by Gerri Hill
“Yes, it was close. It’s nights like this that I wish I had curtains on all the windows.” Melanie patted the spot beside her on the sofa. “Relax.”
“There are curtains in the little spare bedroom. Why?”
“It offers a sense of privacy to my guests. There’s not a soul out here and no one to see in. I didn’t see the point of curtains or blinds. I’m usually up before the sun anyway, so that was never an issue.”
Erin took her hand and folded their fingers together. “You’re worried it might hail?”
“Yes. It could wipe me out.”
“Then what?”
“Then I eat what’s left in the freezer and hope I don’t go through all of the canning I did.” She smiled. “And I resort to buying produce in the grocery store. I could manage, but most of these ladies live on their Social Security checks. Any extra expenses—like unexpected grocery bills—would really be a hardship to them.”
“What about the money Stella gets from her guests? She said something about having a general fund.”
Melanie nodded. “It’s used for repairs, mostly. And yearly taxes. Or like, for instance, when Rachel wanted to convert her heating to propane, when she couldn’t manage the wood stove any longer. Things like that. There’s never a huge amount of money and it goes quickly some years.”
“So me staying here this long is adding a good chunk to it then.”
“Yes. I think the next in line for repair is Vivian’s roof.”
“In line?”
“At the beginning of each year, everyone submits things they’d like done at their place. Stella ranks them.”
“What about you?”
Melanie shook her head. “I manage okay on my own. So far. I imagine when I get to be their age, I’ll be more inclined to accept money from the fund. If there is still one.”
“Stella is what? Seventy-five? What happens when she’s gone?”
“She says we’re taken care of. In her will, I mean. I have no reason to doubt her.”
“You’re the youngest. Do you worry you’ll be left here all alone?”
Melanie nodded. “The thought has crossed my mind, yes. No one has come since Angela and she came a year after me. Times have changed. It would take a unique circumstance for someone to want to move here.”
“Why did Angela move here?”
“Her partner died. Long battle with cancer. There was a lot of family drama and a nasty dispute over the house and her belongings and stuff. I think she wanted to get away from all that and grieve in peace. She told me in confidence one time that she didn’t know how long she’d stay. That was six years ago. She seems entrenched now.” Melanie squeezed her hand. “Why all the questions? Something to take your mind off the storm?”
She tilted her head, then smiled. “It must have worked. The thunder and lightning seem to have moved past us.”
“Is that it really?”
“No. I guess I wanted a picture of it all in my mind. Make sure you’re going to be okay and all.”
“You mean when you leave?”
Erin nodded. “Yeah. That.” She squeezed Melanie’s hand a little harder. “I didn’t plan on getting quite so attached to the place. To you.” Melanie surprised her by leaning her head against her shoulder.
“I know. Me, either. It’s going to be quiet around here.” Melanie turned her head, kissing her lightly on the cheek. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it yet. We still have time.”
Erin leaned over, meeting her mouth. “I vote we go to bed early.”
“Oh, yeah? Tired, are you?”
She deepened the kiss. “No.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Melanie leaned up on her elbow and rested her chin in her palm as she watched Erin sleep. The candle she’d lit earlier cast enough light for her to see Erin’s features clearly. Her face was relaxed, her breathing even…her eyelids fluttered slightly as she dreamed. The storm had passed, but there was still enough breeze to lift the limbs of the piñon pine; they brushed against the wall by their heads.
She was feeling lonely—and loneliness was something she knew well—but this was a different kind of lonely. She’d spent seven years out here regretting her past, keeping her neighbors at arm’s length, living a solitary life. She knew loneliness. She feared, though, that when Erin left, it would be altogether different. She feared she’d live not regretting her past but rather regretting what her future held for her. Or rather, what it didn’t hold.
Nothing. Her future held nothing. Just like her past. There was only emptiness, both behind her and in front of her.
With Erin here, she got a glimpse of how it would be—could be—if she had a partner, a lover, someone to share her space, share her bed, share her life. She quite liked it.
She smiled and shook her head. Yeah—she liked having Erin in her bed. She’d been terrified at the prospect, but it had been unwarranted fear. Maybe she had healed after all. Maybe during the eleven years of hanging on to the guilt, clutching it to her like a baby might a favorite blanket, she’d grown stronger, without even knowing it. She’d clutched the blanket of guilt tightly, covering her head—hiding—in the darkest of hours.
What was she hiding from? At the beginning, she’d had such self-loathing, she hadn’t felt she deserved to live, much less have any happiness in her life. She hated herself so much, she could hardly stand to look in a mirror. Unlike Adam, though, she didn’t have the courage to take her own life. She would be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it…hadn’t talked about it with her therapist.
She’d felt so strongly about getting away, moving out here, it was as if a higher power had been directing her. It became a compulsion. At the time, she knew she was running away from society, from her mother, from the sure fate that awaited her if she’d stayed. And maybe, way down deep, below the surface of reality, she’d hoped she could run away from her guilt and the awful memories that haunted her.
That had proven to be nothing more than false hope.
Or was it? Now—eleven years since Adam’s death, seven years since she’d run away—where was her guilt? Was it still there? Or was it only the memory of her guilt that lingered?
