by Sarah Dreher
"I did. I just didn't happen to bring your stories."
Penny tossed her head. "Well, if it's not really important enough..."
"It's important." She was beginning to feel very tired.
"Think I'll hit the latrine," Fran said. She stood up and dusted off her shorts. "Anyone care to join me?"
Shelby noticed Penny watching her. "What?" she asked.
"Go ahead. I'll wait."
"I don't have to..."
"Hit the latrine," Penny said, and smiled.
Shelby shook her head.
"Suit yourself," Fran said. "You don't know what you're missing." She strolled off down the road.
"Look," Shelby said. "I don't know what I did to offend you, but [ apologize. Now can we drop it?"
"Sure." Penny grinned.
Shelby wondered what she was grinning about. Needing a moment to find her balance, she took Fran's cup and rinsed it out.
"What's this?"
She turned. Penny was holding up a piece of wood Fran had been whittling on.
"Nothing yet."
"What's it going to be?"
"She doesn't know."
"She?"
"Fran."
"Oh." Penny got up and wandered around the campsite. Shelby watched her, feeling invaded, and annoyed with herself for feeling that way.
"What's that?" She pointed to the pile of sticks and string Shelby had stashed away at the tent corner.
"I'm making a camp stool. Lashing it. With string."
"Wow." Penny stared down at the heap. "Can you really do that?"
"Not to brag about. Not yet, anyway. I may master it by the time I'm fifty."
"Do you have a book or something?"
"Fran's teaching me." She gestured toward the dish shelf Fran had strung between two trees. "See that? Not a nail in it, and when we leave we just take it apart and leave the sticks for the next person to use for firewood."
"At least this isn't an all-work-no-play holiday," Penny said with a smile. She perused the camp site. "Fran's quite a Girl Scout, isn't she?"
Shelby had to laugh at that. She could hardly see Fran making pot holders and sit-upons, which was all Shelby could recall doing in the one year she'd spent with the Scouts as a kid. And make-up. She remembered learning to put on make-up. But maybe the Girl Scouts were different outside the North Shore. Maybe they actually engaged in scouting activities, like building campfires and finding lost children.
She'd felt very much like a lost child, herself, at that age. The other girls liked making sit-upons, but Shelby had pestered her mother to let her join the scouts because she thought they'd go camping. She'd read it in a book somewhere. Girl Scouts went camping, and learned how to build fires and use a compass and a knife, and how to read maps and other useful things. But the First Congregational Church Girl Scouts of Troop 240 didn't want to do those things. Which was just as well, since none of the leaders knew how to do them, either.
She told that to Penny, who laughed and said she'd never belonged to the Girl Scouts, though she'd joined the Girl Guides once when they were living in England, but they'd made fun of her accent and pretended they couldn't understand her.
They spent a couple of minutes contemplating the unnecessary cruelty of the young.
Fran reappeared. shaking water out of her hair with one hand. "That was truly inspirational," she said. "What're you two up to?"
"Shelby was showing me the stuff you built," Penny said cheerfully. “You're really great.”
"Aw. shucks," Fran said.
"Did you wash your hair?" Shelby asked.
"I tried." She tossed her head with a vigorous shake, spraying them with drops.
"Hey," Shelby said.
"A little trick I learned from the company dog."
Penny said, "Oh" again in her non-committal way, but the sharp, jerky motions with which she brushed the water droplets from her tee-shirt were clearly not expressions of amusement.
Shelby tossed Fran a towel. "Behave yourself," she said.
"Yes, Mother." She rubbed at her hair, then formed the towel into a turban.
"You look like something out of South Pacific,” Shelby said.
"Luther Billis?"
"I was thinking of Nellie Forbush." She grabbed the towel from Fran's head and ruffled her damp hair.
Penny was watching them hard.
“Penny," Fran said, pulling away, “how about more of my excellent coffee?”
"No thanks." Penny tucked her tee-shirt into her shorts. "I have to get the show on the road." She turned away. "See you at the salt mine, Shel."
