The War Within

by Yolanda Wallace

  “Are we going to talk about what happened yesterday,” Jordan asked, setting their beers on the patio table, “or are we going to pretend it never happened?” She raised the umbrella over the table and took a seat in one of the well-padded chairs. “I’ve got news for you: I’m no good at pretending. Especially with you.”

  “That’s good to hear because neither am I.” Tatum held a hand over the grill to check the heat. Then she began threading the marinated meat and vegetables onto skewers. “I will readily admit I am attracted to you, but I sometimes doubt the feeling is mutual.”

  “Whoa.” Jordan came halfway out of her chair before settling back into it. “Let me correct that false assumption right now. If you couldn’t tell by the way I responded to your kiss yesterday, let me say it loud and clear: I think you’re fucking hot.”

  “But?”

  “No buts. I think you’re fucking hot.” She poked her finger against the table for emphasis.

  Tatum placed the prepared skewers on the grill and wiped her hands on the dish towel draped over her shoulder as the meat and vegetables began to sizzle. “Thank you for saying so, but there must be something holding you back. Because if I’m as fucking hot as you say I am, I think you would have tried to jump my bones by now.”

  Heat rose to Jordan’s face, letting Tatum know she had hit on the truth.

  “Now do you care to fill in the blank? You’re attracted to me, but what?”

  Jordan decided to be honest. With Tatum and herself.

  “I am attracted to you, but I wonder how far we can go.” Jordan paused between each word, unsure if she should keep talking or shut the hell up. Her eyes dropped to Tatum’s crotch. “If we were intimate and I touched you there, would you be able to feel it?”

  “I’ve touched myself enough times in the dark of night to know the correct answer’s yes. As for the questions you didn’t ask, those are trickier to answer. When the time comes—if the time comes—would I be able to maneuver my body the way I need to in order to please you? Would there be awkward pauses as I struggle to get my limbs into position? Would I be able to give you an orgasm? And would I be able to feel comfortable enough with myself and the situation to allow you to give me one? Is that what you want to know?”

  Jordan tried to speak but couldn’t. All she could do was nod. All she could do was feel. Confusion. Curiosity. Desire.

  “Since you’re asking, yes, I have full sensation in that particular area.” Tatum took Jordan’s hand in hers and laid it over her heart. “But no matter where you touched me, I’d feel it here. Where it counts.”

  Jordan looked at her, still at a loss for words. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. How much was she willing to give up in exchange for being in a relationship with Tatum? How much was she willing to miss out on by being with a partner who was disabled? Could she live without shared walks on the beach, bicycles built for two, or slow dances under the stars? Could she live with stares, handicapped stickers, and special accommodations?

  She didn’t know if she could live with any of those things, but one thing was becoming increasingly clear: she couldn’t live without Tatum.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Meredith’s skin was warm from the rays of the morning sun streaming through the bedroom window. Natalie propped her head on her upraised right hand and ran the fingertips of her left along the length of Meredith’s bare back, exploring the plateaus, rises, and falls of every plain and valley.

  A distinct musky perfume hung heavy in the air. The room smelled like sex. Meredith changed positions to get out of the wet spot. How had this happened and why? The how didn’t matter. Neither did the why. She hadn’t been so in thrall to her hormones since she was a horny teenager. And she was loving every minute of it.

  Natalie tossed the top sheet aside and moved her hand lower so she could trace the curve of Meredith’s hips. Meredith squirmed and turned to look at her.

  “What you’re doing is not distracting in the slightest.”

  Smiling, Natalie kissed the dimples in the small of Meredith’s back and covered her with the sheet. She bunched her pillow and stuffed it beneath her to ease the strain on her back as she lay on her stomach.

  Meredith’s side of the bed—yes, she already thought of it that way—was littered with dozens of old photographs, some in color but most in black-and-white. Helen Cummings had taken them while she covered the war. Though Helen had started out attempting to record the conflict in words, her photographs had eventually become more famous than her dispatches from the front lines. When she had finally retired, she was known more as a photographer than a journalist. Meredith sifted through the arresting images of soldiers, civilians, and bombed-out towns and villages. Natalie pored through them with her.

  “We haven’t talked about what might happen when the summer ends, but we could have everything we’ve ever wanted. And we could have it together. Meredith, will—”

  Natalie’s cell phone rang, instantly filling Meredith with dread. The phone was Natalie’s work number and was meant to be used only in case of an emergency. Natalie reached for it and turned on the speaker.

  “Nat, it’s Debbie,” one of Natalie’s co-workers said.

  Meredith could hear the fear Debbie was trying to hide.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Billie. When I went in to check on her this morning, she was already awake.”

  “That’s nothing unusual. She’s always been an early riser.”

  “She asked if you were on duty. When I said you weren’t, she told me to find you and let you know she was ready. Those were her exact words. ‘Tell her I’m ready.’ Shortly afterward, she lapsed into a coma. She’s been unresponsive ever since. I think you need to get here as soon as you can.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  After Natalie ended the call, Meredith climbed out of bed and reached for her clothes.

  It was time.

