by Linda Hill
“Don’t let me ruin your evening. Please,” I say firmly. Then I give both kittens a scratch behind the ear and pick up my bag. “I’m going to turn in, anyway.” I say good night and muster as much nonchalance as I can as I head toward my bedroom.
Joanna is barely sixty seconds behind me. She opens my door and catches me just as I sit down on the bed.
“Liz. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” “It’s okay.”
“We met last month. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times lately, but you’ve been so hurt and absorbed.”
“It’s okay,” I say again. Absorbed is probably an understatement.
“I didn’t want to hurt you any more than you were already hurting.”
“Joanna.” I hold up my hand. “Really. I’m okay with this. I understand. Stop apologizing.” My voice is firm, but it has an edge. My exhaustion is showing.
We stare at each other for several moments until Joanna lets out a huge sigh and steps over to sit beside me.
“So why are you back so soon?” She asks the question quietly, and I suddenly want to cry. But I’m done crying. Tired of crying. Numbness settles over me.
“It’s over,” I tell her simply. “She wouldn’t say the words, but it was obvious. So I said them.” I shrugged. “There was no point in staying.”
I glance at Joanna, and her eyes are watching me closely. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“I will be,” I tell her. Even though I don’t believe it yet. But of course I will be. Everyone gets through it, eventually.
The silence between us is comforting, and then I remember that Amy is waiting in the other room.
“Amy seems very nice.” I smile and hope Joanna knows I’m sincere.
“She is. Very sweet.” Joanna colors just a bit. “Kind of cute, too.” I raise an eyebrow, teasing
her.
She reaches out to nudge my shoulder before growing serious. “I hope you’ll like her, Liz. That you’ll get a chance to know her.”
“I’m sure I will,” I assure her.
First MaryAnn and then Ginger meows their way into the room, and we both watch as they begin rubbing against our legs.
“I guess you and I have a few things we need to work out, huh?” Joanna sounds sad, reluctant.
I nod, knowing that the time has come for us to let go. “Indeed we do.” Tears begin to threaten, this time for Joanna instead of Grace. “We’ll start tomorrow.” I stand up and pull her up from the bed. “Now get out of here. You have a guest to entertain.”
She squeezes me tightly. “Thanks, Liz,” she whispers, and my eyes begin to mist over as she closes the door behind her.
Chapter 22
Seven years ago, shortly after Joanna and I had bought the house, Joanna had insisted that we build a swing set that her sister’s kids could play on. They lived in an apartment at the time, and Joanna wanted them to have a safe place to play.
They played in our yard nearly every day of the summer those first couple of years. But they are older now, in junior high and high school, and we only see them on holidays.
I sit, with a coffee mug in my hands, on one of the two swings now, listening to the birds greeting the morning. I reflect on how things have changed over the years.
I’d believed back then that Joanna and I would be together forever. Now that the relationship is coming to a close, I’m thinking that Joanna is more family to me than the blood relatives back home. I hope we don’t lose that. I hope that we can find a way to bridge this time, blend our past with the future, and come out on the other end still part of each other’s family.
My thoughts jump to Grace with a thump of my heart, and I wonder how many days, weeks, months will have to pass before I no longer think of her umpteen times each day.
I sip my coffee and watch a robin search the ground for breakfast. I can hear Joanna approaching from behind. Without looking, I know that she has joined me on the swing beside me. But the morning is too young and I’m far too vulnerable to look into her eyes so early.
“Shouldn’t you be entertaining your guest?” I ask the question not to be catty, but with sincerity.
She doesn’t reply, and I think that maybe she thinks I’m being sarcastic. I turn to quickly reassure her.
But the eyes that meet mine aren’t the blue of Joanna’s. They’re brown. Dark brown. Slightly bloodŹshot. Definitely tired. My heart stops beating.
“Hi.”
I stare for several moments, not trusting my eyes. Then I blink and return my eyes to the robin, which is still hopping in the grass.
