“She had another one, I guess. It was from high school.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that. I assumed your mom had a Bible; she was a devout woman and was raised in the church. You knew that, though.” He leaned in.
“I did.” Amara nodded. “It’s just that… there was a name written in the Bible.” She didn’t know how to reveal this part exactly. “Turns out, it was a friend of Mom’s back then. I found out she still lives nearby. I talked to her.”
“You talked to someone about your mom?”
“She’s very nice,” she began. “I met her yesterday, actually. She knew Mom in school.”
“Oh, that’s great, then, honey. I’m glad you’re getting to know your mom like this. She died before you got the chance.”
Amara didn’t want to reveal her mother’s path if he didn’t already know. She had no way of bringing it up to find out if he knew either; she was at an impasse. She knew how much her father had loved her mother. She’d always just assumed that her mother had loved him the same. Now, Amara wasn’t sure if her mother had been a lesbian who married a man simply because she thought she had no choice, or if she fell in love with a girl in school, and it was magical for what it was, but that she fell in love with her father after that. She didn’t care about her mother’s label, necessarily – it was something she’d never know anyway – she just didn’t want to hurt the man sitting in front of her.
“Dad, the woman I spoke with was at the party that night.” She changed the subject. “She ran into Mom there. You, too.”
“That night, before the accident, is a total blur to me, Amara. I wouldn’t remember anyone I met that night.”
He stood and appeared uncomfortable at the change in topic. It had always been like this. Whenever the night of the accident came up, he’d pace around whatever room he was in. He’d rub the back of his neck over and over again. No matter how much time had passed, it was still difficult for him to discuss it. She knew he only did it because she needed to know her mom. It pained him to go through it time and again, but he did it for her. She loved him even more for it.
“Dad, who drove the car that night?” she chanced.
His pacing ceased instantly. He lowered his head to the ground, dropped both hands to his sides, and slowly turned to her.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Mom’s friend saw you two get in the car.”
“It doesn’t matter, Amara.”
“Dad, please,” she pled.
“What does it matter now? She’s gone, Amara.”
“You told me it was you. I grew up thinking you’d been driving.”
“She was your mom, Amara. I never wanted you to think any less of your mother. She made a mistake that night. It was one mistake that cost her and us.” He raised his eyes to his only daughter; there were tears brimming there. “Baby, your mom wasn’t a heavy drinker. She had a glass of wine here and there; that was it.”
“What happened that night, Dad?”
“Your mom was upset about something. I don’t know what. She just found me in the kitchen and told me we were leaving.” He allowed a tear to roll down his cheek. “I didn’t know, honey. I swear, I didn’t know.”
“That she’d been drinking?” Amara allowed a tear to roll down her own cheek as well.
“I’d brought her a glass of wine when we got there. This was a party for her crowd.” He sat back in the chair. “People from the university. I ran into someone, though, that I knew from the country club where I played golf. He and I talked for a while. I lost track of your mom. That was common for us, though. Your mom would come to church events, mingle on her own while I would work, and I’d do the same when it was her group of friends.” He wiped his hands over his slacks. “She pulled on my arm hours later and dragged me to the car. I could tell she was upset. I asked her what was wrong. She just told me she wanted the keys. I stupidly gave them to her.”
“Dad…”
“Honey, the reason I told you I was driving and it was my fault was because it was my fault: I should have known; I should have stopped her. I didn’t. I let your mother drive us home. I listened as she ranted about some woman at the party who had said something to her. I don’t know who it was or what she said. I wish I did. I wish I could go back in time and pull your mother away. I wish we never would have gone to that stupid party.”
Amara stood and made her way over to her father. She knelt down in front of his chair and took his hands in her own.
“Dad, it’s not your fault.” She allowed a few tears to fall. “It happened. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring this back up; I just wanted to know the truth.”
“The truth is that I failed your mother, Amara. It’ll always be the truth no matter how many ways I tell the story.”
