Trust (5 page)

That was when I told her I loved her. "I know, and I love you, too. I'm sorry."

"No," I said. "Don't be. Please tell me you forgive me."

"I forgive you, Sable. But never again, all right?"

"All right."

We continued to see each other, but that was when I realized what we were doing was temporary.

It had been months since I'd used a browser to read my mail. It was late on a Thursday evening when, quite by accident, I found myself at gmail, logged into the temporary account I'd created for my advertisement.

There hadn't been any more advertisements, and I wasn't seeing anyone besides Josie. But staring at me was a fair amount of email, all of it quite old. Still, I took time to go through it, deleting most of it with the intention of closing down the account when I was done.

But then I came across a single email. The subject was, "Are you still looking?"

I opened it, and the first thing I saw was a woman with short, blond hair and the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen. Below was a simple message.

Hello,

I know it's been some time since you posted your advertisement, but I was just wondering. Have you found someone?

In anticipation,

Georgia

I read the note twice, enough to memorize it, and then stared at the photo, into the eyes of the woman staring out of my screen at me.

I hit reply.

Hello, Georgia,

You wrote me weeks ago. I haven't been checking this email. If you still wish to talk, here's my regular address. I'm closing this account after this goes out.

Kindly,

Sable

I added my own photo and sent it off. I finished cleaning out the account and cancelled it then climbed into bed with a book.

* * * *

I was seeing Josie for the weekend, and I didn't want to engage in email exchanges with someone just before seeing her, so I ignored my personal email until Sunday evening. But when I got home, tired but content, I took a shower, read for a while, then checked my email. There was, as expected, three days of accumulation, including a letter from Georgia.

Dear Sable,

I love your hair, but is that really your name? Seriously?

I remember your ad. You're right; it has been some time. Now, you must tell the truth. Did you really not receive my email until just now, or have you been holding me in reserve if another relationship didn't work out?

I have been dating casually, but only casually, and no one has expectations of me. And so I am free to talk. But you must assure me you are as well.

I suppose I should tell you a little about myself. I am 44 years old and a tenured professor of history. I write a book every two or three years, although unless one was assigned to you in a college course, it is unlikely you have read them.

That's more than enough about me for a while. Tell me you are unattached, and then tell me more about yourself.

Georgia

I found myself smiling for a moment. I'd saved her photo, so I pulled it up and looked at it for a while. I thought about Josie and sighed. Then I began to craft my reply.

Hello, Georgia.

Yes, my name really is Sable. I cannot tell you what my parents were thinking, as I am told my hair at birth was nearly white. My mother would only tell me, "I liked the name". I believe perhaps she didn't know what it meant.

I truly hadn't checked that account since well before your email. There was quite the backlog, most of it spam of one nature or another. Yours was the only letter I found intriguing. I think it was your eyes that caught me.

There was someone. It didn't work out. But truly, I wasn't holding you in reserve. I only saw your letter on Thursday.

You perhaps don't remember the details of my ad. I was 32 -- I turned 33 over the winter. I am gainfully employed and own my home. It's not big, only three bedrooms and cozy, but it's home.

I don't know what else to offer. I'll say this. I don't like to lead the relationship.

Sable

* * * *

Two hours later her reply arrived.

Sable,

I am not sure if I should address you as Dear. I wrote you Friday morning, and it is now Sunday evening. After a two-month delay in our initial exchange, this suggests a disturbing trend. Tell me it isn't to continue.

Georgia

I stared. We'd barely exchanged any contact at all, and she was calling me on the carpet?

But then while I was staring at her email, another arrived. I almost deleted it before opening it, but the subject was, "I'm sorry."

Sable,

My apologies. I received some disturbing news a few hours ago, and I lashed out at you. You didn't deserve it. I'm sorry.

Embarrassed,

Georgia

I thought for a while then crafted a reply. "Do you need someone to talk to?"

Her reply took no time at all. It was one word. "Yes."

