Love in the Time of Corona

by Elena Graf

  Duvaney gave her a little wave of acknowledgement and took another large bite of his sandwich.

  When they were down the hall and well out of earshot, Brenda said, “Well, now you’ve met Paul Duvaney. He looks worse than he is. That man is fearless and absolutely dedicated to fire fighting. He’s personally rescued more people than any other fire fighter in the state.”

  “So, he just looks like a stereotype.”

  Brenda frowned as she considered the statement. “Yes, I guess that’s what I mean.”

  The fire department supplies were well organized, so taking inventory was easier. The ambulance corps storeroom next door was spotless, and each storage bin held a meticulously kept inventory sheet.

  “That was quick,” said Brenda, closing the door. “I guess we’re done here. Time to get you back.”

  Cherie saw her reluctance mirrored in Brenda’s face.

  “Is your car in the lot at the practice?”

  Cherie shook her head. “I live close enough to walk to the office, so I usually do.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll drive you home.”

  As they passed St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church, Cherie thought about Mother Lucy’s suggestion. Socializing with Brenda while she wasn’t wearing her uniform made sense. Today’s experience was helping her see another side of the woman, and she was beginning to like what she saw.

  “I’ve enjoyed working with you today,” Cherie said.

  “Me too,” agreed Brenda. “We should do it again sometime.”

  “We’ll have to. After I make up the list for you and Chief Duvaney, I’ll need to go over it with each of you. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

  “Okay. Sounds good, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you before that.”

  Cherie swallowed hard, knowing what was coming. She realized that if she took control of the conversation, it might be easier.

  “How about going out for dinner one night?”

  Brenda glanced at her. “I’d really like that but at this time of year, most of the restaurants are closed.”

  Cherie debated inviting her for a meal at her house, but she couldn’t decide if she was ready for that.

  “I know where we can go!” said Brenda. “There’s a country-western bar up in Lyman that’s open all year. They have great Tex-Mex food and awesome music. How about that?”

  Brenda’s voice was so full of enthusiasm Cherie didn’t know what to say. She didn’t especially like country-western music, preferring jazz and classical. She finally said, “Sounds like a possibility.”

  “Oh, you’re in for a treat! This place always has great bands, even in the winter, although sometimes, I think people just pack in there for the body heat. By this time of year, they’re so desperate to see other people, they’ll jam into any place that’s open.” Brenda gave her steering wheel a light punch. “Damn! I just remembered. I don’t have a weekend night off for two weeks.”

  “It will keep,” Cherie said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Brenda turned and gave her a little smile. “I hope not.” She parked on the street in front of the cottage. “Nice working with you today,” she said as Cherie opened the door to get out. “Looking forward to next time.”

  Cherie waved from the little porch of her cottage as Brenda drove away.

  Before Cherie took off her coat, she went into the living room to look in on her father. His face was illuminated by the blue light of the television, but he was sleeping soundly. She checked the water level in the humidifier and topped it up before waking him. The winter’s dry heat made it hard for COPD patients to breathe, but keeping the humidifier full and free of contamination was a real chore.

  Her father stirred. “Welcome home, sweetie pie,” he said with a big smile. For a moment, Cherie caught a glimpse of the handsome, virile man who had been the hero of her youth. Now, he was gray, faded, and frail. She constantly worried about the threat of pneumonia, especially during the winter. She made sure he was current on all his vaccines, but still.

  “How are you doing, Daddy?”

  “Oh, fine, I guess. I’m just sick of hearing all those complaints about our president.”

  Cherie glanced at the television. Of course, Fox News was on again. It always came back on, no matter how often she changed the channel. To rid herself of the sight of Laura Ingraham, Cherie turned off the TV.

  “Come into the kitchen and keep me company while I cook dinner.”

  “Okay.” Her father struggled to get up, but Cherie didn’t try to help because that only made him angry. Finally, he got to his feet.

  “I hope you had a good day,” Jean-Paul said, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

  As Cherie cut up vegetables to make her mother’s favorite gumbo recipe, she wondered whether to tell her father about Brenda Harrison.

  Chapter Five

  Erika Bultmann, lugging her laptop and two canvas bags of books, opened the door from the garage. A wonderful smell greeted her. Sniffing the air, she tried to identify the aromas—meat, recently browned, sautéed onion and garlic, oregano. Lucy is cooking! Erika realized with delight. She dropped her bags in her office chair and headed to the kitchen.

  “Hello, love, what are you up to? It smells absolutely delicious.” She bent to kiss Lucy, who was still wearing her clerical blouse. “Shouldn’t you change before going full Julia Child?”

  “I wanted to get dinner started right away. It needs to simmer for an hour.”

  “And what is in that pot that smells so good?”

  “Lamb stew with eggplant. Liz gave me the recipe.”

  Erika reached for a wooden spoon and dipped it into the sauce for a taste. It was piquant with just the right balance of sweetness. “Very good, Mother Lucy. Nicely seasoned. You’ve become quite the chef. You’re hired!”

  Erika pulled her close to offer a second, less perfunctory kiss. She could feel Lucy clinging to her for balance, but Erika ended the kiss with a smile and a pat on her behind. “Now off with you and change your clothes. I’ll watch your dinner while you’re gone.”

