Just Yesterday (5 page)

You must be swimming in cash. Surely you can afford a simple luncheon for two.”

“Uh-huh.” Her voice is thick with a mocking twang. “And you’re nothing but a simple picture taker, right?”

I grin, nodding. “A mere pauper.”

“Uh-huh.”

I laugh and lead her just a few steps down the block before holding open the door and ushering her inside. The ambiance is stunning, and I take note of the appreciative look in Grace’s eye.

The maitre d’ arrives and ushers us to a quiet corner table. Grace orders a bottle of cabernet, and the waiter is filling two glasses within minutes.

“What shall we toast?” I ask.

“Old friends?”

Over the years I have referred to Grace in many ways, both publicly and privately. I’ve used many euphemisms. Old friend is not one of them. In fact, the phrase makes me uneasy. “How about to your success?”

She inclines her head and our glasses clink. I sip gingerly. “So why didn’t you ever tell me about being an anchor? I’m so proud of you.”

She smiles and shrugs, a combination of nonchalance and bashfulness. “It’s a long story.”

“So tell me.” I really do want to hear how it has come about. “And tell me what you’re doing here.”

Her face falls just a fraction, and she sips her wine slowly. “I had an interview this morning.”

“Here?” If I had just taken a drink, it would have been all over the linen tablecloth at that very moment.

“San Diego, actually. KQTV Channel Five.”

I stare at her, unable to control my disbelief.

She returns my stare, smile fading slowly. “Ooh.” She clucks her tongue and shakes her head slightly. “Don’t get too enthusiastic, Elizabeth. You wouldn’t want me to think you might actually enjoy having me so close by.” Her sarcasm is heavy, giving away her hurt. Quickly, I try to recover.

“Are you kidding? That’s incredible. Fantastic.” I am smiling in earnest now, my mind still reeling. “I just can’t believe it.”

“What, that I might finally leave Illinois? That I might actually be that successful? Or that I was silly enough to think you’d be pleased?” Sarcasm threatens her voice.

“No. Stop it, Grace. It’s not that at all.” I drop my voice down low as I appraise her. “I never doubted for a moment that you would be successful. I’m not surprised by that at all. It’s just —” My lips clamp together tightly as the old pain begins to rise.

“Just what?” Her voice is quiet now, too.

“I just can’t believe that you’d consider moving to California. Now. After all these years.” I bite my tongue, refusing to say the rest of what I’m thinking. After all these years. When you were going to move out here all those years ago to be with me.

“Ah.” She watches me silently for a moment, and I’m uncertain whether or not she can see through me. Her tone changes, and though she smiles, her eyes lack the playfulness of moments before. “Well you needn’t worry. I doubt that I’ll get the job anyŹway.”

I sip my wine, knowing that I’m already drinking too much on an empty stomach. My heart softens, and I can feel the corner of my mouth pulling upŹward. “Grace, I’m sure you can pretty much go anywhere you want to. I saw you doing the news. You’re good at it. Exceptionally good.” I can see the heaviness lifting from her eyes. “But why would you consider leaving Champaign?”

I watch myriad emotions flicker across her features as she drinks her wine slowly. Over the next few minutes, she tells me the story of how she ended up becoming a news anchor. She had started out writing copy for others, and was eventually asked to fill in occasionally for the anchors. She has been doing the morning and noon editions for three years, and had hoped that by now she would be moving up to prime time, as she calls it. But the same anchors have been doing the evening news for nearly twenty years, and the station wasn’t about to upset their viewers by replacing the aging newscasters with anyone. Even Grace.

“But why San Diego?” I ask as she finishes her story.

She shrugs. “It’s more like, why not San Diego. It’s a bigger market. There’s more opportunity. And they’re looking for someone.” She shrugs again. “Actually, I’m looking at several opportunities on both coasts. But the competition is really fierce.”

Her features soften as our salads arrive. It isn’t that she has to leave the Midwest, she explains, but she knows that it’s time. She’s been itching for some time now, and is more than ready to make the move.

Once the salad bowls are removed, we feast on salmon and tuna. I tell her about my new assignment with City Magazine, and she seems genuinely excited for me. Finally I feel my nervousness ebb as more wine flows.

