I held open the front door. She hesitated, but her reluctance lost whatever internal battle she’d waged, and she accepted the invitation. I followed her inside, trying not to get too far ahead of myself. I’d never known an English teacher who could pass on a bookstore, but I hoped at least part of her acquiescence stemmed from an interest in more than the novels we perused along the way.
*
“Have you read this one?” Jody held up a copy of Rubyfruit Jungle.
“Of course,” I said. “It’s a classic.”
“Have you read all the classics?”
I scanned the shelves. “Sure. Patience and Sarah, The Beebo Brinker Chronicles, Stone Butch Blues, Bastard Out of Carolina—”
“Stevie, I don’t think I can give you any recommendations. You’re way ahead of me in this genre. Maybe you should create a reading list for me.”
“No.” I caught myself getting ahead of my time. “I’m sure you’ve just got different tastes.”
“I just turned twenty-two. I’m not sure my tastes are fully defined yet. There’s so much I haven’t even been exposed to.”
I heard the questions behind the statement and thrilled at the chance to expand the horizons she was searching. “Well, I’m not sure of much right now either, but I do know these books. I’d be happy to make a few suggestions.”
“Please do.”
I scanned the shelves. “Pages For You is a beautiful read.”
“What’s it about?”
“A student has her first lesbian relationship with a graduate assistant. It’s a very intimate coming-of-age tale.”
Jody flushed a bright pink, and I realized I’d flown too close to the flame. I saw the book as a heart-twisting reflection on first loves, but from Jody’s perspective the idea probably seemed creepy. “On second thought, this one is better in retrospect. It takes time to get under your skin.”
“In retrospect?” She eyed me suspiciously. “It just came out. How much time could it take?”
“Right. I didn’t mean like linear time. I just meant it’s best saved for times of reflection, not times of transition.”
“What makes you assume I’m in a time of transition and not of reflection?”
“Wishful thinking?”
She raised her eyebrows, but I pushed on, searching for another story to make a point with.
“Here, The Swashbuckler.”
She examined the cover, then turned it over to read the back. “Why this one?”
“The main character, Frenchie, is a lesbian-literature icon. Lee Lynch paints her with a full brush. You see everything underneath the great butch façade, and you still think she’s a total Mack Daddy. It’s like you’ve peeked behind the curtain and still believe in the Great and Powerful Oz. Every baby butch in New York wants to be Frenchie.”
“What about you?” She grinned. “Will you have a Frenchie phase when you get to the city?”
Will I? Future tense? Right. I’d never strolled the sidewalks of the Village, never celebrated at the Stonewall, never rolled through the dunes on the cape at night. “Only time will tell.”
“I’d like to see that,” she said wistfully.
“Really?”
“Yes. I shouldn’t think that way. I shouldn’t wonder what’s in store for you, but I do. My path is set, but yours seems so open and full of promise. I like the thought of you in New York.”
“What about the thought of you in New York?”
“New York and I aren’t things anyone would ever put together. Can you really see me in a city that size? It would swallow me.”
I did have a hard time envisioning her there, but maybe because I didn’t have the imagination for it. Then again, shouldn’t a writer be able to picture the end of her own story? If I couldn’t, did that mean I’d lost control of the narrative? Or maybe I’d misunderstood the characters? I had no trouble seeing myself in the Big Apple because I’d already lived it. Couldn’t Jody do the same? Isn’t that where the phrase “beyond my wildest imagination” came from? I was living a stranger-than-fiction reality. Why couldn’t Jody do the same? Wouldn’t she have to if she transported back with me? Did she even want to?
“Stevie?”
“What?”
“Sometimes you’re so close, so vibrantly here with me I can hardly stand the tension. Then the next minute it’s like you’re watching a play no one else can see. Where do you go in those moments?”
“Back to the future.” I slipped in an unguarded moment of honesty.
“The movie?”
“Something like that.” I grinned, then redirected the conversation “But that’s a story for another day. Have you ever read anything by Sarah Waters?”
“No.”
“Okay. I recommend all her work. Tipping the Velvet is my favorite from a sentimental perspective. It’s lush and emotional with a beautifully idyllic happy ending, but Fingersmith is a wonderful lesson in craft and plot development.”
Jody seemed to force herself to focus on the books I held for her inspection but clearly understood this conversation had become about much more than a simple reading list. “I can’t seem to make decisions right now. Which would you start with?”
I handed her Tipping the Velvet. “Lead with your heart.”
*
I wished I could take Jody to a fancy restaurant, open doors and pull out chairs, order wine, and lean close over a single candle. Instead, I set a more attainable goal. Thankfully, she didn’t require as much convincing as I’d expected to get her to agree to have coffee with me. She’d clung to her last tenuous boundaries in refusing to let me buy anything for her, but that didn’t stop her from smiling broadly as she settled into the seat across from me at Coffee Cartel.
