And then she began to cry in earnest.
“We need hotdogs, stat!” said Tiff urgently to Robin who nodded and went in search of some long pointed sticks.
It wasn’t the type of camaraderie around the fire that Andee had been expecting. Mostly, they roasted and ate their hotdogs in silence, and they didn’t even bother to break out the ingredients for s’mores.
“I’m really tired,” said Jill, as darkness began to fall over the forest, as the firelight began to blossom more, the orange contrasting with the dark. “I’d like to go to bed now,” said Jill. There was no tone to her voice. It’s as if a robot had said it, as if all life had been sucked out of Jill.
Andee fed the fire another log as she glanced at Tiff.
“We’re just going to go to the bathroom first. No one go to bed without us!” said Tiff, eyebrows raised as she practically clutched at Andee’s arm, hauling the woman to her feet. “We won’t be a moment!” she sang over her shoulder, and then Tiff was pulling her back toward the road running through the park, the road that led to the port-o-potties.
“You have to sleep with Robin,” hissed Tiff when they were far enough down the road so that their voices wouldn’t carry.
“Are you joking--?” began Andee, but Tiff shook her head, bit her lip.
“Oh my God, not like that, I’m sorry. Look, I need to have a long talk with Jill. I need to boost her back up. Leila’s being an asshole, and she needs to understand that. I can only do that if I’m in the same tent as Jill, and those tents, if you hadn’t noticed, are really tiny. Can you be in Robin’s tent—just for tonight? Oh my God, Andee, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency, obviously,” she said, her eyes big and round in the dark. “Jill’s…really sad. And she doesn’t deserve this.”
Andee closed her eyes, gulped down air as they walked and tripped down the dark road toward the sputtering (and not completely unlike it belonged in a horror movie) light above the port-o-potties. For not the first time that evening, she’d wished that she’d plunked down the forty dollars for the flashlight.
“Will you?” asked Tiffany, and Andee breathed out for a long moment.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
And immediately regretted it.
When they arrived back at the campfire, Jill was wiping at her face with a tissue (Andee made a note that they needed to get her the ones that included the lotion if she was going to use this many), and Robin was holding her other hand tightly, looking grim and concerned and beautiful.
Andee’s knees weakened when she saw her gaze at Jill with so much love it broke Andee’s heart all over again.
She couldn’t think about ten years ago, what had happened, if she was going to survive the night. She couldn’t. Andee took a deep breath, put her hands on her hips and swallowed, patting her jeans pocket to make sure the gum was still in there. “Looks like you’re bunking with me tonight, Robin,” she said softly, and Robin glanced up, eyes wide, looking from Andee to Tiff as Jill stood, nodding, and folded her tall form and crawled into the tent on the left. Tiffany’s tent.
“We’ll see you tomorrow morning,” said Tiff as Andee sank down beside the fire, nodding, not looking at her.
And then Tiff was gone, too.
“I could just…sleep in the car,” is what Robin said then, her voice soft. Andee glanced up at her across the fire. Robin leaned forward, elbows on her knees, brow furrowed as she watched Andee. Her eyes flashed in the firelight, her mouth quirked sideways, as if she was considering something difficult.
Someone difficult.
“No,” said Andee, shaking her head. “That’d be ridiculous. We can sleep in the same tent. Why couldn’t we?” She stood, still shaking her head.
“Because you despise me,” said Robin quietly, standing too, head held high, eyes cool and detached now, in the firelight.
Andee watched her.
She was beautiful. More beautiful than Andee remembered her. Tall, graceful, gorgeous with that sweep of brown and blue hair that always got in her right eye, her strong jaw and nose that made her look purposeful, confidant, powerful. The slope of her shoulders that Andee had seen a million times as they moved over her, under her.
Andee closed her eyes, swallowed, spoke the truth:
“I don’t despise you.”
When she could bear to open her eyes again, Robin had stepped closer, twigs cracking beneath her sneaker as she held out her hand tentatively, mouth open.
“Let’s just get inside,” said Andee, her heartbeat racing as she knelt down, crawled into the abysmally tiny tent.
