by Lyn Denison
And she remembered that other, incredible kiss. The terror. The feverish excitement of it. In those few precious moments Mel’s whole world had stood still and spun dizzily at one and the same time.
Yet that ill-advised attempt to find herself, to sort out her confusion, had gone so very wrong. Mel grew hot; her insides turned to water. Recalling that day all those years ago still had the power to disturb her, make her feel again her burning mortification. And also embarrassingly titillated.
Now, here she was heading south to visit, to stay with, the very woman who had been the object of her awkward adolescent crush, the woman she’d inexpertly tried to seduce over ten years ago.
CHAPTER THREE
Mel climbed into her maroon BMW and took a last look at the rolling surf and white sand before she turned out onto the highway.
The car had been Terry’s idea, although Mel had to admit that the sedan’s sleek lines impressed her. Terry didn’t care for driving and she preferred to be driven, so she left the ferrying around to Mel.
“We’re going places, Mel,” Terry had said. “We can’t be seen driving around in your old heap. Let’s be more flamboyant. We can go halves in the payments.”
And so they’d traded in Mel’s ancient Holden that had seen better days, and after the initial few months Terry had forgotten her part of the commitment and Mel had continued to make the payments on her own.
Luckily, when they broke up Terry had decided Mel may as well keep the BMW. She decided she wouldn’t be needing it as her new girlfriend drove a two-seater sports car. And Terry had spoken as though she had been doing Mel a favor. It still rankled with Mel. It wasn’t the money so much as the offhand way Terry had treated her.
Mel sighed. No point in rehashing all that. It would only send her into a depression again.
She followed the stream of traffic, which was surprisingly light for a Friday afternoon. Mel glanced at her watch. She’d been wise heading off now. In an hour or so the volume of traffic would peak and she would have been traveling at snail’s pace along the coastal road.
She skirted the main Coolangatta business district and crossed the border between Queensland and New South Wales. She was amazed at the changes in the few short years since she’d visited the area. New roads, new bypasses, new businesses sprouted like mushrooms.
Once over Sextons Hill and the Chinderah bridge, the countryside flattened, the road winding through cane fields that stretched toward the low hills to the west and toward the Pacific Ocean to the east. Eventually she picked out the distinctive shape of Mount Warning.
Sugar-cane fields closed in on the road, and soon she was following the wide Tweed River into Murwillumbah. As she waited at a set of traffic lights, she scanned her mother’s directions.
She had to drive through the city and take the left turn to Uki, pronounced YOU-kye, rhyming with sky, her mother had reminded her. Mel smiled to herself as she drove through the suburbs and found her turnoff. Then she was back in the open countryside.
On the left were spreading old trees, she-oaks following the creek bed, and grassy paddocks, green from recent rain, and a scattering of healthy-looking cattle grazing contentedly. To her right were the seemingly never-ending fields of sugar cane.
Mel followed the winding narrow roads and admitted that it was certainly picturesque country. As the hills grew closer, she crossed a low wooden bridge, the loose planks rumbling beneath her tires. Passing a farm market stall, she caught a glimpse of red tomatoes and yellow hands of local bananas.
She slowed on a straight stretch of road and looked at her directions again. There was the turnoff to the Mount Warning National Park.
Then she was passing through the small country town of Uki. A few scattered buildings peeped out between trees and shrubs, and there was an old bank building and the ubiquitous pub. According to Mel’s mother, Crys’s farm wasn’t far past the township.
As she left Uki behind she passed a VW camper painted in iridescent purple and decorated with painted yellow daisies. She smiled. She wasn’t far from the hippie settlement of Nimbin, made popular in the sixties when it was taken over by the flower people.
Mel sighed. Maybe they had a point. It must be relaxing to get back to nature and out of the rat race of the cities. More power to them, be it flower or the weed. Mel chuckled and then sobered.
She remembered when Terry had coaxed her into having her first joint of marijuana, not believing Mel had never tried it. Mel had felt very naive. Much to Terry’s disgust it had all been a pointless operation anyway. Mel had simply fallen asleep. No highs. No lows.
