by Ronica Black
Janice set down her fork. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.” She sighed. “You obviously believe some of what you said, or it wouldn’t have even come to your mind. And that’s fine. You shared your opinion.”
“I really don’t think that—” Carla stopped, knowing by the look on Janice’s face that her insistence of total denial would not be believed. “I’m not sure why I said those things.” She rubbed her temple, digging deep within herself to find the source for her comments. She owed Janice the truth and she needed to know and examine it as well.
Janice sat waiting quietly. She’d set down her fork, giving Carla her full attention. Seeing her sitting across from her at that table brought up many feelings. One of those feelings, though, was more prominent than some of the others.
“Do you remember our conversation the other morning? Over breakfast? The day you burnt the eggs?” Carla continued, not expecting a response. “Some of the things you said about my forgetting my roots bothered me. Not so much at the moment. Mostly I was just doing my best to try to make sense of what you were saying and then defending myself rather than thinking deeply about it. But later, after time had allowed for those things to seep in, I realized they did bother me. They actually upset me. So tonight, I think I took a shot back at you simply out of resentment and fear instead of coming to you and discussing it the right way.”
“Fear?”
“A part of me feared you might really be small-minded and too set in your ways to understand where I was coming from. The thought of you possibly being like that…really scared me.” Her voice cracked with a surprising rise of emotion. “But regardless, the way I handled the situation was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken a cheap shot at you. I should’ve discussed it with you. I apologize. Again. Because I need to and because I mean it.”
Janice propped her elbows on the table and folded her hands beneath her chin.
“It seems we’ve both made some assumptions we shouldn’t have. I can’t sit here and be upset with your assumptions and implications when I’ve done the same. I’m even thinking that way now, even though I know I shouldn’t.”
“What are you thinking?”
She appeared hesitant.
“Please, I’d like to know.”
“I’m thinking, in response to your earlier comments tonight as well as your comment at the funeral about my possibly being homophobic, how surprised I am that a woman of your intelligence would make such implications about a person, whom you’ve been acquainted with for a very long time, yes, but whom you really don’t know on a present, personal level. Which leads me to believe, ignorant as though it may be, that you doing so is due to your big city mentality, where everyone is enlightened and open-minded and far above small town folk like myself who are often considered to be backward. “
Carla stared, dumbfounded.
“Sorry you asked?”
“Little bit, yeah.”
“We both screwed up. I’m incredibly sorry for my hurtful words. I wouldn’t ever want to hurt you. You’re sorry for yours. Let’s just move on.”
She grabbed her fork and pointed at Carla’s plate.
“Your food’s gonna get cold.”
“I don’t think I can eat.”
“Don’t let a good dinner go to waste because of something stupid.”
“You saying that I think I’m somehow better than you is not something I can just forget, Janice.”
“I said it was ignorant of me to think it. I don’t believe it.”
“I need to make sure that you don’t. Because it is not in any way true.”
Janice took a bite and chewed.
“Janice?”
She swallowed. “I don’t, okay? I don’t. Now quit behaving like a big city woman and mind your southern manners and eat. You know I made this just for you, so you refusing, regardless of reason, is just downright rude.” She grinned. Impishly.
Carla laughed and buried her head in her heads. “I almost had a heart attack,” she breathed. “It would seriously kill me if you thought that I felt that way.”
“And vice versa.”
Carla straightened and smiled back at her. She grabbed her fork and took her turn in pointing it across the table.
“That grin of yours,” she said. “It’s nice to see it again. Makes me forget all about being homesick.”
Chapter Twelve
The soft jingling of bells sounded as Janice entered Dog Eared, a small used bookstore nestled in one of the original buildings in the center of town. She inhaled the scent of old, printed pages and welcomed the relaxation that washed over her. The past couple of days had been good, but noticeably different with Carla. They still talked and ate together when Carla was home, but there was a hesitation now to their demeanor, as if neither of them had the courage to lower the quick walls they’d both built after their heated conversation. Janice wished she were stronger, braver, so she could reach out to her, reconnect, see her laugh heartily and share her thoughts and emotions unapologetically as she’d done their first few days together. But Carla’s distance, in her eyes and in her tone, kept Janice’s wall intact. It was self-preservation, and admitting that was guilt-inducing. Especially in knowing how badly Carla needed to express her feelings with all she was dealing with. And Janice felt more guilt when she realized that as badly as she wanted Carla to share her feelings so she could process and heal, she wanted her to do so with her. Selfishly, she wanted to be the person she turned to and leaned on, when really, she should be wishing that Carla find someone, even if it wasn’t her, to confide in.
But Carla had closed off, and Janice suspected she wasn’t talking with anyone about her grief, not even Maurine. Janice could see it in the way she carried herself, like she’d noticed at the funeral, like she had the entire world upon her shoulders. She tried to hide it, replacing her usual report of the day’s events with light conversations and friendly but shallow smiles that didn’t come from her core.
Every time she flashed one, it stabbed Janice in the heart.
