Just Yesterday

by Linda Hill

  “Gee,” Joanna’s voice dips into a sardonic lilt. “I wonder if she worries about your feelings as much as you worry about hers.”

  I get the point, and am abashed. “You’re right. I guess it’s beyond that, isn’t it?”

  Joanna doesn’t answer me directly. “Look, Liz. You can’t keep up the way you’re going. I see how you’re pushing yourself. You have to make up your mind that you’re not going to give her the power to do this to you anymore. You can’t just go through the motions while you wait for her to pick up the phone and call.”

  “I know you’re right,” I say, wishing that I had the courage to put Grace behind me, to cut her out of my heart and my life the way she apparently had already cut me out of hers.

  “But there’s this part of me,” I begin, more to myself than to Joanna. “That still believes in her. I know it’s silly, but I want to hear it from her. I want to hear from her lips that it was all a lie. That she doesn’t love me.”

  “You’re a masochist,” she says flatly.

  “Probably,” I admit.

  “Then do something, Liz. Don’t just sit here. Take some control. Get on a plane and go track her down. See her face-to-face and get the word from the horse’s mouth.”

  She picks up the phone and drops it in my hands. Then she watches over me as I book the earliest flight that isn’t outrageously expensive.

  While on the plane, I go over my plan for finding her. I will check into my hotel in the early afternoon. It is Friday, and I am hoping we can spend the weekend together. My first plan is to pick up all of the local newspapers to see if there is a listing or advertisement for the news.

  If that doesn’t work, I will wait for the local news to come on and flip channels until I find her. And, if for some reason something has happened and she isn’t on any channel, I am determined to call all of the local stations until I find her.

  But finding Grace once the plane lands couldn’t be simpler. Walking out of the terminal and into the bright sunshine, I blink several times at the harshŹness of the light. My eyes scan the area in search of taxis, and the billboard is practically, ironically, the first thing that my eyes focused on.

  Grace. Larger than life. Her face alongside some young, tanned stud, smiling down at the crowd from fifty feet in the air. The slogan beneath their faces is simple and direct. Grace Sullivan. Mike Daniels. Your News. Tonight. On Nine.

  My stomach clutches and I stop in my tracks. “Jesus,” I mutter.

  “Get outta the way, lady.” A man with far too much hair on his back bumps into me, and I realize I’m standing in everyone’s way. So I move to one side and take a deep breath before gathering the courage to look up at the billboard again.

  She is gorgeous. Stunning. And I am still in love with her, for absolutely no reason that I can put my finger on. But my heart knows. My gut says it’s that simple.

  Yet as sure as I am that I love her, I am equally certain now that it is over. I swallow hard to steady myself as I gaze up into those cow-brown eyes, remembering the first time I saw her. When she was just barely a kid and I was the older one. The wiser one. The one who’d been around the block. And now look at her. Larger than life. Sophisticated. Suddenly I understand why she’d walked away from me. How could I ever compete with all this?

  My instinct is to get right back on the plane and head home. But after battling with myself for nearly an hour, I decide to stick it out. At least go to see iier, say good-bye. There are still some answers that I need to hear. And I know that seeing her one last time is the first step in letting her go.

  I know that if I take the time to check in to my hotel I’m liable to lose my nerve. So before I can change my mind, I hail a cab and head directly to the studio.

  Chapter 20

  The offices of WNYC Channel Nine are nothing short of opulent. They are right off Central Park, which I gather should somehow impress me although I’m not quite sure why.

  Security is so tight that it is tedious. When I finally get past three security checkpoints and produce all kinds of identification and finally reach the front desk to inquire after Grace, I feel like I’ve already been interrogated.

  “Do you have an appointment to see her?” the redhead with bright red fingernail polish inquires.

  “No. I’m surprising her, actually.”

  She looks me up and down, and I am suddenly self-conscious of the way I’m dressed. Too casual in my jeans and golf shirt. Suddenly I wish I’d taken the time to go to my hotel and change.

