The Revelation of Beatrice Darby

by Jean Copeland

  “Yeah, and maybe in a few more years Quentin will be one, too.”

  Gwen elbowed her playfully. “You’re so fresh. I’ve never met a girl so competitive with her own brother.”

  “He’s the one that’s fresh. I wouldn’t get your hopes up that he’ll call you. He takes lots of girls’ numbers.”

  “Is he a womanizer?”

  Beatrice exaggerated a grave expression. “Is he? Oh, boy.”

  She looked out the bus window to hide a mischievous grin, allowing ample time for her words to take root.

  Gwen relaxed into her seat. “I’m glad you told me. Sometimes those kinds of guys are so good at making a great impression.”

  Beatrice took out the latest copy of Modern Screen and relaxed, too, pausing for a moment to decide if she shouldn’t be feeling even the slightest bit guilty for what she’d just done…Nah.

  Chapter Seven

  Beatrice had learned an invaluable lesson over the last year: she was a survivor. Even after she secretly bombarded Gwen and Quentin with a barrage of Italian curses learned from her downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Rispoli, they still fell deeply in love with no signs of reversal in sight. Beatrice knew this because she’d searched for them like an archeologist digging for pottery from lost cultures. It was small consolation that she hadn’t slithered into a hole and died, as she’d initially believed she would.

  As a light snow fell in New Haven, Beatrice lay on the couch in the parlor watching television, her eyelids heavy as her mother rattled pots and pans in the kitchen. As long as she heard the rattling, she was safe. This had been a long Christmas break.

  Her eyes opened when the rattling stopped.

  “Beatrice, what are you doing?” her mother called from the kitchen.

  She burrowed the side of her face into a sofa pillow. “Research for a paper.”

  Like a storm cloud, her mother drifted overhead. “You are not. You’re watching Popeye cartoons.”

  “My research paper explores how Olive Oyl gets exploited in the struggle for male dominance between Popeye and Brutus.”

  Her mother narrowed her eyes. One of Beatrice’s favorite guilty pleasures was the look of bewilderment on her mother’s face whenever she decided to use her education for spite.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me what was in that package you received from New York?”

  Beatrice sat up and straightened out her ponytail. “Information from New York University.”

  “What about?”

  “I’m thinking of enrolling there in the fall for my master’s degree.”

  “What do you need that for? You probably won’t even end up using the degree you’re getting in May once you get married and settle into family life.”

  Settle. The word invaded Beatrice’s chest like a virus, halting her breath. Long ago she had interpreted from her mother’s less-than-subtle insinuations that she herself had settled for less than she deserved. Why in the world would she wish the same fate for her daughter? She studied the wrinkles on her mother’s forehead and tried to imagine what kind of woman she might have been if she’d taken the road less traveled.

  “Have you earned another scholarship?” her mother asked.

  “I’m looking into getting a loan.”

  Her mother chuckled derisively. “Who’s going to give a twenty-one-year-old girl a loan?”

  “No need to concern yourself, Mother. My academic advisor is helping me with all that.”

  “Once you get this master’s degree, what do you plan to do with it?”

  “I’ve told you before. I’m going to be a college professor. Gwen and I are both going to be professors.”

  “She’s not going to be a professor. She’s going to marry your brother.”

  Beatrice’s stomach plummeted. “How do you know? Has Quent said anything to you?”

  “Well, no, but I know my son. He’s smitten with this girl.”

  Beatrice gritted her teeth to restrain a crest of jealousy. “I’m sure you’re just reading what you want to happen into things. He’s not ready for that.”

  Her mother smiled slyly. “I know my son.”

  “Even if you’re right, which I’m sure you’re not, why can’t she do both? Marry him and be a professor?”

  Her mother shook her head. “Oh, Beatrice, you and these pipe dreams.”

  “It’s not a pipe dream, not for me anyway. You’ll see.”

  “I don’t know why I even bother trying to talk sense into you. You’re only going to do what you want anyway. But why must you always insist on leaving the state to pursue these dreams? It’s almost as if you’re deliberately trying to stay away from me.”

