Just Yesterday (3 page)

But I’d noticed Grace, all right. She was about my height, five-four or so, but lankier, leaner. Her hair was cut short, its unruly curls a burnt auburn, with hints of sienna that teased me under the subdued, flashing lights. Across the bar I’d see her clutching a beer bottle to her chest while her throaty laughter reached my ears even at a distance. Over the months we’d gotten to the point where we would make eye contact and give each other a small, barely perceptible nod of recognition. But the rules were the rules, even if they were unspoken, and neither of us crossed that invisible line. So she stayed on her side with her college friends while I continued to stay with mine.

It was on rare occasions that I ventured out to the bar on a weeknight. Rarer still that I wandered in alone. But something drove me out of my apartment on a particularly cold, snowy Wednesday in late November. Only a few lonely souls had braved the cold that night, and Grace was one of them.

As I planted myself on a bar stool, I could see her reflection in the mirror directly before me. She was leaning over the pool table, concentrating on a not-too-difficult shot. I glanced away only long enough to order a drink when the crack of two cue balls colliding reached my ears just before a sharp pain pierced my shoulder. I grabbed my arm, wondering what had hit me, and found a splatter of blue chalk along the length of my sleeve. Curious, I glanced at the floor beside me, and sure enough, the offending blue cube lay just at my feet. Bending to retrieve it, I raised my eyes and found Grace staring at me, eyes as big as the cue balls themselves as embarrassment colored her thin features. She was horrified.

She was gripping a pool stick with both hands and cringing with apology. I couldn’t help the grin that I know was plastered on my face as I covered the few feet between us.

“I am so sorry,” she was saying. It was the first time I’d heard her speak, and my senses were already taking in the sound of her voice.

“I believe this belongs to you,” I grinned as I held out my hand, the small blue cube resting in my palm.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, her cheeks a rosy crimson as she grew even more embarrassed. “I hit the ball too hard,” she spoke quickly, trying to explain. “It bounced and hit the chalk, and the chalk just flew across the room.”

I didn’t care what she was saying. I was just glad that she was talking to me and that the ice was finally broken.

It was weeks before we kissed. Months before we made love. Even though I wanted her badly, I held off, heart all aflutter like a schoolgirl. Which, I reminded myself often, she was. Every look, every touch, every word she spoke was filled with adoring love. She treated me with a gentle sweetness that I had never known. While I, in turn, held her in extreme reverence. I reveled in her love, all the while knowing that it wouldn’t, couldn’t last.

But Grace reached me in ways that others hadn’t even touched. She softened my hard edges and made me want to give as I had never given before. I wanted to hold her, protect her, and keep her safe from the world. But at the same time, I had come to understand for the first time in my life what it meant to be in a different social class.

I never felt adequate. Grace was so bright, so quick. And while she seemed unaware of our difŹferences at the time, I believed that sooner or later she’d figure it out. Sooner or later I would no longer be able to hold her interest. Grace was headed for big things, and I believed that I would never fit into her adult life.

Grace and I had been seeing each other for nearly a year when out of the blue Connie called. She had finally settled down in Los Angeles and wanted me to join her.

Somehow, I made my heart go cold enough to walk away from Grace. Regret came quickly, moving into my heart and taking up residence in my life. Thirteen years later the regret still hadn’t left me.

I broke into a full run as memories from that time threatened me.

Connie and I lived together for the following year, but we weren’t exactly lovers. We realized within a month that whatever we’d felt in the past had fizzled. What happened after that was convoluted now, and no longer clear in my memory.

A year after I’d moved away, I called Grace on a whim. We met in Miami, where we spent the most incredible week of my life together. We admitted our mistakes. We cried. We made love. We planned our future. Grace was going to join me in Los Angeles, where we would finally be together. I was on top of the world. For about three months.

She stopped calling. She avoided my phone calls and stopped sending me letters. For days and then weeks I was frantic and sick with worry. It took months before reality sank in.

In the meantime, Connie moved home to Champaign. I eventually learned from Connie that she and Grace had met and had a brief affair.

