When her bag was slung over her shoulder, Beth picked up the glasses from their table.
“What, do you want a job here, too?” Dylan asked. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do,” Beth informed her. “I don’t expect somebody to pick up after me.”
“That’s their job.”
“You were a bartender. How can you say that?” Beth was exasperated.
When they stepped back inside and Beth headed toward the bar with the glasses, Dylan groaned internally.
Martha stuck her head out of the canteen window. “Well look here, it’s the competition!” Good-humouredly, she waved a blue Chux in Dylan’s direction, as though she were shooing her away. “Getting a bit sick of the smorgasbord over at the bowlo?”
She grinned. The woman was as loud as she had been when she’d babysat Dylan decades before. “No, Marth. Just feeling guilty about sponging dinners off Mum and Dad all the time.” There was also the minor detail of not wanting to introduce Beth to her parents just yet—a hesitancy even she herself couldn’t understand.
As Beth crossed the room back to her, Martha rested her elbows on the ledge of the canteen window and looked between them with a smirk. Here we bloody go. Dylan cleared her throat. “This is Doctor—”
Beth smiled. “Just Beth.”
Dylan nodded. “Martha, Beth. Beth, Martha. Martha’s a friend of my parents.”
“Hi, Martha,” Beth said.
“You’re the girl about the homestead?” Martha asked.
Beth nodded. “That would be me.”
Martha scrutinised Beth. “You know what, I just can’t remember you,” Martha said. “When Dylan’s mum told me that you used to live here, I says to her, I says, ‘I bet if I put a face to the name I’ll recognise her.’ But I just can’t place you.”
Dylan’s face heated at Martha’s disclosure that Dylan had been talking about Beth with her mother. She prayed to god that her mother hadn’t shared anything else about the doctor with Martha, and that if she had, Martha could resist the need to discuss it.
“It’s been a long time,” Beth assured her. “I had darker hair back then, too.”
“Didn’t we all,” Martha laughed. She chewed at her bottom lip, the lines at the sides of her eyes crinkling. She looked at Beth. “Dyl’s mum didn’t say—are you two living in the house together?”
“No,” Dylan said quickly, knowing exactly where the conversation was headed if she let Martha carry on. “Anyway, we better let you go.”
She pressed a hand to the small of Beth’s back and ushered her toward the main doors. “Lovely to meet you,” Beth called out.
“You too, love!” Martha wiggled her eyebrows at Dylan on the way out. She shook her head back at her mother’s friend. Great, Dylan thought, she’d never hear the end of this.
Beth had parked just a few spots down the street. They stopped at her car. “Well,” Dylan said, “Thanks for—”
“It’s early.” Beth jiggled her keys in her hand. “Do you want to come over? See my place?”
Do I want to come over? “Yes,” she answered, eager, quick.
“Good.” Beth nodded to Dylan’s car parked further down on the opposite side of the street. “Follow me?”
Dylan suddenly felt short of breath. She coughed against it, put it down to nervousness rather than her asthma playing up in the cold night air. “Sure.”
Beth had opened up to her, and now, the night throbbed with something new. Going home with her felt dangerous, like they were pushing the time they’d allowed themselves outside the homestead. Following Beth’s tail lights down Paterson Street, the main thoroughfare of Jembala Lakes, meant permitting the uncertainty of friendship and attraction between them to kindle.
Dylan knew where the night could lead. She knew exactly where she wanted to lead it. The bond between them had been growing, tightening each day, and she didn’t want to resist the pull, not when Beth was so gorgeously shy, yet so willing. Willing. She hadn’t imagined it, had she? Surely Beth could feel it, too. And if Beth couldn’t, surely, she knew that Dylan harboured feelings that exceeded just friendship. Beth was far too intuitive, and Dylan was far too transparent.
They turned left off Paterson, then over the bridge at Bellbird Lake, the smallest of the group of elongated, north-south Finger Lakes that lie parallel to each other. Left at the primary school, left again at the intersection where she had toppled over her handlebars and fractured her wrist. Beth indicated right; she did the same. And then they were turning into a narrow, very familiar street—Derby Lane.
