Chapter Twenty-Three 6 page

She wandered through the rooms, looking for anything offensive that still remained unpacked. In the guest room she saw the curtains that were older than she was. Her mother wouldn’t spend the money for vertical blinds and insisted on washing the drab and outdated drapes each year as part of spring cleaning.

She grabbed the cloth in both fists and yanked, nearly falling on her back as the fabric easily tore away from the rod. She took the pile out the back door toward the fire pit her father had built when she was a child. He was never home long enough to take a real camping trip so they often pitched a tent in the backyard and roasted marshmallows over the coals. She went room by room, pulling down all the curtains and adding them to the heap.

“What else?” she said, wiping the dust from her hands. Clearly her mother’s yearly cleaning crusade had ended long before her death.

She immediately thought of her comforter, purchased when she was seven and covered in pictures of Tinkerbell. Despite her daughter’s advancing age, Francine had refused to buy a new one and Paula always seemed to find other ways to spend her babysitting money. And once she knew that Steph didn’t care that a fairy covered her bed, her embarrassment dissolved.

She yanked Tink from the old, lumpy mattress and dragged her out to the growing mountain of stuff. Next was her mother’s comforter, an assortment of gaudy flowers in various purple patterns. Once Paula had made the mistake of saying it was ugly and Francine had yelled at her for an hour. She had a difficult time throwing it onto the mound because it was so large, and she almost retrieved it in deference to her mother’s feelings. But a sense of freedom prevailed and she grinned at the huge flowers suffocating Tinkerbell and the hideous drapes.

For the next hour she collected every obsolete and revolting object her mother had ever owned and threw it on the pile. She added eight-tracks, old wooden bowls and a velvet painting of dogs playing poker. By the time she was done she’d created a disgusting retro mountain, full of possessions that no one at Goodwill would ever want, things that she’d already heard her friends remarking over as they packed. In the process she also acquired another three hundred dollars in cash, which she thrust in her pockets, deciding it would buy some great bottles of wine.

There was only one other place to look for things—her mother’s closet. She opened the doors and was assaulted by the rack of polyester.

“Mom,” Paula had said frequently, “fashion changes and you need to change with it.”

Francine disagreed. “That’s a myth perpetuated by the industry in its quest to make money. Nothing is out of style unless I say it is. If I enjoy wearing an article of clothing, others will understand and accept it because they accept me. I decide fashion, not the idiots on Madison Avenue.”

It took three trips but Paula dumped every dress, pantsuit and clunky sandal on the mound. She went to the kitchen and rummaged through the odds-and-ends drawer and found a book of matches. She also retrieved the fire extinguisher from under the sink, which no one had yet packed.

A giddy excitement overtook her at the prospect of destroying everything from childhood she hated. It was almost cathartic, a way to rid herself of this set of memories, while still preserving everything she loved, all the things that were important from her life and her bond with Francine.

Without another thought she lit a match, touched it to the rest of the book and tossed the entire burning mass onto the pile of detritus. Always conscientious, she immediately grabbed the fire extinguisher and held it with care, prepared to use it should the fire threaten the house or the woods. She’d been careful not to include anything that wouldn’t burn or was highly combustible. She wanted a little catharsis not a forest fire.

The heap, much of it withered with age, burned quickly. She imagined the fibers in the drapes, comforters and sheets were broken down long ago, threads that barely held together. She stepped back as the fire grew, the intense heat warming her face. Watching the burning pyre was exhilarating and dangerous but her sense of caution quickly overwhelmed her. She waved the extinguisher’s nozzle back and forth until she thought her arms would fall off, laughing hysterically. Hopefully the neighbors hadn’t called the police since she was rather certain she’d broken a few laws.

She left the powdered mountain only after she’d taken the hose and thoroughly drenched the remains. In the glow of oncoming darkness she saw remnants of many discards and she wondered what Steph and Shelby would think when they returned in the morning to continue the packing. Fortunately everyone else would be gone. They’ll probably think I’ve gone insane.

“Well, I’ve saved us a little work,” she muttered, climbing back into the Malibu.