  As tempted as she was, she let that one go. “NYU has an outstanding English-studies department.”

  Her mother propped her hands on her hips and scoffed. “Men don’t like it when women flaunt their intelligence. You’re going to educate yourself right into spinsterhood.”

  Beatrice stood up and stretched her long torso. “I have to go over to the McDonalds’ now. They have tickets for the Shubert.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Babysitting their little ones is exactly what you need. Something has to jump-start your mothering instinct.”

  “How do you know I even have one? I don’t mind babysitting their kids, but I don’t think I want any of my own.” She grimaced as though forcing down a spoonful of Castor oil.

  A cautious grin formed on her mother’s lips. “You say these things just to get me going, don’t you?”

  Beatrice smiled and gave her mother an obligatory kiss on the cheek as she headed toward the door. “Have a nice evening, Mother. Don’t wait up for me.”

  “Beatrice.” Her mother stared at her with the most adoring of smiles. “You’ll make such a good mother once you get past this selfish stage.”

  Beatrice gave her a mocking thumbs-up and shut the door. As she descended the stairs one leisurely step at a time, her mother’s suggestion irked her. Was she really being selfish? In all her twenty-one years, all she’d ever considered was setting and achieving goals for herself. Was she wrong for desiring to accomplish things and pursue a career outside the home? If she wasn’t, why weren’t more girls her age doing it?

  *

  This past year had been difficult, to say the least. Since Quentin and Gwen became an item during last year’s Christmas break, Beatrice’s stomach was in a perpetual state of knots. She’d lost ten pounds and found herself bickering with Gwen over the silliest things. She’d fooled herself into believing her change in disposition came from a fear of losing Gwen’s friendship. It was simply more convenient to believe that than deal with the reality that she desperately ached for Gwen.

  Beatrice had returned to campus a week before winter break was over to get a jump on her senior honors thesis, due a month before graduation. But if the truth be known, she couldn’t suffer another moment of her mother’s blathering about Quentin and Gwen. “Quentin and Gwen are such a beautiful couple, like two peas in a pod, inseparable, made for each other, two crazy kids in love, what attractive children they’ll make.” Blah, blah, blah.

  With an Emily Dickinson biography open, facedown on her chest, Beatrice lay in her bed in a dreamy twilight sleep. It was Christmas Eve all over again, and Gwen unwrapped the sweater Beatrice had given her, but instead of a thank-you hug, Gwen kissed her gently on the cheek and then kept pecking her until her lips were kissing Beatrice’s, slowly and sensually. Beatrice traced the contour of Gwen’s waist with her hands until the thud against the door and the giggling in the hall startled her awake. She leapt to the door and opened it in time to observe Gwen and Quentin locked in a passionate embrace.

  “Oh, hello, Bea,” Gwen said with a bashful grin as she pushed Quentin away.

  “Hey, booger,” Quentin said playfully.

  She glared at him. “I’m a senior in college. Don’t you think it’s about time you stopped calling me that?” She walked to her bed and muttered “asshole” loud enough for both of them t
o hear.

  “Good-bye, honey bear,” Gwen whispered to Quentin. “Call me the second you get back to New Haven.”

  “Sure thing, baby doll,” Quentin replied. “See you later, Miss Personality,” he called out to Beatrice as he left.

  Beatrice scowled in his direction as she picked up her book and pretended to read.

  “So did you have a nice break, Bea?” Gwen asked, hanging up her coat.

  “It was okay,” Beatrice said, not looking up from the pages. “After Christmas it was kind of boring. I thought you and I were supposed to do something fun after New Year’s.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, but between my family and your brother, I was so busy. I promise I’ll make it up to you, a special girls’ day in New York City. Cross my heart.”

  She hovered over Beatrice looking like she knew the answer to the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

  Beatrice finally graced her with her attention. “What are you doing?”

  Gwen took that as an invitation to plop down next to her on the bed. Her eyes were wide, almost maniacal. “Oh, Bea, you’re never ever going to believe what happened tonight.”