  “I’m an old friend from back home,” I explain, and flash what I hope is my best aw-shucks smile.

  She isn’t falling for it. “So she’s not expecting you.”

  “No.” I shake my head and try again with the smile.

  She seems to make up her mind and reaches for the receiver of the phone in front of her. “I’ll call upŹstairs and let reception know that you’re here. What was your name again?”

  “Elizabeth Grey.”

  She scribbles my name on a piece of paper and presses several numbers on the keypad before speaking.

  “Sharon. It’s security downstairs. I have a Ms. Elizabeth Grey here to see Ms. Sullivan.” She pauses and glances up at me. “No, she doesn’t.” Another pause. “All right. I’ll tell her.”

  She replaces the phone and gives me a steady look. “She will inform Ms. Sullivan that you’re here and call back down.”

  I nod and wait. And wait. And wait. Twenty minutes pass before the phone rings and I finally see a smile on the redhead’s lips.

  “Ms. Sullivan says to tell you she’ll be right down. Please make yourself comfortable.” She indicates the chairs to my right and I settle into one, thinking how silly that she didn’t offer one until she knew that I was legitimate.

  Before I can calm my thudding heart, Grace is there, striding briskly through the lobby, her smile perfect as she approaches me. My eyes fall to the calves of her legs, stretching forward, exposing just a hint of her thigh beneath a short blue skirt.

  “Elizabeth,” she calls, far too loudly. I stand, knees wobbly, and she is reaching out to me. Her hands are on my shoulders and her cheek brushes mine in that straight-woman hug that I hate so much. “What a surprise this is.” Again her words are too loud, and I know she is putting on a show for the redhead and all of the other security personnel around us.

  As she steps back, her smile remains intact and I am hopeful. Just for a moment I think that she really is happy to see me. But her eyes give her away. Grace is furious. Seething.

  “I hope I’m not bothering you.” I decide the best thing to do is play along.

  “Not at all. Are you going to be here long? Maybe we could grab a bite to eat.” She continues to smile, and I am amazed at how well she is hiding her anger. How well she plays this game.

  “That would be nice,” I smile demurely and bend to pick up my overnight bag and follow her outside.

  As soon as we hit the pavement, I am struggling to keep up with her. “You shouldn’t have come here like this.” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she wades out into traffic, trying to cross the street. “You can’t just show up here out of the blue.”

  “I would have called if you’d given me your phone number,” I say sarcastically, not bothering to lower my voice.

  The light changes and Grace steps into the interŹsection, hurrying across the street and into Central Park. I have no idea where we are going and have given up trying to keep up with her. So I follow a few steps behind her, watching as heads turn to stare after her as recognition dawns on each passerby. Then she finds a bench in a relatively secluded spot and sits down at one end.

  I settle down beside her, careful to keep a respectable distance between us.

  “What are you doing here, Liz?” Her smile has vanished and she is no longer whispering.

  I shift on the bench, pulling one leg up and around so that I’m facing her. I study her profile and realize with a tug of my heart that she hasn’t even loo
ked at me since we were in the lobby of her building.

  “I was getting worried about you. We haven’t talked in so long. I didn’t know what happened. If you were all right.” I pause briefly, then lower my voice. “I needed to see you, Grace. To talk to you.” She doesn’t respond, doesn’t reply, and I feel the need to fill the silence. “I don’t understand what happened, Grace. I thought we were happy. I don’t understand how you just cut me out of your life like that.” My voice sounds vulnerable, and I struggle to maintain my composure.

  She is quiet as she stares straight ahead, avoiding my gaze. “Come on, Liz. You know why. It’s how I cope.”

  I do know this, I realize, and feel oddly comforted by the fact that I really do know her. Very well, in fact.

  “And how am I supposed to cope, Grace? I don’t know how to do it your way.” I search her profile for a sign. Anything. Any emotion. But I’m not reaching her. She’s not giving an inch. “Grace, please. I’m dying inside. I’m so lost. I don’t know what to do. If I should wait this thing out. If I should move on.”

