Honey in the Marrow, page 14
Elizabeth snorts, but Stella ignores her.
“But sometimes things change because they need to change. Because it’s time.”
Elizabeth narrows her eyes. “Who are you?”
Stella leans in and whispers, “I’m the clone.”
Elizabeth reaches out and takes Stella’s wrist in her hand. Her fingers are cold.
“Hey,” Stella says. “It’s gonna be fine. Do you want to spend the night?”
Elizabeth nods. Her eyes fill with tears and her face crumples.
Stella takes the wineglass out of Elizabeth’s other hand and sets it down next to hers. Then she cautiously scoots closer to Elizabeth and opens her arms.
Elizabeth flings herself into her arms and buries her face into her neck.
“Oh, hon. It’s gonna be okay.” She holds Elizabeth, patting her back as she weeps. Stella wonders who had last held Elizabeth in their arms. Her children live far away, and she isn’t dating anyone. Stella has Addie for the occasional hug. Maybe Elizabeth gets hugs from Addie too, but Addie is young, and Elizabeth is more of a maternal figure for her, so she wouldn’t go crying on Addie’s shoulder.
Elizabeth mumbles something into Stella’s neck.
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“None of that.” Stella lifts her hand and strokes Elizabeth’s head.
Addie comes in soon after and finds them still embracing, Stella with her fingers in Elizabeth’s hair. She lowers the bottle of champagne she’s holding aloft and stops.
“Aunt Stella, what did you do?”
* * *
The bottle of champagne was intended to celebrate Addie’s promotion to team lead. Elizabeth has stopped crying but won’t stop apologizing. Addie decides to run a bath for her, telling her she looks exhausted and declaring that she’ll stay the night.
While Elizabeth is in the tub, Addie puts together a dinner and Stella puts out a clean pair of teal cotton shorts and a black tank top. The tank top is one of Addie’s workout shirts that says I won’t quit but I will cuss the entire time in huge gold letters. Stella hopes it will make Elizabeth smile. She leaves the clothes folded on the edge of Addie’s bed.
She comes up behind Addie, who is stirring a pot of boiling noodles at the stove, and rests her chin on her shoulder. “She showed up and just started crying.” It’s close enough to the truth. Addie doesn’t need to know Elizabeth’s workplace politics or love life.
“Her job is stressful,” Addie says. “And I think she’s lonely all the time.”
“She’s lived in Los Angeles her whole life. How is it we’re the only friends she has?”
“Maybe we’re just the only people she likes right now.”
Stella steps back, peers into the pot of noodles. “What are you making?”
“Just some pasta. I think there’s a jar of white sauce in the pantry.”
Addie is good at making something out of nothing, and by the time Elizabeth emerges from Addie’s room, she has set out pasta in a creamy pesto sauce, a salad, and garlic toast made from half a loaf of sourdough.
Elizabeth is wearing the clothes Stella found for her and one of Addie’s hoodies. Her long legs are set off by the shorts. Her wet hair is brushed back, and her makeup has been washed off. Her eyes are not quite as big behind her glasses without mascara. “This looks so good,” she says. “Thank you.”
They sit down, fill their plates, and begin eating.
Stella breaks the silence. “Addie got made team lead at the restaurant.”
“Oh, honey,” Elizabeth says. “That’s great. Congratulations.”
“It’s, like…not a big deal. More responsibility, not much more money.”
“It means they like you,” Stella says.
“It means I’m not a moron,” Addie counters.
“Have you been looking at schools?” Elizabeth asks and takes another bite.
“I’ve looked at some websites. I can’t even apply for another six months.” Addie says and pushes some noodles around her plate. “Aunt Stella starts working again next week.”
Elizabeth looks at Stella with surprise. “You do?”
“Just a panel thing at UCLA,” Stella says. “A couple of other assignments. I’m starting off easy.”
“What kind of panel?”
