The Right Thing Easy

by Laina Villeneuve

  She drove through the pastureland, green with tender shoots of grass, to collect Dani for a picnic lunch. She hadn’t seen much of Dani the last couple days since she and Halley had conspired to work Eights away from school property. She knew that the ride had gone well and felt childish for holding on to her irritation, especially when the days were picture perfect with deep blue skies and gentle breezes.

  Dani’s hand rested on Hope’s thigh, and she kept her gaze on the fields beyond her window as if she could sense that Hope needed the silence. Hope had only invited her on the picnic, not mentioning the destination that had her preoccupied. Neither had broached the topic of Hope’s father, and Hope alternated between trying to find the words to assure Dani that the conversation would happen in time and trying to imagine what she was going to say to her father. She toyed with the idea that she wouldn’t have to say anything. There was a possibility that he already knew. She could simply invite Dani to a Sunday dinner and move forward. Her inability to tell her father had dampened her relationship with Dani, and she missed the unbridled momentum they’d had.

  When they reached town, Hope hung a left, heading toward the hill that led to East Quincy. Dani looked puzzled at her choice. If East Quincy and one of the parks out there had been her destination, she would have saved them time by following Chandler Road directly to Highway 89, but she wasn’t headed to East Quincy. Just before the hill, Hope made a left on to the road that led to the cemetery, gripping the wheel nervously.

  “I thought we could have lunch with my mom.”

  “I’d love to,” Dani said, taking Hope’s hand.

  They parked, and Hope slung the picnic bag over her shoulder. She took Dani’s hand and led them across the grassy area dotted with large pine trees. Though many plots had large headstones, Hope settled by a simple ground marker and spread the blanket.

  “I know you’re wanting to meet my dad, but can we start here?”

  “Of course,” Dani said, joining her on the outstretched blanket.

  “It might sound crazy, but I like to come to talk to my mom when I’m having trouble working through stuff.” Mrs. Wheeler’s comment about how upset she’d become about Eights had reminded her of how long it had been since she’d been out to talk to her mom at all.

  “It’s not crazy at all.” Dani studied the simple marker inscribed with JOY FIELDING and the dates that marked her lifespan. “She was so young.”

  “When she was my age, she had me and my brothers, and Hallelujah was on the way.” Hope piled the sandwiches and fruit and chips she had brought on the blanket, knowing that Dani didn’t know the details of her mother’s death. She took a deep breath. This is why she brought Dani. She needed her to know that she was inviting her into her life as best she could.

  “We were on our way to Chico, just Mom and all the kids. A deer bounded out on to the highway, and she swerved to avoid it. She hit the gravel on the side of the road and lost control. We spun until the car collided with a tree. It was so quiet after the crash, before Halley started crying, the boys yelling for my mom. I was in the front seat trying to help her. There was so much blood,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Was she already gone?” Dani asked.

  Hope nodded. “On impact. The EMTs who arrived on the scene told me there wasn’t anything I could’ve done. They said I did the right thing getting all the kids out of the car and on to the side of the road. People stopped, got us help, but I remember the four of us huddled on the ground, Halley in my lap.”

  Dani pulled Hope close. “I get that you’ve mothered her, that you worry about her. I’m sorry you’re upset about Eights.”

  Hope noted that she didn’t say she was sorry for putting her sister back on the mustang. Like Mrs. Wheeler, she probably considered Halley mature enough to make her own decisions. She smiled. Her mother would have admired the way Dani stuck to her opinion. Hope had never known her to back down on a point either.

  “What?” Dani asked.

  “It would have been so much easier to introduce you to my mother.”

  “Why is that?”

  Considering her question, Hope handed a sandwich to Dani. “My father is a lot more strict about the teachings of the church. Once I tell him, he’ll feel it’s his duty to talk to the bishop.”

  “But you’ve already talked about that, right? That you’re not Mormon?”

