by Ann McMan
Kate shook her head. “That thing really creeps me out.”
“I know. But she loves it.”
“There’s certainly no accounting for taste.”
“True dat.”
Kate looked at her. “So what did you want to discuss?”
Shawn glared at her. “I repeat: do you really have to ask?”
“Apparently.”
Shawn waved a hand in frustration. “I just don’t understand why we can’t have a civilized conversation about where our relationship is headed.”
“Why does it have to be ‘headed’ anyplace? What’s wrong with where it is?”
“Because right now it’s nowhere.”
“Nowhere?”
Shawn nodded.
“I think that’s a little bit excessive, don’t you?”
“Not really.”
Shawn knew that Kate was miserable right now. The impermanence of a turnpike existence, shuttling back and forth between her New York apartment, her home in Atlanta, and Shawn’s house in Charlotte was loathsome to her. And she wasn’t exactly passionate about her high-profile job, either. Yet whenever Shawn broached the topic of finding a more centrally located place for them to live together, Kate bristled and changed the subject.
Tonight wasn’t the first time that had happened on this trip, either.
“I want to know why you have an embargo on any conversations about our future?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not ridiculous—it’s the truth.”
“Honey.”
“Don’t try to placate me. You need to step up and answer the question.”
“We’ve already discussed this.”
“When?” Shawn’s frustration was starting to boil over. “It must have been in some alternate space-time continuum, because I sure as hell don’t recall it.”
“Would you please lower your voice?” Kate looked toward the door. “People are trying to sleep.”
Shawn stood up. “Well bully for them. At least somebody around here is getting some rest.”
“What the hell is the matter with you?”
“I’m tired of having you deflect every damn question you don’t want to answer.”
Kate didn’t reply.
“Not saying anything is almost as bad.”
It was Kate’s turn to show her vexation. “What do you want from me?”
“Seriously? If you have to ask me that then I’ve obviously been doing a shitty job expressing myself.”
“Shawn.”
“No.” Shawn cut her off. “I mean it, Kate. I’m tired of feeling like I have to tiptoe around your emotional land mines.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“The only thing that’s ridiculous is that I keep beating my head against the same granite wall.”
“I think that’s a bit dramatic.”
“You think that’s dramatic?” Shawn walked to the door and yanked it open. “Try this on for size.”
She meant to slam the door on her way out, but thought better of it at the last second. Kate was right: people were trying to sleep. And slamming things in anger was just too reminiscent of her mother’s approach to—well. To just about everything.
Of course, the door bounced off her foot when she tried to catch it, and smacked her on the arm. Hard. She was going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow.
She rubbed the spot as she walked along the cliffs that towered over the lake.
With my luck, Viv will notice it. She’ll think Kate had me tied up in a sex swing all night.
In fact, that wasn’t too far from the truth. Kate did have her tied up—in knots. And it was about time to shake loose.
There was only one problem. She loved Kate. And that complicated everything.
But she couldn’t stay in this place that was neither hot nor cold. Trying to move forward in this relationship was like running a marathon in lead boots. They were going nowhere, and she was tired of feeling hopeless and morose.
She heard a soft noise off in the distance, and looked out over the water to see if a fishing boat was passing by. It wasn’t uncommon for the stalwarts to be out at night. She failed to see the appeal of that. Once the light bled from the sky, the lake became a dark, rolling bastion of the unknown. At least it did for her. It was the last place she’d choose to spend any time—particularly on a boat.
She had issues with water.
She had issues with vulnerability, too. She’d never been any good at it. But all of that changed when she met Kate. Now she donned her vulnerability like a well-loved hair shirt, and seemed content to wear it everyplace.
The drumming noise grew closer. She could almost feel the vibration beneath her feet. Something slowly came into focus. It was oddly shaped. Flat and wide with a taller structure looming at its center. In the murky half-light, it resembled a parade float.
Okay. So much for tonight’s Fellini moment.
The floating menagerie drew closer to the dock.
Quinn.
Make that a floating ménage à trois.
She strained her eyes to try and see if Montana and Junior were on board, too. Nope. Just Quinn.
Shawn was amazed. Quinn was really taking this tournament thing seriously. She’d never have guessed that the woman was capable of such focus and determination. It was incredible—especially in light of how slim her chances were to win. But those were the breaks, right? You got an idea, you rolled up your sleeves, you faced the obstacles, and you thumbed your nose at the naysayers. She admired Quinn.
Still. She’d never take a floating death trap out on this lake at night. No matter how big the prize was.
She heard another burst of soft, drumming sounds. But this time, the noise was coming from behind her. Before she could turn around to investigate, Patrick and Allie roared up, did a lazy loop around her, then sped off toward the dock to greet Quinn. Shawn watched them go. Their fuzzy tails flashed in the moonlight like sparklers.
“I thought I’d find you out here.”
