Songs without Words

by Robbi McCoy

  “Chelsea, are you home from work?” said the voice. “Oh, dear one, please pick up if you’re there.”

  The pain that hit Harper in her chest was so keen that it felt as if her heart had stopped beating.

  Mary’s voice was pleading and whiny like a child’s. “I’m so sorry for everything. You know I didn’t mean it. You know how I am. Please come back. Please forgive me. I’m languishing here all alone.”

  It was all too easy to picture her on the other end of the line, lying on her sofa in a melodramatic pose. Harper, seething, wanted to smash the answering machine to bits.

  “Darling child, you mean the world to me. I know you won’t let me suffer like this. You’re too good, too kind.”

  Mary’s voice turned more formal, more metered as she proceeded to quote poetry.

  “‘Come lie on my bed of roses and speak of love as you did once. No, not once, but many times. In our youth, you lay your sweet body across mine and put violets in my hair and kisses on my face. Come let me remind you of the mirth our hearts often shared in those days.’”

  After a click, there was silence. Harper stood, frozen, for a minute or more, then moved slowly toward the machine, circling it, as if it were an animal that she intended to pounce upon and kill.

  She didn’t want to hear the message again—God, how she didn’t want to—but she had to find out when it had been left. She replayed it, listening for the date and time. Mary’s message was three days old. Chelsea had listened to it three days ago! And then what? She’d said nothing about this to Harper in any of their phone conversations. She had kept it to herself.

  Three days, thought Harper, thinking back on the last few phone calls she had made to Chelsea. There had been nothing odd, nothing at all to alert her that something had happened. It was now almost six thirty. Chelsea wasn’t home and she still wasn’t answering her cell phone.

  Where is she? Harper wondered, fearing she knew the answer. Her head began to spin. Why had she ever let herself believe that this could be more than a summer fling? That’s all there ever was for her. Summer was nearly over now, and Mary had come to reclaim her beloved. It was Hades and Persephone all over again. She had only let Harper borrow her for the summer, as before.

  Harper’s knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, feeling her heart breaking. She knew how deeply rooted Chelsea’s sense of loyalty to Mary was. She also knew—all too well—that Chelsea would sacrifice herself and her own happiness if she felt that it was the right thing to do. Mary had appealed to that weakness, with her talk of languishing and suffering. How could Chelsea resist? The poor girl had probably flown to her, unable to deny that powerful, autocratic will. They were probably together right now discussing how Chelsea would break up with her when she returned tomorrow.

  Harper sat on the floor for a few minutes, her mind blank, until suddenly she felt like fleeing, like she had to escape this unbearable situation. She left the apartment and started driving toward home, then changed her mind and headed for Roxie’s house. She wanted to hide. She wanted sympathy.

  Kevin, Roxie’s twelve-year-old, answered the door. “Mom,” he yelled into the house. “It’s Harper.”

  “Harper,” called Roxie from somewhere in the distance, “come on into the kitchen.”

  Kevin ran off. Harper shut the door and made her way to the kitchen where Roxie was loading dishes into the dishwasher. One look at Harper made her stop what she was doing and cross the room, putting her arms around Harper tenderly.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Harper cried freely now, letting her tears fall on Roxie’s shoulder. “I’ve lost her,” she managed to say.

  Roxie maneuvered her into a chair at the kitchen table, gave her a box of Kleenex and a glass of water and waited for the sobbing to subside. “Tell me what happened.”

  Harper told her about the phone call from Mary. “I’ve lost her,” she repeated.

  “It doesn’t seem like that’s the inevitable conclusion here,” Roxie said. “Don’t you think you’re being a little irrational? Despite some of the things I’ve said about Chelsea in the past, I can’t deny that she seems to really love you.”

  Harper said nothing. She felt defeated.

  “Don’t you think you should at least talk to her?” Roxie asked.

  Harper shrugged. “I just don’t want to hear it again, the excuses, the explanation about why she has to go back. I’d rather she just goes and doesn’t say anything.”

  “Aren’t you even going to put up a fight?”

  She hadn’t even considered that, Harper realized. It didn’t seem possible to counter Mary’s hold on Chelsea. All of her dreams had been pinned on the hope that Mary no longer wanted Chelsea, that she wouldn’t ask for her back.

  “Put up a fight?” she asked weakly.

  “Well, yes, if you want her. God, Harper, from what you’ve said, you don’t even know if there’s any reason to be upset. There are lots of possible explanations. You can’t just give up.”

  Earlier in the summer Sarah had advised her to fly to Chelsea and drag her back from the hounds of hell. Was it possible to do that a second time? she wondered.

  “You’re right.” Harper took a deep breath. “This is too important to forfeit. I’m going to go get her back.” She stood, filled with a sudden sense of purpose. “I didn’t mean right this minute. Don’t you think you should wait until you calm down before you do anything else? You know how you are when you’re upset. Impulsive and reckless. How about something to eat? I’ve got some spaghetti left from dinner.”

  Harper shook her head. “No, I have to go. I have to do this now.”

  She had no plan and no idea what would happen next as she drove to Mary’s house, but that was familiar territory for her. She knew that she would do whatever felt right, that no premeditated plan, no matter how sensible, had much of a chance with her.