“It was an accident.”
“Your mom didn’t notice the red light. I was trying to get her to slow down, and I didn’t see it either. She ran it. That’s what happened. A car hit us on her side. I had a dislocated shoulder, a few cuts, and bruises. Your mom had it worse. She made it to the hospital, honey. I thought she’d be okay. She was, for a day or so,” he explained. “Then, she took a turn.” He lifted his eyes to meet Amara’s. “Honey, your mom loved you so much. When she found out she was pregnant with you, she was so happy. She started picking out colors for the nursery right away. I didn’t care if we had a boy or a girl. Your mom wanted a daughter. She was so excited when we found out that we were having you.” He paused and held her cheek in his hand. “We fought over names on the way home from the doctor’s office.”
“I remember.” Amara chuckled.
“I think she made a perfect choice,” he told her with shimmering eyes. “When I lost her, I didn’t know what I was going to do. I had a little girl who didn’t have a mom. I tried to do the best I could, baby.”
“I know, Dad.” She placed her hand over his on her cheek. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Who is this woman anyway?” He pulled back from their embrace and tried to pull himself back together. “Maybe I’ll remember her name.”
Amara didn’t know what to tell him. It wasn’t like her name was all that common. If she told him the woman had the same name her mother had fought so hard for her daughter to have, it would likely create more questions than answers for him.
“Daisy,” she lied.
There was a vase of daisies on the desk across from her own.
“Daisy? No, I don’t remember any Daisy. Like I said, though, that night is a blur.”
“I understand, Dad.”
“That Bible, though, it belongs to you now, sweetheart. You can take it. You should look through it more. Your mom read the Bible every day. I’ll give you the one I know she read every night before bed. We won’t wait until you get married. You deserve to know more about your mother and how important her faith was to her.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Amara left her father in his office, knowing he’d need some time to himself, and went home. She took the Bible from her father’s study. She went back to the pool house and laid down with it, wanting to know if she’d missed anything from the last time she’d examined it. She’d made it most of the way through it, but she hadn’t flipped through every single page. Toward the end of the book, she found that several pages at the back were blank, as was common in books. They’d been completely written over in red ink by her mother’s hand.
“I’ve lost my soulmate because I’m afraid,” she read the first line out loud. “If it’s so wrong, why do I miss A? Why do I think of A every day? Why am I so scared for us to be together? Why can’t I be like everyone else? I met a man yesterday at church. He asked to take me to coffee, and I went. He was nice, handsome. He’s going to be the head pastor soon. He’s who I should love.” Her mother was talking about her father. “He’s someone I could love, I think. I haven’t seen A in so long. I wonder if I’ll ever feel for someone what I felt for A. I could love him. I could fall in love with him. I could h
ave a life with him.”
That was it. Her mother had dated her father because she thought she had to. She’d never know if she had eventually fallen in love with her father. She wouldn’t ever know if her mother loved him the way she’d loved Amara. Those secrets died with her.
Amara set the book aside, and she cried. She cried for the loss of her mother, and for the guilt her father had experienced ever since. She even cried for the possibility that her father loved her mother more than life, but that his wife hadn’t returned the same kind of love. She cried for herself in the end. She cried because she’d done the same thing her mother had done all those years ago. She tried to find a way to change, to be like everyone else, to feel how she should feel about the opposite sex. She cried and cried, until she ran out of tears.
CHAPTER 28
Hillary heard the knock at the door while she was stirring the red wine sauce for the chicken she already had baking. She wasn’t sure if Amara would be staying over. She’d hoped that if she had dinner ready when Amara arrived, they could get right to the conversation they’d been unable to have that morning.
“Come on in,” she yelled to the door. “I’m in the kitchen.”
The door opened. Amara entered the apartment, tossed her jacket on the couch, and made her way to the kitchen, where she immediately pulled Hillary into her arms.
“I missed you,” she announced.