She asks again about Joanna, and I respond more truthfully this time, choosing my words carefully.

“She’s wonderful. I’ve been very lucky.” I hesitate. “But the truth is that we’ve decided to split up.”

Grace’s jaw nearly drops. “Why?”

“I wish I knew,” I say honestly. “We’re very close. But it’s more like a friendship than anything else.” I contemplate this internally for a moment. “But it’s difficult to know what’s fair to expect after ten years. I wonder if all couples slide into that comfortable, passionless place. Maybe it’s normal. I don’t know.” I regret the words as soon as I say them. Talking about Joanna this way seems like betrayal. Shrugging my shoulders, I settle back into the seat behind me.

“I think I know what you mean,” Grace muses. “Sometimes I wonder whether or not two people can sustain that passion thing for many years.”

My eyebrow raises as she mentions passion, and she scolds me. “I’m not talking about sex. Well, not entirely, anyway. I’m just talking about that flame, that attraction that brings two people together. Know what I mean?”

I am noticing the darkness of her eyes, the curve of her mouth, noting how neither has changed in all these years. Slowly, my head nods. I know exactly what she is talking about. The wine is making my head swim. Reason is leaving me as old emotions rise. It isn’t safe to be here with Grace. Talking this way. Seeing her. I know I will pay the price with her haunting memory as soon as she leaves.

I don’t care. Grace tells me more about Dana.

About how they gradually grew apart until they decided about a year earlier to date others.

“And?” I dangle the question, not really wanting to know the answer.

“I’ve dated a few times.” She grins. “Nothing serious.”

Envy grips me. Not because I want to date other women, but because I want to date Grace. Still. But it is impossible. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. The mantra begins in my head.

The waiter appears again, clearing the table, asking if we need anything else. Grace shoos him away, glancing around at the other tables that have long since emptied.

“I think he wants us to leave.”

For the first time, I notice the emptiness around us. “My god, how long have we been here?”

Grace checks her watch, eyes wide when they meet mine. “Three hours. I think I’m going to miss my flight.” She pushes herself back from the table, snapping up her purse as she steps away. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to call the airline.”

While she’s gone, I feel myself sobering, growing morose. Why hadn’t it worked out with Grace before? I couldn’t remember anymore. But I am suddenly angry. Angry with myself for letting her go. Angry with her for not wanting me enough. Angry at Connie for fucking Grace. Angry at Connie for getting on that stupid little plane when she should have been driving to the music festival. Angry because the accident caused Grace to call me. Angry because I saw Grace. I don’t want to care about Grace anyŹmore. Too many years …

She is back, sitting across from me. The smile she flashes is brilliant. “Yep. I missed it.” She sounds like a misbehaving child. “Do you need to go? Or can you stay a while?”

“Of course I can stay.” I wouldn’t dream of leaving. So I excuse myself to make a phone call and hurriedly call home to leave a message on the machine for Joanna. I tell her where I’m at and who I’m with. Then I realize I have no idea what time Grace is leaving, and say I’m not sure when I’ll be home. I hang up the phone guiltily, shaking my head as I return to the table.

Grace has ordered more wine, and I grimace playfully. “I have to drive home,” I remind her, then flag down the waiter for some coffee.

We speak briefly about Connie, and I remember that I need to call her mother. Then as the wine begins to wear off just enough that I am beginning to have my wits about me, I take a deep breath of air and spit out the question I have wanted to ask for over ten years.

“What happened, Grace? Back then.” The smile falls from her face, but I press on, my voice sounding shaky. “One day it was just over, and we never really talked about it. I never knew why.”

Her lips press together, and a crease appears between her eyebrows. “You dumped me, remember?” Her voice holds irony.

I know my face registers shock. “You dumped me. You stopped writing. You stopped calling. Everything was wonderful in Miami. You were going to move to L.A. so we could be together, and then boom.” My hand thumps the table with emphasis.

“That’s not the way I remember it,” she says quietly.

How could she possibly deny what had happened? My eyes narrow as a slow, nervous shiver finds my spine. “I never forgave Connie for sleeping with you.” I say the words quietly, tonelessly.

Her face blanches. “That wasn’t entirely Connie’s fault.”

My stomach feels queasy. “What do you mean?”

