Dakota Blues Box Set

by Lynne M Spreen

  “What’s the plan?” I asked.

  Fern gnawed on a fingernail.

  “Maybe you should call her.”

  “No.”

  “Or I could go knock on the door. She’ll be happy to see me.”

  Fern didn’t answer.

  I sighed. “We can’t just sit here all night.”

  “Do you mind? I’m thinking.”

  “Fine. Sorry.”

  “It’s not you. It’s me. See, in the old days, I’d just march up the steps and bust through her defenses. I’d insist she do what I thought was the smartest thing, and she’d give in. But now I know that’s not gonna get her back. So I want to go slow, and keep from getting mad, and ask her what she thinks before I say too much.” Fern looked at me with a little smile on her face. “How does that sound?”

  “Where’d you get all that?”

  “Found a book in Rita’s room. About relationships.”

  “Good. I’m impressed—”

  The front door of the house was opening. An older man stepped out onto the porch, followed by Belle. The man was tall and fit, in a polo shirt and deck shoes. Belle wore an aqua-colored caftan embroidered in gold. Her gray hair fell to her shoulders in waves. The two of them looked great together.

  Fern muttered a curse. Her hand gripped the door handle.

  “Fern, wait. Maybe they’re just—”

  The man put his arms around Belle and held her.

  “Son of a bitch.” Fern’s door flew open, and she was pegging it across the street before I even had a chance to grab her arm. I jumped out and followed, catching up at the small gate leading to the house. Fern fumbled with the clasp.

  The couple on the porch broke apart.

  “Oh, my God.” Belle shoved the man inside. “Go out the back. She’s crazy.”

  Chapter 10

  BELLE FOLDED HER ARMS. She looked from Fern to me. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Uh, we were just, uh...” I glanced over at Fern.

  She stood with her hands on her hips at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at Belle.

  “I came to talk some sense—No, scratch that.” Fern clasped her hands in front of her. “I came to see if—if you—if we—”

  It wasn’t like Fern to be at a loss for words. A frown creased Belle’s forehead. “What?”

  To my left, a movement caught my eye. A man came through the side yard, hurried to the BMW, jumped in, and drove away.

  “Who was that, and why were you hugging him?” asked Fern.

  “That’s no concern of yours,” said Belle. “But I have nothing to hide. He’s a friend of Helen’s. He was thanking me for doing him a favor.”

  “I’ll bet he was,” said Fern.

  I groaned inwardly.

  Belle reached for the screen door handle.

  “Wait! That wasn’t what I planned to say.” Fern held her hands out to her sides. “Can you cut me some slack here? I need to ask you something.” She stood pleading, desperation overwhelming her pride.

  “You had all the chances you’re going to get.”

  “This is important,” Fern said. “You have to hear me out.”

  “I don’t have to do anything.” Belle went inside

  We heard the door lock.

  “Belle!” Fern hollered.

  The porch light flicked out. The front window went dark.

  Fern dropped her arms.

  In the distance, a foghorn sounded. The damp air rolled in. I stepped forward and put my hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.

  “Fern, it’s been a long day. Let’s go back to the motel. Maybe in the morning, you’ll have thought of another approach.”

  She stared at the house while rubbing her arms to warm them. “I’m not leaving.”

  “What are you going to do? Stand out here on the sidewalk all night?”

  “If I have to.”

  “Come on. Be reasonable.”

  “Go home, Karen.” Fern climbed the steps to the rambling porch and sat down on one of the two wicker armchairs, putting her good leg on the ottoman. She tilted her head from side to side, stretching, and crossed her arms.

  I was incredulous. “You’re going to wait on the porch?”

  “Long as it takes.”

  “It might take all night,” I said. “You’ll get pneumonia.”

  “So be it.”

  “Is that the plan? To make her feel sorry for you when you wind up in the hospital?”

  The curtain moved in the window behind Fern’s head.

  “The only plan I have is to try to talk to Belle, if I have to sleep on her porch every night for the rest of my life.” Fern’s jaw tightened. “That was the deal. Until death did us part.”

