by Sarah Dreher
"No, I don't."
"That creature across the hall."
Her anger was building like steam in a pressure cooker. "Her name, in case you're interested, is Fran Jarvis."
"Ever since she arrived on the scene there's been nothing but trouble. She's bad for you, and bad for everyone around you."
Vapor hissed out through the seal. The pressure valve rattled. "This is none of your business."
"It certainly is. You're on the verge of making a disaster of your life. Your choice of friendships has deteriorated far beyond the acceptable..."
Shelby felt herself explode. "You stay out of my life, and away from my friendships, Mother. I'm twenty-five years old, which seems to be lost on you. I'll choose my friends, and when and how I see them."
"You have no idea what you're doing," Libby said, her voice rising shrilly. "You haven't been yourself since that woman. It's not healthy."
"She's my friend," Shelby shouted back. "She's going to go on being my friend. As far as healthy goes, she's a damn sight less toxic than you."
In the silence she realized how loudly she'd been yelling. Loud enough to wake the whole apartment house, and probably half the citizens of Bass Falls.
Libby’s nostrils dilated. She let smoke drift from her mouth and drew it in through her nose. "You're asking for trouble, Shelby."
"I don't give a damn. I'm sick of people sneaking around with their snotty, fastidious attitudes."
"So now I'm snotty and fastidious," Libby snorted.
"You're a bunch of humorless, self-righteous prigs. All the Camden's. And all the in-laws. And my former fiancé and some of my so-called friends."
"Is that so?" Libby asked sarcastically.
"All my life I've tried to do the things you want. It's never good enough. I can't even take out the garbage without you criticizing the way I do it." She knew she was shrieking, but couldn't stop. "I want my own life, Libby. Not some dream world you've created where the flowers match your clothing and you can't take a leak without having a party at the Country Club to celebrate it."
"I know the kind of life you want. Down in the mud in your filthy clothes with that twisted, perverted..."
The door slammed open and Fran strode in. "If you have something to say to me, Mrs. Camden," she said, "have the decency to say it to my face."
Libby turned on her. "I hardly think 'decency' is something you're an authority on."
"Go on. Say it to her," Shelby shouted at her mother. "Say the word. Or do you want me to say it for you?"
"It's an ugly word, and I won't soil my lips with it."
"Shelby," Fran said, "you don't have to fight my battles."
"The word is 'lesbian'." Shelby said. "Three syllables. Begins with an 'L' and ends with an 'n'. Dictionary definition, a resident of the island of Lesbos. A female homosexual. Synonyms: queer, bulldyke..."
"Stop, Shelby," Fran said.
Libby smiled maliciously. "That's right, you tell her. She'll do whatever you say." She took a puff on her cigarette and blew smoke in Fran's direction as she talked. "It's the end of your reign, Miss Queen Bee. I know what you are and I know what you people are up to. So just stay out of my way and away from my daughter if you know what's good for you."
"Leave her alone, Libby," Shelby warned. She moved closer to Fran.
"I've met a lot of people in my life, Mrs. Camden," Fran said. "But I've never before met anyone as rude as you."
"It's charming," Libby said to Shelby, "the way she comes rushing to your side like a knight in shining armor. But I think you'd do well to rein in your pit bull."
She suddenly felt very calm and clear, direct. She knew what she wanted to do. It was right. She knew it was right. "I think you'd better clean up your mouth. Or maybe I'll change my mind about the reunion, after all. Don't you think..." She slipped her hand around Fran's. "...the whole clan would be interested in meeting the woman I love?"
Libby stared at her. Beneath her heavy make-up, her lips were nearly purple. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"You got it." Shelby felt herself grinning. She wanted to jump up and touch the ceiling. Her head and chest were filled with helium. "And as far as Ray's concerned, I really don't think he'd be interested in joining a threesome."
She could feel Fran's hand trembling in hers. Her skin was stiff and clammy.
"Leave now. Go do whatever you do with bad news." She started to turn away.