Perhaps Mel had been a bit of a country bumpkin when she’d first gone down to college. Could it only be ten years ago? It felt like eons.
Mel felt a wave of self-pity wash over her. No wonder Terry had found there was something missing from their relationship. Maybe Mel should have been more forceful, more opinionated, more challenging.
She took a deep breath and accelerated, picking up her speed a little. Hadn’t she decided wallowing in the past was a waste of time? Bemoaning what might have been certainly wasn’t going to change anything. Terry was gone and she, Mel, was on her own. She had to get on with her life.
She rounded a sweeping curve, and there was the blue bridge her mother had marked on the map. If her mother’s directions were correct, and Mel conceded Angela’s mud maps were famous for their accuracy and detail, the turn onto Crys’s property should be just about here. And there it was.
Turning between the open gateposts, she slowly crossed the cattle grid. She drew to a halt and looked up toward the hills. On her left she could see a house behind a stand of trees, but she knew that wasn’t Crys’s place. She had to continue past that and on up the long driveway.
Mel bit her lip. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach as an attack of nervousness took hold at the thought of seeing Crys again. Now that she was here she wished she was still driving along the highway. Or better still, she wished she hadn’t allowed her mother to talk her into coming down here at all.
If it hadn’t been for that one awful occasion, Mel would have been looking forward to seeing Crys again, for they had been good friends. And it had been Mel who had spoiled that.
Mel supposed that the problem began back then with the school dance. Well, it had been there years earlier in the form of a vague disquiet. But it was around the time of that final school dance when Mel was nearly seventeen that Mel acknowledged to herself that she had a problem.
She guessed it sort of accumulated and then landed on her about then. Her friends had all been in a fever of excitement over their formal school dance. Mel tried to get into the swing of it but failed miserably. She was terrified someone would ask her to go, while at the same time her friends were petrified that no one would ask them.
When Gary O’Leary, who lived around the corner from Mel’s place, asked her to be his partner, Mel had stood there frozen, unable to speak. He’d blushed and repeated his invitation, and Mel suddenly heard herself accepting.
Afterward she could only hope she’d imagined the whole thing, but when Gary kept appearing to walk her home she knew that her nightmare was reality.
Amber was away, so she couldn’t ask her older sister’s advice. The other alternatives were her mother or Crys. Mel had wanted to talk to Crys about it, but for some reason she felt agitated at the very thought of bringing up the subject with the other woman. So that left her mother.
“Why on earth don’t you want to go to the dance with Gary?” asked her mother when Mel finally approached her. “Isn’t he that rather nice looking boy who was hanging around here a few months ago?”
“I suppose he’s okay looking,” Mel had agreed.
“O’Leary? I’ve met his parents at PTA meetings. They’re interested in the school, so they can’t be a bad family.”
“It’s not exactly Gary,” Mel said carefully. “I’d just really rather not go to the dance at all, Mum,” Mel put in. “I don’t care
for all that stuff.”
“Stuff. You know I dislike you using that word, Mel. It makes you seem as though you have no vocabulary. And every girl likes to go dancing. It’s part of your, well, social development.”
“Social development?” Mel made a face. “Then maybe I’m just a late developer,” she said sarcastically, and her mother frowned.
Fortunately they were interrupted at that moment by a knock on the door.
“It’s me.” Crys Hewitt walked into the kitchen. “I’ve just made some cookies. Got time for a cuppa?”
Mel hesitated. Should she leave Crys and her mother alone or stay? Would her mother bring up the subject they’d been discussing? Mel hoped not.
“Always time for a cup of tea.” Angela took down her teapot and began her tea-making ritual. “Put the kettle on, Mel.”
Crys and Mel shared a conspiratorial grin. Crys, much to Angela’s disgust, used teabags, and Angela never failed to belabor the point that there was a right and wrong way to make tea. Using teabags was the wrong way.
