A Perfect Life nd Other Stories (9 page)

The train whistle blew.

Alice wiped her cheeks. “I have a train to catch. Please. Let me
go.”

Denny released Alice’s seatbelt and helped her out of the plane.
She thought she could do this, let Alice go, until she took her hand. Helpless,
she wrapped her arms around Alice and pressed her close. Alice resisted at
first but then relaxed into her and held her.

“I won’t forget you,” Denny said.

Alice gave her a squeeze then pulled away. The wind blew her hair
across her face, obscuring her expression. Denny brushed it aside and kissed
her until she felt Alice’s tear on her cheek. With no future to look forward
to, Denny sealed Alice within her memory then released her. She grabbed her bag
from the back and together they crossed the tracks.

Denny made sure Alice got on board, then went back to her plane
and waited until the train pulled out. Searching her pockets for a tissue, she
found Vanessa’s letter. She started to open it but then balled it up and
stuffed it in the trash bag under her seat. Through a blur of tears, she
watched for Alice and when she saw her go by in the last car, she wiped her
face, blew her nose, and started her engine. She took off and followed the
train until she caught up, then dipped her wings a couple of times and turned
west, toward Denali.

A Certain Moon

ANN DUSTED SHELVES that were already dust-free, plumped previously
plumped pillows, and ignored the disdainful look her cat gave her. She checked
the clock for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. It was too early for
Erica to be punctual, never mind fashionably late. She paced the kitchen,
checking the roast in the oven, the potatoes on the stove. Everything was where
it should be, except her emotions. Why was she so nervous? As much as she liked
Erica, she knew there was no point in getting her hopes up.

They’d met last summer at a book festival in the city—Erica was a
writer, Ann an illustrator. Ann had been sitting in the back row of a seminar
on genre. As the panelists had droned on about the popularity of witchcraft
novels and the role of speculative fiction in deciphering the modern psyche,
she had noticed the woman next to her sighing repeatedly and shifting
uncomfortably. As they stood to leave, she asked, “Do you disagree?”

The woman appeared startled, then smiled shyly. “Was I that
obvious?”

Ann noted the warmth of that smile and
returned one of her own. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you.”

That got them chatting, and they were pleasantly surprised to
learn they lived in the same town. Erica introduced herself and put out her
hand. Ann responded in kind. Erica’s hand was warm, her grip firm.

“What do you write?” Ann asked as they joined the stream of avid
readers and wannabe novelists leaving the hotel conference room.

“Romances.”

Ann sighed silently. “So you believe in happily ever after?”

Erica chuckled. “Hardly. That’s why I write fiction.”

That had been the first tick of attraction.

ANN ASSEMBLED THE members of her tiny household. Only the dog,
Farkas, came when called. Freddy, the hamster, gave her a blank hamster stare,
and Erzsebet remained in her window seat, back to Ann, but her ears were
turned, so she was listening.

“Please behave—all of you,” Ann pleaded. She understood the
ridiculousness of trying to bargain with these creatures, but she was
desperate. “This might be my last chance.”

Farkas wagged his curly tail, Erzsebet ignored her, and Freddy,
standing against the glass wall of his aquarium home, trembled. Resigned, Ann
gave Freddy a comforting pat, attempting to cover some of his bare patches with
the bits of fur that remained.

The first time the doorbell rang, Ann about
jumped out of her skin. It was barely six o’clock, however, and it was only
trick-or-treaters. Of all the evenings for Erica’s first visit, it had to be
this one—Halloween—complete with a full moon. But this was the only evening
that worked for both of them.

What was it Erica had said? “I make a point of ignoring
Halloween.”

That had been another tick. Ann dreaded the day, or rather the
evening, but participated for fear her neighbors, though few they were, would
think her stranger than she already felt. “Far too commercial for me,” she’d
said, to assure Erica, who did not elaborate on her remark.

ANN’S NERVES CALMED till about seven thirty. She’d suggested Erica
come after eight, when the Halloween crowd lessened. With each ring of the
bell, Farkas spun in circles, barking, and Erzsebet dove under the couch. Aside
from the occasional Katniss Everdeen, the kids’ costumes presented the usual
suspects—vampires, princesses, witches, and other assorted scary creatures. Ann
handed out the candy, searching past the costumed heads to the dark street, now
white with falling snow, anticipating Erica’s arrival.

