Chapter Twenty-Three 4 page

Caroline whipped open cupboard doors, cursing under her breath. Steph almost laughed when she checked the oven but the laugh died in her throat when she opened the freezer—and found the salt shaker inside. She waved it at her, knowing Steph was a nonbeliever.

“Still think we’re all nuts?”

Steph decided to take a run before dinner preparations began. It was always a wonderful sprint down the mountain to the shore and then back up, past the B and B to the lighthouse. It wasn’t much of a workout but she felt refreshed by the time she reached the edge of the cliff. If it was a slow tour day, she’d climb the tower steps to the light and stare through the glass, imagining what it would’ve been like to live here as a real keeper. But today it was crowded so she avoided the obvious picture spots and found a quiet patch of grass to be alone with her thoughts of Francine—the only person other than her parents who ever knew the truth about her abrupt departure from college.

The day she’d returned to Eugene that fateful spring, she couldn’t fathom what she would say to her parents, so she’d driven to Francine’s house. During high school she routinely shared her problems with Francine before she took them home. Francine was great at finding just the right words that wouldn’t send Dramatic Debbie over the edge.

Four hours later Francine had convinced Steph to keep the baby and accept Lawrence’s proposal. When she went with her to tell Debbie and John, Steph wondered if they’d be upset that she confided in Francine first, but she suspected that her mother would be finishing her fourth or fifth drink and her father would be too stunned to care. She was right. Her father, although furious, agreed with her decision and her mother fake-cried for about fifteen minutes before she fell asleep.

A gust of wind sailed across the cliff instantly chilling her. Oregon wasn’t known for its warmth. She glanced up at Heceta, its beacon flashing every thirty seconds, as it had for over a hundred years, protecting sailors from crashing into the shore. It was constant and dependable, ameliorating the fear of death.

She was envious of the strong conical structure. When she’d learned she was pregnant, she’d turned to the person she thought was the strongest, who would protect her and eliminate her fear. At the time she was too young and too distraught to recognize Francine’s tactics were rooted in her own fear. She’d planted seeds of doubt, convincing her that the newborn could wind up in a poor home if she put it up for adoption, or worse, her soul would be damned if she got an abortion.

Years later she realized what she was most afraid of—herself. If she’d pursued either an abortion or an adoption, the reins would have been returned to her and her life would’ve been her responsibility again. She rationalized that she’d told Francine first because Debbie couldn’t handle it, when in fact she herself couldn’t.

Francine had given her the traditional, predictable and desired answer, whereas Debbie would’ve viewed the situation for the complexity it had, forcing Steph to stand in the sea of gray and leave the shore of black and white. After the yelling had stopped and Debbie had sobered up, Steph would’ve had a choice.

Standing at the base of Heceta, she realized it had been nearly a decade since she’d thought of that afternoon with Francine and it had taken her death for the memory to surface. She’d made the right choice, perhaps for all of the wrong reasons, but she wouldn’t undo parts of the past if she could.

As she watched the twilight loom over Heceta and the dark of night pressed the day to end, she thought of the gray in her life, the possibilities with Paula, her divorce and Eric. She looked up at Heceta, yearning for its strength.

Chapter Seven

The weight of the past three days crashed onto Paula as she and the silent Shelby drove back to the motel. She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes, hoping Shelby could navigate in the dark. When a wave of sadness overtook her again, she turned toward the window and whimpered softly. Her mother was gone but oddly it was her father she missed. He’d always seemed almost superhuman and she wasn’t certain if it was because of his true greatness or the romanticism of childhood. Didn’t all little girls think their daddies were perfect?

She comforted herself by thinking of the people around her. After Mrs. Gunn’s phone call, she’d immediately Tweeted all of her friends, who rallied to their support and promised to attend the service.

Emilio was his usual upbeat self when he responded. She’s happier than she’s ever been, Paula, remember that. And then he’d used the rest of his one hundred and forty characters to write, Did you contact Stephanie? She needs to know.

Paula had called the care facility where Debbie was staying, and after much cajoling she was able to get Steph’s cell number. She wasn’t brave enough to call so she’d sent a text with the funeral arrangements. Steph had replied with a brief, consoling message, but Paula was disappointed that she hadn’t said more, like a few hints of what she’d been doing for the last seventeen years.

