Aggie had become accustomed to the sniping each of her parents took at the other since the divorce.
“But then where will you be?” Debbie persisted. “What if she has to go in a nursing home?”
Aggie looked at her mother, knowing full well that she had gone against her parents’ wishes when she decided to stand up for Aunt Cory. “Then I’ll get another apartment. It’s not like I gave up my dream place to do this.”
Debbie looked somewhat skeptical, though Aggie couldn’t be sure, as her mother had had another Botox session last week. “Your aunt is… eccentric. Are you sure you want to be housemates with her?”
Aggie laughed. “This house is, what? Six thousand square feet? We could wander around for days and not run into one another.”
“And,” she added, leading the way across the hall to Candace’s old room, “Aunt Cory suggested I put my other furniture over here to make my own sitting room. She said we’re both so used to having our own space that we might as well spread out so we don’t drive each other crazy.”
Debbie fanned her sweaty face with her hands. “What are you doing about air conditioning?”
“That is one thing I insisted on,” Aggie said ruefully. “I know Aunt Cory doesn’t need it; she doesn’t feel the heat, but I do. I bought two window units. They’re ugly, but they’ll make these rooms bearable.”
She pulled a sheet from the laundry basket on the floor and her mother helped her make the bed. As Aggie turned to unpack a suitcase of clothes, placing them in drawers, Debbie wandered about upstairs.
“What’s this for?” her voice called from down the hall.
Aggie found her in the room at the end. “This was Cory’s old room,” she reminded her mother. She ran a hand tenderly over the hand-embroidered upholstery of the rocker. “I think she likes to come up here and sit sometimes. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be me doing this someday.”
“Don’t be stupid,” her mother said crossly. “We’re selling this money pit as soon as your great-aunt dies or goes to a nursing home.”
Aggie turned back to the hall, clenching her jaw. Don’t argue with her, she told herself. It’s not worth it. But she very nearly fell over as her mother called after her, “And you need to get married. No man is going to want a woman saddled with an old relative.”
Downstairs, Cory sat in the study, a book in her lap, the windows open as she listened to the footsteps upstairs. She smiled to herself. It had been a long time since she’d shared this house with anyone, and though she would never have admitted it to anyone, lest the others use it against her, she’d been lonely at times. This house was so filled with memories – “with ghosts, you mean” – that it surprised her sometimes to wander about and realize she was actually alone.
* * *
Corinne lies next to Helen, breathing heavily, their naked bodies covered in a sheen of sweat.
“What would your mother say about your, uh…” Helen searches for the right word, “your enthusiasm in the bedroom?”
Corinne laughs softly. “It’s not a topic I plan on discussing with my mother,” she says.
Corinne knows her hunger for Helen is a surprise – to Helen as well as herself. She thinks of her constantly throughout the day, feeling her body respond, the wetness down there at the thought of what is waiting when she gets back to her – “no, our apartment,” she corrects herself.
Their first time, the night Helen had taken her out to dinner, Corinne was shy, not because she didn’t desire Helen – she’d thought of nothing else for weeks – but because she was unsure of what to do. It was almost a relief to realize that Helen had done this before, though it made Corinne a bit jealous.
“There are advantages to going to all-girl schools,” Helen had murmured, nibbling and teasing Corinne’s body into a state of arousal she had not anticipated. Not that I knew what to expect, she thought later.
Corinne quickly learned how to please Helen in return. She rolls over now, tracing her fingers lightly over Helen’s nipples, watching them harden at her touch.
“Stop,” Helen says, chuckling as she holds Corinne’s hand to keep her own excitement from building again. “I need to talk to you.”
“What?” Corinne asks, resting her head on Helen’s shoulder.
“You know that the British have already engaged the Germans and it has not gone well,” Helen says seriously. “My supervisor believes we will be involved, fighting alongside the British, within the year.”
“So?” Corinne asks, her heart beating faster.
“So… I may be sent to England to be a liaison between our office and theirs,” Helen says.
Corinne’s heart suddenly feels as if it has stopped – suspended in mid-beat – though she can still feel Helen’s heart beating, slow and steady, against her ribs. Until this very moment, she has not thought except in vague terms about where the future might be leading, about what she wants for her life, but, suddenly, she sees with absolute clarity that what she wants more than anything is a lifetime with Helen.
She sits up. “Don’t go.”
Helen looks up at her, a thoughtful smile playing on her lips. “Don’t you see how important this is?”
“What I see,” Corinne says quietly, “is that I love you.” She says these words for the first time and wonders why she hasn’t said them before, wonders how she could not have known from the first moment she saw Helen flapping that wet umbrella that this woman would become her everything.
Helen looks up at her, serious again. “I love you, too.” She sits also, taking Corinne’s hand, “It’s because I love you so much that I have to do this. The Nazis pose a very real threat to us.” She holds up a hand as Corinne opens her mouth to protest. “I know people say the war will never reach us, but they’re wrong. I saw signs of it when I was in Europe, and now, if you’d read and seen some of the things I’ve seen… the threat is real. It is coming. We must meet it, and not sit back passively.”