She stared at the house, gripping the steering wheel between her hands. Don’t cry. Don’t start again. But it didn’t matter. It was like the first five seconds after jumping into a cold lake. Her body shook with unexpected emotion, a rush she couldn’t control. She sat there for a long time until her cries turned into soft hiccups. When her breathing returned to normal, she leaned back in the seat.

She drove back to the motel concerned that the crying fit was guilt over the bonfire. You’ve never done anything like that in your life! And it was true. She wasn’t a violent or destructive person, and although she chastised her mother for her extreme frugality, she believed in thrift, recycling and simplicity, but she’d never sleep on the same sheets for twenty years.

She thought of the fire consuming all of Francine’s detritus. She thought about the house now, free of the decrepit curtains and endless curios. During childhood she’d felt claustrophobic because Francine kept so many things. It seemed different to her now, more appealing, open. She wondered what it could be worth if she fixed it up. She pictured the walls with fresh coats of paint and the hardwood floors shining after a refinishing.

On a whim she turned onto a residential street near the university and followed it until it curved into another. She drove absently up and down the streets, familiarizing herself with the landmarks she’d forgotten long ago—the café where she’d had her first cup of coffee with Steph, the movie theater where they’d each kissed a boy, and Autzen Stadium, home of the University of Oregon Ducks, the place where she and Steph had spent endless Sunday mornings cleaning up after football games to earn community service credit.

She smiled as she drove by the players’ entry. On a few occasions the Eugene High cheerleaders had been invited to join the U of O line. One cheerleader had pulled Paula into a bathroom stall and whispered, “There’s this great party I want to take you to. Will you go with me?” She’d kissed Paula’s earlobe and squeezed her ass. Paula mumbled an apologetic no and quickly excused herself. Later she recognized that beyond her initial shock lay an intense curiosity that later developed into remorse.

Could she ever live in Eugene again? Doubtful. It would probably be too painful and the place was too small. She imagined Steph was here for the short term and she would probably move wherever Eric landed or like so many women who claimed to be straight, she’d go back to her worthless husband simply because he was familiar.

“But maybe she’s different,” she whispered. Despite her impeccable fashion sense and designer jewelry, Steph had kissed her back. Dressed in Chanel and full makeup, she’d readily returned Paula’s affection, pressing that expensive lipstick against Paula’s cheap Carmex lip balm.

She wondered if a future with Steph was possible and immediately shook her head. She probably wasn’t cut out for relationships or life in a smaller town. She herself had left so long ago and sworn she’d never come back, but her mother was dead now, taking Paula’s anger with her to the grave, a fact that troubled her immensely. Francine had died thinking Paula hated her. She started to cry and headed back to the motel. She could only handle so many memories at once.

She found Shelby lounging on the bed eating takeout. She’d obviously showered and wore only a teddy and some briefs. When her eyes remained glued to some reality show, Paula knew she was incredibly pissed. A little anger usually translated into clipped dialogue but fury equated to silence. Happy to avoid confrontation, she slipped into her sweats and crawled onto the bed. Her eyes were red with tears and a wave of exhaustion crashed into her body. It wouldn’t be long before she was asleep.

A takeout carton sat on the nightstand containing her favorite, orange chicken. “Thanks,” she said. “It’s been a long day. I’m not sure we’ll ever get through that house.”

Shelby swiveled to face her. “If it’s been such a long day, then where the hell have you been? It’s nearly ten.”

“I went back to Mom’s after we visited Debbie. I took care of some stuff. Did you have fun at the bar?”

Shelby snickered. “This place is nothing compared to Seattle. No wonder you left. Why didn’t you come over? Were you still with Stephanie?” she asked suspiciously.

“No, she dropped me off.”

Shelby snorted in disapproval. “If you ask me, there’s something wrong with her,” she slurred, and Paula could tell she was a little drunk.

The comment stung. While Paula hadn’t revealed all of the details, she’d told Shelby that Steph was the first girl she kissed. “There’s nothing wrong with Steph. She’s going through some serious shit right now with her marriage. Her husband left her for another woman. Have a little compassion.”

