by Robbi McCoy
“Yes,” Harper said, despairing.
Oh, God, Harper thought, how I’ve missed you! And I’ve missed that crooked smile so much. She felt her eyes filling with tears. Chelsea looked sad and apologetic. Her eyes began to tear up as well.
“Be happy,” she said, then hugged Harper tightly, her hand briefly cradling the back of Harper’s head. In that instant, Harper breathed in everything she could of Chelsea. Then her arms were left empty. She watched as Chelsea walked to her car and drove away, realizing that she might never touch her again, feeling hollow inside and letting her tears fall freely.
Chapter 25
JUNE 29
With a suitcase in the trunk, Harper drove the Coast Highway up above San Francisco, through Bodega Bay and further up into the lesser populated sections of the north coast. The highway snaked its way through cow pastures beside the crashing waves of the Pacific. Harper loved this drive. It was a little bit wild, and, in fog, more of an adventure than most people would welcome. But today there was no fog, and the scenery was brilliant. The smell of the sea filled her with happiness. She had no bad memories to associate with that briny smell.
More than once she stopped to consider how rash this journey was. She had no evidence that Chelsea would welcome her. If not for Sarah, she would not be making this trip, she knew. Sarah’s romantic fantasies had infected her.
On one of her stops to admire the breakers and the hang gliders along the Sonoma Coast, she phoned Sarah, who answered promptly and reported that all was well. When she reached Little River, she knew she was almost there. Her heart started pounding more insistently. It’s a long shot, she told herself, trying to calm down. She might be turned away. She might be spending the night alone wherever she could find a room, perhaps in the backseat of her car because, of course, she had no hotel reservation in a town with a significant summer tourism trade.
There were other potential catastrophes to consider as well, even if she found Chelsea at her brother’s house. Chelsea might be angry at being hunted down. Or, worse, she might be with someone else. The closer Harper got to Mendocino, the more likely that seemed to her and the more ridiculous the entire scheme began to appear. She began to panic, wondering how she would handle that situation. Maybe she could just hang out on Main Street until Chelsea happened by, pretending that it was a coincidence, her being here. Everybody ended up on Main Street sooner or later. The town was small. You ran into people like that as they went out to eat or looked into the boutiques and galleries. But, then, how would she explain that she just happened to be passing through? There was no way Chelsea would believe that.
She arrived in Mendocino just after three o’clock. She drove through town, past familiar landmarks, happy to see that things hadn’t changed much since her last visit. She parked near the western end of town at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. To the north along this same road tiny houses perched on a thin strip of land, looking like hobbit dwellings, all crowded together and vying for their precious bit of unobstructed ocean view. She glanced at her phone, noticing that it said “No Service.” Chelsea might never have gotten her message, she realized. That thought briefly gave her hope.
She stepped out of her car and stretched, facing the waves, breathing in the salt air. The sun was shining brightly, but it was cold here at the edge of the continent. She pulled a sweatshirt out of her trunk and put it on over her T-shirt. Then she looked at her map, determining that Brandon Nichols’s house was up the hill to the northeast about three blocks. She looked in that direction, hoping for a sign. All was quiet. Still not sure what her plan was, she decided to walk the rest of the way, favoring the idea of an indirect approach. On foot, if she got a glimpse of Chelsea and another woman, she could duck into somebody’s hedge before she was seen. Harper shook her head, wondering at her own lunacy.
She folded the map and shoved it into her back pocket, then walked along the edge of the road toward her goal. This was an impulsive thing she was doing, she knew. Harper cherished her impulsive nature and had been dismayed to find as she got older that she was less likely to give into it. So, she rationalized, even if she didn’t find Chelsea, even if Chelsea was here with another woman, this trip would bear witness to her ability to follow her heart. She wasn’t ashamed of that.