She was behaving like they were acquaintances.
Like we don’t know each other. Like she’s just a guest staying at my bed and breakfast.
“Janice, how are you, sweetheart? You doing all right?” Pearl Pine, the store’s long-time owner, greeted her from behind the counter.
“I’m doing okay, Ms. Pine.” She smiled at her, knowing she was putting on a face, just like Carla. It felt awful. She began to rethink her trip into town.
“Such a shame about Betty. Everyone’s been so tore up over that. Her family looked so sad at the funeral. They doing okay?”
“They’re doing as well as can be expected.”
She shook her head. “They were so close, that family. So sad. And that Carla, Betty’s granddaughter. I was worried she wasn’t going to make it through the eulogy.”
Janice stood at the new arrival table and picked up a paperback to peruse. She tried to concentrate on it, but Pearl continued with talk of Carla.
“I hear she’s staying with you,” Pearl said. “That’s mighty kind of you.”
Please change the subject.
Janice shrugged and again hid behind the mask of a smile. “Just doing what I can to help.”
She chose another book, her nerves on edge. She’d gone out to run errands to try to clear her mind of Carla, and the bookstore, one of her favorite places, was the last place she’d expected to have trouble in doing so.
“How are you?” She decided to change the subject herself.
“Oh, I can’t complain. My mind is sharp, and my body is functioning. That’s a good day to me.” She fingered the imitation pearl earrings Janice often saw her wear. They went well with her perfectly set, snowy white hair, as well as her name. Her blouse, a pale pink with shiny buttons and ruffled collar, was perfectly pressed.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Janice said.
“You know, you are a good woman, Janice. Polite, kind, professional. Always willing to lend a han
d. I can’t say I’m surprised at you’re letting Carla stay at your home, but in a way, I am.”
Janice glanced up quickly.
“Why is that?”
She won’t say it. She wouldn’t. I’ve known this woman for years.
But Janice’s face was already burning in anticipation.
Pearl dropped her gaze and began tidying the already neat countertop. “Because she’s, well, you know, a homosexual.”
She said it. She actually said it.
Janice squeezed the book in her hand so tight she could feel it marking her skin. She’d heard people in her community state their opinions about the subject throughout the years, some of them even her own relatives. She’d disagreed and spoken up a few times only to be verbally attacked and ganged up on. So, she was aware of how people felt, and she’d chosen to no longer confront anyone on the matter. The last time she had, she recalled, had been years ago. Right after college.
The recent discoveries she’d made about herself had, of course, brought people’s disapproval to mind. It caused her a lot of worry when she thought about it. So much so that she’d eventually just refused to deal with it. The second it crossed her mind, she forced it away. And she’d justified that with the excuse that she wasn’t out. No one knew of her attraction to women. So, she’d told herself it wasn’t an issue.
Pearl began reorganizing the display of bookmarks. She must’ve taken Janice’s silence as an invitation to continue.
“I just don’t know if I’d be comfortable with that if I was you. A single woman living alone and all.”
“Why, you think she might hit on me or something?” The words were out before she could stop them. An instant fury began to brew inside. It seemed to grow stronger by the second and she wondered if she’d be able to contain it.
Pearl glanced at her. “Well, yes. That would be something I’d be worried about.”
“I think it’s safe to say that Carla hitting on you wouldn’t be something you needed to worry about.”
“I don’t know what people like her think. I’m single and I’m a woman. That may mean I’m a target. Or it may not.” The subtle insult had gone over her head, which Janice found disappointing. She’d wanted it to sting. “But if I were you, I’d be concerned.”
Janice lowered the book and inhaled deeply through her nose.
Is this what Carla deals with?
Is this what I would have to deal with?
Judged by a woman I’ve known for years? A woman who was good friends with my mother?
She considered, in a hasty, frenzied moment, to readily admit that she wanted Carla to hit on her. Just to see the look on her face.
“Well, I guess that’s you then, Ms. Pine. I don’t have a problem with Carla’s sexuality. She’s a wonderful person and I love her. Who she’s attracted to and chooses to be in romantic relationships with isn’t any concern of mine. Nor should it be yours. Especially since Carla doesn’t concern herself with who you share your bed with.”
Her face burned hotter. She absolutely concerned herself with Carla’s romantic life. It was all she thought about. But it certainly wasn’t because she disapproved. Pearl, however, didn’t know, and though she wanted to stand tall and declare her feelings for Carla to her face, she kept control and remained poised.
“I’m a little surprised to hear this from you, Ms. Pine. Seeing as how long you’ve known Carla. I never would’ve pegged you for someone who judged people and held such prejudice. And I never would’ve imagined you unjustly snickering about someone to others, trying to spread fear and invoke judgment in them. But I guess I was wrong.” She left the book at the table, her inner fury so close to exploding she was shaking. The bookstore was no longer her favorite place. It didn’t matter how long she’d been going there or how good those worn pages smelled. To her, the bookstore had just fallen off the face of the earth.
