Infinite Loop

by Meghan O'Brien

  Her drawing pad was nowhere to be found. Because it’s in the truck. Mel stifled a loud groan when she remembered that little detail. She hadn’t put it back in her duffel bag after taking it out the day before.

  Glancing at Regan’s bedroom door, she engaged in an internal debate. If she went outside to get it, she’d have to get dressed. And make noise on the stairs. She thought of the half-finished sketch of Monument Valley she had been working on for the past couple days. Damn, she wanted to finish it. And it wasn’t like she could sleep, anyway.

  When she reached the top of the basement stairs, tiptoeing in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, she opened the door as cautiously as she could. Though the house was silent and everyone was surely sleeping, she didn’t want to take the chance of disturbing anyone. The side door of the house was directly across from the top of the basement stairs, set in a small enclave adjacent to the kitchen, and Mel was grateful for the muted glow coming from the adjoining room that lit her way. She slipped out into the night, drawing a deep breath as she shut the door behind her.

  Her drawing pad was exactly where she’d left it, tucked in between the passenger seat and the center console. Her pencils and other supplies were in a box that she had stowed under the seat. Mel couldn’t help but grin as she held the tools of her art.

  She still couldn’t believe how much everything had changed since she’d met Regan. She never thought she’d be drawing again.

  The light in the kitchen almost seemed brighter as she eased back into the house. It illuminated the top of the basement stairs, and Mel began to panic when she heard a noise from the other room, then a whispered, “Regan?”

  She froze in her tracks. For a moment, she had no idea what to do. She cast a longing look at the basement stairs and the inky darkness at the bottom, but immediately dismissed the idea of fleeing to Regan’s room. Running in terror probably wouldn’t make the best impression.

  Swallowing, she gathered her courage and peeked around the doorframe. Carla sat at the kitchen table in a pair of cotton pajamas with both hands wrapped around a red ceramic mug. Mel shot her an awkward grin from the doorway. “Sorry. It’s just me. I couldn’t sleep and I was just getting something from the truck.”

  Carla gave her a nervous little smile. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I can’t sleep, either.”

  “Likewise. About startling you, I mean. I hope I didn’t.” She mentally slapped her forehead at how bumbling she sounded.

  Carla relaxed into an easier smile. “Do you want to sit down? I can get you some tea or water.”

  Mel hesitated. The idea of sitting down for a late-night chat with Regan’s mother was uniquely terrifying, especially with the memory of how she had just made love with Regan as fresh in her mind as her lover’s scent was on her hand. She fought not to twitch at that thought. Building a relationship with Regan’s parents was important. She just hoped to God that she didn’t reek of sex.

  “Sure,” she said. “A glass of water would be great.”

  Carla watched as she crossed the room, shifting her drawing supplies from one hand to the other, trying not to squirm under the older woman’s scrutiny. She dropped into a chair and laid her drawing pad and pencil box on the table. She could feel an uncharacteristic shyness creeping over her.

  Carla was up and on her feet as soon as she sat down. She went through the motions of getting Mel a glass of water without a word, and Mel knew that neither of them were quite sure how to start a conversation.

  When she returned with the drink, Mel accepted it with a grateful smile and took a long sip. Another stalling technique, because she still didn’t know what to say.

  Carla moved as if to sit, then stopped to grab something from the countertop. She returned to her chair with a package of Oreo cookies, cocking an eyebrow at Mel when she smiled at the sight. “If I were the ideal mother, I suppose I would have homemade cookies to give you,” she said in a light voice. “As it is, I can present you with the very best that the local grocery store has to offer.”

  Grinning, Mel took a cookie from the open package. “Homemade cookies are overrated. Give me Oreos any day.”

  Carla chuckled as she took a cookie for herself. At first they both sat, chewing in silence, then Carla broke the ice.