She laid down on the unrolled sleeping bag, wondering if she should take off her bra, her jeans, try remotely to get comfortable, maybe put on her pajamas. But then she heard the tent flap, heard Robin breathing softly as she crawled in next to her, her thigh against Andee’s.
“Sorry,” Robin murmured, moving away from her in the limited space.
She laid down next to Andee.
Like it was ten years ago.
Like nothing had ever happened.
She was close enough to touch. Electricity crackled through the tent, or was that just Andee’s imagination? Her heartbeat thundered through her, blood moving at lightning speed as she tried to breathe, tried to concentrate on breathing in and out. She needed a cigarette. She needed a stick of gum. She needed…
Andee didn’t think, because thinking would ruin everything. She rolled over. She saw Robin’s eyes wide in the dark, watching her. She leaned forward, and then Robin’s shirt was in her hands as she pressed her mouth down, lips parted, against Robin’s. Robin was warm, and she tasted of mint, because she’d brushed her teeth. The familiarity of her mouth against Andee’s made her body react in all the old ways. Andee closed her eyes, and she drank Robin in, and Robin responded beneath her, tilting back her head, opening her mouth more, wrapping her arms around Andee…
Andee thought: what am I doing?
She broke away from Robin, scrambling backwards, blinking back tears, and then she was out, through the tent flap, couldn’t hear what Robin was saying, the broken way that Robin spoke her name, calling after her, asking her to come back.
Andee stumbled to the car, let herself in the back seat. She curled up, and she began to cry, hot tears falling out of her eyes, climbing down her cheeks as she pillowed her head in her hands and, as quietly as she could, sobbed.
It was better than she remembered.
She wanted Robin more than she had, once.
And she couldn’t. She couldn’t have Robin, because Robin had cheated on her. For the rest of her life, Andee would wonder if Robin was seeing someone else, if she was lying when she told Andee she loved her. Andee couldn’t do that to herself. She couldn’t.
She glanced up through her bleary eyes, through her tears. There was a small opening through the canopy overhead, and Andee saw sprinkled in the blue-black sky, a scattering of brilliant stars.
As Andee watched, one shot overhead. A meteorite with a long white tail that made Andee’s breath catch.
A shooting star? Andee almost laughed, but she couldn’t, swallowing the tears.
She should wish for something, shouldn’t she?
Andee closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around her knees, tried to get comfortable in the back seat as she touched her lips gently, the lips still wet, still bruised from how hard Robin had kissed her back.
She wished.
--- Roadside Attractions ---
Andrea Shaw knew it was going to be a bad day when an inquisitive raccoon poked her awake. She sat bolt uptight, earning herself a chatter of indignation from the furry little creature as it scrabbled out of the car and between two towering pine trees, complaining all the while, as if Andee were a major inconvenience to its life.
Bleary-eyed, Andee stared down at the fast food wrappers that littered the floor of the convertible. Then she considered her disheveled appearance with a long, drawn-out sigh. Not even a raccoon was interested in keeping her company.
/>
Before she could feel too terribly sorry for herself, she heard laughter and a bright, piercing voice within one of the tents situated around the dead fire. Tiffany and Jill were awake, and based upon the muted snippets that Andee could hear, it sounded as if Tiffany was on the verge of coming outside.
There was only silence from the tent that Andee had been supposed to share with Robin, Andee noted grimly. Instead of sleeping in the tent, Andee had spent a fitful night dozing (and sobbing) in the back of Tiffany’s green convertible—because she’d been stupid enough to kiss the woman who had broken her heart.
And now, when Tiffany and Jill caught sight of her, they were going to know that something was up.
Andee gulped air and tried to leap out of the convertible as nimbly as the irate raccoon had, but since her limbs were asleep from the awkward position she’d spent most of the night in, cramped and crumpled on the back bench seat, she half-fell, half-leapt out of the car, trying her best to stand on needled legs that were just starting to wake up.
More laughter from Tiffany’s tent. The zipper was opening up…
Andee frantically pulled on her cardigan, fluffed her hair, and then—as nonchalantly as possible—began to stretch her arms overhead.
