by Lyn Denison
Liz smiled a welcome. “Angie! How are you? Come on in out of the cold. I see you’ve met Shann.” She hit her forehead lightly with the palm of her hand. “What am I saying? You two have known each other for years.”
Angelina laughed, and the sound played over Shann, warming her, reaching inside her. “I don’t think Shann recognized me at first, but in her defense it has been at least ten years since we’ve seen each other.” She looked across at Shann. “I knew you straight away though. You’ve scarcely changed. Although your hair wasn’t as long then, and I somehow thought you were shorter. Were you always as tall as I was?”
“From memory you were both always taller than average, taller than the rest of our families.” Liz waved a hand. “But come on in, Angie. Dad always likes to see you. Would you like some coffee?”
“No. But thanks anyway, Liz,” Angie picked up the paper bag she’d set down beside her and stepped into the foyer. “If I drink coffee after lunch it keeps me awake all night.”
Liz grinned. “It does the same to Shann, doesn’t it, Shann?”
“Mmm. Hypes me up. Not a pretty sight.” Shann’s voice sounded thin in her ears.
Those green eyes moved over Shann again, this time taking in Shann’s own jean-clad legs, the long-sleeved red T-shirt she wore. As Angie’s eyes moved over Shann’s breasts she felt her nipples begin to harden, and she could feel herself flushing again. In confusion she turned quickly to lead them down the hallway.
When they walked into the living room Jim Delaney and Corey looked up, and Shann saw the first really genuine smile light her father’s face.
“Angie. How you doing?” He muted the television with the remote control. “I thought you were away on business.”
“Got back this morning.”
“How about some tea, Liz?” their father suggested, but Angie held up her hand.
“Not for me, thanks, Uncle Jim. I just bought these books over for Amy. For her assignment.” She set the paper bag on the coffee table. “I didn’t realize Shann was already home.”
“They only arrived this afternoon,” Liz said and turned to Corey who stood regarding the stranger with interest. “And this is Shann’s son, Corey. Corey, meet Angie Callahan from next door.”
Corey grinned at her as they shook hands. “You’re the lady with the neat MG, aren’t you? We saw you this afternoon as we were arriving. Are you Tiger’s dog sitter, too?”
Angie laughed. “Yes, to the MG and no, to the dog sitter. My aunt has that dubious honor.”
“He’s a great dog,” Corey said enthusiastically.
“You think so?” Angie pulled a face. “So long as you don’t want a veggie garden, shoes or clean washing on the line.”
“Oh no,” said Liz. “I knew he’d dug up Mike’s garden and chewed a few shoes. What happened with the washing?”
“Apparently yesterday Ann had just hung out the sheets, and Tiger decided it would be fun to pull them off the line and drag them through the ruined garden.”
“Oh, dear.” Liz commiserated. “He’s such a cute pup, too.”
“Cute or not Ann’s going to try to get him into puppy school, and if he doesn’t knuckle down I think he’ll be off to a kennel somewhere. If he lasts that long,” Angie added ominously.
“I could play with him,” Corey offered, “and try to keep him out of mischief.”
“Now don’t encourage that dog over here, Corey,” put in his grandfather. “I don’t want him getting up to any shenanigans in our yard.”
“Maybe I could go to the library and get a book on how to train dogs.” Corey turned to Jim Delaney. “Is there a library round here, Pop?”
“Just up the road.” He looked thoughtfully at Corey. “So you like to read?”
“I love it. And guess what?” Corey looked at them all. “I’m getting the next Harry Potter book for my birthday. Aren’t I, Mum?”
“That’s supposed to be a secret.” Shann smiled at him.
“I love the Harry Potter books,” said Angie and proceeded to discuss the various characters and plots with Corey.
“Mum and I read them together. At night.” Corey’s eyes widened. “Wow! The bit in the bathroom with the troll. Yuck! And the snake. Now that snake was mega scary, wasn’t it, Mum?” Corey appealed. “And the movie, phew! We could hardly watch it.”
