“Perhaps not, yet you felt the need to punish yourself by staying with Brooke all that time. Do you think you don’t deserve better? That you don’t deserve to be happy? Is that it? Because nobody deserves to be unhappy.”
She hadn’t thought she was unhappy the last four years, though it was true she hadn’t exactly been happy either. Going for solitary runs on the peninsula, hiding in her books and in her writing, those things made her happy, but those things were also her escape from unhappiness, she supposed. Her way of balancing the ledger.
After several moments of silence, she finally declared, “I do want to be happy.”
The therapist smiled, but Angie didn’t. A sob had begun roughly working its way up her chest and into her throat, lodging there like a golf ball. She coughed, choked on it and finally burst into tears. The first tears she’d shed, she realized, since that shitty late August night in the ER.
* * *
The lake, as they drove along beside it to Charlevoix, was gray and roiling angrily, resisting winter’s trespass. Vic was at the wheel, Angie beside her, and she thought about the seasons, the slipping from one to the other. Her heart was still stamped with a winter chill, but she could sense a spring thaw approaching her soul. Karen wasn’t going to leave her in a deep freeze forever, and the realization made her feel light, free, happy for the first time in a long while.
Angie was telling her about her sessions so far with Melanie Scott, cursing her out as a “tough old broad,” but Vic could hear the respect in Angie’s voice.
“Do you think seeing her will help?”
“It already has. And do you know one of the things I’ve finally figured out?”
“What’s that?”
“That I’d gotten comfortable these last three-and-a-half months letting Brooke be the bad guy. She ended our relationship, and not in a nice way, but it needed ending. I should have ended it a long time ago.”
“So why didn’t you?”
An adorably self-deprecating smile. “Because I’m a stubborn S.O.B.”
“Well, cheers to that. Stubborn can be a good thing sometimes. Like when you don’t give up on a patient. Something we both know a little bit about, right?”
“Right. But not so good when you’re in a shitty relationship.”
They drove in silence, Vic sensing that if she was going to wait on Angie to bring up their kiss at Thanksgiving, it was going to be an awfully long wait. There was a strip of parkland up ahead, between the lake and the highway. Vic pulled off into it, Angie giving her a mild look of surprise.
She pointed the car toward the lake, parked it, shut off the engine. They were the only ones around.
“You want to go for a walk?” Angie asked.
“Not particularly.” It was cold, barely above freezing, and the wind snapped like a wet towel. “But I would like to talk.”
“Vic.” Angie turned to her. “I’m so sorry. About the kiss.”
“It was a mistake that we kissed, or it was a mistake that we kissed at that moment?” It was uncomfortable, but Vic pressed. She needed to get at exactly what Angie wanted to say, how she felt about it. “What, exactly, are you sorry about?”
“I’m not sure.” Angie stared out the passenger window. “Except I feel like I should apologize, like we might have done something wrong.” She turned suddenly. “What about you…do you feel it was a mistake?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure either.” It should be a mistake. Kissing the woman whose partner had run off with her wife. Ex-partner, ex-wife. But still.
“Vic? I don’t want it to be. A mistake, I mean. Do you?”
Vic felt the hard inquiry of her eyes. “But you did. Right after it happened.”
“I know. I was scared. I was…confused.”
“Confused?”
“Because I didn’t know if what I was feeling—doing—was appropriate. Given the circumstances. And I was scared because I felt like I was kind of going out on a limb and—”
“And I wasn’t?”
Through the windshield, Angie’s eyes followed the heavy surf. “Yes. You definitely were too. All right, look. I was a coward. As my shrink likes to remind me.” She made a face before looking at Vic again. “Vic, I want to be sure we weren’t kissing as a way to get back at our exes. Or because we need to prove to, I don’t know, the world, ourselves, that we’ve moved on, that we’re okay. I wanted that kiss to be for the right reason.”
Vic swallowed. “And what would the right reason be?”
Angie moved closer, the car’s console the only thing between them. “The right reason would be that we’re attracted to each other. That we like each other. A lot. That we want to explore things.”
