Neither Present Time Page 8

  “Yes, George,” she said. When he continued to look skeptical, she said, “What? He’s not your type?”

  Embarrassed again, he nodded sheepishly and said, “Yeah. To be honest.”

  “Listen, Ridley, I’m sure no one’s expert on relationships, but if you want to meet someone who can look past the obvious and fall in love with you, you’ve got to be willing to do the same.” She grinned. “Take it from a woman, if the feelings are there, the physical part will grow from that. And it will mean so much more than just sex.”

  He laughed to cover the sudden wetness in his eyes. “Do they give women a secret lecture about this stuff?”

  She raised her glass. “It comes with the estrogen.” But she couldn’t help thinking how many months it had been since Claire had looked at her with any sexual desire and she felt like a hypocrite offering advice to anyone.

  As if he had read her thoughts, Ridley said, “No, I think it’s just Beryl,” as he touched his glass to hers.

  Chapter 13

  Aggie startled awake. Lying in the dark, it took her a moment to realize where she was. Though it was her third night in the mansion, she had not yet become accustomed to the unfamiliar shadows and strange noises of the house.

  Percival, she saw, was awake also. He lay near the foot of her bed, facing the hallway, his ears pricked. He didn’t growl, though, and just as the AC unit cycled off, she heard soft footsteps. Aunt Cory. Aggie had never realized how often she came up to this floor of the house, but she’d been up the night before last as well.

  She wasn’t sure if Aunt Cory wanted solitude, or if maybe she was hoping for company. Quietly, she stole out of bed and went to the bedroom door which opened silently. Percival hopped off the bed and trotted down the hall to where Cory was sitting in her rocker, his nails clicking on the oak floors. So much for being quiet, Aggie thought as she followed.

  “Are you all right?” Aggie asked softly, entering the room to find Percival sitting beside the rocker getting his ears scratched.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” Cory said.

  “I’ve been sleeping lightly anyway,” said Aggie. “Still getting used to this house. You know, I realized, even though I’ve been coming to this house my whole life, I’ve never spent the night here until now.”

  Cory smiled and rocked.

  “Would you rather we leave you alone?” Aggie asked.

  “No, no,” Cory said. She gestured to the window seat and Aggie curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. “It’s silly,” Cory said sheepishly, “but I like to remember the house as it was, when it was full of people and life. I think it was happier then.”

  “The house?”

  Cory nodded. “There was a book, years ago,” she mused, trying to recall, “about a family that belonged to a house, not the other way around. It felt like it could have described our house, our family.”

  She looked at Aggie, moonlight illuminating one side of her face. “I’m glad you’re here, Agatha.”

  “I am, too,” Aggie said quietly.

  She hadn’t really thought about it, but she did feel a connection to this house, a sense of stewardship.

  “Tell me more about Helen and your time in D.C.,” she prompted. “How long were you there?”

  “Until after the war,” Cory said. “The census work was winding down by the time America entered the war, but I wasn’t ready to go back to Ohio yet. I got a job at the Navy Yard.”

  “Doing what?” Aggie asked.

  “Building bombs.”

  “You’re kidding.” Aggie stared at her great-aunt, trying to picture her as Rosie the Riveter.

  Cory smiled again. “I’m not. Our small hands could reach into tight spaces within the casings that men couldn’t get to. And it paid a lot better than office work. Of course, it meant putting up with boorish behavior from the men.”

  “Did Helen work there, too?” Aggie asked.

  A shadow passed over Cory’s face, visible even in the dim light. “No. She was in England for most of the war.”

  “Doing what?” Aggie asked again, fascinated at this unknown chapter in her aunt’s history.

  “I never really knew,” Cory said. “It was classified. She was fluent in French, so I always suspected it was something to do with the Resistance.” She paused, lost in memories as she rocked. “I only saw her a few times during those years.”