Libby pulled herself up to her full height, all five feet four inches of her. Shelby hadn't realized her mother was so short. "You can't begin to imagine," Libby muttered as she gathered up her things.
"Take your butts with you." She indicated the ash tray.
Ignoring her, Libby went to the door. "You're going to regret it, Shelby. I suggest you reassess your position." She glanced at Fran and deliberately turned her head away.
"Have a nice evening," Fran said politely.
“You make me sick,” Libby said, and marched out.
"Go to hell," Shelby called after her pleasantly, loud enough for her to hear.
The front door slammed.
Fran and Shelby looked at each other, realization creeping in. "My God," Shelby said, "what have we done?"
"Sunk the Titanic, I'm afraid."
Shelby dropped onto the couch, exhilarated and terrified. "It was worth it. I think."
Fran opened all the windows as high as they'd go. "Your mother's cigarette smoke is bad enough, but add it to her perfume... Should I make us a drink?"
"Yes, please. I don't care what. Just throw anything over ice."
Beyond the fear she could feel something changing inside her. Shifting with a kind of silky, rustling sound. Like a pile of wheat kernels beginning to slide.
She nibbled off a hangnail and was surprised at herself. This wasn't something she ever, ever did. Probably the first signs of a nervous break down. Nail biting. It could only lead to kleptomania, hallucinations, and taking off her clothes in the middle of the A&P. Or the Bass Falls Inn, the two-hundred-year-old Colonial tourist attraction at the side of the town common. A lot classier than the A&P.
She heard herself giggle.
"What's so funny?" Fran asked. She handed Shelby a scotch.
"Nothing. I think I'm cracking up."
"In that case hang on a few minutes more." Fran sat down beside her with a bourbon and water. "We have to figure out what to do with this."
Shelby took a long swallow of her drink. The warmth from the alcohol began spreading through her stomach. Only a few more minutes and she'd relax. She willed it to hurry.
“OK,” Fran said, “here's what I've come up with so far.” Her face was very smooth and calm. "First, you need to back off from what you said to Libby about me. It's not true, you, were angry, and you only wanted to upset her. She'll believe that."
"I won't do it."
"That's the easy part. As far as the rest of it goes, I don't see how you can yield without risking what you need to do."
"I won't do it," Shelby repeated.
Fran looked at her. "Won't do what?"
"Take back what I said. About the way I feel about you."
"You're out of your mind."
Shelby leaned forward. "I think it might be true."
Fran stared at her as if she'd just announced the Second Coming. "All right," she said in a placating way. "You care about me. But there are a lot of definitions for 'love.' You don't want people getting the wrong idea."
"Remember when we went camping and I said that thing about not feeling about Ray the way I felt about you?"
Fran nodded. "It shook you up at the time."
"Because it was my first realization that I didn't want to marry Ray. But it's not just Ray. I don't want to get married..."
"That's fine," Fran said. "You don't have to get married."
"...until I find someone I feel about the way I feel about you. Don't you understand? About you."
Stone-faced, Fran stared off into space a
nd twirled the drink in her hand. The ice cubes made sleigh-bell sounds against the glass.
Shelby didn't know what she expected Fran to feel. Glad? She hoped she'd be glad, but she really didn't expect it. Frightened? That would make sense. Guilty? That would be Fran-like.
"Hey," she said at last, "what's going through your mind?"
"Even if what you say turns out to be true," Fran said softly, "you'd better deny it."
She was deeply disappointed. "I thought you'd be glad, at least, considering..."
Fran seemed to shrink into the couch. She was curled in on herself, her face pale. "I am," she said. "But I'm afraid to believe, and afraid for you. I guess I'm waiting."
"For what?"
"To be sure."
Shelby was annoyed. "That's really condescending."
"It is?"
"You think I'm not capable of knowing my own mind?"
There was a gap between them. Her heart ached. It wanted to open like a flower and draw Fran into her very center. Not sit here having this cold discussion.