Angie’s hand crawled gently to Vic’s denimed thigh, as though it had been waiting to be there its whole life. Her fingers were warm, and Vic longed to feel them on her skin.
“I do like you.” Vic was finding it hard to breathe, hard to scratch out her words, thanks to the little pulses of fire coming from Angie’s touch.
“I like you too. And I would have liked you no matter how we met.”
“But?” There was a definite but underscoring Angie’s words.
“I don’t want to screw things up with you because of my own issues.”
Vic laughed. Didn’t mean to, but there it was. “Like I don’t have issues too?”
Angie watched her with sharp, steady eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to get hurt.”
Vic took Angie’s hand and removed it from her thigh with more force than she intended. She twisted the key in the ignition and the motor roared to life. This conversation was resolving nothing. Clearly Angie was paralyzed by her own fears, scared shitless of her feelings. If she’d only wanted to be friends, she wouldn’t have put her hand on her thigh the way she had, wouldn’t be letting her eyes settle on Vic’s lips right now like she wanted to kiss them again. Damn you!
“Vic, wait.” Angie stopped her hand before she could gear the car into drive. “Don’t.”
Vic sat back stiffly in her seat. “Don’t you think I’m scared too? Do you think I want to get hurt? Or that I want to hurt you?”
“No, of course not.”
“What,” Vic finally said with what shred of patience she had left, “is it that you want? Because I think you need to decide.” They both did. Friends…or something more.
Angie’s hand took up its station on Vic’s thigh again, and a bolt of lightning shot straight into Vic’s crotch. Jesus! The raw power such a simple touch wielded over her was shocking. I could be a slave to that touch, she thought, and then immediately began to shrink away from the idea. As if her mind could wrestle her heart and her libido into knowing their places.
“What I want,” Angie said, her breath suddenly next to Vic’s cheek, “is to kiss you again.”
No, Vic said in her mind. “Yes,” she whispered, and Angie’s mouth claimed hers. Triumphantly tender, as if the kiss were the very culmination of something years in the making. It was a kiss that said this was exactly perfect, that this was how they were meant to be, what they were meant to be to one another. And with each minute the kiss continued, Vic’s need grew more insatiable. And then the kiss was done, the ghost of it lingering on her mouth, tingling and sweet.
They talked about mundane things for the rest of the journey into Charlevoix, but the kiss wasn’t far from Angie’s thoughts. She cracked the window, felt the cool air slice through her lungs and numb the fire that had turned her belly into a furnace. Now that she’d kissed Vic—properly this time, without regrets—she could think of little more than kissing her again. When? she wondered. After lunch in the car again? In the same little park on the way back to Traverse City? When Vic returned her to her family estate? Maybe near the barn again. Or maybe she could go straight back to Vic’s house with her, and they could… No, wait, she told herself. It was a mistake to think of more, of doing and wanting more. Kissing Vic would have to be enough. Baby steps.
&nbs
p; “What?” Vic said, lifting a smile at her.
“Nothing.”
“You were thinking about something because your cheeks were turning red and you were smiling.”
“Fine. You caught me. I was thinking about kissing you again.”
It was Vic’s turn to blush. “Angie, we have to do this slow. We can’t just—”
“I know.” Angie reached across the console and twined her fingers with Vic’s. “But just so you know. I want to.”
A deeper shade of red splashed across Vic’s cheeks. “Happily noted.”
This kiss, even more than the first one, was a game changer, an event from which they could not go back and could no longer apologize for or regret or question the hell out of. Strangely enough, this new plateau was good with her. And it was good with her that she had no idea where they were going next, if anywhere. Vic was easy to be with. Simple but good, like toast with butter, and it was enough for Angie. Well, that and more kissing.
They were in Charlevoix now, its main street littered with quaint, high-end boutique shops. Salt water taffy, handmade chocolates, name brand clothing, a gallery, a bookstore, a music store, a bistro. Vic pulled the car into an empty spot in front of an antique store. “Ooh, I love antique stores.”
“I can tell. And you’ve got the kind of house for it.”