  Her biggest regret, she realized, was that she had not communicated to Chelsea more clearly her feelings about the future, about their potential future together. Why hadn’t she told Chelsea that she wanted to be with her forever? Why hadn’t she told her that she wanted them to live together, to be a devoted couple in every possible old-fashioned sense?

  Because she did want that. She believed in that kind of commitment in a way she never had before. Even if Mary was willing to share Chelsea, Harper was not.

  Mary’s house looked peaceful and deceptively benign from the front. The doors of the three-car garage were shut. If Chelsea’s car was here, it was out of view inside. Harper walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Impatiently, she rang it again a few seconds later. There was no response. She then banged on the door, imagining Chelsea and Mary inside ignoring her.

  Hearing faint sounds of laughter from the side yard, she went around to the unlocked gate and let herself in. In the still evening air, the pool lay tranquil before her, the surface of the water glassy. She stood listening but heard nothing more.

  She moved deeper into the yard, walking through the long evening shadows of elm trees toward a wrought-iron gazebo partially covered with a wisteria vine. She heard the scrape of metal against concrete from within the gazebo and thought she could see movement between its bars. Fearing what she would see, but knowing she had no choice but to see it, she moved stealthily to the middle of the yard. What she saw inside the structure left her numb. Mary was lying back in a chaise lounge, wearing a long white robe, secured at the waist, partially open at the chest to reveal one vulnerable-looking breast, pale and fragile. From beneath the robe, the lower torso and legs of a shapely girl protruded. A girl wearing tan shorts and pink flip-flops. A girl who was not Chelsea. Mary’s head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open. Her hand gripped the chair’s frame above her head. Harper stood paralyzed on the spot, watching with fascination as Mary’s body moved in a regular rhythm to the tune of her veiled lover’s touch.

  Gradually, Harper’s thoughts began to emerge from the tempest of emotion that had
propelled her into this absurd position. She needed to find a way to leave before she was discovered. She could make a run for it and depart the way she had come. Or she could sneak into the house and look for Chelsea while Mary was preoccupied outside.

  Before she could act, she heard Mary shriek, a blood-curdling yell that yanked Harper’s attention violently back to the gazebo. Mary was sitting upright now, clutching her robe to her chest, and the girl who had been lying between her legs was now on the ground beside the chair. Both of them were staring at Harper.

  The girl was not as young as Harper had imagined, but a woman in her thirties with dark hair, cut short, and narrow eyes that were, at the moment, trained on Harper with an expression of intense hostility. “Who the hell are you?” she asked, rising to her feet.

  Mary rose too, facing Harper with grim indignation. “This is my gadfly!” she shouted in answer to her lover’s question, gesturing dramatically with her arms as she exited the gazebo. “Have you no shame, Harper? Have you come merely for titillation? Or did you think I was giving lessons this evening?”

  Harper knew she should probably apologize, but she was still focused on the reason she was there. “I’ve come for Chelsea,” she said firmly.

  Mary stared, looking confused, then approached her in her bare feet.“Harper,” she said, “let’s go inside and have a chat. Diana doesn’t need to be a part of this discussion.” She looked at the woman in the gazebo, who had taken a seat on the chaise lounge and was now coolly watching them. “I’ll be back momentarily. Don’t forget where we were.”

  Mary extended a hand, inviting Harper to go into the house. When they reached the sunroom, she dropped gracefully into a white wicker chair.

  “So where is she?” Harper said.

  “You’re extremely demanding tonight,” Mary said. “And extremely rude. Sit down and calm down. Can I get you a drink?”

  Harper shook her head. She tried to maintain her anger, but something about Mary’s demeanor, which was solicitous and inoffensive, was sapping it from her. She took the seat Mary indicated and the fight drained out of her. She felt as she always had, that Mary was invincible, a force that couldn’t be opposed. She had no more defense against her than Chelsea did.

  A small, contented smile appeared on Mary’s face as she realized that she had gained the upper hand. The breeze from the overhead fan played capriciously with the silver shock of hair on her forehead. From a decanter on the table between them, she poured herself a glass of golden brown liquor.

  “You know, Harper,” she said, “these impromptu visits of yours are getting on my nerves. I believe that I’m going to have to insist that you wait for an invitation before coming to visit.” She tasted her drink, then turned a calm gaze toward Harper. “So, why are you here? What’s gotten you all riled up?”

  “I want Chelsea,” Harper said.

  “Yes, so you said, but what does that have to do with me?”

  “Isn’t she here?”

  Mary shook her head matter-of-factly. “Why would she be here?”

  “I heard your message on her phone, begging her to come back to you.”

  “Begging?” objected Mary. “Oh, please, that just isn’t the right word at all. Cajoling, perhaps.”

  “I don’t care what you call it!” Harper was exasperated and on the verge of losing control.

  “Please, Harper,” Mary said softly. Despite the circumstances, her voice had a mysterious soothing effect on Harper. “Okay, so you heard one of my messages on her phone. So what?”

  “One of your messages?”