Fran spread her hands. "I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I don't even know what to feel. I don't believe in miracles. Things like this just don't..."
Shelby cut her off. "They do."
"Shelby," Fran said gently and firmly, "you've been through a lot. It's all happening fast. Don't get yourself into something you'll regret later, we'll regret later." She looked up. "I'll survive a mess. I've survived before. But you... before you bring this down on yourself, please, please be certain."
She didn't know if this feeling was love or not. She'd never felt love for a woman before, not this way. Or a man, either. Not with every inch of her body and heart. If it was true...
They were facing something a little bigger than a family reunion.
And she was going somewhere she'd never even thought about. At least, she thought giddily, when you go to Europe you have an itinerary.
"All right," she said. "But I won't take it back. Not if it might be true."
Fran gave a quick sigh of exasperation. "Why?"
"Because I won't deny what I feel for you."
"Shelby..."
"No," she said firmly. She held out her hands. "Stand up."
Fran stood and took her hands.
Shelby pulled her forward and wrapped her arms around her. She made herself forget everything but the sensation of Fran's body against hers. Made herself stop thinking, stop looking at it from the outside. She wanted to take this moment out of time and know it.
It was like nothing she'd ever felt before.
Chapter Nineteen
It was a quiet weekend. Shelby might have enjoyed it if she hadn't spent most of the time, heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, waiting for something terrible to happen.
Fran had to work the weekend days, which was all right. Each evening when she got home they wandered through the nearly empty town, feeling the velvet night and listening to the sound of their own footsteps and the occasional scratchy roar of laughter from a muffled television set. Smelling the next-to-last grass cutting of the summer. Crickets still called. Beetles and moths swirled in the lights of the street lamps. Bats hurled themselves through the light into darkness, feeding.
They talked about their days. Fran said they were gearing up for the influx of students at the college infirmary. Getting ready for bumps and scrapes and hangovers and impulsive pregnancies. They had just finished stock-piling clandestine cartons of condoms and uterine devices, thumbing their noses at church and state. Pregnancies were increasing from year to year. Boys were being boys and girls were being girls at an alarming rate. Some of the nurses were compiling secret "referral" lists of doctors willing to perform a dark-of-night abortion.
Now that it was confirmed that Ray had received the ring, it was time to call her maid of honor. Connie was surprisingly placid about the whole thing. She'd had the feeling something was up, she said. Shelby just hadn't been herself. She knew it was a hard decision, anything she could do?
As a matter of fact, there was. It would take a load off of Shelby's mind if Connie could call Lisa and Penny.
And Jean?
She'd call Jean herself.
She couldn't believe it had been that easy.
She watched her reactions with Fran. When it was getting near time for her to get home from work, she found herself growing restless and nervous. When Fran came into the room, it was as if something had disturbed all ant's nest in her stomach, with tiny nerve impulses scurrying madly. Fran always seemed glad to see her, returned her touches. But when she didn't know Shelby was watching, her face took on a pinched, worried look.
By Sunday night, she had become genuinely apprehensive, sure there would be repercussions once Libby hit the phone tree. She tried giving Jean a call. Jean hadn't heard anything, had tried to call Connie or Lisa or Penny, but there was nobody home. Fran suggested the three of them have a Labor Day cookout. She wouldn't be much help, having to work, but it would still be light enough by the time she got home. Jean thought it was a great idea.
They sat and watched the coals wink out. Jean taught them songs from Girl Scout camp. Fran shared slightly raunchy ditties she'd picked up in the Army. Shelby had some truly filthy numbers she'd learned as a child, eavesdropping on her parents' parties. They agreed that maturity and money contributed to a serious eroding of morals.
Clinking beer bottles, they congratulated themselves on the fact that they would never be rich enough to become totally degenerate. Shelby had come close, what with the Camden and fortune and Ray's future earning potential. But she figured, between canceling the wedding and skipping the family reunion, she could kiss that fortune good-bye.