  “Right, and that part makes me an inactive member, but once I tell him about us, I could be excommunicated.”

  A surprised grunt escaped Dani’s mouth, which she covered. She held Hope’s gaze intensely. “That’s serious.”

  Hope nodded, trying to eat her sandwich. How could she explain to Dani the fear she had of never seeing her mother in the eternities? She struggled to find the words, but Dani guided the conversation back to her mother as if she sensed Hope’s resistance.

  “Your mom wouldn’t have told the bishop?”

  Relieved by the diversion, Hope answered. “She was a lot more flexible in her interpretation.” She paused as she thought about how differently her parents reacted to the unexpected. If she shot the moon during a game of Hearts, her mother appreciated her taking that risk and rewarded her savvy. Her father took it personally and would refuse to let it go, stewing over what signs he had missed, wondering if he could have changed the outcome of the game.

  Hope pushed the memory aside and continued. “My father was raised Mormon, but my mom converted to marry him. That gave her a different outlook on things. I know it’s important to tell my family. When I dated in college, I lived two different lives. Telling Halley, I see how much easier it is to live just one life. It’s just that telling my father extends beyond just bringing my personal life home, and that feels overwhelming to me.”

  “That makes sense. It’s taking some time to get used to this whole small-town fishbowl thing. Candy’s parents were okay with us, but even if they hadn’t been, we didn’t even live in the same state. We hardly ever saw them. It wasn’t like they had an effect on our everyday lives. I think I take that for granted sometimes.”

  Hope relaxed, sensing that Dani was no longer upset about her reluctance to tell her father. They spent the afternoon sharing stories from their childhood. As they packed up the picnic, Dani asked Hope to stay with her at the ranch and Hope accepted, feeling like she had bought some time where she didn’t have to think about their relationship in larger terms.

  Chapter Forty-One

  I’d been itching to see the ghost town of Bodie since I’d heard a cowboy talking about it at the Reno rodeo years before. He’d billed it as the real thing, not full of phony gunfights and saloon music but simply the structures that had survived since the gold rush. Though not on the list Halley had given me, it fit with the kinds of activities she’d suggested and sounded perfect for a quick getaway over spring break.

  Being on the road reminded me of my rodeo days. I’d miss my girls but felt especially happy that Halley would be working Eights with Gabe while I was away. I’d booked a room in a funky motel less than an hour from Bodie and had found a hot spring nearby.

  Heading out of town, I felt like a free woman. I rolled down the window and pressed down on the gas.

  “Are you crazy?” Hope asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

  I cranked up the heat and kept my window open. “You’ve got to have the windows down and the country up for a proper road trip,” I argued, waggling my eyebrows and turning up the radio as well.

  Hope rolled her eyes at me but didn’t object to the music. After a few hours, the scenery improved from flat nothingness to dramatic rock faces along the river. Without a horse trailer to worry about, I sailed through the turns without a care, happy to be on an adventure with Hope. I was looking forward to spending time with her free of small-town scrutiny. After we’d checked into our room, I thought maybe we could spend our first afternoon testing out the bed, but Hope suggested we get out and hike to stretch out our legs. I thought my plan would have done that wel
l, but deferred to Hope’s request.

  I didn’t notice her distance that afternoon or the following day at Bodie. Maybe I was too caught up in what the gold miners had left behind in the amazingly preserved town. We strolled along the wooden sidewalks, and I heard the echo of the boots that had walked there before me. The artifacts fascinated me: the home with the ironing board that had a worn and dusty curtain waiting to be pressed, the discarded shoes by the table, the food left on the shelves. The peace of the church completely absorbed me.

  We walked over to the cemetery and read the tombstones. I imagined life when the town was booming with its ten thousand residents. From a vantage point on the outskirts, it was hard to imagine the streets full of life and trouble. The pamphlets we’d picked up described Bodie as a hotspot with its own red-light district, a far cry from its quiet now. I wondered what their day-to-day challenges were, what it was like to be a gold miner. I realized that would not have been my life. Marriage, working a home and farm, cranking out kids. That was a woman’s reality. I kept my musings to myself thinking that Hope’s father’s expectations for her weren’t very different.

