Chapter Text
Carol thought at first she was imagining it.
Yes, a hallucination, brought on by too much stress, too much heartache, too much desire. She had put so much raw hope into her meeting with Therese, and in the end, it was not enough. Even the words, that she had held back for so long, were not enough.
And why would they be? After everything she’d done. Her cruelty and selfishness. The fear that drove her to sneak away in the night. No, she was not, had never been, brave. She married Harge because she was not brave. She ended things with Abby because she was not brave. She abandoned Therese in Chicago because she was not brave.
Not until she sat across that little table that might have been a continent, and looked into Therese’s serious and reproachful eyes, and said when she knew it was hopeless, ‘I love you’—not until that moment had Carol ever been truly brave.
But courage was no promise of success, and though a part of her had wanted to kill that Jack fellow for interrupting them, another part was relieved. What an easy escape he offered her. A cover for her retreat. A mask to wear over her humiliation and heartbreak. And so too was she grateful, for the dinner with Dennis Myers. He and the two other buyers at Myers Furniture may have been the last people in the world she wanted to see, but at least they gave her a place to hide. At least they meant that she did not have to go back to her empty apartment and see in it the metaphor for her empty life. No Rindy. No Therese. Nothing that mattered to her.
Yes, it was easier to go to dinner. To put on the face that she had been mastering since before she was a debutante. To smile and nod and make sounds of agreement when Michael said this, when Robin said that, when Dennis asked a question. To offer an opinion and feign interest in the opinions of others. It was only a reprieve, only a pause on the full-fledged despair that she knew would consume her when she got home. But any pause was needful now. Otherwise she was sure to fall apart.
Because she loved her. Yes, she loved her. How clear it became after seeing her in the street that morning. Of course she had known it already, but not in a conscious way, not in a way that she could say out loud. But in the cab, watching her stride across the street, so confident, so purposeful, so—fine. Yes, it all went through her in a rush, like magic. She loved Therese Belivet, and leaving her behind was the worst mistake of her life, and staying away from her was no life at all. So she had gone to Harge and made her deal and sent the telegram to The Times. Because she was sick of cowardice, and her heart needed what it loved.
All for naught. Too late. Simply… too late.
“No, I don’t think so…”
And it was what she deserved, of course, and what she would have to survive, somehow.
Or so she thought.
She thought, until—
Their eyes met across the restaurant, and Carol felt like a ship at sea in a maelstrom, that strains and tips and crashes with the waves and calls out, “All is lost!”—until, at the very last moment, the shard of the lighthouse’s lamp breaks through the storm, and offers a way home.
Therese was looking at her, not with the cold and recriminating stare from the Ritz. No, there was something completely different in her face. Something quiet, like her. Something soft, and tender and—and yes, Carol was sure of it, she smiled. Just the slightest smile, more in her eyes than her lips, and the blaze of that lighthouse could have shorn off the wings of hell itself.
What expression did Carol wear, as she returned the look? She didn’t know. Perhaps she smiled, too? Perhaps she tilted her head as if toward a song she half-remembered. Perhaps her look said, “Is it you? Is it really you? Are you real?” Or perhaps her look held a spark of victory, of vindication, like the priest who has all but lost his faith, and then finally, at the end of his life, sees a miracle.
They might have stared at each other for hours. What was time, anyway? And what was distance? Was Therese standing on the opposite side of the restaurant, or the opposite side of the world? Or was she somehow only a few steps from their table. Close enough that suddenly, peripherally, Carol realized that she was not the only one who noticed her there.
“Why, hello!” said Dennis brightly. “Who’s this?”
He looked at Carol. Of course he would look at Carol, since it was obvious that Therese was there for Carol. Somehow, remarkably, Carol marshaled herself enough to blink and look at Dennis and smile and say, “Oh, I apologize. Everyone, this is my friend, Therese Belivet. I invited her to join us.”
And Therese, who still had not said anything, but held her coat against her chest and watched them all with an unreadable expression, said at last, “I hope it’s all right.”
Her voice was soft, youthful—but not childish. It held the firmer note that Carol had noticed at the Ritz. It showed the growing up that she had done, just as all of her showed it. What a gorgeous, stunning woman she had turned out to be.
Dennis exclaimed, “The more the merrier! Waiter, yes, excuse me, could you pull up another chair?”