Grace hesitates, visibly uncomfortable. “We were drunk. We met at some party. I went home with her.” Her laugh is harsh. “Hell, I didn’t even know her name or who she was until after —” Her eyes meet mine briefly, guiltily. “There were pictures of you. Everywhere. All over her apartment.” Her voice grows distant. “I got up and went to the fridge for a Coke. And there was your face. Right on the refrigerator.” She throws back her head and gestures to the heavens before turning back to me, grimacing.

I can only stare at her, my mind confused. I had totally misconstrued what had happened. All these years, I had let myself believe that they had shared a long, torrid affair.

“You can’t imagine what that moment was like. When I realized who she was and what we had done.” She is shaking her head, staring past me. “I puked my guts out. Everywhere. What a mess.”

Dazed, I force myself to focus.

“I am so sorry for that, Liz.” The eyes boring into mine are level, demanding my attention. “Truly. I was so ashamed.”

I want to rail at her and absolve her all at once.

Absolution wins out, and I try to lighten the moment. “You must have shit your pants,” I sympaŹthize.

“I did. Can you imagine?” She is almost laughing now, clearly relieved at my response.

But something still troubles me, even after her confession. “But what about before that?” The question comes before I knew I was asking it. “You stopped calling months before you slept with Connie.” My voice is quiet, bewildered.

Discomfort resurfaces on her features. “I don’t know,” she says finally. “I was scared. I wanted to believe that you loved me, but I couldn’t. I wanted to believe our love was enough, but I couldn’t. I didn’t trust you. I just kept remembering how you had dumped me before, and I was convinced that you’d do it again.”

My stomach falls again. Months and years of torment and self-recrimination. How could she have not believed me? How could she possibly not know how much I loved her? Wanted her.

“Jesus, Grace.” I feel sick.

“I’m not justifying what I did.” Her words are clipped, displaying impatience. “I’m just telling you how I felt. You dumped me. Period. You were my first lover. I was so completely in love with you my senior year that nothing else mattered. And then you dumped me. To move to L fucking A. To be with Connie.” The tone in her voice leaves little doubt in my mind that old memories trigger as much pain for her as they do with me. “I never got over that. I couldn’t forget it. And I didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do it again.”

Sick. I am sick. Stomach lurching and head pounding sick. I could cry. Tears of frustration for the years of needless misunderstanding.

“I can’t believe it.” The words squeak from my lips. “I would have done anything for you. To make things right.”

Her features are grim. “We can’t change the past, Liz. What happened, happened. You hurt me. I hurt you. We hurt each other.”

“Ouch. That sounds so cold.”

“It’s reality.” Her eyes grow steely. “We can’t change that.”

I know she is right, but my heart freezes at the sound of her words. I am reminded how sharp her tongue can be. My face must register my thoughts, because she is leaning forward, elbows on table, and lowering her voice.

“I’m not trying to be mean, Liz. But it took me a very long time and a whole lot of therapy to get past all of that. I don’t want to go back and think about it now.”

I nod, swallowing my pride and the questions I want to ask. So many questions. But even if she has the answers, she doesn’t want to share them. And maybe I’m better off not knowing.

We stare at each other without speaking, and I am aware only of Grace. Time slips, and I see us sitting at an airport restaurant, in Miami, many years before. It had been the end of our week together, when we’d rekindled the past. We sat at a table in the airport lounge, fingers touching across the Formica. Hating to leave each other. Again. Promising that it wouldn’t happen again. Promising we’d be together, make it work somehow.

“I should probably go.” Present-day Grace is speaking, breaking the spell. “Will you take me to the airport? Or should I catch a cab?”

“Of course I’ll take you.” Torture. Pure torture. But I will stay with her as long as I can.

I joke halfheartedly as she pays our check, and we slip back into an easygoing patter. “I’m afraid this more than makes up for that brunch I stuck you with,” she grimaces.

I agree that it does, grinning, and steer her out of the restaurant and back to my car. We take the 405 up to LAX and are nearly silent the entire trip.

I pull the car slowly to the curb, happy for the time we’ve shared, however short. But sad, reluctant to let her go, even though I have no choice. Have no right. It seems she is always leaving. Has always left. Is it the wine or the heart that is mixing the present with the past?