“I am compassionate. Don’t get all defensive on me. I’m your girlfriend, not her. Not that she ever would be,” she laughed. “Silly straight girl. Boy, you sure can pick ’em,” Shelby said, poking at her takeout.

“I picked you.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. If you think I’m such a bad judge of women you need to look in the mirror.”

Shelby leaped off the bed and threw her dinner into the trash on the way to the bathroom. “You are a fucking bitch,” she called before the door slammed.

Paula heard the toilet flush and Shelby reappeared, her finger pointed. “You remember what I gave up to come with you. My show was supposed to open and instead of getting my big break, I’m packing ten gazillion lighthouse models.”

“And clearly resenting every minute of it,” Paula said.

“That’s not what I resent. What I resent is that you’d rather spend time with your old girlfriend than me. It’s bad enough that I’ve spent our entire relationship hiding from your mother, but now that she’s gone, I’m still playing second to her. You left me with all of your friends today to go visit Stephanie’s mother. I don’t even know these people!”

“You were okay to go drinking with them.”

“What the hell else was I supposed to do while you go off flirting with your ex?”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

Shelby threw a dismissive wave. “That’s crap. I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her. Everybody else has noticed it, too. There’s nothing worse than coming on to someone else in front of your current girlfriend.”

Paula automatically shook her head, feeling slightly guilty, but Shelby the hypocrite had no right to say anything about her connection with Steph.

“You obviously think it’s wrong to flirt when you’re with someone else but is it okay to fuck somebody else?” she asked acidly.

Shelby contorted her face into a look of indignation. “What does that mean?”

Paula sighed. “I’m too tired to argue with you or massage your hurt ego. I’ve known for over a month that you and Gemma have been fucking. Is that how you got her to show your stuff?”

Shelby’s face turned bright red and Paula knew she’d hit below the belt—hard. She’d dismissed Shelby’s indiscretion for the sake of art but now the conversation had wandered onto a dangerous precipice and Paula didn’t care what happened. She’d kissed Steph twice and she wanted to keep kissing her. She’d just have to convince Steph that she wanted to be kissed—and touched.

“I think you need to get out,” Shelby spat.

Paula poked at her chicken languidly. “You’re forgetting that I’ve paid for this room, pretty much like everything else. But you should also know that the free ride is ending. I lost my job.”

Shelby’s eyes widened and she dropped onto the other bed, the fight clearly forgotten. “When did this happen?”

“About twenty minutes before I found out my mom had died.”

“Aw, babe, I’m sorry,” Shelby said.

Paula knew she was sincere. Shelby’s self-centeredness was often balanced by her compassion. They sat quietly listening to the highway outside and the audio from the TV. After a particularly annoying wave of canned laughter, Shelby grabbed the remote and hit mute. She stretched out on the bed and faced Paula, her face full of concern.

“No more games. No more fights. Yeah, I slept with Gemma but that was after she’d promised me the show. We just had a connection. And it’s time for you to fess up. If there was a knock on the door right now, who would you want to find on the other side?”

Paula swallowed hard, surprised by the question. “Well…”

“Who? Angelina Jolie? Maybe Megan Fox? Lady Gaga? Or would you pick Stephanie?”

Paula felt her face flush just hearing her name. She shrugged in embarrassment.

Shelby chuckled. “Wow. Your arm must really hurt.”

“What do you mean?”

“Seventeen years is an awfully long time to carry a torch around.”

Chapter Eleven

The darkness that settled around Sea Lion Point broke when the beacon showered the ocean with a reminder that land was close by. The stupendous effect occurred every thirty seconds when an enormous Fresnel lens magnified a tiny bulb housed in the tower.

Steph loved watching Heceta work, and when she couldn’t sleep she walked to the cliff and stared out at the water which glittered under the power of the light. It was hypnotic and after a half hour of watching the show, her eyelids grew heavy and when she returned to her bed sleep came easy.

Tonight was an exception. She’d situated herself on the bench along the path to Heceta, a view that allowed her to alternate her gaze between the shore and the tower. But after an hour of following the revolving lens her body still wouldn’t rest. Her mind turned like a clock at quarter hours—Paula’s beautiful face, the joy of youth, her destroyed marriage and the blank sheet of paper that was her future. Each image carried its own emotional baggage and collectively it should have exhausted her.

