The Love Sucks Club (18 page)

“I think you should probably apologize to Olivia.”

“Yeah, I’ll call her after I drop you off.” She fiddles with the
radio until she finds a country song that she likes. “I really don’t hate
Olivia, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

She pulls up in front of my house and I pat her on the shoulder.
“Call me tomorrow and let me know if you’ve made up with Olivia.”

“And let me know if you make up with Susannah,” she says.

“Please. She’s my sister. We fight all the time and it’s forgotten
by the next time we talk.”

“I wish all women were like that.”

“No you don’t.”

She pulls off and leaves me alone in my yard. Staring across the
yard toward the sea, I’m struck again by how beautiful it is. Even in the dark,
I can see the whitecaps on the waves and I can almost hear them from all the
way up here. Tempted by the starlight reflecting on the water, I wander up
toward the front of the house and climb the outside stairs to the deck.
Plopping down into a porch chair, I lean back and prop up my feet. Lost in the
waves, I try to clear my mind of everything that has been going on in my life.
Jackie’s face appears and I turn it into a puff of smoke and watch it drift
away. The same thing happens with
Esmé
and Susannah
and Brad and Dr. B and the small fear that I might be wearing a tumor on my
brain. They all turn to smoke and dissipate. The fog comes over me again and
this time I let it.

Chapter Fifteen

For a few minutes, I can’t make any sense of where I am. Then
slowly, it comes to me that I must have fallen asleep on the deck. The plastic
cover of the footstool has pressed a noticeable groove into the backs of my
calves and they feel tender. Stretching each leg one by one, I bring myself
into more of a sitting position. It’s full dark and the moon has gone behind
the clouds. I’ll have to go back down the stairs and around the house to get
inside, since I’m sure I didn’t leave the sliding glass door unlocked.

Blinking up at the sky, I try to remember what I was thinking
about before I fell asleep last night. I vaguely remember meditating myself
into a peaceful state. After that, it’s all a blank. My back is screaming as I
drag myself to my feet. Actively forcing
myself
not to
grunt and groan as I stand takes a force of will. My body feels so much older
than I really am some days. Shuffling along the deck, yawning and stretching, I
make my way to the stairs and around to the front door. Frank is patiently
waiting on the counter next to his food bowl. Though it isn’t empty, I give him
a refill and change his water. I hop up onto the counter and sit there swinging
my feet while he eats. His fur feels soft under my hands, and he purrs around
mouthfuls of food as I stroke his back. Sometimes, I wish my life was as easy
as Frank’s seems to be. He has a pretty smooth life here. On the other hand, I
did leave him alone all day and most of the night. I wonder if he was afraid of
being alone or if he thought I wasn’t coming back. We’ve reached a comfortable
level of commitment in our relationship. I feed him, water him, pet him, and
give him treats. In return, he gives me constant companionship and occasionally
pukes on the one rug in my house. It’s never that easy with women. Maybe I
should just stay single and have cats for the rest of my life.

As long as I’m awake, I might as well be productive. Stripping off
the khakis I borrowed from Susannah, I take a quick shower and put on clean
boxers and a tank top.
Back to the kitchen for a cup of tea
and a snack.
With cup and plate in hand, I wander into the front room
and situate myself on the couch with my computer on my lap. Frank follows me in
and sits on the other end of the couch. Two old grumps hanging out in the
middle of the night. I have a deadline approaching on two articles for a
magazine, so I knock those out first. They were mostly done anyway. I just had
to put the finishing touches on them and get them in the proper format.
Procrastination is my middle name. I’ve been working on the same novel for six
months and I swear I only have it half finished. Admittedly, it took me two
years to write
Annabelle Lies
, but I usually whip out these romance
novels in a few months. Rereading what I have written to date isn’t helping.
None if it is interesting to me.

