The Lonely Hearts Club

by Radclyffe

  “Where are we taking her? Her place or yours?”

  Candace smiled sweetly. “Well, Parker lives on the Main Line and we really don’t want to spend all that time in the car. My place isn’t all that big, but the sofa in Bren’s office is so comfy…”

  “My place,” Bren said, shaking her head in fond exasperation. “Sure. Let’s get her out of here. Then let’s have a party.”

  *

  “Martini for me,” Candace said, setting a drink on a metal tray decorated with hand-painted birds. “Thank God at last. Wine for you, Bren.” She passed Bren a glass. “Ginger ale for Parker.” She poured soda into a glass, placed it next to her Martini, and frowned at Bren. “Who in the world has ginger ale in their cupboard?”

  “I do,” Bren said, perched on a stool in front of the cook island in her large country-style kitchen. She had opened the rear sliding glass doors, and a sultry summer’s night breeze wafted through the room. “And lucky for you, too.”

  “That’s me, the lucky type.” Candace lifted the tray and said to Reilly, “Beer in the fridge if you’re drinking, or there’s soda or…” she glanced at Liz, “whatever.”

  “I’ll get it,” Liz said, opening the refrigerator and finding another ginger ale for herself. She looked over her shoulder. “Beer, Reilly?”

  “That’s fine. Anything is good.”

  Bren followed behind Candace, wine glass in hand. “I’ll make sure Parker has everything she needs up there. Do you two want to wait down here for the pizza?”

  Liz wondered how it was that Bren always read the situation right. She always knew which one of them needed to be alone, or alone with someone else, and she always knew which one needed to talk, or be held, or just have someone to cry with. She wished she had been able to give Bren half the support that Bren had given her over the years. On impulse, she stopped her and pulled her into a hug. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t worry,” Brenda whispered, giving Liz’s cheek a quick peck. “I’ll think of some way for you to pay me back.”

  “Any time. Say the word.” Liz opened her soda and gestured to the small deck that adjoined Bren’s fenced flagstone patio. “Why don’t we wait outside. We’ll hear the doorbell when the pizza guy gets here.”

  “Sure.”

  Outside, the sky was unusually black and littered with stars, the moon a perfect white disc shadowed with secrets. The rear of Bren’s house and all the others on her block faced the backs of the buildings on the next block over. Most of the windows in the paired Victorians were open, and from a few the sounds of muted voices, occasional laughter, and fragments of music floated down to them. For an instant, Liz had the disorienting sensation that she was twenty-six again, and she and Bren and Candace were having a party, and before the night was out, she’d end up making love with a beautiful girl who would make all her dreams come true. She sighed and sipped her soda.

  “You sound sad,” Reilly commented. She rested her beer can on the top rail and turned sideways to face Liz.

  “Sad? No, nostalgic.” Liz laughed shortly, casting Reilly a sideways glance. “The three of us lived here what feels like a million years ago. Actually, I moved out five years ago. God, there are nights when I feel old.”

  “You’re not,” Reilly said. “You left to move in with Julia?”

  “Yes.” Liz turned and rested her hips against the railing, glancing up at the second floor window where she knew Parker was stretched out on the sofa. She could almost see Candace curled up beside her in the big chair and Bren on the other side of the room, probably behind the big heavy oak library table that she used as a desk. There had been many a night when she’d wished she could be back in that room with decisions yet to be made. Decisions that she would make differently this time.

  “Do you miss her?”

  “What?” A second or two passed while Liz deciphered the question. “Oh. Julia. No. God, that sounds hard, doesn’t it.”

  “Not really. I can tell it still hurts.”

  Liz sighed. “I’ll tell you what hurts. What hurts is not knowing exactly when things started to go bad. Not knowing why, or why I didn’t see something sooner. Do something earlier.”

  “Probably because you kept hoping things would work out.”

  “Probably, and that sounds pathetic.”

  Reilly sipped her beer. “Are you always so hard on yourself?”

  “Are you always so kind?”

