by Lyn Denison
Then she recalled the illicit kiss she and Crys had shared. It had haunted her consistently over the years, even the years she’d shared with Terry.
Often Mel had felt a burning need to telephone Crys, tell her the truth about Terry. But, of course, she never had. If she talked to anyone, she’d told herself, it should be her mother.
Mel turned and flexed the muscles in her shoulders and back as the water flowed over her. And then she stilled.
Suddenly she remembered the times she’d been kissing Terry and Crys’s face had floated to the surface of her consciousness. On those occasions she’d had to force Crys’s image from her mind. And for days afterward she would feel vaguely disquieted and out of sorts.
Once, not long after Mel had confided in Terry about her youthful indiscretion with Crys, Terry had accused Mel of wallowing in the past. Terry had arrived home late from college and Mel had been in bed, tired after a day of finishing some freelance work she’d taken on.
Terry had woken Mel with kisses and caresses and Mel had protested, gently telling Terry she was tired and wasn’t feeling amorous, but Terry had persisted.
For once Mel had remained firm and had turned over, away from Terry’s questing hands. Terry had grown angry, accused Mel of having lovers there while she had been out teaching. Mel had laughed tiredly, thinking Terry was joking, but Terry had been serious. She’d flounced off the bed and paced angrily up and down the room.
“How do I know what you do when I’m not here?” she said bitterly. “It’s easy to say you’ve been working.”
Mel sat up. “You can check my study, see for yourself what I’ve been doing.”
“I thought Suzy was all over you at that party last weekend,” Terry continued, as though Mel hadn’t spoken. “Did you two make a date for when I wouldn’t be here?”
“No. We didn’t,” Mel replied irritatedly. “No one’s been here, Terry. I told you, I’ve been working.”
Terry swung around. “Or maybe you’ve been dreaming about that old broad you were lusting after when you were a kid full of raging hormones.”
Mel paused slightly, feeling a stab of guilt. The last time she and Terry had made love Mel had had to thrust away thoughts of Crys.
“Aha!” Terry pointed her finger at Mel. “So that is it.”
“Terry, please—” Mel began.
“Maybe you should invite the old girl down here for a visit. Didn’t you say her partner died last year? She’d probably welcome a roll in the hay by now.”
“That’s disgusting, Terry. You’re being ridiculous. And for your information, Crys’s partner died over two years ago.”
“All the more reason to invite her down. If she’s as hot as you seem to think she is, maybe she’d be interested in a threesome and we could all relive your fantasies.”
Mel had climbed deliberately out of bed, picked up her pillow, and slept in the spare room. And it had been a while before she’d accepted Terry’s apologies that she’d been drunk, had had a couple of glasses of wine on an empty stomach, and didn’t know what she was saying.
Sighing, Mel stepped out of the shower, dried off, and pulled on a pair of jeans and a loose knit top. She walked out to the kitchen. Crys turned from the bench and gave Mel a quick smile.
“I’ve made us some coffee and sandwiches,” she said lightly. “Don’t know about you, but I’m famished.”
Mel shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “A night of sex will do that to you.” She grimaced. “Was that bad taste?” She made a face again. “Shall I just sit down and shut up?”
“Might be a good idea,” Crys agreed with a laugh. She sat down opposite Mel, and they both began eating. “Did you finish your—” Crys stopped and frowned as the dog began to bark agitatedly.
Moments later a car pulled into the yard. They both stood up and went outside. Crys took hold of Rags’s collar, and they watched as a tall figure with longish dark hair climbed from the car.
Mel caught her breath and glanced across at Crys. She knew by Crys’s pale face that she, too, had recognized their visitor. What could Terry be doing here?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Crys cleared the blockage in one of the fine-spray nozzles in the watering system and stood back as she switched the water on again. She cast her eyes over the rows of seedlings. Everything seemed to be working perfectly once more.
She sat back against the bench and sighed. She didn’t like Terry Johansen, she decided with regret, telling herself her feelings were the result of more than just jealousy because of what Terry had been to Mel. It was far more complicated than that.