Tiffany crawled out of the tent, already changed and ready for the day in her inappropriate-for-a-road-trip super-short skirt and adorable pink blouse, hair twisted into a perfect red braid that would probably last all of five minutes before stray strands started to liberate themselves and form her usual crazy halo. The small woman stretched, too, yawning as she itched her shoulder, blinking the sleep from her flawlessly made-up eyes. And then she spotted Andee. And those perfectly made-up eyes narrowed.
“Howdy,” said Tiffany, drawling out the word as she stalked around the campsite. She paused a few feet away, looking Andee up and down—just as she might examine a displeasing leak in her ceiling. “How did you sleep?” she asked then, nonchalantly. But the question was loaded.
“Perfectly,” said Andee, lying through her teeth.
Jill crawled out of the tent behind Tiff. She didn’t look at all like she had last night: weepy and upset over the texts her ex-girlfriend kept sending her. Instead, she appeared bright-eyed and refreshed, peaceful, her graying brunette hair tucked neatly beneath a red bandana, looking comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt that proclaimed Virginia was, in fact, for lovers. And she was smiling. Tiff’s magic of persuasion had worked wonders. Andee has listened to the hushed tones of the women talking long into the night from her perch in the backseat of the convertible: Tiffany gently urging Jill to stop thinking about Leila, her ex.
“Morning,” said Jill.
And then Robin came out of the second tent.
She, like Jill and Tiff, was already dressed for the day. A perfect pair of hip-hugging jeans graced her long legs, and she wore a black blouse under her leather jacket. She had her sunglasses down over her eyes, and her mouth was slanted in a sideways frown, her hair swept off to the side of her head as she tossed it out of her eyes, moving—to Andee—as if she were in slow motion.
Tiffany placed her hands on her hips and stared from Andee to Robin and back to Andee again. “How did you sleep, Robin?” she asked then, voice clipped.
“Never better, Tiff,” said Robin with her easy smile, running her long fingers through her hair as she sauntered over to the group of three women. She tossed her head, kept grinning, and Andee felt a knot of pain twist in her stomach. “Are we ready to get out of here? We have places to go, awesome things to see. Let’s break camp.”
“I have to pee,” said Tiffany loudly, and then she grabbed Andee by the hand as Andee groaned, to no avail. The redhead was dragging her back toward the road and the port-o-potties while Jill and Robin shrugged and began to collapse the tents.
“What. The. Hell,” said Tiffany, accenting each word as she yanked Andee along the path. “Did you actually sleep in the car? What the hell happened?”
“How did you know?” asked Andee miserably, trying to swallow her tears and mostly succeeding, except for one renegade that slid down her nose and plunked to the ground below.
“Because you’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday,” said Tiffany, rolling her eyes. The duh was implied. “And because it doesn’t take a Sherlock to figure out you’ve been crying.”
“Great,” Andee muttered, feeling her cheeks begin to burn. That meant Robin probably knew she’d been crying, too. Just great. “I didn’t want anyone to notice. Can’t a girl have a fricking’ private moment around here?” muttered Andee, clenching her jaw.
“Not on a road trip, darlin’,” said Tiffany, pausing in front of the port-o-potties and putting her hands on her hips again as she glared up at Andee. “So, what happened? Seriously, what the hell?”
Andee bit her lip, folded her arms. She probably looked like a scolded kid, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to tell Tiffany what happened. Why should Tiffany know? It was between her and Robin, private. But Tiffany had this certain…way about her. She would have made a superb interrogator for any government. Tiffany’s eyes bored small holes into Andee’s soul, and then Andee found herself saying, “I kissed Robin. And it was the biggest mistake. And—”
“Whoa, whoa…” said the redhead, holding up her hands, her green eyes widening. “You…kissed Robin.”
“Oh, my God, Tiff. Oh, my God,” said Andee wretchedly, biting one of her nails, and then she put her arms around Tiffany, and Tiffany held her tightly as more tears began to fall. And Andee had thought she’d cried them all out last night. How silly she’d been. There were always more tears where Robin was concerned.
