by Sandy Lowe
“If you had tried to talk her into acceptance, you would’ve been chasing rainbows,” Trishelle observes. “She had to see it to believe it.”
“I agree. I mean, she did see Anne and Diana kiss in the movie sequel, but that happens right before Diana goes off and gets hitched to a hetero, so she didn’t believe it was anything to get up in arms about.”
“Speaking of getting up in arms…how about you get all up in mine?” Trishelle proposes, presenting me with two open ones.
I conform to her form—the friendliest bosom I’ve ever met—and soon we are woven together like one of Anne’s braids.
With her shoulder sheltering my head and her cherry tree–scented curls caressing my cheek, I gaze out the right window, where a white rowboat has been left in the grass. The dingy dinghy has decidedly less decorative appeal than that queer human hair wreath.
Of course, nothing could have more appeal than the queer human wreath we’ve just formed.
I lift my head to admire my bosomy beacon. We’re at Victoria-by-the-Sea, Arlene’s rented a kayak by the hour (the first of which we joined her), and I’m taking Trishelle by the hand. I lead her toward the front window, with its view of the wooden walkway and abutting road. An unromantic outlook, to be sure, but I need her to be on the lookout for anything that could interrupt the romantic interlude I’m about to initiate. In contrast to how I felt upon seeing Anne’s room alone for the first time, I’m glad Arlene isn’t here for this. Besides, we can resume our reunion after I bid Trishelle farewell.
“Can I interest you in some quaint misbehavin’, Miss Barry?” I query, hoping my voice sounds thicker than candied carrots. “I know we could wait until we get home, but why put off until tomorrow what I can get off today?”
Trishelle’s eyebrows curve like a lobster’s claws. “Uh, Damaris? You do know that there’s a keeper right below us.”
“Then the Keepers of the Light exhibit will keep him occupied down there. Meanwhile, up here, I will occupy your down-there.”
Trishelle’s expression is a humorous homage to a hodgepodge of chapter titles: “The Delights of Anticipation,” “A Good Imagination Gone Wrong,” and “A New Departure in Flavorings.”
When Anne thought the Cuthberts were sending her back to the orphanage, she couldn’t eat because she was in the depths of despair.
I’m not in the depths of despair.
Nor am I out of my depth.
Therefore, I need no navigational aid to locate the focal plane of Trishelle’s vessel—or the delightful and imaginative flavorings that constitute its bells and whistles.
“Well,” she says, as she lifts her skirt to harbor my head and hands, “I guess the Lake of Shining Waters doesn’t have to be the only lake of shining waters on this island.”
“And the PE in PEI can stand for something significantly more Sapphic than Prince Edward,” I murmur against said shiny lake.
Like its namesake, hers is robustly rippled and gloriously glistening.
She tastes like strawberry preserves and brown-sugared grapefruit and the next time Anne Shirley characterizes pink as the most bewitching color in the world, I will disagree with glee.
Trishelle sounds like she’s experiencing that feeling right now—softly but surely.
One day, I want to hear all about her childhood. But right now, I’m interested only in her girl hood—as well as its reservoir of juicy jollities. The inspiration for this exploration is my Tip-to-Tip Certificate, which Arlene and I earned for our triumph of traveling from one tip of the island to the other.
The second sojourn is a slate-smashing success, with Trishelle going to pieces in a quiet victory of spirited shudders.
I should feel thoroughly bad and wicked, but I don’t. After all, if Anne can have an E, Trishelle can have an O.
She watches as I lift myself up and lick my lips clean, and seems elated that I’m sated. “It’s true what they say,” she says. “The blacker the Barry…”
My face is probably redder than the lantern room directly above us. Trishelle touches my cheek. If the bashfulness doesn’t bother her, then it shouldn’t bother me.
“See? The keeper didn’t come up here,” I crow at her glow. “You did.”
“That’s because he’s not our keeper. Actually, he may not even be a keeper at all. Just a docent or something.”
“You’re a keeper.”
