One Degree Of Separation Part 15

87.

Liddy took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll admit that's true. But not by women with half a brain, usually."

Marian felt a deep rush of pleasure. She'd much rather be thought smart than cute. Then she remembered she was supposed to be heartbroken. Where had all the tears gone?

She touched Liddy's chin with her fingertips. "Thank you."

"Anytime." Liddy's grin was endearingly crooked.

"See you around." Marian was proud of herself that it wasn't a question.

"I'll be coming to get that book you mentioned," Liddy said as Marian unlocked her door. "Around one? Before I get some lunch?"

Marian held back what surely would have been a silly schoolgirl simper and said instead, "One is always a good time for lunch."

She was certain that Liddy was watching her drive across the parking lot. When she reached the street she tooted the Beetle's horn and heard an answering bellow from the Hummer.

She laughed again, and noticed the moon had risen.

Friday evening, June 6 I'd have gone to bed with her. Not HER. Her. Liddy Peel. Except I'm bleeding like a stuck pig-what a gross expression. I never feel this way on Day 1. But I did and I do.

What's wrong with me? This morning I was too depressed to write and now I feel like I'm sailing on moonlight. Over a virtual stranger.

This is how it happened with Robyn and I'm not making that mistake again.

c.r.a.p on a biscuit. Did I stay in love with HER because she had no risk?

How stupid is that?

Great. Now I'm angry. What's wrong with me?

88.

"I swear, Trombone, if you puke in my shoes again I'm giving you to a violin factory!"

The Russian Blue gave Marian a withering look worthy of an empress before stalking out.

Marian sc.r.a.ped the bottom of her favorite clog, then rinsed it under the kitchen tap. Perhaps she should put her shoes up on something. Sometimes Trombone was worse than a toddler.

Professor Hill whuffled at her heels, then sniffed up the back of her legs. "What? Oh, smell something new?" Marian flushed.

"That's Liddy. I don't think you'll, well, maybe. I don't know."

She poured out food for both animals and grabbed some crackers for herself. Dinner had been too long ago.

Still muttering, she went up the stairs. Hill padded along behind her, his tail creating a breeze around Marian's knees. Abruptly, she noticed the acc.u.mulated pet hair in the corners of each tread.

Tomorrow morning, she thought, it was time to do some cleaning.

She wearily stripped off her s.h.i.+rt and bra. Tomorrow morning, she recalled, she had volunteered for the early s.h.i.+ft at the I-CARE breakfast. It sucked that it was her weekend to work. Cleaning would have to wait until Monday, her next day off. What a shame.

The mirror was disappointingly the same. Her cheeks were still chipmunkish, her eyes still unremarkable, her lips still too thin.

Those lips had kissed a virtual stranger tonight. Goosepimples blossomed all along her arms as she realized that a virtual stranger- an attractive, intelligent, witty stranger-had kissed her first. Had kissed her more than once.

Neither of them was trying to have an affair, but still, being found worthy of such world-cla.s.s kisses had felt truly magical. She didn't have Ellie's looks or personality, or Amy's height and competence, not even Patty's muscles or Wen's intuition. She didn't have an herb shop and a kind soul, either. But Liddy had still kissed her. It didn't make sense.

It had felt wonderful.

89.

It was habit more than anything else that took her to the doorway of the spare room. After Robyn had destroyed her life she'd slept in this room to avoid Robyn's scent and the memories of her body.

Even when she finally went back to her own room, she still checked on Hemma and Amy every night.

It had at first seemed like looking in on a secret world, one too fantastic to ever include her. Shocked by the violence of Robyn's departure, she'd been comforted by the vision of a life that seemed to go happily and smoothly. Watching Amy and Hemma make love had felt like a panacea for her own emotional hurts.

She curled up in the rocking chair and closed her eyes. Falling in love with Hemma hadn't stopped her from dating, not at first. Once she accepted that Hemma would never look at her the way she looked at Amy, Marian had hoped someone else would eventually supplant Hemma. Even so, when Robyn Vaughn had used those oh-so-perfect moves to get Marian into bed on their first date, Marian had known Robyn would never be Hemma in her heart. She'd thought they could make a go of it, though. She'd hardly expected Robyn to be what Robyn was.

The sound of Hemma's voice made her open her eyes again, and she gazed at their window. Tears welling in her eyes washed prisms of light over the sight of Amy's long arms around Hemma. It had seemed so perfect, their life. Maybe it was. But living through their lives had kept her from living her own. Duh, she thought. Like Dr.

Phil wouldn't have figured that out in two seconds.

She was so tired and so hurt. She'd been thinking about Robyn too much, and after two years, she'd hoped Robyn would be forever out of her head. She could feel the box of Robyn Ruins almost speaking to her now, reminding her she'd never dealt with it. She'd had enough therapy before leaving Chicago to know that she would open the box "when the time was right." Well, it's not the right time, she thought bitterly.

Hemma's laugh flowed across the night and Marian dashed away the seeping tears. Rising, she pulled the window down to meet the 90 sill and wearily made her way back to her own room, her own bed.

Hill planted himself on the other side of the mattress and sighed happily. Moments later Trombone took up her place in the precise center of the bed.