“It was mega scary all right,” agreed Angie. “I have to admit I covered my eyes with my hands and sort of snuck a peek through my fingers.”
She put her hands to her face, and Shann wondered if she was the only one who noticed how the soft gray sweatshirt moved across the other woman’s full breasts. An ache started in the pit of Shann’s stomach and spiraled teasingly downward. She shifted from one foot to the other, totally disconcerted when Angie peered at her through her fingers. Then Angie dropped her hands, her eyes still holding Shann’s gaze. And Shann couldn’t seem to look away. She desperately hoped none of her traitorous feelings were visible, although she suspected this gorgeous woman knew just how unsettled she was making Shann feel. How could she not know?
“Mum and I hid behind our hands, too,” said Corey in amazement.
“We’d better change the subject,” said Angie to Corey. “I think we’re scaring your mother.”
Corey turned to his mother and took her hand. “No,” he said loyally. “Mum’s really brave.”
“Why don’t you all sit down,” Jim Delaney suggested. “I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at you all.”
They all moved to sit down.
“Sorry, Uncle Jim.” Angie sat opposite Shann. “That must drive you nuts.”
“Oh, it gives me a chance to boss everyone round,” he said with a smile.
“As if you ever need an excuse, Dad,” Liz teased him goodnaturedly.
“So what are you doing these days, Angelina?” Shann asked the other woman. She did a mental tally. Angelina Callahan must be about twenty-five so she’d possibly finished studying.
“Please call me Angie, Shann. I never could stand Angelina.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s such a mouthful. And I run a hardware store. The one here on James Street.”
Shann frowned. “You mean Grossman’s?”
“Yes. And I love it. Of course, it’s a little more up market than it used to be. We’ve had a name change, and we’ve expanded. All in all we’re doing quite well.”
“Have you still got some of those tomato stakes?” Jim Delaney asked. “Liz was saying she could use some more of them.”
“Sure,” Angie said easily. “Want me to bring a bundle home tomorrow, Liz?”
“That would be great. If it’s not too much trouble, Angie. Just put it on my account.”
“You should come down again, Liz. We’ve got these new secateurs in stock that are to die for. Mrs. Jorgens told her garden club about them, and I’ve had to reorder them. We sell them as soon as we get them in store.”
The conversation went on in a similar vein for a few moments, and then Angie turned back to Shann.
“What about you, Shann?”
“Oh, I’ve done a bit of everything I guess. Packed shelves in supermarkets. Done some landscaping. Waited tables.”
“So a bit of a Jill of all trades, so to speak,” said Angie. Shann felt Corey’s eyes on her, and she gave him what she hoped he’d read as a warning look.
“And are you still songwriting?” Angie continued.
“Oh, I do a little here and there,” she replied vaguely.
Corey chuckled. “Mum’s famous.”
“Famous?” Liz looked from her nephew to her sister.
“Corey’s teasing,” Shann said quickly, willing her son to take the hint.
“No, I’m not, Mum. You are famous.”
“What’s the lad talking about, Shann?” put in her father.
“Nothing much, Dad. I’ve had a bit of success with a few of my songs, that’s all.”
“I always knew you would,” said Angie. “I used to think you were great. Would w
e have heard any of them?”
“Well, that depends. Probably not though.”
“Do you watch The Kelly Boys on TV,” Corey warmed to the subject.
“Amy and I watch it every week,” said Liz. “You’ve been watching it, too, Dad.”
“Mum wrote the theme song.” Corey told them.
“You wrote that?” asked Liz. “It’s a great song.”
“And that’s not all,” continued Corey. “Mum’s going to be singing herself at the Gympie Country Music Muster this year. And,” he paused for emphasis, “Adam Harvey and Beccy Cole have both recorded Mum’s songs.”
“Corey. Enough.” Shann said. “Anyone would think you were my manager. Besides, not everyone likes country music.”
“What’s wrong with country music?” Angie grinned at Corey. “And I love Beccy Cole and Adam Harvey. Which of their songs did you write, Shann?”
“They haven’t been released yet. They’re on the albums they’re both bringing out for the Muster.”