“You didn’t check in to your hotel.” Grace’s voice is quiet, almost gravelly.
“No.” My voice is small and not yet quite awake.
“You should have known that I’d never be able to stay away if I knew you were there,” she is saying. “I went to the hotel right after my broadcast.”
“I had no reason to think you would come.” My voice is a monotone. “And I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting in a hotel room. Waiting. I had to leave.”
“I’m sorry, Liz. You caught me so off guard. I was an ass.”
My shoulders lift in a shrug. “You’ll get no arguŹment from me on that one.”
We are silent for a while, and the robin flies away. Unreasonably, I search for something else to focus on. Anything so that I don’t have to look at Grace. My coffee mug becomes the center of my universe.
“I think I woke Joanna up. She didn’t seem exactly pleased to see me.”
I smile a little at this, then try to remember the last time that the two of them had met. Five, maybe six years ago.
“She only gave me a small piece of her mind before she told me where you were,” Grace conŹtinued, piquing my curiosity.
“Really? What did she say?” I risk a glance and watch her stretch her arms up over her head and grasp the ropes of the swing.
“Oh,” she begins wryly. “Basically to shit or get off the pot.”
Amused, I glance back over my shoulder and see Joanna and Amy sitting out on the balcony of the master bedroom, nearly a hundred yards away. The absurdity strikes my funny bone, and I raise my mug in a mock toast.
Joanna returns the gesture, and I smile before turning back to Grace.
“Who’s that with her?” she asks.
“That would be Amy. Her new girlfriend.”
Grace whistled low. “Things sure have changed around here. Are you okay?”
“See what you missed in just three months?” I keep my voice light as I continue. “Yeah. I’m okay. A little sad. But okay.”
Grace searches my face and then nods and looks away. The silence stretches, and I’m surprised to realize that it is almost companionable and not unŹcomfortable.
“I think I counted six billboards and eight taxicabs with your face on them. Just between the airport and your office building,” I muse. “You really made it, Grace. You should be very proud of yourŹself.”
“Thanks. But it’s all so daunting. Not to mention overwhelming and hectic and scary.” She slides me a small smile, and for the first time that morning, I feel a crack in my armor. “It hasn’t been an easy adjustment,” she finally adds, and I think on this, admitting to myself and to her that it probably wasn’t.
My mind digests this information, and I begin to think about what it must be like. To be in Grace’s shoes. To look up in the sky and see your face plastered there. Smiling. Always smiling.
“Do you ever get sick of smiling?” I ask stupidly.
“Yes,” she admits, grinning, knowing exactly what
I’m talking about. The unexpected grin disarms me, and I avert my gaze.
“I subscribed to City Magazine.”
“Really?” I’m genuinely surprised.
Grace nods. “It was a way of keeping you close, I think.” She blinks and interrupts herself. “Without keeping you close, that is. I was being a voyeur into your life, from afar.”
“A simple phone call would’ve probab
ly been an easier way to keep tabs on me.”
She doesn’t take the bait.
“I’ve enjoyed your photographs. You seem to be doing pretty well yourself.”
I nod. “I suppose so. I’ve actually gotten a couple of other assignment offers.” I think about the two phone calls that I have yet to return, and shake my head. “Guess I should get back to them, huh?” I say this more to myself than to Grace, who twists an eyebrow quizzically.
“I’ve been preoccupied.” My smile is resigned. “I’ve been having trouble making decisions. Making plans or commitments of any kind.” I tip my head back toward the house. “Even with Joanna. Things have changed so much, and she’s ready to move on. I’ve just been reluctant to do anything until I knew for certain what was happening with us.” I choke a little and take a sip of coffee.
Grace bends down, runs a hand through the grass before plucking a blade and examining it closely. “I know what you mean. I haven’t let myself think about anything but work. Partly because I want to do well. But also because it can all be so intimidating. Sometimes it makes me want to put my tail between my legs and go home to Champaign where I belong.”