  *

  Natalie’s voice was giving out. She and Meredith had been taking turns reading to Billie for hours, trying to reach the end of her favorite book before she reached the end of her life.

  “Here. Drink this.” Meredith handed Natalie a can of lemon-flavored sweet tea from the vending machine in the hall. “I’ll take over for a while.”

  “Thank you,” Natalie said gratefully. “I need to walk around for a while. My legs are stiff.”

  Meredith helped her out of her chair. Natalie moved gingerly as she tried to restore circulation.

  “I’ll call you if anything changes,” Debbie said.

  They had been holding vigil since this morning. One by one, all of Billie’s friends who lived close by had come by to pay their respects. Billie wasn’t from the immediate area—Savannah, her hometown, was nearly a two-hour drive away—but for two years, she had been part of the fabric of the community. She wasn’t related by blood, but she was part of the extended family. Tellingly, none of the members of her biological family had deigned to make an appearance. Meredith was glad she could be here in their absence. For Billie’s sake as well as her own.

  Meredith moved her chair closer to the bed, opened the book to the marked page, and picked up where Natalie had left off.

  “Chapter Twenty-six.”

  She read about Scout Finch, her brother Jem, and their adventures growing up in the fictional sleepy southern town of Maycomb.

  “Chapter Twenty-seven.”

  Natalie came back in the room looking slightly refreshed but still weary. “Did I miss anything?” she asked anxiously as she resumed her seat on the opposite side of the bed.

  “No,” Debbie said quietly, “she’s still here.”

  “Chapter Twenty-eight.”

  Meredith took a sip of water before she read about Scout and Jem’s fateful encounter with Bob Ewell in the woods on a dark October night.

  “Chapter Twenty-nine.”

  Billie’s breathing grew shallow. Meredith could feel herself starting to falter—her voice broke as she r
ead about Scout’s first meeting with the reclusive Boo Radley—but she couldn’t stop. Not now.

  “Chapter Thirty.”

  Meredith felt tears wet her cheeks as Atticus Finch thanked the shy, misunderstood man who had saved his children’s lives. As Natalie began to cry, too, Debbie checked to see if Billie was still breathing.

  Meredith looked at the bed. Billie looked peaceful and free from care. She even seemed to have a smile on her face. Natalie came around the bed and stood behind Meredith’s chair. She rested her hands on the back of Meredith’s neck, kneading the tense, tired muscles.

  “Chapter Thirty-one.”

  When Meredith reached the final page, she couldn’t read the last few lines. They had made her cry the first time she’d read the book, they always made her cry whenever she watched the movie, and it was no different now.

  “He turned—”

  She stopped, unable to go on.

  Natalie gently pulled the book from her hands. As Debbie placed her fingers on Billie’s wrist to take her pulse, Natalie read about Atticus turning out the light and going into Jem’s room, where he would remain all night, and where he would still be when Jem woke up the next morning.

  But Billie would never wake again. Because as soon as Natalie read the final words, Debbie nodded solemnly and said, “She’s gone.”

  Meredith placed her hand over Billie’s, still warm but much too still. “Rest in peace, my friend. Your war is over now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Natalie sat on her back porch staring into space. Dealing with the constant stream of well-wishers had grown tiresome and she needed some time to herself, even if it meant doing absolutely nothing with that time. Jordan couldn’t blame her. She’d been the same way when Papa George died. She’d just wanted to be alone. Far away from all the well-meaning visitors asking if she was okay when it was plain to see she was far from it.

  Natalie closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sky, enjoying the warmth of the sun’s rays on her skin. Not wanting to startle her, Jordan cleared her throat to announce her presence. “I have something for you.”

  Natalie opened her eyes and turned to face her. “What?”

  Jordan peeked inside the foil-covered dish in her hands. “Looks like turkey tetrazzini. Smells like it, too. A lady with blue hair brought it by.”

  Natalie reached for the cup of coffee steaming on the side table next to her chair. “That could be anybody.”

  “What do you want me to do with it?”

  With food being the common currency of grief, Natalie and Grandma Meredith were richer than anyone could ever hope to be. Cakes, pies, casseroles, soups, salads, and several barnyards’ worth of chicken lined Natalie’s kitchen counters. Just as many were piling up at Grandma Meredith’s rented house, too.

  “I would tell you to stick it in the refrigerator,” Natalie said, “but I think the fridge is slap full. I’m going to have to freeze some of this stuff or start giving it away. Otherwise, it’s going to spoil.”

  “You should take some to work with you. I’m sure both the residents and the employees would appreciate it. The rest, you could donate to a homeless shelter. I’ll help you pack it up, if you like. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me.”

  “Cool.” Jordan went into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later, minus the turkey tetrazzini. “Where’s Gran?”

  “Lying down.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. Just tired. The past few days have been hard on her. On both of us, really. I’ll wake her in plenty of time to get ready for the service.”

  “Would you like some company?”

  Natalie seemed surprised by the request. Jordan couldn’t blame her. They had never spent any time together without Grandma Meredith around to act as a buffer.

  Natalie removed the remains of the morning paper out of the chair next to hers. “Have a seat.”