“Speaking of houses, have you settled on one yet?”
Angie held the door for Vic, then followed her in. “No. Nothing’s really captured my heart. What I’d really like is an old house like yours with tons of character. Just not sure I can afford all the maintenance it would take.”
“It does take work, I’ll give you that. I’ve got to get someone to paint the old girl’s outside trim next summer. You going to stay at your folks’ awhile longer?”
“I guess. I’ll rent by spring, though, if I haven’t bought a house yet.”
Vic gave her a look that was full of longing. “I envy you your family, just so you know.”
“Well, they’re a pain sometimes, but mostly…yeah, I know. I’m lucky.” Christmas was only a couple of weeks away, and Angie wanted nothing more than to invite Vic over for a family meal again. “You working a lot over the holidays?”
“Yup. Like crazy. I’ve never been big on Christmas. And especially not this Christmas.”
“Well, if you’re working, maybe I’ll sign up for a couple of extra shifts too.”
“I’m free Christmas Eve.” There was a hint of a question in the declaration.
“Me too. How about a date?”
“All right. As long as it involves popcorn, wine and It’s a Wonderful Life.”
Angie couldn’t have planned it out better if she’d tried. Forget the family dinner. “You read my mind.”
She let her hand graze over the cast iron of an old sewing machine, then traced the fine wood in the cabinet of a radio from the 1930s. She could forgive the musty smell of the place because of all the cool stuff in here. Her gaze fell to a case of old books, which was a magnet to her. She scanned the titles, picked out a hard copy of To Kill a Mockingbird in fantastic condition. She opened the flap, saw that it was a first edition. Well worth the two hundred bucks. She thought of Vic, who’d said it was one of her all-time favorite books. She stuffed it back into place and sought out Vic, who was browsing the far end of the store.
“I’m going to need you to get lost for a few minutes.”
“What? Why?”
“I think I need to do some Christmas shopping in here.”
“On one condition. That when you’re done, you text me and then you get lost for a while.”
“Uh-oh. Seems like our minds are on the same track.”
Vic’s smile warmed her from the inside. “Well. You know what they say…”
Chapter Seventeen
“You’re almost looking happy these days, Vic.” Liv slid into the booth with a weary sigh—the night shift had run them off their feet—and opened the menu. They’d decided to have breakfast at the diner across the street. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sneaking home some of that medical marijuana.”
“I wish.”
“Better share if you ever do, that’s all I’ve got to say on the subject.”
As if they’d willed it in their minds, two huge mugs of coffee appeared in front of them.
“So?” Liv pressed. “Karen finally acting human toward you or something?”
Vic made a sound that was a cross between a sigh and a laugh. It was true, she had been feeling happy lately, and even the mention of Karen’s name couldn’t spoil her mood. “Actually, Karen has nothing to do with my mood. For a change.”
Liv closed her menu. She always ordered the same thing—eggs Benedict—yet she persisted in going through the charade of trying to decide what to order. “Do tell, girlfriend.”
“You have to promise not to tell anybody else. Other than Beth, of course.”
“I wouldn’t dream of squealing on you.” She leaned closer. “This better be good.”
“It is. Angie and I are sort of…you know…dating.”
“Ooh, you weren’t kidding, this is good!”
The server, an older woman who knew all the hospital staff on a first-name basis, took their orders and promised to get the cook to add extra to their plates.
“I mean, we haven’t really been on an official date. Except for going to Charlevoix last week, and yesterday we went out for lunch, and—”
“Sheesh,” Liv said. “Lunch? Going for a drive? That sounds way too exciting for me. I thought you said you two were dating?”
“We are. I mean, we’ve decided to call it that. I think.” Vic was determined she wouldn’t go down the rabbit hole of overthinking her and Angie’s status. They were taking things slow, at a crawl really, but it was how it needed to be. And it felt good. “Anyway, we’ve been kissing like we invented it.”
“Okay, now you got me. Kissing how? And where?”
Vic blinked. “The usual way. On the lips.”
“No, I mean, where? Like, in your bedroom? Ooh, wait, in the back of her ambulance?”