Selfishly, I am hurt that it doesn’t even occur to her to run to me. Then I realize that it isn’t even in her makeup to run to someone. She would rather build up her walls, put her head down, and run full steam ahead. Needing someone was a weakness to Grace, and she would never admit to being so vulnerable.
As if reading my thoughts, Grace’s voice drops down to a monotone. “I’ve trained myself pretty well over the years. I know how to focus. How to shut out every distraction.”
“How to avoid things …” I smile and am rewarded with a small crinkle at the corner of her eyes.
“How to avoid things.” She repeats my words and chuckles.
“You’re a master at avoidance,” I tease.
“Agreed. But it tends to get me in the end. Eventually.” She sighs, growing serious. “I’m sorry I avoided you, Liz. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I know it was wrong of me. I knew it at the time. But I’ve been paralyzed. Cold and paralyzed.”
“I would have understood,” I tell her.
“And I know that, Liz. But it wasn’t about you and me. It was about my career.”
I listen to her words and try my best to appreciate them, but I can’t. “But Grace, that’s where you and I are different. To me it’s all the same thing. Everything in either of our lives had to do with us. Your career and your future had everyŹthing to do with our future.”
She stares at me, and I know I’m not getting through. “Your decision to take the job in New York didn’t just affect you. It affected me. It affected us.”
Her lips turn down slightly as I continue. “I don’t want to start preaching about what I think a relaŹtionship should be. But to me it’s about making decisions together. It’s about building a life together. It’s not about saying I love you until something comes along that throws a wrench into the works. It’s about trust and companionship and compromise and commitment. And about working through things together. Keeping your own identity, certainly. But as partners.”
Grace blinks hard and looks away while sadness and futility overwhelm me.
“I don’t know how to do it that way,” she says, her voice growing distant. “I never have. And I don’t know that I’ll ever change.”
I already know this about Grace. Have always known it, in fact. But I am weary. Tired of the struggle.
“This is nice,” she says suddenly, her voice warm. “Talking like this, I mean. I’ve missed it.”
Right now I just want her to stop being nice. It is much easier to let go of Grace the bitch.
Now she is grinning as she reaches out and taps the front of the baseball cap I’d pulled on that morning to cover the mess that sleep had made of my hair overnight. “You’re kind of cute in that hat.”
I’d forgotten that I was wearing the cap and the T-shirt that I’d slept in and am mortified. I tug at the hat and grimace, my cheeks growing hot. “I just rolled out of bed.”
“You look adorable.”
I harrumph loudly and look away while I put the coffee mug to my lips. Then I ask the question that has hounded me from the moment I saw that first billboard.
“So tell me,” I begin. “Did you just stop loving me? Or did you decide that I’d never fit in to your life?” I pause and search her face. A decade of doubt begins to pile up, and too many of my fears erupt behind my eyes. “Do I embarrass you? Is it that you’re ashamed of me?”
Her jaw drops. “God, no, Liz. Whatever gave you that idea? Why would you even ask such a thing?”
I grow embarrassed, and realize that now I am the one who is displaying her vulnerability. My face colors and I drop my gaze as I shrug. “I don’t know. Just a guess, really. You’ve never introduced me to anyone, particularly as your lover. You have a glamorous job. You come from a wealthy family. And I… Well, I don’t.”
Grace is shaking her head and clucking her tongue. “Oh, honey,” she sighs. “You are such a sensitive creature.” She is smiling, one side of her mouth turning up as she appraises me.
“I’ve never introduced you to anyone because we’re never around anyone I know. We’re always traipsing from one city to another.”
I’m beginning to feel silly as I realize that this is true. “Okay,” I say sheepishly. “You’ve probably got a good excuse there.”
“And as far as the celebrity thing…” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “You have no idea what it’s like having to be ‘on’ all the time. It’s actually refreshing that you don’t treat me any differently.”