“It’s okay,” said Tiffany soothingly, quietly, as she rubbed small, gentle circles onto Andee’s back. “It’s not the end of the world.”
“Yes, it is,” said Andee softly, gulping down her next words, but whispering them, anyway: “Because I still love her.”
Tiffany breathed out for a long moment, processing what Andee had just said. “But…”
“But I can’t love her, Tiff. She cheated on me. I mean, I could never trust her. Never again. Not as long as I live. I couldn’t…” The tears were coming faster now, and Andee hiccupped pathetically as she tried to gain control of herself. Tried and failed. Tiffany fished in her jeans pocket and produced a fresh tissue, which Andee pressed to her face, wishing the earth would open up into a gigantic crater and swallow her whole. It would be much, much better than spending today trapped in a car with the woman she still desperately loved. The woman she absolutely, positively could never have.
The woman she’d kissed last night.
“Hey, now,” said Tiffany softly, taking Andee firmly by the shoulders again, her half-painted bright green nails digging into Andee’s skin. For such a tiny woman, Tiffany was exceptionally strong. “I promise you,” she said gently. “It’s not the end of the world. And…” She bit her lip, licking at her lip-gloss. “Look. I know this is really hard for you to talk about. But you never gave Robin a chance to explain.”
Andee snorted, in spite of the tears. “I gave her a million chances,” she muttered, but Tiffany was shaking her head emphatically. Already stray red hairs were escaping Tiffany’s braid, and with her flashing green eyes and her firm frown, she was beginning to slightly resemble Medusa.
“No,” she said, and the word was absolute. “I love you, Andee, but you didn’t let her explain. Robin has her own version of events, and you never gave her the benefit of the doubt. Never actually listened to her.”
“Listened to her?” Andee spluttered, stepping back forcibly from her best friend as Tiffany’s eyes narrowed. “I saw her with a naked woman in her bed,” she hissed. “How the hell can you explain that?”
Tiffany’s gaze was now wide and round—and she wasn’t looking at Andee. She was looking just past Andee’s shoulder.
Andee felt her heart fall as she heard a twig snap on the path behind her, and she slowly pivoted on her heel.
Robin was st
anding behind them, hands deep in her jean pockets, mouth tiny as she frowned, sunglasses still down.
It was obvious she’d heard what Andee said.
Andee couldn’t breathe, tried to, taking in a deep gulp of air. It didn’t matter, did it? Robin was the one who’d wronged Andee, not the other way around. But even as Robin cocked her head, as Robin’s blue-brown hair swept over her right eye, Andee could tell from the slope of Robin’s shoulders, from the slant of her mouth, that what Andee had just said had hurt her terribly. She was trying to hide it, doing a valiant job. But even with ten years between the time they’d been together and now, Andee could still read Robin’s expressions as easily as if they were her own. She knew, instinctively, when Robin was in pain.
She was in pain now.
“We’re ready to go,” said Robin lightly, easily, but her tone was forced. “When you’re ready.” And then she turned and stalked back down the path, head down.
Tiffany rubbed at her face, but her mascara and eye shadow remained in place, because she was Tiffany, and Tiffany’s makeup always obeyed her. “Well, that was kind of excruciating,” she groaned, casting her eyes heavenward. “Come on,” she muttered, placing her hands at the small of Andee’s back and practically shoving her toward the port-o-potty. “Let’s get going.”
Andee went into the port-o-potty, shut the door behind her, gingerly standing there for a moment and listening to her heart beat.
This was beginning to look like it just might be the worst day of her life.
---
“I’m starving! Who’s with me!” called Jill, as Tiffany started the car. When she received no reply, Jill glanced around, peering over the seat into the back with wide brown eyes. “My goodness, I didn’t think that was such a controversial statement…”
“It’s not, Jillie,” said Robin softly, clearing her throat as she sprawled across her side of the seat, taking obvious care not to touch Andee. “It’s just that we have a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of places—and states—to get to today. This is probably going to be our most packed day,” she said, removing the oft-folded paper out of her jeans pocket and glancing down at it with a frown.
The Thousand Mile Love Story Page 8
