THE DARK WINTER by Elena Graf

Author:Elena Graf
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Lesbian Fiction, Lesbian Romance
Publisher: Purple Hand Press
Published: 2021-04-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

The woman in her arms was trembling fiercely, so Liz held her tight. “It’s okay, Lucy. It’s okay,” she murmured.

“No, it’s not okay,” Lucy said and began to sob.

Liz relaxed her grip because she didn’t want to hurt her. Sometimes, she didn’t know her own strength and inadvertently hurt people. She suddenly thought of the time she’d broken her father’s ribs with a bear hug. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, only to tell him how much, despite all the miscommunication and emotional absence, she loved him. She hadn’t meant to defeat him in the wrestling match either, which she knew was a blow to his masculinity that he would never forgive or forget. He was already frail then, and wrestling with him was a mistake, but she was only fourteen and didn’t know better.

It was easier to reach all the way back to her adolescence than to think of losing her best friend of forty years, her wingman. Erika had been with Liz through all her major loves, through all her professional successes and failures. She always had something wry and witty to say, even in the worst moments. She was there when Liz’s father died so young, his body ravaged by war, his soul defeated by the ignominy of being on the wrong side of the conflict. Erika understood the guilt Liz felt, even though neither of them had been born when that horrible war had been fought. They’d inherited Germany’s national guilt, the daughters of its collective shame. Erika’s father had been spared military service because of poor hearing and because the country needed his brilliant, mathematical mind. The experience had been so horrible that Stefan always left the room whenever Liz and his daughter spoke about the war.

It was strange to be thinking of the war and their shared heritage while Erika lay dying, but that was what had united them beyond a common language, a shared proclivity toward their own sex, and a love for continental philosophy. Liz wondered if she would ever find another friend, someone who could speak to her on that intellectual level. Of course, Liz was an amateur philosopher, largely untrained, but Erika had never held that against her.

Liz was glad that Lucy was weeping silently because anything more demonstrative would open the floodgates of her own emotions. Lucy clung to her tightly, her fingers gripping her arm like pincers. Liz gently stroked Lucy’s hair as if she were a child. It was fragrant from her hair rinse, a floral scent. Erika had told her that Lucy had been adding henna to touch up her fading red hair. She’d chosen a natural solution because Liz preached about the danger of commercial hair dyes, and Lucy took Liz’s medical advice seriously. Lucy’s hair felt silken under her fingers and warm. Liz pressed her head against her chest, and Lucy clung more fiercely in return.

Finally, the sobbing ceased, and Lucy sat up. Liz reached down for the beat-up box of tissues she always carried in the backseat along with the old quilt.

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