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, watching the shadows dance in the candlelight. Why had Adam killed himself? She’d asked herself that question a thousand times and she always had an answer. Her fault. Could there have been more to it, though? Adam truly loved her, without doubt. Why would he have taken his life, knowing how badly it would hurt her? He wasn’t a spiteful person, he wasn’t vindictive. He was always kind, always loving.
Why had he killed himself?
How long was she going to take the blame?
Could she possibly let it go? Had she already let it go? Admittedly, she felt lighter somehow. The heavy weight of guilt wasn’t crushing her. She attributed it to Erin, of course. That’s the only thing that had changed in her life—Erin. Well, not the only thing. Erin was a presence here—as a friend, as a confidant…now a lover. That’s a lot of change for someone used to living alone, being alone. Existing alone.
If someone had asked her if she was happy, her answer would have always been yes. Happy enough, that is. When she was younger, she kept waiting for happiness to find her—or for her to find it. It proved to be elusive on both ends. It wasn’t until she was older that she realized that happiness came from within. She didn’t need to rely on someone else to make her happy. Of course, those years after Adam’s death, she’d forgotten all about happiness. She was so focused on her guilt, on her own pain, she was blind to everything else. Happiness and anything that resembled it—those had been secondary.
And now? Right now? Right this second?
She turned to look at Erin again. An involuntary smile formed and she let it come. No, she didn’t need someone to make her happy. But it sure helped. It was fun to have someone around, someone to talk to, someone to cook with and eat with. Someone to laugh with. And
someone to share her bed, someone to love, someone to touch. All those things brought her happiness. Right now.
What would happen when Erin left? Could the memories sustain her? The memories of Adam and his death sustained her for years. Could Erin’s memory do the same?
She was surprised that her smile didn’t fade altogether. She would miss Erin, yes, but she wouldn’t allow that to define her. She wouldn’t allow that to control her. Not after Adam. Not after eleven long years of feeling bound by chains. She wouldn’t do it again.
Happiness came from within and it was the here and now. It wasn’t her past and it wasn’t her future. It was now.
And for now, she was choosing to be happy.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“You don’t really want to talk to her, do you?”
Erin shook her head. “Not really, no. Part of it is, I don’t want to think about work. The other part, though, it’s cruel, I guess.”
“Cruel?”
“Joyce feels guilty for bringing me out here, leaving me. And the longer I go without talking to her, the more her guilt intensifies.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. Mean. So I need to talk to her, let her know I’m okay.” She squeezed Melanie’s hand. “Let her know I’m not still pissed at her.”
Melanie grinned. “Were you pissed at her?”
“Big time. Both her and my dad.”
They pulled up to a stop in front of Stella’s house and Fred limped out to meet them. She bent down, petting his head. She’d never had a pet growing up. She didn’t recall ever asking for one. As kids, they’d been kept plenty busy, running from one activity to another. When Sarah moved in with her, she brought Elle, the yappy little foo-foo dog along. It was her first time living with a pet and she figured it would be her last.
“I didn’t realize how much he’d aged.”
She glanced at Mel. “How old did you say he was? Fifteen?”
“I don’t think anyone knows for sure. Fifteen is the best guess.”
“Is that old?”
Mel nodded. “I think anything past twelve or thirteen is considered really old for a dog.” She, too, leaned down to ruffle his head. “I do kinda miss him being around.” She smiled at her. “At least he barks when company comes by.”
“Like a warning when you’re out gardening topless?”
Melanie laughed at that. “Can you picture the look on Stella’s face had she found us in the creek?”
“Can you picture the look on your face had she caught us?” she teased.
Melanie met her gaze, her expression becoming more serious. “It’s not that, Erin. I’m not trying to hide this—us—because I’m embarrassed or ashamed or anything like that. Frankly, it’s not any of her business.”
“She would disapprove?”
“She’s old-school. I’m the host, you’re the guest. She would frown upon it. And she’d have a hundred questions. And then the others would find out.”
“And we’d become the talk of the town?”
“Exactly.”
She nodded. “I understand. I know you protect your privacy, Mel. Like you said, it’s no one’s business.”
Melanie squeezed her arm as they walked up the steps to Stella’s door. “Thank you.” Then she grinned as she rapped on Stella’s door. “You’re the best.”
The words were said casually, teasingly, but still, they affected her. No one had ever said that to her before, not even teasingly. She returned Mel’s smile, but before she could reply, Stella was already opening the door.
“Good morning, girls,” she said with a wide smile. “Come in, come in. The coffee is freshly made and I’ve just pulled the banana bread out of the oven.”
“Smells wonderful,” she said, then turned to Mel. “Why haven’t we made banana bread?”
“Because we ate all of the bananas. And I thought you liked the zucchini bread?”
“Oh, I do. Especially last week when you put chocolate chips in it.”
“You put chocolate chips in yours?” Stella asked. “I’ve never heard of that.”
Melanie looked at her accusingly, and Erin laughed. “We were experimenting,” she said to Stella. “We also found a recipe to make chocolate zucchini bread. Next trip into town, we’re going to get the stuff for that.” She rubbed her belly. “Mel is determined to send me home in a fatted state, apparently.”