“It’ll be me and a few law enforcement experts,” Stella says. “We’ll go through some cases with the class at the beginning of the semester and then review them at the end. Look at how their perspectives changed. I think. I’m not real sure yet.”
“This is going to be a great fit for you.” Elizabeth smiles, her eyes crinkling up at the corners.
“You could do it too, you know. You could retire and do consulting as easy as anything.”
“I suppose,” Elizabeth says. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet, though.”
“You have options, is all I’m saying.”
“Why would you leave the LAPD? You love it,” Addie says.
“I wouldn’t,” Elizabeth answers. “Not yet.”
Stella changes the subject. Talking about working makes her feel anxious. She asks Addie, “Tell me about your worst customer today.” That always gets her talking because people are generally terrible, and they’re especially terrible in Los Angeles. Addie’s clientele is a mix of tourists and wealthy shoppers with a dash of employees from other stores.
“Oh my God, there was this DUDE.” And she’s off. She even gets a laugh or two out of Elizabeth, especially when she goes into the part where she has to explain to an adult man that blue cheese dressing isn’t just crumbles of blue cheese inside of ranch dressing. That it is its own dressing, and that the man didn’t believe her. Then she had to make what he thought was correct just to satisfy him.
“A grown-ass man!” Addie says at the end of the story. “And he had a wedding ring on! Someone married him.”
Elizabeth chuckles. “Men are so stupid.”
“They really are,” Stella agrees. “Even the good ones.”
“What good ones?” Addie asks. “Name one good man.”
“You’re too young to be this bitter,” Elizabeth says, putting her hand against her chest dramatically.
“I’m advanced for my age.” Addie stands and starts to clear the table.
Stella waves her off. “I got this. You cooked.”
“I’ll go change my sheets,” Addie tells Elizabeth.
“Oh no,” Elizabeth protests. “I have to get up so, so early. I can sleep on the couch.”
“No!” Stella says. “That couch is terrible.”
“Addie works so hard. She needs her sleep,” Elizabeth says.
“It’s fine—”
“Anyway, I should go home.” Elizabeth pushes back from the table.
“NO!” Addie insists. “You need to stay here, hang out with us.”
“That’s sweet, but—” Elizabeth stands but hesitates, like she needs a little more convincing.
“You can sleep with me,” Stella blurts out.
Addie stares at Stella in disbelief.
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
Addie cuts her off. “That’s a great idea. Aunt Stella doesn’t need to be up at any particular time.”
“What about your new job?”
“It doesn’t start until next week,” Stella reminds her.
“Besides, your bed is bigger,” Addie says, barely containing her excitement. “And then you two can bond.”
Elizabeth raises her eyebrows, then says, “I know you don’t—that is, if it makes you uncomfortable—”
“It was my idea. You’re my friend.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth says, “I am,” though she sounds a little uncertain.
Stella cleans up the kitchen while Addie and Elizabeth talk in the living room. They keep their heads close together.
Stella stays focused on her task to distract herself as much as to give them some time together. She fills the dishwasher, starts it up. She empties the dish rack, then washes the pots and pans.
She’s elbow-deep in soapy water when she feels Addie’s hand on her shoulder.
“Elizabeth is brushing her teeth. I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”
“Okay, sweetie.” Stella wipes her forehead with her arm.
“You okay?”
“Yes, of course,” Stella lies.
“Don’t be weird. Let her do the talking.”
“I’m not gonna be weird!” Stella hisses, though the second part is solid advice. She’ll just lie in the dark and listen until Elizabeth drifts off. It shouldn’t take long. All that crying would exhaust anyone.
By the time she makes her way to her room, Elizabeth is perched on the side of Stella’s bed, waiting. Stella is suddenly aware of how awful her bedroom looks. The bed is nothing but a box spring and mattress. No frame. It’s pushed up against the wall, like a child’s bed. Her clothes are scattered on the floor. Her makeup is everywhere, even though she hardly ever wears it—unless she’s trying to impress Elizabeth.
“I can still leave,” Elizabeth offers.