“How are things?” Angela asked her friend as Crys set down a plate of delicious-looking chocolate chip cookies.
Crys slid a quick glance at Mel before shrugging. “Still the same. So, Mel. How was school?”
Mel knew there was something going on that Crys and her mother didn’t want her to know about. And whatever it was had started about two weeks ago. She’d known that Crys’s marriage wasn’t happy and about the divorce and what came after it. But Mel knew there was something else.
And she felt some resentment that her mother and Crys were keeping secrets from her. Why did they treat her like a child? Did they think she was still a baby? She was almost seventeen. Some girls were married at that age. Not that Mel knew any but, well, they were.
She knew all about Crys’s problems, about her being a lesbian. Everyone knew. Who around here wouldn’t know after the huge scandal of the trial!
Mel looked across at Crys, tried to imagine her in the arms of another woman, and hurriedly pushed the thought away. It made her feel strange, all hot somehow, as though she was blushing all over.
She realized Crys was looking at her, and Crys raised her dark eyebrows. Mel’s flush deepened.
“School? Oh. It was okay,” she stammered, and her mother made irritated tsking noises.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do with this young woman of ours, Crys,” Angela remarked. “A nice young man has asked her to the school dance, and she doesn’t want to go.”
Crys gave Mel a sympathetic look. “She doesn’t have to go with a guy just because he asks her. She has the right of refusal.”
“Well, she’s accepted,” Angela stated, warming the teapot before adding the tea leaves. “And now she wants to change her mind.”
“I see,” Crys murmured noncommittally.
“I just, well, he took me by surprise, and I wasn’t thinking,” Mel explained, her look appealing to Crys for assistance.
“So who is this young cavalier who swept you off your feet?” Crys asked.
Mel rolled her eyes. “He wished!” she said forcibly.
“Gary O’Leary,” Angela supplied at the same time.
“Ah. That young man who often hangs around here hoping to catch a glimpse of you, Mel?” Crys teased and Mel blushed.
“He doesn’t hang around waiting to see me,” she denied.
Crys laughed softly and patted Mel’s arm. “I’m sorry, Mel.”
The feel of Crys’s warm fingers, a transitory touch, lingered long after Crys had released Mel’s arm.
“It’s cruel of me to goad you over a sensitive subject,” Crys apologized. “Why don’t you want to go to the dance with Gary?”
“She says she doesn’t like dancing,” Angela exclaimed.
Mel frowned at her mother. “It’s not really Gary himself,” Mel said slowly and then shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just that the whole scene isn’t my idea of fun. I hate dressing up and having guys eyeing me up and down as though I’m a prize cow or something.”
“I can relate to that,” Crys put in dryly. Before Angela could rebuke her, she continued. “Why don’t you just tell Gary you’ve changed your mind and have decided not to go to the dance?”
“Crys!” Angela admonished. “Of course she’s going to the dance. All her friends are going. Amber loved the school dances.”
Mel grimaced, and Crys bit off a chuckle. “Haven’t you been to a school dance before?”
Mel shook her head as her mother set the milk jug and matching sugar bowl on the table beside Crys’s cookies.
“She didn’t tell us they were having dances,” Angela told Crys in exasperation. “I only found out about this one from one of her friends.”
Crys stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea. “I guess you have to try a dance at some time, Mel. You might find you have a great time.”
Mel mumbled disbelievingly and reached for the consolation of one of Crys’s famous cookies.
And by the time the evening of the dance rolled around, Mel felt even less like attending. Her mother and sister and Crys were assembled in the living room as they waited for Gary to collect her.
Mel’s tummy was queasy, and her mother was driving her crazy tweaking her hair and patting the folds of her dress.
“Leave her alone, Mum,” Amber said, giving her younger sister a sympathetic look. “She looks fine.”
Crys nodded. “You look wonderful, Mel. That color suits you.” She smiled. “Young Gary’s eyes are going to pop out of his head when he sees you.”
“And I hope they roll across the floor and out the back door and we won’t be able to find them and then I won’t have to go with him,” she finished ghoulishly.
