A Perfect Life nd Other Stories (3 page)

“My name’s Sandy. I don’t really care for Snake. And I don’t mind
waiting. Unless . . .”

Lily ate more chips. This attentive Snake, er Sandy, was a little
hard to get used to. Maybe this was the dream and what happened before was
real. Oh, god, Lily thought, what the hell was that all about?

“I know we haven’t exactly been close,” Sandy said. Lily stared
into her brilliant blue eyes. Not brown at all. How had she never noticed them
before? “I don’t blame you for pretending you didn’t see me in line . . .”

“I didn’t,” Lily protested feebly.

“Yeah, you did,” Sandy said, clearly hurt. “I have feelings, you
know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lily held out the bag of chips in offering. Sandy started to reach
for one then stopped. “No, you need them.” She smiled shyly.

Lily sighed. “We’ve been roommates for, what,
three months? I don’t know the first thing about you.”

Sandy shrugged. “We’re not that different.”

“Oh please. You’re out to your parents. I’m not. Your mom gave you
dental dams, mine gave me condoms. I’ve had something only approximating sex,
you get it regularly.” Sandy blushed bright red. “Need I go on?”

“You think I have sex?”

“You’re never in at night.”

Sandy tilted her head and knit her brow as though just
comprehending what her roommate thought of her. “I’ve been working on a
photography project, and the only time I can get the darkroom is at night.”

Lily stared at her then looked away. “Shit. I am such an ass.”

“It’s okay. I could have told you, but you seemed, so, well . . .”

Lily wanted to cry. “Stuck up. Go ahead. Say it.”

“I was going to say busy. Stressed. Not stuck
up. That hadn’t occurred to me. Shy maybe, if anything.”

An image flashed of Sandy catching her as she fainted. As Sandy,
instead of Snake, her features softened and Lily saw for the first time that
she didn’t have any piercings. Not even earrings. Her skin was smooth and
zit-free, except for a small comma-shaped scar on her left cheek. When she
smiled, as she was now, it creased into a dimple. How could she have lived with
this sweet thing for three months and not ever seen her?

They sat quietly together, Lily munching potato chips, swinging
her feet, and Sandy watching her.

When she finished the chips and crumpled the bag, Sandy reached
for it and their fingers brushed. A shiver swept through Lily as she watched
Sandy toss the bag into the trash can behind her. A simple gesture of manners
that crumpled Lily’s old notion of her roommate.

“Why are you here? . . . Sandy.” That name would take practice to
get used to, but it suited her, Lily decided.

In the few seconds it took Sandy to respond, Lily watched her
breathe, how her shoulders moved slightly, her color deepening.

“You’re right,” Sandy began. She leaned forward, her elbows on her
knees. Lily couldn’t see her eyes. “We don’t know each other very well. So I
decided that maybe you might be kind of scared, because, you know, I would be,
if I were in your situation. So I hoped it might help to see a familiar
face—however strange.” She chuckled, but Lily could tell it wasn’t from
bravado.

“Oh.” Lily leaned forward and ran her fingers through Sandy’s
short, stiff hair. Sandy shifted and for a moment Lily’s palm cupped her cheek.

“How’re we doing here?” The nurse breezed in.

Lily pulled her hand away but kept her gaze locked on Sandy. “Much
better, I think,” she said.

The nurse gave her a quick once over—temperature, blood pressure,
pulse (did she just raise an eyebrow?), listened to her heart. “I think you’ll
live,” she said with a wink. “You’re free to go. Don’t come back without a full
belly.”

Lily thanked her. Sandy scampered out of her chair, grabbed Lily’s
backpack, and held the door. She led the way through a short hallway, not
nearly as dark as Lily’s weird dream. But when Sandy pushed through another
door, bright light blinded Lily, like the lights in her dream. She panicked and
pulled back. “I can’t—”

Sandy stopped. “What? You okay?”