Trishelle regards me. I try to adopt the orphan’s optimism, but the fear of rejection has my heart bouncing against my bosom in an utterly unfriendly fashion.
Prince Edward Island may be a mosaic of archaic perfection, but we can have a comparably colorful—and similarly splendid—future together back home in Michigan.
Can’t we?
“I didn’t mean to intoxicate you,” she says at last, but there’s nothing apathetic or apologetic about her tone. In fact, it sounds as though this fortuitous intoxication is mutual.
“So…would you like to be my…bosom girlfriend?”
Trishelle guides her lips into a grin that all but brings down the lighthouse. “The kindred spirit is willing and the flesh is, too—week after week.”
I couldn’t have asked for a better Anne-swer.
Galapagos Dreams
NR Dunham
NR Dunham has written many short stories about women loving women, several of which were featured in award-winning anthologies. She lives in Wisconsin.
So far, she’d been called a liar, had to clean a mess that wasn’t hers, and had her cooking insulted. She could say she didn’t get paid enough for this, but she absolutely did.
Livvy grinned at the four-year-old blond boy who frowned at her intently.
“You’re a liar,” he said again. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
“Hey, it was a skirt on fire, just once, and never mind, you’re too young for that story.” She poked his stomach and he giggled. “Come here, I’ll prove it.”
As Livvy reached for her tablet, Jordan scooted closer on the floor, past some of the toys that’d been in such a disastrous mess this morning. She’d sorted them out after making him French toast and listening to him complain about not having enough sugar on it, and could he please, please have more?
She was a sucker, and the boy was as charming as his mother.
“See?” Livvy showed him pictures of the giant tortoises. “Turtles can be big, too.”
Jordan’s eyes widened. “How come I never saw one? How come I only get a tiny one?”
Livvy ruffled his hair. “Your tiny turtle is just fine, he matches you. And these big ones aren’t usually around here.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re Galápagos tortoises.” She watched his silent attempt to mouth the word. “They’re by the Galápagos Islands.” She pointed at a photo on the screen.
“Where Mummy’s going?”
Even after a year with him, it still amused her to hear this very American boy using such a British word. “Yup, exactly where Mummy’s going.”
Jordan rested his small cheek against her arm. “What else do they have there?”
“Oh, they have penguins, and sea lions, and boats, and diving underwater, and volcanoes. Nothing too interesting.”
“I wanna go! Why can’t I go?”
“Believe me, bud, I wouldn’t mind going either, but this is Mummy’s work trip.”
That was how it went. Amanda Davenport jetted across the world, and Livvy looked after her child. She’d come a long way, from being a nanny for middle-class kids at the park to working for the right-hand woman of the world’s most powerful businessman. A job that, from what Livvy saw, involved a spoiled rich boy paying his best friend to hang out with him all day. Technically, Amanda was head of security for Bennett Industries. Something like that. The best explanation Livvy ever got was that Amanda looked into bomb threats and corporate espionage and made sure that none of the many jilted women who wanted to kill Carl Bennett managed it, justified as their motives might be.
&nbs
p; Livvy’s musings were interrupted when the door of the penthouse apartment swung open, revealing Amanda Davenport on the threshold.
“Hello, hello. How are you, my darling?” She set her briefcase aside and shrugged off her coat.
Livvy still couldn’t decide what got to her more, the sexy British accent, the gorgeous face, the smooth dark hair that looked just as good straight as it did curly, or the long, athletic legs, “the better to chase down Carl’s stalkers with.”
As usual, Livvy checked to make sure she wasn’t drooling too obviously. And no, she wasn’t jealous that the darling wasn’t directed at her. Not jealous at all.
Jordan let out a shriek as Amanda toed off her heels. Seemingly without a thought for the very expensive suit she was wearing, she got on the floor and kissed Jordan’s hair. “Did you mind Miss Livvy today?”
“Yes.” Jordan’s reply was prompt.
Amanda hummed and kissed his hair again. “Did he?”
