Running With the Wind

by Nell Stark

  Turning onto her side, she closed her eyes again and tried to focus on nothing—on the sheer sensation of being so snugly cocooned in warmth and softness. But her brain was awake, now, and it churned like the waves before a rising wind. The past is in the past, she thought firmly. She had allowed Denise to break her—had given her that opportunity—and she’d never do that again. She was safe.

  Then what are you doing with Quinn?

  Restlessly, Corrie switched positions onto her other side, drawing her knees up almost until they pressed against her belly. She could feel the trip-hopping of her pulse between her breasts and tried taking a deep breath. Her entire reason for being with Quinn was gone. Eradicated by Will’s revelation last night. What did that mean?

  That it’s time to move on.

  Suddenly wide-awake, Corrie slipped out from beneath the sheet and threw her legs over the bed. “Focus,” she muttered. “Coffee.” Coffee and breakfast first—then thinking. She stood up so quickly that the edges of her vision blurred in dizziness. Easy. The relief was gone. Her stomach rolled like a boat about to be swamped by the waves. Take it easy.

  Frog followed her downstairs, eager for his kibble. She poured the dry food into his bowl and turned on first the coffee pot, then her laptop. As both machines whirred to life, she stared out the window at the waves rippling onto her small beach. Must be some good wind already. The thought was automatic.

  When the coffee pot chirped its readiness at her several minutes later, she was still looking out toward the water. Where she and Quinn had triumphed, yesterday. That doesn’t change the facts. It’s time to let it go—to break it off. She snagged a mug from the cupboard above the sink, but somehow managed to spill at least half a cup’s worth of coffee all over the counter when she tried to pour.

  “Ow!” she yelped as the hot liquid cascaded over her thumb. “Jeez, you klutz.”

  The burn on her hand echoed the growing pain in her chest. But I don’t...I don’t want that, she realized. I don’t want to break it off.

  Corrie practically choked on her bite of powdered donut as panic and dread flooded her brain. No. No way. This charade had gone on for far too long—so long that she had begun to believe it. Going through the motions. That’s all it was. Play-acting. Make-believe.

  There was really only one solution. It had to be now. No easing off. Just a clean break. Quinn would get over it. She’d be hurt, but she would recover. She’ll chalk it up to my m.o., Corrie realized guiltily. At least it was proving to be good for something. Sort of.

  Corrie threw the rest of her donut away. Her stomach didn’t feel so good, all of a sudden. When she walked into the den to open the drapes, she remembered sitting behind Quinn on the futon and giving her that massage. She remembered those mind-blowing kisses only two nights ago, just before they’d first made love. Never again. If you break it off with her, you’ll never have that again. Quinn trusted her, and she was about to betray that completely. But what else can I do? I can’t give her what she wants. I can’t. It’s not in me.

  Agitated, Corrie returned to the kitchen. Gotta get out of here. Gotta do something. She focused on her computer screen. The forecast called for 15-20 knot winds out of the north. Another perfect sailing day. This decision, at least, was an easy one. The wind wasn’t complicated: it demanded intelligence and strength. She gave it her love because it never asked for anything in return. And if it failed her, she could be certain that she wasn’t at fault.

  You’ll find someone, Quinn. Someone who deserves you, someone who can love you like you deserve. She paused in the bathroom to pull back her hair, to put on her Hoyas hat. I’m not that person, Quinn. I’m like the tech simulator—busted up, broken, fit only for pretend-sailing.

  Down the stairs, out the front door, Frog bounding gleefully at her heels—she ran.

  *

  Late in the afternoon, Quinn found Corrie taking down old posters from the boathouse’s bulletin board. The strong muscles of her shoulders rippled in tandem with her calves as she stood on tiptoe and reached. I love your body. The thought was unbidden.

  “Hi,” she said softly, from a few feet away. God, I’ve missed you. She hadn’t been able to sleep the night before—not for more than an hour or two before waking, alone in the dark.

  Corrie spun around and dropped her sheaf of papers. She bent to gather them all up before finally looking Quinn in the eyes. “Um, hey.”

