In the Distance There Is Light (23 page)

I suggested going to the small Italian near Dolores’ house for our date, but she insisted on trying a new place she’d read about—in
The Post
of all places.

She’s already seated when I arrive and, very formally, gets up to greet and kiss me on the cheek after the hostess has shown me to our table.

“You look lovely,” she says, and by the way her eyes devour me, I can tell that she means it.
 

“As do you.” Stunning is a more accurate description of how Dolores looks in that red dress that is showing a lot more cleavage than I had expected—and makes her intentions known before we’ve even started this date. Her lipstick matches the color of her dress and her hair is combed loosely backward.

“I had to pull some strings to get this table at such short notice, so I thought I’d make an effort.” She sends me a seductive smile.

Oh my. This is not the Dolores who sidled up to me in bed in her tank top and shorts, who stroked my neck so gently, who told me I could cry all the tears I wanted. Dolores has not come here to comfort me tonight. She has come to dazzle.

It’s working.

“You’re such a power lesbian.” I wink at her. “I’m very lucky to be your guest at this swanky place.”

“Power lesbian? Where did you get that?” She reaches for the wine menu.

“I don’t know where I got it. But it’s a thing. In fact, I’ve had it on my list of possible long form topics for a while. I may need to bump it up. It could be my re-entry into the field of serious investigative journalism. ‘Meet Chicago’s Power Lesbians.’ A picture of you looking like that to accompany it. Jackie O. would cream her panties.”

Dolores chuckles. “I thought those kinds of fluffy pieces were beneath you?”

“What would be fluffy about that?” I look into her eyes for a few moments. “It would be deadly serious.”

A waiter comes by to take our drinks order. Dolores chooses a bottle of red without asking for my input. When the waiter has gone, she leans over a little, affording me an intoxicating glimpse at her cleavage.

“Before we ramp up the flirting, I need to say something.” She clears her throat. “I was out of line when I said you should call your mother. I shouldn’t have said that because it’s not for me to judge you on that, especially not after you confided in me about how you feel about her. I respect your feelings. I really do. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Of all the things you said, that stung the most.”

“I could have kicked myself for that one. It was just a reaction. Something that slipped out. Probably because I have just lost my son and it hurts so much and, well, it’s not really the same for me. I’ve felt like a mother to him for a very, very long time, but I didn’t give birth to him. He didn’t have my genes. I had nothing to do with his conception whatsoever. I was never even able to adopt him. I’m not saying I loved him any less than Angela, but he didn’t live inside of me for nine months. I wasn’t there when he was born. Angela—and Ian especially—would balk if they heard me say this. It’s not that I feel like less of a mother to him than Angela, but it’s not
exactly
the same. It never could have been. I think that’s where that comment came from. I was just imagining your mother and how the distance between the two of you must make her feel sometimes.” She pauses. “I’m not sure if I’m making myself very clear, Sophie. These are all very complex feelings, with many sides to them.”

“You were pissed off. I get it.”

The waiter brings over the wine and makes a spectacle of having Dolores taste. She approves and by the time I’m presented with a glass, I have to stop myself from gulping it down.

Dolores raises her glass. “To us going on a date. It only took us five minutes to get into the really heavy topics.” She smiles that bright, bright smile of hers. Already, I want to kiss that lipstick away. For now, I’ll settle for ogling how it makes her lips look.

“Maybe we should give the topic of mothers a rest altogether.” I clink the rim of my glass against hers. We drink while gazing in to each other’s eyes.

“I’m sure the subject will come up again.” She sets her glass down. “But one more thing on a more serious note. It was never my intention to have you leave the house that day. I truly didn’t want you to leave. After you’d gone, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was at the gallery from seven in the morning until ten in the evening every day, just to wear myself out.”

“I had to leave, though. It was inevitable. It had to happen.”

“I see that, but… I missed you.”

We haven’t ordered our food yet, and already an unbearable heat travels underneath my skin. “So… if you missed me so much, why where you playing so hard to get this afternoon?”

“I wasn’t playing hard to get at all.” The million-dollar smile is back on Dolores’ face. “It was a very emotional afternoon: meeting the truck driver and seeing you again. I didn’t know what to do with myself. And, yes, perhaps I wanted you to convince me, but I certainly didn’t need you to.” Her hand glides across the table in search of mine. “And, boy, all those things you said.”

I have no qualms whatsoever about putting my hand on Dolores’, for everyone to see. It fills me with pride to sit here with her in this posh restaurant, flirting my socks off and having her reciprocate.

“I meant every last word.”

“There’s no doubt in my mind that you did. You should have become a lawyer. Your arguing skills are out of this world.”

“Only when I’m super passionate about the subject. I guess I could have only ever become your lawyer.”

“Being a power lesbian, I could do with a lawyer.”

“Are you ready to order now?” a waiter I hadn’t noticed approaching asks. I haven’t even glimpsed at the menu.

I ask him what the specials are and I pick something from the list he rattles off. So does Dolores. Then it’s back to gazing into each other’s eyes.

This date is exceeding all my expectations. What surprises me most, however, is how astoundingly little I care about how inappropriate this might be. It was easy enough to write in a letter to my dead boyfriend. A letter no one will ever read. But to sit here, with Dolores, out in public, and not give one iota, sets my blood on fire a little more still.

* * *

“Do you want to come home with me?” Dolores asks after we’ve declined a look at the dessert menu.

“More than anything, but…” It takes every last ounce of willpower to decline Dolores’ invitation.

She paints a smile on her lips. “Your turn to play hard to get?”

