by Linda Hill
I remember her e-mail now, remember the mentioned kiss, and my eyes fall to her mouth. Such a kissable mouth.
“Why didn’t you blame me?” she asks, breaking through my reverie.
It’s my turn to smile. “Don’t get me wrong. I blamed you for plenty,” I assure her.
Grace rewards me with her throaty laughter.
“But never for what happened with Connie.” I grew serious again.
“But why?”
I hesitate and grow nervous, knowing my reply, not wanting to let her see the emotions behind it. “Because I loved you,” I sigh. “Because in my mind you were so pure. So sweet.”
A wide, mischievous grin slides across her face. “We both know that’s not entirely true, don’t we?” Her eyebrows are dancing wickedly, and I laugh. My mind races, wondering if she’s insinuating that she isn’t so sweet and pure, or that she doesn’t believe my reason for not blaming her. I assume the first.
“You were sweet to me,” I remind her, then reconsider. “At first.”
“Ooh.” She cringes. “And pure?”
More images flood my mind, quick, staccato flashes. Grace in Miami, her body smooth with sweat beneath mine.
Now my grin is as wicked as hers is. “Virginal.”
Her laughter is delicious.
“Okay,” I admit. “Maybe not. But before, yes. The first year.” My smile softens as I watch her digest this. She is thinking back, remembering.
“You were my first lover, you know.” She says these words as if they hurt her, and I feel my heart constrict. Regret. So much regret. Regret that has haunted me for years.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” I’ve never meant the words more.
“I know,” she assures me.
I want to take her hand, step into a time machine, and go back to that time of innocence. I want to take it all back and start over, knowing then what I know now. It takes everything inside me not to say these words aloud.
“What made you come here tonight?” I ask instead. “Why did you track me down and follow me?” It’s my turn to watch her shift with discomfort.
“I’m not sure …” Her voice trails off slightly. “I think I began to panic, a little. It seems like we’ve been in touch so much lately. Like you’re somehow part of my life again.” She was at loose ends, searching for words. “I was afraid that after tomorrow you would leave and that would be it. Poof. Out of my life again.”
My eyes close briefly, involuntarily. She has been reading my mind, echoing my thoughts.
“We’re always leaving each other.” Her smile is sad, reaching her eyes. “I’ve missed you. And I don’t want to lose you again, Liz.”
“Grace.” Her name leaves my lips as I shake my head, checking my words. “You just don’t know,” I say finally. Then before I know it, my arms are reaching out and Grace Sullivan is moving into them, the palms of her hands pressing against my back as my fingers find the length of her curls.
I’m astonished as my mind begins to scream. One month ago the idea of holding Grace like this was inconceivable. But here she is, holding me close.
Moments pass as I listen to our quickened breathing. We are unmoving, awkward together, and I know this moment is as much a shock to her as it is to me.
But as our breathing settles, I begin to feel her fingertips roll along my spine. I bury my face in the nape of her neck and breathe deeply, remembering her scent, memorizing the feel of her smooth skin against my cheek.
Joanna comes to mind, and I push the thought of her aside. Forcefully. Purposely. There will be plenty of time to think about Joanna later, I know. At this moment all I know, all I care about, is that I am holding Grace Sullivan in my arms.
My lips brush her throat. Once. Just once, I tell myself. Then her lips are traveling my neck, my cheek. Our breath mingles and becomes labored as our mouths move closer, each of us asking the other the same question. We hesitate as our lips finally meet. Tentative. So tentative. Gentle and unsure. But soon there is the certainty as our mouths remember. Heads tilt just so while lips part and the sweetness of her tongue finds mine.
I shudder as our breathing becomes so loud that I can hear nothing else. Hands are moving now, fingers touching, tracing lines along skin that until now was just a memory. Remembering.
The kiss is broken, and we pull apart from each other, just enough for our eyes to meet as we catch our breath. I expect to find laughter in her eyes, a sort of triumph. Instead I see a seriousness that sobers me. My heart turns over at least three times, and I wonder if I ever stopped loving Grace Sullivan, even for one moment of my life.
Her lips turn down at the corners while her nostrils flare slightly from her effort to calm her breathing. Dark eyes dart back and forth between mine, looking for an answer.
“I should go,” she says, finding her voice.
I know she should leave now. But I’m not ready for the moment to be over. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Please don’t.” The words are out before I’m even aware of it. “I don’t want you to go.”
Again, the triumphant smile that I expect to see on her face does not appear. Instead, her frown begins to soften and a heavy sigh escapes her lips as she wraps her arms around me and pulls me close again.
Chapter 10
Slowly, I become aware of sunlight spreading its heat across my cheek and I turn my head away from the brightness, blinking the sleep from my eyes.
“Is it really you?” Grace’s voice is husky with the morning, her eyes twinkling with something between mischief and disbelief. She is propped up on one elbow, the stark white sheet covering her body from the shoulder down. She is grinning as she lifts a finger and lets it trace the line of my chin.
“Hi,” I smile sleepily. “So I wasn’t dreaming after all.” My arm reaches out and curls behind her head automatically.