She glanced back at the B and B and noticed Rick and Caroline’s light was out, which wasn’t surprising. It was after midnight and they usually turned in early, a natural consequence of preparing breakfast for twenty others on a daily basis. They hadn’t made it past ten p.m. since moving to Heceta.

It had been a strange day. Emilio had regaled her with stories of his past trips to Sea Lion Caves. She’d told him about her marriage, Eric and her pending divorce on their way back to his motel.

“I know it was a different time, Steph. Believe me, I remember the Eighties but I don’t think you ever should have married him. Francine should’ve stayed out of it.”

“It was my decision.”

He cocked his head. “Are you sure about that? From what I recall Francine was a staunch pro-lifer. I remember one time she and Paula really got into it.”

“It doesn’t matter. I got Eric out of the whole thing. Francine could’ve forced me to watch The Silent Scream and it would’ve been the right thing to do. My son is my life.”

He patted her shoulder and changed the topic. “So have you slept with Paula?” She almost drove off the road. “Whoa, steady there, girl. Is that a yes?”

“No,” she snapped.

“Hmm. Well, how many times have you kissed?”

“Enough,” she said through clenched teeth.

He howled and stomped his feet in the car. “Gooooooo, Steph!” he cheered.

She laughed. It felt good to tell someone about Paula. They’d parted with a promise to e-mail regularly and keep in touch. As he jumped out of the car he said, “Steph, you’re thirty-five years old. You still have more than half your life to live and with your great genes, probably even more. Make the most of it, sweetie.”

She’d arrived home to a shrieking phone call from Lawrence, who’d received the divorce papers and wasn’t happy with her request of fifty percent of their assets. She figured that since she’d stood by him through med school, residency and the establishment of his practice, she was entitled to her share. But she’d said little during the conversation and hung up on him when the swearing began.

The oddest event happened after dinner.

“I thought you were making another loaf of banana bread for the Steiners?” Caroline asked.

She looked at her quizzically. “I made it last night. I put it in the breadbox so that you’d be sure to find it when they left.”

“Well, it wasn’t there.”

“What?” she asked, searching the breadbox. It was empty.

She turned to Rick, who was known for baked goods thievery. She pointed at him and he put his hands in the air.

“Don’t look at me. This time I didn’t take anything. I learned my lesson after you scolded me for eating your cupcakes.”

“That’s only because you ate half a dozen,” Caroline said dryly. She turned to Steph and said, “When I couldn’t find it, I told them that you’d been really busy with a funeral.”

“Well, if it wasn’t Rick, then I’d say that one of the other guests had a snack before dinner.”

“There is one other possibility,” Rick offered.

She turned and faced him, her hands on her hips. “I seriously doubt that Rue enjoys banana bread.”

Caroline put a friendly hand on her shoulder. “Honey, I think you sell yourself short. There’s something heavenly about your baking.”

Steph smiled appreciatively and searched the kitchen, checking all of the other rational possible places she might have set it—refrigerator, cupboard and pantry. She knew she’d been distracted thinking of Paula so anything was possible.

But she never found the loaf and despite her friendly interrogation of several guests, none of them admitted taking it. She was more frustrated that the Steiners had been disappointed but Caroline had promised them she’d mail another loaf soon.

A passing ship’s horn jerked Steph awake and she realized she was falling asleep on the bench. She headed back up the trail to the B and B and her little room. It was always much darker moving away from the water toward the house through the woods. She gazed up and saw the glow of the bedside lamp from Victoria’s Room, where the Steiners had stayed. It hadn’t been on before—she thought. Perhaps they’d been forgetful but she didn’t think so. She was almost certain the light had been off when she walked down the trail.

She stared at the window, unwilling to take her eyes away until something—anything—happened. A silhouette passed by the window and she nearly jumped out of her shoes. It was gone in a second and she blinked, unsure if it was real or just another shadow created by the moonlight. She concentrated on the window for another minute, staring at the warm yellow radiance above but nothing happened and she decided she’d been imagining things.