  “I, um, just wanted to...say hi, I guess. And to see how you are. After last night, I mean.”

  Corrie forced the corners of her lips to curve up. For the first time, she was thankful for Quinn’s hesitancy, for her shyness. If Quinn touched her, Corrie wasn’t sure she’d be able to go through with her resolution. But you have to. Short-term happiness is not worth anymore long-term pain.

  “I’m relieved, actually,” she said. About this, at least, she could be truthful. “It feels really good to know that Will didn’t...that he wasn’t—”

  “Out to get you?”

  When Corrie nodded, Quinn smiled back. Her expression was definitely the genuine article. But as quickly as it had bloomed on her face, it was gone. Quinn cleared her throat.

  “I also wanted to ask you whether maybe you wanted to get some dinner tonight.” The words came out in a rush. “A pizza? Or something nicer?”

  “I can’t,” was Corrie’s immediate reply. Her eyes darted up and down the hallway as she wished desperately for someone else to come along. A distraction. “Sorry.” She shrugged. “It’s just, I have to finish up all the paperwork from the regatta, and then read these instructor applications before Tuesday night’s meeting so we can short-list.”

  “Oh, okay.” Quinn nodded and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Maybe some other time.” The awkwardness was palpable. Corrie could taste it. It tasted bitter.

  “Sure,” she said. “Yeah.” It’s better this way, she thought at Quinn’s back, as she watched her walk away. You want someone who doesn’t exist.

  *

  Quinn deliberately waited two days before trying again—two distracted days, two aching nights. Corrie had awakened her body and her heart, and now both were starving. You knew this might happen, she scolded herself as she approached Corrie’s office half an hour before the weekly instructor meeting. You knew and you walked in with open eyes. Her knock on the door was tentative.

  “Come i—” The words stalled in Corrie’s throat as she looked up to see Quinn framed in the doorway.

  “Hi.”

  “Uh, hey.”

  “I brought you cookies.”

  Oh, fuck, Corrie thought. An edible toaster. “Oh, thanks!” she said cheerfully, leaning back in her chair as Quinn approached.

  “I know you have that meeting tonight,” said Quinn. Her face was flushed. “I thought you might get hungry.”

  “Definitely.” Corrie tried to nod in a convincing manner. “Yeah, thanks.”

  “So,” said Quinn, leaning one hip against the desk. “How’s it going? With the applications, I mean.” Her gaze roved across Corrie’s face eagerly, like a searchlight.

  “Slowly,” Corrie said, shrugging. “It’s going to be a busy week while we decide.”

  “Ah.” Quinn looked down at her feet, then back up at Corrie. Her eyes were bright. “Too busy to go out for a movie, then?”

  “Probably, yeah.” Corrie had to look away when Quinn’s face fell. She twirled a pencil between the index and middle finger of her right hand and felt her stomach mirror the motion. “Sorry.”

  “No, no.” Quinn deposited the cookies on Corrie’s desk, took a step backward, and smiled sadly. “I understand.” You pursued me, and you caught me. You had me, and now it’s over. From some deep corner of her gut, pride asserted itself. If Corrie wasn’t interested anymore—fine. Quinn wasn’t going to beg. She would retreat to a safe place to rest and lick her wounds, just like the animals did.

  Quinn didn’t return to the boathouse for the rest of the week. Corrie didn’t ask Drew abo
ut her, nor did she make any effort to talk with her. She’ll only be hurt more. A clean break—that’s the best thing. Just let it go.

  But if this really was the best course of action, then why did she feel so damn miserable?

  *

  It was late Friday afternoon before Drew took drastic measures. Quinn sat on the couch, apparently engrossed in a textbook on mammal microbiology while he and Jen watched old reruns of 90210. But when she hadn’t turned the page for an hour, Drew finally closed the book for her. Quinn looked up at him and blinked, startled.

  “Okay,” he began gently. “How about you tell me what’s wrong, huh?”

  “What are you talking about?” Her tone was defensive.

  “You’ve been on that page for an hour, now.”

  She glared at him. “It’s a hard page.”

  “No, it’s not,” he said good-naturedly. “I’ve read it three times, and I understood it right away.”