  * * *

  Corinne shuffles back to her apartment, exhausted after a twelve hour shift. The collar of her Navy pea coat is turned up against the bitter November cold. Everything she is wearing is men’s clothing, oversized with cuffs rolled up, work boots laced as tightly as they’ll go. It gives her the appearance of a child playing dress-up, an impression accentuated by her mussed blond hair and blue eyes. Wearily, she climbs the stairs to her apartment and unlocks her door.

  Too tired to pull her blackout curtains, she doesn’t turn the lights on. Dropping her coat on the couch, she goes straight to the bedroom, unbuttoning her shirt as she goes.

  “Well, I must say, that’s exactly what I was hoping for,” says a familiar voice from the darkness.

  Corinne gasps as the bedside lamp is switched on to reveal Helen lying on top of the quilt. Clutching the doorjamb to steady herself, Corinne whispers, “The curtains.”

  “I’ll get them,” Helen says, though she is reluctant to tear her eyes from Corinne.

  “You’re limping!” Corinne cries, rushing to meet her as Helen goes to the window.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Helen says, taking Corinne’s face in her hands and kissing her fiercely. She begins pulling Corinne’s clothes off.

  “I’m dirty,” Corinne protests, “I need –”

  “You’re beautiful,” Helen says, her voice husky with emotion, and Corinne sees what she didn’t see at first, how deep-set and haunted Helen’s eyes have become.

  Corinne flings her arms around Helen’s neck and kisses her desperately. A short while later, after they have made love, Helen is asleep, the impossibly deep sleep of someone who hasn’t truly slept for a very long time. Corinne lies awake, watching her, afraid she will close her eyes and wake to find this was only a dream.

  When Helen finally wakes, Corinne is dressed for work, eating a little before she goes.

  “What time is it?” Helen asks groggily.

  “Ten A.M.”

  Helen leaps from bed and nearly falls as her injured leg refuses to support her. “I have to catch my plane at two,” she says.

  “So soon?” Corinne asks in dismay. “You just got here.”

  “This trip was only to bring some documents that had to be delivered in person,” Helen says. “I asked for the job so I could see you.”

  She sits on the couch and Corinne pours her some coffee – her last coffee, but she doesn’t tell Helen that.

  “Oh, my God,” Helen moans, closing her eyes. “You have no idea how good this is.”

  “Is it very bad over there?” Corinne asks hesitantly.

  Helen nods, staring down at her cup. “Bombings nearly every night,” she says. “That’s how I broke my leg. Got trapped under some rubble.”

  Corinne reaches over for her hand. “Can’t you come home?” she asks, her eyes filling with tears.

  Helen kisses her hand. “Soon. This war has been going on for two years. It can’t be much longer now. It will be over soon.”

  * * *

  “That must have been so hard,” Aggie said softly.

  Cory nodded. “It was for everybody. We all wrote letters, but they could take months to get through. There was no guarantee that anyone overseas would come home.”

  “I don’t know if I could do that,” Aggie said.

  “You could,” Cory said. “You’re made of stern stuff, and you have a good heart.” She looked at her great-niece appraisingly. “You deserve better than what she did to you.”

  Aggie’s mouth fell open. “You knew about that?”

  Cory looked at her sagely. “I knew. I don�
�t know that anyone else did. Your parents see only what they want to see. But… I knew your heart was broken.”

  Aggie turned to look out the bay window, blinking rapidly. “It’s been three years. I don’t know if I’ll ever let anyone else close enough to do that to me again.”

  “You will,” Cory said, “when the right one comes along.”

  Chapter 14

  Beryl caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she dried off. Normally, she turned from any mirror, especially in the bathroom, but today, she studied herself. She’d lost about ten pounds since beginning to work out with Ridley. She raised an arm – she could actually see some muscle when she tensed up.

  Beryl had never been skinny or particularly athletic. Swimming was the only sport she’d really enjoyed. She’d always gravitated toward books, which also separated her from her brother and sister. She’d tried, briefly, to play some sports when she met Claire, but, “this just isn’t your thing,” Claire had said, not quite masking her frustration after the second time they played tennis together. “Play was not exactly the right word,” Beryl would have said as she was more winded from chasing the mishit balls from neighboring courts than from actually playing.

