Kristin Ashe: Disorderly Attachments Part 14

I shrugged nonchalantly. "As I understand it."

"I'll be darned," Hazel said neutrally, but as she pulled away, I could see a contemplative look in her eye.

Chapter 14.

I spent the rest of the afternoon counting the minutes until I could approach Destiny about the $100,000 donation from Shirley Ba.s.sett, the one she'd conveniently failed to mention. I confronted her immediately after she walked into the house at eight.

"Have you received a large donation recently?"

Destiny set a pizza box from Antonio's on the kitchen island and looked at me suspiciously. "Maybe."

"Six figures?" I said casually as I lounged on the living room sofa.

"How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"What's going on, Kris?" She crossed the room, shifted my legs and sat next to me.

I didn't move a muscle in my face. "You tell me."

Her eyes flickered. "A large gift came to the Center. The donor want to remain anonymous."

"Was it an individual or foundation?"

"A personal contribution," she said at last.

I sat up and pulled my knees to my chest. "From a woman?"

"Kris, don't do this."

"It was a woman," I said triumphantly.

"Yes, but I can't break a professional confidence."

"Even for me?"

"She didn't give me permission to gossip with my lover."

"Nice," I said, my tone harsh. "Did she give you permission to tell me about the four dozen red roses she brought?"

Destiny blanched, but her voice remained calm. "Where are you getting this from?" I cant say.

"Are you spying on me?" she said gravely.

"I came across the information in a case I'm working on."

"What case?"

I shrugged.

She moved back a few inches. "Who hired you, and to do what?"

I smiled thinly. "You know I can't reveal a professional confidence."

Destiny's face became a mask of anger. "Come off it, Kris! What's going on?"

"Honestly, Destiny, I can't say."

"Is Fran helping you?"

"No," I said, not necessarily a lie, because Fran's actions hardly felt beneficial. "Don't go running to her for information."

"You really won't tell me?"

You tell me who gave you the money, and I'll tell you who hired me," I said heatedly.

She looked stricken. "I can't. My situation is different."

"Your work and integrity are more important?"

"I didn't say that, but my donation doesn't involve you," she said deliberately.

"How do you know?"

Her look of surprise seemed genuine. "Why would it?"

"Think about it, about ulterior motives."

Her bewilderment increased. "Kris, I have no idea what you're talking about. Why do I have to defend a contribution to the Center? We receive thousands every year, and I don't run home and tell you about them. It's none of your business."

I took a deep breath, and my shoulders tensed. "What you're doing at work is none of my business?"

"Correct."

Our eyes locked. "Then why do I have to listen to you talk about it every night?"

The look of devastation on Destiny's face penalized me more than her prolonged silence. When she spoke, a cold furor had replaced hurt. "You really resent me, don't you?"

"I resent that your work always comes first."

Her breathing became shallow. "You knew that when you met me."

"I thought it would change."

"Well, it hasn't," she said furiously. "And it won't. When I'm eighty years old, I'll be setting up a hotline or sending out a press release. It's what I do."

"It's who you are."

"So what?" she yelled, throwing up her hands. "Why do you say that like it's an accusation? It is who I am, and I'm proud of it. I can't help it that I love my work when you're struggling with yours."

"I am not," I said mechanically, my voice barely above a whisper.

"What do you call it, Kris? Since you quit your real job, you barely work. Your sister tries to give you freelance projects, but you refuse."

"I can't go back to that," I said, lowering my head. "Even if that was real and what I'm trying to do now is unreal."

"I didn't call it unreal," she said, exasperated.

"You implied it."

"What if I did? How realistic is it that you can make a living as an investigator? What are you moving toward? You barely have enough work for yourself, and now Fran's a partner. You shouldn't pay her to be your companion."

"How dare you!" I said, my voice rising.

"Can you deny it? Most days, the two of you do nothing but play solitaire and argue about what's on talk radio."

"How would you know?" I said, steely-eyed.

Her insincere smile came and went. "Because you tell me."

"And now, you're using it against me."

"No, Kris, I'm simply pointing out how miserable you've been. Not working affects you. Would you at least agree with that?"

I avoided her gaze. "Maybe."

"The type of work you do is hard on you," she said without rancor. "You never talk about it, but do you think I don't notice when you pull away when I try to kiss you or when you disappear from the bedroom in the middle of the night?"

"Only sometimes," I said in a small voice.

"More lately."

"You don't respect me anymore."

"Of course I do," Destiny said plaintively, reaching for my hand, which I yanked back. "I can't relate to people as well as you do."

I couldn't say anything. Tears began to trickle down my cheeks.

"Not on the deep level you touch them. My work is about connecting with people, but I do it superficially. I come up with ideas and agendas. I keep everything running, and I fight for the big picture of how to improve lesbians' lives. But I don't hold their hands or watch them cry or listen to their darkest secrets. That's why I hire program directors and counselors," she said with a wry smile. "I can help all of the women in Colorado, but I don't have any interest in one."

"You're sure?" I said pointedly, staring at her until she caught the double meaning.

Her sigh was almost inaudible. "The donor doesn't interest me, only the donation. You should know that by now."

I looked at Destiny steadily, but my voice quivered when I said, "What are we going to do?

She squeezed my hand, which this time I let her control. "We're going to do what we've done for three years. Trust each other. I'll trust that you re working on something that involves me, at least peripherally, but you can't talk about it."

I nodded.

Yet?" she said hopefully. Or maybe ever."

Only her raised eyebrows signaled a protest. "You'll trust that women can make huge donations, in the millions if they want. I'll allow them to buy services, but never me. Okay?"

"I guess," I said, unable to stop trembling.

Destiny lifted my chin and kissed me on the forehead. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," I said quietly.

Her eyes glistened. "Do you trust me?"

"I can't not," I said, my voice husky.

The next day pa.s.sed awkwardly.

Destiny and I tiptoed around each other, craving the closeness we'd destroyed, yet reluctant to expose ourselves again, frayed from the opposing emotions.

As my relationship unraveled, Fran moved ahead, in full pursuit of one, and on Wednesday morning, she greeted me enthusiastically, before I could make my way through the door. "I need a minute of your time."

"I just got here," I said grumpily.

"Need a second opinion."

I plopped down in my chair and rubbed my eyes. "About what?"

"The love of my life. I have the responses to my Westword ad. She's in here somewhere," Fran said, gesturing with a swoop to a stack of letters on her desk.

I yawned. "Aren't you being a little unrealistic?"

"Nope," Fran said firmly, patting the correspondence. "I can feel it. Loved the part you added about 'attractive, sometimes beautiful.' Must have been an attention-grabber. Don't know where you came up with the other tripe, but it worked." She flipped open the weekly newspaper and read aloud. "Mature lesbian, attractive and sometimes beautiful, wholesome and financially independent, seeks same. Looking for a profound love, one in which I can give all that I am and realize what more I can become. Enjoy a full life, including golf and s...o...b..arding, but am missing the essential: a partner/lover/friend/soul mate. If you feel the same, let's begin each day & if it were our first and could be our last. Please write, as much as you feel comfortable sharing."

"Not bad," I said, admiring my work.

"They charge by the word at Westword, you know. But I ain't complaining. Wait till you see the haul." She fanned out the letters before depositing them on my desk. "Thirty."

I sat up straight. "You received thirty responses?"

"And counting. Check out the gluttony of options."

I rifled through the stack. "What are the dots?"