Criminal by Proxy, page 3
She had striking features, a subdued electric presence, but her real attractiveness came from the fact that she listened more than spoke. She waited, paused to respectfully let Christine relay what she wanted to say, always calm. Terrie never issued immediacy or referenced escape routes. Her sense of place in the moments she shared with other people, Christine included, made them feel like the only one on the planet, while other universes listened too.
Sitting on a bench in the courtyard across from the library, Christine darted from person to person, looking for someone, forcing herself to focus on the people passing by. She wanted to chat with someone and casually let out the lie she had yet to tell anyone. The suspicious secret washed over her. She’d made up a class project. She felt guilty for what she had done and the deception. She’d met with a criminal for Christ’s sake, and she hadn’t even told anyone.
A few students emerged from the library with coffees or lattes. Everyone had midterm parties and were gearing up for final papers and exams. The school was a reasonable size. Her graduate school department only included about thirty students. But a sea of underclassmen rushed out of the buildings when class periods changed. As Christine scanned with wonder into groups of twentysomethings, lost souls, she realized she had never even seen the bulk of them. They were unrecognizable.
Christine’s feet shifted. She tilted her head as she focused on the sky and the eternal school year. Her gaze was unfocused as she stared off into space. She wanted the year to be over, so she might find a job or think about doing something entirely different. Her mom listened to her vague plans, her wandering thoughts about her life, and told her to grow up. She couldn’t clear her head and decide which path to take until she finished the semester finals. Thoughts didn’t come. Only the goal stood out.
Christine pulled her computer science book out of her backpack and paged through the bulky mess of technical words. Did this count as studying? One particular review section went over complex CSS stylesheets, a language used to create how a webpage will be presented. She had already learned the key concepts in undergrad. She didn’t want to spend time studying for the final. She didn’t need to put in the effort. The website project was going to be the majority of the grade. She would breeze through the effort. She had to make a website and commerce site for a client. If she buckled down, pulled a few more late nights, and finished the assignment, she would get an A. The hard parts were done. Her thesis revolved around templates for business cases and justifications for procurement of specialized equipment in nonprofit arts grant applications.
She would go into nursing. Nobody wanted to get stuck behind a computer for the rest of their lives. Quasi-ownership of an office desk and tasks involving playing with network jacks into her sixties held the same excitement in her mind as being a professional cadaver. She wouldn’t get one of the good jobs. She’d have to wear grey work suits from department stores, and she shuddered at the thought. She might start over with nursing. They were the people who, with honest intention, helped the world. She’d taken an anatomy class in undergrad to learn more about bones, what was under the skin.
The whole issue of law school sent chills of nervousness through her spine to her fingers. This wild-goose-chase project would lead her right into taking more classes after she graduated. Lawyers made decent money, but she wasn’t sure if the pressure would be too much. The damp and musty, mold intoxication-inducing air in the prison conjured a hazy picture of her future. The air was thin, like too many people had breathed. Her mental state would deteriorate.
She wished she had someone to talk about long-term choices with. Aunt Rose was always there for her and would offer sound advice. She would listen, like Terrie, and help as best as possible. She encouraged Christine to dream and carry herself away with wherever she expended effort.
She’d visit Aunt Rose tomorrow, maybe bring her some flowers. She wrote a note in pen on her hand to call Uncle Mark when she got home. Aunt Rose’s prognosis was unclear to her.
In some sense, after Aunt Rose’s stroke, Christine didn’t want to know about anything. Even now, it was best if the family didn’t talk about it and what it meant. They all, with silent reservations, agreed. Christine was never in the room when the medical staff discussed details. Her live-in nurse did not want to say anything for sure. Aunt Rose had physical therapy. Christine knew that much. Treatment meant Aunt Rose still had hope.
Off in the distance, Terrie crossed past Smith Hall Dorms. She coasted across the grass, not following the stone pathway. Terrie never followed the rules. The tall brick wall held window after window. Air conditioners could be seen in summer and early fall.
Terrie’s jean shorts with trailing fabric strings showed off her butt, and her long pale legs reminded Christine they were going to the shore as soon as July hit. She wore a smart navy-blue polo shirt Christine had given her around Christmas time. The old thing was Amy’s, Christine’s ex. Neither of them had a problem with the switch. If Amy ever wanted it, Terrie would give it to her, no problem. The slightly ragged shirt, washed too many times, made Terrie look a bit preppy. The shirt was a contradiction.
Strong, butch, and intellectual at the same time, Terrie showcased complexity. For some reason, she wore glasses despite having twenty-twenty vision. She insisted she needed to wear them. Christine preferred them on the floor. She came home from the eye doctor, who issued her a clean bill of health six months before. She proclaimed herself, after wearing the glasses two weeks, free from the migraine headaches she had been developing. Christine called it a ruse.
She imagined herself calling across the courtyard after Terrie. Maybe, she would finally tell her about this concocted scheme to get more information about Aunt Rose’s arrest. She should tell her first anyway. Terrie was gone though—out of sight. After a few moments, the opportunity to chase after her was gone as well.