“Hi, baby.” Hillary dropped the spoon, flipped the burner switch off, and embraced her girlfriend. “I missed you, too.”
She moved them away from the stove toward the living room. Amara’s lips were on hers. Hillary forgot all about dinner. They made their way into the bedroom, where Amara pulled at the t-shirt Hillary had planned on changing out of before dinner but hadn’t had the time. Amara’s hands were sure on her stomach. They drifted around Hillary’s back and unclasped her bra. They allowed it to drop to the floor without a word. Amara tugged at Hillary’s jeans until they, too, were discarded. Her panties were gone next. Amara shoved her onto her own bed, knelt in front of her, spread her legs, and connected her mouth to Hillary’s center.
Hillary wasn’t sure what was happening. She’d grown wet the moment Amara’s lips had connected to her mouth. Amara’s hands were on the inside of her thighs, parting her even more. Her girlfriend’s tongue was sliding around her clit but hadn’t applied any direct pressure to it. Hillary’s eyes were watching Amara’s head as it bobbed sexily between her legs. Amara’s tongue was talented. It stroked her confidently and directly. Her lips engulfed Hillary’s clit and sucked. Amara’s two fingers slid inside her, and the woman’s thrusts were not slow. They were fast and hard. Hillary came into her mouth within seconds. Amara kept her mouth where it was and her fingers inside. She stroked slowly and surely until Hillary’s tremors died down completely.
Hillary opened her eyes then. Amara was standing in front of her, staring down at her naked flesh on full display. Amara was still fully clothed. That was something Hillary planned to remedy as soon as the feeling returned to her legs. She didn’t have to worry about that, though, because Amara pulled her own shirt over her head; her bra followed soon after. Hillary stared wide-eyed at her girlfriend as she stripped off her jeans, taking her panties with them, and climbed on top of her. Hillary gripped her hips and sat up. She took Amara’s nipple into her mouth. Amara’s hips rocked into her as she held the woman in place. She sucked on Amara’s skin and listened to Amara’s heavy breathing as she slid one hand between her thighs.
“Please,” Amara begged.
Hillary slid her fingers inside; Amara tensed around them immediately. The warmth engulfed Hillary’s curling fingers as Amara lifted her body up and crashed down into them over and over. Amara gripped Hillary’s shoulders, repeating the same motion, while Hillary could only hold on and try to connect her lips to any part of Amara’s skin she could. Amara moved faster and faster. Hillary held on. The woman took what she needed, clenched around Hillary’s fingers, and came hard. Her body slowed, her breaths came in ragged bursts, and her arms wrapped tightly around Hillary’s neck.
“I love you,” Hillary confessed in a whisper.
Amara stiffened. Hillary worried she’d said it too soon. They hadn’t been together long enough for those words. She should have waited. Amara hadn’t ever had a relationship like this before. This would likely scare the shit out of her.
“I love you, too,” Amara replied.
The woman pulled back, meeting Hillary’s awestruck eyes, leaned down, and kissed her. Hillary returned the kiss eagerly. They fell back against the mattress where Hillary could then slide them up to the pillows and flip them over. She stared down at Amara, met those green eyes, and slid her hand to Amara’s cheek, which she cupped.
“You are perfect,” Hillary said.
She kissed Amara’s lips, her neck, her collarbone, and moved down to the space between her breasts. She sucked one nipple into her mouth and, after a few moments, moved to the other. Amara squirmed beneath her as her lips connected to the woman’s abdomen and moved lower still. When Hillary finally took her into her mouth, Amara’s hips lifted off the bed enough so that Hillary’s hands could cup her ass. Amara’s legs wrapped around her shoulders. Hillary sucked and licked and nibbled on the soft skin of Amara’s inner thighs until Amara came in her mouth. She stayed in her position, admiring her girlfriend’s heaving chest and flushed skin, until Amara’s eyes opened.
“Come up here,” Amara requested.