Dylan’s face heated as Beth drew to a stop in front of the very familiar weatherboard. “I still can’t believe this,” she mumbled to herself as she parked behind her.
She turned off the ignition and sat back in her seat. She coughed, heard the telltale wheeze she’d tried to ignore. Perfect bloody timing, she thought as she flipped open the console. She fumbled inside. Where the hell was her inhaler?
Beth rapped her knuckles against the driver’s window and Dylan twisted in her seat. The culprit grinned maniacally. With shaky fingers, Dylan unclicked her seatbelt. Beth opened her door, stepping back with a laugh.
“Christ Almighty, you startled me.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realise you’d almost fly through the roof. You coming?”
Dylan bit her lip, chanced a glance back into the console. Where the fuck was it?
Beth wasn’t moving. “Do you need something?” she asked.
Dylan swallowed over the tightness in her throat and slammed the glovebox closed. “Oh, nope.” She locked her car and followed Beth down the driveway.
“I’m upstairs,” Beth muttered as she led her to the flight of stairs Dylan had started working on months before. She pointed across the yard to the front door. “That’s where Rose lives.”
I know. A wheeze. “Oh. Right.”
They were halfway up the stairs when suddenly the veranda light came on. “Beth?”
Oh god, no. No. Please god, no… Dylan bit her lip, the tips of her ears burning dreadfully.
A step above, Beth pivoted and looked past her, down in the direction of the whisper. Slowly, Dylan turned.
In pyjamas and a thick cardigan, Rose stood at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes wide, shock sketched across her face. Rose’s gazed flickered between Dylan and Beth. Dylan’s eyes locked with Rose’s, and mutual understanding passed between them—Beth didn’t need to know.
“Sorry, Rose,” Beth stage-whispered. “Did we wake you?”
“No, no.” Rose wrapped her arms about herself in the cold. She pulled her eyes from Dylan’s and focused on Beth. “I just wanted to let you know that a package came for you this afternoon. I signed for you.”
“Oh, thank you so much.”
“No worries,” Rose said softly. She paused. “Did you want to get it in the morning? I didn’t realise you were…busy.”
“This is Dylan,” Beth explained.
Rose nodded. “Yes, we’re familiar.”
“Sorry if we disturbed you,” Dylan husked.
Rose smoothed a hand over her braid. “You didn’t, it’s fine. Have a good night.”
“You too, Rose,” Beth offered.
With one last look at Dylan, Rose turned away. When she was out of sight, Beth smiled at Dylan nervously. She shivered as she worked the lock. Dylan brought a hand to her sternum and coughed hard against the cold. Her chest was growing heavier by the second. She tried to take a slow, deep breath.
Beth stood in the doorway looking up at her. “Well are you going to come inside?”
The cold air reached her airways. She was pushing it. Really pushing it. She wasn’t going to be able to go much longer without her puffer. “I just…I left my lip balm in the car. I’ll be right back.”
“I have lip balm inside,” Dylan heard Beth laugh from the top of the landing, but she’d already reached the bottom of the stairs. God, it felt like an elephant was sitting on her chest. If Beth was
expecting the night to go the way Dylan assumed she did, she was going to have to pump the entire bloody inhaler empty.
“Hey.”
Dylan spun. Rose was on the veranda, her hand at the fly screen door as she propped it open with a hip.
“Are you spying on me?” Dylan hissed playfully. She coughed, felt her chest pull tight as she struggled for breath.
Rose shook her head. “I was locking up and saw you pass by the front room window.” Rose lifted a finger, waving her closer.
Dylan looked up at the side stairs. Beth had gone inside. She crossed the garden to Rose. “What’s up?” she said quietly.
“I just wanted to say that I was thinking about you today.”
Dylan blinked. “Why?”
“Because I saw the paper.” At Dylan’s confused look, Rose arched an eyebrow. “The article about Kyle?”
There had been an article? She felt choked. “What article?”
“You didn’t know? They wrote up an anniversary piece today. A two-page spread.”