Fran looked after her. “I have to agree with Connie,” she said when Penny was out of hearing. "The lady has a crush on you."
"Don't be silly. She's too old for that."
"One is never," Fran said, "too old for that."
"Well, maybe she did, but she must be over it."
Fran shook her head. "Not by a long shot."
"How do you know?"
"Her energy. Toward me. If she were a dog, the hair on the back of her neck would be stiff as a porcupine's quills."
"I didn't notice," Shelby said. "I mean, I wasn't sure what I was seeing."
"That's why I went to the john. I figured if I didn't give her some time alone with you there'd be big trouble."
"I hope it wasn't awkward for you."
"Hey, I understand what she's going through. I, myself, have found you desirable on more than one occasion."
Shelby felt herself blush.
"Could she be dangerous?"
"I doubt it," Shelby said. "Besides, if she's so crazy about me, she wouldn't do anything to hurt me, would she?"
Fran shook her head. "Oh, my friend, I do worry about you."
“Well, would she?”
“Never underestimate the power of love to cause trouble.”
It was one of those little glimpses at the scars on Fran's heart. She'd been through things she hadn't even told Shelby, that much she acknowledged. Things that had hurt her, things that had taken pieces of her spirit. She'd been hurt for something that wasn't her fault. Not anybody's fault, really. Not a fault at all, just a difference. Sometimes the hurts weren't even intentional. Sometimes, she suspected, they were self-inflicted. Like the unhappiness Fran had gone through because she was afraid to tell Shelby who she really was. She must have loved many people, and been afraid to let them know.
She looked over at Fran, and wanted to take her in her arms. To hold her. To protect her from the world. She wanted her to feel safe, to let go, to put herself in Shelby's hands and rest, if only for a minute. But she knew it couldn't happen. One touch and Fran would draw back deep into herself like a turtle into its shell. She'd felt it last night, when she'd taken Fran's hand, that light return touch that said, "I want you here but I can't let it be real."
"Something wrong?" Fran asked.
Shelby shook her head. "I was off on my own trajectory." She was tempted to say, "Love doesn't always hurt." But she wasn't absolutely sure that for Fran it didn't. Instead she said, "Let's take a walk."
Chapter Sixteen
By the time they'd circled the lake the sun was going behind storm clouds. Very dark, nasty storm clouds. They discussed packing up and leaving, but didn't really want to. Fran told of camping in Glacier National Park one August. As soon as the tent went up, the snow and rain began. She and her "friend" —a euphemism, Shelby was sure—thought of leaving, but there was nowhere to go, no motels or hotels, only wilderness and grizzly bears. They decided to wait it out, give the storm time to pass and let the sun dry the tent. Three days later, cold, wet, exhausted and coughing up their lungs with bronchitis, they gave up. They loaded the soggy tent and soggy sleeping bags into the car and headed for the Continental Divide. On the other side, the air was as hot and dry as the desert. Their gear dried in half an hour at the Bozeman hotel. Their lungs took several days.
The last straw came when they told their sad story to the local pharmacist. Inste
ad of sympathizing over freak storms, he'd placed their filled penicillin prescriptions on the counter and said, "Hell, girls, winter starts up there on August 15."
"There's nothing worse," Fran said, "than surviving a natural disaster and then finding out you were stupid to be there in the first place."
“I don't care," Shelby said. "I've never been in a tent in a thunderstorm before. Please?"
They stowed their gear under tarps and in the car, took the sandwich makings into the tent, and cozied in. A wind came up, fluttering the tent flaps. The temperature plummeted. The first big drops of rain hit the roof as Fran zipped the canvas door. "If it gets bad," she said, "remember it was your idea."
"Leave if you want." Shelby smeared mayonnaise on a slice of bread and rummaged in the cooler for the pickle and pimento loaf. "I'm staying."
Fran pulled an Army sweat shirt over her head. She found another, with a picture of the Alamo, and tossed it over. “Don't freeze.”