And then suddenly there was a new chair, in between Dennis and Michael, and directly across from Carol, and Therese was letting the waiter take her coat, and she was sitting down and accepting a menu and looking up and—
Carol could hardly breathe. Her eyes were the same, and yet so different. Still wide and watchful, but not innocent, as they’d been when Carol met her. No, she looked at Carol now with an unmistakable maturity, and even, Carol half-suspected—humor. As if she understood that she had stunned Carol by coming here, and the experience of stunning her, of leaving her half tongued-tied, was amusing. Carol was worried that she might start to blush.
Dennis saved her. He introduced Therese to Michael and Robin, explained how they all worked together, and then asked in his friendly way, “And what do you do, Ms. Belivet?”
Therese answered with perfect ease, “I’m a photographer, at The Times.”
Robin said, “Are you really? Oh, I admire that so much. My Nancy wants a camera and I’m just so worried she’ll break it.”
Therese chuckled, and Carol’s heart leapt. It was not the girlish giggle from the road, but a woman’s soft laugh, a confident, warm sound, that sent warmth careening through Carol’s body.
Therese said, “I’ve broken a camera myself—but I was lucky enough to have friends who could repair it.”
“I worry it’s an extravagance,” said Robin fretfully. “I wouldn’t want her to think she can treat it like her other toys.”
Then Therese said, “Well, I can only speak for myself—but a camera is the best gift anyone ever gave to me.”
And she glanced toward Carol, their gaze catching for just a moment—but it was enough. Carol’s eyes burned, and it took all her self-control to keep the tears from gathering. Tears of joy and tears of hope, tears of regret and tears of relief.
The only way she could think to stop herself from falling apart was to lend her own voice to the conversation. “It’s a wonderful skill, photography,” she said. “Nancy might break it, that’s true, but how sad to never try something because we’re afraid of breaking it!”
“Now there’s a statement that applies to life writ large!” said Dennis, beaming.
Therese said, “It can be frightening, though, of course. And there’s nothing wrong with caution.” She looked at Robin again. “You can teach her the right way to take care of a camera. If she ends up breaking it anyway, then, I suppose, she’ll have to learn from that. But she can learn. And I for one am glad that I learned.”
Carol listened carefully to this, reading it for clues, but she couldn’t quite tell what Therese meant. Maybe she really was only talking about the camera. Either way, she spoke in a calm fashion, no hint of anxiety and no more glances toward Carol. The confidence in her took Carol’s breath away, and once again she thought of that word she used at the Ritz: blossomed. Yes, Therese had blossomed, and as attractive as it was, it also caused Carol a jolt of unease.
When they met, it was so obvious that Therese admired her, looked up to her, perhaps even wanted to be like her. So obvious, in fact, that for a while Carol wasn’t sure that the girl shared her attraction at all. And when it became clear that she did share it, attraction seemed only an extension of that admiration, an evidence of Therese’s coming-of-age, her realization of who she was made clear to her through the example that Carol provided. But lust, love, desire—these things were offshoots. Admiration was the foundation, Carol thought.
But what about Carol remained for Therese to admire? Come into her own as she had, settled into her beauty and intelligence and professional ambition, what need had Therese of a woman like Carol? And if Therese did not need Carol, as her younger iteration had seemed to need her, then would Therese want her? It seemed to Carol very likely that she wouldn’t.
And yet, she was here. She came. Why?
Just then the waiter returned, offering to take their orders. Carol, realizing that Therese had not even looked at her menu, asked, “Have you eaten already, Darling?”
It was the first time she’d spoken to her directly since she arrived. And the first time, since their reunion, that Carol had dared proffer an endearment. Did she imagine the hint of color, rising up Therese’s throat?
Therese laughed softly, saying, “I haven’t, no.” She opened her menu. Carol remembered their first lunch date, how a shy Therese had simply repeated Carol’s order, rather than keep the server waiting. She did this several times on the road, as well. But Dennis and Robin and Michal all placed their orders, and Carol placed her order, and only then did Therese look up from the menu.
She asked the waiter, “Do you prefer the lamb chops or the trout?”
“The lamb chops, Madam,” said the waiter. “They’re very tender and the broccolini is braised in a lovely lemon and garlic sauce.”
“That sounds perfect,” said Therese, closing her menu and handing it to the waiter with a smile. “Thank you.”
Then, as the waiter went away, Therese returned her attention to the table, just in time to meet Carol’s gaze. And she must have sensed it, Carol’s vibrant attention, Carol’s admiration and regard, because there was definitely a dusting of pink across her cheekbones. Carol, watching her, felt hot with the memory of Therese in Waterloo. How her color rose with her arousal, til her chest and throat and cheeks were flushed. How her skin turned warm and damp, and her body lifted into Carol’s body as she trembled and moaned…
“So, how do you know Carol?” asked Michael brightly.
