Finders Keepers

by Karin Kallmaker

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  Think that over, sweetie.” Her mother had turned on the shower.

  “I’ll be back with some pills. Will you be okay?”

  “Sure, yeah.”

  Fifteen minutes later, already feeling a little better for some Advil and an ice pack, she listened to Linda and her mother leave.

  She didn’t really care what her mother thought of the place but Linda got the emergency tour to the world of someone who still lived like a student though college was ten years behind her.

  She did not want to know what they talked about. She did not want to even speculate. She threw a pillow at the wall and didn’t feel much better.

  Yes, Mom, I think about Linda and I think about sex. I have never wanted a woman this way. This was the zing that Eve had been talking about.

  But instead of the cool and dignified conversation where Marissa allowed that perhaps they could carefully date and get to know one another in a more seemly fashion, she’d become Ginger.

  And she had a sneaking suspicion that Linda had enjoyed every minute. And she wasn’t sure that she had minded much either. And that couldn’t be a good thing. Could it?

  A little voice of reason told her to be careful. Ankles mended—

  hearts possibly did not. Breakfast in the morning and nurturing were all fine and good but leaving without a word and not coming back for a year was not.

  Oh, you’re a fool, Marissa Chabot. She knew she would give a million dollars to know what her mother and Linda were talking about.

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  Chapter 14

  “So, what are your intentions toward my daughter?”

  Linda put the key in the ignition and turned it before answering. “I’d like to date her for a while, see if she likes who I really am.

  Can I ask a question?”

  “Yes, you may.” Well, Linda could clearly see where Marissa got her expressive face. It was plain as day that Linda was a slime bug two seconds away from being stepped on.

  “What should I call you? We haven’t been properly introduced.”

  “Joyce will do fine.”

  “Thank you. I’m Linda.”

  “I know.”

  “The woman who broke your daughter’s heart.”

  “I know that too.”

  Outside, the day looked balmy by comparison. “I know I’m on probation.”

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  “Good.” Joyce crossed her arms then abruptly said, “I think your mother is guilty of felony child abuse, by the way. Where did she find a plastic surgeon who would operate on a child for cos-metic purposes?”

  “Swiss doctors did the ears and first nose job. After I hit puberty, New York doctors did the second nose and the eyelids.

  The rib guy was in Buenos Aires.”

  “I’m sorry,” Joyce said. “I’m being morbid but you’re obviously a strong, resilient woman.”

  “And you love your daughter, even though sometimes she is a big puzzle to you.”

  “What makes you say that? Turn right here.”

  “I . . .” To her embarrassment Linda felt her eyes fill with tears.

  “What you said about her not being a mistake.”

  “Well, it’s true, though apparently I spent her entire teen years convincing her she was.”

  Linda was very aware of the sharp, observant intelligence behind Joyce’s gaze. There was no doubt in her mind where Marissa got her brains. Before she could think of anything to say, Joyce cleared her throat.

  “Why do you care about my daughter?”

  Meetings with lawyers and publishers were starting to look like play dates. She opened her mouth, only to be interrupted again.

  “Don’t tell me she makes you laugh.”

  “Okay, I won’t. What about how she’s fantastic in bed?”

  Joyce gaped. “Now you’re being crude.”

  “You and she sound alike, did you know that?”

  “Yes, but you can’t tell her that.”

  “I don’t plan to. And it was a joke. Marissa makes me laugh, yes.

  You know how we met, right?”

  “Yes, the shipwreck. You made her climb a cliff.”

  “I didn’t make her. She did it herself.” Linda thought of all the things she wanted to tell Marissa and decided many of them were not going to be said to Joyce.

  But there were things she was willing to tell anyone who would 217

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  listen. “I feel as if I got to see a side of her she didn’t know she had.

  We discovered it together. She’s strong and vibrant and smart. I love making her laugh. I love watching her face light up with new thoughts. I never know, though, most of the time, what she’s going to say. I only know that very likely I’m going to find it delightful and inspiring and insightful. I learned all that about her when we were together in Tahiti. Now I see her in her world, looking so incredibly sexy and—okay, I didn’t mean to say that, but she is a wonderful armful of woman to hold. I want to talk to her, morning, noon and night. With breaks for sleeping and sex, of course.”

  Joyce’s expression hadn’t eased one iota. “And why should she care a flying fig how you feel, especially since you disappeared for a year and didn’t even send a postcard?”

  “That’s a very good question. I don’t know the answer. All I know is that she didn’t find out who I really am. She didn’t know that part of me was long dead. My mother killed that part of me and Marissa only knew what was left of the body. And I wanted to bury that part of me at last and not mire her in all of that. I needed to know I wasn’t a head case before I came back into Marissa’s life.

  She deserves better than that. If I never got my act together I was going to leave her in peace, at least.”

  “It sounds as if you’ve been rehearsing that speech for a while.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Joyce gave her a suspicious look. “Turn left up here.”

  The silence lasted until Linda pulled into parking space next to the elegant BMW. Rain pattered softly on the windscreen.