The anniversary was months ago. They were a bit late. “I…I didn’t know. I don’t read the local paper.” Suddenly, worry seized her. “Does Beth get a paper here?”
“No.” Rose shook her head, seeming to understand exactly where she was coming from. “I offered it when she first arrived and she had no interest. I doubt she’s seen it.”
“Good.” They locked eyes. “I’m going to tell her about him. I just…it can be difficult to find the words.”
“Of course it can, sweetheart.”
The term of endearment gripped Dylan, and she didn’t know if her heart was beating faster because of it or the imminent asthma attack. Pity shined brightly in Rose’s eyes, and it was clear—this was why they hadn’t worked. Rose knew about her ghosts, and it felt like that was all she saw when she looked at Dylan.
She coughed so hard she could barely catch her breath.
“Are you okay, Dylan?”
“Yep. Beth’s waiting.” She quickstepped down the stairs and gestured to the curb. “I was just grabbing something from my car.”
“Dylan…”
God, she needed her inhaler ten minutes ago. She turned, looked up.
“Be careful with her.”
“What?” Dylan said before she could stop herself. She gripped her sternum, fought for breath. “You think I’m too messed up for her, too? Going to recommend that therapist to me again?”
Rose shook her head calmly, undisturbed by the anger in Dylan’s question. “I mean be careful with the way she treats you.”
“Oh.”
“Do you know what her intentions are? With the homestead?”
“I trust Beth.”
“Okay,” Rose said, like she valued Dylan’s judgement. “I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”
“There’s not a bad bone in Beth’s body.”
“I’m not trying to argue with you, I’m just…”
“Look, I really need something from my car, okay?”
Rose nodded. “Night, Dylan.”
“Yeah, night…” Any longer and she was going to suffocate, she yanked open the passenger door and flicked on the interior light, fumbling through the console and then the glove box for her puffer.
As she pumped the medication into her lungs, she felt her breathing ease. She let out a dry, hacking cough, testing. Better. She looked down at her hands shaking in her lap. Great, she thought, now I’m going to feel jittery all fucking night long. She hated using her puffer unless she absolutely needed it—it always made her feel anxious and hyped up for hours. She tossed the inhaler back into the glove box and locked her car.
She climbed the side stairs up to Beth’s apartment, wondering why her mother hadn’t mentioned the article. Surely she’d been told about it before it was published. So why hadn’t she warned Dylan? Why did everybody always insist on keeping her in the dark?
The warmth of the apartment soothed her as she closed the door. Beth looked up from the small kitchenette and grinned, muttering something about getting the fire started as she laid her coat over the back of a kitchen chair.
Dylan looked around. The apartment was bare but for a few items of furniture she recognised from Rose’s downstairs unit. She was pretty sure they’d had sex on Beth’s couch. Well, started. They’d finished on the oval-shaped rug next to it.
Dylan followed Beth over to the counter as she filled two glasses with tap water. Beth pursed her lips, grinning shyly. As she handed Dylan a glass of water, she moved close, so close Dylan could smell the sweet wine on her breath. “Want to know something interesting?” she whispered.
Dylan took a sip.
“Rose is a lesbian.”
Oh, god. Dylan drew a deep breath and moved back against the counter. She needed to put some space between them before she did anything stupid. “Yeah,” she husked. “I know that.”
Beth’s lips parted in surprise. “You do?”
“Yeah.”
And just like that, a veil fell over Beth’s eyes. Beth slid her glass across the counter and moved to the fireplace.
“You don’t need to start a fire for me,” Dylan insisted.
“I’m not. It’s for me.” She slid open the box of fire starters and plucked one out. With uncharacteristic carelessness, she tossed the small white block between the crossed logs in the fireplace. Dylan licked her lips. Why did Beth seem so irked by the fact that she already knew Rose was gay?
Beth struck the match. “How do you know she’s gay?”
She shifted uncomfortably as she watched the flame spark, catch, grow. “There aren’t many of us in this town. One to every five kilometres.” She placed the glass down beside Beth’s on the counter, her hand shaky. “Look…I think I might go, Beth.”