  Our last full day, we hiked around the Travertine Hot Springs area, taking in the view of the valley before we checked out the tubs themselves. I’d taken Hope’s hand as we backtracked to the springs we’d passed earlier. They’d been occupied, so we opted to hike around the area for an hour or so, hoping when we returned we could have the place to ourselves for a bit. We rounded a turn and found another couple approaching us on the trail. Hope dropped my hand. The couple passed, their fingers entwined, and continued down the trail. I stopped dead in my tracks.

  “What?” Hope asked.

  She wasn’t even aware.

  She turned to look at the couple and then back to me, question and concern on her face.

  Maybe I was making too big of a deal out of it, I thought. What did it matter if she held my hand in front of strangers? It mattered a lot, my mind screamed. Sure, she explained her hesitation about broadcasting our relationship in Quincy, but what did that couple matter? We’d never see them again. I wanted a future with this woman, a future that included having kids who were sure to broadcast our family status to the entire world.

  I forced myself to continue walking, thinking that a soak in the hot water would take away the tension that had flooded my body. As we emerged, the group we had seen on our way in toweled off and waved farewell. Happy our plan had worked and we’d have the tubs to ourselves, I stripped off my clothes and tested the water. I felt like Goldilocks, one pool scorching hot, another too tepid, and one, of course, just right. Hope carefully removed her clothes but kept on her swimsuit.

  Sinking down to my neck, I closed my eyes and relaxed every muscle. Hope stepped in too, but settled across from me on the smooth rocks. I cracked open an eye and swung around to sit next to her. I didn’t put my arm around her or put my hand on her thigh. I just wanted to be close. I pretended I didn’t feel her tightness, hoping the moment of privacy and warm water would soften her.

  Before that could happen, we heard the voices of the couple we’d passed on their way back to the tubs. Hope put a foot in between us and, hot as I was from the water, I still felt the heat of disappointment flood through my gut. I rose and grabbed the towel I’d set by the tub, quickly throwing my clothes on.

  “Dani?”

  “I’m heading back to the room.”

  I’d already shoved my feet in my shoes and started walking. I didn’t want to see the couple again, make small talk with them and hear Hope deflect questions that might reveal we were together. I didn’t want Hope to see my tears. Angrily, I brushed them away, unsure of what I was going to do once we got back to the motel. I didn’t even think I’d be able to look at Hope.

  I kept my back to the door when she entered the room, straightening things in my bag that didn’t need to be organized. She set our things down carefully and sat on the bed waiting for me to speak. However, I stood silent, wanting her to make the first move.

  “You’re angry,” she said.

  It seemed like that was a given, and I was upset enough that I didn’t want to give her an inch. She rose and walked to me, resting her hands on my shoulders. I gave in. “What does it matter?” I asked. “We’ll never see these people again. Why don’t you want anyone to know you’re with me?”

  “Why invite the conflict?”

  “You don’t know how they’ll react. Maybe they’d be happy to hang out with a lesbian couple. You don’t know them. Maybe one has a little sister who is lesbian and seeing us together will help them react better when she comes out. When you shy away from me, you’re saying we’re doing something wrong.”

  Her hands slid down my sides and around my stomach, holding me close. “This doesn’t feel wrong,” she whispered just behind my ear.

  Despite my anger, my body betrayed me, a shiver of pleasure tickling down my spine. I tipped my head to the side, inviting more kisses. I let go of the argument before I’d stated the case I’d lined up. She turned me slowly and stripped off my loose long-sleeved tee and shorts, pushing me against the bed. Her eyes intent on me, she removed her clothes and slid across my body to nestle herself exactly where I needed her. If I focused only on her hands, on her tongue and how she used them to love me, if I kept my mind only on what existed between our nakedness, I could believe in her and the possibility that we could have a future together.

