Just Yesterday (12 page)

Her face blanches as she stares at me. “I’m sorry, Liz.” She glances down at her watch and is instantly distracted. “I need to go. I have to get to makeup before I go on.”

A familiar lump is in my throat, and I struggle to choke it back. “I’m staying at the Plaza in Manhattan.” The words rush out quickly.

Grace sighs heavily and looks away. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other, Liz.”

My heart is aching that dull, strained ache. “Then tell me it’s over, Grace. Let me go. I can’t go on like this anymore.”

“I ‘can’t …” She stands up and wraps her arms across her chest. “I can’t go through this right now.”

Heart in my throat, my mind is screaming her name, begging her not to let me go. “Then I guess I’ll have to do it,” I say, and I know now that it has to be this way. She would never say the words. I draw a long and haggard breath as I stand and toss my overnight bag over one shoulder. “It’s over, Grace. I love you. But I have to let go.”

We stare at each other for several moments, until I realize that she has no intention of stopping me from walking out of her life. Then I chide myself for thinking even for a moment that she might. After all, she already walked out of my life months ago.

With that knowledge firmly in mind, I turn on my heel and head back the way we came. When I reach the street I don’t turn back. I hail a cab and head straight for the airport.

I go over it and over it in my mind. I had convinced myself that seeing Grace and saying it was over would make the hurt go away. I know now that I must have been delusional.

I replay our conversation over and over in my mind. I think of clever, cutting remarks that I wish I’d said. Parting shots to hurt her as much as her withdrawal from my life had hurt me. I think of things I’d say if I still had the opportunity.

I hope that microphone keeps you warm at night, was my favorite. But I know that her reply would be equally cutting. Equally hurtful. I’ve never had any trouble finding someone to keep me warm at night, she would say. And I’d be crippled again. Impotent.

Then my emotions swing in the opposite direction, and I am like a wailing child who has suffered loss too many times in a very short lifetime.

I rail at Grace and at fate and want to tell her she’s a coward. A coward for giving up on us. A coward for not being able to say the words. A coward for making me say the words for her. No responsibility. That’s what Grace wants. As if by simply walking away she is no longer responsible for holding my heart in her hands.

But I’m being melodramatic. Love is not a contract, Grace would say. Even though she promised. And I believed her. Trusted her. Against my better judgment.

There is a strange woman in my house when I return home. She is an attractive, waiflike creature with long, thin dark hair. She is leaning over the kitchen sink, filling an ice tray with water, when I open the back door and step into the kitchen.

Her eyes become saucers and I can practically read her mind, her face is so transparent and open.

It takes me a moment, particularly because I am so deep in a fog that it takes my mind a few moments to catch up with my eyes.

“Uh. Hi.” I finally manage a smile and drop my bag to the floor when the kittens descend to greet me.

“Hi.” Awkwardly, she places the ice tray down on the counter and smiles shyly, uncertain. “You must be Liz.” She wipes a hand on the thin cotton skirt she is wearing and I notice for the first time that her feet are bare.

A woman whom I have never inet is standing in my kitchen at nearly midnight, dressed in a flimsy cotton dress of some kind, and making ice cubes. I’m too surprised to react.

She is reaching out to me with the hand she has just wiped on her skirt and I realize she is waiting for a response.

“Yes. I’m Liz.” I shake her hand. “And you would be … ?” I let the sentence dangle in the air.

“I’m Amy.” She smiles, just as Joanna wanders in and nearly drops the bottle of beer she is holding to the floor.

“Liz,” she says.

“Joanna,” I reply.

We stare at each other, neither knowing quite what to do. Then we both glance at Amy, and I find myself apologizing.

“I’m sorry. I should have called and let you know that I was coming home early.”

We spend the next ten minutes apologizing to each other. Amy insists that she should leave, and I insist that she should stay. Joanna says she’s sorry and should have told me, and I say it’s okay and we’ll talk later.

“Don’t let me ruin your evening. Please,” I say firmly. Then I give both kittens a scratch behind the ear and pick up my bag. “I’m going to turn in, anyway.” I say good night and muster as much nonchalance as I can as I head toward my bedroom.

Joanna is barely sixty seconds behind me. She opens my door and catches me just as I sit down on the bed.

