Homecoming

by Nell Stark

  “This is going to sound like a strange request,” she said to Corrie, “but do you have a piece of paper? And something to write with?”

  *

  The thick envelope burned Sarah’s fingers. She couldn’t stop glancing down at it—at the familiar blue and white seal and the flowing motto beneath—as she walked toward the engineering building. Lux et veritas. Light and truth. She didn’t have to open the envelope to know that she had been readmitted to Yale. Part of her didn’t want to open it, because getting reaccepted threw another wrinkle into her already hopelessly messed up life.

  Oh, stop being melodramatic. This is good news. A way out of a sticky situation. You can go back and forget this year ever happened.

  But was that what she really wanted? Academically, going back to Yale made sense—it was the more prestigious institution, after all. And yet, when she thought about returning to New Haven, she didn’t feel excited or eager or proud. She felt…hollow.

  She rode the elevator up to Corrie’s office and knocked tentatively on the door. I hope she’s not too busy. Sarah knew that she should have held off on talking to Corrie until they were at home, but checking her mail had thrown her for such a loop that she just couldn’t wait.

  “Come in.”

  When Sarah did, Corrie laughed. “Wow,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “Rory was here about an hour ago. What am I, Dr. Phil?”

  “She was? Really? What’d she say? How did she look? Is she—”

  When Corrie held up one hand, Sarah shut her mouth. She fidgeted where she stood, unable to stand still. Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweating and more than anything in the world, she wanted to know what had driven Rory to seek Corrie out.

  Corrie reached into her pocket and extracted a small, black box. She held it up. “She wanted me to give this to you. There’s a note inside.”

  Fingers trembling, Sarah took the box and cracked it open. She took out the neatly folded piece of paper and sucked in a sharp breath at what lay beneath it: a silver claddagh pendant on a chain. Whoa. She set the box down carefully and unfolded the note, smiling when she saw Rory’s scrawling script.

  I meant to give this to you on your birthday. I was going to tell you that I was falling for you. But then your parents called and there just wasn’t a good time, and now I’m afraid it’s too late.

  Sarah’s eyes burned. Falling for me. Her birthday had been almost two months ago. Rory had kept her feelings to herself for a long time, and when she finally dared to confess…I let her down. She was brave and honest and I refused to believe her. I was selfish. Afraid.

  Sarah blinked hard, cleared her throat, and focused on the last line of the message: I miss you. I love you. Have faith in me.

  “For what it’s worth,” Corrie said, “I like her. She’s pissed as hell at you, but she’s not giving up.”

  Sarah pocketed the note and shut the box with a click. “She should be angry,” she said, her voice thick. “I really don’t deserve her.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Corrie said, rolling her eyes. “That’s such a bullshit line. Everybody’s fucked up in their own personal way, Storm. Love isn’t about deserving.”

  Sarah stood with her head bowed, unsure of what to say. Was that true? Could she trust that Rory loved her for exactly who she was? That she wasn’t tolerating her flaws, or turning a blind eye to them—but that they just didn’t matter? I want to believe that. I really do.

  She took a deep breath and met Corrie’s gaze again. “In other news,” she said, tossing the envelope onto the desk, “look what I got in the mail today.”

  Corrie picked it up, raising her eyebrows. “You haven’t opened it.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Corrie handed it back to her with a slight grin. “No way. That’s a federal offense. You do it.”

  “Fine.” This was why she had come here, after all. Corrie wouldn’t let her be a coward. Snatching back the envelope, she ripped it open and extracted the letter. “Dear Sarah Storm,” she read aloud. “We are pleased to offer you admission…” She replaced the letter on Corrie’s desk. Her stomach was doing the twist. “Just like I thought. Now what do I do?”

  “You know,” Corrie said, standing up and stretching. “I’m flattered as all hell that you keep coming to me for advice. But if you want me to tell you whether to stay or go, then forget it. You’re the only one who can make that choice.”