I have never before or since felt so betrayed. The blow was so cutting that the injury felt physical. I was in a stupor for months, blindly stumbling through each day for nearly a year. Until I met Joanna. In so many ways, she saved me and helped me to believe in life and love again. That happiness was possible.

In the years since, my encounters with Grace have been limited to two brief visits when she’d come to the coast. We share an occasional e-mail about politics, topics of the day, or gossip about an old friend. And Christmas cards. Every year we exchange cards. The annual rite that I love and hate all at once.

My pace slows as I near the hotel, and I double over when I can’t suck enough air into my lungs. “Damn,” I swear, hating the tide of memories that continues to sweep over me. My breathing finally slows and I look around, squinting into the sunlight.

A mixture of dread and anticipation is gurgling in my stomach. And I know that the racing of my heart has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve been running.

As I slide into a booth I can’t help smiling to myself as I glance around. When Grace had said to meet her at a diner, I envisioned the old dilapidated type I’d grown used to during my childhood. This is no diner. It is an upscale, hi-tech restaurant fashioned with art deco and a shiny metallic and neon decor. I suppose I should have known better.

My eyes keep darting nervously to the door, looking for the familiar features. I almost don’t recognize her at first. All I see are the red business skirt and jacket. The controlled yet tousled auburn hair cascading to her shoulders. The quick, impatient glances thrown around the dining area as her eyes move from table to table, searching me out.

Then the hostess is upon her, smiling a greeting and catching her attention. A broad smile spreads across Grace’s features, and a faint buzz begins around me as heads turn to stare at Grace.

She continues to smile as she banters with the hostess. I stare, barely breathing as I will her to look my way. Her chin lifts, brown eyes meeting mine above the hostess’s shoulder. I know I am imagining the way she seems to stop moving for the slightest moment as recognition registers.

Then she is thanking the hostess and nodding in my direction before stepping away and walking toward me. I don’t know whether to stand or sit. An eternity passes as she makes her way to me. Enough time that a rush of thoughts and emotions race through my mind. Excitement. Nervousness. The anxiety is nearly overwhelming.

I don’t know what I’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. The last time I’d seen Grace, her hair had been cropped short. She’d worn T-shirts and jeans. Maybe an occasional oxford shirt. Every day. I had never seen her in a skirt. Certainly not a short business suit that hugged her thighs so closely.

The once-short auburn hair is now long. Copper locks fall across her brow, framing high cheekbones and falling below her shoulders. A thick gold necklace scoops her neckline. Two large gold and pearl earrings hug her ears. And makeup. She is wearing makeup. My god, she looks straight. Or at least like a Republican.

All these thoughts in the few seconds it takes her to reach me. I suck in my breath, hoping that she won’t notice how difficult it is for me to keep my smile from crumbling.

Awkwardly, I stand to receive her quick shoulder hug. Then she is sliding into the booth across from me, her smile brilliant, and I find myself staring into those eyes. Those cow-brown eyes that have always melted me so easily. After all this time, here I am staring into Grace’s eyes again.

“Hi,” she begins brightly, the smile never leaving her face. “I’m so glad you were able to meet me.”

“Me too.” Breathless, I feel like I am staring far too long. “You look great. Really wonderful.”

“Well, thank you.” She accepts the compliment and brushes it aside quickly, but politely. “How’s Connie?” Her features soften and the smile vanishes as she grows serious. A waitress appears, greeting Grace by name and anxiously pouring coffee for the both of us.

“Not good.” The waitress disappears and Grace turns her full attention back to me. “She broke her neck. She’s still in a coma.”

Grace’s lips purse together tightly. “What are the doctors saying? Did you talk to her family? Did you find out how it happened?” The questions come quickly, leaving no room for reply.

“Whoa,” I laugh. “I can tell you’re in the news business. You sound like a reporter,” I tease.

She responds by lifting one side of her mouth, chagrined. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” Our conversation pauses awkwardly as the waitress reappears to take our order. Again the waitress hovers, practically fawning all over Grace. Once she disappears, Grace turns her eyes back to mine and I color guiltily. She’d caught me staring, assessing her.

“You were telling me about Connie,” she reminds me, and I fill her in on what I know.

