“What, sex on the dance floor? Is that what you think?”
“Pretty much. Look, if you go too fast with her, you’ll beat yourself up. You’ll convince yourself that you’re using her as a way of getting Laura out of your head. Or something along that vein. And then it’ll get ugly.”
“But that’s not…”
“I know. But I don’t want to see you confuse the issue. Pam deserves better than that, and so do you, my friend.”
Trish blew out an exasperated breath. “Dammit, Rosa.”
“I know, Trish. Just go slow, okay? I care about you, you know.”
“Thank you. I know you do.”
“That’s what friends are for. And you know that I’m okay with that, with not being more than friends, right? I mean, we’re clear on that once and for all?”
“Yes.” Trish smiled. She was lucky Rosa had stuck by her. “We are.”
Pam returned, a glass of wine in each hand. “Here, Rosa, take one. I’ll go grab another.”
“No, but thank you. I don’t want to ruin anyone else’s clothes. Except maybe that elegant-looking woman talking with Bev.” She winked at Pam. “I wouldn’t mind helping her into something more comfortable.”
“Speaking of ruined clothes, I think we’re going to have to go soon,” Trish said. “It’s not much fun hanging around here with a wet ass.”
Pam’s eyes flashed mischievously. “I agree, and for the record, I think you should change into something more comfortable.”
“Bye, kids,” Rosa said. “Behave yourselves.”
Chapter Fourteen
The air was warm and humid, the glow of the orange streetlights like small orbs of setting suns, Pam thought.
She wanted to hold Trish’s hand on the walk back to the house, but she couldn’t think of an excuse that would allow it. It was a romantic thought that wouldn’t leave her, though. So was the desire that this was a real date and that there was more of the evening in store, back at the house—a glass of wine together on the two-person glider on the front porch, gazing into each other’s eyes and talking about the future. A little making out in the dark too.
Pam didn’t like admitting that she was a closet romantic, but in her bones she knew it was true. It was why she read schmaltzy Nora Roberts’ and Nicholas Sparks’ books and had a healthy collection of lesbian romance novels as well, all of them stashed neatly under the bed. Even an old Barry Manilow tune on the radio could send a shiver of sentiment through her. She’d never been with a woman worthy of unleashing her pent-up romantic zeal on, but with Trish she knew she could. Every romantic song, every vision of a candlelit dinner or a walk on the beach made her think of Trish. With Trish, all of these and more were possibilities, not simply fantasies.
Trish broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Earlier tonight. What were you talking to that newspaper reporter about?”
“She was talking to me about Laura. She’d like to do a story about Laura sometime. Her life, her sacrifices. You know, what kind of person she was, why she joined the army. Kind of an American hero type of story.”
“Tell me you’re not considering it.”
Pam shrugged one shoulder. “She made some good points. Laura really was a hero. I think maybe, at some point anyway, her story deserves to be told to a wider audience. I think people should understand what our soldiers are doing over there and why they do what they do. I’d like people to know Laura’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.”
Trish remained silent, and even in the dark, Pam could see her jaw clenched tightly. Her stride became more staccato, heavier. Angry stomps that reminded Pam of the sound of marching soldiers.
“Trish, you can’t stay mad at the army for the rest of your life.”
“Why not? They took her away from us forever. And besides, it’s not the rest of my life yet. She hasn’t even been gone three months. I can damn well stay mad as long as I like.”
Pam didn’t say more; she didn’t want to cause a big fight. But she knew Trish’s anger and rage at the army would eventually eat her up from the inside out if she didn’t let it go or at least figure out a way to blunt it. The army had been Laura’s choice—as much as she and Trish had disagreed with it. And it had been Laura’s choice to go to Afghanistan. Hell, if Laura had wanted to play it safe, she could have had her pick of base hospitals, stateside or in Europe. She’d paid her dues, but coasting wasn’t in her blood. She’d wanted to be where the action was, doing her part, with her eyes wide open.