And Crys supposed she was a little jealous of the other woman. But surely that was natural enough. Terry and Mel had been together for six years, and there was every chance Mel would decide she wanted to go back to Terry.
A rush of tears gathered in her eyes, and Crys valiantly blinked them away before they fell. Crying certainly wasn’t going to help the situation.
After being on her own for five years, Crys conceded she could barely entertain the thought of being without Mel now. Somehow it was too painful to consider. And if Mel did leave, could Crys really blame her? It would partially be Crys’s own fault, she told herself angrily.
This morning, when she woke up to find herself wrapped in Mel’s arms, for one wild irrepressible second she’d simply wanted to clutch Mel to her, tell her how much she loved her, how much she wanted and needed her. Not just for the moment, but forever.
Then hard on the heels of that feeling of exhilaration she’d experienced an earth-shattering uncertainty. Thinking Mel was straight, her voice of reason had clamored that she be cautious, that Mel might be testing the waters, just as she’d done all those years ago. So Crys had taken an emotional step back, given Mel a way out by suggesting Mel had indeed used Crys as an experiment.
She knew she had upset Mel, and Crys had been about to apologize when Mel dropped her bombshell about Terry. For long moments Crys hadn’t been able to take in the fact that Terry was a woman, nor had she been able to comprehend its ramifications. Not right away.
And then suddenly it had all fallen into place, the inconsistencies that Angela had worried over, Mel’s reticence to discuss Terry with her mother, Terry’s frequent coincidental absences, and Mel’s reluctance to introduce Terry to her family. The truth would answer so many of Angela’s questions.
Yet even then Crys had hesitated, hadn’t dared to hope that Mel might genuinely care for her, Crys, the way Crys knew she cared for Mel. Fool that she was, she hadn’t had the courage to take what Mel might be offering.
So she’d made herself get out of bed, separate them, when all she’d wanted was to pull Mel to her, make love to her again and again. But she’d wanted to give Mel, give them both, a little space to consider the situation rationally, without the confusing and overwhelming color of the physical enticement.
Physical enticement? Crys grimaced. When Mel walked into the kitchen after her shower Crys had known she was way beyond logical and sensible thought when it came to Mel’s enticement, physical or otherwise. She should have thrown discretion to the four winds there and then, but still she’d wavered, wanting Mel to be sure of her own feelings, too.
As Crys saw it, there were so many things to consider. Was Mel really over her breakup with Terry? Did Mel want to stay out here in the country or would she get bored, miss the social whirl of the city? Perhaps they could find a compromise. Crys swallowed painfully.
Well, all that might be completely irrelevant now. Now that Terry was here.
When the tall young woman had stepped from the car, Crys had been completely astounded. It had only taken her moments to recognize Terry as the young woman she’d seen on television with Mel last year. And one glance at Mel’s wan face had confirmed her suspicion.
As Terry had stridden toward them Crys had had to admire the other woman’s confidence, her self-possession. She was as tall as Mel, and her dark hair swung in soft curls down to sho
ulder length. She wore dark jeans and, beneath an open, short black-leather jacket, a red close-fitting tank top stretched across her breasts, molding their impressive shape.
“Hi, Mel! Bet you’re surprised to see me,” she said with a wide smile.
Mel seemed to have lost her power of speech, and Terry’s grin widened.
“I can see you are.” She turned toward Crys, looked quizzically at the dog that sat quiet but watchful at Crys’s side. “Not likely to take my leg off, is he?”
“No. I don’t think so.” Crys made a slight movement with her hand, and Rags relaxed and stretched out on the ground, pink tongue lolling.
“He’s a big dog.” Terry looked up and smiled again. “I’m Marie-Therese Johansen, by the way, Mel’s writing partner. And you must be Crys.” Terry held out her hand. “Mel’s told me so much about you.”
Crys shook Terry’s hand, sliding a glance at Mel, and she saw a dull flush color Mel’s face. Crys pulled herself together. “Nice to meet you, Terry,” she said evenly. “Mel’s told me all about you, too.”
