The War Within

by Yolanda Wallace

  “Now that you two are here, the real fun can begin. Come in and stop standing on my doorstep like you don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of.”

  Beverly pressed a cheek to Natalie’s in a semblance of a hello kiss. After Beverly treated Meredith to the same greeting, Natalie and Meredith stepped into the foyer. A few women were talking quietly in the living room. From the looks of it, the rest had escaped to the backyard, where Tiki torches burning mosquito-repellent citronella wicks bathed the area in a festive glow.

  “Natalie.” Beverly waved a bejeweled hand as she led them into the living room. “You know how this works. The rest of the food’s spread out in the dining room. Find a place to set your dishes down and introduce Meredith to everyone while I fix you two a couple of drinks. Gin and tonic, right?” She stepped behind a fully stocked bar that took up most of one wall. “Well, go on. I’ll have your drinks ready before you know it and meet you out back. Now off with you.”

  In the formal dining room, Meredith placed her casserole between a bowl of potato salad and a platter filled with sausage balls. “I’m guessing Beverly’s partner doesn’t talk much.”

  Natalie nudged a hash brown casserole closer to a plate of cheese straws to make room on the table for her chicken and dumplings. “Mary learned a long time ago the only word she needs to know how to say is yes. Because as we say in the South, if Mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.”

  Meredith laughed long and loud. “Unlike most of the expressions I’ve heard since I’ve been here, I don’t have to be a local to understand that one.”

  “No, but like most things, it certainly helps. Are you ready to meet everyone, or would you prefer to have some liquid courage first? It isn’t too late to back out, you know.”

  Meredith took Natalie’s arm. “It seems to me,” she said, wrapping both hands around it, “you’re more nervous about tonight than I am. What gives?”

  “According to you, you’ve been asking a lot of people a lot of questions the past few weeks but didn’t get any answers. Now it’s their turn to question you. Except in their case, I don’t think they’ll allow you to plead the Fifth.”

  “Are you afraid of what they’ll ask or what I might say?”

  “Both.”

  Natalie opened the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. Women ranging in age from forty to eighty sat in weathered Adirondack chairs haphazardly arranged on the broken-tile patio or on the lush green grass covering the large lot.

  Mary rose to greet them, then pointed out two available chairs. After Natalie and Meredith were seated, she led everyone through a round of introductions.

  “Don’t worry, Meredith,” Mary said after the last woman had taken her turn. “There will be a quiz later, but I’ll give you a chance to earn extra credit to improve your overall grade.”

  Meredith laughed dutifully at the retired teacher’s variation on an old joke. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what would I have to do?”

  Mary sat back in her chair as Beverly settled into her lap. She patted Beverly’s leg possessively. “Thanks to Sherlock Holmes here, we’ve managed to deduce a few things about you. You and Natalie met during the war. She was interested; you weren’t. You did one tour, came home, got married, and started a family. Nat stayed and continued to fight the good fight. Am I right so far?”

  Meredith took a sip of the drink Beverly had given her after she’d made her way onto the patio. “So far.”

  “Since you’re attending our little soirée tonight,” Mary continued, “I’m assuming your interest in Nat has taken a turn from the platonic to the Sapphic. I have only one question for you. Have you ever been with a woman before?”

  Natalie shifted in her seat as her friends circled Meredith like a school of sharks zeroing in on dinner. “You don’t have to answer that.”

  “I know,” Meredith said. “I want to.”

  Except she wasn’t sure she wanted to give the answer in this environment. The question should have been Natalie’s to ask, and the answer should be Natalie’s to hear. Natalie’s alone.

  Natalie downed half her drink in one swallow and retreated into the darkness, ceding the spotlight to Meredith.

  Meredith set her glass on the wide arm of her chair and leaned forward in the sharply angled seat. “Yes, I have been with a woman before.”

  “When? Who?”

  The questions might have been on the tip of Natalie’s tongue, but they hadn’t spilled from her lips. They had come from someone seated to her right.

  “Last year. Enough time had passed after George—my husband—died that my friends felt comfortable enough to ask me if I was ready to start dating again. The idea of returning to the fray at my age held very little appeal to me, and I told them so. I’ve loved two people in my life. One was gone and the other I thought was equally lost.”

  She saw more than one set of eyes turn in Natalie’s direction.

  “I went to visit my granddaughter before the start of her junior year at Berkeley. I spent a weekend touring the campus and meeting her friends. On a whim, I decided to make a side trip to San Francisco before I returned home. I had made several friends in the area when I was stationed there before the war and I sought out one who had decided to make it her home when she got out of the Army. When I called her up, she invited me to her house for dinner. We split a couple of bottles of wine and reminisced about old times. Then we brought each other up to date on everything that had happened in our lives since we completed our respective tours of duty. She and her partner ran a small screen printing business for several years before they sold it to a mid-sized corporation and retired off the proceeds. She said she and her partner had broken up since then but were still on friendly terms. They met once a month to have what she called ‘ex sex.’”

  Meredith had never heard the term prior to the night in question, but a few women laughed in apparent recognition.