  Sarah flushed, ashamed at being called out. She had wanted to use Corrie, she realized, to keep herself from being accountable. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Guess I’m not doing too great at dealing with that fear thing, huh?”

  Corrie rested one hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said. And then she grinned. “But don’t be chicken shit, either. Now get out of here and go do something productive. I’ll see you at home tonight.”

  “All right,” Sarah said. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  But when she dutifully parked herself in the library to go over her poli sci notes, she couldn’t stop wondering what Rory was doing at that moment. She had turned in her film that morning, Sarah knew. Was she sleeping? Playing video games? Writing an English paper? Messing around on Facebook?

  Is she thinking about me? Is she still angry?

  *

  Sarah parked outside of Independence Auditorium but didn’t open her door. She reached deep into her right jeans pocket and withdrew the small black box containing Rory’s claddagh pendant. Over the past few days, she had reread the note a hundred times. I miss you. I love you. Have faith in me.

  Sarah let the chain slide between her fingers, but didn’t put it on. She pooled the necklace back into the box and returned it to her pocket. Tonight was Rory’s big night. In just a few minutes, her documentary, which she had titled Free Rhode Island, would be shown as a part of the film department’s spring festival.

  She glanced down at her watch and got out of the car. Most people would be in the auditorium by now. It would be easy to unobtrusively claim a chair near the back. And sure enough, she ended up in an aisle seat in the third to last row. Rory would be sitting somewhere in the front, she knew, along with all of the other film students whose movies had played throughout the day. Not for the first time, she wondered why Free Rhode Island had been given the last—and premier—slot. Was it coincidence, or a reward for brilliant work?

  “It’s going to be wicked hard to see, all the way back here,” Matt said from just behind her. Sarah felt her pulse jump and she twisted around in her chair to look him in the eyes. “We’ve got an extra seat in the fourth row, center.” He held out his hand. “C’mon.”

  She hadn’t spoken with Matt in a week, figuring that he must be furious with her for how she had treated Rory. But he didn’t look angry at all. In fact, he was smiling kindly at her under his shock of metallic gold hair.

  Sarah wanted to take him up on his offer, but she was afraid. Obviously, he was sitting with everyone from the GLBT student center. How many of them had heard what had happened? What if they were mad at her?

  “Thanks, Matt,” she said. “But I think I’d better stay here.”

  “No way, stud,” he said, and his use of Rory’s teasing moniker made Sarah’s heart thump painfully. “Come on. Sit with your family.”

  Sarah’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked furiously. I will not lose it. Not here. Not now. Matt’s demand was irresistible. It was exactly what she wanted. “Yeah,” she said, willing her voice not to shake. “Okay.”

  From her new position, Sarah could see the back of Rory’s head clearly, several rows in front of them. When she sat down, Sarah realized that she had ended up between Matt and Chelsea. There was an awkward moment of silence for several seconds, and Sarah could practically feel Matt racking his brains for some funny story that would diffuse the tension. But that wasn’t his responsibility. It’s mine.

  She turned to Chelsea. “So hey, does Afterhours have any more performances before the semester ends?”

>   Chelsea looked surprised but recovered quickly, launching into an animated discussion of her a cappella group’s schedule over the next week. Sarah nodded, already planning to ask what her summer plans were next, when the house lights came down. A surge of excitement coursed under her skin. I’ve been looking forward to seeing this since Rory started filming in November.

  The film began to roll—first a few credits and then the title screen. Sarah was disappointed. She had wanted to see Rory standing up in front of everyone, acknowledged for her work. Her gaze wasn’t on the screen, but on Rory. Being this close to her was comforting and maddening, all at once. I miss you. I don’t know what to do. Loving you scares me half to death, but I can’t make it go away.