  “No. Not at all.” Reilly looked at the buildings behind them, but her expression said she was seeing something else. “Most of the time I’m so wrapped up in what I’m doing, work mostly, that I’m oblivious to what’s happening with other people.”

  “I’ve never noticed that.”

  “Things are different with you,” Reilly said cautiously. “Sometimes, when I know you’re sad, I just want to reach out and take the unhappiness away.”

  “Reilly,” Liz murmured.

  “I know. I know it’s—it’s crazy. We just met a few weeks ago.” Reilly took a step closer, her hand coming to rest on Liz’s hip. She hadn’t meant to touch her. She never touched women, not even casually. When she was around Liz, she couldn’t seem to stop touching her. Words never seemed to be enough. She was never certain if she was making herself clear. “I know I jumped the gun yesterday. I just…when you talk about Julia I can see you hurting and I…I want to…I don’t know. I…”

  “Wait,” Liz said, pressing her fingers to Reilly’s mouth. “Wait.”

  Reilly closed her eyes, afraid she’d gone too far, too fast again. Liz’s skin was so soft against her mouth. It was so easy to imagine those soft fingers slipping through her hair and brushing over her body. She shuddered and slid her other hand around Liz’s waist. She hadn’t known she’d wanted this, needed this. She leaned closer and her thighs touched Liz’s. Liz’s swift gasp was like gas to a flame, and Reilly ignited. She tossed her head and pushed Liz’s hand away, then kissed her. This kiss wasn’t tentative like the first uncertain taste had been the day before. This time she claimed Liz’s mouth without apology, her tongue playing insistently over Liz’s lips. She nibbled on Liz’s lower lip until Liz whimpered, and then she soothed it with gentle licks. Holding Liz more firmly, she kissed along the edge of her jaw and down her throat. Liz’s hands roamed her back, digging into her muscles, calling her blood to rise.

  “I’ve wanted to do this since yesterday,” Reilly groaned, skimming her hands up Liz’s sides, then back down over her hips. Liz’s thighs parted and Reilly insinuated her pelvis between them. “You feel so good. God, Liz, you feel so good.”

  Lightheaded, her vision hazy, Liz cradled Reilly’s head in her hands, forcing her to meet her eyes. “Listen to me.” Her breath was coming so quickly it was hard to form words. While Reilly’s mouth had been on hers, while Reilly’s body had been tight to hers, turning her liquid inside, the world had disappeared. No past, no future. Only the moment, and the moment had been Reilly and what Reilly made her feel. She wanted her. She wanted that moment of absolute perfect freedom to stretch backward through time and undo the hurts and the mistakes she’d made. She wanted the moment to continue, endlessly, dissolving all fear and uncertainty. That moment of connection, that moment when she felt herself not alone, but sharing breath and body and secret hopes, was worth almost any price. Almost.

  “I need you to know something,” Liz murmured.

  “Julia,” Reilly gasped.

  “No. Yes, but not what you’re thinking.”

  Reilly grew very still. “What then?”

  Liz had thought of nothing except how to say this, how to explain, but the kisses rattled her. “I’m pregnant.”

  Reilly jerked her head free of Liz’s hands and looked down, as if she were actually going to see something. “How…how far along?”

  Even in the moonlight, Liz could see Reilly’s face drained of color. “Almost eleven weeks.”

  “Eleven weeks.” Reilly’s voice sounded hollow. She shook her head as if someone had struck h
er, then she dropped her hands and stepped back. “How could Julia leave you?”

  It was the last thing Liz expected her to say. And there was such sadness in her voice that Liz found tears filling her eyes, but she didn’t know for whom she was crying. Herself or Reilly or someone else.

  “She doesn’t know.”

  Reilly laughed, a hollow, tortured sound. “I didn’t know Annie was pregnant either. Not until after she died.”

  “Oh God,” Liz whispered. “Reilly.”

  “You should tell her, Liz. Give her a chance.”

  “It wouldn’t make any difference.”

  “You don’t know that.” Reilly took another step away, the shadows slowly swallowing her. “I need to check Parker.”

  The doorbell rang in the distance.

  “The pizza. I’ll get it,” Liz said dully, but Reilly had already disappeared into the house.

