Life After Love

by K. G. MacGregor

“What’s going on with her? She’s lost a lot of weight. Is she sick or something? That would suck.” Kit never had been one to mince words.

  “She’s not sick. She’s had a hard time. What she’s been through, that screws up your head.”

  Marta looked back and forth between them. “What do you mean, what she’s been through? I thought she was just one of your customers.”

  “Used to be but she moved after she got divorced,” Kit explained.

  “It was ugly. Never saw it coming. Her wife got involved with somebody else last winter. Blindsided her with divorce papers. She’s hardly been out of the house since. Tonight might have been the first time she’s had fun in forever.” There was no reason to share the drama about how Allyn knew Hawthorne’s third baseman.

  Kit poked her playfully. “So what’s this about being just friends? It’s obvious you two have some chemistry. She was practically glued to your side all night.”

  “Pffft! That’s because she didn’t know anyone else but you, and you’re not exactly what I’d call a human welcome mat. I had a hard time convincing her to come out…she doesn’t trust anybody. Hell, she might be fucked up forever for all I know. I think that woman really did a number on her, so do me a favor. Don’t go giggling and making jokes about us, or she’ll get freaked out and that’ll be all she wrote.”

  Marta placed a hand over Kit’s mouth. “She won’t say another word.”

  “Thank you.”

  The second her mouth was free, Kit said, “One more thing. Please tell me this isn’t just you being a good Samaritan. Once she loosens up a little, you move on to phase two, right?”

  “I can’t fathom why my personal life is so important to you. Maybe if I were complaining all the time, that would make sense.” Bea didn’t like the edge in her voice, but that’s what it took sometimes to get Kit to see that she was pushing the limits of her patience. “You know perfectly well how I feel about getting involved with somebody. And you know why. Don’t make it your mission to put me somewhere I don’t want to be.”

  “Whoa!” Kit threw up her hands defensively. “You don’t have to get mad about it.”

  “I’m not mad.” She was, but it was her own fault. “I realize I send you mixed messages. Sometimes I try to humor you instead of just asking you to drop it. You guys are my best friends and I should be more honest with you about how I feel. I promise I’ll tell you if something changes, but for now, it’s not happening.”

  They smoothed their rift with a couple of jokes and parted on solid footing, but Bea found herself struggling already with her promise. What she couldn’t tell them was that Allyn was the first woman in four years to make her feel it might be possible to move on.

  Chapter Eight

  Bea fine-tuned the radio dial in her car to sharpen the signal as she moved farther from Seattle. The Mariners were back east playing a doubleheader against the Red Sox. If she were at home instead of driving, she might have asked Allyn over for lunch so they could watch the game on TV together.

  On the other hand, another invitation to hang out could have been too much too soon. It was only a week ago they’d gone to the festival. After playing softball on Wednesday, they’d gone out on Friday for a movie to catch a summer superhero blockbuster at the end of its run in the theaters. Allyn thought it a remarkable coincidence they were the last two people in America to see it.

  It was undeniable Allyn was loosening up a bit, laughing more easily and talking about things other than Melody. One thing she hadn’t done was ask Bea about herself, which was perfectly understandable given everything she’d been through. Bea knew all too well how a devastating breakup could suck up one’s emotional energy, leaving little for others. If their friendship continued to grow, she would share with Allyn how she’d learned that particular truism.

  She’d been having serious talks with Dexter about Allyn. Unlike Kit and Marta, he was a good listener and didn’t push her in one direction or the other as she tried to unpack her feelings. She’d been adamant to everyone—herself included—that she was pursuing only friendship with Allyn, all the while knowing it wasn’t normal to be so excited about spending time with a friend or so concerned with looking nice and acting cool.

  Allyn Teague might very well be someone she could fall for, but not until she put the ordeal with Melody behind her. It wasn’t possible simply to turn off that switch—Bea knew that too—but the final stage of grief was acceptance. Allyn would get there eventually, whether she wanted to or not. There was no other way to go on living.