Hillary moved to lie alongside her girlfriend and placed her hand on Amara’s stomach, drawing shapes on the skin she’d just kissed. They stayed like that for several moments. Hillary enjoyed the comfortable silence she’d never quite had with anyone else she’d dated. She guessed, though, that Amara was enjoying it more. The woman seemed to have things on her mind that needed internal processing. Hillary didn’t want to intrude. Eventually, she rested her head on Amara’s shoulder, continued her lazy touches on warm skin, and waited for Amara to tell her what was wrong.
◆◆◆
“Hill?”
“Yeah?”
“I think my mom was gay, too.”
Hillary lifted her head at Amara and stared down at her with a confused expression on her face.
“What?” she asked.
Amara moved to sit up, leaving Hillary no choice but to do the same. They sat facing one another on the bed. Hillary was obviously waiting for her to continue. Amara didn’t know how, at first, but then she caught Hillary’s concerned expression and remembered that this woman had just told her she loved her.
“I found something that used to belong to her. It was her Bible. It had a name written in it, ‘Amara Sarai’, with a heart around it.”
“Amara?”
“Yeah, I think I was named after her, but I honestly don’t know why. It seemed like my mom was trying to do everything she could to forget her.”
“Hold on, babe. Slow down for me.” Hillary placed a hand on her naked thigh.
“Sorry. I’ll start at the beginning.”
She told Hillary about the Bible, the napkin, the rose, the research she’d done online, and how she’d found Amara Sarai Graysmith. Of course, back then she’d been Amara Sarai Schwartzman; the woman had taken her wife’s last name years ago. Amara told Hillary about the conversation they’d shared on Saturday, how her mother had been in love with this woman, and how she’d ended things – after they’d finally consummated their relationship – out of fear.
“Oh, babe.” Hillary moved to lie back on the bed and reached out her arm for Amara to slide into.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away.”
“You don’t have to be. It’s okay. I mean, I do want you to know that you can talk to me about anything, but I understand.”
“Hillary, I don’t want to be like her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She gave up someone she loved, someone she considered to be her soulmate, because she was afraid.” Amara chuck
led. “Then, she met my dad and dated him because she thought that was what she was supposed to do. I don’t even know if she ever loved him. How unfair is that to him? She was the love of his life, Hill. He’s only been on a handful of dates since she died. Most of those were setups by friends and went nowhere. The longest relationship he’s had since, was over three years ago. It lasted just under a year. He’s told me a thousand times that there’s no one but my mom for him.” She paused as the sadness washed over her. “She lied to him.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe she did love him. Maybe she grew to love him.”
“That’s not good enough. She shouldn’t have let Amara go if she loved her.” She lifted her head. “Hill, I don’t want that to be us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to be so scared all the time. I don’t want to risk losing you because I can’t be honest about who I am.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Amara.”
“I know you say that, but the other Amara said that, too. She stayed every time my mom ended things and came crawling back to her; she stayed. Then, she didn’t.”
Hillary ran her fingers through Amara’s red locks that were down again, framing her face.
“My mom did a number on me, Amara. I’ve managed to put some of the pieces back together. I’ve forgiven her, but there’s still pain there. I suppose it’ll always be there. It might get easier with time. I don’t know.” She paused. “I also don’t know what your mom was thinking or feeling. It was a different time back then. I don’t know what I would have done in her situation. She may have felt she had no other option.”
“But, Hill, I’ll never know.” Amara allowed a few tears to build in her eyes. “She’s gone. I’ll never know.”
“What do you need to know, honey? Whether or not she loved your dad in the same way she loved this other woman? What would have happened if she would have stayed with her? I know one answer to that question. If they would have stayed together, I wouldn’t have you.” Hillary leaned up and pecked Amara’s lips. “Amara, I love you. I don’t know what happened between your mom and this other woman or your mom and your dad. All I know is that I love you. You wouldn’t be the same person I fell in love with while staring at you in a coffee shop had your mom not made the decisions she had.”
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