She paced her living room, reflecting on this new sensation,
anticipating someone’s arrival. What had led to this?

After the panel at the book festival, Ann hadn’t expected to see
Erica again, but there she was at the fancy lunch, with an empty seat beside
her. Ann, not knowing anyone else at the event, overcame her shyness and asked
if it was taken. To her surprise and delight, Erica’s eyes lit up.

“I was hoping I’d see you again,” she’d said, pulling out the
chair. “I was kicking myself for not suggesting this.”

Their conversation flowed easily, as though
Ann had known Erica all her life. They compared notes on the workshops they’d
attended, what authors they were thrilled to see, and found that, at least
literarily, they had a lot in common. After the applause died down for the
keynote speaker and people headed off to the afternoon events, Ann boldly asked
Erica if she’d like to meet for coffee sometime.

That became a habit. Both worked from home, so any time “away from
the office,” they joked, was treasured. Coffee turned to lunch on Fridays, a
reward for a week of work, though Ann found herself sketching Erica instead of
what she was hired for, and Erica confessed to daydreaming instead of writing.

Soon, they were spending Saturday afternoons together. Ann enjoyed
Erica’s easy company, whether browsing the local bookshop, visiting an art
gallery, or picnicking in the park. She hadn’t dared hope that it might go
beyond friendship until Erica kissed her. Just last Saturday. Suddenly, the
world had tilted 180 degrees, and Ann found herself unmoored. That a touch of
lips could so alter the universe. The emotion of that kiss had cleaved
her—hopeful but also hopeless.

IN A LAST flurry of nervous energy, Ann moved Farkas’s bed away
from the window. If it weren’t snowing, she’d have considered locking him
outside till morning. She struggled against her impatience to move things along
with Erica and her reluctance for it to end, because it would end. That was
certain. As certain as the phases of the moon.

She poured food in the dog’s bowl, ran the lint roller over the
couch and herself for the eighth time, and put on an Ella Fitzgerald album. She
checked the kitchen floor for signs of Erzsebet’s leftovers and gave Freddy
more BrainFood
®
pellets.
When the doorbell rang,
Farkas spun in circles, barking, and Erzsebet dove under the
couch. Ann grabbed the bowl of candy and flung open the door.

“Oh,” she said, stopped by the sight of Erica.

Tall, dark, and handsome had nothing on this beauty. Snowflakes
dusted her short, dark curls, and dimples winked as she smiled, her eyes
gleaming. Maybe it was the evening—they’d only met during the day—but Erica at
night took on a whole new level of attractiveness. Ann had the weirdest
sensation. Her heart soared, like in the movies and romance novels, but almost
immediately, she wanted to slam the door shut. Completely terrified. But also
elated. She hadn’t felt that in a long time. Maybe it would be worth it, all
the heartbreak that would follow.

Erica smiled. “Trick or treat?”

“Treat, I hope,” Ann said as she stood aside. “Please, come in.”

If Ann had been the praying kind, she might have uttered a prayer
under her breath as she set the bowl on the table by the door.

Farkas, jumping and barking against Erica’s legs, reminded Ann of
her manners. She took Erica’s coat and they performed a clumsy pas de deux as
Ann reached for the hook while Erica ducked out of the way. Coat hung, Ann
turned and found herself inches from Erica. Before she had time to think and
stop herself, she kissed her. It was everything she remembered, that rush of
joy and heat, filled with promise. Erica’s lips were cool but warmed quickly.
Ann released her while the kiss still counted as chaste. Don’t get carried
away, she thought.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, to ease the sexual
tension.

As if sensing her shyness, Erica took a step back. “Thank you for
inviting me.” Her eyes shifted from Ann to the bowl of candy. “Hmm, Jolly
Ranchers, Twizzlers, and Life Savers. You know, you can tell a lot about a
woman by the candy she hands out.”

“And what does my selection say?”

“No chocolate.” She held Ann’s gaze. “I would say you must be very
highly evolved—no need for emotional crutches.”

Ann laughed nervously but didn’t look away. “I wish. I’m afraid
all this says about me is that I hand out candy I don’t like so I won’t be
tempted to eat it myself. I happen to love chocolate. The darker the better.”

“That’s a relief.” Erica reached into her jacket pocket and
withdrew a small, elegant—dare Ann think ring-sized?—box. “This is for you.”