I sent her my phone number, and the phone rang forty seconds later.

"Hello, Georgia."

"Hey. I'm sorry."

"It's forgotten. Are you all right?"

She began crying over the phone. I listened for a minute or so, then asked gently, "Who died, Georgia?"

"Just a dog," she managed to say.

"
Your
dog?"

"Not anymore. My ex- kept him."

"What was his name?"

"Freddie. He was a Golden Retriever, a big fluffy ball of love. Oh god, now he's gone." She began sobbing. I made gentle noises for a while. Slowly, she pulled herself back together. I heard her clean herself up, then she said, her voice ragged. "What must you think of me?"

"I think you're someone who loves her dog."

"I remember your ad. You wanted someone strong. I'm not being strong."

"You're being human. Do you want to talk about him?"

"Will you talk about yourself for a while?"

"Sure." And so I did, sharing inconsequential things at first. She told me a few things about herself, but she continued to prompt me with questions, and asked me to keep talking. Slowly, I could tell she was calming down, at least for now, but I thought perhaps there was more crying to be done in the days ahead.

"Thank you," she said finally.

"Did you want to go, or did you want to tell me about yourself? What's your ex's name?"

"Kim. We broke up about three years ago."

"How old was Freddie?"

"Eight. Young. He should have lived twice that long." She paused. "She kept him -- and the house -- when we broke up, but she'd let me see him whenever I wanted, and I'd take care of him if she were going to be out of town."

"That's good," I said. "Why did you break up?"

"I got traded in for a younger model."

"Oh. That sucks."

"Yeah."

"Now you're looking at a younger model, too."

"The irony hasn't escaped me," she said. Then I heard the smile. "You're both younger and far more beautiful than Stevie."

"That's Kim's new girl?

"Yeah."

"Tell me that's not what caught your interest."

"Well, I'll point out I didn't have a photo when I replied to your original ad."

"Uh huh. Not convinced."

"Sable, I'm not out for a game of one-upsmanship with my ex-. You'll have to take my word for it."

"All right," I said after a moment. "So, professor of history and author of, I presume, history."

"Yes," she said. "You won't find my books at Barnes and Noble."

"Will I find them at Amazon?"

She hesitated before answering. "Sable, they're very dry. You don't have to read my books."

"Are you ashamed of them?"

"No, of course not."

"Do you think they'd be over my head?"

"Sable-"

"Do you?"

"No, of course not. But you'll probably be bored, unless you want to read a comparison and contrast of Dutch and English colonization policies."

"Oh," I said. "I admit, that does sound dry."

She laughed. "Do you have a Kindle?"

"IPad."

"I'll mail you one that's at least marginally more interesting than that. It's up to you if you want to read it. I won't be offended if you don't get past the third page."

"Thanks."

We talked for another half hour. Georgia settled down, even laughing a few times, although she was subdued. Finally she said, "I'm sorry, Sable. I had a lovely time, but this wasn't really how I wanted our first conversation to go."

"That's okay. I suppose it's getting late."

"May I call you again tomorrow?"

"I'd like that. Georgia, there's something I need to tell you. It's sort of serious."

"More serious than my story about Freddie?"

"No." I then proceeded to tell her about Josie. She was quiet the entire time. I finished with, "What we have is good, but it's never going to be more than what it is, and she practically ordered me to continue looking for a more complete relationship."

"I understand." She paused. "Thank you for telling me." I listened to silence for a while, wondering if she was going to tell me she wouldn't be calling again. "I need to go, but I'm going to call tomorrow night, probably a little later. Is nine too late?"

"No. I'm up until eleven."

"All right." She paused. "Sable, if I ask you out, and if you accept, then no more nights with Josie."

"Exclusive from the beginning?"

"You can't sleep with one woman and date another."

"No. You're right." I thought about it. "All right. You're right."

"So we're clear?"

"We're clear."

