She teased Lana about the cards that had come in from her friends at the Whaling Museum. “You’re a whale buff? That is so pathetic!”
Lana rolled her eyes. “It’s just a stupid hobby.”
But Weslee had gained a little more respect for Lana. She had never paid much attention to all the books about whales or to the pictures that were scattered over the apartment. A stupid hobby made Lana seem just a bit more human to Weslee.
“Why did you keep all this stuff hidden from me?” Weslee had asked her one night when she dropped yet another bomb by talking about how she would miss scuba diving and all the different Caribbean islands where she had dived with famous divers.
“I don’t know,” Lana had shrugged. “Those are just dorky things about myself.”
“No, Lana. Those are the things that make you you. You don’t have to be ashamed of that,” Weslee had told her.
Now Weslee looked over at Lana, who was taking small sips from her glass. “How is it?”
Lana shrugged. “This is so weird. It’s Saturday night; we should be out on dates or out partying. At least you should.”
“I’m off the dating scene for now. And after what you’ve been through, you probably need this break.”
“Ha!” Lana laughed. “If I could walk—or eat—I’d be out tonight, preferably with a tall, dark hottie.”
“Oh, Lana.” Weslee sighed. Not a total transformation yet.
Chapter 28
Sherry held Weslee’s hand as she looked away from the needle that was in her right arm. She could feel the thin sharpness of the pain as her own blood snaked its way out of her. She tried not to feel sorry for herself or turn the present into a melodrama. This only makes sense, she thought. I need to do this for my own peace of mind. She would not blame herself or Duncan or loneliness or stupidity for bringing her to this examining room, this needle, this uncomfortable scene. It was the sensible thing to do, and she would do it with no complaints. But that needle . . .
“Almost there,” the nurse said gently.
Weslee sighed. She hated sharp things like needles and matronly nurses with harsh Boston accents and judging eyes. Almost theah, the woman had said. She hated anything that had to do with modern health care, waiting rooms, questionnaires, and co-payments. This doctor’s office with all its sterility was making her nauseated. She looked at Sherry, who was intently observing the entire scene as if she were in training to become a nurse herself. Sherry’s concentration amused Weslee. And she was so glad to not have to do this alone. She would never have considered asking Lana to be here. Somehow that just seemed inappropriate. Weslee thought Lana would take it as a personal insult—that she would even consider the possibility of Duncan having HIV. Another part of Weslee was ashamed. Sometimes she thought she saw pity in Lana’s eyes when they talked about men. Pity that Weslee had not been good enough to captivate and capture Duncan. Yes, she’d described him as a jerk, but did Lana really believe that? It seemed that the men that Lana went after were Duncan clones themselves, worldly superachievers oozing self-assuredness that overflowed into arrogance. Lana probably saw what Weslee was now beginning to see—she’d been painfully out of her league all along. And now she was paying the price in fear and insecurity. Lana would never have gotten so caught up in the thrall of a man like Duncan that she’d neglect her own protection. The girl stocked boxes and boxes of Trojans in her bathroom in plain view of anyone willing to take a peek. She’d probably have laughed off Weslee’s fears and called her naïve or hilarious in that semipatronizing manner that was so natural to her that she seemed unaware of it.
“You’re done,” the nurse said and capped a vial filled with blood.
“When will I have the results?” Weslee asked.
“It takes about a week. We’ll contact you.”
Weslee nodded and hopped off the examining table. “Let’s get out of this place,” she told Sherry, who had been mostly silent since they walked into the building.
“Wes, I’m sure you don’t have anything,” Sherry said.
“I’m not. I’m not sure about anything these days.” They walked out into a blinding bright day on Milk Street, where the financial district was starting to boil over with hungry nine-to-fivers burrowing into delis, neat burrito joints, and other lunch-hour haunts. “I thought Duncan was one thing, and he wasn’t . . . And then Holly had to die like that. I’m not taking anything for granted, Sherry.”
“I know how you feel, but it just feels so strange to be taking this test. It’s so drastic,” Sherry said.
“Yeah, I know. But I just need to have that piece of paper in my hand telling me that I’m not gonna die because of my stupidity and carelessness.”
She was beginning to leave the fear behind as they drove south, away from downtown Boston. She needed to know if her carelessness had put her life in danger. And if it meant getting tested every six months into infinity, she would do it. It’s time to start taking some control of my life, she thought.
“At least I hope you won’t lose any more sleep over it,” Sherry cut into her thoughts. “You look like hell.”
“I do?” Weslee pulled down the sun-visor mirror over the passenger seat. She did look tired and haggard. She hadn’t worn make-up in days. It just hadn’t seemed worth the effort. Her days were full of running between classes, Lana’s apartment, and worrying about the state of her own physical and mental health. She felt trapped in a cycle of depressive thoughts and activities. Only getting those test results would free her from this. Maybe then she could come around to caring again about inconsequential things like the bags under her eyes or the pimple on her forehead. For now those things just didn’t matter much.
