One Degree of Separation by Karin Kallmaker Page B

never meant for them to know, and it wasn’t Hemma’s fault and Amy shouldn’t be jealous. She had only realized they left their blinds open two years ago. It had been when she’d slept in the guest room for a while, after Robyn had left. It had seemed harmless.
    She watched out of love, not for kicks. She would never do it again.
    Her ears burned. She had to say it.
    “Marian.” Hemma’s voice quavered. “I’ve been offered a tenured professorship in American studies at the University of Hawaii. And I’m ... damn it ...” She looked imploringly at Amy.
    Amy, after squeezing Hemma’s arm, said, “It makes too much sense. She’s worked so hard. And for us it means we’ll be retiring in better positions when the time comes. I’m in the process of securing a position as well. It won’t cost me much in tenure. It’s the chance of a lifetime for Hemma. You know how stiff the competition is ...” Marian could hear Amy’s voice but her mind resounded with one word: Hawaii .
    She realized Amy had stopped speaking. They were both looking at her apprehensively.
    “You’re moving.” It was hard to breathe.
    Hemma’s lower lip quivered as enormous tears spilled down her cheeks. “It was such a hard decision to make. We don’t want to leave here. Leave you and all our friends. The garden, the university ...”
    “When?”
    “It’s a terrible time to sell our house, but we meet with a realtor tomorrow. We didn’t want you to come home from work and see a realtor’s sign.”
    “It’s certainly a wonderful opportunity.” For a moment, Marian wasn’t sure she’d spoken.
    Hemma asked quietly, “Are you okay?”
    Everything in her wanted to say of course she was okay. But that was a gigantic lie. She shook her head.
    Hemma flew across the room to wrap Marian in her arms. “I’m so sorry, this is going to hurt us all. It was such a hard decision to make. Promise us right now that you will visit at Christmas. Bring us pickled ham.”
    Marian thought she laughed but she wasn’t sure. Everything after that was a blur. Hemma looked wretched and even Amy wiped away tears. Hawaii. Why not Mars?

    Thursday evening, June 5
    No more Thursday dinners. No more voyeuristic participation in a life I’ll never have. No more ... no more anything. There aren’t any words and I feel so empty.

    Later that night she watched Amy hold Hemma against her as they stretched out in bed together, comforting each other with kisses and hugs. Hemma blew her nose as Marian’s vision swam. Tears splashed on the windowsill.
    When her vision cleared, Amy was kissing her way across Hemma’s shoulders. Marian felt her stomach turn over and she backed out of her spare room. It was over.
    All gone in an instant. The perfect beach, the perfect woman. A perfect picture of lovers hand-in-hand. Even the fantasy had been destroyed.
    Part of her was happy for her friends. It was a big deal for Hemma. She knew they’d be fine. They were a wonderful couple.
    They’d make new friends, carve out a new life with the same care and patience with which they’d crafted their incredible garden.
    Someone else would have pasties and gravy and berry pie, or whatever the equivalent was in Hawaii. Someone else would be lucky enough to be their friend.
    Until that moment she had been numbed by her grief over losing Hemma in her daily life, even if they would never be lovers. But she was losing both of them, and the broad nurturing shelter of their relationship. They were her family, and along with Ellie, had been since she’d lost parents and brother that horrible year in Chicago.
    She was abruptly aware that she could hear Hemma’s voice. The rising croon she knew so well made her feel ill. She covered her ears, but the sound of their love rolled through her mind. It would never be hers.
    She wanted to hate them and almost could. But then she felt so tired and empty she couldn’t breathe.
    She sank down in the hallway, sobbing. When Professor Hill padded