Lily blinked in the strong light. Sunlight. She could see the
president’s lawn, just like in her dream. They were in the parking lot, but
there were cars, not bleachers full of cheering, leering students. No bed, no
naked women. Just Sandy, her eyes the color of the sky. She took a deep breath
and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Sandy held out her hand and Lily took it. Together, they headed
down the hill to the dining center. Lily inhaled deeply the chill winter air.
“So, tell me about your photo project.”

Tracy Arm

THE SMALL CRUISE ship drifted across a steel-colored plane, and a
light fog blurred the line between horizon and sky. Mist draped the forested
shore, unmarked by humans. Kate sat at the end of her bunk and leaned against
the cabin window, watching three humpback whales float by, not fifty feet from
the deck railing. The deep whoosh of a fourth whale, exhaling as it surfaced,
sounded through the room, and a cloud of water vapor shot skyward. The massive
form then slipped beneath the still water.

Kate’s breath fogged the window, and she shivered from the morning
chill penetrating the glass. She decided not to wake Stephanie, snoring softly in
the other bunk. The solitude fit perfectly, familiar now, almost comforting.

At six-thirty the intercom crackled to life as the ship’s
naturalist gave the wakeup call, announcing that the shore visit to a
rainforest would begin at eight. Stephanie groaned awake and Kate retreated to
the bathroom.

“What day is it?” Stephanie called through the bathroom door.

Kate counted back. This was their second
morning aboard the boat, but they’d spent a week traveling from Fairbanks down
through Denali National Park then to Anchorage for their flight to Juneau and
the cruise. She’d completely lost track.

“I’ve no idea,” she said, and for that she was
grateful.

She sighed and reached for her toothbrush, grabbing the sink to
steady herself as the ship rolled gently in a turn. Alaska had seemed like a
good idea three months ago when Stephanie had suggested it. She hadn’t seen her
college buddy in years and she needed the distraction. She just wished Jill was
here. But that was the point. Better to be here without Jill than at home
without her.

AT THE APPOINTED hour, full of French toast and coffee, Kate found
herself doing a double take as she rounded the corner to the muster area and
spotted the crew member handing out life jackets for the ride on the Zodiac to
shore.
Is that a dyke?
Kate felt a nudge.

“Check ’er out,” Stephanie whispered.

Kate’s gaze lingered as the woman bantered with the guests while
showing them how to put on their “PFDs,” she called them, for personal
flotation device. She was unmistakable, with short, dark blond hair in a boy’s
cut that was carefully parted and combed, accentuating her firm jaw line. Kate
had only begun to analyze why that set off her gaydar, when the woman laughed,
deep and sure. Not giggly. Her face had lit up with a broad smile, laugh lines
creasing her cheeks. It triggered a tiny detonation deep within Kate.

Fellow passengers formed a line, and Kate’s peripheral vision
blurred as she inched closer. Then she was next and the woman met her gaze, her
eyes gray like the ocean. She said something.

“I’m sorry. What?” Kate asked, flustered.

“You might want to take your cap off,” she repeated.

Tracy
, Kate read from the nametag above her left breast, merely hinted
at under a fleece vest worn over her uniform.

Tracy showed her how to hold the inflation tubes aside to fit her
head through the opening. Their hands brushed and Kate flinched as she took the
PFD from her. She pushed her head through, then Tracy pulled the strap around
her and hooked the clip.

“You’re all set.” She smiled and turned her attention to
Stephanie, warning her to remove her glasses as well as her cap.

It was over so fast. Kate found herself pushed back to the rail as
more people milled about. She wanted to say something to Tracy, but had no idea
what. Besides, the woman was working. Kate sighed and wondered what was
happening to her. Maybe it was because they’d been surrounded by heterosexuals
on this trip. Was Tracy merely an oasis in the desert? She hadn’t reacted this
way to a woman in, well, two years. Stephanie looked at her strangely.

“What?”

“You interested?” Stephanie nodded toward
Tracy.

A chill made Kate shiver. “No.” It was reflex more than answer.
She thought about taking it back, saying “maybe” instead. Stephanie would be
thrilled. She’d spend the rest of the trip trying to get them together. That
was the problem.