As Harper climbed the steep hill, her breathing grew labored and the view out to the ocean improved. The exercise had created its own source of heat, so she pulled off the sweatshirt and carried it as she turned down a side street. She walked more slowly now, apprehensive about what she was about to discover. Whatever it was, whichever of the scenarios she had imagined, it was going to be unsettling. There was no possible outcome for the next few minutes other than a huge jolt to her heart. The only mystery was whether it would leave her in despair or in rapture.
She counted the houses ahead, noticing their pattern of address numbers, and picked out the house she was destined for. It was green, pale green like a honeydew melon, and in need of repainting. A small wooden portico sheltered the door. The front windows were closed.
It was quiet. The entire street was silent, in fact. No one was in sight. Harper kept walking. As she came closer to the house, she saw that there was a car on the other side of it. A few more steps and she realized, with a mixture of elation and panic, that the car was Chelsea’s black Honda.
This was the first real evidence that Chelsea was actually here. Harper froze in place on the sidewalk in front of the honeydew house. She didn’t know what to do next. Ringing the bell seemed suddenly out of the question. She remembered her earlier plan. Waiting in town for Chelsea to show up, to run into her by “accident,” now seemed like a much better idea. She was about to turn around and head downhill when the door of the house burst open and Chelsea came flying down the steps on a skateboard, her eyes focused downward. She was heading straight toward Harper. She looked up as she hit the bottom of the stairs and jerked her board violently sideways to avoid a collision. The board raced off across the street without her. She fell flat on her butt on the sidewalk.
Harper rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”
Chelsea looked bewildered. “Harper?”
Then she stood and stared. “Harper,” she said again, breaking into a brilliant smile.
Harper smiled too, then nodded. Chelsea grabbed hold of her, squeezing her in a tight embrace. Harper gripped Chelsea close, relishing the sensation of her body, touching her gleaming hair, pressing her nose into Chelsea’s neck and reveling in the smell of her skin. My body remembers you so well, she thought, feeling her nerves tightening.
“Oh, my God!” Chelsea said. “I thought I was hallucinating.”
Finally, startled back to reality by the barking of a dog, they released one another.
“What are you doing here?” Chelsea asked.
“I came to find you. I called, but I guess there’s no reception here. I just decided to come up.”
“But... Hey, let’s go inside. You can tell me all about it.”
Chelsea retrieved her skateboard, and Harper followed her into the old Victorian with its creaking front door and hardwood floors, its floral wallpaper and mustiness. Chelsea obviously wasn’t expecting company, Harper thought. She looked disheveled in her worn jeans with threads at the cuffs, dirty sneakers, a gray hoody with a paint stain on one arm.
Chelsea noticed Harper evaluating her clothes. “Yeah, I’m slumming.”
“You’re here alone?”
Chelsea nodded. “I decided to get away for a while. Since you didn’t return my call, I thought you didn’t want to see me. I was feeling pretty blue. This seemed like a good place to squirrel away for a few weeks, do some thinking.”
For a moment, they stood silently looking at one another, and Harper could see the emotion rising in Chelsea’s eyes. “I’m so happy to see you,” she said.
Harper felt her heart pounding in her throat and her fingertips going numb. She too was overwhelmed with emotion.
The outcome
of this crazy trip is going to be the best one there could be, after all, Harper realized, taking a step toward Chelsea. They moved into one another, then kissed with urgency, desperation even, and were, within minutes, in bed making love. It doesn’t matter what happens after this, Harper thought, clinging to Chelsea’s naked body. Whatever happens, it’s worth it.
Harper didn’t need any words to tell her that Chelsea’s need was deep and genuine. She felt it in hard kisses that left her breathless and in the strength of her embrace. Two years of longing spilled out onto Chelsea’s bed that afternoon. But as the afternoon turned to evening and the initial intensity of their passion subsided, Chelsea began to speak. Her words were as reassuring as her hands and mouth.
“I love you, Harper,” she said, her lips close to Harper’s ear. “I’ve been falling more in love with you every day for the past two years. I can’t tell you how crushed I was that you didn’t return my call. You had every reason not to, of course. It took me weeks to decide to make that call. I stared at my phone for hours on end those first couple of days afterward, and then I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I came here. Running away, I guess. I thought you were lost to me. I felt so desperate.”