  Ridley’s routine was working. She felt lighter and stronger than she could ever remember being. She looked at the new clothes laid out on the bed – the first new clothes she’d bought in ages. She was just fastening the button and fly of her pants – pants that fit a little more closely than her usual baggy khakis – when Claire walked into the bedroom.

  She stopped and looked at Beryl, her eyes roving up and down. “Are those new?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Beryl smiled proudly.

  Claire shook her head. “I’m sorry, hon, but they just don’t look good on you. I don’t want you to be embarrassed at work,” she said as she went into the bathroom.

  Crestfallen, Beryl pulled off the new outfit and dressed instead in one of her ubiquitous over-sized men’s shirts and loose-fitting khakis. “That looks better,” Claire said as she emerged from the bathroom.

  When she got to the library a while later, Ridley looked up in surprise. “I thought you were going to wear your new clothes today?”

  Beryl gave an embarrassed smile and said, “I didn’t think they looked right.”

  He looked at her shrewdly for a few seconds, but she wouldn’t meet his eye. “What did she say?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” Beryl asked with a telltale reddening of her cheeks.

  “You know exactly what I mean,” he said, turning to face her. “Claire. What did she say that changed your mind about those new clothes?”

  Beryl stared at her computer. “She just didn’t think they looked good.”

  “Bullshit!” Ridley swiveled Beryl’s chair around to face him. “You wanted me to trust a woman’s point of view on relationships. You’ve got to trust a gay man about clothes.”

  Beryl smiled reluctantly.

  “Seriously,” he said and she sobered up at once. “Claire is threatened by the fact that you’re taking charge of your life and making changes. She’s not going to give up easily, but don’t let her sabotage this, Beryl. You’ve stuck with it for six weeks and it’s paying off. You look great, and I think you feel better.” He winked with a wicked grin. “And just wait until you see what I have in store for today’s workout.”

  “Oh, great,” she groaned, but inside she glowed with his praise and encouragement. She found herself even looking forward to the workout, not that I’ll tell him that, she thought ruefully.

  Later that day, as their shift was ending, Beryl was gathering up her backpack when Claire came into Lauinger.

  “Hey,” she said, approaching the reference desk.

  “Hi,” Beryl said, startled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m going with you to your parents’ for dinner tonight,” Claire said.

  It did not escape Beryl’s notice, nor, she was sure, Ridley’s, that Claire was telling her, not asking her.

  “But dinner isn’t for nearly two hours yet,” Beryl pointed out.

  “Well,” Claire smiled, “we haven’t spent much time together lately. I thought we could wander around some stores before heading over.”

  “Oh… um,” Beryl stalled, torn as Ridley and Claire both waited.

  “I’m heading to the field house,” Ridley interjected. Claire had not even acknowledged him.

  “I’ll… I’ll see you tomorrow,” Beryl said, a blotchy flush creeping up her neck.

  Claire ignored him as he wheeled away, but Beryl, as if he had said it aloud, heard whispers of “sabotage.”

  Morosely, she followed Claire from store to store, mumbling responses to Claire’s animated comments. If Claire noticed Beryl’s sullenness, she was ignoring it. She was charming and talkative with Edith and Gerald over dinner. She hasn’t been like this for ages, Beryl thought, watching her.

  “That was nice,” Claire said in the car as she drove them home. She reached over for Beryl’s hand. “We should do this more often,” she said and alarm bells went off in Beryl’s head.

  When she and Claire met, Beryl had been in the habit of going to the pool early most mornings and swimming a couple of miles. She’d never been lean, but the swimming kept her trim and reasonably toned and she liked the solitariness of swimming laps.