As the group headed down the stairs to the waiting Zodiac, Kate
twisted around to keep Tracy in sight as long as she could, and all during the
hike through the rainforest, she thought about her. When they returned to the
ship, a male crew member took their PFDs. Kate looked for Tracy, but the Sea
Star, with just four decks and only a hundred passengers, was plenty big enough
to hide a dyke.

THE NEXT EVENING in the ship’s lounge, while
the naturalist pointed to a photo of a raven projected on the screen, Kate
stared through the front window, watching Tracy out on the bow until it became
too dark to see. The last she had seen of her, Tracy was leaning over the rail,
watching the anchor as it dropped. Another crew member manned the machine that
lowered the hefty chain. Kate had no idea what ravens ate or where they lived.

When the door to the bow opened, Kate had been
nodding off but looked up in time to see Tracy breeze past her, oblivious that
another lesbian was thinking of her, so close by. In the nick of time, she
thought to check Tracy’s left hand. No ring. She sighed.

“GOOD MORNING, SEA Star,” the naturalist announced through the
cabin’s intercom. “Are you ready for a lovely morning in Tracy Arm?”

Kate startled awake by the voice. Then the words sank in.
Tracy
Arm? Tracy
. She sat up abruptly. That was it, the perfect excuse. Today she
would talk to her. She leapt out of bed and rushed through washing up.

Stephanie peered out from under her blankets as Kate got dressed.
“What’s got into you?”

“Glaciers. Icebergs,” Kate said, dodging the answer. “Tracy Arm is
supposed to be the best place to see ice calving off the glaciers.” She grabbed
her camera and binoculars. “I’ll see you on deck.”

All morning Kate wandered the ship,
alternating between looking for Tracy and staring, mesmerized by the steep
walls of the narrow inlet and the towering glaciers. She craned her neck at the
granite cliffs on either side that rose two thousand feet almost straight up to
an azure sky, unmarked by clouds or airplanes. Below her, bits of icebergs in
various shades of blue and white floated by in emerald green water. Other than
the hum of the engine as the ship motored slowly toward South Sawyer Glacier,
there were no sounds except occasional pops and cracks of ice breaking off,
then a roar as an avalanche rolled down the face of the glacier and splashed
into the water. The naturalist described the long, arm-shaped fjord, with its
ninety degree bend at the “elbow,” and pointed out bare rock that just five
years earlier had been covered by a glacier melting rapidly due to climate
change. The ice glistened, wet and vulnerable in the bright sun, and Kate tried
to comprehend a world too warm for glaciers.

Everyone, it seemed, was out on deck, except for the elusive
lesbian crew member. By noon, Kate despaired of ever seeing her again. Then,
right after lunch, there she was, in a sweatshirt and jeans, binoculars around
her neck, playing tourist like the rest of them. Of course, she couldn’t work
24/7. It took almost an hour for Kate to gather the courage to approach her,
standing by the rail on the bow.

“So, Tracy, what do you think of Tracy Arm?” she asked,
immediately convinced that was the dumbest possible question.

Tracy looked confused for a second then smiled shyly. “Ah, the nametag.”
She patted her sweatshirt, but there was nothing there. “I like it. You?”

Kate nodded in agreement and returned the smile, relieved. “Off
duty?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice. I’m Kate.”

“Tracy.”

“I know.”

“Right!” Tracy blushed.

Oh my, Kate thought. She’s nervous too.

“This your first trip to Alaska?” Tracy asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“I live here.” Tracy paused, then added, “In Juneau. Not, you
know, here . . .” She nodded to take in the boat and relaxed against the rail.

“So, how’d you get this job?”

Tracy met Kate’s gaze then looked away. “Well, that’s kind of a
long story, but it’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while.” She looked back
at Kate. “The short version is, they were hiring and I was available.”

“I’d love to hear the long version.”

Tracy’s eyes narrowed and her smile vanished. The effect gave Kate
chills. What had she said? Was Tracy angry?

People began to press around them. Things were getting interesting
at the glacier. The naturalist was pointing at something. Seals on an ice floe.
That was all.