Michael was a sweet-tempered and charming young man, a little younger than Carol and unmarried. As he looked at Therese Carol recognized at once the appreciation in his eyes, and something inside her tightened like a wolf that scents threat.
Therese said easily, “We met over Christmas. One of those random encounters that turned to friendship. Though we haven’t seen each other in a few months.”
Carol’s mouth went dry to hear the way that Therese described it, and yet her own voice was perfectly calm, her manner congenial, as she added, “That was my fault. I’m trying to make up for lost time.”
Therese flicked her a glance, but it gave nothing away. Michael said, “Well, it’s swell of you to join us. Tell us more about The Times. Do you get to learn about all kinds of exciting scandals?”
So Therese told them a few stories, and she told them well, with humor and insight that made the table laugh along and hang on her every word—especially Michael, who grew more and more starry-eyed as the night wore on. Even after their meals came, the conversation didn’t ebb, everyone enchanted with Therese and Therese at ease with everyone, though she and Carol spoke very little to each other. Carol told herself to be content, just to sit in her orbit. Just to hear her speak. But Michael’s warm attention and subtle compliments began to grate on her like chalk shrieking against a board, and Carol found she had to make herself eat, because the closer they came to the end of the meal, the more her anxiety spiked. What would happen? What would Therese want to happen? So far, Carol had no idea.
By the time the evening was drawing to a close, all the joy that Carol had felt at seeing Therese again, all the hope and all the sense of victory, had faded into doubt. It seemed to her that Therese was barely paying her any attention. And while she knew Therese well enough to recognize that Michael’s interest was not returned, still it occurred to Carol that he could not be the only one who had fallen under Therese’s spell these past few months. Probably the men she worked with were enamored by her. And, for all Carol knew, the women as well…
Dennis, in a characteristic show of generosity, picked up the tab.
Michael asked, “Is anyone interested in going for coffee? Or to have a drink somewhere? It’s only eleven.”
“Ha!” laughed Robin. “My husband would have my head. No, I’ve got to get back.”
“Me as well, me as well,” said Dennis, scribbling his signature onto the bill.
“What about you, Therese?” Michael asked.
“Oh,” Therese said, “I—”
She hesitated. But she didn’t say no. And suddenly Carol thought if she had to listen to one more minute of them she would burst apart. She rose from her chair, saying with a smile, “I’ve just got to run to the ladies. Be back in a minute.”
She strode off. She felt like there was lightning in her step, scorching the carpet under her feet. She thought that she must look like a monster, now they couldn’t see her face—a monster full of rage and self-recrimination. And not because she was jealous of Michael. She felt certain that Therese would say no to him, felt certain that he was no threat to her. But what Carol did not know, what Carol could not parse, as she let herself into the one-stall bathroom and gratefully locked the door behind her, was whether she herself was any threat, to Therese’s no doubt long list of admirers.
“Too late,” she muttered to herself, wiping a hand across her brow as she paced the bathroom in a fury. “You reckless, careless fool, you’re too late.”
But she had barely said the words when she heard a knock on the door. She froze where she stood. She knew instinctively who it was, and didn’t know if the knowledge brought her relief or terror. And yet she went, and opened the door.
Therese pushed inside. Carol stepped back, startled. Therese closed and locked the door and leaned her back against it, looking up into Carol’s face. There were two, three feet between them, and history as deep as an ocean, and silence that Carol thought would go on endlessly.
Then—
“You can’t possibly think that I am interested in Michael,” said Therese.
There was a combination of amusement and exasperation in her voice. She looked at Carol with a slightly chastising humor, that left Carol flustered and unsure how to answer.
“I—No, of course, I—”
“You can’t possibly think I came here, to this restaurant, so that I could be flirted with by Michael.”
Carol swallowed. They had not looked at each other this directly since Therese arrived at the restaurant. The silence breathed between them again. At last Carol said, “What did you come here for?”
Therese raised an eyebrow. “You invited me.”
“I did,” Carol nodded. “But I—”
“You said you loved me.”
“I do.”
Therese’s nostrils flared, as if she had questioned whether Carol really meant it, as if she had expected a different answer this time, and to have it reiterated sent a charge through her body. Carol, seeing this reaction, felt a flicker of hope. All night, Therese had seemed so unbearably out of reach. Now, for the first time…
“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” whispered Therese.
Carol swallowed. Carol flexed her fingers, the desire to touch overwhelming her.
“I thought it a thousand times,” she whispered back. Therese said nothing and in a fit of courage Carol asked, “Can we go somewhere, Therese? Can we go somewhere and… and talk?”