  Liz made way her through the empty, silent rooms to the front door, tipped the delivery boy, and carried the pizza boxes upstairs. Reilly knelt by Parker’s side, talking to her quietly. When she straightened and turned towards Liz, her face was blank. When she smiled, Liz saw no warmth in her eyes. The absence of welcome was a new pain to add to the others.

  “Parker is doing fine,” Reilly said to all of them, her gaze flickering over Liz. “I’ll come by to check her again in a few hours. In the meantime, I’ll leave my beeper number with you. If there’s any problem, anything you’re not certain of, just call me and I’ll be right over.”

  “Aren’t you staying for pizza?” Bren asked.

  Reilly indicated her softball shirt and shorts. “I’m going to head home and get cleaned up.”

  “Thanks for looking after her,” Candace said, sitting on the floor by Parker with her back to the sofa. Parker’s eyes were closed but her left hand lay on Candace’s shoulder, a lock of hair caught in her fingers.

  “You’re welcome.”

  As her footsteps disappeared down the hall, Candace regarded Liz contemplatively.

  “Something you want to share?”

  For the first time in a long time, Liz shook her head no.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Reilly sat in her car in the dark just down the street from Bren’s, her hands clamped around the steering wheel so hard her fingers were numb. She should go home. She should go home and forget about Liz. Parker was fine. Candace and Liz and Bren were intelligent enough to take Parker back to the hospital if a problem developed. She didn’t need to be making house calls. She didn’t need to see Liz again. She didn’t need to have some distorted version of her past revisit her, mocking her for her mistakes and offering her a chance to repeat them.

  Reilly jumped at the sound of tapping on the passenger side window. When she leaned over and peered out, Liz stared in at her.

  “Open the door,” Liz called.

  “It’s unlocked.”

  After a second’s hesitation, Liz opened the door and slid into the front seat. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Thinking. What are you doing?”

  “Walking.”

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

  Liz shook her head. “All of a sudden everyone treats me like I’m infirm.”

  “There’s no point taking chances, even if it is a pretty safe neighborhood.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh.” Reilly clenched her jaw. “That’s another reason to be careful.”

  “Let’s go for a ride.”

  Reilly stared. Liz buckled her seatbelt and relaxed in the passenger seat, her hands resting loosely in her lap. Her voice, though, had been tight with tension.

  “Where?” Reilly asked.

  “Anywhere.”

  “All right.” Reilly started the engine and put the top down. “I’ve got a sweatshirt in the trunk if you need it.”

  “I’m not cold,” Liz said.

  They didn’t speak again as Reilly drove through the nearly empty streets of West Philadelphia, past the darkened zoo, past the turn-off to Belmont Plateau and the ball fields, and west along the River Drive. Reilly pulled into an empty parking lot facing the river that cut through the city, and switched off the engine. The cooling motor ticked loudly in the hot, still night air. The river wound through the trees like a black velvet ribbon, the surface shimmering in the moonlight while fireflies danced along the shore.

  “I didn’t handle that very well,” Liz said at last. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner.”

  “I think you tried a couple of times, but I obviously wasn’t listening,” Reilly said bitterly. Had Annie tried to tell her, too? Jesus, what was wrong with her?

  “I was going to tell you yesterday, and then…that kiss. The last thing I expected was to have the slightest interest in kissing anyone,” Liz confessed. “And then when I did, my common sense went right out the window.”

  Reilly shook her head. “I’m a doctor and I bought it when you told me you had the flu. Christ, I never learn.”

  “I just found out a few weeks ago—the day we met, in fact—and with Julia leaving, I haven’t exactly been making announcements to the world.”

  “And you don’t know me at all. There’s no reason you should have told me.”

  “There’s a very good reason,” Liz said heatedly.

  “What’s that?”

  “You kissed me and I didn’t say no.”

  “Well, you’ve told me now.”

  Sadly, Liz accepted there would be no more kisses. With all that was going on in her life, she knew it was for the best. Reilly wasn’t the kind of woman to have a casual fling, and as much as she might wish otherwise, neither was she. Especially not now, with a baby coming. But she couldn’t leave things with so much pain between them. “You said Annie died of a stroke.”