Terry’s dark eyes narrowed, her gaze going to Mel.
“I’ve told Crys about Marie-Therese and Terry,” Mel put in quickly, regaining some of her composure. “She knows about, well, about us.”
“I see.” Terry shrugged slightly. “We thought it would be best because of our careers, didn’t we, love?”
“Something like that,” said Mel offhandedly, and Crys suspected from what Mel had told her that Terry was stretching the truth.
Obviously now entirely over her initial surprise, Mel folded her arms and stood with both feet planted firmly apart. “What brings you all the way up here, Terry?” she asked. Crys could glean nothing from her controlled expression.
“I decided to take a break. And I wanted to see you, talk to you.” Terry looked pointedly at Crys. “Privately, if I could.”
Mel went to speak, but Crys got in first. “Of course,” she said levelly. “I have to get to work anyway. Take Terry into the house, Mel. We’ve not long brewed the coffee so it should still be hot.”
“What about, well, your sandwiches?” Mel reminded Crys, seemingly disconcerted.
“That’s all right,” Crys assured her. “Terry might like them. I’m not really hungry.”
Mel went to object, but Terry broke in on her. “We’ll see you later then,” she said and stepped pointedly between Crys and Mel.
Crys called the dog and headed over to the shed as Mel and Terry went into the house.
No, she did not like Terry Johansen, Crys reiterated to herself. She glanced down at her wristwatch. What should she do? Terry and Mel had been together for over an hour.
What did Terry want? Crys gave a short laugh, and Rags looked up at her from his position guarding the door.
“I know what Terry wants,” she said softly to the dog. “She wants Mel.”
And what if Mel wanted Terry too? Somehow Crys didn’t think Mel did. Not after this morning. Did she? Now that Crys had met Terry, she couldn’t see that the other woman was right for Mel. And was she, Crys, so right for Mel? she asked herself ruthlessly. Heavy doubt crept into Crys’s mind.
If she looked at the situation honestly, what could the young and vibrant Mel possibly see in the forty-two-year-old, not exactly svelte, old crone that she, Crys, was?
Terry, on the other hand, was closer to Mel’s age. She was certainly not unattractive. And she worked so successfully with Mel. Surely it would be easier for Mel to return to Melbourne with Terry. It was no contest that Crys could see.
Yet this morning Mel had said she loved Crys. Unless Mel’s declaration was simply the afterglow of great sex. Fantastic sex.
Crys straightened. She knew she loved Mel too. More than she would have thought it was possible to love again.
And then she thought about Diane. Crys sighed. Their life had been more than a little rocky, but they’d had some good times, too.
Crys had loved Diane, would always remember her. But Crys also knew she had to move on, and she had done so before Angela had suggested Mel come down here. Maybe that had been why Crys had been so uneasy about Mel’s visit.
Because she’d always known Mel held a special place in her heart. Even Diane had suspected that. One particular episode stuck in Crys’s mind.
It had been after an interschool netball competition. Crys had gone with Angela to watch Mel’s team play as she often did. Diane’s school had also been competing. As Mel played, Crys had introduced Diane to Angela. By the time Mel’s game was over, Diane had had to leave to organize her own team so Crys had never got to actually introduce Mel to Diane. But Angela had pointed out her daughter to the other woman.
Later Diane had half jokingly said to Crys, “So that was the infamous Mel Jamieson.”
Crys raised her eyebrows. “Infamous’? Why is Mel infamous?”
Diane shrugged. “Perhaps that wasn’t the word I wanted. Maybe I should have said your favorite Mel Jamieson. Because she is, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Diane.” Crys frowned. “Mel’s a great kid.”
Diane laughed. “She’s hardly a kid. Believe me, Crys, they grow up pretty fast these days.”
“Mel might look grown up, but she’s really quite, well, naive for her age.”
Diane made an exclamation of disbelief. “Oh, sure. If you say so. But I bet she has a big old crush on her good old Auntie Crys.”
“Diane, that’s rubbish.” For some reason Crys had felt more than a little defensive.