I must be the world’s biggest hypocrite. I write all of these
amazing love stories with super happy endings and in real life, I am the
president of The Love Sucks Club. And it isn’t just a joke, though we treat it
like it is. I really do believe that love sucks. Even when I was with Fran, for
whom I would gladly have died, I didn’t find love to be some rosy and beautiful
spiritual experience. It was tough and messy and painful. Fran was always going
off into her own brand of craziness and I was always chasing after her to bring
her back to the real world. So, I guess it is fair to say that I’ve never
really been happy in love. I did love Fran. That’s not in question. I loved her
the way some people love a tornado. It’s dangerous and unpredictable and if you
get too close, you’re going to get hurt.
Doesn’t stop people
from chasing them.
I think I even loved she-who-shall-not-be-named.
Okay, okay, Jackie. I mean, I know I felt something for her, especially in the
beginning. We had a good time together and even though I had quit drinking by
then, we still seemed to have enough in common to make it work. We both loved
the same authors and we could spend hours talking about our favorite books. In
the beginning, when we were still new enough to not have that wall of
resentment between us, we used to play Scrabble almost every night. Flipping
over to a solitaire game from my latest manuscript, I move the mouse
mindlessly, putting one card on top of another. Jackie wasn’t a complete
nutcase when we got together. She seemed kind of solid and ordinary and after
the whirlwind with Fran, I thought it would be a welcome change to have a
relationship that was kind of boring.
Back to my manuscript.
I erase about six sentences, write one,
erase
that one
and five more. Back to the kitchen for more tea and I’m ready to work. Frank
makes his
blerting
noise and comes over to my side of
the couch. Scratching his head, I stare at the screen, reading over what I
wrote the last time I sat here. I pound out a few more sentences. Slamming my
computer shut startles Frank. “Sorry, old pal,” I whisper,
petting
him on the head again.

Leaning back on the couch, I cross my hands behind my head and
stare at the ceiling. It isn’t writer’s block. It’s life block. And it all
started when
Esmé
came on the island. Aw shit, to be
fair, it all started with Fran. Let’s go back even further then and say it all
started when I was a child. Suddenly, I’m so tired I can’t even face the short
walk back to my bedroom. My computer goes on the floor under the couch so I
don’t step on it when I wake up in the morning. Pulling a thin blanket over
myself, I stretch out on the couch, carefully lifting and rearranging Frank so
as not to upset him. He walks around on my stomach for a few moments before
settling back into a comfortable position. It’s a muggy night and I wish I had
thought to flip the ceiling fan on before stretching out. It’s too late now,
though. Even if I had the energy to get up, Frank wouldn’t like it.

I’m kind of in that weird twilight area where my thoughts start to
get a little stranger than usual and a kind of filter falls over my mind. I
know I’m not sleeping, but I’m not completely coherent.
Esmé
is standing over me, telling me to go deeper into my subconscious. For a
second, I’m sure I can feel my soul hovering over my body and I almost believe
that I’m having an out of body experience.

“Open your eyes,” I mutter to myself, but it’s too late.

I’m on a cliff, looking over the side.
Esmé
is standing beside me, shouting something in my ear. The wind is whipping
around us so hard that I can’t hear what she’s saying. Strands of her hair whip
around so furiously that some of them hit my face with the force of a slap.
Looking down, I can see the billowing shape of a red dress, floating down on
the wind. “You let her go,”
Esmé
says. “You let her
go.”

“I know,” I agree. “I killed her.”

“She should never have been with you.”

“I know that, too.”

Swinging around to face me, she puts her hands on my face and
tries to force me to look at her. Fighting, I shove her hands off. I can’t take
my eyes off the dress. It’s still floating down and part of me knows that it’s
Fran, but I can’t figure out why it’s taking so long for her to fall.
Esmé
scratches at my face, trying to get my attention. “You
killed her,” she screams. “You did this!”

“I know,” I whisper, knowing full well she can’t hear me over the
wind. “I know I did.”

Dropping to my knees, I bow my head over the cliff, looking at the
dress. “Fran,” I yell.
“Fran!”
Suddenly, I’m in a
panic and I’m screaming her name over and over, but it doesn’t help because the
only thing left of Fran is a red dress blowing in the wind at the bottom of the
cliff.