Pam had been on the verge of telling Trish about her idea of going to Afghanistan to see where Laura had made her sacrifice, to find some closure to whatever open-ended questions still existed. But Trish was so angry, Pam didn’t dare bring it up.
By the time they got back to the house, Trish’s body language had noticeably changed. The tide of anger had visibly receded.
“It’s such a nice night, will you sit on the porch with me a while?” Trish asked, pulling two wineglasses down from the cupboard.
A warm shiver coursed through Pam. Had Trish read her mind about the porch glider?
“Okay,” she answered, turning away so that her face didn’t give away her desire. “Sounds good.”
Minutes later, Trish beside her on the glider and a glass of wine in her hand, Pam leaned her head back and closed her eyes, enjoying the peace—the sublimity—of the moment. She felt completely at home, completely content. Yes, complete, she realized. It was as though everything had fallen into place as she let her unanswered questions, the unfinished conversations with Trish, fall away like autumn leaves from a tree. Nothing mattered at this very juncture but the two of them and this warm, still night that felt like a loving embrace. She could stay this way forever.
“I’m glad,” Pam said after a while, “that you and Rosa are friends again.”
“Hmm, yes. I think we always will be, in spite of the occasional rough patch. You never did ask me what our fight was about.”
“I had an idea.”
“You did? I mean, you do?”
“I figure Laura is probably the predominant theme of your disagreements with Rosa.”
Trish quietly sipped her wine, smiling in wonder. “Sometimes I underestimate you.”
Pam laughed. “Big mistake.”
“Believe me, I’ve begun to figure that out. You’re a smart woman, aren’t you?”
“Not always,” Pam said wistfully. A smarter woman would have sorted out her feelings for Trish a good many years ago. A smarter woman would probably have moved on instead of carrying this torch forever.
“Rosa,” Trish said, “pretty much told me I was never going to be happy, was never going to live again, unless I let go of Laura for good. I got angry with her because I didn’t want to hear the truth.”
Pam sat up straighter, looked hard into Trish’s eyes. “Do you think you can finally do it?”
Her mouth tight, Trish shook her head slowly. “Do I have a choice? I have to do it, Pam. I mean, Christ, she’s not coming back. At least I finally get that part.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean here.” Pam touched the flat of her palm to the center of Trish’s chest, above her beating heart. “Can you do it here?” Her own heart beat wildly in anticipation of Trish’s answer.
Slowly, Trish placed her hand on top of Pam’s, holding it to her chest. “Yes. I think I can. I mean, I want to this time. But it won’t happen overnight.”
Pam understood. There might be a chance for the two of them after all, but it would take time.
“What made you finally decide you want to move on this time?” Pam asked tentatively.
“You mean besides the fact that Laura is never coming back?”
“Yes, besides that. People sometimes hold on to ghosts for a long, long time.” Please don’t be one of those people, Trish.
Trish moved Pam’s hand to her cheek. “I don’t,” she whispered, “want to miss out anymore on what’s rig
ht in front of me.”
Pam’s throat went dry. Her heart pounded so hard, so fast, she feared it sounded like a hundred galloping horses. She swallowed, hoarsely pushing the words out. “And right in front of you is what?”
Trish smiled, turned Pam’s hand and slowly kissed the backs of her fingers until Pam felt as though she were melting from the inside out. She swore hot lava was throbbing through her veins as Trish’s touch tore her apart in a million different directions.
“Right in front of me,” Trish said, her eyes brimming with emotion as she searched Pam’s face, “is a beautiful, wonderful woman I’ve been willfully blind to all this time. A beautiful, wonderful woman I care so very much about and am so attracted to. I don’t want to lose you, but I’m scared, Pam.”
Pam’s heart nearly stopped. They were the words she’d longed to hear, but why was there always a caveat? A “no” where there should have been a “yes”?
“What are you scared of, Trish?”
Trish’s eyes snapped shut, her body stiffening. The magic of the moment was quickly slipping away. She was quickly slipping away from Pam.
“Tell me,” Pam urged.