  “Let me guess—my brother saved your life stopping a speeding train with his bare hands while simultaneously catching a bullet in his teeth?”

  Gwen giggled. “You’re so goofy. No, nothing like that but just as thrilling.” She slowly uncurled her fingers and waved a shiny, square-cut diamond engagement ring under Beatrice’s nose. “He proposed,” she said, beaming. “We’re getting married in July.”

  Beatrice’s breath seized as though she’d taken a punch to the throat. She stared at the ring encircling Gwen’s dainty pink finger. Regardless of its obvious inevitability, she still couldn’t grasp that it was happening. It couldn’t be happening.

  “Bea,” Gwen said, pausing nervously. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  She tried to speak but simply couldn’t find the air to propel her words.

  “Beatrice,” Gwen said tersely.

  “What? Oh, yeah. I’m so happy for you.” She brandished a smile that wouldn’t even convince a child.

  “And of course, you’re going to be my maid of honor.”

  Beatrice grinned awkwardly as she slowly regained her breath.

  Gwen stood up and crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t seem very happy. What the heck’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She tried her hardest to muster some semblance of sincerity. “I am happy for you, honest.”

  “But you don’t even seem the least bit excited. Why aren’t you jumping around with me like a crazy person?”

  “You know I’m not a ‘jumping around like a crazy person’ kind of girl.”

  “That’s true, but I would think this occasion would be an exception.” Gwen became suspicious. “This isn’t some peculiar possessive sister thing, is it? I mean, you do think I’m good enough for him, right?”

  Beatrice guffawed. “Of course you’re good enough for him.”

  “Then tell me why you’re acting so strange.”

  Beatrice stood and faced Gwen. “All right, you want to know the truth? My brother’s not good enough for you. You can do much better.”

  Gwen’s lips parted in surprise. “How could you say that?”

  “I just know my brother.”

  “Bea, I know what you’ve said about him, but he’s been treating me like gold. He sends me flowers, calls me constantly, remembers our anniversary every month. He’s the most thoughtful young man I’ve ever known.”

  Beatrice pursed her lips to stop them from quivering, but she couldn’t do a thing to prevent her eyes from pooling.

  “He’s gonna hurt you.”

  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen the way he’s treated his other girlfriends. He’s broken hearts all over New Haven County, and you’re going to be next.”

  “Oh, now, don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic. So he sowed some wild oats when he was younger. All boys do that. But he’s twenty-five now. He’s been nothing but a gentleman with me.”

  Beatrice glared at her. “You’re being very naive.”

  Gwen glared back, her usual lighthearted air dissipated. “You know, Bea, I’d hate to think this is just a rotten case of jealousy.”

  She laughed in disbelief. “Jealousy?”

  “Sure. You haven’t been able to find a decent guy the whole time we’ve been here, and you don’t want me to have a fiancé if you can’t have one. I thought you were a better friend than that.”

  “Are you loony?” she shouted, feeling her grip slipping. “I can’t believe you could think such a thing. I’m your best friend, Gwen. I only have your best interests at heart.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. I can look out for myself, Bea. I’m a big girl now, and quite frankly, I’m tired of you playing my keeper all the time.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m perfectly capable of knowing who’s right for me and who isn’t. Maybe if you spent more time worrying about your own personal life instead of mine, you’d actually have someone.”

  “You’re a fucking ingrate,” Beatrice said, poking Gwen in the shoulder. “You’re with my brother because of me. I didn’t have to take you home for Thanksgiving dinner last year when you felt like slumming it.”

  “Slumming it?” Gwen’s wounded eyes flared. “How dare you make such a horrible accusation? And don’t you point at me either. I’m not your property—I don’t belong to you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that just because we’re friends, I don’t have to check in with you about every decision I make.”

  By this time, Beatrice’s face was on fire. She made fists to stop her hands from shaking. “Okay, fine. You fucking know everything.” She stalked to the door and flung it open. “When he hurts you, don’t come crying to me.”

  She slammed the door shut and darted down the hall out into the frigid night, walking—walking, walking, hearing nothing but the moan of a dying heart thrumming in her ears.