Her own behavior at the service was a mystery. She couldn’t fathom what had come over her when she’d seen Steph. Shelby, less than fifty yards away, and Paula had kissed another woman. And not just any woman—the one. And she wanted to do it again. She didn’t understand how the intervening years could disappear in a single conversation but they had. It was like they had never been apart.

She reminded herself that Shelby was probably sleeping with Gemma and she’d also caught her making out with a bridesmaid at a wedding they’d attended a month before. Shelby had blamed the strong tequila but Paula thought her libido had as much to do with the transgression, as Shelby liked to call it.

She opened an eye and glanced at Shelby, who was yawning as she drove. The woman was ten years younger than she, and their different perspectives on life reflected the years of experience that separated them. Now that both her parents were dead she was painfully reminded of her own mortality and isolation. Shelby, on the other hand, had barely turned twenty-five and had two very young and healthy parents. While she was sympathetic to Paula’s situation, she couldn’t empathize or grasp the depth of the loss.

“I’m an orphan,” Paula had said as they waited in the airport for their flight to Portland.

“No, you’re not,” Shelby replied. “Orphans are little kids like in that Oliver Twist book. You’ve had your mother for your whole life. I mean it’s sad,” she quickly added, “but come on, babe, she was old, really old. It’s part of life.”

Face it. Shelby doesn’t get it. You can’t talk to her about it. Thank God you have Steph.

The vision of Steph standing in the lovely little garden made her smile. She’d seen Steph enter the church with Emilio but she was so stunned that she quickly turned away, knowing a vacuous conversation was the last thing she desired after so many years of separation. She needed time to collect her thoughts, to ensure that she made a good second impression on the woman who still held a place in her heart.

Throughout the service she glanced at Steph, whose beauty over time had matured into elegance. She’d always been a knockout, but now she was glamorous, savvy about her looks and the clothes and makeup that accentuated her features. She was a true femme—Paula’s exact type.

She might not have found the courage to speak to her if Emilio hadn’t literally pushed her toward Steph as she admired Francine’s picture display. And the more they talked the more selfish she became. She forgot about the other guests. She wanted Steph all to herself. It had been thoughtless to lead her into the garden, brazen to kiss her—a married woman—and shameful to want more.

“You okay?” Shelby asked, massaging her neck.

“Yeah,” Paula lied. Guilt erased the vision of Steph as she tried to focus on Shelby and her recent good deeds.

She’d grudgingly agreed to come since it meant she had to postpone the gallery opening. But since they’d left Seattle she’d been quite helpful, performing every task that Mrs. Gunn assigned to her without much complaining.

Mrs. Gunn had saved them. She was Francine’s best friend and when they arrived, she presented them with a thin white envelope. Inside was a message:

Paula, I wish to be cremated and placed at the Tillamook lighthouse. You may have a service if you desire, but please don’t allow people to eulogize me with their own memories. It’s rude to the audience. You’ll need to see my attorney about my will. I love you. Mom.

She was stunned by her mother’s entire lack of sentimentality, not that she’d ever shown a tremendous amount of overt compassion. Francine Kemper was regarded as polite, helpful and practical. The only person she’d ever been particularly gentle and kind toward was Steph. Paula had long ago rationalized that Francine felt sorry for Steph, a victim of her mother’s antics.

When they arrived at the motel, Shelby headed for the shower and Paula crashed onto the bed, not bothering to remove the dingy comforter. She was too tired to care. The Elmwood Motel was beneath her usual standards, but there’d been nothing else available on such short notice.

“Why can’t we stay somewhere nicer?” Shelby whined.

“This isn’t a huge city,” she explained. “Eugene is a town and there’s not a lot to choose from during football season.”

Of all the weekends to need a motel, Francine had managed to die during the week before the Oregon Ducks played at home against UC Berkeley, an arch rival.

Thoughts of Berkeley reminded her of Steph’s acceptance letter and their last meeting. She’d been so angry and hurt. How could Steph not understand the depth of Paula’s feelings—or even her own feelings?