She trudged up the stairs to turn off the light before she tried to go to sleep. Her heart was racing and she guessed she’d be awake for the rest of the night, mulling over her life, the apparition she may or may not have seen and the missing banana bread. The door was slightly ajar and the soft light crept into the hallway.

She moved slowly forward, anxious at the thought of encountering a ghost. Just as her hand touched the doorknob, she felt a tap on her shoulder and screamed.

“Shit!” a voice said.

She whirled around and faced Paula, who was bent over to retrieve the bottle of water she’d dropped on the floor. “You scared the hell out of me,” Steph gasped.

“Well, you scared me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m a guest!”

Feet raced up the stairs and Rick and Caroline joined them, pulling robes over their nightclothes. A few other doors opened and startled faces appeared.

“What’s going on?” Rick asked. “Steph, are you okay?”

She couldn’t get her breath for several seconds. “I was checking on the light.” She looked at Paula. “What happened to the motel by the university?”

She smiled wryly. “I needed a place to stay. Shelby and I broke up. It was just too awkward so I called Caroline and she said she had a vacancy.”

Paula motioned to the room and everything clicked into place. It wasn’t the ghost who turned on the light. It was Paula. It wasn’t the ghost’s silhouette she’d seen. It was Paula.

Paula pulled her into a loose embrace. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, stepping away. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“Okay, we’re going back to bed,” Caroline announced, leading Rick down the stairs and waving goodnight to the other guests who closed their doors and returned to bed.

“I suppose I should let you get settled. Do you need anything?”

“Just some rest,” Paula sighed.

She looked exhausted and Steph imagined the stress of the last week was nearly unbearable and now she’d lost her girlfriend.

“I know it’s none of my business but do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. We just fizzled out.”

Steph nodded and waited to see if she’d share anything else. She played with the collar on her shirt and wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Steph said, reaching out and smoothing her gorgeous dark hair.

Paula pulled her hand to her lips and kissed her palm.

Desire radiated throughout her and Steph moved against her, pressing her lips against Paula’s neck. “You smell so good,” she murmured.

Paula chuckled. “You think I smell good. It’s nothing compared to you. All that expensive European perfume and French soaps.”

Steph raised her head and looked at her. “How did you know I used French soap?”

Paula’s eyes danced. “I used to have a French girlfriend.”

“Really? How many girlfriends have you had?”

Paula ignored the question and cradled Steph’s face between her hands. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “Stay with me, Steph. I want your lips on my body.”

I want your lips on my body. The words echoed in Steph’s head and she floated into Paula’s room.

Paula lowered her onto the bed, their mouths dancing against each other. They moved slowly, Paula taking the lead. Steph had told her about the tennis pro so Paula knew she was experienced, but this was different, delicate. This was the past joining with the future.

Paula touched her innocently at first, her hands asking permission before her lips set Steph on fire. She stroked her breasts through the thin cotton T-shirt until Steph’s nipples stood erect and she murmured a tiny, “Please.” Only then did Paula push up the T-shirt and suck lovingly on each mound, as Steph panted for more.

She wanted to be the aggressor but she couldn’t. She needed to be claimed. She writhed on the bed, half-naked, her eyes partially closed, as Paula’s warm fingers sculpted her belly. Her gasps turned to moans when Paula’s lips followed the path of her hands, between her legs, helping her shed her jeans, leaving only her little pink panties. Paula grinned when she discovered what Steph already knew. They were completely soaked.

Paula sat up and gazed at Steph while she peeled away the panties. Steph stared at her, entranced by the lust in her eyes. And when Paula’s lips and tongue touched the core of her being, it was as if a secret had been revealed, something she should’ve known all along.

And once she’d learned all she could in that moment, she rolled on top of Paula and said, “I want my lips all over your body.”

Much later, after Paula was asleep, Steph dressed and headed to the kitchen. She made some tea and looked for the banana bread again, uncomfortable that she’d lost something, but she couldn’t find it anywhere—not even in the freezer. If Rue had it she’d probably eaten it.

