At the Water's Edge (6 page)

I sit there stunned. Not only, because for once in their lives, they seem to agree on something—the only previous instance of this that springs to mind is when I came out and they both insisted that I couldn’t be sure, that I shouldn’t ‘swear off’ men just yet, surely it was just a phase—but mainly because of their ignorant, hypocritical, narrow-minded nature on full display.
Am I like this?
These people’s blood runs in my veins, their ideas have been planted in my head from a young age.

“Just stop it. The pair of you.” I can’t bite back my anger.

Not used to an outburst from their ‘good daughter’, they both stiffen.

“Listen to yourselves, really. Who made you so qualified to judge others? To look down on them from your moral high ground?”

“Darling, come on. It was just talk.” My mother’s mouth is drawn into a defeated pout.

“You weren’t here to see, Ellie. She’d come to The Attic and sit canoodling with this girl from out of town,” Dad says.

Red mist in front of my eyes. Rage like a cold fist in my chest. All the reasons why I left compressed in one moment.

With a brusque movement, I shove my chair back and walk out. My hands tremble on the steering wheel as I start the car, and all the while, all I can think of is Kay’s bravery.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Back at West Waters, only marginally calmed down, I slip out of my clothes, into my bikini and dive into the water. Its coolness strips me of at least one layer of anger, but I need to swim at least half a lap before my head clears and I can appreciate my surroundings. I let the bright green beauty of Oregon in late summer back into my heart, let it erase the agitation inside of me. Because this is not a new experience by a long stretch. It’s an endlessly repeated cycle. The profound misunderstanding and miscommunication between me and my parents.

When I was thirteen and still firmly in my mother’s camp, I once asked her why she stayed with my dad if he made her so unhappy. My friend Kelly’s mom had gotten a divorce, much to Kelly’s relief.

“What makes you think I’m unhappy, Darling?” she asked, a wry smile on her face.

I was so taken aback by this question, that I let the subject drop there and then—and adjusted my idea of happiness on the spot.

When I stop to take a breather at Kay’s side of the lake, I see her perched on a chair outside the lodge. She puts the book she is reading to the side and instantly walks over.

“And?” She crouches down and runs her fingers through the water. “Do I need to make you dinner tonight?” A tank top hangs loosely from her frame and—my breath stalls momentarily when I notice—she’s not wearing a bra. I force myself to look her straight in the face.

“A few beers will do.”

“Not when you come to my house.” Her smile is bright, a glitter of something else—something I can’t read—in her eyes.

“More truth or dare?” I blink up at her.

Her belly laugh has already become a source of comfort. “You just wait until I dare you.” Kay stretches her legs and glares down at me. “Come by whenever you want. I’m home.”

Swimming back, I can’t get the image out of my head: as she pushed herself up, Kay’s tank top twisted to the side an inch, offering me a delicious peek at the curve that lay beneath.

* * *

When I knock on the open door of Kay’s place a few hours later, her bra-less outfit has been replaced by another v-neck t-shirt, so light the lines of her bra come through. I’m more relieved than disappointed—I know a distraction when I see it. Not that her welcoming, carefree smile doesn’t knock me sideways a little bit.

“There’s no one else here today. Not even Uncle Pete. He’s on his annual pilgrimage to Portland to see his nephews. It’s always like this after Labor Day. People suddenly become too busy, as if their switch has been flipped from relaxed to frantic.”

We sit on the deck, a sliver of moon already overhead, the remnants of a scrumptious seafood salad in a bowl on the table, the bottle of Pinot I brought sitting almost empty between us.

“But honestly, for me—” Kay seems to be in a contemplative mood, lots of chatter, no probing questions just yet. “—who has lived here forever, the first half of September is the most gorgeous. Just before the leaves start turning. One last burst of summer. As if the trees are trying extra hard to give us one last hurrah. Look at that one over there.” She points at a lush Chinkapin with long high branches stretching over the lake. “I bet you don’t see trees like that in Boston.”