  Mary shrugged. “There have been a few. There are times, when I’m here alone, that I feel like having friendly company. It’s a weakness of mine. I can’t stand being alone.”

  Oh, God! thought Harper. This has been going on all along. She’s been playing with poor Chelsea whenever she feels like it, on a whim, just to prove that she can. She lowered her head in defeat, thinking, I can’t be a part of this.

  “You don’t trust her, do you?” Mary said, standing in front of her, both hands around her glass.

  Harper looked up, confused.

  “You have no faith,” Mary persisted.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Just because I’ve called her doesn’t mean she’s come.” Mary’s expression was one of compassion.

  “You mean...?” Harper asked.

  “As much as it irks me to admit it, Chelsea belongs to you, Harper. She’s committed to you. Oh, my God, dare I say it—she’s in love with you. She’s been inconsolably in love with you for the last two years.” Mary raised her glass to Harper, as in a toast, and took a swallow. “Not that you deserve it, for here you are, suspecting her of betrayal.”

  “Really?” Harper felt the heaviness in her heart lifting.

  “Really. She hasn’t been a barrel of laughs for the last couple of years. I’ve wondered why, sometimes, she ever bothered to come back to me. Well, I guess I know why. She’s serious about her commitments. She wanted to honor her vows to me.”

  “You mean, you haven’t seen her at all? She hasn’t responded?” “Oh, she has responded. She called me two days ago and told me to quit leaving such ludicrous messages on her answering machine. I was offended. I thought my messages were rather entertaining. Chelsea used to swoon when I quoted poetry. But I’m afraid she doesn’t find me as amusing as she once did. She’s grown up and her sense of humor has been tempered a bit by life.”

  Harper felt suddenly buoyant. “So she really doesn’t love you anymore?”

  “You needn’t look quite so overjoyed. And I wouldn’t go that far. That girl will always love me. But she isn’t in love with me anymore. She’s in love with you. And although she will always have a prominent place in my heart, little birds gotta fly.” Mary waved one of her hands in imitation of a bird’s wing.

  Harper sat silently for a moment. She realized she still didn’t know Mary’s position.

  “And you?” she asked. “Do you love her?”

  “Of course I do. Chelsea’s very special to me. She always will be. I hope she’ll get over being hurt, eventually, and we can have some sort of association again.” Mary cast a conciliatory glance at Harper. “Okay, a platonic one if necessary.”

  She sat down again and looked at Harper with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “I’m afraid I just couldn’t be what she wanted me to be. I tried. I’ve never tried for anyone else. She wanted to change me. How hopeless is that?”

  She looked resigned. “You know, Harper, I’m a child of the Sixties. My generation ushered in the sexual revolution and the feminist movement before you were even born. To be a lesbian back then was a radical position. It was a political stance, not just a personal one. We rejected everything that represented the establishment, and that included their whole concept of love, the whole ‘one man, one woman’ image of sexuality. My lifestyle has always reflected that unconventionality. I never wanted to be tied down to one person or to have kids or live inside four walls. I wanted to be the free, independent woman that my generation fought to make space for in this society. You’ve read all the literature. Even if you didn’t live it, you know what I’m talking about.” “Yes, I know,” Harper said slowly, realizing that Mary was describing the lifestyle that she had always admired and sought for herself.

  “I never wanted a relationship,” Mary said, emphasizing the word with distaste. “I’m not that kind of person. Chelsea somehow got through my defenses. She’s an exceptional girl.” Mary smiled to herself. “But what she wanted wasn’t something I had in me.”

  So that was it, thought Harper. Chelsea loved in the most traditional way there was. That was how she loved Harper too, and for that realization, Harper was ecstatic. She leapt to her feet.

  “Harper,” Mary warned, her voice suddenly stern, “she deserves someone who will never falter. Do you know what I mean?”

  Harper nodded. “Yes, I understand.” What she understood at that moment was a great deal
more than she could say.

  As Harper turned to leave, her phone rang. It was Chelsea’s cell. She answered immediately. Mary sat back in her chair and sipped her drink, looking composed and satisfied.

  “Where are you?” Chelsea asked. “I got your message that you were home, but I’ve been there and now I’m at my place, but you’re not here either. I’m wondering if we’re passing each other on the street, you know. That damned faculty meeting ran long or I’d already be lying naked in your arms with a smile on my face.”

  “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” Harper said breathlessly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Mary rolled her eyes.

  “Me too,” Chelsea said.

  Harper pushed her phone into her pocket. “I’m sorry,” she said to Mary. “Sorry for intruding and for being such an idiot.”

  “Well,” said Mary nonchalantly, “you can’t really help that, can you, dear?” Harper laughed and noted with gratitude that Mary’s smile contained genuine affection.

  “By the way, Harper,” Mary said, “did you ever get that lovely niece of yours back to her parents?”

  “Oh, yes, I did. I’ve just returned, in fact. But I don’t believe you’ve seen the last of her. I think she’s going to be back next year to go to college.”

  “Really? That will be interesting. I’ll definitely look forward to that.”

  “I’ll let myself out,” Harper said.

  “Yes, you do that, and I shall return to my entertainment. And please, Harper, don’t drop in on me again, okay? Not without calling first.”