in the shotgun. Karen laughed, standing it in the corner, and wrapping her arms around her beautiful russet lover.
“Country living, sweetheart. I sit on the porch with my corncob pipe and the scattergun in my lap!” She held Susan at arm’s length and looked at her. Susan smiled back, relieved at her welcome. Still half in the porch shadow, her faint freckles were darker. With her petite sharp chin and her sleeked-back tarnished-copper hair, she always struck Karen as one of those thrusting, searching small mammals, taut and graceful, a mink or marten… so alert to Karen’s moods.
Remembering Susan’s opening apology, Karen also remembered, with shame, those drunken times she had slammed doors in her conciliatory lover’s face. “We’ve fought so much, hon, and I’m so sorry for it.”
Susan smiled. “ You’ve fought so much.”
“ I’ve fought so much, oh yes, but I’m so glad you’re here.”
Susan grinning now. “So why aren’t you inviting me inside?”
Karen laughed… and yet still did not step aside to admit her. Felt the weight of the house at her back, holding her in place like a barrier. Or was it her own will, holding back the house’s weight from falling on her lover… ? She forced another laugh. “Come on into the haunted manse.”
Once Susan was inside, Karen felt instantaneous relief, felt her lover as a shield, an unclouded spirit that all the past here, her fears and imaginings, could not pierce. “A tour!” she proclaimed. “A grand tour! You will note the predominant decorative motifs— firearms and booze… .”
She saw every room over Susan’s shoulder now and though the downstairs bathroom still gave her a qualm, she found everywhere a wonderful freedom from fear, everywhere saw a sad place where someone else had suffered long ago, a place she herself might soon lock up behind her and leave forever.
Susan responded cautiously, registered but never uttered a word about the gloom, the claustrophobic aura that filled this place, spoke only of Mom’s touches here and there. Up in her sewing room Susan said, “You must have liked it up here. Did she ever teach you how to sew?”
“She tried, but I was never that interested. I did like to be up here, though, when I was small, watching her work. All this— ” she touched the cabinet’s miniature drawers of buttons, findings, needles, spools of thread “— seemed like treasure to me.”
“I once asked my mother to teach me so I could sew clothes for my dolls. She told me it was peasant work— not in so many words, of course.” They both laughed at their shared image of Mrs. Kravnik, a moneyed, oh-so-proper autocrat.
Down in the kitchen, more toast and soup, some canned green beans, strong coffee black, the way they both liked it, while Susan filled her in on the home-front. She had a week off from the law offices. Two of the gay contractors Karen worked for sent their sympathies, and one, DeWitt, a check from her last job. Bonnie and Letty, Karen’s partners in Tongue ‘n’ Groove, had also sent their love and were going to give her a cut from their new remodel job with DeWitt.
While Karen did the dishes, Susan was slicing some peaches from the trees out back. “Want some?” she asked Karen.
“No thanks.”
Susan cracked the seal on some of Dad’s tonic water, splashed out half a tumbler, took a bottle of vodka from the shelf, and added a couple inches to the tonic. Susan drank wine occasionally. Maybe a cocktail at parties. Karen cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Did you want some?” Susan asked her.
“Not right now.” The many times Karen had quit drinking, she never said so, felt it jinxed the resolution. And now, how could she tell her lover why she’d quit? They went into the living room. Karen watched Susan sink into an armchair and take a long pull from her drink.
It almost brought tears to Karen’s eyes. She understood this was an attempt to be with her in her time of trouble. Sweet Susan, so
“Country living, sweetheart. I sit on the porch with my corncob pipe and the scattergun in my lap!” She held Susan at arm’s length and looked at her. Susan smiled back, relieved at her welcome. Still half in the porch shadow, her faint freckles were darker. With her petite sharp chin and her sleeked-back tarnished-copper hair, she always struck Karen as one of those thrusting, searching small mammals, taut and graceful, a mink or marten… so alert to Karen’s moods.
Remembering Susan’s opening apology, Karen also remembered, with shame, those drunken times she had slammed doors in her conciliatory lover’s face. “We’ve fought so much, hon, and I’m so sorry for it.”
Susan smiled. “ You’ve fought so much.”
“ I’ve fought so much, oh yes, but I’m so glad you’re here.”
Susan grinning now. “So why aren’t you inviting me inside?”
Karen laughed… and yet still did not step aside to admit her. Felt the weight of the house at her back, holding her in place like a barrier. Or was it her own will, holding back the house’s weight from falling on her lover… ? She forced another laugh. “Come on into the haunted manse.”
Once Susan was inside, Karen felt instantaneous relief, felt her lover as a shield, an unclouded spirit that all the past here, her fears and imaginings, could not pierce. “A tour!” she proclaimed. “A grand tour! You will note the predominant decorative motifs— firearms and booze… .”
She saw every room over Susan’s shoulder now and though the downstairs bathroom still gave her a qualm, she found everywhere a wonderful freedom from fear, everywhere saw a sad place where someone else had suffered long ago, a place she herself might soon lock up behind her and leave forever.
Susan responded cautiously, registered but never uttered a word about the gloom, the claustrophobic aura that filled this place, spoke only of Mom’s touches here and there. Up in her sewing room Susan said, “You must have liked it up here. Did she ever teach you how to sew?”
“She tried, but I was never that interested. I did like to be up here, though, when I was small, watching her work. All this— ” she touched the cabinet’s miniature drawers of buttons, findings, needles, spools of thread “— seemed like treasure to me.”
“I once asked my mother to teach me so I could sew clothes for my dolls. She told me it was peasant work— not in so many words, of course.” They both laughed at their shared image of Mrs. Kravnik, a moneyed, oh-so-proper autocrat.
Down in the kitchen, more toast and soup, some canned green beans, strong coffee black, the way they both liked it, while Susan filled her in on the home-front. She had a week off from the law offices. Two of the gay contractors Karen worked for sent their sympathies, and one, DeWitt, a check from her last job. Bonnie and Letty, Karen’s partners in Tongue ‘n’ Groove, had also sent their love and were going to give her a cut from their new remodel job with DeWitt.
While Karen did the dishes, Susan was slicing some peaches from the trees out back. “Want some?” she asked Karen.
“No thanks.”
Susan cracked the seal on some of Dad’s tonic water, splashed out half a tumbler, took a bottle of vodka from the shelf, and added a couple inches to the tonic. Susan drank wine occasionally. Maybe a cocktail at parties. Karen cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Did you want some?” Susan asked her.
“Not right now.” The many times Karen had quit drinking, she never said so, felt it jinxed the resolution. And now, how could she tell her lover why she’d quit? They went into the living room. Karen watched Susan sink into an armchair and take a long pull from her drink.
It almost brought tears to Karen’s eyes. She understood this was an attempt to be with her in her time of trouble. Sweet Susan, so
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