Awake, I sit up, knocking Frank to the back of the couch. He
grunts a mild protest, rights himself, and stalks down to the empty cushion
beyond my feet. I’m sweating and my heart is pounding and for a few minutes, I
know I’m on the edge of a panic attack. Grabbing my cell, I send a text message
to
Esmé
asking if she’s awake. She responds
immediately by calling me.

“Of course I’m awake,” she says instead of hello.

“I think we need to talk,” I answer.

“I agree. Do you want to meet for breakfast?”

“No, let’s meet for dinner. Can you come over here? I’ll cook.”

She pauses. “Is this a date?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I need to talk about Fran.”

“What time?”

“Six.”

Hanging up the phone, I reach down to grab Frank and cuddle him to
my face. I ask him what the hell is wrong with me, but he doesn’t have any
answers. Neither do I. Looking out the window, I see that it’s close enough to
sunrise that I can get up and make some coffee. Every day is a new chance to
change your life. That’s what Fran used to say to me. As I stumble into the
kitchen, weary to the bone, I don’t know if I find that comforting or
terrifying.

Chapter Sixteen

For some reason, making the date with
Esmé
has cleared my mind a bit. I don’t know why, but I just have a feeling that she
might be able to help me through this if I will just let her in. Feeling better
than I have in days, I bust out a full chapter of my book before taking a break.
Brewing another pot of coffee, I look at the clock and decide it’s late enough
in the morning to call Sam. Before I can dial her, she’s calling me.

“Hello?”

She sounds cheerful. “Dude, what’s up?”

“Sam, I was just about to call you.”

“And I called you instead. What are you doing today?

“I was going to call and ask if you want to go hike to the
lighthouse.”

“That’s exactly what I was planning.”

“Sounds awesome.
Want to pick me up?”

“Yep.
I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Hanging up, I pull on some cargo shorts and lace up my hiking
boots. My walking stick is in the back of Sam’s truck, so all I have to do is
fill up a water bottle.

“I’m going out, Frank.”

He looks up at me from his spot on the counter and chirps.

“I will have a good time. Thank you.”

He chirps again.

“Really?
Then what happened?”

Bored, he lifts his leg and commences licking himself.
So much for that conversation.
I’m ready to go when Sam
pulls in. When I open the door for her, she gives me a half hug and heads for
the coffee pot. “Got any brewed?”

“Yep, help yourself.”

She takes one of my travel mugs from the cupboard and fills it up.
Watching her stop to talk to Frank, I wish for not the first time that there
was any kind of chemistry between the two of us. Logically, I think we would make
a perfect couple. Yes, we’re both on the butch end of the scale, but we get
along so well. We respect each other, we laugh at each other’s jokes. She can’t
cook for shit, but I can. Besides, other than changing a tire, I’m basically
lost on any kind of car repair, whereas she’s a genius at fixing anything. We’d
complement each other well. Still, there is that complete lack of desire on
either side. That’s what proves to me that we were sisters in a past life.
She’s still my sister. And I guess it’s better to have a lifelong friend than
yet another girlfriend. She’s too normal, anyway. I’d never be able to be
involved with someone who wasn’t psychotic in some way.

Sam notices that I’m staring at her. “Are you checking me out
again?”

“In your wet dreams.”

“Oh baby.”

“I feel as if I’ve had this same conversation with myself a
million times.”

“Which one?”

“The one in which I chastise myself for not being attracted to
you.”

She flexes her biceps. “Yeah, I don’t get that either. I mean, I’m
hot.”

“Put it away stud. Your bulk does nothing for me.” We wave goodbye
to Frank and I lock the door behind us.

Sam smacks me on the shoulder. “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep the
girls waiting.”

Suspicious, I look at her. “What girls?”

We walk out to her truck and get in. “Uh, Olivia and Susannah.”

It takes a minute for my mind to wrap around what she has just
said. “Olivia and Susannah are going hiking with us.”

“It’s kind of a long story,” she says, backing out of my yard and
turning around on the road.

“You have ten minutes.”