“Or maybe Auntie Crys has a crush on little Mel?”
Diane ran her finger along the line of Crys’s jaw. “Hmm?”
“For heaven’s sake, Diane. Mel is Angela’s daughter. I’ve known her since she was ten years old.”
“She’s not ten years old any more,” Diane said and then laughed at Crys’s horrified expression. “I’m sorry, sweetie. You’re so easy to tease.”
“It wasn’t funny,” Crys said with as much composure as she could muster.
“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. I know you like Mel, and I also know you like me.” Diane moved up against Crys and ran her hands over Crys’s back and buttocks. “Well, more than like me, I hope,” she said softly and kissed Crys’s lips.
And a small part of Crys worried that she had to feign a response she didn’t at that moment feel.
And now? Crys knew the answer to that. Unconsciously she straightened her spine. So what was she doing here cowering in the shed? she asked herself. Was she going to give up the chance of happiness with Mel without putting up even a token resistance?
The bottom line was that the choice was up to Mel, Crys knew that, but at least Crys could go back to the house and let Mel know how much Crys loved her, how much she wanted Mel to stay. And let Mel know there was an alternative to returning to Melbourne with Terry.
Then the decision was Mel’s.
Crys gave the watering system another cursory glance and left the shed, her step faltering as she realized Terry’s car had gone. She hadn’t heard it leave.
Would Mel have simply left without a word? Surely not. Crys quickened her pace and hurried into the kitchen, only to stop in the doorway. Relief washed over her as Mel’s tall figure turned from the table, freshly cut sandwiches in her hands. Crys took hold of the doorjamb, suddenly needing its solid support.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mel watched as Terry’s rented car disappeared out of sight. She felt a slight sadness, a regret for what they’d had together, for the closing of a chapter in her life.
Even if Crys did decide she didn’t love Mel the way Mel loved her, Mel knew she could never go back. Seeing and talking to Terry had only convinced Mel of that. Having Terry arrive had been the best thing for both of them. It had put everything into perspective and tied off all the ends and drawn the episode to an amicable conclusion. Once Terry thought about it, Mel was sure she’d see that, too.
“But we were great together, babe,” Terry had con
tended when Mel had suggested just that as they sat in the kitchen over a cup of coffee. “How can you just throw that away? I told you I was desperately sorry about Maureen. I’ll apologize a thousand times if you want me to.”
“I don’t want you to do that. I’ve told you I accept your apology, but” — Mel shrugged — “if you’re honest, Terry, you’ll admit things weren’t terribly good between us before Maureen came on the scene.”
Terry was silent for long moments. “Okay. Maybe we did have our problems, but I think we could have worked them out. We still could.”
“We don’t want the same things any more. Maybe we didn’t in the beginning either.”
“Like what? Look, Mel,” Terry appealed. “In the beginning it was fantastic. You can’t say it wasn’t.”
“I’m not saying that. It was wonderful,” Mel said honestly. “You helped me find myself in so many ways. With me. With my work. You gave me confidence to be myself, I guess. I’m grateful for that, and I’ll never forget it.”
“So why do you want to kiss it all good-bye?” Terry asked testily.
“I’ve moved on, Terry. And so have you.”
“And we can’t move on together?” Terry’s quip was heavy with sarcasm.
Mel sighed and shook her head. “No. I don’t think we can. But I’d like us to remain friends.”
Terry sat quietly, absently running her fingertip around the rim of her coffee mug. She looked up at Mel. “It’s the old dame, isn’t it?”
Mel paused and then came to a decision. “Yes. It is.”
“I can’t believe it.” Terry gave a disbelieving laugh. “I mean, she’s got a great body, I’ll grant you that. But she’s years older than you are, Mel.”
“Fourteen years to be exact,” Mel told her.
“Mel, she—”
“I love her, Terry,” Mel said evenly, and Terry sighed.
“She must be really something.”
“She is.”
“So are you two making the commitment you were always so fond of throwing at me?”
Mel hesitated, and Terry raised her eyebrows.