  After what felt like hours but was little more than thirty minutes, she’d calmed enough to assess the damage from her outburst. What had come over her? How did she let herself get so out of control, saying those awful things to Gwen? She’d ruined her best friend’s happiest moment. Her ears burned with numbness from the wind as she walked. She pressed her hands against her cheeks stinging with cold, praying she could find a way to diffuse this.

  She made her way to the dorm and stood outside looking up at the light on in their room. What was Gwen doing up there? Crying? Packing? Tearing up photos and mementos of their friendship? Waiting for Quentin to come and pick her up and take her with him home to New Haven?

  Beatrice was disgusted with herself for feeling what she felt for Gwen and, even more, for allowing it to jeopardize their friendship. She sat shivering on the icy wooden steps and wept into her arms folded over her knees.

  “There you are,” Gwen said softly as she approached holding Beatrice’s coat. “You’re going to freeze to death.”

  Beatrice swept her sleeve across her face to dry it off. “I deserve to freeze to death.”

  Gwen smiled wryly, hugging Beatrice’s coat to her chest. “Finally, something we agree on. But if you do, then I’ll be out a maid of honor.” She tossed Beatrice her coat. “That is, if you want to be my maid of honor.”

  “I do,” Beatrice said, full of remorse.

  “Hey, that’s my line.”

  Beatrice got up from the porch and hugged Gwen tightly, inhaling the pine scent of her shampoo. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I guess I got scared our friendship would change even more.”

  “Oh, Bea. I said I was sorry for not getting together over break. I really will make it up to you.”

  Beatrice frowned, milking Gwen’s sympathy for all she could. “I mean after we graduate.”

  Gwen squeezed her han
d. “Sure, it’s going to change a little. We’re going to have our own lives, but we’ll always be the best of friends. That’s for certain.”

  “I only want you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted.”

  Gwen pushed her away gently and held Beatrice’s face in her hands. “I am happy.”

  She looked into Gwen’s starry eyes and knew it was true.

  “I’m so happy that I’m going to be part of your family now, Darby,” Gwen added.

  “My family? Have you met my mother?”

  Gwen chuckled. “Let’s go inside before your face falls off from frostbite. That would ruin the wedding photos.”

  Beatrice smiled as Gwen pulled her by the arm up the stairs.

  *

  The next morning Beatrice awoke thankful for the first time about Gwen’s early morning class. She needed time to think. Her reaction to the engagement and her lingering depression about it left her uneasy. She buried her face in her blankets, wishing she had someone to whom she could express all her feelings, someone who might possibly convince her she hadn’t lost her mind completely. Robert had always been a confidant, but about simple things. How could she talk about this with him or anyone else? How she wished Abby were still in her life. She was the only one who could empathize with this whirl of confusion, isolation, and despair. It was time for another visit with Father Sheridan, the first clergyman with whom she’d ever felt safe. Since he had replaced that crusty old chaplain who seemed to take great pleasure in threatening the student body with eternal hellfire, religious counsel felt a little less like voluntarily facing a firing squad.

  After dragging herself out of bed and bundling up, she trudged across campus to the chapel, crunching hard ground and blinking away snow flurries blowing in her eyes. She hesitated at the entrance of the chapel, staring at its stone façade, watching her breath float upward. Maybe Father Sheridan was still sleeping or too busy to see her. Maybe she was making too much of the engagement and simply needed to let the idea sink in. She entered the church, stopping to light a candle for her father.

  Padding down the aisle, she shrank with guilt for not lighting candles for him more often and for the trail of wet footsteps she left on the carpet. At least she was in the appropriate place for it. She slipped into a pew, knelt, and prayed that her father was still watching over her. Did he know about the way she was, the thoughts that would creep into her mind, and the feelings of love and lust she harbored for Gwen? Would he still love her knowing who she truly was? Was he ashamed of her now—as ashamed as she was of herself sometimes? She blotted her watery eyes with the thumbs of her knit gloves and whispered the Lord’s Prayer.