by Terri DuLong
“Oh, thank you. Obviously, they are my babies. All three are rescues, and I adore them. Do you have any dogs?”
I took a sip of tea and nodded. “Yes, I have a Yorkie named Lotte, and I know what you mean about them being your children.”
She looked at me from her chair, and there was no doubt her stare was intense as she took in my features. But instead of asking if we’d met before, which I thought she might be thinking, she said, “Oh, you have no children either?”
I shook my head. “No. No children and never married.”
“I was married,” she said. “Happily married for many years, but I lost Michael about five years ago. Are you from this area?”
“No. Not originally. I was born in Jacksonville but my mother . . .”
“You were born in Jacksonville?” she questioned.
I wasn’t sure why she considered this important, but I nodded. “Yes. My mother lived and worked there for a while. Then my father passed away, my grandmother in Pennsylvania got ill, and my mom went back home to care for her.”
“Oh, I see. So you grew up there?”
“Yes. I went to college there and traveled quite a bit before settling in Jacksonville. I still own a home there.”
“So what brought you to this area?”
“My best friend. She lived in Atlanta but relocated to Ormond Beach after her marriage broke up. I came to visit last year and made more friends here. So two months ago I decided to come for an extended stay. I’m fortunate that I work from home and can live anywhere.”
She nodded. “Yes, that is convenient. You mentioned your father passed away. I’m sorry to hear that. You must have been young when you lost him.”
“Actually, he died right before I was born. He died in Vietnam and I never knew him.”
“That is sad,” she said. She remained silent for a few minutes before saying, “So . . . you must be in your mid-forties?”
I laughed. “Hard for me to believe, but I’ll turn forty-seven at the end of the month.”
She reached for a cookie, broke it into three pieces, and passed a bite to each dog.
“Right,” she said, thoughtfully. “January, 1970.”
I recalled that Louise had said Elaine Talbot loved company, but her strong interest in me was beginning to feel a bit weird.
“So,” I said, wanting to get the conversation off me, “are you originally from this area?”
“No, not Daytona, but not too far from here. Amelia Island. I was born and raised there.”
“Oh, just north of Jacksonville. I’ve never been there. I always wanted to visit but never got around to it.”
“It’s a beautiful town. Much more crowded now than when I grew up, but still nice all the same.”
I took the last sip of my tea and glanced at my watch. “I’ve really enjoyed talking to you, Mrs. Talbot, but . . .”
“Oh, please. Call me Elaine.”
“Elaine,” I repeated and smiled. “I really should take the boxes and get going.”
She nodded but didn’t get up. “I’ve also enjoyed talking to you. I hope you won’t think me odd, but I don’t get a lot of company, and I’d love for you to return for lunch sometime. Would that be possible?”
I found that even though Elaine Talbot did seem a bit odd with her questions, I liked her. She was friendly and had an open quality about her.
“That would be great,” I said. “I’d enjoy seeing you again.”
She stood up and gave me a huge smile. “Wonderful. Are you free any day next week?”
I hadn’t expected the invitation to be quite so soon but said, “Let me think a minute.” The only plan I had for the following week was my volunteer time at the shelter. “Next Wednesday or Thursday would work for me.”
“Why don’t we say Wednesday? You can come around eleven-thirty if that’s okay. Oh, and please, bring your Lotte. We’d all love to meet her.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. My dogs would be delighted to have some company. Now if you’ll follow me to the foyer, I have the boxes for you in the closet. There are only two and they’re light. Mostly jewelry and a few items of clothing.”
I followed behind her but paused to stare at some of the paintings on the walls. I saw one in a dark frame and shivered. I had seen this particular painting before, but I didn’t know where. There was something about it that caused a sense of nostalgia to rush over me. It was the back of a gray brick house with black shutters. A brick patio was in the foreground with tubs of red azaleas along the perimeter and three brightly painted blue Adirondack chairs in the center.
“Something wrong?” Elaine asked as she turned from the closet.
I swallowed and shook my head. “No. Not at all. I was just admiring your paintings.”
“Thank you. Yes. They’ve been in my family for many years.”
I reached for the boxes she passed me.
“Thanks so much for your donations. The shelter really appreciates your generosity.”
“It’s my pleasure. I look forward to seeing you and Lotte next Wednesday.”
I drove home thinking about what an unusual meeting I’d just had with Elaine Talbot. I wasn’t even sure where to begin questioning why it was so unusual. It was just a sense of déjà vu I had. And seeing that painting had enhanced the feeling. If only I could remember where I had seen it before.
Rhonda June 1969
I had been living with Sebine and Lillian almost a month and had felt at home from the beginning. Lillian, or Dr. Fletcher, as I referred to her during working hours, was every bit as friendly and kind as Sebine.
Both of them had gone out of their way to make me feel welcome in their home. The first weekend I was there, Lillian had left after breakfast and returned with a third Adirondack chair for the patio. They each had one and wanted me to have one also. Both she and Sebine had set to work that afternoon and painted it a bright blue to match the other two.