She headed for the door.
“I do like Carla, Janice. I’m not saying—I—” Pearl couldn’t seem to recover from her own statements. She’d boxed herself in.
Janice pushed open the door, causing the bells to clamor louder than before, announcing her dramatic exit. She turned back to Pearl, compelled to say one last thing.
“We’re all human, Ms. Pine. And I know you’re trying to defend yourself because you don’t like being accused of being judgmental and prejudice and well, just an all-around shitty person. You’re probably thinking how my thinking that about you is unfair. That I don’t really know what’s in your heart. Well, I want you to consider that Carla probably feels just like you do right now when people judge her. It’s not a good feeling is it?”
She stepped out into the muggy air, leaving Pearl behind the counter with her mouth hanging open. She hurried down the sidewalk, feeling physically ill. Pearl had verbally slapped her in the face, insulting both her and Carla, and the anger it had provoked was to be expected. The fear that came along with it, was not. She fumbled in her purse for her keys. She cursed as she walked and continued to dig, wanting to get the hell out of this town. Her distraction caused her to slam into someone just as she pulled out her keys, sending them and nearly herself flying through the air.
“Oh, God I’m sorry,” a deep voice said.
“No, it’s—” Janice looked up, the voice registering. Her ex-husband, Chuck, stared down at her.
“Janice.”
“Hi.”
He knelt and quickly scooped up her keys. He placed them in her palm.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you, and—” He fell silent. A merciful breeze played with his hair, which, she noted, needed to be trimmed. She studied his face, once so familiar, now seeming foreign. He still had the deep-set eyes, more of a milk chocolate color as opposed to the dark chocolate color of his hair. His nose was still long and straight, his jaw strong. His thin lips were creased with a kind smile. But none of it felt known. She’d had to reexamine it all to recall it.
He appeared to be taking her in as well, standing before her with his hands in his khaki shorts. His collared Polo shirt, which had always been his preference when it came to casual attire, was a light green in color and, along with his leather loafers, helped him achieve a relaxed but very presentable summer ensemble.
“You look amazing,” he said.
Janice reacted with a quick inhalation, not at his unpredicted appraisal, or that her encounter with Pearl didn’t seem to be evident, but at who she knew was the cause for her current appearance. Carla’s effect had been very obvious to her, she felt it every second she was with her. And it had spawned a new sense of confidence in her and a motivation to look her best. She took the time to do her hair and makeup every morning and carefully chose her outfits, even going and buying a few new ones to accentuate her curves. She didn’t normally take the time to do those things during her summers. But she really didn’t think anyone else would notice.
Chuck, however, did. And next to Maurine, who hadn’t said anything so far, he was, once upon a time, the only other person alive who would’ve noticed. It seemed he was still somewhat keen when it came to her.
“I mean it, you look…just lit up. Like you’re glowing from the inside out.”
She saw the sincerity in his eyes, and she knew he wasn’t trying to overly flatter her or show a personal interest in her. She’d only ever seen that kind of interest and desire in him when he’d started his affair. She’d never been able to elicit such feelings in him and she didn’t see them now either. He was simply being perceptive and honest.
“Thanks.”
Please don’t ask me why I look so good.
I’m too raw right now.
And I’m afraid you’ll see it all.
He reached out, touched her arm.
“How are you, Jan?”
She almost sighed with relief. Instead she nodded and focused on being a little unnerved at the sentiment. It took her back to a time she’d left long ago, a place, like his face, she’d need to reexamine to totally recall.
She had no desire to go there.
“I’m well.”
“You sure look it.”
As she stood there with him, with Carla rushing all throughout her, she felt a kinship with him. What he was seeing in her now was what she’d seen in him when he’d began his affair.
She’d done her best to understand him then, but now she knew she hadn’t been anywhere close, despite her best efforts.
He’d looked so happy then, like he was walking on air. He, like she apparently did, had an inexplicable glow to him and a passion in him she’d never seen before. And though it had hurt to learn that she wasn’t the cause of his sudden metamorphosis, she’d wanted him to have it, to keep it, to live it.
She’d let go, hoping someday she’d find that kind of happiness for herself.
She was experiencing it now, it was in her orbit, but she couldn’t figure out how to reach out and grab hold of it or even if she should.
Could he see the dilemma that was surely clouding her eyes?
She shifted on her feet, worried he might. “How’s Rochelle?”
“She’s—fine.” He seemed thrown by the question. “We’re doing well.”
He’d married her. His mistress. She’d wished him well and held no grudges, but she had declined his request to stay in touch. When they had seen each other in passing, which had been more than two years ago now, she’d been polite, glad to hear he was well, but she’d never asked after Rochelle. She had no ill feelings toward her, even though she’d slept with a married man, she just simply preferred to keep them and their life at a distance. Because in the end, she’d still lost her partner and friend.
Her lack of jealousy and anger over the whole thing, however, still caused her to wonder just how long she would’ve continued in their marriage existing in a numb-like state, convinced there was nothing more.