a window seat near the doors. “What were you saying?” Kiana said.

  “I was saying you sounded different, but I couldn’t decide if it was good different or bad different,” Karyn repeated.

  “I hope good different,” Kiana said. She looked out the window as the train pulled off. “I haven’t had a drink in two days. Maybe that’s it.”

  “Two days?” Karyn said, a hint of mocking in her voice. She started to laugh then stopped. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Kiana said. “It’s just two days.” She shrugged.

  “It’s not just two days, Kiana,” Karyn said. “It’s a start.”

  “Yeah,” Kiana said. “It’s a start.” Karyn agreed to meet her at the Jackson stop. She ended the call and slid her phone into the front zip of her bag. She glanced up at the Blue Line map though she knew the route frontward and backward. Smiling, Kiana settled into her seat, grateful to finally be moving forward.

  About the Author

  A Milwaukee, Wisconsin, native, Sheree L. Greer has been published in Hair Trigger, The Windy City Times, Reservoir, Fictionary, The Windy City Queer Anthology: Dispatches from the Third Coast, and Best Lesbian Romance 2012. She has performed her work across selected venues in Milwaukee, New York, Miami, Chicago, and Tampa, where she hosts Oral Fixation, the only LGBTQ Open Mic series in Tampa Bay. She earned her MFA at Columbia College Chicago and currently teaches writing and literature at St. Petersburg College. Sheree, an Astraea Lesbian Writers Fund grantee, completed a VONA residency at University of Miami and self-published a short story collection, Once and Future Lovers.

  While her obsessions constantly rotate and evolve, Sheree has an undying love for hot sauces, red wines, and crunchy tacos. She plays less-than-mediocre electric guitar but makes nearly-perfect guacamole.

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Let the Lover Be by Sheree Greer. Kiana Lewis, a functional alcoholic on the verge of destruction, finally faces the demons of her past while finding love and earning redemption in New Orleans. (978-1-62639-077-5)

  Blindsided by Karis Walsh. Blindsided by love, guide dog trainer Lenae McIntyre and media personality Cara Bradley learn to trust what they see with their hearts. (978-1-62639-078-2)

  About Face by VK Powell. Forensic artist Macy Sheridan and Detective Leigh Monroe work on a case that has troubled them both for years, but they’re hampered by the past and their unlikely yet undeniable attraction. (978-1-62639-079-9)

  Blackstone by Shea Godfrey. For Darry and Jessa, their chance at a life of freedom is stolen by the arrival of war and an ancient prophecy that just might destroy their love. (978-1-62639-080-5)

  Out of This World by Maggie Morton. Iris decided to cross an ocean to get over her ex. But instead, she ends up traveling much farther, all the way to another world. Once there, only a mysterious, sexy, and magical woman can help her return home. (978-1-62639-083-6)

  Kiss The Girl by Melissa Brayden. Sleeping with the enemy has never been so complicated. Brooklyn Campbell and Jessica Lennox face off in love and advertising in fast-paced New York City. (978-1-62639-071-3)

  Taking Fire: A First Responders Novel by Radclyffe. Hunted by extremists and under siege by nature’s most virulent weapons, Navy medic Max de Milles and Red Cross worker Rachel Winslow join forces to survive and discover something far more lasting. (978-1-62639-072-0)

  First Tango in Paris by Shelley Thrasher. When French law student Eva Laroche meets American call girl Brigitte Green in 1970s Paris, they have no idea how their pasts and futures will intersect. (978-1-62639-073-7)
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  The War Within by Yolanda Wallace. Army nurse Meredith Moser went to Vietnam in 1967 looking to help those in need; she didn’t expect to meet the love of her life along the way. (978-1-62639-074-4)

  Escapades by MJ Williamz. Two women, afraid to love again, must overcome their fears to find the happiness that awaits them. (978-1-62639-182-6)

  Desire at Dawn by Fiona Zedde. For Kylie, love had always come armed with sharp teeth and claws. But with the human, Olivia, she bares her vampire heart for the very first time, sharing passion, lust, and a tenderness she’d never dared dream of before. (978-1-62639-064-5)

  Visions by Larkin Rose. Sometimes the mysteries of love reveal themselves when you least expect it. Other times they hide behind a black satin mask. Can Paige unveil her masked stranger this time? (978-1-62639-065-2)

  All In by Nell Stark. Internet poker champion Annie Navarro loses everything when the Feds shut down online gambling, and she turns to experienced casino host Vesper Blake for advice—but can Nova convince Vesper to take a gamble on romance? (978-1-62639-066-9)

  Vermilion Justice by Sheri Lewis Wohl. What’s a vampire to do when Dracula is no longer just a character in a novel? (978-1-62639-067-6)

  Switchblade by Carsen Taite. Lines were meant to be crossed. Third in the Luca Bennett Bounty Hunter Series. (978-1-62639-058-4)

  Nightingale by Andrea Bramhall. Culture, faith, and duty conspire to tear two young lovers apart, yet fate seems to have different plans for them both. (978-1-62639-059-1)