  But there was a sadness behind my caress that stemmed from wondering how many more times I was going to sweep my hand over her curves. We kept running into the wall of what I expected from the relationship and what felt comfortable to her. Unwillingly, my mind pulled in snippets of the conversation with Gabe comparing the likelihood of my going straight to her ability to truly leave her church. How many months or years could I devote to her with the real possibility that she would one day bow to the judgment she seemed unable to shut out of her mind?

  I rolled her to her back, a gold miner panning deep for something precious. In our months together, I’d learned how to unlock her sounds of pleasure and felt rich when she opened herself to me. Lying in her arms, sweaty, heart pounding, catching my breath, all I could think about was how the entire population of Bodie had deserted the town when the vein shifted after an earthquake. They had walked away, the cost and effort to relocate it prohibitive. I couldn’t help but wonder how wise my emotional investment in Hope was.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “The ground’s nowhere near soft enough to plow, dear,” Mrs. Wheeler called.

  Hope sat on the small tractor they used for tilling the soil before they hand-planted the seedlings they’d started back in March and early April. “I’m planning the plots, thinking about what needs to be rotated,” Hope lied.

  “I have last year’s setup in the house. Come inside.”

  Reluctantly, Hope stepped off the tractor and joined Mrs. Wheeler in the room she used as a greenhouse to start their cauliflower, tomatoes, eggplants and other vegetables. She ran her hand along the seedlings, which secured their strength indoors before the garden planting in early June. “Almost time to start the lettuce. Do you want to do spinach again this year?”

  “I’ve already got the seeds.” Mrs. Wheeler waved her off. They rarely changed what they grew, just made sure they varied what got planted where. Mrs. Wheeler also played around with flowers that complemented the growth of the vegetables and reduced the number of pests. “And you know I’m the one with time to fuss with all this. Come have some tea with me and tell me what’s taken the wind out of your sails.”

  Hope sat as their tea steeped, sure she could not share what occupied her thoughts. She and Dani still spent time together, but their intimacy didn’t ever quite eliminate Dani’s guardedness. It just wasn’t the same since their trip to Bodie. To understand anything, Mrs. Wheeler would have to know Dani was her girlfriend. She bowed her head at the table wondering if she should be talking to Pauline instead.

  “Your
mom used to come out here looking like this. After an hour in the saddle, she’d be ready to talk. Too bad you don’t ride. How’d it go with the horse?”

  “Fine. Great,” Hope said grudgingly. “They were right. I was wrong. Halley’s talking Dani into taking Eights back to school.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “I know. Maybe I’m wrong to not be excited about it, but I worry about them. The two of them have no caution. They see what they want to see instead of considering the full consequences.”

  “Or looking at it another way, based on their experience, they know they’re all ready for the next risk, regardless of what everyone else thinks. Your mother was a risk taker too, converting to your father’s religion. She struggled with some aspects of the faith. There were many things about the church that she couldn’t figure out and certainly couldn’t discuss with your father.”

  “She struggled with it?” Hope asked, confused by Mrs. Wheeler’s train of thought and unsure of where the conversation was going.

  Mrs. Wheeler smiled, presumably recalling conversations with Hope’s mother. “Oh, yes. It troubled her that women weren’t allowed to be bishops or priests. That was one.” She studied Hope for a long while. “And a good friend of hers was gay, and, well, I’m sure you know the church’s position on that.”

  Despite the tea, Hope’s mouth was dry. She could not form an answer.

  Mrs. Wheeler waved her hand, dismissing the subject. “But even when things were difficult, when she felt like she was being tested, she kept faith that the love she had for your father would carry her through. And it did. Truth be told, you and I are the ones with the problem trusting that love is that strong. You do love her, I suspect.”