“Why would you leave?”
“I’m too old to be crashing at friends’ houses.”
“Says who?” Stella counters and sits next to her on the edge of the bed. “Maybe people wouldn’t feel so alone all the time if they had more sleepovers.” Stella is trying to convince them both, but it’s really not a bad idea.
Elizabeth tilts her head and smiles. “As long as you don’t think I’m being pathetic.”
“No more than me,” Stella promises. “Aren’t you exhausted?”
“Anxious, mostly. I think part of the problem is I haven’t been sleeping well, and now I have to worry about whether my division will survive.”
“You oversee a high-profile division with a solid case-win ratio. It’s a feather in the chief of police’s otherwise very bald cap. The cast of characters might change, but the division isn’t going anywhere.”
“I often ask myself, ‘What would Stella do?’ But the answer is that you would never have dated someone you work with in the first place.”
“Elizabeth, I dated a string of losers, had a rushed divorce, and then married a cop, knowing exactly how dangerous the job is. Not exactly smart.”
“That’s not the same thing. I knew better—or should have.”
“We all know better in retrospect,” Stella says. “Come on. Lie down.”
She pulls the covers back and waits while Elizabeth slides in close to the wall. Her dark hair stands out against the light fabric of Stella’s bed linens. Elizabeth pulls off her glasses and hands them to Stella, who sets them on the nightstand.
“I have to brush my teeth.” Stella turns off the lamp, and the room fades into soft darkness with only the light from the hall spilling across the floor.
The light in the bathroom is unkind at night. Maybe it’s the bulbs bouncing their cold, energy-efficient light off the harsh white walls. She could get warmer lights, but they’re expensive and quick to burn out. Or she could paint the walls blue or another dark color, something absorbent.
Or she could stand here as always, inspecting her skin in the mirror, her stomach pressed into the sink. It’s not the wrinkles that bother her, exactly; it’s the tiny lines. The pre-wrinkles. The skin that hasn’t quite gone yet but is going. The skin in the process of decay.
She squirts toothpaste onto her brush and jams it into her mouth. Half the time, she doesn’t even bother to brush her teeth before bed. It feels like this whole exercise is a performance for Elizabeth; in fact, maybe her entire life is about trying to impress Elizabeth, the one person she looks forward to seeing as much as she dreads it.
Back in the bedroom, she finds Elizabeth curled onto her side, facing the door, still awake. Stella admires the picture for a moment and then reaches across the wall, feeling for the switch that will turn off the hall light.
It’s been a long time since she’s had someone besides her niece in her bed. She and Ron slept apart as much as they slept together toward the end. She didn’t like his snoring; he didn’t like how she brought work to bed.
Elizabeth smells clean and delicate. Stella crawls into bed and lies on her back, staring up at the dark ceiling.
“I can hear you thinking,” Elizabeth says sleepily.
“Oh yeah? What do you hear?”
“Who is this squatter in my bed?” Elizabeth says.
“Actually, I was thinking that it’s nice to have someone in bed with me again.” Stella rolls to face Elizabeth. “And something tells me you don’t snore like a lumberjack.”
“And if I do?” Elizabeth asks.
“I can live with that,” Stella promises. “Or I might smother you in the night with my pillow.”
“Quite the spectrum,” Elizabeth says and yawns. “Life or death.”
Stella looks at Elizabeth. Her dark hair falls across her face like a shadow. Stella reaches out and tucks it behind her ear. Elizabeth nuzzles her face into Stella’s hand.
“I’m so glad I found you again,” Elizabeth says. “I missed you after you left our division. I was so upset that you’d left.”
“Sh-h-h.” She holds her hand against Elizabeth’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Stella starts to pull her hand away, but Elizabeth catches it, holding it as she falls asleep.
Chapter 12
Stella wakes up to light shining in through the window and the sound of Elizabeth whimpering. After several long moments of disorientation, she remembers that she’s in her own bed, in her own room, in her own house. And Elizabeth spent the night.