  “I told her I couldn’t imagine sex without love. I couldn’t imagine sleeping with someone without my emotions getting involved, especially old ones. She said it was easier than I might think. The wine must have made me adventurous because I put my glass down, walked over to where she was sitting, took her hands in mine, and said, ‘Show me.’”

  “Did she?” Beverly asked.

  Meredith grinned. “Several times.”

  The femmes clapped and the butches whistled to show their admiration. Meredith felt like the belle of the ball.

  Beverly stood and held up her hands to get everyone’s attention. “The only thing left to say after a story like that is, ‘Dinner is served.’”

  Everyone headed to the dining room and filled their plates. Dinner was informal, so they ate balancing their plates on their laps or their upraised palms. By the end of the night, Meredith felt like part of the family.

  “When is the next get-together?” she asked as she hugged Beverly good-bye. “I have a pork tenderloin recipe I’ve been meaning to try if you don’t mind me experimenting on you.”

  “Not at all. Nat will give you the details. Won’t you?” Beverly opened her arms for a hug. Natalie leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek, but Beverly latched on and wouldn’t let go. “I’m so happy for you,” Beverly said in a stage whisper. “Until Meredith came back into your life, Mary and I thought you were waiting for Billie to die before you allowed yourself to live.”

  Meredith flinched at the reminder of Billie’s imminent passing. She didn’t know what to say to refute Beverly’s statement. By appearing at the potluck together, she and Natalie had been branded a couple. The designation was far from official, but Natalie seemed increasingly amenable to the idea of making it a reality.

  “Same time next month?” Natalie asked as she walked Meredith to the car.

  “I can’t wait.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Even though she had plenty of company, working the night shift made Jordan nervous. She had seen too many grainy surveillance videos of late-night holdups no
t to feel a bit of trepidation every time someone walked through the automatic door.

  She double-clicked an icon on her computer desktop. Four viewing panels appeared on the screen, filled with live feeds from the Remember When Inn’s security monitoring system. She took herself on a virtual tour of the property, starting with the grounds and ending with the hallways, lobby, and common areas. She looked for signs of unusual activity, but was greeted by the same old-same old—guests frolicking in the pool, lounging in the late afternoon sun, pumping quarters into the vending machines, filling coolers with ice despite the posted warning that such activity was prohibited, and puttering along on rented bikes or souped-up golf carts.

  “That takes care of that.”

  With the security check out of the way, she closed the program and plastered on a smile as she prepared to check in a late-arriving guest. After she completed the transaction and handed over the guest’s key card with what she hoped was the right amount of good cheer, Larry Nixon beamed like a proud father. Larry had been with the Remember When for nearly fifteen years, and Riley had asked him to give her some hands-on training.

  “Nice job,” he said.

  “I had a good teacher.”

  Their training sessions had gone well. Larry was knowledgeable about the job and willing to share everything he had learned. He wasn’t willing to hang around after his shift was over, however. Jordan took a quick glance at the clock on the opposite wall. A few minutes before seven. Almost time for Larry’s shift to end. At the top of the hour, not a minute before or a minute after, he’d clock out and head home. Then she’d be left to man the desk alone.

  The walkie-talkie on Larry’s worn leather belt crackled, and Tatum’s voice carried through the speaker. “Larry, come see me before you leave.”

  Larry unclipped the walkie-talkie and thumbed the microphone. “You got it, boss.”

  “Ooh, somebody’s in trouble.”

  Larry placed the walkie-talkie next to Jordan’s workstation. “She probably wants an update on your progress. Do you want me to lie or tell the truth?”

  “Whatever gets me a raise.”

  Jordan had expected her addition to the team to be met with friction from some members of the staff—it had taken her several weeks to earn her co-workers’ trust at some of her previous jobs—but the staff of the Remember When had welcomed her with open arms. She was still getting used to some of the quirks in the reservation system, but Larry had worked at the hotel longer than anyone else, and he occasionally had problems with the system, too.

  Jordan straightened her name tag when a pair of guests with three preteen kids in tow approached the front desk. As Jordan checked them in, the parents asked her for her opinion of the water park that dominated the landscape on the south side of the island.

  “The slides are awesome. One is over thirty feet tall, so it provides a serious adrenaline rush. If you’re looking for something more sedate, you can go tubing on Turtle Creek. It’s half a mile long and the stream is slow-moving, which gives you plenty of time to enjoy your day.”

  “Great. Thanks for the information.”

  “No problem. And if you have any more questions about the water park, there are several brochures in the kiosk across the lobby.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Jordan handed them their keys and gave them the directions to their room.

  “I was going to ask Larry how you’re doing with the guests, but I think I’ve seen the answer for myself.” Tatum rolled her wheelchair across the lobby, Lincoln following closely behind. “You could have a future in the hospitality industry—or any other you set your mind to.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jordan hadn’t seen or heard Tatum come into the lobby. She wondered how long Tatum had been watching her. And if Tatum liked what she saw.