“I once dated a woman who sailed,” Kate said
as a way to broach the reason she had wanted to talk to Tracy in the first
place. Kindred spirits and sisterhood.

“Yeah? So, you don’t?”

Oh, no, Kate thought, she’ll think we have nothing in common. “I’d
love to learn,” she said.

“I’m sure you could take lessons.” Tracy’s clipped, serious tone
sounded like a door closing. She turned toward the seals and raised her
binoculars.

Kate lost her nerve. “Yeah, maybe someday I
will.”

“WHAT DAY IS it?” Stephanie asked.

Kate ignored her friend. She hadn’t slept well and woke in a foul
mood. She checked her watch. The fifth. August fifth.
Fuck
. This was why
she hadn’t cared that they’d lost track of time. This was why she had pushed to
go on the trip this week. She wanted to forget, to be somewhere else today. But
it didn’t help.

“Is it Wednesday?” Stephanie asked.

“Yes!” Kate threw the covers off and sat up. “God, can you let it
go?”

“What’s bugging you?” Stephanie teased.

Kate glared at her. “Fuck you.” She headed toward the bathroom but
stubbed her toe, letting out a frustrated howl. “God damn it!”

The boat turned at that moment and Kate lurched against the desk,
her hip slamming into the chair. She burst into tears and sank to the floor.

Stephanie went to her. “Hey, what’s going on?” She put her arms
around Kate and held her while she sobbed.

It took several minutes before Kate regained control, but when she
tried to speak, fresh tears flowed. She rocked against Stephanie who cooed
soothingly. When she stopped crying, she lay in her friend’s arms, quiet,
afraid to speak.

Finally, she took a deep breath. “It’s August fifth.”

“Oh, shit. Your anniversary.”

“I was hoping I would be so distracted I wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m sorry. I should just shut up.”

Kate sighed. “It’s not your fault.” She pressed the heels of her
hands to her eyes, to dam the flow, to no avail. “Why does it still hurt so
much? I know she’d want me to move on. She wouldn’t want me . . . like this.”

“No, she wouldn’t. But it’s not that easy.”

Kate relaxed against Stephanie and they sat, quiet.

“I’m so tired of this,” she said after a few minutes. “I’ve
completely forgotten who I used to be and no one else remembers either.”

Stephanie wiped Kate’s wet cheek. “I remember. You’re the one who
lights up a room just by walking through the door. The one who makes me laugh
so hard I cry.”

“Not any more, I don’t.”

“You will again. I promise.”

They remained on the floor while the voice
crooned through the intercom about the day’s port visit.

“Would you mind if I didn’t go into Sitka today?” Kate said.

“Sure. We can stay here.”

“No, I mean me. I’d like to be alone today.

“I don’t know . . . it doesn’t seem like a
good idea.”

“Then I won’t ask. I want to be alone today. I’m tired. I’ll
probably sleep through it all.”

Reluctantly, Stephanie agreed. Kate crawled
back into bed and pretended to fall asleep while Stephanie got dressed. She
felt a light kiss on her forehead and heard the door close softly. The tears returned.

On this day three years ago, Kate had stood next to Jill on a
sunny patch of grass in Boston’s Arnold Arboretum, sweating and breathless.
Their friend Margaret, a minister, had performed the ceremony. Kate remembered
how serene Jill had appeared, except for the death grip she had on Kate’s hand.
They were surrounded by friends and family. Jill’s mother wept joyfully. Kate’s
father wiped tears of pride. It was a day she had never expected to be allowed
to have. A legal marriage to the woman she loved more than life itself. They
had written their own vows—to love each other forever, because they knew the
physical world could not contain what they felt.

Ten months later, a drunk driver ran a red light and broadsided
Jill’s car, killing her instantly the doctor told Kate. She thought for sure
she would continue to feel Jill’s presence, might even see her in dim corners
of their favorite room—the den with the woodstove. But Kate had felt nothing.
No sensations, no vibrations, only the chilling, dark sorrow that encased her.
It was as though time itself had stopped, like Jill’s wristwatch, frozen at the
moment of impact.