Watermark

by Karin Kallmaker

  "What do you know about pain?" Stop, she told herself. This was pointless.

  "Nothing, obviously. I'm just a babe in the wood. I don't have the capacity to understand human suffering."

  "You've never lost anyone you loved."

  "How do you know?"

  Rayann arched an eyebrow. "It would be etched in your face the way it's etched in mine."

  "You mean carved." Teresa waved a hand at the desk. Tears glistened in her eyes. "Just like this. Meticulously crafted and carved. Lovingly slaved over. You made yourself a monument to pain."

  "You don't know anything about it," Rayann snapped hoarsely.

  "That's right. Because you won't tell me."

  Anger and reason were at war inside her. Reason dictated that she should not unburden herself on Teresa. It would only draw them closer, and closer was not something they could ever be. Never. There was only Louisa.

  But anger won. She picked up Louisa's picture and ran her fingertips over that beautiful face. "She died. She got hit by a truck and spent three and a half months in intensive care. And then she died."

  "My mother died when I was two. I don't even remember her."

  Rayann gripped the frame so hard her knuckles turned white. "She was not my mother. She was my lover. For ten years." She gasped for breath, but anger had the upper hand. "She was the finest woman I have known, that I ever will know. She was the best part of me. She suffered. Horribly. And they gave me money. As if that makes a difference." She was trembling so hard she had to put the frame down. "She was an incredible lover. She knew all types of literature. She loved old movies. And her son and her grandson. And she loved me." She dashed tears from her eyes. "So forgive me for being in pain. You can't even begin to understand. If I live another hundred years I'll never meet anyone remotely like her — and neither will you." The anger drained out of her when she finally registered Teresa's pale, tear-streaked face. "I'm sorry."

  "I asked," Teresa whispered. During her flash of anger, Rayann had been the same woman Teresa had first met. Now she understood why Rayann had seemed like an unfeeling machine. "Thank you for telling me. I want to ... I want to take the days off

  you gave me. I came to thank you for them. I cleared it with Jim."

  Rayann would have given anything to take the stricken look from Teresa's eyes. She got up, started toward her. "Teresa, I—"

  "No. No." Teresa shook her head violently. "No." She dashed out the door.

  "Oh shit." She was incredibly weary. She felt as if she'd just walked from San Francisco to New York and back. Keeping all of that anguish bottled up — no wonder she was tired all the time.

  Teresa, she thought. Teresa hadn't deserved the things she'd said. How could she call back the words and put the smile back in Teresa's eyes?

  "You want one of my Manhattans?" Jill swiped the bar and put down a cocktail napkin.

  "Sure," Teresa said. She hadn't come here for the drink, but to talk to Jill. It was late and a weeknight, so Jill might have time to talk. She just wanted some information.

  She should have recognized the picture on Rayann's desk as the one that had been enlarged and wreathed at the memorial she and Vivian had walked in on. It would have saved her some mistakes. She might have been able to hold something back.

  "One Manhattan. You want to run a tab?"

  "No, I'll settle up now." She put a five on the bar. "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Sure. It's slow and as everyone knows, I love to talk."

  Teresa grinned. "About six months ago, I don't know, maybe longer, I was in here and you were having a memorial or wake. Who was the woman who died? Because I saw her picture recently and remembered. I hate mysteries."

  Jill's expression softened. "Oh, that was Louisa Thatcher. A great friend, really. She was one of those people you could count on. She made you want to be better than you were. She owned a bookstore, too. Rare editions and popular stuff. She and her lover added a lesbian section."

  A woman of intelligence and character. It made sense. What other kind of woman would someone like Rayann love? Teresa sipped the drink. "That is good, thanks."

  "Told you. Friends like Louisa come once in a life¬time. We were all devastated by her being hurt like that, then lingering for so long. If sheer will could grow a bunch of new organs, she would have recovered. I don't know how her lover survived it. It was awful. And I miss Lou so much. Every time you talked to her you felt like she had added something."