  “Granted, I haven’t been in this business very long, but I’ve been in it long enough to know some people aren’t going to be happy no matter what you do. Larry says you’ve managed to keep a pretty level head despite the curveballs a couple of guests have tried to throw at you. He thinks you’re going to work out well for us and I’m inclined to agree.” Tatum slowed the wheelchair’s progress with her hands. “Have you had dinner yet?”

  “No. Grandma Meredith made spaghetti last night. I have some leftovers in the break room. I was planning on nuking them in the microwave in a few minutes.”

  “Correction. You had leftovers in the break room.”

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “Hilda in accounting cleans out the refrigerator every Friday. The rule is, she’s supposed to toss anything that’s on the verge of becoming a science experiment, but she doesn’t bother to check labels or expiration dates, so everything ends up in the trash.”

  “I thought Riley was kidding when she said Friday was takeout day.”

  Tatum tossed a pile of takeout menus on the counter. “Order whatever you like. Dinner’s on me. Most of the offerings are pizza or subs, I’m afraid, so I hope you aren’t counting carbs.”

  “I’m sure I can find something.” Jordan gathered the scattered menus into a neat stack. “Would you care to join me?”

  “Sure. Why not? It would save me from having to make a trip home to try and scrounge up something on my own.”

  Tatum came around the front desk. While Jordan busied herself petting Lincoln, Tatum pulled a pneumatic desk chair toward her and transferred herself into it. With the touch of a button, she raised the chair from its lowest setting to its highest. Her legs dangled uselessly in the air. As she carefully placed her feet on the chair’s circular footrest, she looked at the bouquet of flowers Jordan had placed on the counter and unabashedly read the accompanying card resting on Jordan’s keyboard. The card and flowers had added an unexpected bright spot to Jordan’s otherwise down day. A local florist’s logo was printed on the card, but Brittany’s name was scrawled under the handwritten note, which read, I never learned to agree to disagree very tactfully. Sorry for being an asshole. Friends?

  Jordan examined Tatum’s face, trying to gauge her reaction to what she’d read, but Tatum didn’t give her anything to go on.

  “Who’s Brittany?”

  “My ex.”

  “Are you two planning on kissing and making up?” Tatum stared at one of the menus as if she had never seen anything so fascinating.

  “No. We didn’t pull any punches when we broke up. She’s just trying to apologize for hurting my feelings. At least, I think that’s what she’s doing. I’ve given up on trying to figure her out. She gave up on me a while ago, it seems, but it took longer for me to get the message.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Water under the bridge.”

  Tatum finally met her eye. Jordan couldn’t get over the directness of her gaze. Was that why she felt so unsettled right now or was it something else? Every time she resolved one problem, another popped up to take its place.

  “Are you okay?” Tatum asked.

  “I’m not having the greatest of days.” Learning a new job was always a challenge, but Jordan would rather deal with that headache than all the other ones in her life. Receiving the flowers from Brittany had put a smile on her face, but it had also reminded her how much disarray her life was in at the moment. She longed for the days when the hardest decisions she had to make were what outfits to wear to school and which parties she should hit on the weekend. She looked at the selection of sandwiches on one of the menus, then she slowly slid the menus across the counter. “I’m not very hungry tonight. A salad will be fine.”

  “Two dressings on the side?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve dated women like you before.”

  Jordan plucked at the collar of her French blue Oxford shirt, which she had combined with a pair of crisp khaki pants to comply with the business casual dress code. “If I’d known this was a date, I would have worn something more revealing.”

  “I didn’t mean—”
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  “I know what you meant,” Jordan said with a smile, “but you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

  “Then I must be fucking gorgeous right now.”

  As a matter of fact, she was. The more time Jordan spent with Tatum at work, the more she wondered what it would be like to spend time with her after hours. Would Tatum be sweet and charming like she was now or defensive and angry like she’d been when they ran into each other in the parking lot of her apartment complex?

  After she decided what she wanted to eat, Tatum phoned a nearby sandwich shop. The employee who took the order said the food would arrive in thirty minutes, but Jordan didn’t expect to see the delivery van pull up for at least an hour. She and Tatum settled in to watch the Milwaukee Brewers play the Atlanta Braves at Turner Field. To Jordan’s pleasant surprise, the food showed up during the bottom of the second inning.

  “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a baseball fan,” Tatum said after they cleared some space on the counter, unpacked the oversized bag, and opened the containers.

  Jordan opened one of the two bottled waters she had grabbed from the break room. “Some of the best conversations my father and I have ever had occurred in the stands while we were watching Brewers games. He probably feels more comfortable talking to me in a crowd because he doubts I’ll say or do anything too outrageous in front of so many people. Then I came out to him during a playoff game and shot his theory all to hell.” Jordan grinned. “Perhaps that’s why he hasn’t taken me to a game since.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “You couldn’t pay her to go to a game. She’s the only member of the family who doesn’t like sports. If she didn’t look so much like Grandma Meredith, I’d swear she was adopted.”

  “I take it you aren’t close?”

  “No.” Jordan faltered. “In fact, I feel like I’m a disappointment to her.”