Beth’s expression fell. “Why?”
She fidgeted with her car keys. Between the near asthma attack and Rose’s pitying stare when she’d told her about the anniversary article, Dylan felt vulnerable. “I’m tired.”
“Tired?”
“Yeah. Exhausted, actually. Sorry.”
“You didn’t seem tired outside the pub,” Beth pressed.
“I guess the headlights on the way over kind of killed the buzz.”
Beth’s shoulders slumped. “Okay then.” She clasped her hands, began to wring them together the way she would in those first few weeks when Dylan would flirt just to fluster her. “I kind of wanted to have a chat with you about something, but if you’re not feeling up to it…”
“I’m just…I have a lot of stuff on my mind right now with the stay-over coming up.”
Beth tilted her head. “You’re leaving me here all alone because you’re stressed about a sleepover?”
Beth wore coy so prettily that it twisted Dylan’s stomach into knots. “And other stuff.”
“Right.” Beth stared at her strangely. “Well, thank you for dinner…” she said.
Dylan moved to the door. “See you tomorrow,” she murmured, afflicted by shame as she offered Beth a smile and slipped out the door.
She cursed the motion sensor on the landing light. The last thing she needed was for Rose to know she was leaving so soon. It was for the best that Rose had caught them together. It had served as a wake-up call, a reminder that as much as Dylan wanted to play pretend with Beth, the other woman barely knew her. Beth had no idea who Dylan was and what she’d been through. The thing between them…it had to stop. It had to stop now. They were better off just co-owners. Eventually, Beth was going to leave. It had been over two months and there had been no mention of her making the move permanent. This thing that they had…it was only temporary.
She climbed into her car and pulled away from the curb.
Chapter Eight
Beth glanced upward at the sound of creaking floorboards. Dylan was finally awake. She took a bite of her crumpet and attempted to focus on her laptop. Why was she so wired with anticipation? It was just Dylan, and what she had to ask her was an innocent question,
the most basic of invitations. There was no need for nerves.
She expected the humming of the pipes from Dylan’s shower, but the plumbing remained silent. Instead, footsteps sounded on the back staircase. Beth took a sip of her steaming tea and gently set the mug back down on the kitchen table.
Dylan stopped in the doorway in her blue, checked pyjama pants, her calf-high slippers. The morning sun caught her wild blond hair, scooped messily into a bun, and something lurched in Beth’s chest as she watched Dylan pull at the sleeves of her grey jumper and wrap her arms around herself. “You need to stop pushing my door open when you get here in the morning.” She pressed her palms into her eyes. “Frostbite was my alarm until you and your thoughtfulness rocked up in May.”
She smiled. The image of Dylan sprawled across the mattress like a toddler was a heartwarming sight with which to start her day each morning.
Dylan crossed the kitchen with an arched eyebrow. As she flicked the kettle on, she splayed her hands out on the counter. Beth watched as her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. If Beth didn’t know any better, she’d have put Dylan’s quietness down to a sleepless night, but there was something else going on. It was unlike Dylan to come down in the morning without having showered, fully dressed and eager to start the day. Beth rarely had an hour to herself after sunrise, but it was late, almost eight.
Since that night at her apartment, Dylan had been unusually reserved. Seventy-two hours without Dylan’s laugh, seventy-two hours without her flirty banter. Her changed demeanour dragged the unspoken truth between them to the forefront and nailed it the door of the homestead as legible as the Ninety-Five Theses—Beth wasn’t going to stay forever.
That had to be what it was—what else could it be? Beth could pinpoint the exact moment something had changed in Dylan. That night at Beth’s apartment, from the second Dylan had returned upstairs, she’d been eager to leave. Had Dylan had an inkling that Beth wanted to discuss their option to sell then and there? On her walk to the car, had Dylan suddenly guessed that was why Beth had asked her back to the apartment? It was the only logical reason Beth could come up with to explain Dylan’s abrupt decision to leave.
Where There's a Will Page 9