Wishbone, page 25
Not completely sure of what to do, I got up and straddled her. She took my hand and together we guided her into me. With another moan, she arched her back and lifted me.
“Move as much as you want,” she said, her voice low and husky.
She held me safe with her eyes. Her breaths became short and rapid and she moved to match my motion. I leaned forward to kiss her and touch her breasts. My loose hair draped around us. She held my face and kissed me deeply. I reached into her with my tongue, each of us inside the other. Her hands were hot on my thighs.
“God, Meg,” Gina moaned.
She kissed my face, my neck, my mouth, then she stiffened and arched her back, crying out. She was slick with sweat. Her eyes clamped shut as she gasped for air through clenched teeth. She shuddered and collapsed, panting as though she’d run a marathon.
“Holy shit,” I said, laughing.
“I love you, Meg,” she gasped between breaths into my neck. “I love you.” The words were thick and slurred.
I squeezed her tight, instantly sobered. I’d never heard those words before. Not the way she meant them.
While Gina caught her breath, I thought about what she had said. Was it just the orgasm? Love. Sex. Making Love. What’s the difference? What do they even mean?
I sighed, unsure. Did mind-blowing sex equal love? Was wanting someone inside you being in love? I’d been inside a lot of women I didn’t love. Gina loved me. I liked the idea well enough but didn’t know if I loved her back, and Gina, having said it, probably wanted a response.
I held her face and kissed her lips, gently, softly. I lay back down, pulling her with me.
“I want to hold you, G,” I said. I want to love you, I thought.
GINA CAME BACK the next evening and spent the night. It was partly because she wanted to be with me and partly because she didn’t want to be home.
She hadn’t told me what had happened on the boat, all the shouting, so I asked. We were lying in bed, recovering from our post-coital comas, as she called them.
“They know everything, now,” she said. “About us, about me.”
I whistled. Curious she said “us” before “me.” I flashed to greeting Mrs. B at next year’s Memorial Day picnic. If I were invited.
“And you know what? I don’t care.”
“You sure?”
“They had their chance. I’ve tried all summer to talk to them about my life. They don’t want to hear it, so I made them listen. They’re not happy about it. I’ll get no help with any surgeries, probably never see a dime of inheritance, but I’m at peace with it. It’s their problem, not mine.”
“Being a psych professor has its advantages, doesn’t it?” She pulled me on top of her. Something occurred to me. “Does Jeff know too?”
“Yes.” She tipped her head to meet my gaze. “That was okay, wasn’t it? He’s not just anyone. He’s my twin. He didn’t seem surprised.”
I closed my eyes and tried to remember how Jeff had acted that morning on the boat. He didn’t say anything about what Gina had disclosed. Was that a good sign or not?
I rolled off Gina and let the fan blow hot air over us. It didn’t cool us off much, but it did mask the noises we made. Through the open windows, street sounds drifted in, car horns and people laughing. Engines revved, tires screeched. The thump of a car stereo beat through my chest. All the summer sounds I found annoying faded into the backdrop of being with Gina.
IT DIDN’T TAKE long to find out how Jeff felt about us. Wednesday, he called. Midday, on my cell phone, so it wasn’t work related. He said he didn’t want to call when Gina was with me. I didn’t need video conferencing to detect his hostility. He wanted to know what, exactly, I was doing.
“Excuse me? I don’t think that’s any of your business,” I said.
“It’s becoming my business.” He said his mother had called him to complain about Gina and what kind of friend was I to interfere. I told him he and his mother were crazy if they blamed me for the rift with Gina.
“I’m not blaming you,” he said. But he was. I didn’t want to have this conversation at all, let alone by phone. He agreed to come to my office after work. I told Gina I had to work late. Already I was lying to her.
Shortly after five, Jeff eased into the chair across from my desk. He looked tired and angry, avoiding eye contact. Then he looked right at me. “You sleeping together?”
Point blank. No “how are things” small talk, no ice breaker. Just ice.
He obviously didn’t care that it was none of his business, so why should I care about protecting him. “Yes.”
You’d think I’d punched him. He broke eye contact and the muscles in his jaw flexed.
I shook my head. “We’re grown-ups. We can do this. Why does it bother you?”
As soon as I said it, I knew the answer. I wasn’t the only one who wondered how I could be attracted to his identical twin and not him.
“I’m sorry,” I said before he had a chance to reply. His beautiful blue eyes were filled with hurt. “She’s not you. When I look at her, I don’t see you. I see a woman.”
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “I don’t. I see Greg. That’s all I can see.”
“And you think I can love Greg and not you.”
He didn’t say anything or look at me.