I regarded her over the brim of my robust Columbian blend. Her cheeks still carried a flush of pink to match her lips, which parted to blow a slow breath across the surface of her coffee. I’m sure the move was meant to cool her drink, but it only managed to raise my body temperature several degrees. I inhaled sharply and caught the scent of my coffee—strong, rich, and smooth. I closed my eyes and focused on the sensual scent, trying to block the surging tide of attraction swirling inside me. I leaned hard on my addiction to coffee in hopes it would supersede the chest-aching need Jody stirred in me, but when I opened my eyes to see her clearly fighting the same emotions, I felt certain we were destined to lose this battle.
I sat back and sipped my java. “Half caf, part skim, and total perfection. God, that’s amazing coffee. I haven’t had any for over a week. I almost broke down and drank the Folgers cardboard brew my parents use, but this is worth the wait.”
Her amused smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “You’re full of surprises.”
You have no idea. “Really?”
“You’re more observant than most adults I’ve met. You’re more centered than any eighteen-year-old has any right to be. You’re better read than I am, and now I find out you’re a secret coffee snob. I don’t know what to make of all that.”
“Clearly, you’re to infer I’m a thirty-year-old Columbian spy,” I deadpanned. “And I assume you’re my Swedish counterpart, under deep cover as a student teacher.”
She stared at me for a few seconds before she burst out laughing. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Know just the right thing to say to keep me hanging on without scaring me away?”
Relief flooded my chest, and wonder clogged my throat. I had no idea how I kept her interested. I couldn’t believe she saw anything in me, but I silently thanked whatever deity would listen that she hadn’t run yet. Surely her increased openness served as a sign we were on the right track. I decided to test this theory by pushing a little further. “Well, you’ve got the goods on me now. You’ve found my secret identity. But I don’t know yours. It’s your turn to surprise me.”
Her smile faded, and she hesitated in a way that made me fear she’d close up, falling back on her position as a teacher
or her age or simply her privacy defenses. Instead she hung her head and said, “I came here looking for you tonight. I shouldn’t have. I should’ve gone to the bar or not even come to St. Louis in the first place. And when I saw your reflection in that window, so sure and proud like you’d found your place in the world, I should’ve walked away. But I couldn’t.”
I shook. My hands, my knees, even my chest trembled at the truth she’d finally given voice to. I had the unreasonable urge to run from her honesty, from her vulnerability. Simultaneously hot and cold, I forced myself to stand firm amid the swirling emotions as my every heightened sense burned raw and exposed.
“Thank you for telling me. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
“Easy? No, nothing about you has been easy for me.” She shook her head. “But until tonight I’ve been able to tell myself I was doing the right thing.”
“And now?”
“Now, I’m terrified because I’m not sure what’s right anymore.” She raised her tear-filled eyes. “Do you know what that feels like, Stevie? Do you know what it’s like to question every decision you’ve ever made? To go through everything you knew about yourself piece by piece wondering where you went wrong?”
“You probably don’t believe me, but I do know that feeling. It burns your nerve endings until you want to rip out your hair or cut open your skin to release some of the pressure boiling inside you.” I took her hand in mine, disregarding the public place or the social taboos in the face of her anguish. “It makes you question your sanity, your very sense of self. It’s like finding out the air you breathe has turned to water.”
“I don’t know what’s real anymore. I feel like my body, right down to some cellular level, has betrayed me. I’ve spent years working toward a goal, a purpose that’s sustained me through the most horrible days and given me a reason to go on. It’s made me who I am.”
“That doesn’t have to change. You’re still yourself.”
“Am I? I don’t feel like myself. I’ve never in my life been attracted to a high-school student. Not even when I was in high school.”
“Oh.” Not my most eloquent response ever, but I couldn’t concentrate with my heart doing its own version of Riverdance across my rib cage. She wasn’t just drawn to me out of curiosity. She was attracted to me physically and to the point of distraction from her lifelong goals. Part of me was elated, but guilt weighed heavily on my shoulders. Her devastation was totally unfounded. I wasn’t actually eighteen, and all the things she’d admitted being attracted to were qualities I’d developed well past my high-school years. I had to find some way to lessen her anguish without extinguishing her desire. “Being attracted to someone unexpected doesn’t have to be the end of the world.”
“It’s the end of my career, and before it even got started. What kind of a teacher can’t last until midterms without crossing boundaries laid in stone?” She sighed and sat back. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t be dumping any of this on you. This whole conversation is another example of how far I’ve strayed from the path I set for my life.”
“What if stepping off the path isn’t a sign you’ve gone wrong?” I asked softly. “What if it’s a sign you were never meant to take that road in the first place?”
She parted her lips, then pressed them firmly together until they formed a thin white line. Closing her eyes, she took a couple of slow, deep breaths through her nose, until the tension lines around her mouth relaxed. “That’s what terrifies me. What if I only deluded myself to get through my own trials? What if I never had what it takes to make a difference, to make life better for anyone?”
“Please don’t say that. You’re an amazing teacher. You could change so many lives, and you deserve to be in a place where people appreciate you, where people see you the way I see you.”
The corners of her beautiful mouth quirked up slightly, and I wanted to kiss them lightly just around the edges until a full smile broke through. “You deserve to teach in a school where you can be out, where you can teach the plays you want, where you can start a gay-straight alliance or run an anti-bullying program. And you deserve to go home every night to someone who can’t wait to hear about your day, someone who wants to share every part of your life and hold you all night long.”