The mention of my city—the place where it happened—pulls me out of the moment. The Chinkapin is old and statuesque and regal, but I can’t see it the way Kay does. I can acknowledge its beauty and the sense of gravitas, the unspeakable splendor of nature, it lends to this particular corner of West Waters, but my train of thought has taken flight to my town house in Back Bay, with its small but green—and ecologically sustainable—back yard, which I’m now contemplating selling.

“No.” I refill our glasses. “It’s marvelous.”

“Don’t sound so convinced.” A crooked smirk has slipped onto Kay’s face.

“Hey—” I look around me, at the last of the sun bathing the lake in its orange evening glow, and the leaves lazily swaying in the breeze. “—I love it here. I truly do.” I love it for its disconnectedness from everything, for its profound stillness at night, and its pureness in the first light of dawn.

“I take it you’ll be staying a while.”

“I’m only expected back at work after Christmas break.” The months of nothingness spreading out in front of me fill me with a warm glow of dreamy joy—only a smidgen of fear piercing through my wine buzz.

“I’m honored you chose West Waters.” She sips again, only briefly letting her eyes rest on me. “And I enjoy your company.”

I was only just coming down from not being able to count my remaining days off on all twenty of my fingers and toes, when Kay’s impromptu comment lifts me straight up onto another cloud. “Not infringing too much on your preference for solitude?”

“Contrary to what you may think, I’m not a solitary person. I live here, a few miles out of town, because it’s my home and I’d be foolish not to—and I have absolutely no qualms about being alone—but I enjoy other people’s company a great deal.” A solemn note has crept into her voice. “I wouldn’t have decided to take over the management of West Waters if I didn’t.”

“Fair enough.” I let my gaze drift over the lake. “I was possibly just projecting. I’m not that good with people myself. Nine times out of ten, I always manage to say the wrong thing.”

“But you’re a teacher?” I feel Kay’s stare, but don’t look at her. “You must possess some social skills.”

“I think I have the basics down.” I turn to her, a grin on my face—the power of deflection. “And I have excellent TA’s.”

She slants her head, her gaze lost in the small distance between us for an instant. “Are you out at work?”

“More or less, I guess.”

“What does that mean?” Kay draws up her eyebrows in an expression of puzzled bewilderment.

“I’ve never explicitly told anyone, but I presume it’s understood.”

“You presume? How does that work?” She taps her fingers on the table. “I honestly don’t understand. Please explain, Professor.”

“I never bring a date to official college functions or colleagues’ dinner parties. I don’t bring up my personal life much. I don’t wear frivolous lady dresses that often. This is the year 2014. People can put two and two together. Why would I spell it out for them?”

Kay’s eyebrows do a funny dance: from all the way up, to knitted into a frown just above her eyes. She doesn’t immediately speak, just sits there contemplating in silence. “I guess, ultimately, it depends on your motive. If you choose not to come out because it’s nobody’s business, that’s fair. But if you don’t do it because you’re ashamed, what kind of example is that to your students?”

“Ashamed?” To my horror, my father’s words from earlier that day run through my head. Would I ever bring a woman to The Attic—or any bar in Boston where I had any chance of running into fellow faculty members, or students—and openly ‘canoodle’ with her? “Admittedly, I have too much shame and guilt in my life, but not because I’m a lesbian.” I shake my head to emphasize my point. “Never for that.”

“What if, with being openly gay at Boston U, you could change someone’s life just by being yourself and showing them it’s okay? Don’t we owe that to every non-heterosexual person that came before us and fought much worse wars than we ever had to?”

“I hadn’t pegged you for an activist.” Nervously, I tap my foot to the wood of the deck. “But, first of all, I’m not there to change my students’ lives or to make them feel better about themselves. I’m there to teach them a subject. My personal life is private.”

“And?” Kay’s lips are pursed together in a tight pout.

“And what?”

“You said ‘first of all’, I can’t wait to hear your second point.”

“I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you’re bisexual. It’s different for you. From what I hear, you only turn to girls to nurse a broken heart, anyway.”

“From what you hear?” Kay’s eyes have narrowed to slits.

In the moment of stunned silence that hangs between us, I realize I’m behaving just like the people who raised me. Quick to judge and ignorant. My head up my own ass. Expressing the joylessness of my existence through frustrated statements like the one I just made.