  “We’re almost there, Dexxie.” Bea straightened his purple bandana which she’d chosen because it matched her shirt. He always got antsy at the end of a long ride as if cued by the stops and turns once they pulled off the freeway.

  They made this trip the first Sunday of every month, a two-and-half-hour drive across the Canadian border to Vancouver. After four years of first Sundays, the car seemed to drive itself, finally pulling into the circular driveway in front of a two-story brick home with tall white columns framing the front door.

  The Huangs were second-generation Chinese-Canadians with strong family ties to the old country. Dr. and Dr. Huang, a psychiatrist and a pediatrician. Their children were grown and gone except for Wendy, their eldest.

  Bea gave Dexter a few minutes in the yard before ringing the bell, which was answered by a short stocky woman in her early twenties. “Hi, Krystal. You doing okay?”

  The woman crouched behind the door to stay clear of Dexter. A dog phobia since childhood, she’d explained. “I’m fine. Wendy’s in the sunroom. I’ll bring lunch out in a few minutes.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s running a little fever but made me promise not to tell anyone. She was afraid The Doctors would call you and tell you not to come.”

  “You want me to do anything?”

  “Just don’t let her talk too much, and call me if you think she needs to cough.”

  Bea knew the way to the sunroom, and so did Dexter, who always stayed on his leash inside the elegant house. He was too excitable to be allowed to run wild amidst the fine furniture and artwork, especially since his toenails might scratch the polished hardwood floors.

  The sunroom was aptly named on a beautiful day such as this one, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a colorful tiered garden. In the corner facing out was a state-of-the-art wheelchair, its occupant paralyzed from the neck down.

  Wendy Huang, her former wife.

  *

  When it came to housekeeping, Allyn was glad for her small apartment. Fifteen minutes with a vacuum cleaner. Five with a dust cloth. Another five with a sponge mop in the kitchen and bathroom. Clean sheets and towels. Laundry folded and put away.

  She couldn’t remember the last time her entire home and office were in order. Probably sometime in her old house when a cleaning service came in twice a month. It was the only way they could manage in such a large place, given their long workdays.

  Once in a while she wondered if she might have discovered Melody’s secret had she gone into her office to clean. She certainly would have been curious as to why Melody thought it necessary to lock her desk and file cabinet, or to protect her computer with a password. She’d taken no notice of those things until the night Melody left.

  For the first time since she’d lived in the apartment, she raised all the windows to let a fresh breeze blow through. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, and there were distant voices emanating from the courtyard pool.

  Her home wasn’t the only thing that was open. For months she’d closed herself off from the rest of the world, interacting with people only on the phone at work or as necessary when she shopped or ran errands. The turning point had come the day she ran into Bea at the Pak & Ship.

  With no allies from her former life, Allyn appreciated what Bea could offer as a friend. She’d barely known Melody, so Allyn didn’t have to worry that she might have been complicit in keeping secrets, or that her head was alre
ady full of Melody’s one-sided tales of what went wrong.

  It felt good to have someone in her corner, a friend all her own.

  Only one major chore remained—deciding what to do with the photos, cards and mementos of an eleven-year relationship. For the past two days, she’d collected those items in a haphazard pile covering her coffee table. With each piece she added, her feeling about their disposition alternated between anticipation and dread.

  The impetus for her task was an article she’d stumbled upon online after taking a pop psychology quiz on emotional well-being. “Life After Love” promised insight into getting back on track after divorce, and though she’d doubted initially that any of the techniques would be relevant to her unique situation, there was one idea that struck her as potentially worthwhile. It was, after all, indisputable that she spent too much time tormenting herself with the tangible memories of her years with Melody, wondering where and when it all went wrong. One of the suggestions was to remove those painful reminders of heartache from her everyday life—collecting each and every one, sealing them in a box and storing them where they couldn’t be accessed easily. When her heart was healed, the author said, she could once again open the box and appreciate the memories without breaking down over what she’d lost.