  Now I was really confused. “You told me you weren’t married. Now you’re telling me you are?”

  “Not legally, but it’s the same thing.”

  “Maybe it’s not.” I glanced at the window again. “Not to her.”

  Fern slunk lower in the chair. She leaned her head back, eyes closed.

  Conversation over.

  I sighed, shrugged out of my heavy jacket and covered Fern with it.

  She opened one eye. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” I crossed the street. At the car, I turned for one last look, but all I could see was a dark shape in the chair on the porch. I fumed about Fern and her stubbornness. While Belle seemed to be evolving, Fern was stuck.

  Well, as they’d pointed out repeatedly, it was none of my business.

  On the way back to the motel, I picked up a deli sandwich and a soda. I ate my dinner in front of the TV, watching the news and trying not to think about Fern freezing on the porch. That night, I fell asleep arguing with Fern and Belle in my head. I even had nightmares about unending debates with the two of them. I woke early, took a shower, and drove back to Belle’s.

  Fern wasn’t on the porch.

  I knocked on the door. A striking older woman answered it. She had the same tall grace as Belle, and the same generous smile, but her silver-gray hair was cut short, framing green eyes. “I’m Helen, Belle’s sister. You must be the friend.”

  She held the door open, and I stepped inside. The elegant living room was decorated in a seashore motif, with a driftwood sculpture on the coffee table and a watercolor of the iconic lone cypress overlooking the ocean on 17 Mile Drive.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Helen led the way past an antique white oak cabinet filled with a fortune in Lladro figurines.

  I wanted to stop and admire them but had more pressing matters on my mind. I followed Helen into the kitchen. “Are they here? I mean, is Fern?”

  Helen turned. A tiny smile played on her lips. “Do you mean, did we let Fern freeze on the porch last night?”

  “She was prepared to do that.”

  “Belle let her in around midnight,” said Helen.

  “Have you talked with them? What happened?”

  Helen shrugged. “They didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. Why don’t I see if they’re ready for company?”

  A minute later, I heard Fern calling out my name. I wandered down the hall to a bedroom and tapped on the doorjamb. Wearing pajamas topped by warm robes, Belle and Fern sat in matching wing chairs in front of a bay window. They were reading the paper and drinking coffee. Belle stood and hugged me. Fern looked over her reading glasses, a smug grin on her face. “Told you I wouldn’t freeze.”

  “But you almost did.” Belle nudged her with an elbow. “Don’t try that stunt again.”

  Helen followed me in with a steaming cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll. She placed them on the table, reached into her apron pocket, and pulled out a small bottle of brandy. She looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

  “Have a snort,” said Fern. “We’re celebrating.”

  Belle held up her left hand. The diamond solitaire was back on her finger.

  “Oh, wow.” It was a lame response, but I didn’t know what to say because my first reaction wa
s disappointment. Fern had wheedled her way in, taking advantage of Belle’s loving nature to get what she wanted, but had anything changed?

  Helen administered a generous splash of alcohol in my coffee and went back to the kitchen. Fern pointed at a footstool. “Pull it over here and have a seat. I don’t know that you ever got a close look, but that ring is a full two carats. Nothing but the best for my Belle.” She squeezed Belle’s hand.

  I guessed they were fine with everything. A nice ring, a nice fake marriage—except it wasn’t for me to say. Pretending I cared about the diamond, I squinted at it but my true reaction was skepticism. I was upset by Fern’s self-centeredness and Belle’s unquestioning loyalty. They were more than friends to me, and I was having a hard time pretending their merriment rang true.

  I dragged the heavy footstool over to the table, sat, and took a couple of sips of coffee. “What exactly are we celebrating?”

  “Didn’t you see it the first time?” Fern reached for Belle’s hand and held it up again so I could admire the ring. “Maybe I should have bought a bigger stone.”

  “Oh, no. It’s perfect.” Belle smiled coyly at me. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

  “Driving into San Francisco and flying home.”

  “Could you delay it? We have an appointment this afternoon, and we’re short one witness.” She beamed at Fern.