“Stevie.” She said my name like a prayer, asking me to stop and simultaneously begging me to continue.
“Jody.” Her eyes widened, but she didn’t reprimand me for crossing yet another boundary. “You’re better than the life you planned. You might learn to be content here, but you deserve to be truly happy. Don’t settle for less.”
“I’ve spent my whole life preparing for this moment.”
“Your whole life? You’re twenty-two. I know it’s hard to see, but your life is just starting. You’re still in the in-between. You’re going to grow into an amazing, strong, self-possessed woman. You can do anything you want.”
“I’ve only ever wanted to teach.”
How could that be? Sure, she seemed like the perfect teacher, but why would I be sent back in time to pull her from her right path? No, she was the one for me, and I was the one for her. Neither of us would be here now if that wasn’t true. “You can be a teacher anywhere. This country is littered with high schools. New York is full of them.”
“You’re sweet and passionate, and you make me believe in possibilities that seemed almost alien a few weeks ago, but you can’t just paint me into your life or your future.”
“I disagree. Give me a chance to show you.”
She shook her head and shrugged, but her eyes were clear and bright again. “I don’t see that I have any choice. I can’t summon any restraint when it comes to you.”
That may have been the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to me. I wished I’d had some sort of sexy comeback, but I’d turned into a gooey puddle of romantic Jell-O, and in the time I’d needed to get my brain and mouth to work in tandem again, she glanced at her watch.
“It’s after eleven. We’ll never be back in Darlington before midnight.”
“Do you have a curfew?”
“No, but I’m sure you do.”
“No, I don’t.” Did I?
She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Well, I’m exhausted, and I have a lot to think about, but I’d feel terrible leaving you in the city all by yourself.”
“Fine.” I rose and offered her my arm. “I promise I’ll go straight to my car as soon as I walk you to yours.”
This time she didn’t hesitate. Whether she’d made peace with what was happening between us or was simply too tired to fight it anymore tonight, she looped her arm through mine and leaned close as we strolled through the Central West End.
I wished I could have made the walk last forever. Having her close enough to touch was a high like I’d never experienced. The subtle scent of wildflowers in her perfume magnified each breath I drew. Every other nerve ending in my body seemed to mute, diverting all their energy to the places where her skin brushed against my own. I didn’t feel my feet even hit the pavement in the two blocks it took to reach her silver VW Beetle.
“Cute car. It suits you.”
“Thanks,” she said, unlocking her door. “Where’s yours?”
“That’s a great question.” I laughed. “I parked near Westminster and Walton. I just need to find my way back there.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “Get in.”
I did a miserable job of suppressing my grin at the prospect of even two more minutes with her.
“You’ll have to do a better job of paying attention to your surroundings when you get to New York.”
“Maybe you could help me out if you come with me.”
She didn’t reply, but I noticed her smile in the illumination from the streetlights we passed.
“That’s mine there,” I said, pointing to my little red Ford Tempo.
She pulled up behind it and killed her engine before turning to me. “I don’t know what to say, Stevie. There’s nothin
g appropriate—we passed that long ago. But I don’t want to complicate things further. I need some time.”
“I understand,” I said, taking her hand in mine. “And I don’t want to make things harder for you. I don’t want to be something else you have to hide from or run from, but I do hope someday I’ll be the person you run toward.”
Her breath caught in an audible gasp as the words echoed across the years. The memory flashed so fiercely I actually felt myself in her car in another time, another place, another moment when I shouldn’t have let her slip away. If only I’d seized that opportunity and kissed her then, we wouldn’t even be here now. Then again, staring into her beautiful blue eyes, I didn’t care when or where my second chance came. I was simply overwhelmed with gratitude for getting one.
I took her face in my hands, gently brushing a strand of fair hair from her cheek. She could’ve pulled away. She could’ve said no or asked me to stop. Instead, she closed her eyes and parted her lips slightly. I hesitated only long enough to savor the delicious buzz of anticipation running through me. Then I kissed her.
No more waiting, no more doubt, no more wondering. The instant perfection of her lips on mine, smooth and eager, yielding and giving, quieted any lingering questions. The warmth of her breath on my skin ignited a fire deep in my stomach that begged to be stoked. Unbearable lightness expanded my chest and pushed behind my eyelids as Jody pulled me closer, her fingers scraping lightly at my side. I might have come completely unraveled at the disorienting mix of physicality and sentimentality if not for my unwillingness to miss a single detail of her mouth against mine.
A million fairy-tale tropes combined to accentuate the sensation of waking, of coming home, of coming into being. My future, our future, sealed with a kiss. I could not, in all my imagining, conceive a more perfect ending to this epic adventure of bending time and space in my return to Jody.
The tension grew even as we released it and the fervor of our connection overtook timidity. We kissed with abandon until my lips were swollen. Our shared breaths, stolen in greedy gasps, fogged the windows. Finally, as exhaustion combined with a stirring of emotional awareness, Jody pulled slowly back.
Timeless Page 17
