Ivy Secrets (38 page)

She wanted to reach out and touch Charlie’s scar. She wondered if the wound still hurt … the wound deep within
Charlie … Charlie, who had never consciously done a mean thing to anyone. And even though Charlie was pretty and smart and had it all, Tess knew she didn’t deserve Elizabeth Hobart. No one did.

She pushed aside a stack of newspapers and sat on the sofa. She watched the sleeping Jenny; she watched the sleeping Grover. And then Tess had an idea. It came slowly at first, then quickly blossomed. But it would be too easy, she reasoned, too perfect. Still, it radiated with hope. If only she could get Charlie to agree. She hesitated to mention it, to open herself up for rejection, to feel the pain. Yet, she convinced herself that she had nothing to lose.

“I think I can help,” she said.

“With Elizabeth?” Charlie laughed. “Thanks, but I don’t think it’s possible.”

Tess braced herself and drew in a deep breath. “What if Jenny were to spend her summers with me?”

Charlie blinked. “What?”

Tess twisted on the couch. “Why not, Charlie? I have no one. I would love to take care of Jenny in the summers. We would have a wonderful time.”

“Oh, Tess, I don’t think …”

Tess tightened her jaw. “She’s as much mine as she is yours.”

“Legally,” Charlie’s cool voice said, “Jenny is mine. I am her mother.”

Tess waved her hand. “I know, I know. I’m only trying to help. But think about it. Your baby will be born by next summer. Wouldn’t it be better to send Jenny here—to give you some time alone with the new baby? Elizabeth might be more inclined to be civil.”

Charlie studied Tess in a way that told Tess she was thinking about it. Tess willed her heart to slow down, her pulse to steady. If Charlie would go along with this plan, it would make her so happy, so very happy … she’d have her own little family, if only for summers.

She smiled at Charlie. “I never told you this, and I never told Marina. But you know, I was very hurt that she let you and Peter adopt Jenny.”

“Hurt? Why?”

Tess cast her eyes to the floor. “Because I wanted her, Charlie. I was afraid of being alone.”

“You?” Charlie laughed. “Afraid of anything?”

Tess didn’t answer. Tears fell from her eyes. She hadn’t tried to cry, she hadn’t planned it. For some reason, the tears came anyway.

Then Charlie touched her arm. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“I’m so tired of being alone, Charlie. You have everything. Your parents, your brothers and sisters, Peter, Jenny, even Elizabeth. You have people in your life. Good or bad, you have people, and you have a life. All I have is my work.” She wiped her tears away and wondered why, if this was merely an attempt to have Jenny for the summers, why did her stomach ache so much?

“Your work is wonderful,” Charlie said. “You’ve no idea how I envy your talent, and the fact that you’re actually
doing
something with it.”

Tess shook her head and cast a glance back at Jenny. “You’ve no idea how lonely it is.”

A car drove up Round Hill Road and turned into the driveway. Peter was there.

Charlie touched Tess’s arm again. “You know something, Tess? I’m going to think about it. And I’ll talk to Peter about it. No promises. But we’ll talk about it. Maybe we can work something out.”

Tess stood up and kissed Charlie on the cheek, surprising herself. She’d never kissed Charlie, hesitated even to hug anyone. It always made her feel so … vulnerable. “Whatever you decide you will be fine with me. But I’d like the chance to be part of Jenny’s life.”

Charlie wiped another tear from Tess’s face. “No matter what, I’m sure you’ll always be a wonderful Aunt Tess.”

“Aunt Tess,” Tess repeated. “Hey, I like the sound of that.”

    Charlie returned to New York, and Tess was alone again, alone with her work, alone with no family, but buoyed by the hope that Jenny might, after all, belong to her. At least for ten weeks of the year.

She began working furiously, submitting design after design to all the top galleries. Sketching and revising and crafting prototypes of everything from delicate goblets to exotic
vases. In the evenings, Dell often stopped by with a casserole or a plateful of cookies, and a great deal of encouragement.

Still, the rejection letters came.

“Maybe you should move to New York,” Dell said one evening over hot chocolate and brownies. The first snow had come to Northampton, and the studio was chilly. Tess dragged the old rattan sofa closer to the annealing oven and rubbed her hands together. Dell popped another brownie in her mouth and sat beside her.

“I don’t think I want to live in New York, Dell. There are so many people there. All strangers.”

