One Degree Of Separation Part 7

Marian felt as if a breeze would blow her away. "Maybe I should watch the musical again so I'm prepared for the jokes."

"How about tonight?"

Amy groaned. "We watched that insipid Lifetime movie last week. I don't think I can take The Music Man this week."

Hemma touched her arm and Marian thought she would melt.

Melt not from the heat, but from the tenderness. "Are you okay?"

"I've always hung out at the library. I love books, I love finding books. It always seemed like whatever I could dream I could find at the library. And ever since I was a girl I thought librarians were the guardians of all the mysteries of time. It never occurred to me . . ."

She had to be crimson by now, but Hemma was smiling at her so encouragingly. "What never occurred to you?"

"That I could be one of the guardians."

Hemma arched an eyebrow and for one of those rare moments over the course of the last seven years, the universe had seemed made up of just the two of them. "This is you."

All these years later, Marian had to acknowledge, Hemma still saw her for who she was.

She checked the doneness of the custard and inhaled the rich, creamy aroma. Hemma's favorite dessert was perfect to celebrate the day Marian had decided to go all the way with her career as a librarian.

43.

An M.L.S. combined with her hitherto useless history degree and her years of experience could net her a job in collection development and perhaps eventually the management of a specialized historical collection. Even being a library manager-administrative headaches and all-had a certain appeal.

She really would be a guardian then, a keeper of dreams. Hemma had shown her that she could have that future. It was a gift and she would always love Hemma for it.

"What is that? It smells divine!" Hemma took the covered pan from Marian and sniffed again. "Flan?"

"Chocolate almond flan, and still warm the way you like it."

"You are the most wonderful woman." Hemma hurried to the kitchen. "The pasties are just about done."

"Pasties!" Marian worried abruptly that she'd forgotten it was a special occasion. Pasties were her favorite, her absolute favorite.

Amy came skipping down the stairs. "Heya. And hamburger milk gravy."

"Oh, what have I done to deserve this?"

Amy skittered to a stop halfway across the living room. "Forgot something. I'll be right back down." Marian continued through the house to the kitchen.

Hemma was flushed as she lifted a cookie sheet from the oven.

"They're done."

"Done and perfect," Marian breathed. The half-moon pockets were golden on top and brown at the edges. The savory aroma of shredded beef, onions and potatoes made her feel a bit faint. "My pie crust will never be as good as yours no matter how much you try to teach me."

Hemma's back was to her when she answered. "You make great pies."

"They'll never beat yours. I can't wait until the berries come in this summer. I'll pick all you want." She got herself a gla.s.s of water.

44.

When she turned back she intercepted a strange look between Hemma and Amy.

Not sure what was up with her friends, Marian held back her announcement until they were all at the table. Over a plate loaded with a pasty, gravy, steamed broccoli and corn-on-the-cob, she said, "I'm going to get my M.L.S."

Amy grinned in mid-chew. "Brava, girlfriend!"

Hemma paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. "Honey, that's wonderful. When did you decide?"

"Yesterday, when my period wouldn't start."

"Are you sure large life decisions should be made by hormones?"

Amy licked b.u.t.ter off her fingers.

"I've had plenty of non-hormonal time to think it through."

Marian frowned. "Now I'm not sure why I waited so long. I'd rather be done now than just beginning."

"You're a look-before-you-leap girl. It's exactly what you need to do." Hemma salted her corn. "It's important to take professional aspirations . . . seriously."

Amy excused herself for another beer.

"It's thanks to you, you know." Marian wanted to say more. She wanted to say there had never been anyone else in her life who had reached inside her and flipped on the poise, aspiration and determi-nation the way that Hemma had.

"You'd have gotten there on your own."

"The pasties are incredible, thank you. What a treat."

Hemma sipped her water. Quietly, she said, "I treasure your friendship, Marian."

Amy slid back into her chair. "We both do."

Neither of them would meet her gaze. Marian didn't know what to think. She opened her mouth to ask, but the phone rang and Hemma hurried off to answer it.