“Who had time to dream?” Her chuckle is low. “We didn’t even sleep, did we?”
I stretch and purr as she leans over me, her mouth beginning to play along my collarbone. Every muscle in my body is sore with pleasure, and I tell her so.
“You’re just out of practice, sweetie,” she whispers against my ear, not knowing just how accurate a statement she is making.
“Does it show?” I ask her, feeling a momentary flash of inadequacy.
“Absolutely not.” She shifts her weight until her full length is on mine. My arms slide up and come to rest around her neck.
I return her smile, making a game of tangling my legs with hers. She is staring down at me, brown eyes wide. My fingers fall to her mouth and I want nothing else in the world but those lips to cover mine. Again.
“I don’t think I’ve ever kissed anyone for so long,” I muse, and lift my head just enough to press my lips to hers.
“Mmm,” she sighs. “That was wonderful.”
I can’t deny it. We had spent hours just kissing and touching, reacquainting ourselves with each other.
Now I look up at her, remembering our passion, still not quite believing that Grace is here in my arms. “I’d forgotten how incredible it is with you.”
“Really?”
I think about it only briefly. “No. That’s not true. I don’t think I’ve ever forgotten.” Our eyes meet and lock, speaking volumes about all things between us. All things past and now present.
“How long will you be here in town?” she finally asks, breaking the spell. “Do you have to go back right away?”
I sober at her words, remembering why I’m here. Remembering the mess that I know will probably greet me when I get home. I’m not ready to go.
“No. I can stay a while longer.” I reach up to brush aside a stray curl from her forehead. “How long did you have in mind?”
Her eyes sear into mine again. “I suppose forever would be out of the question?”
My heart does flip-flops even as I watch her cringe at her own words. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Shh.” I put m
y finger to her lips. “Don’t be sorry.” I can feel unreasonable tears trying to squeeze from beneath my eyelids. “Please don’t be sorry.” My lips replace the finger on her lips, and we are kissing in earnest now, our bodies stretching with hunger as hands and fingers and tongues grow more and more demanding.
Chapter 11
Grace just barely jumped out of bed in time to shower and run to the studio. I am lying exactly as she left me, curled up in the oversize bed, while I watch her report the morning news.
Her hair is pulled back and twisted in a fashionŹable knot. Her cheeks are flushed and her voice even huskier than usual. For the first time in my life, I feel desire from an image on the television set. She is nothing short of hot. And the knowledge that she has just left our bed, and that we will be sharing another bed that night, makes me want her all the more. I find myself regretting that I won’t be able to watch the news at noon.
I take my time showering and dressing for the funeral. My life has taken such a dramatic turn, and I am caught between euphoria and trepidation. I have no idea where this weekend with Grace is leading. I have no idea if it is even leading anywhere. But I don’t care. All I know is that she is taking tomorrow off. That she will pick me up at the agency where I’d rented my car at three o’clock today. That she will make reservations at a hotel in Chicago. That we have three more nights together. What happens after that is unimportant to me. Today. But I know that once Sunday arrives I will be fraught with anxiety.
I choose to ignore the warning bells in my head. Instead I methodically change my airline reservations. Then I call Joanne and calmly explain that I am staying until Sunday. She asks no questions. I volunŹteer no answers.
I do two things that afternoon at the funeral service that cause me immediate shame, which I admit to no one. The first is that I am completely distracted by the time I arrive at the service. I feel myself grow impatient to be gone and away from the cloud of pain and death that has hovered over me since I’d first heard about Connie’s accident.
The simpler truth is that I want to be with Grace. Time is now suddenly a commodity to me, and I want to spend every possible moment with her.
As a result I hang back, observing, and find that I am seeing the proceedings as I imagined Grace might see them.
She is correct in her assumption that nearly everyone in attendance is gay or lesbian. I file this information away, imagining that I will tell her she was right. I already know her reply. I know that I will get that I-told-you-so grin.
The second thing I do that afternoon is nonŹchalantly flip through the guest book, assuming that I’ll never find Grace’s signature. But there it is, on the bottom of page two, the bold strokes of her handŹwriting. I am instantly repentant for thinking the worst of her, and reprimand myself immediately for thinking she’d been lying to me.
I stay no longer at the funeral than is socially required. Grace is waiting for me in the parking lot of the rental agency where I’d rented my car. She is impatiently tapping her fingers along the steering wheel of her MG while her eyes scan page after page of the most recent Time magazine.
As I approach her car, she lifts her face, revealing dark glasses and a bright, jaunty smile. “Get in,” she tells me, her voice hovering between intimacy and lust.
She practically throws the car into gear, and we fly to the highway. Four miles later, she is pulling over to the shoulder of the two-lane road, cutting the engine, and twisting in her seat until her mouth finds and covers mine hungrily. Greedily.
“I missed you,” she growls.
“I love watching you do the news.” I can barely get the words out around our kisses.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Her hands are inside my shirt, reaching up to cover my breasts.
“I was lying in bed, watching you.” The throbbing between my legs is unbearable. “Wanting you.” Our mouths are open, our kisses anything but soft.