  “Regan also used to have trouble sleeping, sometimes. I can remember a couple of nights we met in the kitchen during our bouts with insomnia to talk and snack like this. It didn’t happen often, really. She usually preferred to stay in her room most of the time. Playing with her computers, I guess. But those were some of my favorite times with her, late at night.” Carla looked down at her hands on the table, folding her fingers together in silent contemplation.

  Mel smiled at the thought and at the bittersweet feeling Carla’s memory evoked. She tried to imagine sitting with her own mother in the middle of the night, pouring out her teenage fears and worries and triumphs. It wasn’t a new wish, but it was made more poignant sitting across from Regan’s mother.

  “I’m sure Regan appreciated those times, too,” she said. For all the distance and frustration she sensed between Regan and her parents, she also saw in Regan an intense longing for more.

  With a sad smile, Carla said, “I don’t know. I hope so. The truth is, I’ve always wished that Regan and I were closer. I think every mother wants to be close with her child, no matter how inept she may be at developing that kind of relationship.” A moment of silence, and then the inevitable, “Are you close with your mother, Mel?”

  Mel stared down at the cookie in her hand, feeling the shameful sting of unshed tears in her eyes. With a mental shake of her head, she pushed back her emotion and met Carla’s gaze. The older woman stared at her tentatively, as if she already knew what Mel was going to say.

  “My mother passed away when I was very young.” Mel breathed a sigh of relief when her voice came out strong and steady, even when her heart and her head were reeling. “We were very close before she died, but I think most kids are close with their mom at eight years old.”

  Carla reached out and took Mel’s hand without hesitation. “I’m sorry.”

  Mel shrugged, embarrassed by the sorrow in Carla’s eyes. She looked down at their enjoined hands with burning cheeks. “So am I. It was a long time ago.”

  Carla nodded and released Mel’s hand, taking a sudden drink of tea. When she set the mug down again, she looked across the table at the drawing pad.

  Mel answered the unspoken question. “I decided I might try drawing, since I couldn’t sleep. This trip has been pretty inspiring. I hadn’t drawn in years before this past week and a half, and now I find myself thinking about it all the time.”

  She waited for the recrimination to color Carla’s eyes at the mention of her art, but it didn’t happen. Instead, there was polite interest.

  Carla leaned forward in her seat and opened her mouth as if to speak, then stopped. An instant later, she sat back and gave Mel a friendly smile.

  Ah, hell, Mel decided. It wasn’t like she’d drawn Regan naked or anything. Yet. She sat up straighter in her seat, exhaled, and pushed the drawing pad over to Carla.

  “Oh, no, it’s all right,” Carla said, and shook her head as she held up a hand to forestall Mel’s movement. “You don’t have to show me your work—”

  Mel slid the pad in front of the older woman with a crooked smile. “You looked curious. I can’t blame you. I’m sure you’re wondering if I have any talent after hearing my career plans.” She kept a calm face even as her insides twisted in knots.

  Carla opened Mel’s drawing pad without hesitation. She started from the end, flipping open the back cover and skipping a few blank pages until she revealed the unfinished sketch of Monument Valley that had drawn her out to the truck so late at night. She stared at it with her jaw hung slightly open, as if struck dumb by Mel’s work in progress.

  “I’m not finished with that one yet,” Mel said, stating the obvious. “So it’s not very good at this point.”
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br />   “On the contrary,” Carla murmured, clearly impressed. “You obviously do have a lot of talent.”

  Mel shrugged and folded her hands on the table, a little uncomfortable about just how important this approval from Regan’s mother felt.

  Carla gave her a reassuring smile and flipped back another page, glancing down to stare at a finished drawing of an old man Mel had seen sitting at a gas station on their way through Kansas. She’d sketched him as Regan ran inside to pay for gas and fill up the truck, hurrying to get down the lines and details of his craggy face and the bent posture of his aged body. It had been one of Regan’s favorite pieces.

  “You capture the human form so well,” Carla said. “This is really amazing, Mel.”

  “Thank you.” The compliments made her chest hurt with pleasure and her face burn bright red. She scrubbed at her cheeks with her hand, deciding then and there that she really needed to learn how to accept praise. Blushing wasn’t in her nature.