Their fingers brushed as Ann took the box, sending a shiver
through her. She opened it to find a single, hand-made chocolate truffle from a
shop she had admired on one of their walks through town. “Oh my.” A drizzle of
shiny coffee-colored icing contrasted with the smooth matte surface of the
perfect orb. “You know, I think I’ll set this bowl out on the porch so the kids
can help themselves and we won’t be disturbed.”

Life may not be like a box of chocolates, but love might be like
chocolate—a surprising burst at first, then a slow, sweet addiction.

Erica bent to pat the little dog while Ann made introductions.

“Hello, Farkas,” Erica said, letting him sniff her hand. He looked
at her with black button eyes, his tongue hanging out. “Is he a Pomeranian?”

“No, a spitz. Very similar, but the face is more foxlike.”

“Ah yes, I see.” Erica knelt and Farkas rolled onto his back so
she could rub his belly. “That’s quite the oversized doggy door you have,” she
said, nodding toward the front door where almost the entire lower half swung on
a hinge.

“Oh, that. It, uh, came with the house.”

Reality hit as Erica looked around—that door! Ann’s guard went
back up and the evening might as well have been over at that point. She changed
the subject by offering Erica a glass of wine. A timer sounded from the
kitchen. Ann bustled about, finishing the preparations for dinner while Erica
wandered the small, open rooms, expressing her admiration for Ann’s
furnishings.

“This is how I pictured you,” Erica said.

“How so?”

“Living in a fairy-tale cottage in a
fairy-tale wood.”

Ann let out a weak “Ha!” and let it go at that.

“Who’s the pretty kitty?” Erica cooed.

Ann turned in time to see her bending to pet the feline. “That’s
Erzsebet. Careful, she bites.”

Erica paused, then chuckled. “Well, don’t all
calicos?”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose they do.” The cat wove between Erica’s legs,
purring loudly. Ann was stunned. “She doesn’t usually do that.”

Erzsebet flopped onto her side and stretched. Erica gave her a
gentle rub. The cat, seeming to come to her senses, flipped back onto her feet
and ran through the cat flap in the kitchen door and out into the yard.

“Is she a mouser?” Erica asked.

Such an innocent question.

“Yes,” Ann said. “One of the reasons I bought this house was for
the big field in back.” That, and the remoteness from the neighbors. So far,
there were only rumors of strange sightings, nothing certain. Ann didn’t want
to have to move again.

“Now see, you’ve never mentioned you have pets,” Erica said.

“I’m sorry. Are you allergic?”

“No, I mean that I’m enjoying discovering your secrets.” Erica
wrapped her arms around Ann and kissed her neck. Ann nearly collapsed. Nerves,
lust, you name it. She relaxed into Erica’s arms, almost convinced everything
would work out.

The kitchen opened into a small dining area. Ann had covered her
scarred, garage-sale table with a cloth. She lit candles with shaking hands.
The date aspect of the evening caught up to her. She knew she’d crossed the
line between friendship and wanting more, but now she teetered on the brink of
panic. The kisses. Both of them. Surely this is what Erica wants too, she
thought.
Don’t overthink this
. But it was hard not to. Erica hovered by
the table, smiling, clearly nervous.

“Please, sit,” Ann said.
What happened to our easy friendship?

They settled in to eating. Ella crooned in the background. Erica
made soft murmurings and praised the food. After a moment of silent dining,
Erica broke the spell.

“So, what should we talk about?”

Silence. Ann swallowed and looked at Erica.

“Well, that was a conversation killer.”

“No,” Ann said quickly. “I was just trying to think of something
we haven’t talked about yet. We’ve covered our jobs, where we live.” She took a
sip of wine to buy time. “You didn’t tell me whether you grew up here or moved
here.”

“I did grow up here but moved away. Don’t kids usually?”

“What brought you back?”

“My grandmother needs me.” Erica mashed her potatoes and then
formed a small volcano that she filled with gravy. “She’s quite . . . elderly.”

Ann watched her move, how her fingers caressed the wine glass. She
loved the volcano. It was so subconscious. She could picture her doing it from childhood.
“Is it stressful or do you have a good relationship?”

“Oh, we have a great relationship. I love my gramma, so I’m happy
to help her. What about you? Native?”

Ann caught a flick of deflection in Erica’s tone. “I’ve . . .
moved around a lot. I grew up in New England mostly.”