  They were really going to do it. They would be legally bound to each other forever until death or divorce interfered. I wanted to be happy for them. I wanted to believe.

  Belle misunderstood my hesitation. “I mean, if you can reschedule without it costing you a bunch.”

  “We’ll make up the difference,” said Fern. Again, that smug look. I almost wanted to slap her.

  “It’s just a little ceremony in the park overlooking the ocean,” said Belle.

  “Yeah, it’s no big deal,” said Fern. “Just the four of us. Five minutes, maybe. After that, a nice dinner, our treat. How about it?”

  There were people in my life with whom I didn’t share my deepest feelings, and our relationships were comfortably distant. But there were others—dear friends, family—with whom such distance seemed wrong, almost unethical. Because if you aren’t honest with those you love, what do you have? A relationship that skates on the surface without the awkward and sometimes messy humanity that binds us to each other. I had to decide in that split second which kind I had with them.

  I set my cup down. “Are you sure?”

  “Of what?” Belle frowned in consternation.

  “Christ,” Fern said. “Don’t screw it up for me, Karen. We ironed out our differences and everything is fine.”

  “So whatever it was in Palm Springs, you’re good now? Simple as that?”

  Belle looked at Fern. Fern glared at me.

  Belle removed her hand from Fern’s grasp.

  “Honey, don’t be like that,” Fern said. “You’re not mad again, are you? I can’t take this back-and-forth.”

  “I’m not mad. Don’t be childish.” Belle pushed her readers atop her head. “I know you love me in your own way, and I appreciate that you were willing to suffer to win me back. But Karen’s question reminds me of something I am apparently still in the habit of pushing out of my mind. And as thrilled as I would be to marry you, as much as I’ve hoped for this day, the fact is, we haven’t resolved our underlying issue. If we don’t face it, we’ll be right back where we were in Palm Springs.”

  “I told you I’ll watch my temper from now on, Babe. You don’t have to worry.”

  Belle shook her head and took a deep breath. “It’s not that, and you know it.”

  “Aw, come on. Don’t play games with me. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, I’m out of here.” Fern stood.

  “If you want, I will spell it out for you.”

  “I guess you’re going to have to because, obviously, I’m so stupid.” Fern looked trapped.

  Belle stood, too. “You’re ashamed of us as a couple.”

  “I’m not.” Fern shifted her eyes toward the door.

  “You are. I love you, Fern, and want to be with you. But I would like to be able to occasionally hold your hand in public. Or put my arm around you. But when we’re around other people, you treat me like I’m a friend.”

  “Well, we are friends. You’re my best friend, Belle. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  This was their problem, after all these years together? Stunned, I glanced at Belle, but she was fixated on Fern.

  “You hurt me every day. I never said anything, because I was afraid, but I won’t be silent anymore. If we’re going to get married, I need to know that you accept how we are. Otherwise, you’ll keep fighting the world, and I can’t take that.”

  Fern stopped glowering. Her shoulders dropped. “I do accept us. Maybe I don’t shout it to the rooftops, but I certainly never acted ashamed of us.”

  “Never?” Belle looked at Fern with such intensity I caught my breath. “Think back. And then I want an apology.”

  Their eyes locked. For a moment they just stared at each other. I could imagine Fern’s struggle, not wanting to lose Belle again but reluctant to give up ground. It was so intimate, I needed to get away. I started to get up.

  “Don’t,” Belle said.

  I sat back down.

  Belle gently pulled Fern down to sit on the bed with her. She kept Fern’s hand clasped in her own. “Think.”

  It was so quiet in the bedroom. From the kitchen came the sound of Helen washing dishes. She was singing along to the radio, God Only Knows by the Beach Boys.

  Fern shook her head. “I am not ashamed of us. Why would I be? I don’t know why you would imply that.”

  “Think back.”

  “What, my dealerships?”

  “Further.”

  Fern sat quietly for a moment. Then she reached for Belle’s hand. “You know they disowned me when they found out.”

  “Your parents,” Belle said softly.