“I was just thinking it over, taking my time.”
“I didn’t expect that. You never seemed like someone who mulls things over like that.”
“No, not normally, but you really hurt me before.”
“I know. I will always be really, really sorry about that. I made a huge mistake two years ago.”
Harper took Chelsea’s hand and pressed it to her mouth, then clutched it to her chest. “It doesn’t matter now. I just want to live in the moment.”
“Okay. That suits me. This is a fantastic moment to be living in.”
Chelsea pulled Harper close again and kissed her tenderly as darkness gradually enveloped the room. Harper let herself sink deeper into that place of love and longing that banishes all thought and has no awareness of the past or the future.
Chapter 26
JULY 11
The diffused light of dawn was barely perceptible through the closed blinds of Harper’s bedroom. She lay on her side, her head propped up on her hand, watching Chelsea peacefully sleeping, a morning ritual she had been enjoying almost daily for two weeks now. She had reluctantly come home after a heavenly three days in Mendocino, Chelsea following a day later. Here they had resumed their happy reunion.
Harper had feared that bringing Chelsea back to the real world would somehow dispel the fantasy of their newfound devotion to one another. In Mendocino, that fairy-tale town by the sea, they had done almost nothing but love one another and delight in children’s pleasures like seashells and ice cream cones. The myth of Orpheus was prominent in her mind as she left. While she trusted absolutely that Chelsea would follow her, there remained, on the edge of her consciousness, the fear that the gods might yet play a cruel joke on her, that they might fling Chelsea into the sea or dash her against a rock and she would be taken away forever like ill-fated Eurydice.
But, no, Chelsea had arrived safely. She now breathed silently and steadily beside Harper, her angelic face perfectly calm, a sheet covering her body except for one flawless shoulder. Harper felt an incredible sense of tranquility. The words she found to express her state of mind—peace, joy, harmony—these were the same words people used to describe a state of grace. She didn’t believe that was a coincidence. The thing that struck her most about how she had changed was how completely she had lost her need for autonomy. What she wanted now was to belong to Chelsea and for Chelsea to belong to her, completely and exclusively, all the time and forever. Whatever it was that had appealed to her in the past about independence had vanished. Now, being alone simply meant being without Chelsea, and that meant being less alive.
The smell of fresh paint drifted in from the living room. Yesterday, Saturday, they had spent the day painting it a shade of light sage with off-white trim. Harper felt a twinge of pain in her shoulder from the hours of overhead rolling. Today would be a well-earned play day. She watched Chelsea for several minutes until a scowl passed over her face, wrinkling her freckled nose, and her eyes opened. When she saw Harper, she smiled.
“Good morning,” Harper said quietly.
Chelsea reached up and put her arms around Harper’s neck and sighed deeply.
“I’ll make coffee,” Harper said, then kissed Chelsea and slid out of bed. Chelsea sprawled out as Harper pulled on an oversized T-shirt and slid her feet into slippers.
“I’ll just stay here,” Chelsea said, “and let you wait on me.”
“I’ll happily do so. Then we can talk about what to do with our Sunday.”
“We can do whatever you want. I don’t care, as long as we’re together.”
Chelsea fluttered her eyes dramatically. Harper smiled at her and went to the kitchen. Although she knew that Chelsea was exaggerating a bit, it was still true that they both had few desires to fulfill these days other than their desire for one another. Harper went to the pantry for the coffee beans, glancing at the calendar on the wall again, focusing on the date circled in red only two weeks away. That was the day she was to fly back East for her family visit. The closer it came, the more it seemed like something to be feared. She didn’t want to leave Chelsea. If it wasn’t for her promise to return Sarah, she didn’t think she would leave. She could send Sarah on alone, of course, but that probably wasn’t the responsible thing to do. This fear of hers was not rational, she knew. There was no reason to act on it.