This is all okay, Marian thought. My life is okay. I have a job I love, friends who care for me. I care about them, too. It's enough.

Hemma wasn't going to be a big part of her life from now on, she acknowledged sadly, and she'd just have to survive.

She was too depressed to cry. An hour ago she'd been lit up by moonlight, she reminded herself.

Oh, joy.

Mood swings, the worst equipment on the playground.

91.

7.

The lunch date with Marian wasn't until one, Liddy reminded herself. It wasn't even a date. Not even a plan, really. It wasn't as if she'd actually asked Marian to join her for lunch.

The idea of possibly having lunch left her feeling unsettled. She tried to read and continue taking notes, but every few minutes she got up to pace.

Ridiculous, she told herself. If you can't work, just get out of the house.

She had not had a chance to browse at Prairie Lights, she recalled. Having a roomy parking s.p.a.ce behind the house instead of shoehorning the Hummer into the driveway made it easy to just pop over to the Ped Mall. So it was only ten a.m. She'd treat herself to a new book to read just for pleasure.

She parked gleefully on the ramp, which looked remarkably like every parking garage she'd ever seen, and joined the steady stream of 92 people meandering through the hotel and out into the bright Sat.u.r.day morning suns.h.i.+ne near the fountain and play structure.

The mall was more crowded than she'd expected. There was no sign of Marian near the library, not that Liddy really looked for more than three or four minutes. She would just walk the couple of blocks to the bookstore as planned. At the first cross street she made a quick detour to the Java House. Not that she expected Marian to be there either.

Tropical iced tea in hand, she was nearly to the bookstore when she saw that the far end of the pedestrians-only area had been set up with picnic tables and awnings. Something smelled tasty.

It was a pancake breakfast. How Midwestern, Liddy thought.

How All-American and Family Values.

She would have turned away, superior and amused, if Marian hadn't been sitting at the closest table, eating pancakes and sausages while chatting with a man Liddy didn't know and a woman who had been with Marian at the coffeehouse last night.

Her feet didn't even hesitate. The next thing she knew she was standing in Marian's line of sight.

Marian stopped chewing for a moment, then swallowed. "Oh.

Hi."

Be cool, Liddy told herself. Sure. "Is Iowa City one endless round of amus.e.m.e.nts and parties?" She gestured at the balloon dangling from the awning support pole.

"We try not to let the rest of the world know." Marian indicated her plate. "They're not quite done serving and the flapjacks aren't half bad if you want to support the cause."

"Marian will save you a seat," the other woman said neutrally.

Remembering her insights into butch and femme attire of last night had Liddy a.n.a.lyzing the woman's sleek linen trousers and unembell-ished b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt. The strong, silent type, Liddy guessed.

"Sure," Liddy managed. Why was she so preoccupied with putting the d.y.k.es in this town into categories? "I'll be right back."

93.

She expected the Boy Scouts or the Lions Club or even the Shriners with their ta.s.seled hats, but instead she found herself t.i.thing to the Iowa Center for AIDS Resources and Education in honor of Pride month. Swear to freakin' G.o.d, Liddy thought. Where else but in Iowa would anyone raise money to fight AIDS with a pancake breakfast?

She turned down the sausage and helped herself to b.u.t.ter and strawberry jam. Hoping her high color was mistaken for a response to the climbing temperature, she settled next to Marian and tried to think of something clever to say. Lacking that, she blurted out, "Why a pancake breakfast?"

The man said, "Why not? I'm Eric, by the way."

"Forgive my rotten manners." Marian swallowed and cleared her throat. "Liddy Peel, this is my colleague, Eric Waters. We hang out as often as possible at the reference desk. And this is my boss twice-removed, Mary Jane Heyer."

"I always feel so important when Marian refers to me as her colleague," Eric said dryly.

Marian gave him a fond look. "a.s.sociate sounds illicit to me and coworker doesn't convey my vast respect for your skills."

Eric seized Marian's hand. "Will you marry me, dear woman? I can't get any of the straight ones to."

Liddy laughed. "Is there a policy about fraternizing?"

Mary Jane looked stern when she answered, "I'd have to frown upon this particular match."

"Dang it all." Eric forked up the rest of the pancakes. "So much for someone to hem my s.h.i.+rts and cook my meals."

"And now," Marian said to Liddy, "you see why Eric is still single."

"This may be the wrong place to meet straight women," Liddy suggested. "Especially of the doormat variety."

"I know, I know." Eric sighed heavily. "This looks like a pancake breakfast, but it's really the beginning of the d.y.k.e Social Season. I'm 94 just an accessory for my beloved colleagues, who are so single they have to take a straight man to the I-CARE breakfast."

Mary Jane threw her balled napkin at him. "I can have you shelving books all day, you know."

The plump blonde Liddy had nearly knocked over-was it only two nights ago, Liddy wondered-stopped at the table and put her hand on Marian's shoulder. "Thanks again for doing the early s.h.i.+ft and then some, dear. Moving all those sausages is not fun. I wasn't kidding when I said half the volunteers don't show, was I?"

"Carrie, only for you would I pack that many sausages."