  Carla flipped back another page, taking in a drawing that had come entirely from Mel’s mind. Two women leaned across a table engrossed in deep conversation. Their hands were frozen in enthusiastic expression, the looks on their faces intense, and Mel implied a certain level of intimacy between them through the positioning of their bodies in their chairs. Carla stared at this drawing in silence for what felt like forever to Mel.

  “Remarkable,” she finally said, and flipped to the first drawing in the pad.

  This was the drawing of Regan that Mel had sketched from memory during their morning in Amarillo. Carla gasped and brought her hand up to cover her mouth, and Mel watched her eyes brighten with emotion.

  “Oh, my.”

  Mel swallowed and looked down at the picture that Carla studied with an intense gaze. She wondered how much of her feelings for Regan could be seen just by gazing upon the sketch. Choice adjectives came to mind—love, desire, devotion—and Mel squirmed in her seat at the thought that they were visible in the loving strokes of her pencil.

  “Oh, Mel.” Carla raised shining green eyes to give her a watery smile. “This is absolutely beautiful.”

  Mel glanced down at the tabletop, her hands. “Regan is beautiful,” she said. “I think the subject can take most of the credit there.”

  “She is that. And you captured her beautifully. Lovingly.” When Mel met her eyes, she asked, “You really love her, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Mel squeezed the back of her neck with one hand, unable to say what she felt. “More than I’ve ever loved anyone. Your daughter’s an amazing woman.”

  Carla gave her a smile filled at first with unrestrained joy, and then with a hint of melancholy. “She is,” she agreed in a quiet voice. “And I know that I don’t even know half of who she is. I wish I did, though.”

  “I think Regan wishes that, too.” Mel paused a moment, then said, “It’s not too late, you know.”

  “I guess I’m just not sure how to do that.” Carla twisted her wedding band around on her finger nervously. “I’ve always wanted it. We were so close when she was a little girl, all three of us. It seemed like we did everything together. And then when she got a little older something changed. I don’t know what, but it was like where she used to be bold and precocious she became so quiet, so shy. By the time she hit puberty I felt like I didn’t know her at all.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think that’s not entirely uncommon with teenagers and their parents.”

  Carla traced her finger over the rim of her red mug. “I know you’re right. But I always felt like I was doing something wrong. She spent so much time in her room, reading, and then on her computers. I always knew there was so much more going on in her head than she was letting us see, but I didn’t know how to act with her.” Her quiet sigh hinted at disgust. “I didn’t know how to deal with it; how to relate to my own daughter. I think sometimes I’m a little too reserved for my own good.”

  Mel’s heart hurt at the sadness in Carla’s words. It was so clear to her that everyone in Regan’s family wished for greater closeness, but nobody knew how to attain it. So Regan’s self-imposed isolation from her peers kept her parents away, too. They were all just so scared and uncertain about how to talk to one another they had ended up in a self-defeating pattern. Poor Regan. Her poor mom. Mel sighed, unsure of what to do about her perspective on the situation.

  “I’ve never met anyone quite like Regan before,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “I can imagine that she could be quite a challenge at times.”

  “Has she been a challenge for you, Mel?”

  Mel thought about that for only a moment before shaking her head, her lips curled into a shy smile. “No. No, she really hasn’t. Somehow everything has been so easy with her, even though I think I have a natural tendency to make situations more challenging than they need to be sometimes.”

  “Do you feel like she really lets you inside?”

  Ignoring the unintended double entendre, she gave Regan’s mother the truth. “She does. I’ve never had a friend like her before. She’s…well, she’s my best friend. There is so much honesty and communication between us. I’ve never felt so comfortable with someone in all my life.” Quietly, she added, “She lets me know all of her.”

  Carla’s eyelashes fluttered in rapid reaction, and she looked down into her mug with a wry little smile. “I’m glad she has a friend like that. Like you.” She hesitated, took a sip of her tea, then said, “I apologize if I’ve seemed a little uncomfortable seeing the two of you together. It has been a little strange for me, I’ll admit, to see Regan so obviously intimate with someone.”