  Reilly stared straight ahead as her stomach churned and the old, deep pain surfaced. “Yes, she did.”

  “And she was pregnant?”

  “Yes.”

  Liz wanted to know more, but could hear how it was tearing Reilly up to talk about it. For a long minute she considered allowing the past to remain buried, but somehow, she didn’t believe it was. She sensed the specter of Annie’s death walked through Reilly’s life every day and night. “But you didn’t know.”

  “No.” Reilly shuddered and watched the moonlight slice over the water. She had never talked about Annie with anyone. “Annie was diagnosed as a teenager with severe diabetes. Like a lot of kids faced with a potentially lethal disease, she refused to face how serious it was. From the things she told me, she almost died a couple of times from diabetic coma because she didn’t take her meds. She was a little better about that when she got older, but she was still wild. She refused to let anything get in the way of what she wanted.”

  “Her illness must have been hard for you—for both of you.”

  “Annie played hard. She lived every minute hard, and you either went along with her for the ride or she left you behind.” Reilly sighed. “That wild streak also made her very attractive. I didn’t do a whole lot to rein her in.”

  Liz wanted so badly to reach across the distance between them and take Reilly’s hand. Reilly’s voice vibrated with so much loss and self-recrimination, and beneath all that, with such bewilderment, that Liz ached. But she’d already crossed boundaries she shouldn’t have, especially not with someone like Reilly, who’d already been so hurt.

  “You were very young.”

  “Old enough. I was twenty-three when we met.” Reilly leaned her head back. The black sky, pinpointed with stars, stretched endlessly to some time and place she could barely imagine. Beneath it, she felt small and alone and just a little lost. “I didn’t see the signs. I didn’t see that she was in trouble. I didn’t take care of her.” She turned on the seat and stared at Liz. “I didn’t take care of her, and she died.”

  “She didn’t tell you, Reilly.”

  “She didn’t trust me, because she knew I didn’t want her to get pregnant
.”

  Liz closed her eyes, Reilly’s words cutting through her now as cleanly and brutally as Julia’s had that morning Julia had called from California to tell Liz to cancel the appointment with her OB. I don’t want a baby, Liz. I don’t want you to get pregnant.

  The message had stunned her. Hearing it repeated now only drove home how right she had been to stop the kiss, no matter how much her body had wanted more. Now, she had to think, plan, make decisions for two—herself and the child she had decided to bring into the world. She was alone, and yet she wasn’t.

  “I’m sorry,” Liz murmured, and she was. For Annie, for Reilly, and for herself, knowing she would never have a chance to find out what might have been between her and Reilly.

  “Ready to go back?” Reilly asked, as if reading Liz’s mind.

  “Yes, I am.”

  *

  Bren turned on her desk lamp and angled it so that the cone of light fell only on her computer screen. She’d already turned off the room lights when she’d realized Parker and Candace were asleep. Candace, curled up on the end of the sofa with Parker’s feet in her lap, had one hand resting on the inside of Parker’s knee. They looked connected even as they slept, and young enough to be teenagers. Parker shifted and moaned quietly, and Candace immediately opened her eyes.

  “You okay, baby?” she whispered.

  Parker mumbled something unintelligible and then her breathing returned to the even cadence of slumber. Candace closed her eyes.

  Bren smiled to herself, imagining that Candace would be embarrassed if she knew how tender she appeared in her unguarded moments. Candace had always cultivated that tough girl façade, but it wasn’t hard to see beneath it if you took the time to look. Almost no one ever did, or ever wanted to. Parker didn’t seem to be bothered by Candace’s bravado, or she wasn’t buying it. Bren wondered how long it would be before Candace realized Parker was different, and that she was different with her.

  Once Bren was certain they had both drifted off again, she opened her Melanie Richards email account to check the afternoon and evening’s messages. She answered a couple of technical questions from her editor, transferred deadline dates to her calendar, and then scanned the message headers from senders she didn’t recognize. Halfway down the screen, one header caught her eye.