"Think about what you're going to tell her."

"I will."

"All right. Sable, thank you."

"You have more crying to do."

"Yeah, probably. Talk to you tomorrow."

I wasn't sure she really would call, not after my Josie revelation, but she did, promptly at nine. We talked until long after we were both in bed. And again on Wednesday.

I read her book, a little at a time. It was actually a rather fascinating discussion about the advancement of technology, how one technology led to that event led to a completely unrelated technology being developed. When I asked her about it, she said, "It's not necessarily unique. There was a BBS series that was similar in nature back in, I think, the 70s. But of the books I've written, I think it's the most interesting to the layman."

And then, later, she asked, "So. I was wondering."

"Yes?"

"Dinner?"

"When?"

"Friday."

"Yes."

"I'll pick you up."

"I'll mail directions." I paused and checked the time. "I have to go."

"Oh?"

"I have a call to make."

She paused. "Right."

* * * *

"Josie."

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately.

"I have to cancel our plans this weekend."

She paused before responding. But then she said firmly, "Good."

"Excuse me?"

"You have a date, don't you?"

"Josie-"

"What's her name?"

I didn't answer right away. Josie simply waited me out, and finally I answered. "Georgia. I told her about you."

"Good. What did she say?"

"She said I couldn't have dates with you while I was dating her."

"Good. She's right."

I started to cry. This time, I was the one on the receiving end of gentle, soothing noises.

"Don't you care?" I snuffled at her.

"Of course I care. I care that you're happy."

"I'm happy with you."

"You need a full life, Sable. I want you to have that."

I took a breath. "What if this doesn't work out? Can I call you?"

"Yes, but you give it a good chance first. And if it does work out, please let me know, okay? I love you, Sable, and that won't change."

"I love you, too." I sobbed for a minute. "I wish-"

"I know. Will you be all right?"

"Will you?"

"I'll be fine. I'm going to gorge on midnight ice cream."

If she cried, it wasn't until after we were off the phone.

* * * *

I held the door open, and Georgia stepped inside. We gazed at each other, and her eyes were even more intense in person. I could get lost in those eyes.

I smiled, and then we hugged.

"How are you doing?" she whispered.

"Happy to see you."

"Give me the tour, grab your coat, and we can go."

Georgia made for a lovely date. She held the car door for me. I know a lot of women don't care for that, but I've always found it deeply sexy, and I love it. She held the door at the restaurant, and then she held my chair when we sat down.

Dates always seem to follow similar patterns. There's the greeting stage, which lasts until you're seated at the restaurant. Then there's the small talk stage, which some dates never move past. But then there's the lingering, smoldering gazes, the flirtatious looks, and the maneuvering that leads to... going home together.

Or not.

Georgia and I moved into stage two -- small talk. She talked about her job; I talked about mine. We talked a little about family, a little about trips we'd each taken.

The usual.

It wasn't until the meal was nearly over that Georgia leaned forward, her elbows on the table, and she looked at me with her amazing blue eyes. I mirrored her, and we stared into each other's eyes for a while.

"You're a beautiful woman," she told me.

"Thank you," I said.

"Inside and out," she added.

My smile grew. "So are you."

After that, we simply stared at each other until the waitress appeared with the check. We split the bill, and soon she was helping me into my coat.

"Where are you taking me now?" I asked as we climbed into her car.

"If it were summer, I'd suggest a walk."

She drove me home. As we pulled into the driveway I told her, "If you want a goodnight kiss, you have to come inside."

She smiled. "For a while."

We moved into the house and divested ourselves of hats, gloves, coats, and the other detritus of winter. Then I took her hand and led her to my living room, pulling her down onto the sofa with me. We turned sideways to face each other. I smiled.

She moved closer and caressed my cheek. I laid my cheek against her hand and closed my eyes. I stayed like that and let her control everything. I felt her move closer, and closer still. Then she pulled me towards her, and our lips met.