“A funny thing happened on my way to... Aw, fuck. I just called
Olivia to apologize for being such an asshole and one thing led to another and
I asked if she and Susannah wanted to go hike with us.”

“And if I hadn’t been available?”

“You always want to go to the lighthouse.”

She has a point there. It’s a long, uphill climb, steeper than our
other regular hike, but shorter. I like it because I’m breathing like a freight
train by the time we get to the top, but once we’re there, we’re looking at one
of the most beautiful views on the island. The lighthouse is rusted and falling
apart, but I can still climb the staircase inside, as long as I skip a few
steps and am willing to live with the possibility of falling to my death. Sam
likes it because we can take pictures from up there that truly show off how far
we’ve come. She likes to send them to her sort-of girlfriend back in the
States.

We drive along in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Sam taps my
arm. “Hey, are you mad?”

“Huh?
No, not at all.
I actually do enjoy
spending time with my sister. I think it will be fun. I’m just surprised.”

“I was surprised, too. She was just complaining again about how
there’s nothing to do on the island and I told her that she obviously had never
been to the lighthouse. She hadn’t, so there
ya
are.”

“Well, it should be interesting, if nothing else,” I laugh. “My
sister hates to get sweaty.”

“I figure we’ll set a brisk pace and wear Olivia out. By the time
we get to the top, she’ll be too out of breath to annoy me.”

Susannah and Olivia are waiting for us in the clearing where we
usually park. From here, we’ll walk through the woods until we find the path up
to the lighthouse. The first part of the hike is pretty easy, but it has a
gradual incline which warms us up for the big climb.

As we exit the car, Sam says, “Olivia, what the hell are you
wearing?”

After hugging my sister, I turn to look at Olivia. It looks as if
she raided
L.L.Bean
. She has cuffed khaki shorts with
a perfect crease, a bright pink polo shirt, white socks with a bright pink band
that folds down perfectly to show right above the top of what look to be brand
new hiking boots. Sam is bending over to look at the top of Olivia’s socks.
“Are those little hearts?” she asks incredulously.

Ignoring her, Olivia turns to me. “The only thing new about my
outfit is my boots. I didn’t have any appropriate footwear for this occasion.”

“What about tennis shoes?” I say.

“The guy at the sporting goods store said they wouldn’t have
enough traction for the steep climb,” she answers, staring at all of our
sneaker-clad feet.

“Well, I hope you don’t get blisters from wearing new boots,” Sam
says.

“Way to have a positive attitude, negative Nelly,” Olivia laughs.

“Me?” Grabbing our walking sticks from the back, Sam grins across
the truck bed at Olivia. “That’s a change of pace.”

“Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. I’ll become a Pollyanna.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “I only have one extra walking stick.” She
hands the extra to Susannah and gives hers to Olivia.

“Want to use mine?” I offer.

“No, I’ll find one on the path.”

Starting up the first part of the path, we all spend a few minutes
finding our rhythm. Despite her threats, Sam sets a decent pace. We’re going
fast enough to gradually raise our heart rates, but not fast enough to have someone
passing out in five minutes.

Sam takes the lead, with Susannah and Olivia right behind her. If
someone needs a break or stumbles, I won’t have to worry about losing sight of
them. Susannah is already breathing heavily by the time we get up the slight
incline onto the wooded path. Sam pauses for a second to look back at all of
us.

“You okay, Susannah?”

“Fine,” she says, shortly. “I just have loud breath.”

Laughing, I wink at Sam over her head before she turns around to
continue on.

The incline changes and I can feel my breath starting to pick up.
Olivia picks up her pace and comes abreast of Sam. Scanning the woods, Sam
finally sees a suitable branch for her walking stick. She grabs one from the
ground and peels off the side branches. “This is perfect,” she says.

“I don’t know,” Olivia answers. “It doesn’t look as sturdy as
these.”

She’s right. Our regular walking sticks are strong and sturdy. Sam
and I picked the sticks carefully, sanded them, and coated them with several
layers of polyurethane. Then Sam drilled small holes in the top to string
through with leather straps.

“Whatever,” Sam says. “What do you know about walking sticks?”