  A couple stroll past, turning to putty when they recognize Grace. She turns instantly into celebrity Grace and bestows a smile in return for their acknowledgment.

  Once they are out of earshot, I try again to get some kind of response. “Help me out here, Grace. I need you to talk to me.”

  “I don’t have any answers for you, Liz.” Her voice is low and husky. Quiet.

  “But, honey, I don’t get it. Everything was fine, wasn’t it? We were happy, weren’t we? Please tell me I’m not crazy here.”

  “You’re not crazy.” Her voice had gained a dull quality.

  “Then tell me what happened.” Her response is silence.

  “Grace, please.” I hate the sound of my own voice. Hate the vulnerability in it. Hate the vulŹnerability behind it. “This hurts so much.”

  Again the silence stretches, and my hurt shifts to frustration before turning to anger.

  “I guess what I’m going through is pretty irrelevant to you, isn’t it? All that matters to you is you. Your job. Your career. How you’re coping. How you’re getting through.”

  I note the muscles in her jaw are working as she stares resolutely ahead.

  “I’d really like to know how you do it, Grace. How do you say you love someone one day and then cut her out of your life the next?”

  Her eyes close. One, two, three seconds.

  “Things change,” she says evenly.

  “So even your word doesn’t mean anything.” My voice is cutting.

  Her laugh is harsh, brittle. “I don’t know why you bothered to come here, Liz. You’ve obviously got all the answers.”

  “I had to come up with my own. I certainly wasn’t getting any from you.” My sarcasm turns to anger. “I can’t believe it, Grace. I can’t believe you did this to me all over again. Just like before. How could you? You’re treating me like some fuck you picked up in a bar one night. We have a history. We’ve known each other for a long time.”

  “Oh, for godsakes, Liz.” Finally, I’d hit a sore spot. Her eyes are fire as they meet mine. “When are you going to let go of the past?”

  “I’m not talking about the past. I’m talking about the future.”

  “What future, Liz? We live on opposite sides of the country.”

  “We didn’t,” I say quietly. “We made plans to live together. You said you loved me. You said you wanted to be with me no matter what it took.” I know that I’m whining and hate myself for it.

  She avoids my eyes again.

  “What happened, Grace?”

  “You know what happened. I got a different job.”

  “And the job is more important than us.” I know that I am setting myself up, know that her words will hurt me.

  “My career is very important to me,” she says through clenched teeth.

  “That’s obvious,” I respond with sarcasm, and she erupts.

  “What in the hell do you know about careers, Liz?” Her eyes sear into mine. “You threw yours away.”

  “Threw it away?” I guffaw. “Threw it away? Is that how you see it? I paid my dues, Grace. I put up with twenty years of that corporate bullshit. I played the game. For what?” I pause long enough to take a deep breath. “I thought it would mean everything to me. But it meant nothing. Zero. So I chose to get out and try it on my own.”

  “Fine. You chose to get out. You had your shot. So you should understand that I want mine.”

  I lean forward. “You know what, Grace? That’s just it. I do understand. I want you to have your shot.” I feel hot tears begin to threaten, and I force them back. “I just want to share it with you.”

  Her eyes touch mine briefly. “I don’t know how to do that.”

  “So that’s it? You don’t even want to try? You’re just going to throw everything we have away because it suddenly got difficult?”

  “I just can’t do it, Liz. I can’t focus and give my career everything it needs right now and give enough to you at the same time.”

  I appraise her for a moment or two before I decide she is being absolutely serious. “Grace,” I say quietly. “People do it every day. It can be done. If both of us want it enough.” I watch her closely. “But I guess that’s the key. Both of us have to want it.”

  She stares at me for some time, face softening, and all I can think about is holding her, kissing that mouth, and running my fingers through the auburn curls.

  “God, I miss you.” The words are out before I can catch them.