“Melissa! That’s disgusting!” exclaimed her mother.
Mel saw Crys hide a grin, and she giggled hysterically. “I’m sure Gary’s father wouldn’t let him drive his car without his eyeballs.”
Amber groaned. “You can be so gross, Mel.”
Mel laughed again but quickly sobered when the doorbell pealed.
“I’ll get it,” said Mel’s stepfather as he joined them.
Mel looked desperately at Crys, who stood up and gave her a squeeze.
“You’ll be fine,” she said softly. Mel wanted to cling to her, hide her hot face against Crys’s full bosom.
“I want a good look at this young whipper-snapper,” Mel’s stepfather was saying Mel cringed. “Oh, good grief! I’m not going to marry him, for heaven’s sake,” she stated through gritted teeth.
Amber laughed. “You’re safe, Mel. And you’ll have to wait. It’s a rule that the older daughter has to get married first.”
Well, that had gone to plan, Mel reflected with amusement. Her sister had met a very nice young man and married him just after Mel met Terry. Amber and Adam, referred to by Terry as the A-team, were still happily married and had presented Mel’s mother with two grandchildren. At least that had taken some of her mother’s focus off Mel, for which she was very grateful.
Mel sighed. She wished all her plans had worked out as well as her sister’s had. Then maybe she wouldn’t be sitting here nervously contemplating the meeting ahead.
Even though she hadn’t seen Crys for years, Mel had known her since she was ten years old. Yet she couldn’t imagine how things would be between them after so long. Not after what had happened between them.
Well, she couldn’t sit here all afternoon. It was time to find out the answer to that question. Mel took a steadying breath. The time had come, the walrus said. And apart from that, the people in the other house might think she was casing the joint, planning a robbery. Biting off a slightly distraught laugh, Mel accelerated up the driveway.
Crys knew Mel was coming before she heard the car. Rags stood up and bounded to the front of the shed, giving a warning bark.
“Rags. Here, boy,” Crys said firmly. The dog reluctantly returned to stand by Crys’s side.
She set the pot she was holding
back on its stand and removed her gloves. She crossed to the sink and soaped, rinsed, and dried her hands and forearms. Then she found herself unconsciously running her hand over her hair.
Shaking her head, she took a deep breath and walked out to the cemented apron in front of the shed and glanced past the house to the driveway. Crys paused, Rags right beside her, growling softly in his throat.
“It’s all right, boy,” she said softly, rubbing his ears before taking hold of his collar. “This is a friend. And unless she’s changed a great deal, I think you’ll like her.”
A maroon BMW navigated the last bend in the narrow driveway and drew to a halt in front of the carport that housed Crys’s old VW. Long seconds later a tall figure climbed from the car and straightened before slowly removing her sunglasses.
Crys watched as Mel looked around, pausing as her gaze settled on the older woman and the dog.
Had Mel always been this tall? Crys wondered. Her hair was dark, the sun highlighting the auburn tinge, and it was cut short and spiked, a few strands falling forward onto her brow. She wore tailored denim shorts and a loose blue T-shirt with something emblazoned on the front.
Rags gave a soft bark, and Crys made herself move forward again, her hand indicating to the dog that he follow.
Mel felt the throb of her pulse as she caught sight of Crys. She had a large dog of some indeterminate breed beside her. Mel raised a tentative hand.
“That’s not an attack dog, is it?” she asked as Crys strode forward.
“Not unless he’s given explicit instructions,” she said with a smile as Mel closed the car door. “Welcome to the farm,” Crys said easily. “Your mother’s famous directions win out once again I see. How are you, Mel?”
Mel gave a quick smile. “Not bad,” she replied and looked around her.
Apart from the house there was a huge shed that was enclosed on three sides. Mel could see an old tractor and another piece of machinery she couldn’t identify. There was also a small trailer parked off to one side. Crys’s old yellow VW, the one she’d had for as long as Mel could remember, was tucked under the carport by the house.