  “Marissa may send me away.”

  “I worry. I’m her mother and I do love her.”

  “I respect that, Joyce, I really do. You may not know how much.”

  “If you happen to be around, in my daughter’s life, I will remind you that you said that.”

  Well, it wasn’t exactly permission to court her daughter’s hand in marriage, but Linda wasn’t going to be a stickler about that. “I expect you to.”

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  She watched Joyce drive away and then headed for her motel.

  She was stopped at a light when she remembered she was providing breakfast in the morning. The rear view mirror told her if she smiled any harder she might break something.

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d have in the icebox, so I brought a little of everything.”

  Marissa, wrapped tightly in a purple chenille robe, hobbled back to let Linda pass her. Linda glanced around, noticing signs of cleaning up. She smiled to herself even as she regretted Marissa having to hop around her apartment gathering up papers and dirty clothes.

  “I’m on a diet, you know.” Marissa slowly followed Linda into the tiny kitchen.

  “That’s why I have fruit. French bread. Egg substitute. Green peppers. Cooked shrimp. And diet ginger ale for poor woman’s mimosas.”

  Marissa sank into a chair at the tiny table. “I’m buying a condo.”

  “Okay. Point me toward the knives. I’m actually useful in the kitchen now. Lots of time to cook for myself in Montana.”

  “All things that cut are in the last drawer on the left. Frying pan below the oven. Plates next to the microwave.”

  “Ah.” Linda found what she needed, including some cookin
g spray and started on a shrimp omelet. “How is your ankle feeling this morning?”

  “Okay. It probably would be better if I hadn’t gone out last night but I didn’t want to disappoint Philip. He has a lot of friends and family so it was a big, fabulous party with lots of nice gay men to fuss and make sure I had plenty to eat and drink. They rewrapped my ankle.”

  Linda glanced over, then carried the bowl of egg goo she was whisking over for a closer look. “Ribbon from the presents?”

  “Yes.” Marissa looked pleased as she surveyed the colorful addi-219

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  tions to her ace bandage. “They had a doctor retie the bandage for me, then said he was too butch for the finishing touches. So they had a little contest to pick the biggest Sissy Mary and the winner selected the lavender and orange ribbons to match my Pretty Boy Pink—they said that alone made me an honorary queen—toenail polish. I was so glad I’d gotten my first-time-ever pedicure yesterday.”

  Linda was grinning as she went back to the stove and poured the egg and green pepper mixture into the hot pan. “Philip sounds like he has some very fun friends.”

  “He does. It was one of the reasons my dad loved him. He’d spent so much time closeted that Philip’s extreme outness never lost its charm. That smells good.”

  “Thanks—I hope it tastes good.” She prowled a few drawers and discovered dried herbs and spices. Basil, salt and pepper would do nicely. “I remember you like a bit of spice in things. Do you have Tabasco?”

  “In the fridge. I wish I could help.”

  “No, you sit and put your foot up.”

  “I’m trying not to love you again.”

  Linda lost her grip on the spatula for a moment then went back to moving the eggs around on the heat. “Is it difficult?”

  “Yes,” Marissa said in a small voice. “It’s very hard.”

  “Good.” If her heart could sing, Linda thought it would be belting out “Top of the World.” Fighting back a smile, she dished the eggs onto plates, quickly cut the baguette and brought the container of already cleaned fruit to the table with her. “I’m willing to start over, Marissa. I’m willing to let it take time. You, sure of what you feel, are worth waiting for.”

  Marissa ate a bite of eggs. “Thank you—a hot breakfast is quite a treat.”

  “You’re welcome. For me too.”

  “Are . . .” Marissa focused on her plate. “Are your feelings certain?”

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  “Do you mean are you still the most fascinating, interesting, touchable, sexy woman I’ve ever met? Yes, you are.”

  The blush that stained Marissa’s neck was attractive in the extreme. “You don’t really know me.”

  “Then let me be around. Let me make you dinner sometime.”

  “Okay. Slow. I like slow.”

  Linda could not help herself. “Yes, I remember.”

  Marissa looked as if she wanted to fling a forkful of eggs at Linda. “None of that. Not right away.”

  “Okay.”

  They ate in silence for a while then Marissa brought up the weather. Weather turned to places Linda might want to rent if the job came through. Discussion of mass transit maps led to theories of city planning and by the time the last wedge of pineapple was eaten they had covered the film career of Gene Wilder, highlighted perplexities of the English language, agreed on global warming and solved many of the world’s problems.

  Linda was aware that part of her watched their conversation but it wasn’t with the detachment of dissociation with which she was so familiar. This was simple wonder that a conversation with Marissa could bring her more laughter and thoughtfulness than any in her life. Being near Marissa made her realize that in many ways, she had not yet begun living.

  “The ecotouring people, they are total fascists about leaving no trace but they have to be. We’d build these great fire pits and tell stories. Sing songs. In the morning all the rocks would be scattered, the ashes spread and no trace of us left as we moved on.”