“Nothing, I guess.”

Susannah is flagging, so I motion for her to stop and pull out my
water bottle. She takes a gulp.
“Sorry, Dana.
This is
just not my thing.”

“You should consider making it your thing,” I say. “You may be
young and skinny now, but soon enough, you’ll be an old woman like me and
you’ll need all of the help you can get.”

“Ha. You’re only four years older than me. And I’m in perfectly
great shape.”

“You were about to pass out there.”

“Hardly.
And this is a tough climb.”

“It hasn’t even started to get tough yet.”

“Great.” She takes another chug of water. Handing it back to me,
she stomps off. Looking after her, I see that Sam and Olivia are waiting for us
at the top of this hill. Sam is leaning on her stick and Olivia is laughing.
Maybe being told that she’s a drama queen was good for her. Perhaps she’ll
start trying to change her attitude. At any rate, she’s being a lot less
annoying than she usually is and I’m surprised to realize that I’m not even
upset that she’s here.

When Susannah and I finally make the top of the hill, Sam high
fives me and
puts
her arm around Susannah. “Are you
going to make it, buttercup?”

“I doubt it. Can you carry me?”

“Probably,” says Sam, laughing. “But we’ll both regret it at the
top.”

“You’ll be fine,” I add. “The next hill is longer, but it’s
nowhere near as steep. Then there’s a sharp turn and one incredibly steep
hill.”

“Steeper than this?”
Susannah looks dubious.

“Yes,” Sam says. “But not as long.”

Dancing around a bit, Olivia
looks anxious to go.
“Well, let’s move on then.”

“Jesus, Olivia, settle down.” Sam sounds as cranky as ever, but
she’s smiling and Olivia laughs instead of getting pissed.

Bending at the waist, Susannah struggles to catch her breath.
“Look, Su, if you need to stop, I’ll stay with you,” I say.

“No, I’m good. I just can’t believe how much better shape the rest
of you are.
Especially Sam.”

“Why me?”

“Because you drink beer like
it’s
water,”
she says.

Grinning Sam wags her finger at Susannah.
“Ah
ha.
But I also drink plenty of water and get a lot of cardio. There’s
the difference.”

“You eat spam and beef jerky,” Susannah retorts.

“Only when your sister isn’t
cooking for me.”

“Maybe you and Dana should get married,” Olivia says, starting to
move on.

We all follow her.

“No, that would be queer,” Sam says.

“Why?” Olivia is laughing, but she looks honestly interested.

“Butches don’t date butches,” Sam replies.

“Not true,” I counter. “My ex was a butch. I knew a lot of butches
in the States who date butches.”

“Are you saying you want me, Dana? Because I’m not sure how I feel
about that at this late date in our friendship,” Sam grins.

Rolling my eyes, I snort my answer. Susannah is panting beside me,
but she seems to be okay, so I decide not to call a halt for a break.

Olivia keeps prodding. “So some butches date butches and some date
femmes?”

“Yes,” I say. “But don’t simplify it. Some lesbians consider
themselves femmes who will strictly only date butches and vice versa. Some
femmes will only date other femmes. Some butches will absolutely only date
other butches. Some don’t care whether their partner is butch or femme and tend
to get together with either, depending on other factors. And some lesbians
don’t label themselves as either butch or femme.”

“Don’t forget the varying degrees of butch and femme,” Sam
continues. “I mean, I am definitely way butcher than Dana.”

Raising my eyebrow at Olivia, I tilt my head toward Sam. “And then
there are the butches who are so insecure in their
butchness
that they have to put themselves higher on some imaginary butch scale.”

“Hardy
har
,” Sam says.

“My ex was like that,” I say. “She didn’t like other butches and
she was constantly putting down women who didn’t live up to her grunting and
oil-changing brand of
butchness
.”

“But you consider yourself butch?”

Nodding, I think about it for a second. “I guess I fall close to
the butch side of the scale than not. It isn’t a label that makes a big
difference to me, though. I mean, I don’t wear it like a badge of honor or a
point of pride like some butches. I just am what I am.”