  “Good for you,” she snapped, returning her attention to the book. But Drew’s gentle yet heavy hand on her shoulder was disarming.

  “Come on, Q,” he said softly. “I’m worried about you.” He glanced over at Jen. “We both are.”

  “It’s the test,” she said. “Just the test, stressing me out.”

  He shook his head. “Nice try. You’ve had to worry about the test all summer, but you’ve only been all spaced out for the last few days. Give Corrie a call or something, huh? Go out—have a good time. Or hell, stay in and have a good—” He cut off abruptly and leaned forward. Beneath his hand, Quinn was suddenly trembling. And she had gone very pale.

  “What’s going on?” Drew asked, perhaps more sharply than he intended. Quinn looked away. “Did something happen with Corrie?”

  Helplessly, Quinn nodded. She swallowed hard, unable to speak. “Did she break up with you?” Drew’s voice was only getting louder. Quinn winced and shrugged.

  “Drew.” Jen touched his shoulder in an effort to calm him down, but he shook her off.

  “Fucking hell! I’m going to—”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Quinn said. Her words sounded more like a plea than a statement of fact. “We never really talked about what was going on, so...” She had to stop to swallow again and blink fiercely. The cover of the textbook on the table swam in and out of focus. “So it’s not a break-up, really. Everything just kind of fizzled out.” She nodded again and cleared her throat.

  Jen got up and gave her a hug, which Quinn gratefully returned. “I think I’m going to take a walk,” Quinn said, once she thought her voice would be steady again. She stood, then looked down at them both. “Please don’t say anything about this to Corrie. Please don’t. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” said Jen immediately, understanding Quinn’s reluctance. Drew took a little more convincing, but between the two of them, they managed to make him swear that he wouldn’t interfere.

  “Come to the social later on,” he said, looking down at his watch. “It’ll be fun—a good distraction. Please?”

  “Maybe.” Quinn’s voice was firm and brooked no arguments. “See you.” After a brief detour into her bedroom, she headed resolutely for the door.

  “Godammit!” Drew exclaimed as soon as it had shut behind her. “They were so fucking good together! How the hell did Corrie screw it up?”

  “I thought they just might make it, too,” Jen said sadly. “Hell, now I owe Brad ten bucks.”

  Drew rolled his eyes. “You made a bet?” When Jen stuck her tongue out at him, he settled back against the cushions. “Do you think maybe we should go have a talk with her? Corrie, I mean? No matter what Quinn says?”

  Jen shook her head. “No. Especially since we promised not to. But damn, wouldn’t it be fun to go yell at her like there’s no tomorrow?”

  *

  Quinn trudged along the road leading to Corrie’s house, holding a small plastic bag in her right hand. The sun was setting. Corrie wouldn’t be home. She’d be at the social, flirting with someone, seducing them, letting them touch her—

  Stop it, she told herself desperately. You knew this would happen. You always knew.

  It didn’t matter that she had hoped. Corrie did not do relationships, and she did not fall in love with people, and the fact that Quinn wanted both meant that she was being naïve and unrealistic and just plain dumb.

  She stopped at Corrie’s driveway. Unable to help herself, she looked up at the bedroom window. She touched me, there. Made lo— no, no, had sex with me. There, in that room. A whisper of heat stirred in Quinn’s belly, and she looked away. It’s over. No, you never had anything to begin with. Touches in the dark. Let it go. She blinked back tears and wrestled open the mailbox.

  In went Corrie’s backup pair of sailing gloves.

  They remind me of you. Of sailing with you, of your strong hands. Every time I looked at them this week, I hurt. So she had washed them, and she had hung them out to dry, and all that time she had wished so very badly that it was as easy to purge her self of emotion—to drown and sanitize and burn it all out—as it was to put clothing through the laundry.

  “Goodbye,” she said to the quiet house, before turning back toward town.

  But before she had taken more than a few steps, a dark blue convertible pulled up next to the curb. Quinn frowned deeply when the driver stepped out of the car, looked up, and froze. Denise. Some small, detached part of Quinn’s brain clamored for a six-shooter. Showdown.