  She returned her gaze to the screen when Matt elbowed her in the ribs. There she was, back in the fall during her first week of interning for FRI. Sarah watched herself look up from her new desk to grin at Rory, who had been making funny faces behind the camera. She watched herself working at her computer, photocopying fliers, talking with Nancy. She watched herself handing out those same fliers to students, engaging them in conversations about the upcoming referendum. She watched herself holding a sign and a candle outside the capitol building, canvassing in the cafeteria, chalking the sidewalk outside Memorial Union.

  The dramatic irony made some parts difficult to watch—like Lee’s inspirational speech, and Sarah’s own hopeful declaration in January about the election’s outcome. But revisiting all of her FRI memories wasn’t nearly as painful as Sarah had anticipated. I have a lot to be proud of, she realized for the first time. I helped build community. I helped give people a mission. I changed and opened minds.

  And that’s when she understood that this wasn’t just a film about GLAD or FRI or Rhode Island or the fight for equal rights. Rory had spent hours upon hours shooting—at the FRI office, at every event, and around the university. While editing, she could have chosen to focus on someone else, like Nancy. Or she could have made a more conceptual movie, one that wasn’t attached to any one individual’s journey. Instead, Free Rhode Island was a film about her—about Sarah Storm—created by the woman who knew and loved her best. It was a love letter and a photo album and a mix CD, all tossed together.

  It was a glimpse of what Rory saw in her. Rory saw a strong woman, someone unafraid to fight for her beliefs. Rory saw a compassionate woman, a good listener, firm leader, and inspirational speaker. Rory saw a dedicated woman, creative and hardworking.

  Rory saw the good in her. She brought out the best in her. And in that moment, as Sarah stared at herself on screen, she realized that Rory wasn’t confused at all.

  She really is in love with me. She really means it.

  Sarah had no idea what the rest of the audience was seeing, but she knew, with the kind of absolute certainty that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, that Rory had been thinking about her during every single moment of filming, editing, revising. This was her floating bottle, and Sarah was the only one who could open it and read the message inside.

  I love you. I want you. I need you. Out of everyone in the world, I choose you, Sarah. Just you.

  The last scene of the film was Nancy’s final speech on election night. Rory had focused her camera not on Nancy, but on Sarah. As Nancy spoke about how important it was to be proud of their progress and continue strong in the fight for equal rights, Sarah watched her own expression change, from despair to determination. She remembered her resolve in that moment never to give up. And then the screen faded to black.

  Without checking to see whether anyone else was standing, Sarah rose to her feet and clapped as hard as she could when Rory and her peers dutifully appeared onstage. She had no idea whether Rory could see her in the glare, but just in case, she looked directly at her the entire time. Rory had made her proud—not just of FRI, but of herself. It didn’t matter that her parents were disappointed in her—not really. What mattered was that she not be disappointed in herself.

  “Well,” Matt said as the lights came up. “That was all kinds of awesome.”

  “Yeah,” Travis said from a few seats down. “I mean, wow.”

  “If that doesn’t win an award…” Chelsea said.

  Sarah nodded, but didn’t contribute to the praise. She felt full, somehow—supersaturated with emotion. It was so clear what she had to do, now. Rory had laid all her cards on the table, and she had to do the same. No holding back. The thought should have frightened her, but didn’t. Not anymore.

  She caught a glimpse of Rory at the foot of the stage, talking with her film professor and someone else—a distinguished-looking, middle-aged guy—before Matt distracted her by tugging on her sleeve. “I have it on good authority that the after party is at Kingston Pizza,” he said. “I’m going to head over there soon. Anybody else?”

  “Sure.” Sarah felt a little dazed. The need to see and talk to Rory was overwhelming, and she had lost her in the crowd of people now trying to leave the auditorium. “We can take my car.”

  But when they walked through the doors of the pizzeria, Rory was nowhere to be found. The other members of her class were there, but when Sarah questioned them, they couldn’t tell her anything concrete.