“Oh, please. The chocolate is all your idea!”
“You’ll have to tell me how that turns out. Chocolate is my weakness,” Stella said as she led them into the kitchen.
“I loved that chocolate cake you made. That was rich and gooey.”
“Glad you liked it, dear. If you come to the next dinner—less than two weeks away—I’ll make it again for you. You’ll need to take some home with you this time. Heaven knows I don’t need to eat all that.” Stella poured coffee into the three cups she already had out on her kitchen table. “I’ll get this bread sliced up. Why don’t you give your sister a call? The phone is in the den by my chair.”
Yes, she supposed she should get it over with. She picked up one of the cups and took a sip, then put it back down. “Be right back.”
“Take your coffee, dear. If I remember correctly, you are quite a bear without it.”
Melanie laughed and so did she. “A bear? I think maybe it was Rachel’s decaf—and her tasteless beans—that had me growling. I’m not a bear. Tell her, Mel.”
“You’re not a bear,” she said with a smile, then turned to Stella. “She’s not a bear. She’s quite pleasant in the mornings, actually.”
“Thank you. Don’t start on the banana bread without me.”
“Go already.” Melanie waved her away. “I won’t eat your bread.”
She was still smiling when she went into Stella’s small den. There was an ancient TV on an equally ancient stand tucked into one corner. A small sofa, not much bigger than a loveseat was against one wall. A large, comfy-looking brown chair with matching ottoman took center stage. There was a tall lamp behind it and an end table on the right side of the chair. Besides the phone—how often did that ring? she wondered—there was a pile of books, six of them, and a pair of reading glasses on the table.
Her smile faded as she stared at the phone. What time was it? Hell, what day was it? Should she try Joyce at the office? At least she knew that number. She had no clue what Joyce’s cell number was. Her phone, like her laptop, was forgotten, somewhere in her bedroom. Her smile returned. A bedroom she no longer used, except to grab fresh clothes. She’d even been using Melanie’s spacious shower instead of the tiny one in her room. Wonder what Joyce would think of that?
Like Melanie with Stella, she didn’t fancy Joyce knowing about their relationship. It would bring questions, and she’d just as soon not have to answer them. And like Stella, it wasn’t any of Joyce’s business.
She went to pick up the phone when she saw a painting on the wall. It was of Stella, her short gray hair glistening in the sunshine, clad in knee-length blue shorts and a colorful blouse boasting sunflowers. There was a smile on her face as she surveyed her garden. This must be the painting Melanie was telling her about. She wondered if it was bittersweet for Stella to look at it. Did she remember the woman who gave it with fondness or sadness? Did she think of a lost love when she stared at it?
She let her gaze travel across the painting, landing on the rows of tomatoes, the bright red fruit a contrast to the vibrant green. There was a single sunflower blooming tall at the far edge of the garden, matching the flowers in Stella’s blouse. She wondered if the sunflower was significant. It looked out of place in the garden. Maybe it was something private between the two women…a secret they shared.
She finally picked up the phone, smiling at the age of it. Only in her far distant memory could she recall her parents’ phone being tethered by a cord. By the time she was old enough to use the phone, it was cordless.
She stood beside Stella’s chair and dialed the office number. It was answe
red after two rings, the pleasant voice of Lacy, the receptionist, sounding in her ear. Erin cleared her throat before speaking.
“Good morning, Lacy. It’s Erin…Erin Ryder. May I speak with Joyce, please?”
“Oh, Ms. Ryder! Good morning. Yes, ma’am. I’ll put you right through.”
Erin nodded, finally sitting down in Stella’s chair. Lacy sounded surprised to hear from her. She wondered what the rumor was going around the office regarding her absence.
“Erin? My God…is that you?”
“Hi, Joyce.”
“Are you okay? Why haven’t you called me? I’ve been so worried.”
She smiled at the urgency in her voice. Yeah, Joyce was feeling guilty for dumping her off here. “Because there’s no cell service out here. None. Zero.”
“But I’ve called Stella. She’s—”
“She’s got an ancient landline. I’m over at her house now.”
“Where are you staying? Every time I call, she makes excuses as to why I can’t talk to you. I was beginning to think—”
“That they’d locked me away in a dark dungeon?”
“Something like that. Are you okay?”
“Fine. You don’t have to call and check on me. I think you’re stressing Stella by calling. Apparently, she was under the assumption that this was a jail sentence and I would try to escape.”
“I thought you would. Erin…I almost came out there to get you. I feel terrible about it. I had no right—Dad had no right—to force you into this. We—”
“Joyce, you did the right thing. I wasn’t listening to reason, obviously. I was slowly killing myself.” She paused. “I realize now how badly I needed this.” She smiled as she glanced up at the painting again. “I probably wouldn’t have picked this particular place at the time, but now that I’m here…I’m really glad you found it.”
“You are? You’re not still mad at me?”
“No.”
“Good. Because I miss you being here. Dad misses you being here. I think he forgot how much work it was to juggle several projects at once. We shouldn’t talk about work, though. Don’t want you stressing over anything. It’ll all still be here when you get back.”