She glanced up at the motel ceiling, listening to the hum of the shower. She’d been certain Steph loved her in high school but hadn’t been ready to accept it. Over the years her friends had shared tidbits of information obtained from Debbie—apparently all false—about Steph’s rise in the medical profession. Based on these nuggets, Paula had written her own story of Steph’s life, one where she’d become a respected pediatrician, met an amazing psychotherapist who helped her accept her lesbianism, found an upstanding girlfriend and adopted a couple of kids from a foreign country.

The truth floored her. She couldn’t believe Steph had walked away from academics. Steph was the smartest of students, explaining calculus to her while they lay on the bed, although she never quite understood it. Maybe that’s because you spent most of the time looking at her tanned legs and smelling her shampoo.

Her cell phone chimed and she knew another text message awaited her from Christian. She’d been gone less than thirty-six hours and he’d already called or texted twelve times, including once during her eulogy for her mother. She glanced at the message, a question about the FitnessPro account. He’ll have a lot of fun trying to manage Lenny all by himself. She punched in the answer and tossed the phone back on the nightstand.

Shelby emerged from the bathroom, naked and drying her hair. “Are you taking one?”

“I’m too tired and I can’t move. Every part of my body hurts.”

“Why? It’s not like we hiked or anything today. All we did was stand around.”

She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You don’t understand what it’s like to have your body start rebelling against you. You’ve never met back pain or arthritis.” Then she chuckled and pointed a finger. “Ah, but you will, young’un, you will.”

Shelby crawled onto the bed, hovering over her. She shook her breasts and kissed her on the mouth. “How about a little nookie?”

She couldn’t believe it. “Shelby, I appreciate the interest but my mother just died. I’m in a bit of emotional turmoil. I think I’d be a little too distracted to enjoy it.”

“But I wouldn’t. You could give me something.” She took Paula’s hand and placed it against her center. “See, I’m already wet. You need to just finish me off.”

“Not tonight.”

She pulled her hand away but Shelby grabbed it again and thrust it against her clit. “Baby, please,” she cooed. “I need it.”

“God, Shelby! Your lack of sensitivity is appalling.”

Shelby looked like a child who’d been smacked in the face. She rolled off Paula and went to her suitcase. “Fine, if you don’t want it, I’ll do myself.”

She retrieved the vibrator, which Paula hadn’t known she’d packed, and headed for the other double bed. Apparently not only would Shelby please herself, she’d be sleeping alone, too. And that was fine with Paula.

She still hadn’t told Shelby she’d been fired. Shelby would be very upset and pressure her to find a job immediately so they could resume The Plan. Then she could devote her time to her art and Paula would support her. She believed Shelby had talent, and while Shelby seemed incredibly grateful that Paula would show her love in this way, Paula questioned her motives, almost certain that once she found her footing in the Seattle art world, Paula would be history, a stepping stone left in the pond once Shelby sold something significant.

But you’re not really in love with her either. You’ve only been in love twice.

She turned away, determined to block out Shelby’s soft moans of ecstasy. The last time she’d been in a motel room was her previous visit to Eugene the year before to see her mother. It was supposed to have been a healing visit. She’d left angry and they’d never fixed it. The tears came again and she wept into her pillow. As a teenager she never would’ve believed her relationship with Francine would be as strained as Debbie and Steph’s.

“Can your mother adopt me?” Steph had asked once.

The request came after a particularly embarrassing episode at the market when Debbie had brought a can opener with her and insisted on personally checking all of the canned olives for botulism. The manager found her on the floor after another shopper alerted him that there was a wacky woman sitting in the condiment aisle surrounded by fifty open cans.

“I don’t think my mom’s allowed to adopt you,” Paula said. “But you can just keep coming over a lot.”

Steph threw her arms around Paula and kissed her on the cheek, sending a pleasant shiver down her back.

At the time she was flattered that Steph thought so highly of Francine because she thought her mother was practically perfect. Every time she hauled Debbie up the stairs with Steph and John, or when she saw Steph’s face turn crimson after a public embarrassment, she was grateful for Francine’s quiet, reserved nature even if she was old-fashioned.