She finished making her sandwich and one for Fran, replaced her shorts with jeans, and pulled the shirt over her head. It felt warm and soft and smelled of Fran. The touch of it was like a caress on her skin. She smoothed it against her body.
Fran pulled a bag of potato chips from their supplies and tore it open. "Better eat these fast," she said, plopping down to sit cross-legged on her sleeping bag and smiling up at Shelby. "They'll go limp in seconds."
In the wooly darkness, her eyes were cobalt blue. Shelby couldn't stop staring at her.
"What?"
“Your eyes. They're... gorgeous."
Fran laughed self-consciously and looked down at the floor. "They change," she said. "Depending on my mood."
"What does deep blue mean?"
Fran hesitated. Then, not meeting Shelby's eyes, she said, "No one should be allowed to be this happy."
Shelby reached down and placed her hand on top of Fran's head. “Yes,” she said, "you should."
It was an angry storm. Lightning as sharp as razors and silver as minnows. Thunder like an artillery barrage. Their campsite was too low to catch the worst of the wind, but water poured down on the tent with the force of a fire hose. Lying on her back, her arm cradling Fran's head, Shelby watched it through the net window in the rear of the tent.
"We don't usually get a lot of storms like this in late August," she said, running her hand through Fran's hair. "I guess this one has to make up for it."
Fran nodded against her shoulder.
"Does it remind you of war games?"
"Being snuggled by a friend while the world blows up around me? Hardly."
Shelby smiled and pressed her cheek against the top of Fran's head. Her hair was warm and soft. It reminded her of milkweed silk. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
"Do you have to ask?"
"No." She wanted to make promises to her. To be there, whenever Fran needed her. To hold her and be a place of comfort and safety. To love her.
But she couldn't make those promises.
A sharp hiss and crack, the sound of a falling tree, crushing branches.
Fran sat up. "That was close."
"You know what they say," Shelby said. "The one to worry about is the one you don't hear. As long as you're up, get me a Coke?"
"Whenever I think of camping in Massachusetts," Fran said as she pawed through the cooler, "I'll think of rain."
Shelby laughed. "Whenever you think of doing anything in Massachusetts, think of rain."
Fran handed her the open bottle. She hesitated only a moment, then climbed back onto the sleeping bag and lay down with her head resting back against Shelby's shoulder.
"That's more like it," Shelby said.
"Like what?"
"I was beginning to think I smelled bad, you seem so reluctant to touch me."
"I'm not reluctant."
"Not if I touch you first."
Fran pushed herself up on one elbow. "I don't want to do anything to offend you, or scare you."
"Your withdrawal offends and scares me." She ran one finger down Fran's cheek. "It's kind of ironic, you know. You were afraid to tell me about yourself because you were afraid I'd withdraw. But you told me, and now you're the one who's withdrawing."
"Yeah." Fran reached for the Coke and took a swallow. "Kind of dumb, huh?"
"Very dumb."
A flash of distant lightning sparked. They waited, counting the seconds, until the thunder growled.
"Moving away," Shelby said.
Fran lay back down in the dark. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I act like an adolescent. I feel like an adolescent. Insecurities are running wild."
Shelby tightened her arm around her. "It's OK. I won't tell."
"You always say and do the right thing."
"I don't think so."
"Where I'm concerned, you do. I think you know me as well as I know myself."
"Do you mind?"
"I admit I'm messed up," Fran said, “but I'm not crazy.”
Shelby smiled to herself. It was true. If she followed her instincts with Fran, she was usually right. Before the storm broke, she'd had to go down by the lake to the bathroom. When she'd come back Fran had not only tidied up, but had straightened the sleeping bags and was getting out the cards. She could tell, by the strained, sad look beneath Fran's smile, that she was trying desperately to pretend everything was all right. Before she'd even thought about what she was doing, Shelby'd taken the cards away from her and pulled her down next to her on the sleeping bag. "This is my storm, no card playing allowed," she'd said, and put her arms around her.
It had been the right thing to do. She could tell by the way Fran had sighed, then relaxed, and finally said, "Thank you."