She knew she’d never sleep now, not after—that. Knowing Paula was only two floors away heightened her senses, her awareness of her and the past. She resisted the urge to race back up the stairs and take Paula again. She shook her head. How old are you?

The memories were flooding back now. Every time she looked at Paula something rose to the surface. When they’d sat on the floor of her room packing books, she’d turned her head and Steph saw the tiny scar at the bottom of her chin, the one she’d acquired when Steph’s fishing hook caught her in the face on the campout the summer after eighth grade.

She went to her purse and removed the copy of Pride and Prejudice she’d taken from Paula’s room. She stared at the cover and sipped her tea at the kitchen table, listening to the ocean nearby, restless, thinking of Paula. She could still feel her lips on her face, her breasts—everywhere. The memory of her body was no different. Their lovemaking had reminded Steph of their intimacy. Maybe that was the secret.

Paula had told Debbie they’d never gone all the way but they’d spent several afternoons touching and kissing, satiating their curiosity that had developed from years of friendly hugs, handholding and quick pecks on the cheeks.

It started one afternoon when Paula invited her onto her bed, and Steph had abandoned the safe distance of the beanbag chair forever after. Lying next to Paula every day was sexual even if she didn’t recognize it. Their bodies frequently collided during tickling matches and innocent embraces. On some occasions the façade of lightheartedness would crumble and their true feelings were obvious, even if they remained unspoken. If Steph’s shirt rode up from their horseplay, Paula’s hand lingered against her exposed belly—a gesture of preoccupation that signaled an interest beyond simple friendship.

Paula would circle her bellybutton with her index finger and she’d watch her face, enamored by the act, her lips slightly quivering. Of course, Steph’s whole body was trembling from her touch but she said nothing. She watched, exhilarated that she wielded such power over Paula’s heart and emotions.

Eventually it was too much and Steph would roll off the bed comically or make a joke such as, “Have you found any lint in there?”

And Paula would reply, “I’ve found more than lint. Really, Steph, you need to wash your bellybutton a little more. There’s a fungus forest in there.”

And then one day their senior English class was assigned Pride and Prejudice.

“I think we should read it out loud to each other,” Paula said, turning to chapter one. “You can be Elizabeth and I’ll be Mr. Darcy. And we’ll alternate all of the other characters.”

It had sounded like a good idea, a fun way to make a dreary old book seem interesting. Yet as the plot progressed they fell in love with the romantic tension between the main characters. They were so involved in the story that they didn’t notice their legs tangling together or their fingers lacing as they lay on the bed, sharing a single copy of the novel for nearly three weeks.

“When do they kiss in this novel?” Paula asked after they’d completed nearly thirty chapters. “When is it gonna get really good?”

“I don’t think Jane Austen wrote it that way. It’s proper British stuff.”

“Oh, so they’re not going to have any fun,” she mocked, using a fake accent that sounded more Southern than British.

“I’m sure they’ll have fun eventually,” Steph said, thumbing through the last chapter. “Probably after the book ends.”

“I’m not waiting that long. I think we should improve it,” Paula announced.

She laughed. “You don’t improve Jane Austen. This is a classic.”

“A stuffy classic.” Paula pushed her down and fell on top of her. “Elizabeth, I must have you.”

Steph laughed hysterically at her ridiculous accent and the funny face she made, attempting to be serious.

“I’m going to kiss you, Elizabeth. But I promise I won’t use my tongue.”

Her laughter faded as Paula’s face moved dangerously close to her own. She was paralyzed, trapped beneath her body, staring into her blue eyes. Paula carelessly smashed their faces together and quickly pulled away. Steph thought she might have a bruised upper lip.

“Ow.”

“What do you think of my kissing?”

“It hurts.”

“Then we need to do it again.”

She closed her eyes, prepared for the worst, but when Paula’s lips softly touched hers, her skin drained away from her bones. She kissed her several more times, each one tantalizing her senses in a different way—the feel of Paula’s slick tongue in her mouth, the slight creaking of the bed as their bodies shifted and the look in her eyes when she pulled away. It was as if someone had laid them over a blank mask. Steph saw nothing else of her face, only the wildness in her dark blue irises.

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 523