“Let’s go get a facial tomorrow,” Sherry suggested. “I’ve never had one, and I’ve always wanted to go to Rosaline’s Spa.”
Weslee turned to her, surprised. “You want to get a facial?” Sherry was such a vocal opponent of all things self-indulgent that the idea of her doing something as frivolous as getting a facial threw Weslee for a loop.
“You’re not the only one who wants to have gorgeous skin,” Sherry said defensively, a bit of embarrassment on her face.
“No. No, I didn’t mean that,” Weslee said. “It’s just that with everything on my mind . . .”
“That’s exactly why we should go. To get your mind off all this depressing stuff. Besides, you’ve been Lana’s little house slave lately. It’s time you treated yourself like a diva again.”
Weslee laughed, protesting, “I’m not her house slave. I’m just helping her out until she gets back on her feet.” Then she added quickly, as if in her own defense, “She’s changing, you know. She’s mellowing out.”
“Uh-huh.” Sherry’s tone betrayed her doubt.
Weslee decided to let it go. She did not mind helping Lana at all. The times they spent together now were less frenzied. There was less nastiness, less competitiveness on Lana’s part. Maybe it was because she wasn’t drinking. But Lana’s mellowness made her easier to be around. Weslee had been thinking that there was hope for their friendship.
But maybe Sherry’s right, she thought. Her body felt weighted down with worry and fatigue; a facial and a massage would be just what she needed. At least it would temporarily ease some of her stress until the test results came back.
Later that week she still couldn’t sleep. She would know in the morning, the nurse had told her the day before. All she could do was stare at the clock as it blinked the minutes away in the dark room. The afternoon at the spa had not helped much. She tried to remember the sensation of the masseuse’s experienced hands kneading the stress from her upper back and shoulders or the soothing lavender scent that had filled the room, even the sense of peace she’d felt as her face had been cleansed, steamed, and exfoliated. But those memories failed to bring her any closer to sleep.
She hated him. Duncan. She wondered what he was doing at that exact moment, and she was sure that he was not struggling with guilt or wide awake w
ith worry. Not Duncan, Weslee thought. He was the master of his own universe, and he would lose no sleep over her or anyone else. Maybe her replacement was already lying right next to him in his bed. She would be some foolish girl, easily won over by some cheap token and his false attentiveness. This girl would have to fancy herself some sort of diamond in the rough finally being discovered by the prince she’d deserved her entire life, who’d smooth out her rough edges and turn her into a princess. One look into his eyes and she’d say to herself: no more waiting. Maybe he’d showered her with his charm and made her knees buckle with his intensity and then quickly told her he loved her, too. Maybe, she, too, was planning their future together in her head while he drifted off to Neverland in his mind. Or maybe he was caressing her body right now. The thought made Weslee squeeze her eyes shut; she could not even bear to picture it. Worse, she thought, was it his fiancée who was with him now?
Those thoughts kept her mind occupied until the sun began to creep into her apartment. She left the bed wearily, beaten by insomnia. Today she would have her peace of mind. Sleep would come later.
“People are gonna think we’re lesbians,” Sherry joked as they sat in the waiting room. “This is the second time we’ve come here together.”
Weslee rolled her eyes. “Why lesbians? Why not sisters? Can you be any more paranoid?” She was in no mood to joke, and Sherry caught the hint.
“OK, Miss Grumpy. I won’t talk to you until after we get the results.” Sherry picked up a Cosmopolitan magazine and read it, snorting every few seconds and exclaiming “Gimme a break!” every two minutes. Weslee crossed and uncrossed her legs a few hundred times, her eyes not leaving the white clock on the white wall.
When the nurse finally called her name, she shot out of the chair like an arrow. Sherry followed dutifully.
She couldn’t hear as the nurse explained the test, its accuracies and its inaccuracies and such. She just wanted to know what it said about her.
“See, I told you!” Sherry said triumphantly.
“What?” She hadn’t heard what the nurse said; maybe she’d been listening too intently to her own jumbled thoughts.
The nurse handed her a sheet of paper, and she read it. Negative.
“I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Sherry said.
She looked at the sheet of paper again. It was true. She was safe. Saved.
She closed her eyes and thought, Thank you, God. Thank you. The weight around her heart began to subside, and she felt a new lightness around her shoulders. Sherry hugged her, beaming. “Now will you relax?” Weslee nodded, tears of relief burning her eyes.
“Let’s go celebrate,” Sherry said.
“Yeah,” Weslee said. “Oooh, I think I’ll buy myself a new Kate Spade—”
“How is putting yourself into more debt celebrating?” Sherry put her hands on her hips.
Weslee rolled her eyes. “OK, Mom. What do you suggest?”
“Let’s go to the museum. We’ll have a nice lunch. With dessert.”
Weslee chuckled as it struck her again how different Sherry was from Lana, and even herself. The MFA would do for now. But she’d still pick up that red leather bag from Kate Spade at some point when Sherry wasn’t looking. Someday, when she didn’t have to charge it.
