“Stop doing this to yourself. Let it go.”
I hear her words, but they don’t register. All I see is Grace’s unsmiling face, dark eyes intent on mine. She is trying to comfort me, and I’m struck by this fact. I realize in that moment that she is the only lover from my past that has not made the transition to friend. I’ve only been comforted by Grace the lover, never as Grace the ex-lover. I don’t know how to take it, how to react. But I know as I look at her that we will never be friends.
I continue to stare, my mind thrown back in time to that first year. Before she’d grown up. Before cynicism had crept into her voice and into her heart. Before her eyes had grown scornful. Before her laugh had grown mocking. Before her wit had become cutting. She had comforted me often then. In the sweet adoring way that was so exclusively hers.
I remember her e-mail now, remember the mentioned kiss, and my eyes fall to her mouth. Such a kissable mouth.
“Why didn’t you blame me?” she asks, breaking through my reverie.
It’s my turn to smile. “Don’t get me wrong. I blamed you for plenty,” I assure her.
Grace rewards me with her throaty laughter.
“But never for what happened with Connie.” I grew serious again.
“But why?”
I hesitate and grow nervous, knowing my reply, not wanting to let her see the emotions behind it. “Because I loved you,” I sigh. “Because in my mind you were so pure. So sweet.”
A wide, mischievous grin slides across her face. “We both know that’s not entirely true, don’t we?” Her eyebrows are dancing wickedly, and I laugh. My mind races, wondering if she’s insinuating that she isn’t so sweet and pure, or that she doesn’t believe my reason for not blaming her. I assume the first.
“You were sweet to me,” I remind her, then reconsider. “At first.”
“Ooh.” She cringes. “And pure?”
More images flood my mind, quick, staccato flashes. Grace in Miami, her body smooth with sweat beneath mine.
Now my grin is as wicked as hers is. “Virginal.”
Her laughter is delicious.
“Okay,” I admit. “Maybe not. But before, yes. The first year.” My smile softens as I watch her digest this. She is thinking back, remembering.
“You were my first lover, you know.” She says these words as if they hurt her, and I feel my heart constrict. Regret. So much regret. Regret that has haunted me for years.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” I’ve never meant the words more.
“I know,” she assures me.
I want to take her hand, step into a time machine, and go back to that time of innocence. I want to take it all back and start over, knowing then what I know now. It takes everything inside me not to say these words aloud.
“What made you come here tonight?” I ask instead. “Why did you track me down and follow me?” It’s my turn to watch her shift with discomfort.
“I’m not sure …” Her voice trails off slightly. “I think I began to panic, a little. It seems like we’ve been in touch so much lately. Like you’re somehow part of my life again.” She was at loose ends, searching for words. “I was afraid that after tomorrow you would leave and that would be it. Poof. Out of my life again.”
My eyes close briefly, involuntarily. She has been reading my mind, echoing my thoughts.
“We’re always leaving each other.” Her smile is sad, reaching her eyes. “I’ve missed you. And I don’t want to lose you again, Liz.”
“Grace.” Her name leaves my lips as I shake my head, checking my words. “You just don’t know,” I say finally. Then before I know it, my arms are reaching out and Grace Sullivan is moving into them, the palms of her hands pressing against my back as my fingers find the length of her curls.
I’m astonished as my mind begins to scream. One month ago the idea of holding Grace like this was inconceivable. But here she is, holding me close.
Moments pass as I listen to our quickened breathing. We are unmoving, awkward
I hear her words, but they don’t register. All I see is Grace’s unsmiling face, dark eyes intent on mine. She is trying to comfort me, and I’m struck by this fact. I realize in that moment that she is the only lover from my past that has not made the transition to friend. I’ve only been comforted by Grace the lover, never as Grace the ex-lover. I don’t know how to take it, how to react. But I know as I look at her that we will never be friends.
I continue to stare, my mind thrown back in time to that first year. Before she’d grown up. Before cynicism had crept into her voice and into her heart. Before her eyes had grown scornful. Before her laugh had grown mocking. Before her wit had become cutting. She had comforted me often then. In the sweet adoring way that was so exclusively hers.
I remember her e-mail now, remember the mentioned kiss, and my eyes fall to her mouth. Such a kissable mouth.
“Why didn’t you blame me?” she asks, breaking through my reverie.
It’s my turn to smile. “Don’t get me wrong. I blamed you for plenty,” I assure her.
Grace rewards me with her throaty laughter.
“But never for what happened with Connie.” I grew serious again.
“But why?”
I hesitate and grow nervous, knowing my reply, not wanting to let her see the emotions behind it. “Because I loved you,” I sigh. “Because in my mind you were so pure. So sweet.”
A wide, mischievous grin slides across her face. “We both know that’s not entirely true, don’t we?” Her eyebrows are dancing wickedly, and I laugh. My mind races, wondering if she’s insinuating that she isn’t so sweet and pure, or that she doesn’t believe my reason for not blaming her. I assume the first.
“You were sweet to me,” I remind her, then reconsider. “At first.”
“Ooh.” She cringes. “And pure?”
More images flood my mind, quick, staccato flashes. Grace in Miami, her body smooth with sweat beneath mine.
Now my grin is as wicked as hers is. “Virginal.”
Her laughter is delicious.
“Okay,” I admit. “Maybe not. But before, yes. The first year.” My smile softens as I watch her digest this. She is thinking back, remembering.
“You were my first lover, you know.” She says these words as if they hurt her, and I feel my heart constrict. Regret. So much regret. Regret that has haunted me for years.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.” I’ve never meant the words more.
“I know,” she assures me.
I want to take her hand, step into a time machine, and go back to that time of innocence. I want to take it all back and start over, knowing then what I know now. It takes everything inside me not to say these words aloud.
“What made you come here tonight?” I ask instead. “Why did you track me down and follow me?” It’s my turn to watch her shift with discomfort.
“I’m not sure …” Her voice trails off slightly. “I think I began to panic, a little. It seems like we’ve been in touch so much lately. Like you’re somehow part of my life again.” She was at loose ends, searching for words. “I was afraid that after tomorrow you would leave and that would be it. Poof. Out of my life again.”
My eyes close briefly, involuntarily. She has been reading my mind, echoing my thoughts.
“We’re always leaving each other.” Her smile is sad, reaching her eyes. “I’ve missed you. And I don’t want to lose you again, Liz.”
“Grace.” Her name leaves my lips as I shake my head, checking my words. “You just don’t know,” I say finally. Then before I know it, my arms are reaching out and Grace Sullivan is moving into them, the palms of her hands pressing against my back as my fingers find the length of her curls.
I’m astonished as my mind begins to scream. One month ago the idea of holding Grace like this was inconceivable. But here she is, holding me close.
Moments pass as I listen to our quickened breathing. We are unmoving, awkward
Similar Books