For Carol was sure that was what they needed. Time. Time to talk. She didn’t care where it happened. They could find a bar somewhere or they could go to Therese’s apartment or her own apartment or, God, a hotel, even. So long as it was somewhere private. Protected from interruptions.
Therese shifted, and said, “I was wondering… if you’d like to have lunch with me tomorrow.”
Carol blinked. Surprised, confused, she said, “Tomorrow?”
Therese’s eyes were big and full of emotion, full of intensity and also a little bit of fear, and she said, “Yes, I… I need to be getting home. But I’d like to see you tomorrow. Can I?”
Carol felt the most overwhelming combination of despair, and relief. Relief, because Therese wanted to see her again, and soon. But despair, as well—because Therese did not want to go somewhere and talk tonight. Therese wanted them to part ways. In a strange way, Carol was proud of her. She had learned to say no. But it still felt like a knife in Carol’s heart.
What else could she say? She said, “Of course, Dearest. I… I could meet you somewhere?”
Therese let out a breath, as if she had been unsure of Carol’s response. She said, “Yes. Why not… why not Scotty’s?”
Carol’s smile was pained. She did not want to go back to Scotty’s. She did not want to go back to the beginning, to the time before their road trip, before their first kiss, before New Year’s. She knew she had no right to ask for anything more than Therese was ready to give. She knew that Therese must give it willingly. And yet—and yet—
“Therese,” she whispered, and her voice was soft and raw. Therese’s expression grew still and watchful, as if she were afraid, and this made Carol so miserable, to think that she might have frightened Therese. But she was frightened, too, and she was weak, and in the end she couldn’t stop herself, “Do you love me?”
Therese’s eyes widened. Her lips parted, and color rose on her cheeks as she seemed to look at Carol’s lips. Her expression did not say yes, but it didn’t say no, either. Perhaps it was foolish, but Carol felt a charge of hope.
“Carol—” Therese said.
“Can I kiss you?” asked Carol.
Therese made a sound, a soft, whimpering sound, that flushed through Carol and woke something warm and needy in her. It was the first time Therese had done anything, shown her anything, that suggested her desire. Carol thought she would weep with relief, and she thought she would dart forward, and seize her, unable to stop herself, but—
“No,” said Therese.
It felt like a slap. Carol went pale, stomach plummeting, until—
“Not—not yet,” Therese whispered.
This emotional whiplash was enough to make Carol reel. She felt light-headed. It occurred to her suddenly that she should not have had two glasses of wine at dinner. It occurred to her that this harrowing day, the lawyers and Harge and the Ritz and now this—might be more than she could tolerate.
Then Therese said, “I—I’m just—I’m not ready, yet.”
Carol nodded mutely, eyes burning. She saw that Therese was looking at her with furrowed brow, with worry in her eyes, and this was too much. The tears overflowed from her eyes. Therese looked stricken.
“Oh, Carol!”
She moved toward her, stood right in front of her. Carol wanted to pull her close, but she hadn’t the right. And Therese looked as if she wanted to pull Carol close, but she hesitated, and that was terrible, too. Carol was suddenly ashamed of her behavior. She wiped her eyes quickly. She took a step back.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m all right. I—” She laughed nervously. “It’s just been such a tiring day. We’d better go out—”
“Carol—”
“No, Dearest, I—this isn’t the place, is it? Tomorrow. Tomorrow we can talk.”
Therese was still frowning, her distress so obvious, but Carol looked at her pleadingly and at last she subsided, still frowning. They went out together and found Michael and Dennis waiting. Robin had already left, it seemed. They all walked out of the restaurant and on the curb Dennis asked, “Can I drop anyone somewhere?”
Carol said, “Oh, no, I’ve got my car.”
She didn’t, actually. She would have to get a cab. But the thought of having to make conversation with Dennis right now was unbearable.
Michael asked Therese, “What about that coffee?” and Carol’s jaw set, a totally irrational fury seizing her.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Therese, smooth and genial, but Carol saw how she was clutching her handbag, the whiteness of her knuckles, that showed her emotion. “I’ve got to be up early in the morning. It was lovely to meet you both.”
Michael took the rejection amiably, doffing his hat.
“Another time, maybe?”
“Good night, Dennis,” Carol said, before Therese could answer. “Good night, Michael. Therese—”
Therese looked sharply up at her, green eyes wide and hopeful.
“Lunch tomorrow?” she said, just as any woman might say it to a friend.
“Yes,” whispered Therese.
Then they all went their separate ways.