  "She sounds as if she was really loved."

  "Oh yeah. Her son was devoted and Ray — her partner — was really in love. There was a big gap in their ages, but it didn't matter. They clicked. What they didn't share they paid less attention to. What they had in common they really worked at. It was a great thing to see. It made me think about things a little differently. She was quite a woman. They named the women's center in Oakland after her."

  Teresa felt like crying. Again. She could never hope to compete with Louisa. She could never replace

  Louisa in Rayann's heart. Ten years of loving a woman who could inspire such devotion and loyalty — if Teresa held Rayann up to the light, she would see Louisa indelibly there. So what was there left to hope for?

  She thanked Jill for the drink and for satisfying her curiosity. She wandered into a movie but didn't follow much beyond the car crashes, train wrecks and exploding buildings, all of which was just a little too close to reality.

  As she walked into the surprisingly mild early spring night she knew there was only one person she could really talk to about how she felt. Vivian was useless when it came to love. She was disgustingly happy and talked about nothing but Kim. She'd said last night that she was considering moving in with Kim when Kim's roommate moved out in a few months. Teresa hoped she would. She'd keep the apartment — no more roommates.

  It would be easy to get a flight in the morning after she met with the community garden people. She had the days off and L.A. was just an hour away by plane.

  "You don't expect your old man to believe that you got on a plane and dropped in because everything is hunky-dory?"

  Teresa crossed her legs, sinking into her favorite old chair. The comforts of home were soothing — though at her age why she should consider her father's house her home was baffling. "I'm sorry I

  didn't give you much notice." Melanie had insisted the surprise guest was no problem and they'd all gone out to dinner.

  "Don't worry about that. Spill the beans."

  Melanie had gone to bed, having understood with¬out a word that Teresa wanted to talk to her dad alone.

  "Well, I think I'm in love."

  "You say that like a death sentence, punkin."

  "It feels like it."

  Her father's expression tightened. "It's not sup¬posed to. Is the object of your affection unavailable?"

  "Oh, she's single, all right. But she's still taken. I've fallen for a single married woman." It was a bad joke, and her father was not fooled.

  "You're not making much sense. She's in love with someone else?"

  "Most definitely. How long after Mom died did you think you could love someone else the same way again?"

  "Oh, I see. Well, it was a long time."

  "How long?" She had to know.

  "I don't know. No one came along I was interested in. I know that I was lonely pretty quickly. I missed your mom and I missed women." He paused un¬comfortably. "I'm sure you don't want to hear about your old dad's sex life."

  "I know you weren't a monk."

  "I wasn't cut out for it."

  "Did you feel guilty? The first time you were with somebody after Mom died?"

  Her questions were making him squirm at little, she could tell. But he was the only person she could

  ask. "Yes. I felt very guilty. I felt as if I'd cheated on her. It was just something I had to get over."

  "How long did that take?"

  "A year. A little more than that. I guess I should be specific. I no longer felt guilty about
having desires. I'm a body as well as a mind. But I still felt guilty when I enjoyed another woman's laugh, the way she smelled — things that I had loved about your mother. And that took a few more years."

  Teresa sniffed. "Great. I'll be thirty-five before she might be ready to love me."

  "Who is this vestal virgin?"

  Teresa had to smile, albeit wanly. "My boss's boss."

  "Reese."

  "I know. It's pretty stupid, isn't it? I finally get around to falling in love and it's not just doomed from the get go, but what the working world calls inapprop¬riate."

  "It's not doomed — you just might have to be patient."

  "The woman who died, she was some sort of para¬gon. They named a whole women's center after her." She'd found the Thatcher Center's web page through Yahoo and read the short bio of the sainted Louisa Thatcher. She hadn't been rich or particularly famous, oh no, just an ordinary woman with strong ideals and an unshakable belief in building communities. She apparently inspired everyone who ever met her. "I can't compete with that."