  Allyn doubted she’d ever recover from the hurt, but she had to learn to get through the days and weeks without making herself more miserable. Three times now she’d put aside her despair to step out with Bea, only to return home afterward and mire herself in the minutiae of her old life. The destructive cycle guaranteed she’d never escape her sorrow.

  She knew all the cards and photo albums by heart, enough to choose which ones to place in the box without looking at them one last time. Even photos of her family and old friends were filed away if they included Melody in the mix.

  The more difficult step was dealing with several thousand digital photos she’d organized in dozens of folders with titles such as Maui–2009 , Allyn–30th Birthday , and Rankin Reunion. It was tempting to scroll through them again but that would take hours and undoubtedly leave her in a flood of tears. Instead she methodically transferred all that she associated with Melody to a flash drive, and then deleted them from her computer.

  The flash drive went into the box, which she then sealed with an entire roll of double-strength strapping tape. She shoved the box onto the top shelf of her closet with a thunk , resolved to leave it there until she felt strong enough to look through its contents without crying. Or until Melody came back.

  *

  Her smile growing wider with every step, Bea crossed the room and kissed Wendy lightly on the lips. “Hi, sweetie.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you.” The ventilator filled her lungs with air, allowing her to speak as she exhaled. “I like you in purple.”

  “I know. That’s why I wore it. Dexter too. Did you see his bandana?”

  “Dexxie…I bet Krystal’s hiding in the kitchen.”

  Every word came with colossal effort, but Bea had learned it was no use to discourage her from talking. According to Krystal, this regular visit was the highlight of Wendy’s month.

  Hers too, for that matter.

  “I brought you a couple of audiobooks. Emma Donoghue. You’re going to love her.”

  “She’s a lesbian.”

  “Yes, indeed. The Doctors will love that too.”

  That was her playful nickname for Wendy’s parents. To this day, they had never formally recognized their daughter’s sexual orientation, let alone her legal marriage, but they grudgingly accepted Bea’s visits as a necessary evil because they made Wendy happy. The Doctors often managed to find somewhere to go on the first Sunday of the month—a movie, a scenic drive or a visit with their son and grandchildren. It worked best for everyone if their paths never crossed.

  Bea poured a few drops of water from a pitcher on a washcloth and dabbed it on Wendy’s neck and face. “Krystal says you have a fever today. How are you feeling?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Your sense of humor is morbid. Please tell me you terrorize The Doctors this way too. I’d hate to think I was the only one you jerked around.”

  “You’re special,” she rasped. “Did you bring a ball?”

  “Sure did.”

  Wendy loved to watch her play with Dexter in the backyard, something Bea suspected was her quiet way of preserving energy. That was especially likely on a day she was under the weather. Talking wore her out when she was struggling to breathe, though she always tried to hold up her end of the conversation.

  The tall windows allowed Wendy to see the entire backyard. Bea tossed the ball from one end of the lawn to the other, taking extra care to stay out of the flower beds, lest she provoke the wrath of Doctor Mom. Dexter showed off his newest trick, nearly turning a somersault to snatch the ball out of midair.

  Through the window, she saw Krystal bringing in a tray.

  “That’s enough, Dexxie. Let’s go back and see Wendy.” She took a moment to wipe his paws before leading him back inside.

  “I wish I had his energy,” Wendy said.

  “Don’t we all? He wears me out.” She nudged Krystal aside and took the soup spoon. “Let me do that. Smells like seafood.”

  “It’s shrimp bisque.”

  “Bet it’s not as good as what we used to get at Pike Place,” she whispered after Krystal left. “One of these days I’m going to spring you for a week or two so we can go back to some of our old haunts.”

  “I want a burger from JoJo’s.”