It had taken several years before she realized she’d gladly trade places with Steph. Debbie wouldn’t have cared if Steph had come out. Paula thought about how it could’ve been between them if she hadn’t walked away when they were teenagers. Instead she spent her entire adult life hiding from her mother, living in a fiction, lying and ruining relationships, avoiding some promising ones altogether, all because she couldn’t tell the truth. She pinched her eyes shut, determined to succumb to her exhaustion and sleep.

Chapter Eight

Steph began her morning as she always did—gazing at Heceta. Fog hugged the ocean and cliffs but Heceta’s beacon pierced the shroud, announcing its presence. The steady burst of light was hypnotic and brought her comfort. It was a survivor, despite the storms and rockslides that had pelted the tower for decades. She was envious. If only she could have a core of such strength.

It was Monday and that meant it was time to visit her mother at her care facility in Eugene. Since she’d returned she’d kept her promise that she would stop by at least once a week, regardless of how depressing and awkward it seemed. So far she hadn’t missed a Monday and Debbie had recognized her most of the time—except for once when she thought Steph was Vic, the guy who owned Debbie’s favorite liquor store. It’d been embarrassing listening to her plead for a free bottle of Jack. She assured Steph she was good for it, which only brought chuckles from the staff.

Quality time with her mother was usually preceded by an admonishment from the facility manager, who would inform her of Debbie’s latest antics. The first week Steph learned Debbie had stood on a chair in the dining room and held up a placard that read UNION, ala Norma Rae style, when she thought the residents should unite against the facility’s unwillingness to serve soy milk.

“Mom, you don’t even drink soy milk,” she argued with her later.

“No, but Mrs. Grunewalt does. She’s lactose intolerant and she complains every morning that she can’t have her Special K like she used to. That’s not right. When you’ve got one foot in the grave, you should be able to enjoy the little things.”

Steph couldn’t argue with that but she apologized to the manager and Debbie promised she’d stay off the chairs. Interestingly, soy milk appeared on the menu after the incident.

While Steph dreaded another visit with Debbie, she couldn’t wait to see Paula again. She imagined they’d be surrounded by other helpful Samaritans, including Paula’s girlfriend, and there wouldn’t be any further kissing. She knew yesterday didn’t count. Paula had been distraught over Francine’s death and kissing Steph was a side effect of her distress.

She dressed quickly and joined Caroline in the kitchen. “How’d you sleep?” Caroline asked as she cracked eggs into a bowl.

“Fine.”

“You didn’t hear the screams?”

“Huh?”

She frowned. “The Carters claim they heard Rue screaming last night in the attic. Rick and I didn’t hear anything but we’re down here. They’re asking us to forgive a night on the bill.”

Steph shook her head. People would do anything to get a deal, even invent a ghost.

“I wouldn’t do it,” she said. “They knew the place is supposedly haunted when they checked in. If they wanted a spirit-free lighthouse, they should’ve visited Yaquina Head.”

“Now, you’re just being sarcastic,” Caroline said, pointing a wooden spoon at her face. “You’d better be careful. Rue might not like that you’re making fun of her.”

Steph touched her heart dramatically. “If you’re listening, Rue, I have the utmost respect for you as a spirit and a woman.”

Caroline chuckled and shook her head. “You’d better hope she’s developed a sense of humor over the last hundred years.”

They prepared breakfast for the guests, falling into a customary routine. Steph was in charge of all the breads and baking while Caroline handled eggs and beverages. Unlike many B and B’s, Heceta Head served a full seven-course meal for its guests with choices like eggs Benedict and quiche. Steph had never eaten so well in her whole life. Caroline had learned quickly that she knew little about cooking—only baking—which in her mind was an entirely different experience.

After five years of living with a wife who could barely use the microwave, Lawrence had acquiesced and hired Mavis, his first live-in affair. He quickly realized that Steph’s lack of domesticity could equate to a nearby mistress. It was the perfect answer for a busy doctor with a full calendar. Mavis eventually gave way to Alana, Rachel, Coral and finally Marta appeared.

