Alma Mater (25 page)

into her head. She wondered if other people's minds worked that way,
too. She wasn't going to ask them in order to find out.

Maybe graduate school was a greenhouse. You could sit there for a
few extra years before going out into the world. You still wouldn't
need to fight the elements. But sooner or later, people did have to sur
vive outside the university. If she married Charly, a burden would be
lifted from her mind. She'd go where he'd go. His career, not hers,
would be central. She didn't mind that, because in her fourth year
she still had no pull in one direction or the other. She only knew she
wanted to be outside.

And now, she knew she didn't want to marry Charly. Emotional
truth was not something Vic avoided, but, like most people, it usually
took her much longer to discover that emotional truth. She shrugged
off the pressures from her family about marrying. To them it seemed a
fait accompli. Everything was done except for the actual proposal, the
actual ceremony. In their minds, she was already married—or so it
seemed to her.

If Chris hadn't appeared, she probably would have married him. It
was the right thing to do. She loved him. But somewhere, sometime a
Chris would have walked into her life. What then?

Despite the tightening in her chest when she considered what she
was going to have to do, she was grateful that Chris had appeared when
she did. She was going to have to tell Charly that she wasn't going to
marry him, tricky, since he hadn't formally proposed. She was going
to have to tell her family that she wasn't getting married, and that if she
could, she'd marry Chris. She wouldn't put it that way, exactly.

How do you do that? Tell people?

Jinx was right, Vic thought. People assume they know you. They create a future for you, and then are shocked when you have the audacity to create your own future.

Maybe life was one big curve ball, breaking high and outside. Vic
folded her arms across her chest. Yes, maybe it was, but at least she
was standing at the plate and not sitting in the stands. Better to strike
out than to sit and watch. Better yet, hit the goddamned ball into the
bleachers, curve ball or not.

A surge of energy flowed through her. It was her life.

A pounding in the stairwell diverted her eyes from the trees. The
door flew open.

"Let's run away!" Chris announced as she entered, her lips glistening.
Vic hugged her. "Chris, I think we're going to have to face the mu
sic and dance."

"You lead, I'll follow," Chris answered with a kiss.

"How do you know I can lead?"

"I trust you."

Vic thought about that a moment and realized she trusted herself.
She'd get through this. She'd get them both through it and Charly,
too, she hoped. "The first thing I have to do is tell Charly I can't marry him. The second thing I have to do is tell my family I can't marry him.
The third thing I have to do is tell them I'm in love with you."

Chris hugged her ever tighter. "They won't want to see me after
that."

"Fine. Then they won't see me either." Vic kissed her cheek. "They'll
be okay. At least, I think they will after the shock wears off. God, I
hope so."

They both stared out the window. The wind blew a little stron
ger now.

"I don't especially like my family," Chris said. "I don't know when
I'll tell them. I'm not being a chicken. I'll come out if that's what we're
doing, but I don't know when I'll tell them. Is that cheating?"

"If you wait until I'm thirty, it is." Vic laughed.

Chris put her arm around her waist. A brilliant red leaf blew against
the windowpane and remained there.

"About last night . . ."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you going to do it again? I know you've been sleeping with
Charly. I never said anything. I wanted to, but, well, you know, he was first, I mean he knew you first, and you love him. But are you going to
keep sleeping with him?"

"No."

Chris sagged with relief. "God, I am so glad." Then she stiffened a
bit. "Will you miss it?"

"Sex with Charly?" Vic shrugged. "No. But if he walks out of my

life—and I guess he'll have every reason to—I will miss him. I do love him, Chris, I really do. But not in the way he needs to be loved and not
in the way I love you. I never felt for anyone what I feel for you. I didn't even know those feelings existed. It's kind of like . . . a tornado." She
shrugged. "Not very original, but something powerful, uncontrollable,
a force of nature."

"Me, too." She paused a long time. "It would kill me if you slept
with him without me."

"Do you want us all to sleep together?"

An even longer pause followed. "You know, it was wild, just . . .

wild. But I don't need to do it again." She held up her hand. "But I'm
not sorry we did it. In a funny way, it makes me feel closer to you."
"Me, too." Vic had no desire to figure it out. Feeling it was enough.
"I wonder how it feels for him?"

"Confusing, maybe." Vic thought about his warm smile, his deep
voice.

"Does he know about us?"

"I don't know." Vic thought he did, but the truth was she didn't
know for certain.

"Poor guy." Chris watched as another leaf stuck to the window
pane, held there by the wind.

"He's very lovable, isn't he?" Vic said.