It was a nice kiss, although brief. She separated us, but then a moment later pulled me back in for another.

Finally she broke the kiss and turned away, pulling me against her. We cuddled together, not speaking.

She felt good. I had a brief thought of Josie, but Georgia caressed my face, and I let myself get lost in her touches.

"I had a lovely time," she said.

"It's early. Don't go."

She paused. "I'm not staying the night."

"All right, but it's still early." I opened my eyes and turned to look at her. "We could talk."

"Sure," she said. "Now close your eyes."

I giggled, closed my eyes again, and let her continue to stroke my skin. That felt good, and I relaxed under her touch.

We talked for a while, inconsequential things, but more intimate than we'd discussed over dinner. But I could tell she was starting to grow restless. I opened my eyes and looked at her.

"You want to go."

"It's not that I want to go. It's that if I don't, I'm going to haul you off to your bed."

"And that would be so bad?"

"It has been my experience that relationships that start off that way have a hard time being about more than sex." Then her face clouded. "Unless-"

I covered her lips. "No. I'm looking for more than that."

"Good," she said. She shifted me until I was firmly seated without being cuddled against her then crawled onto my lap, straddling me. She lowered her lips, and I lifted mine, and we kissed, a deep, searing, tongues battling kiss.

When she lifted away, we were both panting.

"I liked that," I said. "You should do that more often."

She smiled. "So could you."

Then she climbed from me. "Please stay there. I want this to be my lasting image of you. I can see myself out." I watched as she stepped away, walking backwards. "Call me." She disappeared from view, and I heard the front closet open, and a minute later, the front door opened and closed.

"Well," I said to myself. "I wonder what all that means."

* * * *

I waited until Monday to see if she'd call me first, although I did drop an email on Saturday telling her I had a nice time. When 9:00 rolled around Monday night, it was clear she wasn't going to call, so I called her. We exchanged greetings, but then there was awkward silence.

Finally I couldn't stand it any longer. "You didn't really want me to call, did you?"

"I wanted you to call at least a day ago, and Saturday would have been better."

"You could have called me."

"I could have, but we left it that you would call."

"Are we fighting over who was supposed to call?"

She paused and then her tone changed. "I had a lovely time on Friday."

"I did, too," I said. I grinned. "You're a good kisser."

"Well, thank you. I liked that part, too."

With the ice broken, we talked more comfortably for an hour or so, although we didn't hit any serious topics. I wanted more intimacy, but Georgia wasn't offering any.

And I didn't like to lead.

"I should go. I have an early class," she said eventually.

"All right."

"May I call you tomorrow?"

"I'd like that."

* * * *

Tuesday went much the same, but without the awkward beginning. At the end she said, "Call me tomorrow."

And on Wednesday, she said she'd call me on Thursday.

On Thursday, I just couldn't take it anymore. "Tell me about your dreams."

"My dreams."

"Um. Wishes for the future."

"Oh, those kind of dreams." She paused. "I guess I'm already living my dream. I'm established in my career, and while I won't get rich writing a history book every two or three years, I enjoy what I do. My colleagues appear to respect me."

She didn't say a thing about me, or about relationships at all. Nor did she ask about my dreams. Instead she asked if I liked my job.

But before we ended the call, she said, "I have a faculty thing tomorrow evening, but I'd like to see you on Saturday. Could I pick you up?"

"Sure," I said. "I'd like that."

"I'll see you about six then. Good night, Sable."

"Good night."

* * * *

I went to bed, where I tossed and turned. Finally I sat up, climbed from bed, and headed back to the living room. I pulled my laptop into my lap then spent some time staring at Georgia's photo. Finally I began an email.

Georgia,

I haven't been able to sleep. I should probably do this over the phone, but I don't know when we'll talk again.

I don't think this is going to work. I'm looking for... something else. I'm sorry.

Sable

I returned to bed, curled into a ball, and spent a long time before I finally slept.