Strange events unfolded. Terrie was supposed to be at the lab, and here she was looking like she wanted to scale Smith Hall. Awkward and unapproachable, Christine couldn’t ask her how come. Scared of the reason, she stepped to the side.
A FEW NIGHTS ago, they had talked, gotten intense and deep on their relationship. Any relationship Christine had ever had with anyone dug for emotion. She wanted Terrie to rip out her most profound feelings and intertwine them with hers. Christine wanted to feel as loved as possible. Love never sprouted the way she wanted it to.
“I do love you,” Christine cried. She drove the dagger in with intent. That same intent relayed: “I never want to have to repeat this. I want you to believe and let it be.” Christine swore to this much.
“But we never have quality time anymore. When you lived with Julie, you were always over. We always had plans. Now you’re off studying, even though you never studied before.” Christine wanted to know where she was most days.
Most likely off writing, journaling. Christine would text, but Terrie had always been an absent texter. That was for sure. She’d leave hours between checking and wait hours to respond. She was the only person Christine knew who left their phone in the car when they went somewhere. She didn’t want to stuff her pockets with junk.
A few hundred feet past their window, which didn’t have an air conditioner, clustered bodies dwelt on the town streets. College students drifted in even parallel lines in the evening light. They looked so young. Christine was in her early twenties. She’d gone right to graduate school after college. Despite her best judgment, she hadn’t taken a year off to work. Her parents were ready to help with the money, so she’d decided to add two more years of education to her resume.
Most students were in pairs or groups. The safest travel plans included pairs and groups on this campus. Around the corner, the neighborhood turned sour, filled with dirty streets and dark, dirtier alleys. Terrie usually commuted solo, flying off and out at any whim. The attitude came with the package.
It was not only that Christine wanted Terrie to be there, but she had to be present. She had to turn on the “listening Terrie.” Christine cried, “You’re drifting again. What are you thinking about?”
“I’m here with you now, more than ever. We love each other to death. But I need time alone, okay? I’m your James Dean in glasses, remember?”
Christine stepped into the window with her. Terrie’s arm stretched across her shoulders. They were women, together, in love, and free to do as they wished.
“I love you,” Terrie begged, forcing the words to be poignant.
Would it ever be easy to say? “I love you, I guess,” Christine said, her eyes pointed downward. Christine made it clear—everyone, Terrie, Christine’s ex, and Terrie’s ex, even, tensed when Christine genuinely cared with everything she had. She goaded Terrie and invited her to bring something more substantial to reassure her of the love they shared. Christine wanted Terrie to love her more. It was questionable whether she did.
“What about your dumb project?” Terrie said. “That’s taking up all your time. It’s not only me. You spent hours at the library last week, and you missed Taco Wednesday after class. It’s your favorite. You have a subscription to LexisNexis. I don’t even know what that is. You won’t tell me anything about the project, and it’s not even computer science. You’re the absent one.” Terrie turned and put her arms at Christine’s waist, giving her what she wanted. She stared deep into her eyes. “You’re the one I can’t trust.” Terrie’s words rang, covering the gist of their argument. Neither wanted to open the relationship. Neither wanted to go beyond the healthy couple, the dedicated, loving couple image they had built up to their friends.
Christine wondered what would become of the project. Absent questioning led to the unfair solicitation of deep love from someone who might not be ready to give the emotion of their own accord.
Often found quietly working in the early morning hours, Aunt Rose’s alone, stable, and strong image mirrored Terrie’s. They both shared a reserved, reliable image wrought with integrity. Christine liked the stoic, independent type. She admired and adored them. Even still, she tried to break through and make them love. “I’m not going to merge with you,” Christine’s ex had pleaded. But Christine craved the closeness.
Aunt Rose’s words from two months ago had stayed with her. She admitted she was indebted to June.
“An action, however wrong, can have more love than a lifelong friendship,” she said.
Trying to grow her love in the wrong way, she made these words without actions, albeit all of them good, trying to show she cared. Terrie gave freely and often. That was her role as the surpriser. Christine should give more love than a thank-you, but what was her purpose? How should she say, “I love you”?
Aunt Rose had mentioned many of these cryptic things before the stroke—always referencing June. She expected Christine to know all about June, and at the same time, Aunt Rose didn’t want Christine to know about her at all.
Secretive and guarded at times, Christine tried to be the best friend possible to her. Aging as minutes passed, seemingly all alone, she rummaged for meaning everywhere. Christine’s curiosity burned anyway. She wanted her role model to be the exact person she imagined—a bright light.
She’d found an article a week before the stroke. The blurb made so much sense, and yet she racked her brain, wondering why she hadn’t asked questions sooner. Here she was with this great-aunt, who had seen the era of Stonewall and before. She’d protested and fought for rights, and yet she might not share that with Christine. She would never listen to Aunt Rose’s troubles, accomplishments, or loves now. If only they had bonded sooner, if only she had been a better great-niece and helped out more—Aunt Rose would have loved Christine. She would have opened up.
Even though there was so much to learn, Christine was clutching to an article, regretful. Christine would make her life make sense one way or another. Her past and her history were important to Christine, regardless if she could speak. She would find the truth and Aunt Rose’s honor.