Vic rolled her eyes. “We’re going slow. S-L-O-W. No bedrooms yet and not for a long time. And definitely not in the back of an ambulance.” They’d kissed again on the way back from Charlevoix—a long, slow, sizzling one that reminded Vic of long, hot, luxuriating bubble baths. Under cover of darkness they’d kissed in Vic’s car in the doctors’ parking lot at the hospital a couple of days ago. Snuck another toe-curling one in a supply closet the day before that. “We’re having a real date next week. On Christmas Eve.”
Liv’s eyebrows danced suggestively. “A sleepover?”
“No!”
“Oh, come on. Live a little, Vic. It won’t kill you. And she is hot, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed, trust me.” Vic sipped her coffee, let her mind wander for a minute to all the things she’d secretly thought of doing to Angie—and Angie doing to her. But she—they—weren’t there yet. They needed to be cautious, to make sure they weren’t rushing into anything either of them might regret. What horrified Vic the most was the idea that this all could be a rebound thing. “I need time, Liv. I need to make sure I’m not making a mistake.”
“The way you made a mistake with Karen?”
“Exactly like I did with Karen.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re human. And humans make mistakes. And maybe Karen wasn’t a mistake at first. Maybe she became a mistake.”
“Maybe. But I should have seen it coming and I didn’t. I’m not sure I can forgive myself for that.”
“Well, you’d better, or you’re never going to trust anyone else again. And that would really suck, you know that?”
The server delivered their steaming plates while Liv mouthed the words, “You’re too hard on yourself” at her. It was true, she was her own worst critic, but somebody had to be. She felt her cellphone vibrate in her pocket and pulled it out. A text. From Karen! Her heart
stuttered in alarm. Weeks ago she’d stopped reflexively looking for texts from Karen, jumping every time her phone chimed or vibrated. Divorce was a series of small, internal earthquakes. Like not getting texts. Like not buying Karen’s favorite cereal or picking up the scattered newspapers she left behind every morning like freshly fallen leaves. Divorce was all those little habitual things that were suddenly gone as if they’d never been there in the first place. And it was exactly those things, it occurred to Vic, that had made her happy in her marriage. The cereal, the newspapers, the long, lazy Sunday mornings of drinking coffee on the patio—sometimes together, sometimes alone—cutting grass while Karen mucked around in the garden. It had been enough for her but not, apparently, for Karen.
What’s wrong with me that I found all that enough?
Out of curiosity she finally thumbed open the text. Please call as soon as u can, need to talk. Vic shoved her phone back into her pocket. What a laugh, Karen finally wanting to talk when Vic had begged her over and over for just that. Well, forget it. Karen had been right when she’d told her outside the grocery store that there was nothing more to talk about. She was simply holding Karen to her word now.
* * *
Angie let the cold air slice through her lungs, breathed in the sting of it as she jogged around the final bend and up her family’s lane. She never minded winter. In fact, she loved its crispness, loved the bright assault on her eyes of sunshine and snow, loved how the cold and boniness of the season was like wiping away everything clean for a brand-new start in spring. She thought of Vic and her breath caught. She supposed this lifting of her soul might be the feeling of falling in love—like the world was a flower suddenly opening up to her. Feeling this way again was like unearthing a buried treasure. And then she remembered that she was still the same old Ange. Still the same failure at relationships, still the same architect who so successfully built those impenetrable walls around her heart. Thinking of Vic and love was getting way ahead of herself.
Just yesterday, her therapist, Melanie, had tried to drill down to what made her so afraid of letting people in. Probably because of the army, Melanie suggested. It was probably the fear of losing people she’d grown to care about. “I did lose people,” Angie countered. “And did it hurt?” Melanie asked. Of course it hurt, Angie said. “Good. It’s supposed to hurt when we lose people we care about. But being afraid to hurt is not a good enough reason to go through life alone.” Well, those fears had kept her in good stead. Until now. Now she was sick of her own company, more frightened of the idea of being alone forever than of the idea of letting someone get close. As in really close. Maybe it was time to try.
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