  “But you have your work clothes on too.”

  “Yes, but unlike you, I know when to put on an apron.”

  Erika hung her suit coat on the back of a chair and took her apron from the hook in the pantry. As she tied the apron strings, she made a quick survey of the kitchen. Yes, Lucy had improved as a cook, but she still hadn’t learned to clean up the cooking utensils during the process. The counters were littered with bowls, measuring cups and spoons. Erika shook her head and filled the sink with soapy water. As Erika washed the frying pan, she could hear Lucy talking to her daughter in the other room.

  “Honey, I want you to finish your homework.”

  “Later.”

  “Now, please.”

  “I said, I’ll do it later,” replied the sullen voice.

  Lucy’s frustrated sigh was audible as she ascended the stairs.

  Erika recognized a typical mother-daughter power struggle. She’d been teaching philosophy to college students for nearly forty years, and although this was her first time as a parent, she knew something about adolescent behavior.

  The girl they had brought home from New York six months ago was still adjusting to life with her new family. Her strictly religious adoptive parents had trained her to be abnormally polite, almost obsequious, but lately, she was often rude beyond what could be excused by her high-functioning autism.

  There were other signs that Emily’s excitement at being reunited with her birth mother was beginning to wear off. Her ridiculously high I.Q. had allowed her to develop an enormous vocabulary and learn several languages, but now, her communication at home was often sullen grunts. Ironically, the more secure she felt with her new parents, the more she was becoming an ordinary teenager. The increased friction between mother and daughter was the predictable
part. How it would manifest on a daily basis was anyone’s guess.

  After Erika finished washing the pans and cooking utensils, she went upstairs to change out of her suit and attempt to smooth Lucy’s ruffled feathers. She found that Lucy had changed into a jogging suit and fuzzy slippers. She was sitting on the edge of the bed with a long face.

  Erika sensed that Lucy needed a moment to herself, so she undressed without speaking. Taking off her dress shoes and suit after a day of classes and the long drive from Waterville gave her such pleasure.

  “Sometimes, I don’t think I can do this,” Lucy suddenly said in a hopeless voice.

  “Do what?”

  “I missed my chance to be a real mother when I gave her up for adoption.”

  “Now, Lucy, that doesn’t sound like you. You’re the eternal optimist.”

  Lucy groaned. “But I never realized it would be this hard!”

  “Of course, you did. Your specialty is family counseling. You know this is just garden variety acting out. Relationships between mothers and daughters are particularly strained at this stage of life.”

  “But it doesn’t help when it’s your own daughter. All the knowledge in the world doesn’t help when you’re in the middle of it!”

  Erika sat down beside Lucy and put her arm around her. “It will be over soon. Yale was ready to take her. Remember, it was your idea to keep her at home so you could get to know one another.”

  “She’ll be leaving home so soon, and she just got here!”

  Erika nudged her with her arm. “Stop trying so hard and make the most of the opportunity.” Erika kissed the pale, tender spot at Lucy’s temple. Her hair, frizzy from standing over the stove, tickled Erika’s nose.

  “I like this view,” Lucy murmured.

  Erika looked down and realized that Lucy was admiring her cleavage. “You are absolutely shameless! You’re miserable one minute, and the next, thinking about sex?”

  “What do you expect? You’re sitting there in your underwear with your boobs in my face!” Lucy gave Erika’s nipple an appreciative caress. Because Erika wasn’t expecting it, the touch of Lucy’s fingertips tickled. Erika gave her a quick kiss to fend her off.

  “Lucy, I absolutely adore you, but if you don’t stir your stew, it will scorch on the bottom and spoil your lovely dinner.”

  Lucy pouted so Erika kissed her again.

  “Give me a real kiss, and I’ll go down and stir the stew.”

  Erika laughed. “You drive a hard bargain, woman. I had no idea what I was getting into with you. Perhaps I should have guessed from the red hair and the painted toenails.”

  “Stop complaining,” said Lucy. “You love it!”

  “I do. I will admit.” Erika gave her a long, deep kiss. When they parted, Lucy’s eyes were misty with desire.

  “Now, go stir the stew!” ordered Erika.

  With a sigh, Lucy got up and left. While Erika pulled on her jeans, her thoughts turned from sex to the long conversation she’d had with Liz on the way down from Waterville. Liz was still going on about that Chinese virus. No one at the college had said anything about it. When Liz had first mentioned it, Erika had asked the dean whether there were plans to expand online classes in the event of an outbreak. The puzzled look on Dean Clark’s face made Erika think it was the first time she’d ever heard of it.

  It was no longer Erika’s job to worry about such things. She was glad to have given up being philosophy department chair and had sworn off administrative roles for good. As far as she was concerned, she was nearly out the door and would have happily retired had Morgan Collins not wooed her back with a generous offer and accommodations for working remotely. These days, she only went up to the Waterville campus once a week. She wouldn’t miss the long drive now that they were on February break.