  "Are you sure she wants you to?"

  "I don't know what she wants. I know that she feels something for me, but I'm not sure it's more than just a primitive lust. I don't want to be her

  getting-over-it toy." She swabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

  "You can't be the person she lost, punkin. Don't try. If she's going to care for you it has to be for who you are. And maybe your not reminding her too much of who she lost is a good thing."

  Teresa brightened a little. She hadn't thought of it that way. "You think?"

  "Don't get all starry-eyed. I'm not going to give you good odds. If it's been less than a year, you can't trust anything she feels. It's all upside down."

  Back to glum. "Thanks, Dad."

  "Sorry I couldn't be all roses and valentines." He patted her hand.

  "I didn't want you to be. I appreciate it."

  "Want some hot chocolate?"

  She nodded and went with him to the kitchen. He gave her the oversized mug she'd used since she was a child. It felt good to be home but at the same time she felt like a guest. Nothing stayed the same.

  She settled into what had once been her bed and considered what her father had told her.

  The future did not look good.

  Melanie made great waffles, but Teresa had learned that at Christmas. Her father had devoured two enormous ones with blueberry jam and departed for his Saturday morning round of golf.

  "I couldn't possibly eat another one," Teresa told her.

  "I'm sure you couldn't." Melanie put the waffle on

  Teresa's plate anyway. It steamed, "Eat me," at her. She slathered it with butter and syrup.

  "How's your job?" Melanie sat down with her own waffle and sipped her coffee.

  Teresa got a shock. In the bright morning light, and without makeup on, Melanie looked a good deal younger than Teresa had supposed. "I love it. It's great. I am functioning as an artist, not just a computer jockey. It feels really good."

  "Your dad always says you're a great artist. I like that sketch you did of him."

  "Well, that's my dad." She managed a large forkful of waffle. Her stomach felt as if it would burst, but it was so good.

  Melanie chuckled. "Yeah, he says I look like Meryl Streep."

  "You do, a little. It's the nose."

  Melanie was obviously pleased.

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Sure."

  "How old are you?"

  "Forty-five in May."

  "Oh." Teresa didn't mean to sound so surprised.

  "You thought I was older, didn't you?"

  "Well..." Teresa didn't want to say that Melanie had looked older. Vivian would kill her for that kind of rudeness. "I figured since Ken was my age, that you were at least fifty."

  Melanie made a face at her coffee. "I had Ken, unwed, when I was sixteen. I never married Ken's father though he had a very active role in raising Ken. We went through a really rough time when he gave up Flower Power and got religion. He married this self-

  righteous b —" She bit back what she'd been going to say.

  "Go right ahead," Teresa said. "I can swear with the best of them."

  "Self-righteous bitch. First thing she does is im¬press upon my happy six-year-old darling Ken that he's illegitimate and will have to work that much harder to get into heaven. I nearly ripped her hair out of her thoughtless little head. Ken is still trying to get over that image."

  Teresa thought that explained a lot about Ken. She realized she'd eaten half of the waffle. Her stomach ached. She put down the fork.

  "Anyway," Melanie went on, "I was a single mom. My folks helped me get my real estate license and I got by. I dated but never got serious about anybody. I think I was waiting for your dad."

  There was a flash of something in Melanie's eyes that Teresa had seen at the wedding, but had not recognized. Now she knew what it was — love. "I tried to raise him right," Teresa said.

  "You did good. It never seems like he's ten years older than I am."

  Rayann was ten years older than she was, and it seemed like an eternity, Teresa thought. She felt as if she had more in common with Melanie. "I would have never guessed you were. You two are made for each other."

  "It's not surprising you didn't realize. My makeup adds years."

  "I thought it was supposed to take them off."

  Melanie's expression was wry. "My skin is in¬credibly sensitive to sunlight. My foundation is a little

  on the thick side — I think it makes me look like a smoker, know what I mean?"