Chris nodded and then added, "But I have to admit that I want you for me even if he gets hurt. I don't want anyone to get hurt. I hate that, but it just happens."

"I'm starting to think that a lot of stuff just happens. People who
think they can control life are full of bullshit. Major bullshit."

"When are you going to tell him?"

"After Thanksgiving. It'd be pretty shitty to screw around with his head before his last big game." Vic thought for a moment. "I hope it's
the best game he ever plays. I hope he gets pro offers, you know. It
would be great if something happened to kind of offset my telling him
that we aren't going to ride off into the sunset."

Chris sighed. "I still wish we could run away."

"Maybe we will . . . afterward. Maybe they'll run us out of town.

Although I don't think I'd give people the pleasure of turning tail. I haven't done anything wrong. Neither have you."

"I'm a lover, not a fighter." Chris laughed.

"You might have to be both." Vic put her finger on the window
pane, as though touching the maple leaf. "You know, I never thought about being gay. I still don't really. But I've been thinking about my
life—that it's my life, your life. Nobody is telling me what to do. It's
funny, Chris, I never really had to fight. I'm white. We aren't poor.
Well, we are now, but you know what I mean. I suppose being a woman
imposes limitations on me, but I haven't run into them yet. Maybe that
comes more when you're out there trying to get a job. I don't know. I never felt pressured to be anything but myself. I never felt out of step."

"We are now. We aren't dancing to their tune. You said face the
music and dance, right? We aren't even on the same dance floor as
most people."

Vic's face brightened. "I know and it's great. I feel so free. It's just
great."

"You're great."

"Flatterer. I don't know why I feel this way, but I do. I feel like I
could fly."

_I

sn't your lavaliere getting heavy?" R. J. bemused, touched the
heavy, powerful binoculars hanging around her sister's neck.
"Worth it. Look, we can get in and out of here." Bunny pointed
to the slope of the pasture.

R. J. tapped the toe of her right boot against the ankle of her left, the sandy loam falling off. "Right. And there's plenty of shade over
there. Be a good place for azaleas. They sell like hotcakes. Down by the
water we can run willows. They love water. Redbuds, mmm, have to
think about that. Got my soil map." She reached into her jacket pocket.
"Bunny."

Bunny, binoculars to her eyes, was watching a red-tailed hawk.
"You know, R. J., there's a whole world in the air." She dropped her
binoculars, looking down at the earth. "And one down here, too."

"This is the one we have to work with." R. J. knelt down and pulled

her pocketknife from her pocket, slipping the blade into the moist
earth, cutting away the hay stubble. "See." Then she pointed to the
spot on the map that Bunny had opened.

Both sisters hunkered down, studying the map. "Peters out if we
get on higher ground."

"Yeah, but we can still use that soil. There's tough stuff that will
grow in it or we can put pots in, you know, rich soil in the pots, the

plants are already in the pots and when they're two or three years old,
they're ready to go. We won't have to pot them."

"That's a good idea."

"The only problem is we have to buy the pots now. I was hoping
not to lay out too much money. We need to buy seeds for the long
haul. We'll make more money if we grow from seed. But we've got to
get something going right off. We need saplings, small, but still, those plugs will run a couple of dollars each, depending on the type of brush
or tree. And then we need a tractor, a fertilizer spreader. Big expense."

"I'll get the tractor. You're providing the land," Bunny said resolutely.

"Good."
R.
J. smiled and then returned her attention to the map.
"Now here, all along the river except for in front of the house, I think
we can use sod. There's a good return on sod farming. But the land is
relatively level, soil's good from alluvial deposits. We'll have to pull it
up in strips. Another expensive attachment for the tractor."

Bunny reviewed R. J.'s figures scribbled in pencil on the right side
of the soil map. "You have been busy."

They both stood up. A half-mile walk would take them back home.
"I like to work. It's always better."

"Frank?"

R. J. shrugged. "He took his name off the deed. He rewrote his
will. I am not responsible for his debts. Whatever he has in his port
folio will pay his debts. He says. Who knows? If there's a surplus, the
girls get it, fifty-fifty. He signed everything last night in front of two
witnesses."

"Discreet, I hope."

"Yes. Frank's depressed, of course."
R.
J. raised her voice. "But

there's no other way. The leopard can't change his spots. You are what

you are. You might be able to recognize a situation that will set you
– off, but if gambling's in your soul, it stays there."

"You don't think people can change?"

"Only so much. Look at us, Bunny. Have we changed?"

"The mirror tells me
I
have."

"That's superficial. Inside."

"Yes. You're a mother. That changed you. As for myself "—she