“He was great,” Livvy said, meaning it. When twenty-two-year-old Livvy applied for the job on a lark and actually got it, she could only assume that her new charge had terrorized all the more qualified candidates away. But Jordan was a sweet, easy boy, a picnic compared to some of the other kids she’d babysat for. He only got particularly difficult when his mother was away for long stretches, and how could Livvy fault him for that? She missed Amanda too, on those days.
“Good then.” Amanda glanced at the tablet Livvy had set on the floor when she came in. “What are we up to today?”
Jordan told her all about the giant turtles she’d cruelly hid from him his entire life, and the penguins, and he mangled the Galápagos name adorably. “And I wanna see the big turtles, Mummy!” he finished, out of breath from speaking so fast.
“You do, do you?”
“Maybe I could take him to the aquarium while you’re gone?” Livvy offered. “Or the zoo?”
Amanda nodded. “That’s one option. Hello, by the way.”
Livvy hoped she wasn’t blushing. She tended to do that when Amanda threw that smile-smirk at her. “Hi, boss.”
“The aquarium won’t let you swim in the water,” Jordan said. “You can’t dive with the fishies or look for treasure like on your trip.”
Livvy had no recollection of mentioning treasure along with the diving, and Jordan was just learning the basics of swimming. She grinned at his eagerness, though what came next would hurt. He always wanted to go on the trips, but it was only possible a fraction of the time, and he’d already gotten multiple refusals.
“No,” Amanda acknowledged, “unless the aquarium’s made a drastic policy change, I’m afraid you can’t swim with the fishies, or dive for treasure.”
“We can do our own treasure hunt, bud,” said Livvy, already thinking up plans for an elaborate scavenger hunt that would keep him busy and tire him out before Amanda’s nightly call.
Amanda smiled at her again. “You do go above and beyond, don’t you?”
Livvy shrugged. “Not really. It’s my job and it’ll be fun. What do you say, Jordan?”
“Maybe another time.” Amanda answered before Jordan could.
“Oh.” Livvy tried not to sound hurt.
“Do you have a passport?”
Her eyebrows rose. “In a drawer at my mother’s house somewhere. Why?” She’d lost track of exactly where it was gathering dust, having gotten it for a senior class trip she turned out not to have the money for.
“Could you find it by Friday?”
“I…sure? Why?” Livvy asked, though she knew perfectly well when Amanda’s plane was set to leave.
“Well, you can’t swim or look for treasure at the aquarium, can you?”
Jordan squealed and wrapped his arms around Amanda’s neck, more used to her surprises than Livvy was. “I can come with?”
“I believe I can make some arrangements. Yes, you can come with.” Amanda hugged him.
“Livvy, too?”
“You’ll have to ask Livvy, darling.” Amanda did the smile-smirk over Jordan’s head. “It’s late notice, I’m sorry. I can have Jan or Rebecca take him if you’re busy, it’s perfectly understandable.”
Jan or Rebecca were the ones who filled in on Livvy’s days off, or if she was sick, or busy with her early childhood development classes. Livvy wasn’t at all jealous of Jan, or Rebecca, or the time they spent with Amanda and Jordan.
“I believe I can make some arrangements,” Livvy said, knowing Amanda was fucking with her. “You are offering to take me to a tropical paradise, right?”
“Yes.”
“For free?”
“For your time and effort making sure this one doesn’t fall into a volcano or the like.” Amanda adjusted Jordan’s stranglehold on her neck. “But yes.”
“Yeah, I can make arrangements.”
***
Livvy remembered now why part of her hadn’t been too disappointed when that class trip fell through. White-knuckling the armrest of her seat, she consoled herself with the thought that if she plunged to her death, at least it wouldn’t be in coach.
The turbulence, apparently, was normal. The plane was not. The private Bennett jet was spacious, nothing like either of the two flights Livvy had sat through before this. There was no child around to kick the back of her seat, not with Jordan in his own seat on the other side of the cabin, happily watching a movie on Livvy’s tablet.
He barely moved when the plane lurched suddenly, and Livvy had never felt like less of an adult.