“There were only strangers when you first came to Northampton.”

Tess shook her head. “It was different. I still had my parents. I still had a home if I didn’t like it here.”

Dell set her mug on top of the oven. “You will always have a home here, Tess. My door will always be open to you.”

Tess pulled her shawl around her and stared into the fire. Dell was such a wonderful friend, a steady friend, unlike Charlie who blew in and out whenever it was convenient for her, unlike Marina who may as well have dropped off the face of the earth since Jenny was born.

She scrunched down on the cushion and leaned against her friend. “In so many ways, I never really felt as though I had a home until I was here.”

“What an odd thing to say,” Dell said as she dropped her arm around Tess and softly began to rub her upper arm. “You had wonderful parents, a very elegant home.”

Tess shook her head. “It wasn’t a ‘home,’ Dell. It was a house. A very elegant house.” She pulled her legs under her and tucked the shawl around her feet. “My mother was such a demanding woman. I loved her, but I never felt good enough for her.”

Dell nodded.

“And my father,” Tess continued, “my father was such a contrast. With his work he was brilliant and powerful, but at home he turned into this Milquetoast kind of man who deferred to Mother and spent most of his time hiding out in his little studio overlooking the bay.”

“They made their marriage work,” Dell said. “You have
to give them credit for that. And they produced a wonderfully gifted child.”

Tess lifted her head from Dell’s shoulder and looked at her friend. “Gifted? I never thought of myself as gifted. Eccentric, perhaps. Or a maverick.”

Dell smiled. “You’re not a maverick, Tess. Your friend Marina is a maverick, not you. You are inward and soulful and tremendously gifted. The works of glass you create are special. As are you.” Dell reached up and stroked Tess’s cheek. Her touch felt warm, and tender, and safe.

Tess leaned back against Dell and sighed. “You are the most wonderful friend I’ve ever had. I could never go to New York. I could never leave you.”

Dell rubbed Tess’s arm once again. Then she gently raised her hand to Tess’s shoulder, up her neck, in under her hair. Slowly, Dell massaged her scalp, threading her fingers through Tess’s hair, speaking, without words.

Tess savored the warm glow within her. She knew in that moment—here, in front of the annealing oven, which may as well have been a roaring, romantic fire—that all the love she could give to her art, all the passion she could give to her work, would be meaningless, empty, without someone to share it with.

“I wish I weren’t so lonely,” she said. “Do you think my Prince Charming will ever find me?”

“My nephew has his eye on you.”

“Joe?” Tess moved on the sofa, trying to push away her discomfort at the mention of his name. “He’s married.”

“And if he weren’t?”

“What do you mean?”

Dell shrugged. “Would you be interested in him? If he weren’t married?”

Tess remembered that night after the election, two years before, when his hands had felt so good on her. She wondered now why she had made him stop. Had it only been because he was married?

“I don’t know how I would feel if he weren’t married. We don’t really get along all that well.”

“But maybe it’s that kind of tension that creates the sparks for great romance. Surely you’ve heard that opposites attract.”

“Not for me. I don’t have that kind of stamina. Besides,”
she tried to laugh, “my mother always said no boy would want me the way I neglect myself. You know, because I prefer sweatshirts to cashmere and, God forbid, I don’t wear pearls to the grocery store.”

Dell removed her arm from Tess and drank her hot chocolate. “You are wonderful just the way you are, Tess. Someday, I hope you find the inner strength to believe that.”

Tess chewed on a ragged fingernail and knew that though Dell was dead wrong, it felt good to hear her words. She looked down at her plump, overworked hands and wondered what she had done to make Dell think she was wonderful. Whatever it was, Tess didn’t want to talk about it. “What about you, Dell?” she asked. “Why didn’t you ever marry again?”

Dell smiled into her mug. “I guess I never wanted to be that vulnerable to a man again. Walter hurt me deeply. Since then I’ve found that most men are too harsh for me. Too hurried. And too damned important to themselves. They do not understand the needs of a woman.”

Tess turned her face to Dell’s. She did not have to ask what Dell meant, for suddenly, she knew. Had maybe always known.