My morning sickness was beginning to ease up and I found my appetite slowly returning. But not one day had passed that I didn’t think of Peter. Cynthia had called the Monday after I had left and said Peter had been at the restaurant on Friday evening with his family but not Marion. And he had cornered her to find out where I was and why I was no longer working there. She assured me she had told him she couldn’t divulge my private information. I knew from her following phone calls that he had continued to question her over the past month.
The ringing phone brought my thoughts back to my work. I was pleased with how professional I sounded when I said, “Good morning, Dr. Fletcher’s office. How may I help you?”
Lillian had taken me under her wing, explaining how to answer the phone, file the patients’ charts, and tend to the mail. She was a general practitioner and seemed to be well regarded in the community. Her practice was busy, and I welcomed the hours that my job consumed. It gave me less time to think about Peter.
I scheduled the appointment with the caller and looked up to see Lillian walk into the waiting room from the exam room. She was about the same age as Sebine, but shorter, and she wore her sandy colored hair in a pixie style that suited her. She seemed to always have a smile on her face, but I thought she had a more serious demeanor than Sebine did.
“Rhonda, Mrs. Jacobs needs to be scheduled for blood work at the lab. Is Darlene in the back room?”
I nodded. Darlene was the main secretary and had done the bulk of my training. I was grateful that she didn’t make me feel like an intruder and had willingly taught me how the office was run. “Yes, she is.”
“Okay. Have her schedule that when she finishes lunch, but let her show you how it’s done.”
“Yes, Dr. Fletcher,” I said, getting up to go to the back room.
Darlene had just finished lunch. She was smoking a cigarette and flipping through a bridal magazine. She looked up and smiled. “What’s up?” she asked.
I explained Lillian’s request, and she looked at her watch. “Okay. I
have about another ten minutes and then we’ll do that. So how’s it going? Do you like it here?”
“I do. Very much. And I want to thank you again for all your help training me.”
She waved a hand in the air, and I admired the bright red polish on her nails. From the first time I’d met Darlene, she struck me as a top New York City secretary. Her gorgeous red hair was a cloud of loose curls around her face. Her makeup was expertly applied, and she had a wonderful sense of style. Today she wore a navy blue corduroy skirt about two inches above her knee, navy tights, navy pumps, and a white silk blouse. And the gorgeous diamond engagement ring on her left hand sparkled in the sunlight coming through the window.
“It was my pleasure. You’re doing me a favor. I felt bad about taking time off at the end of the month when I get married. But now I know I’ll be leaving the office in good hands.”
I smiled. “You must be getting excited. A few more weeks and you’ll be a bride.”
She nodded. “It is a bit exciting. I just pray that Ron won’t get drafted for Vietnam. He’s graduated college now . . . so who knows what will happen.”
“Well, think happy thoughts,” I told her. “And aren’t you going to the Poconos for your honeymoon?”
She sent me a wink and nodded again. “Yes. Ron said they have heart-shaped beds there. That should be interesting.” She stamped out her cigarette. “Okay. Let’s get Mrs. Jacobs booked for that lab work.”
* * *
When five o’clock came and the last patient had left, Lillian came out of her office.
“That should do it for today.” She looked around. “Has Darlene left?”
“Yes. Just a few minutes ago. She had another fitting for her gown.”
Lillian nodded. “Right.” Rather than saying we could leave, she pulled up a chair to the desk and sat down. “Rhonda, I wanted to talk to you about your prenatal care. You’ll be three months along soon and should think about seeing an obstetrician.”
I had recently been giving that some thought. “Yes. I know. Do you have any suggestions?”
“I do,” she said and passed me a piece of paper. “This is the name of a colleague of mine. Frank Doyle. I’ve already spoken to him and explained your circumstances. He’s more than happy to have you as a patient and he said you can make payments for the delivery. So just call his office and get an appointment scheduled.”
I was beginning to hate the way I had no control over my emotions lately, as I felt tears stinging my eyes as I reached for the paper. “Thank you so much, Lillian. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you and Sebine. You’ve both been so kind to me.”
She patted my hand and stood up. “We’re happy to do it. Come on or we’ll upset Sebine by being late for dinner.”
We drove home as I thought about Darlene and her upcoming wedding and the new life that lay ahead for her. She was involved with wedding gowns and honeymoons, and I was focusing on becoming a mother. Without the benefit of marriage.
* * *
After dinner the three of us settled into the family room. Sonny and Cher were curled up next to each other in front of the fireplace. Lillian sat in one of the club chairs, legs tucked under her, reading a medical magazine. A Mozart symphony played softly on the radio. And Sebine had a sketch pad on her lap but kept glancing up at me as I knitted a white baby sweater. I had attempted knitting as a child but had lost interest. However, when I discovered that Sebine was an expert knitter, I asked if she could help me. She wasted no time getting me downtown to the local yarn shop to choose yarn, needles, and a pattern. I had never worked on circular needles before, but with Sebine’s assistance, the sweater was working up nicely.
I thought about the three of us sitting there enjoying the evening together, and the word family came to mind. A family could be comprised of many different people. I felt like we were becoming a family and the knowledge warmed my heart.
“Something wrong?” I asked, when I saw her look up again.