“I don’t…Jesus. Don’t you see? I’m scared I might end up thinking of you as some sort of replacement for Laura. Or that you’re a rebound thing. I can’t do that to either of us.”
Pam smiled in spite of the seriousness of the subject. “It’s been too many years for this to be a rebound.”
“Oh, dammit, you know what I mean. A clone, then.” Trish broke into a smile too. “You’re right. This definitely isn’t a rebound situation.”
Pam understood Trish’s fears. She had to be sure she was over Laura before she could love Pam. That she wasn’t simply transferring her feelings for Laura on to Pam. Or that she wasn’t using an affair with Pam as a catalyst to get over Laura.
“I do know what you mean, Trish.”
“Good. Then you know I have to—that we have to—go slow. No timetable, no pressure, no expectations.”
Pam grinned triumphantly, taking what she could get. Even though Trish was making no promises, at least she was giving her a chance, and that was worth celebrating.
“What about you?” Trish asked with concern. “What pace would work for you?”
“Slow is good. And I agree. No timetable, no pressure, no expectations.”
“But how do you feel about that?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Like I want to make love to you this minute. Like I want to start being your girlfriend right now. I may not have the iron discipline of my soldier sister, but self-control is underrated these days. I can wait for you as long as it takes because I want us to do this right.”
“You’re sure?”
Pam smiled, equal parts frustrated and satisfied. “I’ve waited all this time, haven’t I?”
“True.”
They sipped their wine in silence. The rhythmic chirping of the crickets and the silence of the neighborhood was a stark contrast to the churning inside Pam’s stomach. She was ecstatic that Trish was giving her—them—a chance, but what did it really mean? Would it simply be more of the same…a flirtatious friendship? Would they ever really be a couple? Would they ever really be free of the specter of Laura? And would Trish be capable of not comparing her with Laura every time they made love or every time they had a fight? An even bigger question was could she stop comparing herself with Laura, stop feeling inferior to her older sister? Christ, what if I’m making love to Trish and I start worrying that I’m not doing her as good as Laura? That I don’t measure up?
Doubt crept like a hand around her throat, slowly tightening its grip. Sweat began to scratch at her scalp. Her face burned. Maybe she wasn’t woman enough to try it with Trish after all. Maybe she was really the holdout here, the fearful one. Hope was crashing like a falling meteor and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Trish watched her with deepening concern. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Pam could hardly speak. “I don’t know if I can do this, Trish.”
She didn’t give Trish a chance to answer. Instead, she set her glass down abruptly and jumped to her feet. Shaking off the hand reaching for her, Pam strode into the house and ran upstairs to the guest bedroom, desperate with the need to be alone. As much as she wanted Trish, she couldn’t help but feel that trying to be together was a futile exercise. That they were doomed, thanks to Laura. Laura was the one who’d brought them together twenty years ago and again this time. Without Laura there was no Trish and Pam, and three was a crowd in a relationship.
Facedown on the bed, Pam began to sob. Even in death, Laura was ruining her chances of ever being with Trish.
* * *
Trish woke early. Failing to hear any stirrings from the guest room, she decided to whip up an omelet and coffee and take breakfast up to Pam. Quietly she worked in the kitchen, trying not to panic about last night. She’d thought they were making real progress, or at least baby steps, toward some kind of relationship. Of course it was going to be a minefield, and they’d have to take it very slow, and even then, the path was undoubtedly going to be fraught with difficulties. But the way Pam had stormed off, everything was back to square one. Intellectually, she understood Pam’s concerns—obstacles more like—but it was frustrating all the same.
Outside Pam’s door, Trish set the tray on the floor and rapped softly on the door. After a moment, Pam told her to come in. Trish picked up the tray and opened the door, her eyes needing to adjust to the dim light.
“Oh, hi,” Pam replied, sitting up quickly. The sheet slid from her naked body, momentarily exposing her breasts before she could yank the sheet back up.
Trish nearly dropped the tray as her eyes strayed to Pam’s covered breasts, sweet visions of what she’d just witnessed resurfacing in her mind. She hoped Pam hadn’t noticed that she was practically drooling. Not to mention her sudden clumsiness.