  “Stay in bed with me,” Claire had wheedled, snuggling up to Beryl under the covers. So, Beryl had switched to swimming after work, though it meant giving up her morning swim buddies. But after a while, Claire started showing up at work as she’d done this afternoon. “Let’s go out to dinner,” or “Let’s go shopping,” she’d said. Once Beryl had stopped swimming, Claire seemed to lose interest in doing those after-work things together. Beryl had berated herself a million times for giving up the one thing she truly enjoyed doing, but she hadn’t resumed her swimming. Gradually, she gained weight and wouldn’t even consider getting back in a swimsuit – “that’s when I stopped looking in mirrors,” she recalled, “and when you lost your self-esteem,” Ridley would have said.

  And now, Claire’s showing up at work and preventing her from working out felt ominously familiar. “We should do this more often,” meant, Beryl knew, “we should do this until you give up this exercising nonsense.”

  Beryl pulled her hand from Claire’s. “No,” she heard herself say.

  “Excuse me?”

  Beryl was nearly as shocked as Claire was. She braced herself. “I’m exercising with Ridley after work,” she said. “Which you already know or you wouldn’t have come by today,” but she didn’t say that. “It’s something I want to keep doing,” she continued aloud, “so… so things like tonight are not going to fit with that schedule.”

  There was a very tense silence for a few blocks.

  “You don’t want to spend time with me?” Claire asked at last.

  “You only want to spend time with me to ruin this, like you ruin everything that’s mine!” Beryl very nearly cried, but she stopped herself, knowing how childish that sounded. Don’t let her manipulate this, she thought, calming herself before she responded. Clenching her hands tightly between her thighs, she said, “I want to be healthier.” She can’t argue with that. “You play tennis and that doesn’t involve me,” she pointed out. “We can spend time together after those things if you’ll –”, but she stopped abruptly.

  “If I’ll what?” Claire asked icily.

  Do it. “We can’t spend time together if Leslie’s always around.”

  “Again with Leslie,” Claire said waspishly.

  “She was with us four evenings last week and all day Saturday after you two played tennis,” Beryl reminded her.

  “You’re keeping count?”

  Don’t let her do this. “You’re the one who just said you wanted to spend more time together,” Beryl said as Claire pulled up to the rowhouse. “You figure it out.”

  She got out of the car and went directly inside where Winston promptly scolded her
for getting home so late.

  * * *

  “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said brusquely to Ridley the next morning. “It won’t happen again.”

  Claire hadn’t said another word to her last evening or this morning, but Beryl was determined she would not back down.

  “Okay,” Ridley said, looking at her appraisingly. “Nice clothes.”

  Beryl’s mouthed twitched into a pleased grin. She’d felt the unspoken criticism as she came downstairs defiantly wearing her new outfit this morning, but, steeling herself, she had gathered her backpack and left, not even staying for breakfast. She was afraid if she lingered even long enough to make her lunch, Claire would break her silence to begin criticizing her again, and Beryl knew she might not be strong enough to hold firm.

  “What’s this?” she asked, picking up a page torn from a journal and placed on her keyboard. Looking more closely, she saw, circled there, a job posting for an Assistant Curator in the Rare Books and Manuscripts Library at the Ohio State University.

  She turned to Ridley, holding the page.

  “What?” he asked innocently, shrugging his muscular shoulders. “It looked like an interesting position.”

  “I can’t… what are you –?” Beryl sputtered incoherently.

  “I didn’t say you have to take it,” he said, “but if you get an interview, you can do some on-site research.”

  Beryl looked at him blankly.

  “For Corinne?” he said as if this should have been obvious.

  She frowned. “We have no idea where she is.”

  He reached over and pulled the page from her fingers. “You know what, never mind. If you’re willing to give up that easily, maybe you shouldn’t apply. Some rare book historian you’d be.”

  He turned back to his computer, but grinned a couple of minutes later as Beryl sidled over and, tugging the job posting from under his elbow, took it back to her computer.

  Chapter 15

  “Oh, my gosh!” Shannon exclaimed. “What in the hell was I thinking?”

  She tried to brush her sweaty bangs off her forehead, but only succeeded in smearing paint which had splattered onto her forearms from her roller.