“And they pay you for these songs?” her father asked.
“Of course,” Shann told him.
“Enough to live on?”
“Well, things are improving. Having them use my song for The Kelly Boys was a big break for me.”
“We could get a new car just before we came up here,” Corey told his grandfather. “And I got a new bike. We left it with Aunt Millie.”
“Good for you, Corey.” Angie leaned back in her chair, and she smiled across at Shann. “And do you know, I think I used to be your mother’s biggest fan.”
That night, stretched out on her old single bed, Shann could almost imagine she had slipped back in time, that the ensuing ten years had never been. She watched the familiar light patterns dance across the ceiling as the breeze gently rustled the silky oak branches in the moonlight outside her window.
On her left was a wall of bookcases containing her books, swimming trophies, and various other paraphernalia from her childhood. It had taken her aback to realize her father and Ruth hadn’t packed her things away. Her desk was still between the door and her closet with its mirrored doors. And she’d set her guitar case back on the carved trunk at the foot of her bed where she’d always kept it. Except that Corey now had her old guitar, and she had a new one.
Shann slipped out of bed and shrugged on her cord jacket over the old T-shirt she slept in. She tiptoed into the study next door to check on her son. He was curled up in his striped pajamas, hugging an extra pillow the way he always did. She gently pulled the blankets back over him before returning to her room.
The curtains billowed slightly as the breeze gusted, and she crossed the room to gaze out into the night. The moon was nearly full and so bright she could almost discern colors. Shann leaned on the windowsill and took in the scents of her childhood.
Of course her eyes were drawn to the house next door. The large covered deck on the back matched their own. Shann’s father was a builder by trade, and he’d done the renovations for the Callahans. She knew the neighbors had a gas barbecue, and wooden table and chairs just like they did. In summer, all families on the street lived out on their back decks.
The light caught the faint movement of the hammock that swung from the rafters next door. Shann had spent hours swinging in that hammock, nestled beside Leigh as they talked, made plans for the future.
Shann shifted her gaze. The room opposite her own used to be Leigh’s bedroom. Sometimes they’d shout across the fence at each other, but neither set of parents had cared for that. After the ‘telephone’ they’d made using string and tin cans had broken, they’d developed an intricate system of hand signals. Shann smiled at that memory. Their communication system would have done international spies proud. Eat your heart out, Charlie’s Angels.
With a sigh Shann pulled her jacket around her as the cold breeze shifted. She’d known the Callahans all her life. Well, almost all her life. Mike and Ann Callahan had bought the house when Shann and Leigh were two years old. The girls had gone to kindergarten, preschool, started first grade together and their mothers were friends. Their fathers went fishing together, and Shann couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t love Leigh Callahan. They were best friends.
When they were fifteen Leigh had started to notice boys. Not that boys hadn’t already been noticing them. They had. It had been a source of great amusement to Shann and Leigh. Then suddenly, Leigh’s attitude changed, and she seemed to find them fascinating.
“Oh, come on, Shann,” she’d said with a giggle. “Don’t you often wonder what it would be like to go out on a date?”
“No.” Shann was sure. And she was suffering the first pangs of a new emotion. Jealousy.
“Don’t you think about getting married? Having kids?”
“Married? I guess,” Shann admitted reluctantly. How could she say it all seemed just a little surreal to her? That it happened to other people. She just couldn’t see herself in a frilly white dress and a veil.
“I’m going to have two children,” Leigh was continuing. “A boy and then a girl. What about you?”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” Shann said honestly.
“You are so out of it, Shann. I sometimes wonder what you do think about,” Leigh said exasperatedly.
Shann shifted uncomfortably. You, she wanted to say. “My music, I guess.”
“What about boys?” Leigh asked.
“What about them?”
Leigh rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think about them?”
“Not really. Just that most of them are pains in the neck. Why?”
“Don’t you think Lex is cute?” Leigh asked, and Shann frowned in disbelief.
“Lex Ellis? You have to be kidding, Leigh. He’s an absolute thug and a bully.”