I shake my head. “No. It really isn’t. I just think it’s important for me not to end up at your house so quickly again. I’m absolutely not rejecting you, or your offer, just taking a rain check.”

“So we really are going to date old-school?” Dolores rests her chin on her upturned hand and her red-varnished fingernails tap against her cheek.

“I don’t see how else we can go about this.” I expel a quick sigh. “I think something should be different. Something more than having had a week and a half apart.”

“So much is different already. You’re putting your life back together.”

“I guess I’m afraid that landing in your bed may put an abrupt halt to that and that’s not something I can afford.”

“Hey.” She drops her hand on the table and scoots it closer to mine. “I understand.” She slants her head a little. “So? When is our next
proper
date?” Dolores’ pinkie finger has reached mine and they only have to brush against each other faintly for me to feel it everywhere.

“Tomorrow?” I offer. “Coffee?”

“Coffee it is.” Dolores broadens her smile. “This date went well,” she says. “So well, in fact, that I totally forgot to feel bad about it.”

“Hm.” I lean over the table. “What is this… thing between us? It’s glorious, but I can’t explain it.”

“Some things can’t be explained.” She gives a little chuckle, bites her bottom lip.

“Thank you for coming out with me tonight.”

“I think dating is a good idea.”

“
Properly
dating.” I pause while the check is being deposited on the table. “Have you told anyone about us?”

“No, but I think James suspects something. That man knows me too well.”

“So you didn’t have anyone to talk to about what happened?”

“I contemplated telling June, but, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers before I knew… how things would play out between us.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

“In due course.”

I wave off Dolores’ attempt to pay for the meal and put my credit card on the tray with the check.

“If she’s anything like Jeremy, you’d best have some very strong arguments at the ready.”

“The tiniest flicker of happiness is the strongest argument possible in this case.” Dolores grabs my hand again.

* * *

Outside the restaurant, we stand around, weighing our options while a mild summer breeze ruffles the fabric of Dolores’ dress. Have I lost my mind rejecting what she just offered? Not going home with her tonight? But it’s one of these things I instinctively know not to give in to. I’m not myself enough yet to risk losing myself again. If I end up in her bed tonight, that’s what will happen.

It has also been a long, exhausting day. I might actually sleep tonight.

Dolores puts a hand on my shoulder. “Will you be okay?”

“I will be.”

“There’s a cab coming over there.” She looks out onto the street behind me.

“Just let it pass.” I pull her closer by the wrist. “There will be another one soon enough.”

“On a Saturday night in this part of town?” She leans in, her lips so close I can almost taste them.

“Then we’ll just stand here for a while longer.” I close my eyes and press my lips against hers.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Before I meet Dolores for coffee the next day, I go through more of Ian’s things. Before he trained as an architect and started using straight lines and measured angles for everything, he was quite the sketch artist. In a folder in one of the closets we hardly ever opened, I find a bunch of his drawings from before we met. One is of a car. Not an actual car, but a futuristic model with something that looks like wings, all sleek lines and nerd aspirations. Another one is a self-portrait that didn’t turn out very well. I can see his resemblance in the picture he drew, but some of his features, like his nose, are just off enough to confuse me.

It’s funny that, while he did often mention he loved to draw, in all the time we were together, I never once saw him do it, not free-hand. It makes me think about the endless variations of a person, of how I probably brought out different things in him than his ex-girlfriend Mandy. And he out of me. I think of Dolores and what she brings out of me. She has certainly given me a whole new perspective on life, and on grief—even on death.

The way we sat in that restaurant last night, you would have needed a microscope to spot that we were two grieving women. Maybe, for those few hours, we weren’t. Maybe that’s what we bring out of each other.

My phone buzzes and whereas before I would have ignored it, I can’t do that any longer because it might be a message from Dolores and I can’t miss that.

It’s from Jeremy asking what I’m doing tonight. I’m reluctant to make plans with him because, even though Dolores and I are only going on a coffee date, I want to keep my options open. Although, in the back of my mind, the thought has nestled itself that I might also be afraid to sleep with her. Because this time, it would be different. Much more deliberate. When I rip her clothes off her—oh God, that red dress she wore so expertly last night—this time, my hand won’t be steered by grief and a willingness to forget. On the contrary. I’ll be wanting to make a memory so as never to forget the time we began dating officially.

I brush Jeremy off, saying that I need an early night because I’m starting work again tomorrow. Another reason not to spend the night with Dolores. Though, perhaps, I need her to wipe me out, to quiet the nerves that come with the requirements of the part of my job that’s new.

I rifle through more of Ian’s drawings and, sure enough, as though he’s sending me some sign from the afterlife, there’s one of Dolores. At least I think it’s supposed to be her. I look for a date he might have scribbled on the back, but can’t find any. When did he draw this? Maybe Dolores knows, or maybe she doesn’t and seeing the drawing will only rack up more memories. I flick through some more, trying to forget about the portrait of Dolores.

Portraits weren’t his strong suit, but inanimate objects tweaked with his own vision of a future he would never experience were. There’s a drawing of a building with all sorts of curved cone-likes shapes on its roof. There’s a triple-decker bridge. A bicycle with the same kind of wings as the car. I’ll have to give Dolores some of these, she would like that.

Another message arrives on my phone. This time it
is
from Dolores.

Want to come to mine?

* * *

While I couldn’t resist meeting Dolores at her house, I go with a steely resolve to not let the possibilities of being alone together deter me from taking this slowly. I wonder why she changed our plans. We were meant to meet in a coffee shop downtown, as friends would, or two people on a second date. For me, there was also the addition of doing something in public, which makes it more proper, more like real dating.