  Her face blanches as she stares at me. “I’m sorry, Liz.” She glances down at her watch and is instantly distracted. “I need to go. I have to get to makeup before I go on.”

  A familiar lump is in my throat, and I struggle to choke it back. “I’m staying at the Plaza in Manhattan.” The words rush out quickly.

  Grace sighs heavily and looks away. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other, Liz.”

  My heart is aching that dull, strained ache. “Then tell me it’s over, Grace. Let me go. I can’t go on like this anymore.”

  “I ‘can’t …” She stands up and wraps her arms across her chest. “I can’t go through this right now.”

  Heart in my throat, my mind is screaming her name, begging her not to let me go. “Then I guess I’ll have to do it,” I say, and I know now that it has to be this way. She would never say the words. I draw a long and haggard breath as I stand and toss my overnight bag over one shoulder. “It’s over, Grace. I love you. But I have to let go.”

  We stare at each other for several moments, until I realize that she has no intention of stopping me from walking out of her life. Then I chide myself for thinking even for a moment that she might. After all, she already walked out of my life months ago.

  With that knowledge firmly in mind, I turn on my heel and head back the way we came. When I reach the street I don’t turn back. I hail a cab and head straight for the airport.

  Chapter 21

  I go over it and over it in my mind. I had convinced myself that seeing Grace and saying it was over would make the hurt go away. I know now that I must have been delusional.

  I replay our conversation over and over in my mind. I think of clever, cutting remarks that I wish I’d said. Parting shots to hurt her as much as her withdrawal from my life had hurt me. I think of things I’d say if I still had the opportunity.

  I hope that microphone keeps you warm at night, was my favorite. But I know that her reply would be equally cutting. Equally hurtful. I’ve never had any trouble finding someone to keep me warm at night, she would say. And I’d be crippled again. Impotent.

  Then my emotions swing in the opposite direction, and I am like a wailing child who has suffered loss too many times in a very short lifetime.

  I rail at Grace and at fate and want to tell her she’s a coward. A coward for giving up on us. A coward for not being able to say the words. A coward for making me say the words for her. No responsibility. That
’s what Grace wants. As if by simply walking away she is no longer responsible for holding my heart in her hands.

  But I’m being melodramatic. Love is not a contract, Grace would say. Even though she promised. And I believed her. Trusted her. Against my better judgment.

  There is a strange woman in my house when I return home. She is an attractive, waiflike creature with long, thin dark hair. She is leaning over the kitchen sink, filling an ice tray with water, when I open the back door and step into the kitchen.

  Her eyes become saucers and I can practically read her mind, her face is so transparent and open.

  It takes me a moment, particularly because I am so deep in a fog that it takes my mind a few moments to catch up with my eyes.

  “Uh. Hi.” I finally manage a smile and drop my bag to the floor when the kittens descend to greet me.

  “Hi.” Awkwardly, she places the ice tray down on the counter and smiles shyly, uncertain. “You must be Liz.” She wipes a hand on the thin cotton skirt she is wearing and I notice for the first time that her feet are bare.

  A woman whom I have never inet is standing in my kitchen at nearly midnight, dressed in a flimsy cotton dress of some kind, and making ice cubes. I’m too surprised to react.

  She is reaching out to me with the hand she has just wiped on her skirt and I realize she is waiting for a response.

  “Yes. I’m Liz.” I shake her hand. “And you would be … ?” I let the sentence dangle in the air.

  “I’m Amy.” She smiles, just as Joanna wanders in and nearly drops the bottle of beer she is holding to the floor.

  “Liz,” she says.

  “Joanna,” I reply.

  We stare at each other, neither knowing quite what to do. Then we both glance at Amy, and I find myself apologizing.

  “I’m sorry. I should have called and let you know that I was coming home early.”

  We spend the next ten minutes apologizing to each other. Amy insists that she should leave, and I insist that she should stay. Joanna says she’s sorry and should have told me, and I say it’s okay and we’ll talk later.