She is smiling softly as she continues. “Some people might think that your career is awfully glamorous as well. Leaving the security of your old job and starting all over couldn’t have been easy. I’m proud of you for taking that risk. And for how well you’re doing.”
She laughs. “And, honey, that stuff about us coming from different sides of the tracks was the same shit you harped on twelve years ago when you crushed my very young and very vulnerable heart.” She was raising both eyebrows now, her tone changing, becoming lively and teasing.
“I told you that back then?”
“Yes. You dumped me and gave me some line about how I was too good for you and how when I grew up I’d understand.” Her voice begins to take on an edge. “It was bullshit then and it’s bullshit now. You dumped me for Connie. Period.”
I laugh now, enjoying the old game.
“And you dumped me because …” I dangle the sentence, mocking her.
“I never dumped you.” She lifts her chin haughtily.
“Ha. You have a terrible memory,” I tell her.
“Yeah. And yours is a pain in the ass. You remember every detail.” She is grinning.
“Exactly my point. Which is why I know that you dumped me.”
“Never, Liz.” She shakes her head stubbornly.
“Then what are you doing right now if it’s not dumping me? Again.” I ask the question without meaning to, and as our eyes meet I feel the pain from three months of frustration and hurt and anger begin to choke me.
Her mouth is a straight line, but her eyes are wounded. “I’m not dumping you,” she says quietly.
“No. You’d never call it that, anyway.”
“I’m not dumping you, Liz.” She repeats herself, her voice tight.
“Then what are you doing, Grace? What are you doing here?”
“I don’t know. I hated that you left like that.” Her voice sounds far away, and I recognize her hedging. She is quite good at hedging.
My humor has vanished and my voice sounds tired. “That’s not good enough, Grace. You let me twist in the wind for three months. Without so much as a phone call. You were pissed when I came to New York”
“I was angry with myself. Not with you,” she interrupts.
I wait for her to explain.
“I was insulating myself against everything. Whe
n you showed up out of nowhere it woke me up. I saw what I’d done to you, and I knew that I was doing it again.” Her eyes were dark. “That I was taking the easy way out.”
“So why are you here now?” I ask again.
“I’m not sure.” Again her voice drifts quietly, and my frustration grows again.
“You’re a coward, Grace.”
Her face registers the same shock that I am feeling. I can’t believe I’ve said these words to her. But now that I’ve opened the door, I decide to step through to the other side.
“Why can’t you just be honest with me? What can you possibly say that will hurt me any more than I already do? Why can’t you just tell me that it’s over and that you don’t love me?”
“Because that’s not how I feel,” she explodes.
“Dammit, Liz. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do anymore.” She is searching my eyes as I bite my tongue and wait for her to continue. “My feelings haven’t changed at all. I love you. I always have. It’s the most constant thing I’ve ever known in my life.”
My heart turns over. She loves me.
“So why are we going through this?” I ask.
“Because it’s not that simple. It’s more compliŹcated than loving each other, and you know it.”
“You’re so practical,” I tease her, hope finding a small crack in my heart.
“And you’re a romantic. Completely out of touch with reality,” she retorts.
I throw back my head and laugh.
“So tell me why it can’t possibly work, Grace.” I am mocking her, and she knows it.
“I told you. We live on opposite sides of the country. I don’t want to give up my job. You hate New York. And even if you didn’t, I would never ask you to give up what you have here.”
I study her for a moment. “You’re right. I hate New York,” I grin.
“I’m glad you find this so amusing.” Her annoyŹance is bubbling, and I’m not quite sure why I am feeling so lighthearted. But my tone grows serious.
“Grace.” I turn to face her squarely. “Even if I loved New York, you wouldn’t ask me to move, would you? Not because you wouldn’t want to. But because you’d never open yourself up that way. You’d never let yourself be that vulnerable.”