She sc.r.a.ped broccoli remains into the composter while she worried that she had somehow made them nervous. Did they suspect how she felt about Hemma? Had they caught her spying on them?

45.

They'd had seconds of the warm flan and moved to the living room when Marian couldn't stand it any longer. "Something's up.

What is it?"

To her shock, Hemma's face crumpled in distress. Amy patted her partner's knee and said, "This is really hard. The hardest part."

"I don't understand." They knew. She'd given herself away somehow. She wanted to say how sorry she was, how embarra.s.sed and sad, and how she never meant for them to know, and it wasn't Hemma's fault and Amy shouldn't be jealous. She had only realized they left their blinds open two years ago. It had been when she'd slept in the guest room for a while, after Robyn had left. It had seemed harmless.

She watched out of love, not for kicks. She would never do it again.

Her ears burned. She had to say it.

"Marian." Hemma's voice quavered. "I've been offered a tenured professorship in American studies at the University of Hawaii. And I'm . . . d.a.m.n it . . ." She looked imploringly at Amy.

Amy, after squeezing Hemma's arm, said, "It makes too much sense. She's worked so hard. And for us it means we'll be retiring in better positions when the time comes. I'm in the process of securing a position as well. It won't cost me much in tenure. It's the chance of a lifetime for Hemma. You know how stiff the compet.i.tion is . . ."

Marian could hear Amy's voice but her mind resounded with one word: Hawaii.

She realized Amy had stopped speaking. They were both looking at her apprehensively.

"You're moving." It was hard to breathe.

Hemma's lower lip quivered as enormous tears spilled down her cheeks. "It was such a hard decision to make. We don't want to leave here. Leave you and all our friends. The garden, the university . . ."

"When?"

"It's a terrible time to sell our house, but we meet with a realtor tomorrow. We didn't want you to come home from work and see a realtor's sign."

"It's certainly a wonderful opportunity." For a moment, Marian wasn't sure she'd spoken.

46.

Hemma asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

Everything in her wanted to say of course she was okay. But that was a gigantic lie. She shook her head.

Hemma flew across the room to wrap Marian in her arms. "I'm so sorry, this is going to hurt us all. It was such a hard decision to make. Promise us right now that you will visit at Christmas. Bring us pickled ham."

Marian thought she laughed but she wasn't sure. Everything after that was a blur. Hemma looked wretched and even Amy wiped away tears. Hawaii. Why not Mars?

Thursday evening, June 5 No more Thursday dinners. No more voyeuristic partic.i.p.ation in a life I'll never have. No more . . . no more anything. There aren't any words and I feel so empty.

Later that night she watched Amy hold Hemma against her as they stretched out in bed together, comforting each other with kisses and hugs. Hemma blew her nose as Marian's vision swam. Tears splashed on the windowsill.

When her vision cleared, Amy was kissing her way across Hemma's shoulders. Marian felt her stomach turn over and she backed out of her spare room. It was over.

All gone in an instant. The perfect beach, the perfect woman. A perfect picture of lovers hand-in-hand. Even the fantasy had been destroyed.

Part of her was happy for her friends. It was a big deal for Hemma. She knew they'd be fine. They were a wonderful couple.

They'd make new friends, carve out a new life with the same care and patience with which they'd crafted their incredible garden.

Someone else would have pasties and gravy and berry pie, or whatever the equivalent was in Hawaii. Someone else would be lucky enough to be their friend.

47.

Until that moment she had been numbed by her grief over losing Hemma in her daily life, even if they would never be lovers. But she was losing both of them, and the broad nurturing shelter of their relationship. They were her family, and along with Ellie, had been since she'd lost parents and brother that horrible year in Chicago.

She was abruptly aware that she could hear Hemma's voice. The rising croon she knew so well made her feel ill. She covered her ears, but the sound of their love rolled through her mind. It would never be hers.

She wanted to hate them and almost could. But then she felt so tired and empty she couldn't breathe.

She sank down in the hallway, sobbing. When Professor Hill padded up, she buried her face in the collie's fur and cried in pain.

She was every bit the lonely, dried-up, frustrated, pathetic n.o.body Robyn had said she was.

48.