“She’s in pretty bad shape.” Images of Connie’s swollen features refuse to leave my mind. I shudder and Grace reaches across the table to touch my forearm, urging me on. She lets me talk without interruption for some time, her brows pulling toŹgether as she listens intently.

“My god.” Grace shakes her head as I finally grow quiet. “It’s so hard to believe. I mean, we see things like this happen every day, but I’ve never actually known someone …” Her voice trails off. “How’s her family doing?”

I shrug. “Okay, I suppose. I met Connie’s lover yesterday. I’m not sure that her family likes her much, and she seems possessive. But I think I’d probably like her if I got a chance to know her.” I begin telling her what I knew about Wendy, until the waitress appears again and our conversation moves on to more general topics.

“So how’s work going?” I ask, groping for neutral conversation. What I really want to do is ask why she dumped me so many years before. I want her to finally explain to me what had gone through her mind and why she stopped returning my calls.

“Very well, actually. What about you? You said in your last e-mail that you were thinking of leaving advertising.”

“I did it.” I nod, feeling both proud and foolish at the same time. “I quit.”

She stares at me, brown eyes wide. “You quit?” I can tell that she is struggling with how to react.

Grace is, after all, a very practical person. “Are you working? Do you have another job?” “Kind of.”

The look on her face tells me she thinks I’m crazy.

“I’m freelancing right now. Photo shoots. Print ads. That sort of thing. I did an assignment last month for a local magazine that I’m hoping will pan out.”

She continues to stare, not quite getting it. “Isn’t that what you were doing at the advertising agency?”

I nod and try to explain. “Yes and no. I just got tired of being on someone else’s clock and working on assignments that someone else wanted me to do.” I shrug. “So I quit.” My voice sounds nonchalant as I speak, hiding the fact that I’d agonized for months before finally gaining the courage to step out on my own.

“So what does Joanna think about it?”

I’m impressed that she remembers Joanna’s name. “She’s very supportive.”

Grace nods slowly, her smile unwavering, not quite reaching her eyes. I am beginning to feel like she is just going through the motions, asking the polite questions. “And how’s that going? You and Joanna.”

I smile, uncertain how to reply. How honest did I want to be? “Good,” I finally say. “I’m very fortuŹnate. We just celebrated our ten-year anniversary.”

Her face falls, momentarily wistful. “Wow. That’s incredible, Liz. Congratulations.” Her expression is earnest. “Really. That’s great.” The soft huskiness of her voice begins stirring memories.

I am surprised by the depth of her sincerity and have mixed emotions. I had expected to feel a certain triumph in being able to tell her that I was in a long-term relationship. Instead I feel hollow. I suddenly want to tell her the truth. That the relationship has been over for three years. That we just decided to split up. But I bite my tongue. Grace isn’t a best friend with whom I can talk and share my deepest feelings. She is an ex-lover. For whom even today I still have feelings. Pride will never let me tell her the truth.

“Thanks.” I mumble the word uncomfortably. “What about you? Are you still with —” Damn! I’d forgotten her name!

“Dana,” she supplies the name smoothly. “No. Not really.” She shrugs her shoulders, suddenly far away. “We don’t really see each other much anymore. She has her work. I have mine…” She lets the sentence drift off, and I find myself surprised by her honesty.

The waitress comes by, interrupting again and asking Grace if she needs anything else. “Just the check, please.” Grace smiles sweetly, her business voice trilling.

I wait until the waitress is out of earshot before cocking my head to one side and grinning. “They treat you like royalty here. Do you come here every day or something?”

Her cheeks grow a light shade of crimson, and her lashes drift downward. “I guess. Something like that.” Her smile is nearly bashful, and for a brief instant I am reminded of the Grace of fifteen years ago. The one who looked at me so shyly and without guile. She’d been so innocent back then.

The spell is broken as she glances at her watch and nearly jumps out of her seat. “Damn. I’m running late.” Her brow furrows. “I hate to do this, but I have to go.”

I stand up just in time to receive her hug. “I’m really sorry. Do you mind picking this up? Next time we’ll have dinner on me, okay?” Her smile is brilliant as she steps away briskly.