She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and laughed. “No. I was hoping you wouldn’t catch me.”
“What are you doing?”
“Sketching you knitting. I’d like to turn it into a painting.”
“Me?” I was surprised to hear she’d want to paint me.
“Yeah. Come look,” she said.
I got up, looked over her shoulder, and gasped. The likeness to me was uncanny.
“Oh, Sebine. You are good. Gosh, that looks more like a photograph than a sketch.”
“I’m glad you think so. You’re easy to sketch. You have beautiful features. Would you mind if I work on it some more each evening?”
I laughed. “No. Not at all. I’m flattered.”
“How would you feel about me selling it if we’re both happy with the final result?”
“Sell a painting of me? For money? I can’t think why anyone would want to buy it. Oh, not because it’s not a good painting,” I hastened to add. “It’s just that . . . I’m so ordinary.”
“Give yourself more credit. You’re not ordinary at all. Let’s see how it turns out.”
“Watch out,” Lillian said. “She’ll have you posing all the time if you’re not careful.”
I heard the humor in her tone and smiled as I sat back down to resume knitting. I hadn’t been sure at first what it would be like living with two lesbians. I wondered if it would be awkward. Or I’d be witnessing open displays of affection that would make me feel uneasy. It had not been any of that.
I had caught a kiss on the cheek between them a few times. The touching of a hand on an arm or lower back. A lot of bantering exchanged. But all of it had felt right. Never did I feel uncomfortable or out of place.
I thought of Peter and what we had shared. How I loved being with him, talking to him, hearing him talk. I should have known from the beginning it would not work out for us. But as Joyce had said, you can’t control love.
I glanced at Lillian and Sebine and felt a smile cross my face. They were so right together.
“So you two met in Paris?” I asked.
“We did,” Lillian said, putting down her magazine. “It was four years after the war ended. Nineteen-forty-nine was a good time to be in France. Americans were flocking there. The exchange rate on the dollar and the franc was very good.”
Sebine had stopped sketching and nodded. “Yes. Lillian’s right. I wanted to study art in Paris and that was a good time to go there. I had just graduated college that summer, was just twenty-two years old and the world was my oyster.” She laughed. “I was fortunate that both of my parents were a bit bohemian and they encouraged me to go and helped me out financially. My father’s family was originally from France, so it also helped that he had an aunt there who allowed me to stay with her.”
“I was taking some time off before beginning medical school,” Lillian said. “Sebine and I met one evening at La Rotonde. The café in Montparnasse that Hemingway and his crowd had frequented in the thirties.” She took a sip of wine and nodded as a faraway look crossed her face. “I had gone with some friends I’d made, and Sebine was also there with a group. Cafés in Paris are the place to meet people and socialize. Both of our groups got to talking and debating issues and trying to solve all the world’s problems.”
Sebine laughed. “As I recall, we were there till the early morning hours. I liked what Lillian had to say. When she debated an issue, she had the intelligence and knowledge to back it up. I knew she was well read and well educated. That’s what first drew me to her. And then, of course, her attractiveness didn’t hurt.”
I saw the smile that crossed Lillian’s face and the look of love that passed between them when they glanced at each other across the room. And that’s what it’s all about, I thought. It didn’t matter what gender you were, who you were, where you came from, or even where you were going. Love was simply love. The most powerful human emotion.
At least, that’s the way it should be.
Chapter 16
I w
oke on Saturday morning, and the moment I opened my eyes I knew where I had seen Elaine Talbot’s painting before. My mother had one just like it. I rolled over and pulled the pillow to my chest as I tugged on my memory.
I recalled that it had hung in our living room for a while, but by the time I was a teenager it was gone. She had replaced it with one of my school photos. But when my mother passed away and I had to clean out her house before putting it up for sale, I had found the painting stashed in the back of her closet, along with a few other paintings I had never seen. I was busy with my work, had a lot going on in my life as I grieved the loss of my mother and had not paid a lot of attention at the time. I now remember debating whether to keep the paintings or get rid of them. In the end, I couldn’t part with them. And they were now at my house in Jacksonville—stashed in my own closet.
I headed downstairs to brew my coffee and knew there was an eerie connection between those paintings, Elaine Talbot, and my mother. What could it be? I wondered about the significance of the house and patio. I couldn’t recall ever questioning my mother about it. I thought perhaps she had purchased the painting simply because she liked it. But maybe not. Maybe there was more to it than that.
Tonight was my date with Ben, and I had to admit I was looking forward to it. Behind his serious exterior, I felt there was a warm and compassionate man, and I was looking forward to getting to know him better.
After my coffee, I showered, dressed, and decided to spend a couple of hours at the yarn shop.
Both Chloe and Mavis Anne were waiting on customers, so I headed to the back to get a cup of coffee.
“Hey,” Yarrow said. “How’re you this morning? What are your plans for today?”
“I’m good. And actually . . . I have a date tonight. With Ben Wellington.”
Yarrow’s head snapped up, and she stopped pouring coffee into a cup to place both hands on the counter and lean toward me. “Really? When did this happen?”
“He called me Thursday evening and asked me to dinner.”