“Well, what about Evan Radford? I think he’s cute.”
Shann grimaced. “He’s a sneak. He weasels his way out of everything.”
“But he’s got nice blond hair, and he’s smart,” Leigh said with a small smile on her face.
“You have to be kidding!”
“Who do you think is cute then?”
“You, I guess,” Shann said without giving herself time to think about how the other girl would take this revelation.
“Me?” Leigh laughed. “Shann! I mean guys.”
“I don’t think I find any guys cute.”
Leigh sobered and looked across at Shann. “Not at all?”
Shann shook her head. “I think I must be a lesbian.”
“Of course you’re not a lesbian,” Leigh admonished her. “That would be awful.”
“Why would it? There are lots of great lesbians.”
“Oh, yes?” Leigh grimaced. “Like who?”
“Well.” Shann gave it some thought. “Lots of old women writers are lesbians. Then there’s Martina Navratilova. And what about Ellen DeGeneres who came out on that TV show. That was hilarious.”
“It was funny.” Leigh frowned again. “But in real life people make jokes about lesbians.”
“Which people?”
“Guys do.”
“Which is why I’m not too fussed on guys,” Shann put in. “But apart from that, people don’t just make jokes about lesbians, they make jokes about anyone who’s different. Remember yesterday those kids teasing Angelina because she’s taller than the boys in her class?”
“Not after you’d had a go at them for doing it,” Leigh said. “Angelina’s quite capable of fighting her own battles, you know, Shann.”
“But it does prove my point about anyone who’s different. It doesn’t matter what it is. Green hair. Preferring girls. Whatever.”
“People can also be cruel, Shann. I mean physically cruel. I’ve heard of lesbians getting bashed up.”
“Don’t forget my brown belt in judo,” Shann struck a kung fu pose.
“Shann, be serious.”
“I am.”
“You’re not a lesbian,” Leigh repeated firmly, and Shann expelled a breath exasper
atedly. “Have you ever even kissed a girl?” Leigh asked.
“No. Of course not.”
“Ha! Then how do you know?”
“Well, I’d sure rather kiss you than any guy I know,” Shann stated.
“All right. Let’s prove it. Kiss me now.”
Shann stared at Leigh as she stood there in her denim shorts and crop top, her tanned midriff bare. “But—” She looked around. They were in Leigh’s room, and they were alone in the house. Robbie was across the road playing computer games with a friend, and Leigh’s parents had taken Angelina late night shopping for new netball shoes. “What if someone sees us?”
“Who’s going to see us? We’re alone.” Leigh gave Shann a smug look. “You’re chicken. And it proves you’re not a lesbian!”
“I am not chicken.” Shann stepped across the floor before she had a chance to lose her nerve. She rested her hands on Leigh’s bare shoulders, reached forward and put her lips to Leigh’s.
For one startled moment they both stood there stiffly, almost frozen. Then the softness of Leigh’s lips registered, and Shann gave a low moan, leaned into her, her tongue-tip seeking, deepening the kiss. And Leigh didn’t push her away. Her hands slid around Shann’s waist and when they finally drew apart they were breathless.
“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” Leigh asked softly and then she leaned forward, kissed Shann again.
Shann was having trouble believing it was really happening. She was holding Leigh in her arms, and it was so much more than she ever imagined it would be. Her body was on fire and the way Leigh was moving in her arms must mean that, incredibly, she felt the same way. Shann slid her hands from Leigh’s back to the indentation of her waist, over the smooth bare skin of her midriff, upward, cupping her small breasts covered by the thin material of her short crop top.
Just as suddenly there was space between them, and Leigh had moved away, had wrapped her arms around her body. “Shann, we have to stop this.”
“Why?” Shann’s voice was thick. “It was wonderful. Really wonderful.” When Leigh made no reply Shann gave a crooked smile. “Do you suppose I really am a lesbian?”
Leigh brushed her shoulder length fair hair back from her flushed face, but there was no answering smile there. “The trouble is, I’m not,” she said softly.