  They liked to plot their great escape but both knew those were pipe dreams. Bea had neither the resources nor expertise to care for Wendy outside her home. The best they’d been able to manage was a week-long visit here at the house when The Doctors went on vacation to London, and nearly every waking moment was shared with an attendant. The nights had been special though, since she’d managed to stretch out alongside Wendy in her hospital bed.

  “Speaking of JoJo’s, we won our softball game on Wednesday, one to nothing. We’re still pitiful but it was nice to celebrate for a change.”

  Wendy took a bite of soup and held it in her mouth for several seconds. One of the dangers of her condition was eating too fast and aspirating. After swallowing, she closed her eyes, which was her signal she didn’t want another bite just yet. “I wish I could see you play.”

  “You want me to ask Marta to shoot a video? I bet she’d do that. She said after our last game she wished she had a picture of everybody’s faces when Allyn ran right by Kit at third. Kit was yelling for her to slide but she—”

  “Who’s Ellen?”

  “Not Ellen. Allyn. A-L-L-Y-N. Cool name, huh? I asked her about it once and she said her father’s name was Alvin and her mother was Lynda. Anyway, she used to have a mailbox at the shop but then she and her wife split up and she moved up to Broadview.” She went on to explain how she’d run into her while checking out the other franchise.

  “You still thinking about buying another one?”

  “I don’t know. I sent a query to the owner but didn’t hear anything back. The timing kind of sucks right now because Michael just quit. Trained him all summer and now he says his course load at the UW is too much. I need to quit hiring students and find somebody who wants a permanent job. Maybe Allyn can give me some pointers. She’s an employment recruiter.”

  For reasons she couldn’t explain, she’d steered the conversation back to Allyn. Everyone had dogged her about finding someone to date, but Allyn was hardly what she’d call a friend. The only thing she’d admit to at this point was mild intrigue, but it was more than she’d felt for anyone since the accident.

  Wendy often asked if she was seeing anyone, and while Bea had reluctantly told her about the women she’d dated—and even the one she’d slept with—it was only for Wendy’s peace of mind. Ever since her prognosis of a tenuous life in a wheelchair, she’d been adamant that Bea needed to move on, and with her parents’ unqualified support, she fi
led for divorce to prove her resolve.

  Bea couldn’t contest it, no matter how much it hurt. The Doctors had their stately home and the financial means to meet all of Wendy’s needs, which included round-the-clock care and all-too-frequent hospital stays for pneumonia. She’d offered to move to Vancouver to be close, but Wendy said no. It was guilt, she admitted. Guilt for ruining Bea’s life by getting hurt. It wasn’t right that both of them should have to pay for her recklessness and stupidity.

  Bea had already paid. The life she’d planned was gone forever.

  Chapter Nine

  The new owners had replaced the solid front door with etched glass, the kind that gave a modicum of privacy while letting in light. It was a good idea, Allyn thought, remembering how dark the foyer was. The drive by her old house was a final act of catharsis, an extension of her weekend chore to pack up her former life.

  It was time to move on.

  Following Bea’s directions, she turned into the alley behind the Pak & Ship and parked in a space marked Employees Only. The store closed at six—eight minutes ago—but Bea promised to leave the back door unlocked.

  Allyn had been in the back of the store before and knew there was a small office behind the closed door where Dexter usually spent his day. “Is anyone home?”

  “Be right out. I’m changing clothes,” Bea called. Moments later she appeared wearing tapered gray slacks with a black pullover. Upon closer inspection, it was a loosely tatted sweater over a sleeveless shell of the same color. Very nice, and more feminine than she’d expected of Bea, yet the softer look suited her.

  “You look great but I have to admit it’s weird seeing you in something besides green.”

  “Tell me about it. When I first opened the store, I was all gung-ho about looking professional and making sure people recognized my logo. That’s the kind of stuff they teach you in franchise seminars. Some days I think about trading in the uniform for normal clothes, but then Kit would want to do that too, and next thing you know she’s wearing a T-shirt that says ‘Fuck Queers. I’m Queer.’ No thanks.”