  “Yeah. It was a kick in the gut. But I got over that a long time ago.”

  “Did you?”

  Fern waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Sure. I mean, at first, it hurt, but you move on. And it turned out, it didn’t matter. I was a great success without them.”

  “You were.”

  “So it was immaterial whether they cared about me being gay or not.”

  “But it wasn’t just them,” said Belle. “You had to pretend at work, too.”

  “I don’t know that I’d call it pretending.”

  “And not just at your dealerships. When the car manufacturers would have their annual convention at some fancy resort, you went alone.”

  “But—”

  Belle’s eyes brimmed. “You even went to Bali one year without me. You told me—”

  Fern picked at a thread on her robe. “I told you it was mostly work, and you wouldn’t have any fun.”

  The kitchen fell silent. Helen must have been listening.

  “And at the Christmas and Thanksgiving parties, and all the other holidays, all those years—”

  “I said I’d be busy the whole time, talking about work, hearing from the employees. That you’d be bored.” Fern pulled the thread tight. It snapped.

  I slowly lifted my cup to my mouth, having forgotten it was empty. The music in the kitchen changed to a classical station. Helen had stopped banging and clanging.

  Fern heaved a great sigh, reached over and gathered Belle to her. The two of them clung to each other. “I’m so sorry,” Fern said.

  I stood and pulled the door closed behind me.

  Chapter 11

  I SPENT THE DAY DRIVING around the peninsula, checking out shops at Carmel-by-the-Sea, cruising 17 Mile Drive, and stopping in at Pebble Beach to buy a couple of golf blouses. Enjoyed the chance to sightsee, and wished I’d had more time. I would have driven down Highway One to Nepenthe’s and the Phoenix gift shop, but too many tourists had the same idea, and I chose to turn back. Stil
l, I took plenty of pictures to show Curt when I returned to North Dakota—shots of twisted Monterey pines and the surf crashing against the rocky shoreline. Back at the hotel, I showered, put on some makeup, and slipped into a little black dress. Not exactly suitable for a wedding, but it was the only nice outfit I’d brought with me on that hasty flight from North Dakota, weeks ago.

  I drove back to Pacific Grove. The fogbank remained far out to sea, and the late afternoon sun cast a golden glow on Helen’s gentrified neighborhood. When I knocked on her door, she took one look at my outfit and shook her head. I followed her into her voluminous walk-in closet and emerged wearing an expensive, Bohemian-looking mid-calf skirt and jacket. Fern stood alone in the living room, gazing out the window. She had on a white dress jacket, white silk blouse, black slacks, and dark loafers. She wasn’t wearing the boot.

  “How’s your ankle?” I asked.

  She stuck her foot out and rotated it. “Don’t need it.” She glanced behind me, and her eyes widened.

  Belle stood in the doorway. Her silver-white hair was gathered in a chignon. She wore a white formal gown, adorned only by the diamond ring and a matching pair of earrings. Fern held out her hands, and Belle took them. They drew each other close for a chaste kiss.

  That was a first. They’d never kissed in front of me before.

  Helen appeared, jingling her car keys. “We should go.”

  She drove to a park overlooking the ocean. It wasn’t very big, maybe a couple acres of lush grass bordered by deep green Monterey Cypress. At the far end of the lawn, a wrought-iron arch framed the crashing blue ocean. An elderly man and woman waved to us from under the arch, and Helen waved back. “Those are my neighbors, Howard and Nancy. He’s a retired judge. Nancy was his clerk for a hundred years.”

  We greeted the couple, and Nancy gestured at a small table covered with white linen. “Those are my roses,” she said. “I cut them this morning.”

  Howard faced Fern and Belle, who held hands. Helen and I took our places behind them, and Nancy tiptoed about, taking pictures.

  As the judge began to speak of the sanctity of the institution, the white tablecloth flowed in the breeze. The scent of pines wafted past on the salt air. Beyond our little gathering, the ocean sparkled to the horizon, almost navy blue in the late afternoon light. Fern squeezed Belle’s hand, and I bit my lip, my eyes stinging.