She speaks with such passion and conviction that Corinne cannot argue. “When would you go?” Corinne asks, her eyes filling with tears.
Helen kisses her eyes tenderly, tasting the salty drops on her lips. “I don’t know. Soon perhaps.”
Corinne cries in earnest. “What if you never come home?” she sobs.
Helen takes her in her arms, pulling her back down to the bed. “I promise,” she says fervently, “I will come home to you. No matter where you are, I will find you.”
Corinne cries for a long time before she lies quietly in Helen’s arms.
“And just think,” Helen murmurs, “you won’t have to complain about my mess for a while. You’ll have the place to yourself again.”
“I don’t want to be by myself anymore,” Corinne sniffs. “I’d gladly put up with the mess to have you here.”
* * *
Percival trotted into the study and hopped into his dog bed, positioned near the hearth so he could see the chairs and keep an eye on the comings and goings here. Aggie and her mother followed soon after.
“Well, I think that’s everything, Aunt Cory,” Aggie said. “I just have to clean my apartment and I’m done there.”
“Your landlord isn’t giving you a hard time?” Debbie asked worriedly.
“No. I found an in-coming teacher who needed a place, so he’s happy to have a new tenant.” She sat in the other wing chair and said, “I hope you won’t mind if Percival and I clutter up the house more than you’re used to. You must promise to tell me if we’re bothering you. This is your house.”
“It’s our house,” Cory corrected. “And I learned long ago that a little clutter is a small price to pay for having people you love around you.”
“Look at the time,” Debbie said suddenly. “I have to go. My bridge club is meeting this afternoon.”
“Bye, Mom,” Aggie said as her mother blew her a kiss, “Thanks for your help.”
She turned back to Cory as her mother left. “I’ve already talked to Veronica about taking July and Augu
st off until school starts again,” she said.
“She’s not upset, is she?” Cory asked worriedly.
“No,” Aggie smiled. “She’s going to look after her grandson, so she’s glad of the break.”
“A break from me, you mean,” Cory said wryly.
“Yes, because you’re such a pain in the a–”
“Watch your language, young lady,” Cory said sternly.
Aggie grinned. “Anyway, she’ll be back when school starts. In the meantime, I got someone lined up to come fix our gutters next week.”
Cory caught the “our gutters,” and hid a smile.
Chapter 12
The start of the second summer term meant less down time for Beryl and Ridley for the next couple of weeks. Every new term was crazy as students acclimated to new schedules and courses, but summer students were already oriented to the university, so life for the librarians was not quite as chaotic as in August.
During a rare lull in their schedule, Ridley turned to Beryl. “Come on,” he urged again. “This is killing me. You gotta call.”
“All right,” she sighed. She found the paper with the Columbus auction house information and looked them up. Pulling out her cell phone, she dialed the number and inquired about the estate sale they’d held on March 20th.
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Mattingly. “That was the Bishop auction. Sad, it was.”
“Why sad?” Beryl asked as Ridley leaned close, trying to listen.
“Oh, the family has mostly died off,” Mrs. Mattingly said. She seemed to be a bit of a gossip and was eager to talk. “A huge old mansion, in Bexley. Mostly empty now, except for the old woman who lived there. Never married from what I gathered, no children,” she said, getting warmed up. “Only nieces and nephews now. One niece said the old lady wouldn’t leave the place. She plans on dying where she was born. But she couldn’t afford the taxes, so they had to sell off most everything. Oh, the things we sold: Tiffany lamps, Chippendale furniture, Persian rugs. Even a Tiffany silver set – that went for thousands. Tons of books, too, but we weren’t allowed to sell those. Well, a few got sold, but I expect we’ll be going back someday for the rest,” she said confidently.
“Is she still living?” Beryl asked. “The old woman?”
“Goodness knows. She must have been over ninety,” Mrs. Mattingly said.
“You don’t remember her name by any chance, do you?” Beryl asked, holding her breath.
“You’re awful curious,” Mrs. Mattingly said nosily.
“Well, I bought something I think might have come from that sale, and there was an old letter I thought the family might want back,” Beryl fibbed. “So, do you remember a name?” she prompted.
“Oh, let’s see… they all called her Aunt something… Aunt Carrie or Aunt Cody or some such thing.”
Beryl’s hand tightened on the phone. It seemed almost inconceivable that she could have found the Corinne of her book’s inscription. “Thank you, Mrs. Mattingly. You’ve been very helpful.”
She hung up and turned to Ridley who grinned and said, “Next stop, Bexley, Ohio.”
A few hours later, Ridley was leafing through The Journal of Higher Education while Beryl did an internet search for Corinne Bishop.
“Nothing,” she said, slumping back against her chair. “No telephone listing, no record of death, no property tax listing, nothing.”
“Well,” Ridley mused, only half-listening, “she could be in a nursing home or living with a relative by now, or maybe the house isn’t in her name.”
“I guess,” Beryl sighed.
“Beryl,” he said, frowning at the journal, “what’s your doctorate in?”
She stared at him. “How did you know I have a doctorate?”
He gave her a rueful glance. “Research,” he said, as if this should be obvious. “I am a librarian. I looked you up.”
“Why?” she laughed.