“I’m sorry.” The regret that courses through me has a paralyzing effect on my brain. More emotions than I can adequately express ganging up on me. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.” Then the tears, always my first response to my own feelings of powerlessness. “God.” I shake my head. “I don’t expect you to accept my apologies. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t either—”

“Ella. Stop.” Kay bounces the fingers of one hand against the palm of the other. “Time out.”

“I’m so stupid sometimes.” I start to get up.

“This is not an all or nothing situation. You said something in the heat of the moment. You made a mistake, you didn’t instigate the end of the world. No one died.” She nods at my chair with a swift flick of the head. “Sit down, please.”

Because I have no earthly idea what else to do, I crash back down in my seat, my body glad for the support the chair offers.

“I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.” I mumble it more to myself than I’m saying it to her.

“Truth be told, I’ve come to expect a certain degree of ignorance from some folks in Northville, but yours has taken me by surprise somewhat.”

“It’s not—I’m not like that, Kay.” I tap my chest. “In here. I’m not. I just—” But it’s too difficult to put into words. The conflict between who and what I am and the relentless desire, despite everything that stands between us, to please my parents. To make up for what I’ve done. To have them speak of me with pride in their voices again. And how I utterly, completely failed them—not because I’m a lesbian, but because of the message of total weakness I sent. The phone call they received that must have made their world cave in. How I despise myself for it.

When I look up at Kay this time, stealing a furtive glance, I don’t see the acceptance and warmth I’ve come to know from her. And I understand, because I’m just a stammering, broken shadow of a woman. Someone who has come to hide on her premises. Just like everyone else in this world, she doesn’t owe me anything.

“What happened to you, Ella?”

“No.” On automatic pilot, I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“When has ‘No, I can’t’ ever helped you?”

It rings truer than I want it to. “Never.” As night comes, more silence surrounds us.

“Okay, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. Why don’t I do the talking?” She stretches her arm out over the table top. “Just don’t run away again. Stay. Sit here for a while.” Her fingertips have reached my hand. “With me.” She doesn’t touch me, she’s just there and I wish I knew how to express my gratitude, but the dryness in my throat is an accurate reflection of the turmoil in my brain. The thoughts that keep on going, the blame that never shifts.

“Okay.” I nod, and cover her hand in mine.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Heat glows in my veins as, over another bottle of Pinot, I listen to Kay’s story of how her father wooed her mother. I remember Mr. Brody from when I came to West Waters as a child, how his eyes always glinted when he spoke of his wife. Unflinching pride and endless respect. Not something very common in my own family’s house, not now and not then.

“After Mom died, he just faded away.” Kay’s voice breaks a little. “I don’t believe in it medically, but I truly think he died of a broken heart. I witnessed it with my own eyes. Saw the straightness seep from his gait, the light leave his eyes. He didn’t speak with the same voice after she was gone. And as much as it hurt me to see him like that, I knew it wasn’t weakness. It was love. He simply couldn’t live without her.”

She fixes her moist eyes on me. “Can you imagine that, Ella? To love another human being with so much intensity it literally kills you when they die?”

I shake my head because I have absolutely no idea what that must be like. I can’t help but wonder what Dr. Hakim would have to say about that.

“The last thing he said to me was: ‘Find someone you love.’ It was all he ever wanted for me, to find love the way he had. He didn’t care about degrees and any of that; he just wanted me to be happy above all else. When I was little and he’d put me to bed, he’d always ask me if I’d had a good day. If what I had done had made me happy. Not if I had achieved something extraordinary, or done well on a test, or made him proud by winning something insignificant. Only happiness mattered. That feeling here”—she taps her chest—“of a content soul.”

“What a wonderful thing to teach a child.” I squeeze the words out of my throat, wholly overwhelmed by the emotion in Kay’s voice. I wish I could contribute a story of my own, of the values my parents taught by setting an example, but I draw a blank.

To accept yourself fully, Ella,
Dr. Hakim would say,
to get through this, you must learn to respect where you came from.
But, compared to Kay’s stories of love and happiness, the house I spent the first seventeen years of my life in might as well have been a cold war zone.