  Mel’s stomach dropped as she tried to decide what she could possibly say to that. “I—”

  Carla stopped her words with an upraised hand. “It’s a mom thing and I’ll deal with it. What’s important is that Regan seems really happy, happier than I can ever remember. And I can see how much you care for her.” Gesturing to the drawing pad, she said, “Especially now.”

  “I do.”

  “Is she happy?”

  Mel barely hesitated before answering the earnest question. “I think so, yes. I hope so. I hope I can always make her happy.” She flashed on a couple of images from the past few days—Regan smiling and laughing as they left Dave and Buster’s, the look in Regan’s eyes when she saw her new tattoo for the first time, giving Regan the Claddagh ring earlier that evening. Her grin turned confident. “Yes, she is,” she amended. “She’s happy.”

  “Good. I always worried for Regan. That she would be lonely or unhappy. I never worried that she’d be successful, because I always knew how brilliant she was. I only worried for her happiness.”

  Having made the same promise to herself and to Regan, Mel didn’t hesitate to make it now. “I will always love and protect her, and above all else, I’ll try and make her happy.”

  “I’m a lucky mother, then, because that’s all I ever wanted for her,” Carla said. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she seemed uncomfortable with the emotion she was showing. “And I know you will, Mel. The way she was acting with you tonight, I swear I’ve never seen her like that before. She was glowing.”

  “I’m the lucky one,” Mel said. “Regan and I have had the argument about who’s luckier many times, so I won’t get into it again.”

  Carla chuckled. “Ah. And have you figured out yet that it’s best not to argue with Regan if you can avoid it?”

  Mel sighed and planted her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands with a happy nod. “She does have a habit of making rather salient points in the most infuriating of ways.”

  “She gets that from her father.” With a glance at the clock on the wall, Carla said. “I should probably get back to bed, honey. It’s late and Brendan tends to get a little lonely when I leave for too long.”

  “I should probably get back, too. I’m sure Regan would really wonder if she woke up and I’d disappeared.”

  “It was very nice talking to you, Mel.” Regan�
��s mother gave her a tender smile as she stood, and stepped over to lay a warm hand on Mel’s shoulder. “And thank you for sharing your art with me.”

  “No problem.” Mel looked up at Carla with a crooked smile. “It was nice talking with you, too.”

  Mel helped Carla clear the table, then, gathering her drawing supplies, she turned to the basement stairs.

  “Oh, Mel?” Carla’s voice stopped her at the top of the stairs.

  Mel looked back. “Yes?”

  Carla gave her another smile, one that warmed her insides with its unrestrained warmth. “Welcome to the family.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “You’ve got to get out of here,” Mel protested as Regan’s lips found her nipple. She pushed back on Regan’s shoulder with one hand and used the other to pull insistent fingers away from the back of her upper thigh.

  Reluctantly, Regan released Mel’s nipple and looked up, squinting when her face was assaulted with warm spray from the showerhead. “But, Mel—”

  “No. It’s one thing when your parents are asleep, but I know they’ve woken up by now. I heard them walking around upstairs.”

  “They’ll never hear us in the shower—”

  “Go.” Mel giggled as she pushed Regan backward a step. “I’ve washed your hair, you’re all set. Go upstairs and say good morning to your mom and dad. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Fine.” Regan gave her a dramatic sigh. “But I’m coming to collect soon, sweetheart.”

  “Fair enough.” Her lover waggled her eyebrows and disappeared back into the shower.

  When Regan made her way upstairs, after throwing on her clothes, she found her father sitting in his favorite leather easy chair with the local paper in his hands. Just the beginning of another typical day at the O’Riley household. The sight of him in such a familiar pose sent a warm rush of affection through her entire body. The desire to bond with him tugged at her insides, drawing her into the den on quiet feet. She cleared her throat and her father looked up from his reading with a smile.