He shrugged. “You know too much. Way more than I do, about everything. So I looked up your credentials. You finished your Master’s in Library Science from Catholic University twelve years ago, and then you got your doctorate, but it didn’t say in what. So… what’s it in?”
“Medieval European literature. A highly profitable field of study,” she said sarcastically.
Ridley frowned and shook his head. “What are you doing here?”
“What’s wrong with here?” she asked defensively.
“Nothing, but,” he stared at her, “it’s like someone who trained as a surgeon doing family practice. There’s nothing wrong with it, but you’re not using your training. You should be working somewhere with rare books. I know you do research and appraisals for Mr. Herrmann all the time. Wouldn’t you like working in a rare book collection?”
Beryl’s face lit up. “I would,” she admitted. “I was actually going to apply for a position with the Folger Shakespeare Library about seven years ago, but…” Her face fell.
“But what?” Ridley asked.
“Why would you leave Georgetown?” Claire had asked.
“This is a good opportunity,” Beryl insisted.
“You’ve got job security, you work near your parents’ house, we can take courses together,” Claire pointed out.
Beryl frowned down at the curriculum vitae she’d been preparing. “You don’t think I should do this?”
Claire came to her and wrapped her arms around her. “I just don’t want to see you disappointed when you don’t get it,” she’d said.
“But what?” Ridley repeated, looking at Beryl sharply.
“I… I just decided it wasn’t the right move,” Beryl mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
“You mean Claire decided it wasn’t the right move,” he guessed shrewdly.
Beryl flushed crimson, but didn’t say anything.
“Excuse me?” said a student, a freshman or sophomore by the look of her. They get younger every year, Beryl often thought. “Could you help me with –?”
Beryl jumped up, glad for the interruption.
Ridley chuckled and turned back to the Chronicle where he circled a job posting.
“Hi.”
Ridley looked up.
Beryl returned to the desk a few minutes later. “George!” she said in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, hi, Beryl,” George stammered, nervously adjusting his glasses on his nose. “We got an inquiry on these books.” He pulled a cloth-wrapped package from his backpack and held it out to Beryl. “Someone wants to sell them, and Mr. Herrmann was wondering if you would help us, so…” He burned so scarlet, he looked as if he might spontaneously combust. “I thought I’d bring them down to you for a change.”
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the bundle, and covering a smile as she noted that Ridley seemed a little flustered. “Was there anything else?” she asked innocently when George lingered.
“I… no,” George said. “No.”
“Please tell Mr. Herrmann I’ll get back to him as soon as I can about this,” she said.
“I will,” George nodded, backing up and nearly falling over the returned book trolley. “Bye, Beryl. Bye, Ridley.” He left with a small wave.
“Well, well,” Beryl said with a smug smile, enjoying Ridley’s discomfort for a change. “I don’t think he came here just to drop off a book for me.”
Ridley mumbled something indistinct and turned to his computer.
She pulled her chair close so she could speak without being overheard. “You are gay, aren’t you?” she asked hesitantly. Sometimes with guys, it was hard to tell.
Ridley nodded.
“George has always seemed like such a nice guy,” she prompted gently. “Do you like him?”
To her surprise, Ridley angrily whipped his chair around to face her. “Leave it, Gray,” he growled before wheeling away.
Taken aback by the vehemence of his reaction, Beryl kept her distance, coolly pretending to be occupied at her computer when he returned to the reference desk.
“
Sorry,” he muttered after a few minutes.
She looked over at him. She’d never seen him this upset, but knowing him as she did, she said, “You owe me a beer.”
His mouth twitched into a tiny smile. “Insensitive. Right.”
“You know,” he said several hours later when they were seated at the same booth in the same tavern they’d gone to before, “the people here are going to think we’re a couple.”
“Couple of misfits,” Beryl agreed.
He laughed.
She leaned her elbows on the table, watching the foamy head of the beer in her glass. “So, what was going on today?”
When he didn’t answer immediately, she pressed. “Are you with someone? You like the club scene? You took a vow of celibacy?”
“You’re getting closer,” he said wryly. Looking distinctly uncomfortable, he leaned closer. “I can’t date.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
Embarrassed, he glanced around to make sure he couldn’t be overheard and said, “Taking a hit as high as I did… there was… collateral damage.”
“Oh,” Beryl said, embarrassed also.
“And with guys…” he struggled to explain, “it’s sex first, maybe a relationship later.”
At Beryl’s dubious expression, he asked, “How long before you and Claire had sex?”
Beryl thought. “Two months, I think.”
Ridley snorted. “With guys, it’d be more like two hours.” He shook his head and took a long drink of his beer. “I’d have to get to really, really trust someone before…” He ran his hand agitatedly through his hair. “In bed, with no legs… and the nightmares…” He swallowed hard. “It’s just not going to happen.”
Beryl’s heart ached for him. “It can’t be like that for every man,” she said softly. “You’re a romantic. Look at your reaction to Corinne and Helen. There have to be other men who feel the same way.”
“Maybe,” he conceded, “but where do you meet them?”
“I think you’ve already met one,” she reminded him.
Startled, he looked at her. “You mean George?”
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