  No, Erika needn’t worry, but nevertheless, she did. She was a philosopher concerned with political communication and a serious person. Matters that didn’t worry other people worried her. Liz was also a serious person who always paid careful attention to things she considered important. If she’d bent Erika’s ear for an hour, her concern was undoubtedly warranted.

  Erika searched for her slippers in the closet. It was harder to find things now that Lucy, with her dozens of pairs of shoes, had moved in. And yes, as Lucy had intimated before they’d become a couple, she kept a messy closet. Now, Erika almost wished she’d encouraged the architect’s suggestion of separate closets.

  Erika was relieved to come into the kitchen and find that the temperature between mother and daughter had gone down considerably. Emily was sitting at the kitchen table, doing her homework on her laptop. She waved to Erika to approach.

  “Can you look at this? Does it make sense?”

  Erika read the sentence Emily had written for her essay. “Yes, dear, perfect sense. But you need a comma.” She tapped on the screen. “Right there.”

  Emily rolled her eyes.

  “Never mind the eye roll. You asked,” said Erika and began taking plates down from the cabinet to set the table. She gave Lucy’s hip an appreciative caress on the way to the dining room.

  “I saw that,” said Emily, not looking up from her laptop.

  “We are married, you know,” said Erika. To her surprise, Emily gave her a radiant smile that rivaled her mother’s.

  “Yeah, I know. I was there.”

  “We’ll be ready to eat soon,” said Lucy. “Take your computer into the living room to finish your homework.”

  There was silence while they ate Lucy’s lamb stew. Erika sensed from Lucy’s furtive glances toward everyone’s plate that she needed compliments. Lucy still wasn’t as confident in the kitchen as she deserved to be. Since they’d moved back into Erika’s house with its spacious, new kitchen, she’d diligently labored to improve her culinary skills. Maggie, who was a gourmet cook, was her mentor, but Lucy turned to Liz for down-to-earth recipes that she could manage on her own.

  “It’s delicious, my dear. You outdid yourself,” said Erika with a warm smile.

  “Really? It’s good?”

  “Excellent!” Erika turned to Emily. “What do you think of your mother’s meal?” She nudged her gently with her elbow to encourage a response.

  “Good, Mom. Really, really good,” said Emily as if she’d just awakened from a day dream.

  “Did your adoptive mother give you cooking lessons, Emily?” Erika asked, trying to strike up a conversation.

  “Yes, but it was very plain stuff. We never had salad. They didn’t like raw vegetables.”

  “Simple people,” said Erika, trying to be kind.

  “If Mom hadn’t rescued me, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “You rescued yourself, Emily,” said Lucy. “I just answered your call.”

  “Yes, I guess that’s right,” Emily replied doubtfully.

  “What you did was very brave,” Lucy continued. “I don’t know if I could have done the same at your age.”

  Emily simply glowed under her mother’s praise. “Thanks, Mom.”

  After dinner, Erika cleaned up the kitchen. The murmur of female voices from the other room was soothing. As a woman who’d been in open relationships all her adult life, she’d never imagined herself content to be with one woman or have a child. It was even more surprising to be married to a priest. Fortunately, Lucy respected her agnosticism and never tried to convert her. In return, Erika played the dutiful parson’s wife and sat attentively during Lucy’s Sunday sermons. Fortunately, they were always well reasoned and elegantly presented. Erika despised bad preaching almost as much as a shoddy argument.

  When Erika turned off the kitchen light and went out to the living room, Emily was saying good night to her mother. “I have a history test tomorrow,” she explained and planted a quick kiss on Erika’s cheek. “Night.”

  Erika sat down beside
Lucy and put her arm around her. Lucy leaned into her and Erika breathed in the fragrance of her wife’s hair. Why did red hair seem to smell different?

  “You have something on your mind, don’t you?” Lucy asked, caressing Erika’s thigh. It often surprised Erika that her wife could so easily sense her feelings. Sometimes, Lucy’s perceptions bordered on being telepathic. Of course, being a psychotherapist helped. “What’s bothering you?” asked Lucy with veiled concern in her green eyes.

  “I had a long conversation with Liz on the way down. It was rather unnerving.”

  “Tell me,” Lucy said, taking Erika’s hand in hers.

  “She’s worried about this virus in China. She thinks there could be a pandemic, and if so, it could be quite devastating.”

  “Really?”

  Erika nodded. “Yes, she says the virus is something new, and no one has natural immunity. As a consequence, many people could die.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean here?”

  “Yes. Here. She explained how the infection rate could grow exponentially, overwhelming the medical system. The number of cases could rise so quickly, there wouldn’t be enough hospital beds or personnel to treat them. We might be forced into dangerous ethical territory—triage to choose who will live and who will die.”

  Erika watched the expression on Lucy’s face change as she processed this information.

  “Why isn’t anyone talking about it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, but I suspect that it has something to do with the upcoming election. Besides, that madman in the White House is always doing something outrageous to divert attention, and most Americans are always in a bubble, more worried about March Madness than an international crisis.”

  Lucy settled back into the safety of Erika’s body. “What does Liz think we should do?”’

  “She’s still working it out, but she’s been advising the services in town to bank critical supplies. She’s made recommendations, but so far, no one seems to be taking her seriously.”

  “That’s not good.”