  “Oh,” said Denise. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Quinn had to force herself not to shuffle. Denise was very beautiful and very poised, and Quinn suddenly felt like she was right back in middle school, cowering in the presence of one of the popular girls.

  “You’re Corrie’s girlfriend, right?

  Quinn shrugged, even as her anger at Corrie’s behavior churned sluggishly beneath her skin at the question. “I really don’t know.”

  It was Denise’s turn to frown. “What does that mean?”

  “I think Corrie doesn’t really do the girlfriend thing.” Denise’s hair was perfect and her waist was trim, and by the looks of her car and the small diamond necklace that glinted in the *-line of her shirt, she made plenty of money. How can I ever compare to you? The waves of anger rose higher, fanned by resentment.

  Strangely, though, Denise looked surprised. “I thought maybe she got over that with you.”

  “No,” Quinn said unable and unwilling to suppress the bitterness in her voice. “I guess you were the last one.”

  Denise took a step back and wrapped her arms around her waist in a protective gesture. “Oh my god, how many people has she told?”

  Her puzzling reaction derailed Quinn. “Just me, I think.” But Denise’s long sigh of relief only fed the flames. “After what you did,” Quinn said, her voice growing louder and stronger as she spoke, “why would she want to tell anybody?”

  Denise’s shoulders straightened, her eyes glinting as they caught the dying light. “It was never as easy for me as it was for her!”

  Quinn shook her head once, sharply. “What wasn’t?” A significant part of her wanted to step forward, grab Denise by the shoulders, and shake her until she started making some sense.

  “Her mother tells her to bring girlfriends to family picnics, her brother thinks it’s cool that she seduces women, her friends think she can do no wrong. It’s never been like that for me—never.”

  “Wait,” said Quinn. Comprehension clashed fiercely against the tide of her anger. “Is that why you left?”

  “I am not a lesbian!” Denise said shrilly. “I want a real relationship. A husband that I can be proud of and children that come from us and only us.” She gesticulated wildly as she spoke, her hands slicing through the cooling air. “Corrie and I...it would never have—”

  “You are such a coward.” Quinn’s voice was quiet, but it cut off Denise’s diatribe just the same. She took a step forward, leaning into Denise’s personal space. The fear, the intimidation, was gone. “You were afrai
d of what everyone else thought, so you just gave up?” Quinn wanted to slap her, to sting her with her words. To get below the skin and indelibly brand her betrayal. “She loved you. It doesn’t get any more real than that.”

  Denise’s jaw worked silently for several seconds, before she finally spun on her heel—only to take a step backward as she saw Corrie lounging against the passenger’s side door of her car. Quinn sucked in a quick, surprised breath as she too recognized the familiar figure.

  “Did you hear that?” Denise asked.

  “I heard enough.” Corrie’s voice was inflectionless.

  “Good, then I don’t have to repeat it.” Denise yanked open her door. “I’m sorry. I’m going home.”

  Corrie held up one hand. “I just need to ask you one thing.” When Denise paused, Corrie continued to speak softly, her voice completely devoid of rancor. “I want you to convince me that you’re marrying my brother for him alone.” Quinn rubbed her arms, wondering whether the evenness of Corrie’s voice was genuine, or the prelude to an outburst. “That you’d still marry him even if you’d never met me. That you’re not going to decide someday that he isn’t ‘real’ enough for you.”

  Denise’s grip on the door tightened visibly. “I told you, I love him.” She paused, finally daring to meet Corrie’s gaze across the car. She swallowed hard. “I...I loved you, too. I couldn’t stay with you, but I swear I’ll stay with him.”

  Corrie held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. When she stepped away from the convertible, Denise got in and gunned the engine. Within a few seconds, she was gone.

  Corrie exhaled slowly as she watched the car disappear around a curve. She didn’t have the courage to tell the truth. She ran one palm across her eyes, then looked over at Quinn. I’m not going to be like her.

  “I owe you an explanation,” she said quietly. “It’s not pretty, and it will hurt you, but you deserve my honesty. If...if you still want it.”