With a silent chuckle, Harper noted again the fortune-cookie saying taped to June 29, the date of her reunion with Chelsea. When she’d shown that to Chelsea, she’d stared wide-eyed, then said, “If this were the seventeenth century, you’d be burned at the stake.”
Sarah came into the kitchen, yawning, wearing pink pajamas, her feet bare. She winced at the noise of the coffee grinder. When it whirred to a stop, she said, “Hi, Aunt Harper.”
“Good morning. Chelsea and I were about to discuss our plans for the day. We might go hiking. Do you want to come along?”
“No, thanks. I have plans of my own.”
Harper wanted to ask her what they were. She thought she probably should ask, but she didn’t want to seem to be prying. So many things about Sarah left her unsure. Harper definitely didn’t want to alienate her. She didn’t want to assume the role of parent. She preferred the role of friend.
“Anything fun?” she asked, dumping the ground coffee into the filter.
“Just hanging out.”
Harper nodded, as if she had gotten an answer. “Well, I’m glad you’ve made some friends here,” she added. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? We enjoy your company. We’d like you to come.”
“No, that’s okay. Thanks, though.” Sarah poured some shredded wheat and milk into a bowl and sat down to eat it while Harper waited for the coffee.
Since their return from Mendocino, Harper and Chelsea had spent every day together, sometimes alone, sometimes with Sarah. The three of them had gone to San Francisco, doing the usual tourist things. Sarah had seemed like a fourteen-year-old again that day, all agog at the Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman’s Wharf and Coit Tower, which they ascended for a magnificent view of the city skyline. They had spent a day in Santa Cruz as well, playing pinball at the boardwalk, riding a roller coaster, eating fish and chips on a pier with pelicans gliding low beside them. While they were there, Harper had taken them to the UCSC campus for a quick look at her alma mater.
“I wish I could go to school here,” Sarah had said.
“Where are you going to college?” Harper asked her.
“I may not be going.”
Harper, stunned, said, “Why not?”
“It’s so expensive, you know. Mom and Dad will let me go to Wheaton if I live at home. I don’t know how I can afford it on my own, though.”
“So what’s wrong with Wheaton,” asked Chelsea.
“Nothing’s wrong with t
he school,” Sarah explained. “It’s the living at home part that’s the problem. It’s been bad enough while I’m in high school. It would be impossible. I’d have to be home by ten o’clock every night. I’d just die. I wish I could do what Aunt Harper did. Just go thousands of miles away where Mom and Dad wouldn’t have anything to say about it.”
“You can get pretty homesick,” Harper pointed out.
“I’d be willing to take that chance.”
As they left the campus, Harper had made a mental note to discuss this situation with Neil and Kathy. Given Sarah’s intelligence and enthusiasm for learning, she had to go to college. Harper didn’t see any choice in this matter and hoped that her parents were like-minded.
Throughout all of these activities, Sarah remained agreeable, enthusiastic and apparently happy. The raging tyrant that Neil and Kathy had come to know and dread was nowhere to be seen. Harper knew that it was just a matter of time, however. Sarah was relishing her freedom. She was on her best behavior because she and Harper didn’t know each other well and because they hadn’t yet tried to test one another’s limits. Harper bought her a bus pass and let her come and go as she pleased, including making frequent visits to Mary’s house. She always returned with ideas swimming in her head. One day she even returned with a painting of herself. Mary had painted her sitting in a huge chair, reading a book, in front of library shelves filled floor to ceiling. The chair’s size was exaggerated, making her look like a child of ten, as if she had lofty aspirations to read all of those books. It was a charming painting.
Sarah opened herself up, absorbing everything she could from Mary, from Chelsea, from Harper. Chelsea spent an evening with her going over the lines of her song, refining her word choices. Then Harper wrote down the music, and the three of them put it all together. They all lamented the fact that Sarah wouldn’t have time to learn to read music herself. She promised Harper that she would take lessons, that she would learn to play the piano as soon as she got home. Now, of course, she wanted to be a musician, a pop singer. Nothing wrong with that, thought Harper, as a dream.