Chapter 29
Days like today convinced Weslee that she had made the exactly right decision by moving to Boston—despite everything that had happened. She looked out the window of her apartment and saw a perfect sky, light blue with puffy, see-through clouds—cumulus, she remembered. She could almost smell the cleanness of the air by pressing her nose up against the glass.
This would be her last run around the Charles before she went home to Chicago for the summer. For some reason, she hated the thought of leaving Boston. But her brain told her that she needed to be physically away from Boston for a while. To get her bearings and properly dispose of everything that had happened to her since that bumpy landing, she had to be away from the source of the pain.
She and Sherry vowed that they would run the marathon next year, come hell or high water. She still felt pangs of disappointment every time she looked at the perfectly broken-in pair of Sauconys she had saved for the race. She refused to wear them again. She had been so ready. But tragedy had a way of putting real life on hold . . .
She smiled unconsciously, remembering the days of walking this same quarter mile to the Charles, her face freezing, her fingertips and toes numb.
But summer was here, and the sights and sounds of this dazzling Saturday morning were hers to take in slowly, without the cold rushing her on to her goal. There were students strolling along Commonwealth Avenue, darting in and out of coffee shops, parents in town visiting for the weekend and keeping an eye on how their tuition money was being or would be spent, townies busy going about their chores and jobs. Everybody seemed to be in a good mood. That was the thing about Boston. When the sun came out and the air was warm, people actually smiled and showed that they could be polite. But a matter of twenty degrees up or down could drastically change that: murderous heat waves and suicide-inducing blizzards.
This was the last of Boston she would absorb for a while, so she didn’t want to focus on her problems. She still had goals even though she had missed the marathon. A change of scenery and people, plus her family would heal her broken heart faster, she surmised. Besides, she was exhausted. Finals, work, and caring for Lana had all taken so much out of her physically. She longed for home and the comfort and familiarity of her family.
She broke into a jog once she reached the trail. A lot of memories here already, she thought. We’ll see how I do in round two when I return in the fall.
Two hours later, sweaty and chafing between her thighs, she burst into the apartment, dying to pee and eager to just feel clean again.
She came out of the shower a half hour later, her hair wrapped in a towel, wearing her favorite blue terry bathrobe. She made a cup of tea and put some graham crackers on a plate and went for the couch. She had waited all day to make this call.
“Hey, William.” She hoped she didn’t sound as breathless as she was.
“Hey, FloJo.”
His voice was so what she needed to hear right now.
“How’ve you been? Where have you been? I haven’t seen you stalking my neighborhood lately.”
“Very funny, William. I’ve been busy.” Busy healing my broken heart, she wanted to say.
“So, did you run the marathon?” he asked.
She explained to him that she had rushed to be with Lana on that day and so the marathon had been the last thing on her mind.
“Oh, yeah. I hear you’ve been taking care of her. I guess some things will never change.”
They both laughed.
“She’s grown up a lot, William. Trust me.”
“Whatever you say. She’s your friend.”
They laughed a lot as the conversation got easier. Twenty minutes later it felt as though their friendship had never lapsed, that Duncan had never happened. But he had, and she couldn’t ignore it.
“So, how are you dealing?” he finally asked.
“Dealing?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m all dealt out. I’m over it.” She tried to sound dismissive. She wasn’t sure if she should be discussing Duncan with William. She didn’t know if she could tell him that some days she spent hours thinking of ways to get him back and on others she spent hours and hours thinking of ways to destroy him. She was over it. She hoped.
“That’s good. That’s real good. I mean, I know you guys were pretty intense for a while.”
“Well, that’s all over now.” She cleared her throat.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the way things turned out. I wish I could have done more. But I didn’t feel that it was my place.”
She sighed. “Have you seen him lately?” she asked. She had vowed never to ask about him, but she broke the pledge.
William cleared his thr
oat. “No. I really haven’t, Weslee.”
There was an awkward silence.
“So, what’s next for you?” William asked.
“I’m outta here.”
“Where?”
“Chicago. I’m going home for the summer.”
“Are you serious?” he exclaimed.
“Dead serious.”
“But what about your personal training thing? Those ladies who lunch can’t stop talking about how good you’re making them look.”
“I’ll pick it up again in the fall.”
“Why, Weslee? You could make so much dough this summer, especially on the Vineyard. I’m surprised you haven’t left that gym and gone out on your own yet. What are they teaching you in that business school?” he joked.
She laughed. “I just need a change of pace, new scenery, different people. Besides, I’m not in business school to learn how to be an entrepreneur.”
“Hmm. That first night I met you, you said you’ve always wanted to start your own business.”
“Well, yes, I meant eventually. Maybe doing something in finance.”
“But you’re happy doing personal training.”
“Yes, but finance is what I’ve spent my whole career focused on.”
“So?”
“William!” She was growing tired of the conversation. She didn’t want to talk about school or work.
“OK, OK. I won’t give you any career advice. All I’m saying is don’t ignore an opportunity that’s staring you right in the face.”
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