Just Yesterday by Linda Hill

Author:Linda Hill [Hill, Linda]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781562802196
Amazon: 1562802194
Publisher: Naiad Pr
Published: 1998-11-14T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Grace just barely jumped out of bed in time to shower and run to the studio. I am lying exactly as she left me, curled up in the oversize bed, while I watch her report the morning news.

Her hair is pulled back and twisted in a fashionable knot. Her cheeks are flushed and her voice even huskier than usual. For the first time in my life, I feel desire from an image on the television set. She is nothing short of hot. And the knowledge that she has just left our bed, and that we will be sharing another bed that night, makes me want her all the more. I find myself regretting that I won't be able to watch the news at noon.

I take my time showering and dressing for the funeral. My life has taken such a dramatic turn, and I am caught between euphoria and trepidation. I have no idea where this weekend with Grace is leading. I have no idea if it is even leading anywhere. But I don't care. All I know is that she is taking tomorrow off. That she will pick me up at the agency where I'd rented my car at three o'clock today. That she will make reservations at a hotel in Chicago. That we have three more nights together. What happens after that is unimportant to me. Today. But I know that once Sunday arrives I will be fraught with anxiety.

I choose to ignore the warning bells in my head. Instead I methodically change my airline reservations. Then I call Joanne and calmly explain that I am staying until Sunday. She asks no questions. I volunteer no answers.

I do two things that afternoon at the funeral service that cause me immediate shame, which I admit to no one. The first is that I am completely distracted by the time I arrive at the service. I feel myself grow impatient to be gone and away from the cloud of pain and death that has hovered over me since I'd first heard about Connie's accident.

The simpler truth is that I want to be with Grace. Time is now suddenly a commodity to me, and I want to spend every possible moment with her.

As a result I hang back, observing, and find that I am seeing the proceedings as I imagined Grace might see them.

She is correct in her assumption that nearly everyone in attendance is gay or lesbian. I file this information away, imagining that I will tell her she was right. I already know her reply. I know that I will get that I-told-you-so grin.

The second thing I do that afternoon is nonchalantly flip through the guest book, assuming that I'll never find Grace's signature. But there it is, on the bottom of page two, the bold strokes of her handwriting. I am instantly repentant for thinking the worst of her, and reprimand myself immediately for thinking she'd been lying to me.

I stay no longer at the funeral than is socially required.

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