Dell looked into her eyes, set down her mug, then brought her hand to Tess’s face. Tess closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel the soft fingers caress her brow, her eyes, her cheeks, and as she felt the gentle touch upon her mouth, Tess softly parted her lips and met Dell’s fingertip with her tongue. And then the fingertip was gone, replaced by Dell’s full lips, Dell’s unhurried lingering lips, that tasted so chocolatey, so warm, and so very accepting.

Slowly, assuredly, Tess reached beneath Dell’s sweater as though it were the most natural, comfortable thing to do. She explored the softness of Dell’s round, supple breast; its eager nipple welled at her touch. And then she felt Dell’s hand slide between her legs. And Tess knew in her aching, growing heat, that she had never felt such love before, that she had never felt so right.

    In the morning, Tess awoke with a small ache in her back from the saggy old mattress of the bed in the studio.
She started to turn on her side when something stopped her. Beside her lay Dell.

Tess covered her eyes with the scratchy blanket. She couldn’t believe what she’d done last night. She couldn’t believe she’d let a woman make love to her. She couldn’t believe how much she had loved it, and how much she had loved that woman back.

Do you think Tess is a lesbian?
came the echo of Charlie’s accusation from long ago. How had she known? Was there some kind of telltale sign to being a lesbian? Some kind of … odor?

She gripped the edge of the blanket between her teeth now and wondered what her friends would think if they could see her now. Slowly, tentatively, she reached across the bed and touched the roundness of Dell’s stomach, the stomach that gently rose and fell with each peaceful breath. She moved her hand up to touch Dell’s breast: it was still there, still naked, warm and soft and … hers.

“Don’t stop,” Dell murmured from behind closed eyes.

Tess pulled her hand away.

“What is it?” Dell whispered. “Are you embarrassed?”

Tess shook her head. “No. Not at all.”

Dell awoke and rose on one elbow. She looked down at Tess and brushed the hair from her face. “Yes, you are,” she said. “You are embarrassed and you are upset.”

“No,” Tess answered. “I’m not upset. Not really.”

Dell rolled onto her back. “I think we need to talk about this. It was your first time, wasn’t it? With a woman?”

“Mmm,” Tess replied, realizing that Dell was right, she was embarrassed. And she felt like a fool. A needy, disgraceful fool.

“It wasn’t my first time, you know. Though it has been a few years.”

Tess tried to picture Dell with another woman. Kissing her face, her hands, her body, the way that Dell had kissed Tess’s. A curl of jealousy rippled through her. “I never knew,” Tess said. “I never knew you were a lesbian.”

“I think perhaps you did. Perhaps you did but you were not ready.”

“Is that why you live in Northampton?” Tess asked. “Because you’re a lesbian and so many lesbians live here?”

Dell laughed. “Not really. True, it’s easy to live here.
And, true, I feel envy, not revulsion, when I see a woman with another woman. But, no, I’ve never advertised my status. My shingle doesn’t say, ‘Old Book Shoppe, Dell Brooks, Proprietor, Lesbian.’ ”

Tess laughed.

“In fact,” Dell continued, “I hate the ones who wear leather and parade through the streets as though they need the world to know. As though they need to convert the world.” She shrugged. “I am who I am and I try to let others be. I choose my friends by their heads and their hearts, not their sexual preference. Besides, I hate labels. For all I know, a man will come along tomorrow and—” She snapped her fingers and raised her eyebrows.

Tess thought about that a moment, still unconvinced she was like Dell, still disbelieving what she had done, still holding on to … what? “I’ve made love with men before,” she quickly said. “I’m not a virgin.”

“I know that,” Dell said with a smile. “If you had only been with women, you would not have needed an abortion.”

“I wanted the child, Dell.”

Dell reached out and stroked Tess’s hair. “I know you did. I held you that night when you cried. Remember?”

The memory was blurred, but it was there. “I couldn’t …” Tess tried to say. “Because of my mother.”

“Hush,” Dell whispered and kissed her hair. “At the time, you did the right thing.”

“But how can I be a lesbian? If I wanted to be a mother? If I wanted, after that, to raise Jenny?”

“Just because we made love does not make you a lesbian. It makes you only a woman unafraid to give—or receive—love. Besides, wanting—or not wanting—a penis has nothing to do with wanting to be a mother.”

“Did your husband know?”

“That I prefer women? No. But then, neither did I. We never had a great sex life. But I don’t know if that was because of him, me, or that together we were just a bad match. What about you? How many lovers have you had? How many men?”