Shawn turned to see an apparition approaching. She watched Kate materialize with mixed emotions. She didn’t want to resume their argument, but knowing that Kate had wandered out to find her made her feel less alone.
“I was just watching Quinn come in.” She pointed toward the dock.
Kate joined her and they stood together in silence, observing the spectacle. Tonight, Quinn was taking her time. And she’d even managed to dock the boat without endangering any of the other watercraft moored out there.
“She’s getting better.”
Shawn looked at Kate. “They say that happens with practice.”
“So I’m told.”
More silence. Quinn was tying her cleat hitch lines. Patrick and Allie were still nosing around on the dock—probably hoping that Quinn had some leftover bologna sandwiches to share. Quinn’s nocturnal trips to the kitchen were common knowledge.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Kate’s tone was unreadable.
“I do if you do.”
“What does that mean?”
Shawn shrugged. “It means I want to talk if you want to talk.”
“I came out here to find you.” Kate offered the observation like exhibit A in a trial.
Shawn shrugged again.
“Well?” Kate sounded vaguely impatient. “What do you call that?”
“I call that a good start.”
Kate sighed. “I’m glad. I was afraid you’d tell me to go fly a kite.”
“In the dark? No. I’d be afraid you’d fall off one of these cliffs.”
“That wouldn’t be good.”
“No. That would be very bad.”
“You’d miss me?”
“If you fell off a cliff?”
Kate nodded.
“Let me see.” Shawn tapped a finger against her chin.
Kate slugged her on the arm.
“Hey!” Shawn rubbed the spot. “Would you quit doing that?”
&n
bsp; “Don’t be such a baby.”
“I’m not a baby. You don’t know your own strength.”
Kate was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was softer.
“I’m not.”
Shawn was confused. “You’re not what?”
“Strong.”
Shawn was still rubbing the spot on her arm. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the strongest women I’ve ever met.”
“No, I’m not. Not in any of the ways that matter.”
“Kate.”
Kate held up a hand to silence her. “Don’t interrupt me, please. This admission isn’t easy for me.”
“Okay.”
“I suck at relationships, Shawn. I suck at them. I always have. And not just at the truly important ones. I suck at them all—in any form. I don’t know how to do them. I don’t know how to behave when things get—serious. I don’t know how to manage my vulnerability. The fear overwhelms me. It’s like having my emotions dropped in the middle of an alien planet with no functioning GPS and no landmarks I recognize. I don’t know where to go, and it scares the shit out of me. So I resort to the one thing I’m sure about how to do—duck and cover.”
Shawn wasn’t sure how to reply. Kate noticed her hesitation.
“Don’t you have anything to say?”
“You don’t have to hide from me.”
“Yes I do. That’s the whole point. You’re precisely the one I have to hide from.”
That made no sense to Shawn. “Why?”
“Because you’re the one person in my life with the power to hurt me.”
“I’d never hurt you, Kate.” She remembered her behavior in their room a few minutes ago, and how she’d almost slammed the door on her way out. “Not on purpose, anyway.”
“Sophie said the same thing.”
They’d had this conversation before.
“I’m not Sophie.”
“I know you’re not Sophie. This isn’t about you. It’s about me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t. And I don’t know how to make you understand.”
Shawn felt like she was fumbling around in the dark. “Can we just start from scratch here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean can’t we just agree to begin the relationship now defined as ‘us’ with a clean slate? No baggage and no lingering fears about all the things that might go wrong?”
Kate smiled. “Isn’t it a little late for that?”
“No. Not if we don’t want it to be.”
“I’ve never been very good at inventing new realities.”
“Trust me. It gets easier with practice.”
“That’s what you said about Quinn and fishing.”
“True,” Shawn agreed. “Did I mention that willing suspension of disbelief also plays a role in this practice?”
“No. I think you left that tidbit out.”
“It’s widely known that I self-edit a lot.”
Kate shook her head.
“I really do, you know,” Kate said.
“Do?” Shawn was confused. “Do what?”
“Love you.”
Kate had never said that to her before. Shawn felt the happy gravitas of the simple declaration flood her senses like a rogue wave.
To whom much is given, much shall be required.
Why did the damn New Testament mantra come to her right now?
She knew she needed to say something, but all she wanted to do was dig the toe of her shoe into the dirt and try not to smile.
Kate was watching her.
“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I should have.”
“No.” Shawn reached out a hand and touched Kate’s arm. “No ‘should have.’ No apologies. It’s fine. It’s right. It’s here in its own time.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Shawn nodded.
“Okay.”
“I do, too, by the way,” Shawn added. “Love you.”
“I kinda figured.”
“Yeah. I don’t tend to hide things in my heart.”
Kate smiled. “So I’ve noticed.”
The moon had risen over a bank of clouds and was now glowing round and white above the horizon. The night landscape slowly shifted into a muted kind of focus. It was still murky and gray, but something about it seemed softer and less foreboding. Shawn could see Patrick and Allie, nosing around the flowerbeds at the north end of the inn. She got an idea.