  “I can see that. Some day I think I’d like to try that sort of thing. Do you get really, really dirty?” Marissa’s expression was cautiously intrigued.

  “Oh, yeah. As in some of the animals you run across smell better.” Linda pictured Marissa’s Pretty Boy Pink tipped toes in hiking boots. Boots led to legs to thighs and well, the image worked for her.

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  “It would take some getting used to because I suppose packing around baby wipes on an ecotour is right out.”

  Linda laughed. “Baby wipes are not encouraged, no.”

  In one of her lightning changes of subject, Marissa asked, in a low voice, “Was there really a woman in the airport in New Zealand? Did you . . . ?”

  Sobering, Linda nodded. “There was. That was the way I used to be.”

  “I don’t know how you could be with someone right after we . . .

  you know.”

  Linda didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t with her. That was the whole point. I was never with her. I used sex, flirtation and mystery as walls to end any chance of her possibly touching any part of me that mattered.”

  Marissa was frowning in concentration. “Say that another way.”

  Though she’d said it any number of ways in all her talks with Dr. Kirkland, she still had to pick her words with care. “Since I was maybe ten, any time anyone said they thought I was beautiful I wanted to run and hide. But I couldn’t do that. So my mind ran away but my body stayed. When I was a little older and boys and girls alike would make sexual overtures, the same thing happened.

  I could have gone totally passive and let myself be used.”

  Marissa nodded as tears swam in the corners of her lovely blue eyes. Linda was sorry all over again from bringing pain into Marissa’s life.

  “But the teenaged me was pretty smart. She realized she had power she could use, which was the very thing that drew people to her. She learned to use the beauty, the schooled charm, eventually the flirtation, to immediately turn any kind of overture to a purely sexual one where she controlled everything. Men were left frustrated. Women were fuc—taken care of. Only rarely would I let someone touch me back and I still controlled it. Some women won’t leave until they think they made you . . . you know.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marissa whispered. “To me, that’s not sex.”

  “It isn’t,” Linda agreed. “It wasn’t. There was never a question 222

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  of them having any piece of me. It was a highly dysfunctional, very successful strategy. And I never want to feel that way again.”

  “What happens now if someone hits on you?”

  Linda tried to hide a nervous swallow. She wouldn’t lie to Marissa, not about anything. “At first, that habit of making everything purely sexual comes back. I have to tell myself to turn that off. It takes some effort. I’m getting better at having ordinary conversations with women who clearly think I’m attractive.”

  Marissa was watching her face intently and yet Linda felt each additional word coming more easily. Marissa was listening and that was more than she had hoped for. “I’m finally in a space where I don’t take responsibility for how they feel about me. That’s their problem. It doesn’t threaten me. And sometimes . . .” She paused to smile and was relieved to receive a tentative one in return.

  “Sometimes, I am willing to consider that they are just being friendly. I can and will get over myself.”

  “I still think,” Marissa said slowly, “that you are the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”

  “I’m not that strong. I make mistakes, and I—”

  “You’re here.”

  “I’m ready . . . I don’t know how to explain this but thank you, I know what you’re trying to say. But I’m ready not to be defined by what I’ve survived. If I am strong, I want to prove it go
ing forward.”

  Marissa had a considering look on her face but then she nodded. “Okay.” A slow, easy smile spread across her face. “I don’t want to be a formerly helpless fat chick. I want to be who I am today and tomorrow—fit, healthy and ready for life.”

  Linda was grinning as she gathered their plates and carried them to the sink. “Dish soap?”

  “Just leave them. You cooked, I wash.”

  “You should stay off your ankle.”

  “It’s not that bad.” Marissa rose as if to prove her point and took a tentative step. “See?”

  “Still, let me do this.”

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  She hesitated and retied her robe. “I meant to shower and get dressed before you got here but I had rather a lot of wine last night.”

  “You look ravishing.” Linda nearly added, “and ravishable,” but she had gotten the Let’s Go Slow message loud and clear.

  “Sweet talker.” Marissa limped into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Linda had just finished filling the dish tub with hot soapy water when she heard a distinct thud from the bathroom, followed by a strongly uttered invective.

  “Hey in there.” She hurried to the bathroom door, but found it locked. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I just slipped. Dang it all.”

  “Are you sure?” All Linda could hear now was running water.

  When there was no immediate reply, she turned the knob with all her strength and the old hardware gave.

  “Oh—don’t come . . .” Marissa peeked out from under the shower curtains, her shoulders pink and cheeks to match. Her robe and T-shirt were strewn over the commode. “I’m okay. I just slipped getting in. I can shower sitting down. On my own.” She followed Linda’s gaze and the blush intensified.

  With a sense of wonder Linda asked, “Is that my T-shirt?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know where to send it.”

  “And so you wore it?”

  “Not until last night. Please. Shower?” Marissa let the curtain fall back into place.

  Linda retreated and closed the door, relieved the knob would at least function. She’d have to replace the lock.

  Grinning broadly, Linda whispered aloud, “She’s wearing my T-shirt.” The idea was both comforting and incredibly intimate.