  “I thought she was coming,” one said. “She left with us. But…” He gestured expansively and almost spilled his beer on Sarah’s black T-shirt.

  “Thanks.” Sarah returned to Matt’s side. “They don’t know where she is. I’m going to try the room.”

  He nodded. “Good luck.” For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say more, but then he patted her arm and moved off toward a knot of people near the bar.

  Sarah hurried back across campus to Hutchinson. She jogged up the stairs and down the hall, mindless in anticipation. She’ll be there. She has to be there. But the door was locked, and when Sarah used her key to get in, the room was dark and deserted. She stood in the center of the common room, feeling lost.

  Where would she go? If she didn’t want to be with her friends to celebrate her accomplishment, why wouldn’t she have come back here? And then suddenly, Sarah remembered a mild November night, and the conversation they’d had in that tiny park on top of the hill.

  Do you come here a lot?

  Once in a while. Mostly when something’s bugging me.

  Sarah closed her eyes, imagining that she could feel the pull of Rory’s beautiful, burning soul as her body glided through the warm spring night.

  “Wait for me,” she whispered.

  She fumbled in her pocket for that little black box, then fastened the pendant around her neck for the first time. The silver chain felt cool against her neck, and the light pressure of the claddagh symbol against her collarbone was comforting. She smiled. And then she hurried out the door, down the stairs, and out of the building, turning away from campus and toward the town.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Rory leaned back a little and inhaled deeply, welcoming the flying sensation. The night was warm and clear. Stars pricked the sky like pins in a black velvet cushion. She smiled a little, feeling strangely at peace. Sarah had been at the screening. If the film hadn’t proven to her just how deeply Rory cared, then she would never be convinced. Rory was still afraid, of course, but for now, the fear hovered on the edges of her consciousness, banished by a sense of accomplishment.

  After the screening, her professor had introduced her to a friend of his—a New York–based director who just so happened to be in production over the summer. He had asked Rory whether she would be willing to work on his set, and she had jumped at the chance. She still couldn’t believe her luck—to have that kind of experience before she graduated was just…unreal.

  Somewhere below her and to the west, her friends were celebrating with pizza and beer. Part of her wanted to go and join them—to soak up their congratulations and answer their questions. To bask in her moment of glory—to feel like a Very Important Person. But most of her needed to be here, soaking up the wind and the starlight, basking in
the quiet knowledge that she had done the best she could.

  She closed her eyes and pumped her legs harder. Crickets chirped in the grass and a lily-scented breeze blew her hair back from her face, and someone’s footsteps crunched rhythmically along the gravel path—

  Footsteps. Rory’s eyes flew open to see Sarah standing several yards away, watching her. She was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. A silver chain around her neck gleamed in the dim light. A painful jolt of hope shot through Rory’s body. My necklace. She’s wearing it.

  “Hey,” Sarah said. Her voice was soft and hesitant, and she shifted her weight back and forth, clearly nervous. “I just wanted to tell you…I mean, your film is…it’s amazing, Rory. Everyone was saying so, not just me. Chelsea thinks you’ll get an award, and you totally deserve one…” She paused for a second, running one hand through her hair. She looked vulnerable and handsome and anxious. “They all loved it. But I don’t think they really got it. Not like—not like I did.”

  Rory had thought through this moment frequently, over the past week. Sometimes, when she had felt absolutely miserable, visualizing what would happen when Sarah finally started speaking to her again was the only way she had been able to keep from falling apart. Sometimes she had imagined shouting at Sarah—sometimes kissing her. She had never expected to feel calm and poised when the moment arrived, but somehow, she did.

  “I made it for you,” she said, gradually slowing the momentum of the swing.

  Sarah nodded. “I know.”

  “I fell in love with you while shooting it.” Rory watched Sarah closely, wanting so badly to believe that Free Rhode Island had truly affected her in the way that she had hoped. But she had to be sure. She had to be clear. “I fell in love with you all over again while I was editing.”