Jean found it hard to believe her father would cut her out of his will for something like that. Shelby assured her he'd told her on more than one occasion that it was all going to his alma mater if she didn't "work out." And she certainly wasn't working out.
They commiserated on the plight of the career woman in today's society. They represented a fringe group, they decided. A shadowy world living in the shadow of the real world. Double-shadowed. Fated to become spinsters if they didn't catch a man in the next five years.
"Catch a man?" Jean said. "How about 'settle for' a man?"
They all laughed at that.
Fran remarked that they were getting snockered.
They drank a toast to the end of summer.
They talked about the pros and cons of living in a college town, where the population dropped by half every June. And the culture shock that hit the day after Labor Day when the students came back.
After a while they didn't talk about anything, just leaned back in their lawn chairs and looked at the stars.
It grew late, and Jean announced she'd better get home. Fran invited her to stay with her, since she had two beds. Jean said she'd rather get home late than face the agony of driving home and dressing for work first thing in the morning. They told her to drive safely and look out for rabid raccoons.
Still no calls from anyone.
Fran had Tuesday off, in exchange for the weekend. She said she'd take care of the picnic mess.
Shelby went to work early. She wanted to get there before the rest of the lunch bunch, so she could be settled in before they arrived. It seemed easier than walking into the middle of what was bound to be a shriek and gossip session. Since Connie was the only one she'd talked to, she could imagine the hubbub when the others got there. There'd be plenty of talk, and excitement, and questions. Especially questions.
Instead of silence and solitude, there were flowers on her desk. Yellow roses and carnations in a deep blue vase. She recognized Penny's handwriting on the card. "We're with you. The Lunch Bunch."
She was touched and surprised. She went down to the readers' room.
They greeted her and enveloped her in a group embrace. “Welcome back to the society of spinsters,” Lisa said.
"Gee, guys." She hugged them all. "I didn't expect thi
s kind of reaction. Don't you like Ray?"
"Of course," Connie said. "We thought you might need a morale-booster."
Shelby laughed and shook her head. "You don't know the half of it. Ray's pouting in silence, and Libby's on a rampage. Fortunately, she's not speaking to me.”
"She's rough," Lisa said, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "It'll pass."
"Penny, thank you so much for the flowers. They were just what I needed."
"They're from all of us," Penny said.
"I know, and I thank you all, but I can tell you picked them out."
Penny turned the color of a pomegranate. "You like them?"
"My very favorites." She glanced around, looking for Jean.
"Jean's still in the lounge," Lisa said. "She wasn't really in on this. We couldn't find her last night."
"She was at my place. We had an impromptu picnic." She added, "I tried to reach you, but no one was home." It was close enough to the truth.
She thought she saw Connie and Lisa exchange glances.
Miss Myers hovered in the doorway.
"Cheese it," Connie whispered. "The cops."
They scurried back to their desks.
As it turned out, Miss Myers was only looking for one of the new readers. But it was an excellent excuse to go to her own office.
Charlotte came in later, with a brisk, "How's it going?"
Shelby said it was going fine.
Charlotte said Shelby wasn't worth beans as a liar.
"It's been too easy," Shelby said. "Have you heard anything?"
"They know better than to gossip around me. Besides, it's none of their damn business what you do with your free time. Don't forget that."
Shelby smiled wryly. It was nobody's damn business, but she had a hunch it was about to be everybody's damn business.
It was growing deep twilight by the time she got home. Night would come earlier and earlier now. By the time she knew it, she'd be getting up in the dark as well as going to bed in the dark. The leaves would turn and remind her once again why she lived in New England. Followed by winter, season of frozen slush, which would make her think she was crazy. Until spring, arriving first with the chatter of sparrows, deepening as the maple buds swelled in mahogany knobs. And then, one day, the hills would be tinged with palest green and the odor of soil would rise. And nobody would remember that it had been a bad winter at all.