“That would be wrong. I couldn’t love Greg and not you. There is no Greg. There never was. I know it’s different for you, for your parents. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like for you, but for me there’s only ever been Gina.”
Jeff leaned back in the chair and rubbed his face, furred with a couple of days’ stubble. Exhausted, he looked nothing like Gina.
“There is no Gina. Never was, never will be,” he said softly. “I wanted to believe in her, but I can’t. I’m trying, but I can’t. And he can’t accept that. From any of us.”
“Have you talked to her? Like we do?”
“I thought I was beginning to get it. After he wrote and said he was coming home for the summer, I called him. We talked on the phone a lot, but then, when I saw him, and he didn’t look like me anymore. It all fell apart. But I couldn’t let Dad treat him like that. Her.” He slumped lower in the chair. “Shit, I don’t even know anymore.”
“It’s Greg who never existed. It’s always been Gina. You see Greg because that’s who you want to see.”
Jeff stared at some point between us. “He was a stranger, but he had all of Greg’s memories. He knew my deepest, darkest secrets from all those years we shared a bedroom. It was like an alien had taken over Greg’s body, like some sci-fi movie.”
Jeff always helped me with my crises, now he was in crisis. “I wish I could help you,” I said softly. “I don’t know how.”
“He loves you, you know.”
Christ. “She tell you that?”
“He didn’t have to.”
The twin thing?
“Seeing you two out on that diving board, I knew he’d fall for you. How could he not. I love you. He’s me.”
I was in way over my head. Jeff didn’t say he loved me. At one time, in the past. Present tense, now. “She, Jeff. She. Maybe she loves me.”
“Do you love him?”
“Stop saying him. There is no him.” This “he” stuff bugged me.
“He has a dick still. I’ve seen it. I walked in on him, like I always used to, only now it’s not okay. He has a dick.”
“Yeah. I’ve noticed.” My head started to hurt, my insides churned. For a ridiculous second I felt like I’d been caught having an affair. “You should leave. Go talk to Gina.”
He looked at me, hard. An old fear shot through me. Whenever men looked at me that way. Not Jeff. Please, if there is a god, not Jeff. He gripped the arms of the chair then stood, slowly, like an old man. He didn’t say anything, just walked out.
I let out a breath that turned into a sob. I lay my head down on the desk and waited for the shivers to stop.
“He’s me,” rang through my head on an endless loop. She’s him. Where do genes end and individuality take over? How do you separate one from the other?
GINA DIDN’T COME over that night, but when I got home Thursday, she was waiting for me on the front steps, like a stray. I couldn’t continue with her until I knew where things stood.
“You hear from Jeff?” I asked.
She nodded. She held a bag of what smelled like Chinese takeout. I let us into the building. She didn’t say anything until we were in my apartment.
“He stopped by last night. We had an interesting discussion. Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“Tell you what?” I tossed my keys on the table and riffled through my mail.
“Is there a list to choose from?”
“A very long one.”
She set the bag on the table but didn’t sit down. “I thought it was just me. That he couldn’t handle the transition. But it’s also you. Why didn’t you tell me he was in love with you?”
“I thought he was past it. Remember Cindy?” I stripped off my uniform and changed into a T-shirt and running shorts. “It’s ancient history.”
“Maybe for you.”
“Yeah, well.”
“What happens now?”
I looked at the bag. “We eat?”
Her expression didn’t change. I got a couple of plates and silverware and put them on the table. “What would you have done if I had told you?”
“Probably nothing different with you, but it might have helped me understand his anger.”
I wiped a water spot off a spoon. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make things harder for you and him. I honestly thought he was over it. It came as kind of a shock.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said.
“What to happen?”
“You. Hurting him.”
“Neither did I. Are you guys okay?”
“Not yet, but we will be. We were never very competitive. We never fought over girls. Until now.”
I sat down and started opening the bag. She still stood. “You staying or not?”
Her face crumpled and tears burst.
“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.
She wiped her face. “I’m fighting for you, Meg. Do you want me to or not?”
I felt like a trap door had opened under me and I was falling. I slapped the table. “No!”
Now she looked dumbfounded. “What?”
“I won’t play rope in your little tug of war with Jeff. I’m not a prize to be fought over.”
Her expression turned to shock. “Of course. I didn’t mean—”
“He’s my friend and will be until he says he’s not. He may love me, but he’s not in love with me, Gina. He’s confusing the two. His world imploding isn’t about me, it’s about you. And you and he have to sort that out. As for me, you only have to decide what you want.”
She didn’t take long. She pulled out a chair and sat. Afterward, she decided she wanted me, so I gave myself to her, even if, like Jeff, I wasn’t sure if it was love or being in love.