Steph had known about Mavis but hadn’t a clue that while she and Eric served food at the homeless shelter every Thursday night, Alana was serving Lawrence herself. Eric was the one who discovered their affair when he stumbled upon them humping over the washing machine one afternoon. Steph knew there had been dozens of women and she had given up looking for evidence of his periodic indiscretions; however, when Lawrence chose to have his affairs in her home, it was impossible to avoid and untenable.

“I’ll be gone most of the day,” she said to Caroline. “I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay,” she said. “You’ve hardly left this place in three months except to visit your mom. What are you doing today? Are you going to see Paula?”

At the mention of her name, Steph felt her cheeks flush. “Yeah, I thought I’d stop by Francine’s house and see if she needs any help packing. And Emilio and I are going out to lunch and then to see my mom.”

Caroline glanced up from the eggs she was beating. Steph waited for the wisecrack that she thought would follow, but Caroline said, “Has he seen your mom since high school?”

“No,” she said.

“Should be interesting. What do you want me to tell Lawrence when he calls here after you don’t answer your cell phone?”

Steph smirked and popped a warm muffin in her mouth. Maybe she couldn’t do much but she could make a mean muffin. “You can tell him to go to hell,” she said, and she meant it.

“I think I’ll just tell him you’re out.”

Caroline went downstairs to the basement and Steph wrote herself a note to call her attorney. Lawrence’s abusive phone calls were occurring daily and she wanted a restraining order. According to Eric he’d now dumped Marta and spent each night drinking by the pool and crying. She laughed when she thought of how many nights he’d made her cry. He’d need sixteen more years to catch up.

Once breakfast was concluded, she excused herself and practiced the little speech she’d prepared for Emilio when they arrived at Waverly Place. Basically, the poor man needed to be ready for anything, including a full frontal display of her mother’s boobs or vagina.

The drive into Eugene only clogged in a few places, as the highway turned into Eleventh Avenue. She meandered through the heart of the city, past the University of Oregon area and south toward the suburban neighborhood that nestled against Spencer Butte. Before she climbed the hill to Francine’s street, she wound her way through the familiar route that led to her parents’ house. It had been three years since she’d last visited, when she’d spent a week moving Debbie to the facility and clearing out the house. The Goodwill people had been ecstatic when they saw the U-Haul pull up to the drop-off center. She’d given everything away, except for what Debbie needed and a few boxes of pictures. Her last act before she’d dropped off the keys to the Realtor was to sit behind the rock, their rock, facing the forest that kept all of their secrets. Memories of Paula rolled over her, giving her the fix she needed.

She parked the car and stared at the blue and white house of her youth. From the outside it looked inviting and friendly. The new owners had kept it the same color and she felt oddly relieved. Not much was different, as if in deference to her father and the endless weekends he toiled in the yard to plant trees and shrubs. Even the rose bushes, the ones he’d slaved over because her mother insisted on having them, still lined the front walkway.

“If walls could talk,” she muttered, pulling away.

Paula’s house was two blocks to the west. As the car ascended the hill, she thought of how developed their calf muscles became from trekking up to Paula’s house each day to escape Debbie. They’d return whenever Steph’s father would call. Usually each night by eight o’clock Debbie fell asleep in her chair after the Jack was gone, and it would take all three of them—John, Paula and Steph—to lug her up the steep flight of stairs. During the many nights when he was out of town, Debbie slept in the chair while Steph crept past her late at night after spending the evening with Paula.

There were no secrets from Paula. She knew who and what Debbie was.

Four cars with rental stickers were parked in front of Francine’s house so Steph knew Paula was inside, sorting through an entire life as Steph had three years before.

She’d brought a basket of muffins and she was halfway across the street before she got cold feet. She hesitated, wondering if she was intruding. She stopped and swiveled back toward the car, unable to decide what to do.

A screen door shut and Paula emerged from the house lugging a large cardboard box to a rented Chevy Malibu. She looked like a typical Pacific Northwest girl—blue jeans, a denim shirt with a white T-shirt underneath and hiking boots. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail and could easily pass for eighteen again. Steph automatically smiled.