“Do you want to go for a walk before bed?”
Kate reached for her hand.
“You can’t deny that she’s getting a lot better.”
Mavis looked at Barb. They were sitting outside on the lawn, sharing a late-night smoke and watching Quinn dock the boat. “Honey, you don’t even want to see the list of things I can deny.”
Barb laughed. “I wasn’t talking about fashion sense.”
“Neither was I.”
“Well, in this case, I think even you have to agree that Quinn is getting more proficient at piloting the boat.”
“In the first place, I wouldn’t call that contraption a boat.” Mavis blew out a long plume of smoke. “In the second place, they say that a monkey could write War and Peace if it sat in front of a typewriter for long enough.”
Barb chuckled. “Oh, yeah? I wonder if we could enlist a few to replace the Outliners?”
“You never know. I bet they’d nail the sex scenes.”
“There aren’t any sex scenes. They’re writing essays, not fiction.”
Mavis scoffed. “Tell that to Viv.”
Barb was alarmed. “What do you mean? You read Viv’s essay?”
“She showed me a draft of it yesterday.”
“And?”
“Let’s just say that woman must be quintuple-jointed.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Barb slumped down in her chair. “I made it clear that these pieces were supposed to recount real life experiences.”
“What makes you think hers doesn’t?”
Barb thought about it. “Good point.”
“She’s a freak. Just like the rest of this crew.”
Barb ground out her cigarette and reached for the pack that sat on the wide arm of the chair. “I’d argue with you, but it would be a waste of effort. Especially since it would be a classic example of the pot calling the kettle black.”
Mavis looked at her. “You think you’re a freak?”
“You don’t?”
Mavis shrugged. “I’d say misfit is a better term.”
“I think the universe must share your assessment.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You do the math. I’ve never really fit. And soon, I won’t fit in a big way.”
“Why do you keep saying shit like that?”
“Mavis?” Barb lit up her fresh smoke. “One of the things I like about you is that I never have to worry about you driving me across hell’s half-acre to try and make me feel better. Do me a favor and don’t start now.”
Mavis didn’t reply. They smoked in silence for a minute.
“Don’t you have anything to say?” Barb asked her.
“No, ma’am.”
“Why not?”
“Cause it sounds like my job is just to drive the bus.”
Barb rolled her eyes. “Great. So now you’re Rosa Parks?”
“White woman? Rosa Parks didn’t drive the bus. What do they teach you people in those fancy colleges?”
“Fancy colleges? I went to Chico. It was hardly a charm school.”
“Yeah? Well lucky for you, misinformation ain’t tied to tuition.”
“You know, you’re wasting your time as a bailiff.”
“Now there’s a news flash. Why don’t you get your buddy Barbara Walters on the horn?”
Barb was confused. “You think she could help you?”
“No.” Mavis shook her head. “It’s just what you people do whenever you trip over something you don’t like.
Alert the media.”
Barb sighed. “You are one pissed-off woman.”
“Watch it.”
“You know what I mean.”
Quinn had finished docking the boat and was slowly making her way across the lawn toward the inn. Her long shadow lurched along ahead of her like it was racing her back to her room. From their vantage point, it looked like the shadow was winning. Barb thought that was a sad omen. Quinn would always be one step behind.
“She’s a lonely figure.”
“What are you talking about?”
Barb pointed at the dark shape, which appeared to have changed direction and was now headed toward the restaurant. “Quinn. She’s like our resident Don Quixote.”
“If you mean crazy, I agree.”
“No.” Barb shook her head. “Not crazy. Delusional, maybe? But where would we all be without our dreamers?”
“Dreamers?”
“Sure. Think about it. She’s not afraid to take a chance on something that has not the first chance at succeeding—and not because she cares about the prize money or the notoriety that would come with winning. No. It’s the opposite of that. She’s chasing a dream.”
“What the fuck kind of dream has anything to do with catching a smelly fish?”
“It’s not about the fish.”
Mavis snorted. “You haven’t been around when she’s been talking about that mean-ass one everyone’s creamin’ their pants to catch. That Phoebe, or whatever-in-hell her name is.”
“Phoebe?”
Mavis nodded.
“The fish has a name?”
“According to your ‘dreamer,’ it has a zip code, too.”
Barb laughed. “To each, his own.”
Mavis ground out the butt of her cigarette and reached for the pack.
“You ought to taper off on those.”
Mavis paused in mid-reach. “Me?”
“Yeah. You smoke too much.”
“I smoke too much? Don’t you have that backwards?” Mavis snapped up the pack and tapped out another cigarette.
“No. You’re young. You could do better.”
“Better than what?”
“Better than this.”
Mavis flipped her Zippo open and snapped its flint wheel. A tiny flame illuminated the broad planes of her face. “Do me a favor and don’t start this shit again.”
“What shit?”
“This shit. This same bullshit you launch into whenever we’re sitting in the dark.”