“Hope you’re hungry.”
Pam smiled, but she looked like she hadn’t slept much. “It looks and smells great. Will you have some with me?”
“That’s why I brought two forks.”
Trish sat down on the edge of the bed and put the tray between them. “I was a little worried about last night.”
“Can we not talk about it right now?”
Trish’s heart plummeted. She wanted to talk about what was wrong between them before the chasm only deepened, but she didn’t want to force a showdown. “Okay.”
They ate quietly, talked a little about the party, about nothing of significance. Finally, the omelet gone and their coffees mostly drunk, Trish gently tried again. “I wish you would talk to me about what’s wrong. About last night. Please?”
Pam shook her head a little, stared blankly ahead.
Trish set the tray on the dresser, returned and sat down beside Pam. Jesus. It was lethal sitting so close to her, knowing only a thin cotton sheet covered that beautiful body. The raw urgency of her need surprised her. She wanted to touch Pam, wanted to be touched by her. She didn’t know how things were going to develop between them over the long run, but at this moment, she desperately wanted to make love to Pam. Wanted to be naked next to her, wanted to taste her, to be inside her. Wanted to let their bodies do all the talking. Then maybe things would be clearer between them.
“Pam,” Trish whispered, her trembling fingers rising to Pam’s shoulder, to the edge of the sheet.
“I’m scared,” Pam replied, her eyes flicking to Trish’s. “I don’t want to be, but I am.”
“So am I.”
Trish’s fingers gently pushed the sheet lower and lower, her eyes never leaving Pam’s. There was no resistance as the sheet dropped to Pam’s waist. She didn’t dare look, didn’t want to break the spell. Instead, she moved closer until her lips were a breath away from Pam’s.
“Maybe we’ve been doing too much thinking, too much rationalizing,” Trish whispered.
“Maybe.”
“I want to kiss you.”
She could see Pam’s throat bob in a nervous swallow, but her eyes spoke a different language as they looked longingly at Trish. Softly, slowly, Trish began kissing her, gently touching her lips ever so softly to Pam’s. Her eyes closed in spite of the temptation to snatch another look at Pam’s breasts, just inches away now and so very close to where her fingers lay.
The kiss intensified, their lips hot with unrestrained passion. Pam’s fingers moved insistently to Trish’s hair, pulling her closer in a sure signal that she wanted more. Pam moaned as Trish’s mouth slid down to her throat, which was soft and warm and tense with desire. Oh yes, Trish thought as Pam moaned again. How she wanted to make her not only moan, but scream out with exquisite pleasure. She wanted Pam’s hands directing her head to other parts of her body too. It’d been a while since she’d made love to a woman, but with Pam, it was as though her body instinctively knew what it wanted and needed to do, with a mind purely its own.
Trish’s eyes slid open as she kissed Pam’s throat, her neck. She watched her breasts rise and fall with each sharp intake of breath. God! They were beautiful. Not exactly small, but efficient and practical—much more so than Trish’s larger, fuller breasts. They were shaped perfectly too, the nipples stiff peaks atop the gentle slopes. Rewards after the ascent.
Without further delay, Trish moved her mouth to the closest breast. Softly, she kissed all around the nipple, cupping the breast with her hand like a fragile baby bird. Pam tensed pleasurably, arched her back. Oh, yes, she wants me to suck it. The thought turned Trish on even more. Pam’s blatant desire intensified the wet throbbing between her own legs. Thinking was the most overrated goddamned thing in the world, it occurred to her now as she began sucking Pam’s erect nipple.
Oh, why had she wasted so much time thinking and worrying, instead of doing and enjoying? She’d spent so many years of her life contemplating when there was so much pleasure to be had. And dear, sweet Pam was the most pleasurable gift she’d ever been offered, other than Laura perhaps. But she and Laura had been so young then, so innocent and spontaneous. They had been blank slates with the future yet to be drawn. But this. This was different. This had the rich sweetness of both wisdom and maturity, of a desire nurtured for years.
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