“Liz. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” “It’s okay.”

“We met last month. I’ve wanted to tell you so many times lately, but you’ve been so hurt and absorbed.”

“It’s okay,” I say again. Absorbed is probably an understatement.

“I didn’t want to hurt you any more than you were already hurting.”

“Joanna.” I hold up my hand. “Really. I’m okay with this. I understand. Stop apologizing.” My voice is firm, but it has an edge. My exhaustion is showing.

We stare at each other for several moments until Joanna lets out a huge sigh and steps over to sit beside me.

“So why are you back so soon?” She asks the question quietly, and I suddenly want to cry. But I’m done crying. Tired of crying. Numbness settles over me.

“It’s over,” I tell her simply. “She wouldn’t say the words, but it was obvious. So I said them.” I shrugged. “There was no point in staying.”

I glance at Joanna, and her eyes are watching me closely. “Are you okay?” she asks.

“I will be,” I tell her. Even though I don’t believe it yet. But of course I will be. Everyone gets through it, eventually.

The silence between us is comforting, and then I remember that Amy is waiting in the other room.

“Amy seems very nice.” I smile and hope Joanna knows I’m sincere.

“She is. Very sweet.” Joanna colors just a bit. “Kind of cute, too.” I raise an eyebrow, teasing

her.

She reaches out to nudge my shoulder before growing serious. “I hope you’ll like her, Liz. That you’ll get a chance to know her.”

“I’m sure I will,” I assure her.

First MaryAnn and then Ginger meows their way into the room, and we both watch as they begin rubbing against our legs.

“I guess you and I have a few things we need to work out, huh?” Joanna sounds sad, reluctant.

I nod, knowing that the time has come for us to let go. “Indeed we do.” Tears begin to threaten, this time for Joanna instead of Grace. “We’ll start tomorrow.” I stand up and pull her up from the bed. “Now get out of here. You have a guest to entertain.”

She squeezes me tightly. “Thanks, Liz,” she whispers, and my eyes begin to mist over as she closes the door behind her.

Seven years ago, shortly after Joanna and I had bought the house, Joanna had insisted that we build a swing set that her sister’s kids could play on. They lived in an apartment at the time, and Joanna wanted them to have a safe place to play.

They played in our yard nearly every day of the summer those first couple of years. But they are older now, in junior high and high school, and we only see them on holidays.

I sit, with a coffee mug in my hands, on one of the two swings now, listening to the birds greeting the morning. I reflect on how things have changed over the years.

I’d believed back then that Joanna and I would be together forever. Now that the relationship is coming to a close, I’m thinking that Joanna is more family to me than the blood relatives back home. I hope we don’t lose that. I hope that we can find a way to bridge this time, blend our past with the future, and come out on the other end still part of each other’s family.

My thoughts jump to Grace with a thump of my heart, and I wonder how many days, weeks, months will have to pass before I no longer think of her umpteen times each day.

I sip my coffee and watch a robin search the ground for breakfast. I can hear Joanna approaching from behind. Without looking, I know that she has joined me on the swing beside me. But the morning is too young and I’m far too vulnerable to look into her eyes so early.

“Shouldn’t you be entertaining your guest?” I ask the question not to be catty, but with sincerity.

She doesn’t reply, and I think that maybe she thinks I’m being sarcastic. I turn to quickly reassure her.

But the eyes that meet mine aren’t the blue of Joanna’s. They’re brown. Dark brown. Slightly bloodŹshot. Definitely tired. My heart stops beating.

“Hi.”

I stare for several moments, not trusting my eyes. Then I blink and return my eyes to the robin, which is still hopping in the grass.

“You didn’t check in to your hotel.” Grace’s voice is quiet, almost gravelly.

“No.” My voice is small and not yet quite awake.

“You should have known that I’d never be able to stay away if I knew you were there,” she is saying. “I went to the hotel right after my broadcast.”

“I had no reason to think you would come.” My voice is a monotone. “And I couldn’t stand the thought of sitting in a hotel room. Waiting. I had to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Liz. You caught me so off guard. I was an ass.”

My shoulders lift in a shrug. “You’ll get no arguŹment from me on that one.”