The motion sensing light on the back porch—no doubt activated by a cat or a possum—illuminates Elizabeth. She is curled into a tight ball. She whimpers again softly, then makes another noise, more distressed this time, then mumbles, then says quite clearly, “No!”
Stella reaches out and puts her hand on Elizabeth’s bare shoulder. Presses gently and then slides her hand down her arm. She repeats the motion twice before Elizabeth settles down. A minute later, the porch light shuts off and the room is dark again.
It feels like something Stella was not meant to see, and she realizes that Elizabeth’s strength might be something of an act for Stella’s benefit. She knows all too well the horrors Elizabeth faces in her work every day. She knows that Elizabeth’s ex-husband abandoned his family. And she also knows that, not too long ago, Elizabeth witnessed her friend and colleague gunned down in cold blood.
She wraps her fingers loosely around Elizabeth’s wrist. She imagines pulling Elizabeth toward her until her whole body is pressed against Stella’s. That’s as far as she will allow her libido to take her, despite the bees humming under her skin. Anything more seems impossible.
Elizabeth is quiet now, though still breathing heavily. Her fingers twitch, and Stella wraps her hand over Elizabeth’s and holds it.
Stella feels like a teenager, excited to hold hands for the first time. Her heart beats like she ran around the block a few times. She’s sweaty and hot, the bees swarming inside. Elizabeth seems to settle down, but now Stella can’t breathe. The hand holding Elizabeth’s is clammy, and her head is swimming. She pulls her hand away and scrambles out of bed. She stumbles into the nightstand, rattling everything on it. She can’t seem to find the doorway.
“It’s okay. It’s all right. Take a deep breath. Sit down.” Elizabeth speaks calmly and guides Stella to the edge of the mattress.
Stella sits down and leans forward, pressing her face between her knees. She used to be solid as a rock, unshakable. A man once tried to kill her, and she simply brushed herself off and went back to work. Now she’s always on the edge, the edge of crying, of panic, of never leaving her house again. Even holding hands with Elizabeth sent her spiraling; the thought of Elizabeth’s body against her own is overwhelming.
It all funnels back to pain again, like water circling a drain. Grief, anger, pleasure, all of it ends up in the same, rotten place.
Elizabeth is stroking her back, scratching at the base of her neck. Stella tries to breathe.
“I was having a bad dream too.” Elizabeth’s voice is thick with sleep.
Stella doesn’t tell her that she was barely sleeping at all. “My marriage wasn’t very good.” The confession tumbles out of her mouth. “We weren’t happy. I don’t understand why it hurts so bad.”
Elizabeth pauses stroking for a moment and then resumes. “It was a shock. We had such a shock, you and I.”
Stella sits up slowly until she is sitting upright. She clutches her hands in her lap. Elizabeth sits up next to her. Their hips are pressed together.
“Tonight was supposed to be about you crying.” Stella sniffles.
Elizabeth shakes her head. “Am I making it worse for you?”
“No.”
“I should go home.”
“No.” Stella says it emphatically. “Please stay. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“No, I will.”
“Elizabeth, it’s my house!”
“Okay but…did I do something wrong?”
“No. No, it’s me. I’m wrong. I’m supposed to be helping you through this thing with Sam, and I’m just making it worse.”
“I don’t care about Sam,” Elizabeth says. “I care about—I mean, Sam isn’t who I love. And I came over to see you.” She wraps her hands around Stella’s.
“You’re shaking,” Stella whispers.
Elizabeth nods and, leaning in slowly, presses her forehead against Stella’s shoulder. “I’m just so tired. Please stay with me.”
“I will.” There’s no way she can ignore the pleading in Elizabeth’s voice. “Absolutely I will. Maybe you should call in for a few hours.”
Elizabeth nods, yawns. “Okay.”
They lie down again, but this time Elizabeth curls up into her, keeps her face tucked, an arm draped over Stella’s hip. Stella can feel Elizabeth breathing.