Another dip had her wondering if these fancy planes had puke bags. It wasn’t the thought she wanted to have when Amanda emerged from a door on the other side of the cabin and moved toward her. Livvy rearranged her expression as best she could and resolved that even if she plunged to her death, she would not throw up on or in front of Amanda Davenport.
“You should’ve told me you were a nervous flier.” Amanda’s tone was a mixture of concern and amusement as she took the seat across from Livvy.
“Who, me? What gave it away?”
Amanda’s lips quirked at the edges. “The pilot gave the okay to lose seat belts hours ago. And yet yours remains.” She gestured at the belt. “Also, I’d guess you’re about to lose feeling in your hands.”
“Okay, so it’s not my favorite thing. What would telling you have done, besides ruin my badass rep? Ma’am.”
“Your ‘rep’ remains very much intact, I promise. And I could’ve gotten you something for your nerves.”
“Like drugs?”
“Not the type Mr. Bennett and some of his colleagues usually indulge in on these flights, but yes.”
Livvy laughed. “Nah, how am I supposed to do my job if I’m knocked out?”
“Calmer, not necessarily knocked out, and Jordan seems quite all right.” Amanda shifted a bit to watch him giggle at something on the screen, then her eyes were back on Livvy. “Besides, your job isn’t the only concern. Ideally, I’d like you to enjoy this trip. Or at least not be scared stiff the whole time.”
Livvy laughed again and tried not to think too much about Amanda’s concern for her. “I don’t suppose there are parachutes?”
“Of course there are parachutes. Parachutes, floatation devices, and Bennett GPS units in our watches that could survive a nuclear strike.”
Livvy finally lifted her hand from the armrest enough to look at the watch on her wrist. She’d thought it was just another job perk. “Huh.”
“Huh,” Amanda repeated, teasing Livvy with that gorgeous accent before sitting forward in her seat. “You’re safe with me, always. I’d never risk anything else.”
Livvy swallowed, startled into silence. Amanda was a good person. She probably talked that way to all her employees. Livvy’s stomach fluttered, though the plane held steady.
Amanda cleared her throat and looked out the window. “Well, anyway. As statistics go, you’re much safer up here, and Mr. Bennett only hires the best pilots.”
A horrible remark almost fell from her mouth,
something that would’ve gotten her fired, and probably booted off the craft mid-flight. Amanda’s husband had been the best too, supposedly.
Livvy swore that people working in the CIA must’ve answered fewer questions and signed fewer forms than she had when applying for this job. While Amanda was checking up on her, Livvy had done her own research via Google.
Amanda was military before she was Bennett’s bodyguard, a true badass. Jordan’s father was military too. Military, and Amanda’s husband, before he died when Jordan was a few months old. Livvy had seen the odd picture of Amanda with a man since then, or with a woman, but nothing serious that she could tell. Nothing obvious, that she could be sure of. She wondered what Amanda would do if she knew Livvy had Googled her boss’s sexuality.
“You can ask, you know.”
Livvy nearly jumped out of her skin. “Sorry?”
“You have a very specific curious-cat, deer-in-headlights look when you’re trying not to ask about my husband.”
Livvy squirmed, though Amanda kept her soft smile. A million questions fought themselves in her mind. “Did you love him?”
Well, fuck. She’d meant to ask about his favorite color.
“I did. Very much. He gave me Jordan, and he loved him as much as I did. I love anyone who loves my son.”
Amanda went quiet, stared out the window again.
“I’m sorry.” Livvy couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Amanda appeared to snap out of it and flashed her another smile. “Don’t be.” She stood up. “Try not to worry. Christopher had missiles shot at him. Not even the angriest and most resourceful of Mr. Bennett’s exes can pull that off.”
Livvy chuckled.
“Relax, damn it,” Amanda said, moving back to the aisle. “Get a break from your grump of a boss while you can.”
“Oh yeah, she’s a real nightmare.”
“So I’ve heard.” Amanda rested a hand on Livvy’s shoulder before going to Jordan and asking what he was watching.
Livvy let out a shaky breath, her stomach doing another roll as she watched Amanda.