“I want you now.” One hand is reaching for the zipper of my pants. Then I know nothing, feel nothing, except the exquisite pleasure of Grace’s mouth and hands.
We are giggling like schoolgirls. The top of the convertible is down, the wind is whipping our faces, and we are laughing.
“And here I thought you were so worried about being outed,” I call out. “What if we had been caught?”
“Who cares,” she laughs carelessly, grinning as she squeezes my hand. “I’m so glad you can stay.” She brings my hand to her lips and kisses two knuckles.
Her smile grows serious for a moment, and she lets her eyes wander from the road to my face. “How was the funeral? Are you okay?”
I shrug and nod at the same time.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
“Later,” I say, curling my fingers around hers. It’s too soon to switch back to the funeral and the topic of death. Right now I just want to look at Grace and revel in the moment.
Chapter 12
It is Sunday morning. The day we have both dreaded. The day we have completely avoided. As if by ignoring its looming presence it might pass us by, completely unnoticed.
I feel her beside me before I open my eyes. She is watching me, lying on her side, elbow propping herself up as her chin rests in the palm of one hand.
Her eyes are dark. Nearly black.
She is crying. Silent tears swell and spill down each cheek and drop to the pillow below. I can’t help notice that the path is well marked from tears before.
My throat constricts and tightens. I recall the last time I saw her in tears. In the Miami airport. When she’d held me and we’d sobbed uncontrollably. Always at an airport. Always saying good-bye.
“I don’t want to lose you again.” She chokes out the words. I know how rare it is to get this close, for her to let anyone in. Her voice caresses me, soothes me. Seduces me.
“You won’t, Grace,” I whisper. “Please believe that.”
“You don’t understand,” she says. But I do. I’ve never understood anything more in my life. What I can’t believe is that she is giving voice to the very emotions I am feeling.
“Understand what?”
Her jaw sets tightly as she gains momentary control of the tears. I watch the struggle play across her features, and my heart swells as I watch this proud, stubborn woman.
“I love you, Liz.” She isn’t smiling. “It’s that simple for me.” The words leave her lips in a whoosh. She hesitates briefly. “You’re the woman I want to be with. Whatever it takes. I still want the puppy and the white picket fence. And I still want those things with you.”
I cannot believe that I am hearing these words from her lips. I cannot believe she’s expressing the same dreams we had shared so many years ago. After all the times I’ve thought of Grace throughout my life. After so much regret.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. But my heart begins to cave inside my chest, and the vision of her brown eyes, hovering inches above mine, begins to blur as tears win out over laughter.
“Grace,” I say. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.” I blink hard and wipe the back of my hand across my eyes. “Don’t get me wrong,” I begin to sniffle. “I haven’t been pining away or anything. But you’ve always been right here.” I tap my chest above my heart, and she places the palm of her hand in that very spot. Her smile is wistful. “Like a constant reminder of what I once had. And what I once lost.” I think about never seeing Grace again. Never touching her. Never kissing her. The tears begin in earnest.
“I don’t want to lose you either, Grace. Not after we found each other again. That would be too cruel.” I shake my head. “Never again. Never.”
She gathers me up in her arms and I bury my face in the hollow of her neck. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.” I whisper the words and she returns them to me, lovingly, adoringly.
“Promise me we’ll get through this.”
“I promise.”
“Promise me we’ll be together.” “I promise.”
We won’t make the same mistakes again. We promise. This time will be different. We promise. We’ve learned from the past and won’t let anything get in our way. This time we will be together. For certain. We promise.
Chapter 13
Joanna’s car is in the driveway when I finally arrive home. I sit in my car longer than necessary, looking up at the house, then out at the vegetable garden that is already overdue for spring planting. I expect to feel something. Anything. Guilt. Remorse. Loss. But I feel only a strange detachment.
What will I say to Joanna? It is the first moment that I’ve allowed myself to think forward to the consequences of the last few days. Will I crumble the moment I see her? Should I tell her right away?
I let these thoughts circle my brain as I close my eyes briefly, squeezing them tight. I can see Grace’s face if I close my eyes. Her smile brilliant. Wide and toothy with laughter. Then I recall her face as we’d left each other’s arms just hours before at the airport. Her brown eyes dark with intensity as the tears subsided and she grew solemn and urgent in her plea. “Don’t forget.”
“I promise.” I’d tried my best to reassure her. Then the flight attendant was calling for all passenŹgers, and I had to leave her.
Grace is still too close to me, her physical presence too clear. My lips are bruised and chapped from hours upon hours of kissing. And even now I want more. Want that mouth on mine with an inŹsatiable hunger that I cannot satisfy.
I finally step from the car, retrieve both bags, and fling one over my shoulder as I make my way to the door.
Silence greets me first, followed quickly by the sound of Ginger and MaryAnn purring with delight as they wind figure eights between my legs.
“Anybody home?” I call out into the silence as I make my way down the hallway to the bedroom.
“In the kitchen,” is the faintly distracted reply. I utter a loud harrumph and dump my bags to the floor. I can’t help thinking that in the old days Joanna would have greeted me eagerly at the door.