"Well," Shelby said softly, "you may be messed up, but knowing you is a privilege and a pleasure."
Fran sighed again. "Ray's a lucky man."
"How so?"
"After you're married, he gets to come home every night so someone as gentle and loving as you."
Shelby laughed. "Don't be silly. I don't feel that way about Ray."
Someone opened the door of a jet plane and shoved her out.
They looked at each other.
"Uh-oh," Fran said.
* * *
Penny popped her head in the door. There was no other way to describe it, she popped her head in like a jack-in-the-box. Sudden and grinning. "Hey, boss, ready for me?"
"Good Morning, Merry Sunshine." No, she wasn't ready for Penny. She wasn't ready for anyone. Wasn't even sure why or how she'd come to work. She was going through the motions. Eating and sleeping and brushing her teeth and driving her car and saying "Hello" to people, even talking to Libby on the phone last night, being enthusiastic, going through the motions.
Inside, she was as cold and hard as a stalactite, frozen into place on her way somewhere, anywhere. She'd been that way since Saturday night.
"It's OK," Fran had said when she'd apologized. "Do what you have to do."
What she had to do was walk. All day Sunday. On the steepest, roughest, buggiest trails she could find. And chop wood. And do most of the packing up. Because she had to keep busy. If she didn't keep busy, if she stopped for a moment and realized what had happened to her, she'd run away.
Fran had stayed on the periphery, watchful, keeping out of her way but not letting her out of sight, making sure she ate and didn't cut herself with the axe or wander off into the woods. Which could have happened, because she wasn't sure where she was but she sure wasn't here.
When she stopped for a second, and let a little bit of awareness creep in, it came in the form of words—oh, my God; oh, my God—repeated over and over like a chant.
Fran left her at her door, but only when she promised that she wouldn't go for the pills and liquor. "At least until the mud has settled a little, OK?"
She nodded.
"I'm going to leave my door open," Fran said. "I want you to leave yours open, too."
"Don't you trust me?"
"Not entirely. But the
main reason is I want you to remember you're not in this alone. I'm going to put some music on to remind you. Any requests?"
"Not Brahms," Shelby managed to say.
Fran smiled. "Definitely not Brahms." She took Shelby's shoulders in her hands. "I mean this, give yourself time. I' m going to check in on you every now and then to be sure you're OK. For my peace of mind, not yours."
"OK."
"Now, put on your best party persona and call Libby before she calls you."
She nodded again.
Fran started to leave, then turned back. "I'm trusting you, Shelby. Am I a fool?"
Shelby shook her head.
"Hey," Penny was saying, "you need coffee or something?"
It snapped her back to where she was. "Just got some," she said, and showed Penny her mug. "Thanks, anyway."
Penny smiled. "That must have been some weekend."
"What?"
"You look wiped out."
"I guess I am," Shelby said quickly. "I indulged myself and ended up having to work almost all night last night."
"That's rough. You want to postpone this for another time?"
"Definitely not. I've kept you hanging long enough." She was glad to have something to do, actually. It might keep her mind off... things. She pulled Penny's folder from her desk drawer. "Let's begin at the beginning and go on until we come to the end."
Penny hopped up onto the desk, facing Shelby and a little above her. She pulled out a low drawer for Penny to put her feet on. Penny's blood red circle skirt made her look as if she were being born from a hollyhock. "This first one isn't too bad, actually. Most of what you like in it, I like, too. I just think it's too borderline for the Mag."
"I like it," Penny said.
"I don't dislike it, exactly. I guess it just needs work. Can you send it back and ask for a rewrite?"
Penny sighed. "I suppose so." She held out her hand for the story.
"Now, on this next one—we're about as far apart on it as Republicans and Democrats. I suggest we go over it point by point." She glanced down to review her notes.
"She wasn't wearing a bra," Penny said.
"What?"
"She wasn't wearing a bra."
Shelby leafed through the story. "I don't remember a bra being mentioned, present or absent."