Chapter Four
Terrie
THE HOUSE WAS set back at least four hundred feet from the road. That’s the only thing that made the neighborhood not cookie-cutter suburban. The area was spacious, and the houses weren’t tight against one another. The trees were more massive, and the lots weren’t the same size. Her house held more aged character than those from the nineties housing boom neighborhoods close by. The builders had skipped the vinyl siding and veneer. For these two reasons, Christine was proud of where she had grown up.
They moved across the driveway, stretching each step into several seconds, using as many steps as justifiable. Christine’s shoes scraped, dragging on the gravel as she lingered. Terrie held the wine she’d scooped off the kitchen counter before they left. Grabbing whatever was close and pretty, Terrie chose wine mostly based on her personal feelings toward the label.
She’d say, “I like this bird. Let’s get this one.” The picture gave her countless dinnertime stories. It was always something she chatted about. It didn’t matter if the bottle was five dollars or thirty.
Terrie had bought the wine several days ago and almost forgotten it. Neither of them forgot dinner. Christine clenched her jaw and released, ran her tongue across her teeth, and bit her lips together. Terrie stretched and flexed her arms nervously. Christine’s family skipped pleasantries and moved to tough topics at the door. They “had no problem” with Christine’s life, but they wished she would give men another shot. When she had first dated women, she’d told her parents she was bisexual. Even though she had corrected herself a few months later, her parents held on to the fact Christine recognized something in herself that liked men.
Christine’s dad never talked to her about his long-held feelings on abortion anymore, but he still talked about the issue with other people. Her mom went to church on Sundays, and some of her opinions and values were uncompromisable. Hushed subtext filtered into any room they occupied together. All their unspoken resentment lay under a dust cover. Christine’s parents never vocalized aloud that she or her girlfriends were not welcome, or their thoughts and opinions weren’t valid. They never verbalized their reservations.
“Hi, sweetie. Oh, and Terrie, welcome. Come in,” Christine’s mom chimed.
The home was the same one Christine had grown up in when she was young. Her parents kept the house even after Christine and her brother had moved out. The siding needed to be power washed. Her father abhorred grime and dirt. When he cleaned, he aimed for that brand-new sparkle on all surfaces. He liked everything that way if possible. Her parents kept up the lawn and made sure tidiness spread through the home. The sprinkler system had been installed a year or two ago to mitigate the dead grass in the front yard. Her dad had wanted to pay for lawn care, but instead they’d talked him into installing the system.
“Hi, Erin. Thanks. It’s good to see you,” Terrie answered. She stumbled with her words.
Christine’s mom insisted on Terrie calling her by her first name, but Terrie still spoke with nervous apprehension. Maybe her attitude was from her upbringing with strict parents. She naturally addressed Erin by her last name. She had not yet broken the barrier to being friends with Christine’s mom, and Christine held onto only an ounce of hope a peace treaty would happen anytime soon.
“Sit down, girls,” her mother broke in. She strode in sauntering, casual steps across the kitchen. Her husband watched TV in his usual chair in the family room. “It’s so good to see you both. How are your classes? School’s finally going to be over soon.”
“Great, Mom. You know, everything is going the way it’s supposed to. Grades are fine…” Christine relayed, moving toward the mashed potatoes. She removed a fork from a drawer and tasted.
“Christine, sweetie. We’re eating in a minute.” She darted a hard glare at Christine and straight to Terrie. Her fingers adjusted the placemat, squaring it off. “Well…I take a class at the gym on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. You’re both welcome to join.”
“Mom, you’re like an hour and a half away. Anyway, I never exercise. It’s not in my blood.”
“I mean, maybe you want to try,” her mom said. She gave suggestive glances at Christine’s waist and continued adjusting the placemat.
It wasn’t enough Christine’s mom couldn’t give Terrie a full, firm hug. She also created distance with things like picking on Christine about her grades and her weight. Christine didn’t feel fat. She was able to pinch a hunk at her sides, but she was fine with it. So pushed out by her family sometimes Christine wouldn’t even approach the root cause. Christine wouldn’t reprimand her mom for insinuating she was getting fat. She wouldn’t waste those words.
“Terrie,” Erin said, changing the subject with abrupt, blunt force before anyone contested her behavior. “How are your classes?”
“Good. Great. I can get a lot of work done at the store because it’s not so busy,” Terrie remarked.
Standoffish toward Christine’s family, Terrie mirrored the feelings she received. Christine could also tell she was avoiding more discussion of school since Terrie had gotten a few Cs last semester. Terrie didn’t know what she was going to do with a communications degree anyway. She finally took her last two general education classes. For several years, she had been taking two classes a semester toward a degree.
“Gary’s retiring. They might have a management slot open. I’d order merchandise, stuff like that,” Terrie inserted.
The hardware store she worked at wasn’t the career she’d planned for in high school, but Terrie’s work made her feel important. Christine liked the extra cash from the odd home improvement jobs she picked up in the summer thanks to her working there. Christine would get goodies following the bonus. Christine also enjoyed the way Terrie flirted in carpenter jeans.