  Teresa nodded. "So you can't use any of that magic anti-wrinkle cream? Every time I go into Nordstrom they want to spackle me with it."

  "Be careful," Melanie said. "Once you start you won't want to stop."

  "Yeah — first one's free."

  Melanie laughed. She pushed her plate away. "That's enough of that."

  "They're delicious, but I can't finish this one."

  "Don't worry, my feelings are not hurt." Melanie stirred her coffee and sipped. She said, a little too nonchalantly, "Your dad said you were having a problem with an affair of the heart. I don't have a lot of experience, but if there's anything I can do..."

  Teresa was touched. She could not think of Melanie as a mother, but she could certainly use an older sister. Or just a friend. "Well, I'm in love with a woman who is still in love with her dead partner."

  "That's not easy," Melanie said.

  "No, it's not."

  "Are you sure it's love?"

  Teresa was surprised by the question. She had never doubted it. "I think so. I mean, I've thought I was in love before. But it always seemed to fizzle. I'd build up this image of the object of my affection and somehow they'd always manage not to fit it any¬more. I was completely infatuated with a classmate in France until I discovered she didn't change her under¬wear every day."

  "Gross," Melanie said emphatically.

  "That's what I thought," Teresa said. "The gilding

  rubbed right off that lily. But the woman I'm in love with — her name is Rayann — I already know her bad side. It doesn't matter. I figure if I think I'm in love when I know how human she can be then I'll still be in love when her good side really blossoms again." It had already started to show at times.

  "Maybe it'll work out," Melanie said. "Just don't put your life on hold."

  "I'm going to try not to do that."

  "In the meantime," Melanie said, "Nine West is having a shoe sale. Interested?"

  Teresa perked up. "I don't get any time to shop when I'm at home. It's all I can do to keep up with the laundry and bills. Okay, sometimes I shop because I haven't done the laundry, but that's necessity, not fun." Teresa helped Melanie clear away the breakfast dishes.

  Her father complained of neglect when she and Mel returned in the afternoon, laden with bags and shoe boxes. Teresa felt lighter in heart than she would have thought possible. She had a life to get on with. Mayb
e Rayann would be in it, maybe not. She felt she had achieved equanimity until she woke up in a sweat and could have sworn that she could smell Rayann on her hands and face.

  12

  Joyner sucked happily on the tip of Rayann's little finger. Her tiny eyes were closed and Rayann resisted the urge to take her finger away so they would open again. Judy had said that the primary rule of parenting was Never Wake a Sleeping Baby.

  "What do you want from this, Ray?" Judy was busy with the breast pump. She had not appreciated Rayann's mooing sounds.

  "I don't know. I mean, I hardly know her. She's young, what's there to know?"

  "Good thing Louisa didn't think that way." Judy

  winced as the suction began. "I am amazed by women who breastfeed for a year or even two years. I want this over as soon as possible. Six months tops."

  It did not look like fun. "I'm sorry — she's not a lightweight. But she's short on life experiences. Compared to Louisa, I mean."

  "Well, that's hardly fair. Louisas are not exactly walking around all over the place. She was really special. Don't think I haven't put myself in your shoes." Judy settled back and took a long swig from her water bottle. "Given Dee's profession, I've imagined losing her. I've wondered what I would do."

  "I did that. I accepted that Louisa would die before me — she was almost thirty years older. I just wasn't ready. And we had plans. I was going to make a bundle of dough and eventually we'd sell the bookstore and travel while Louisa was still young enough to climb the Eiffel Tower and walk the Great Wall of China." She sighed wistfully. "Then it was all gone."

  "Dee and I have plans. Now they include waiting until Joyner is on her own before we get to some of them. Dee will be close to retirement then. But if something happened to her, the last thing I'd do was go looking for another Dee to take her place. Do you see what I mean?"

  "There isn't another Dee. There isn't another Louisa."

  Judy fluttered her eyelashes. "Occasionally, I do know something."