THE NEXT NIGHT, when we went to Ezri, Chaz didn’t even need to be told. “You two are so damn cute,” she declared almost as soon as we sat down.
Later, when we danced, wrapped in each other’s arms, our heartbeats in sync, for the first time, for a moment, the ground felt solid and sure.
Chapter 23
GINA HAD BEEN a lovely distraction from my life, but I needed to get on with it. After my close encounter with the woman who was not Lily Griffin, I called Sylvie. I hadn’t heard from her since our lunch.
“I know you can’t tell me anything, so just nod if Violet is okay.”
“You know we’re on the phone, don’t you?”
“And I’m trying not to reach through the line and throttle you into giving me the information I need.”
“You better hope this call isn’t being recorded.”
Really, anyone listening in would be dialing 911 now. “Please, Sylvie. I’m begging you.”
“She’s fine.”
“When did you last see her?”
Pause. Not good. “Middle of July.”
“That was a month ago.”
“So?”
“So, how is she now?”
“I don’t remember you being such a pain in the ass. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Based on what information?”
“Based on the fact that I haven’t been called and nothing untoward has been reported.”
“And you trust that?”
Long, heavy sigh. “I have to, Meg. I’ve got fifteen other kids to look out for.”
WORRYING ABOUT VIOLET made it hard to keep from driving over to Cambridge and checking on her. I resisted for two days, until I had to take a dog to a foster home in Violet’s neighborhood.
I managed fine as I drove across the river and through Kendall Square. I even enjoyed the handoff. Lou, a sweet, but neglected beagle would now have a new lease on life for at least the next month. Another victim of Movie Dog Syndrome. Take a popular movie with a cute dog in it and note over the next few years how many of that breed are abandoned.
Just because a beagle had been a showstopper in the terrible movie Cats & Dogs, people mistakenly assumed they made great pets. Beagles are hounds, they bray like a demon possesses them. Don’t get me wrong, they can make great pets, but each breed has unique characteristics that are nothing like what ends up in a movie. And it’s not just beagles, it happened to Dalmatians (that whole 101 franchise), golden retrievers (Bud), Benji-like mutts. You name it, I’ve seen it.
Seth, one of my volunteers, and I had worked with Lou on the basics—being touched, walking on a leash, sit, stay, all that good stuff that makes a dog adoptable. With no shelter yet, we worked afternoons in a quiet, fenced-in park. Now Lou was ready for a real home.
Seth opened the door and Lou started wiggling.
“Hiya, Lou,” Seth cooed, rubbing Lou’s head and belly.
A month ago, this would have been impossible. Not because Lou was mean, but because he was so traumatized. He’d been locked inside a garage during the day while his owners worked and the kids were in school. He’d bloodied his front paws trying to dig his way out through the wood door, and when his owners found the damage, they’d smacked him with a newspaper. This happened right when they arrived home, when he’s all excited to see them. Nice greeting, man.
Sam called me after they’d taken him to her to treat his feet and then didn’t show up to claim him or pay the bill. They’d forgotten about the microchip.
“Dogs don’t come trained,” I’d lectured them when I tracked them down and handed them their fine plus Sam’s bill.
Lou sniffed around Seth’s living room.
“Time to try out the couch,” I joked.
Seth gave me a look. I knew Lou wouldn’t be allowed on furniture until he had a forever home and his new owner permitted it.
I raised my hands in surrender. “Just kidding.”
We chatted quietly while Lou explored the house. Once he settled, I gave him a farewell pat and headed back to my truck.
I was only a few streets away from Violet’s. I had to go around the block anyway. I silently promised that I’d drive by, no stopping, no ringing the bell. Then, once I saw that everything was fine, as Sylvie promised, maybe I could begin to let it go.
I slowed in front of the house. A big dumpster filled the small yard. A debris chute led up to a top-floor window. Violet’s house was being gutted. Clearly no one lived there. If there hadn’t been a car behind me, I’d have stopped in the middle of the road. I had to pull around the next block before I found a space big enough for my truck. My legs shook as I walked back to Violet’s.
A building permit was taped to a front window. It was late afternoon and the men were packing up. Pretending to be merely curious, I approached a guy who looked like he might be the boss.
“How long you been working here?” I asked.
“Couple weeks now, still doing demo,” he responded.
“Any idea where the tenants went? When they’ll be back?”
He shook his head. “Building’s been sold. I don’t think they’re coming back. This is going to be condos.”
“Ah, good neighborhood for that,” I said, feigning interest. “Well, have a nice day.”