Paula set the box on the hood and looked at her quizzically. “Hey,” she said. “What are you doing?”

Steph realized she was standing in the middle of the street between the car and the house. She looked ridiculous.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “Do you really want me here? I’ll understand if you say no,” she quickly added. “I’m sure you’re already miserable and I don’t want to add a heavy dose of weird on top of it.”

Paula smiled sardonically. “I can take a little weird, but only a little. Muffins?” she asked, hopefully.

“Yeah, I thought everyone might be hungry.”

Paula searched under the warming cloth until she found a banana nut. “So did you remember how much I loved these or is this an accident?”

“Of course I remembered.”

Paula kissed her on the cheek and she felt her face flush. “Not quite the same as yesterday,” Paula said softly and Steph almost dropped the basket. “Did you think about our kiss last night before you went to sleep?”

Steph stared at the ground, trying to steady her breathing. If she passed out, she wondered if Paula would catch her. “I never gave it another thought,” she said coolly.

Paula chuckled quietly and nibbled on her muffin. “Right. How was I? Did I do okay?”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm and Steph cracked a grin, grateful she was playing along. To face the truth would be impossible while they stood in the street.

“Well,” she sighed, “the kiss you gave me was passable.”

She pulled Steph against her. “Then I’ll need to try again. I won’t have my reputation smeared by a rumor of mediocre lip locking.”

Steph pressed her hand against Paula’s lips as she moved in to strike. “Your girlfriend is inside and if she were to peer between those hideous curtains and see us, she’d probably run out here and flatten me. I’m too old for a brawl.”

“You’re probably right,” she agreed grudgingly.

Steph nodded and moved her hand away. Paula immediately planted a quick but passionate peck on her lips. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

After she packed the box in the car, they lingered outside until Paula finished her muffin. “We’ve spent so much time talking about my mom but she doesn’t need help anymore. She’s in a much better place. How’s your mom? I heard she went to live in a facility.”

“Yeah, about three years ago. She told me she wanted to go and she didn’t think she could deal with everything alone and she wouldn’t accept my offer to move to Arizona.”

Paula touched her arm. “That must’ve been hard.”

“Very. But I think she’s happy there most of the time. She’s certainly the life of the party.”

Paula chuckled. “I still remember the time she sang “Lady Marmalade” in front of the entire PTA.”

Inside the house Paula introduced her to Shelby and she nodded at Hazel, Roman and Jeff, some people from the outer circle, who hovered over a box in front of Francine’s curio cabinet wrapping knickknacks. Steph smiled when Emilio emerged from the hallway, carrying a large teddy bear named Mr. Piddle.

“Well, hello,” Emilio said.

“Hey.”

He turned to Paula and waved Mr. Piddle’s arms. “What about this guy? Does he get to motor to the Emerald City?”

Paula touched his fur and frowned. Her dad had given him to her when she was very young. After he died she’d put him in her closet and never taken him out again.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

Emilio pushed the bear toward her, offering a kiss, but she swatted it away.

“E, don’t,” Steph said harshly.

Both of them looked at her and Paula offered a half-hearted smile. “Still defending me, huh?”

Her cell phone rang and she excused herself to a corner. Steph imagined she spent a lot of time with it glued to her ear. She took the bear from his hands and set it by the front door.

“You’re a little touchy,” he said, coming up behind her and squeezing her shoulders.

“Sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t belong.”

He kissed her on the head. “Steph, you belong here more than any of us. Even Paula knows that. I can see how relieved she is that you’re here. She needs you.”

“Do you think so? You’re not just saying that?”

He looked at her tenderly. “No, sweetie. This is all about the past and no one was more important to her than you.” He leaned closer and whispered, “And I’m really hoping it’s a bridge to a future for the two of you.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “I should’ve married you.”

He batted his eyelashes. “That’s what all the fag hags say. Millie’s the best.”

They laughed and she followed him down a hallway toward Paula’s room, which was lined on both sides with glass jars of various sizes and shapes filled with coins.

“What’s this?”

“We’re guessing this is Francine’s lifelong change collection. We found them all over the house, in all of the rooms, the closets. Paula even found one in the toilet tank.”

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 513