We are silent for a while, and the robin flies away. Unreasonably, I search for something else to focus on. Anything so that I don’t have to look at Grace. My coffee mug becomes the center of my universe.

“I think I woke Joanna up. She didn’t seem exactly pleased to see me.”

I smile a little at this, then try to remember the last time that the two of them had met. Five, maybe six years ago.

“She only gave me a small piece of her mind before she told me where you were,” Grace conŹtinued, piquing my curiosity.

“Really? What did she say?” I risk a glance and watch her stretch her arms up over her head and grasp the ropes of the swing.

“Oh,” she begins wryly. “Basically to shit or get off the pot.”

Amused, I glance back over my shoulder and see Joanna and Amy sitting out on the balcony of the master bedroom, nearly a hundred yards away. The absurdity strikes my funny bone, and I raise my mug in a mock toast.

Joanna returns the gesture, and I smile before turning back to Grace.

“Who’s that with her?” she asks.

“That would be Amy. Her new girlfriend.”

Grace whistled low. “Things sure have changed around here. Are you okay?”

“See what you missed in just three months?” I keep my voice light as I continue. “Yeah. I’m okay. A little sad. But okay.”

Grace searches my face and then nods and looks away. The silence stretches, and I’m surprised to realize that it is almost companionable and not unŹcomfortable.

“I think I counted six billboards and eight taxicabs with your face on them. Just between the airport and your office building,” I muse. “You really made it, Grace. You should be very proud of yourŹself.”

“Thanks. But it’s all so daunting. Not to mention overwhelming and hectic and scary.” She slides me a small smile, and for the first time that morning, I feel a crack in my armor. “It hasn’t been an easy adjustment,” she finally adds, and I think on this, admitting to myself and to her that it probably wasn’t.

My mind digests this information, and I begin to think about what it must be like. To be in Grace’s shoes. To look up in the sky and see your face plastered there. Smiling. Always smiling.

“Do you ever get sick of smiling?” I ask stupidly.

“Yes,” she admits, grinning, knowing exactly what

I’m talking about. The unexpected grin disarms me, and I avert my gaze.

“I subscribed to City Magazine.”

“Really?” I’m genuinely surprised.

Grace nods. “It was a way of keeping you close, I think.” She blinks and interrupts herself. “Without keeping you close, that is. I was being a voyeur into your life, from afar.”

“A simple phone call would’ve probably been an easier way to keep tabs on me.”

She doesn’t take the bait.

“I’ve enjoyed your photographs. You seem to be doing pretty well yourself.”

I nod. “I suppose so. I’ve actually gotten a couple of other assignment offers.” I think about the two phone calls that I have yet to return, and shake my head. “Guess I should get back to them, huh?” I say this more to myself than to Grace, who twists an eyebrow quizzically.

“I’ve been preoccupied.” My smile is resigned. “I’ve been having trouble making decisions. Making plans or commitments of any kind.” I tip my head back toward the house. “Even with Joanna. Things have changed so much, and she’s ready to move on. I’ve just been reluctant to do anything until I knew for certain what was happening with us.” I choke a little and take a sip of coffee.

Grace bends down, runs a hand through the grass before plucking a blade and examining it closely. “I know what you mean. I haven’t let myself think about anything but work. Partly because I want to do well. But also because it can all be so intimidating. Sometimes it makes me want to put my tail between my legs and go home to Champaign where I belong.”

Selfishly, I am hurt that it doesn’t even occur to her to run to me. Then I realize that it isn’t even in her makeup to run to someone. She would rather build up her walls, put her head down, and run full steam ahead. Needing someone was a weakness to Grace, and she would never admit to being so vulnerable.

As if reading my thoughts, Grace’s voice drops down to a monotone. “I’ve trained myself pretty well over the years. I know how to focus. How to shut out every distraction.”

“How to avoid things …” I smile and am rewarded with a small crinkle at the corner of her eyes.

“How to avoid things.” She repeats my words and chuckles.

“You’re a master at avoidance,” I tease.

“Agreed. But it tends to get me in the end. Eventually.” She sighs, growing serious. “I’m sorry I avoided you, Liz. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I know it was wrong of me. I knew it at the time. But I’ve been paralyzed. Cold and paralyzed.”