  Jordan settled into the chair and folded her legs underneath her.

  “That makes my knees hurt just looking at you. Oh, to be young and flexible. Some days, just being flexible would do.” Natalie looked over her shoulder. “Is Tatum with you?”

  “No, she said she had some things she needed to take care of before this afternoon. I’ll meet up with her later. We’re riding to the service together.”

  “I figured as much.” Natalie took another sip of her coffee. “Tatum doesn’t take to many people. Neither does Lincoln. Yet they both seem to like you. There’s something to be said for that, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I would. You’ve been good for her.”

  “No, she’s been good for me.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “What?”

  Natalie flashed a lopsided grin. Jordan caught a brief glimpse of the young woman Grandma Meredith had fallen for long ago. “You heard me.”

  Jordan shifted in her seat. “I like her. A lot.”

  “That’s good to know, but if you do love her, make sure you tell her.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Natalie smiled at the example of Southern politesse Jordan had picked up, almost without realizing it. Jordan wondered if she had acquired the accent, too. If she had, her friends at Berkeley—and the ones in Kenosha, for that matter—would never let her hear the end of it.

  “Are you hungry? Gran says you haven’t been eating. Let me make you a plate.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Yes, it is. I know you don’t feel like eating, but you have to force yourself. When Papa George died, I felt like my world had ended. I didn’t eat for three days. My parents cooked all my favorite meals, but nothing appealed to me, not even my dad’s world famous spicy pork and egg stew. Normally, I could eat an entire pot of the stuff by myself, but I just pushed it away and asked to be excused. Then I went up to my room and cried.”

  Natalie looked out into space again. “I’ve cried so much this week I keep thinking I’ll run out of tears at some point. But they just keep coming. I knew this day was coming. I’ve known it for years. I don’t know why I’m taking it quite so hard.”

  “Instead of mourning solely for someone you’ve already lost, perhaps you’re mourning for someone you hope not to lose again.”

  “How old are you again?”

  A lot older than she was at the start of the summer. That was for sure.

  “One day,” Jordan said, resuming her story, “Grandma Meredith made a chicken salad sandwich and split it with me. Sitting with her, I knew everything was going to be okay. And it has been. To this day, a chicken salad sandwich is still my favorite comfort food. Would you like one? I’ll split it with you.”

  Natalie reached over and took her hand. “When I met you, I thought you were a moody little brat. But that girl’s gone now. A mature, level-headed young woman sits here in her place. You still say some things that make me shake my head in exasperation from time to time, then you turn right around and tie a ribbon around my heart like you’re doing now.”

  Now it was Jordan’s turn to cry. She leaned over and kissed Natalie’s cheek.

  “What was that for?” Natalie asked.

  “For making Gran’s life complete. None of us realized it, but she was missing something until you came back into her life. Thank you for helping her find it. Thank you for helping her find herself.”

  Jordan wrapped her arms around Natalie’s neck. Natalie returned her hug. “The pleasure was mine.”

  Grandma Meredith came on the porch rubbing her sleep-reddened eyes. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “I was trying to steal Natalie from you, but she’s proving resistant to my charms.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to her. You know this younger generation can be trusted only as far as you can throw them.”

  Jordan gave Natalie another peck on the cheek. Natalie pulled Grandma Meredith into her lap as Jordan made her way to the kitch
en.

  Unlike Grandma Meredith, Jordan didn’t believe in fate or destiny. She believed people made their own luck. Yet she couldn’t deny something was at work here. She and Grandma Meredith were meant to be here. Here. Now. For Billie. For Natalie. For Tatum. For each other.

  Natalie and Grandma Meredith’s voices carried through the screen door. Jordan listened to them talk as she prepared the sandwich.

  “What are you doing up?” Natalie asked. “I wasn’t planning to wake you for at least another hour.”

  “I’m afraid Diana beat you to it.”

  “How?”

  “She and Frank are in Savannah.”

  “They’ve come all the way from Wisconsin?”

  “After Jordan called to tell them Billie passed away, they decided to fly in and show their support. They checked into a hotel near River Street about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Wait. Mom and Dad actually came?” Jordan licked mayonnaise off her fingers as she pushed the screen door open with her butt. She handed Natalie a plate containing a sandwich and a handful of carrot sticks. “Whose idea was it, Mom’s or Dad’s?”

  “What does it matter?” Natalie asked. “Their wanting to be here is a good thing, isn’t it?”

  Jordan frowned. “You don’t know my mother. When she wants to, she can be a real—”

  “Tough person to live with,” Grandma Meredith said quickly.

  Jordan reached for her half of the sandwich. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Why don’t you and your mother get along?” Natalie asked.

  “My dad says we’re too much alike.”

  “You don’t agree?”

  “I think we couldn’t be more different. All I know is, nothing I do is ever good enough for her. My clothes, my grades, my friends, and my ‘cause of the week.’” Jordan drew air quotes around the hated expression that seemed to come up every time she and her mother had a serious conversation. “She says I flit from cause to cause and person to person like a butterfly looking for the prettiest, most interesting flower.”