One Degree of Separation (6 page)

Marian basked in Mary Jane’s approval. She was both friend and mentor. “I’ll have that recommendation letter for you to sign some time next week. The application isn’t due for the fall semester until then.”

“So I’ll have another Master of Library and Information Science working for me who’ll want a promotion.” Mary Jane arched an eyebrow. “Might even be after my job.”

“I would never do that—oh. You are such a tease.” 

Mary Jane’s neutral expression didn’t alter. “So I’ve been told.”

“By whom?”

“Don’t be impertinent.”

Marian went back to the book carts with a giggle in her throat.

Mary Jane could give off that reserved, cool, asexual vibe all she wanted, but Marian had seen her in her leathers.

A voice rose from the direction of the reference desk. “You must be kidding!”

Marian peered through the shelving to see what the problem was.

Oh, now that was poetic justice. Bill, the lazy lizard, was the recipi-ent of Seventh Dimension Bitch’s current frustration. They deserved each other. Let Bill show her how to use the new software.

She was shelving a volume on medical politics when she remembered the book Fresh Meat—really, she scolded herself, you can’t call her that—had needed yesterday. She’d probably like this one as well. Libby Peel, she recalled, from her hurried glance at the woman’s license. If Peel came in again, Marian would point the book out. Reader advisories in nonfiction were her specialty. She didn’t want to be a library manager like Mary Jane—too many stressful administrative details, not to mention having to always be poised, cool and more dressed up. Library managers did not get to gad about in shorts and tank tops when it was ninety. A collection manager, now that had appeal. She could debate collection development policy all day and go back after dinner for more.

Getting her M.L.S. was the right thing to do. Besides, she had the time to do it. She ought to have done it when Robyn left. If she had, she’d be done now.

The bridge has seen that water, as Gran always said. She would start this fall and in two years be done.

There, she told herself. You’ve taken control of your life.

Remember to stop at Hy-Vee on the way home for cream and everything will be fine.

Marian lifted the saucepan off the burner just as the sugar and water turned golden. She drizzled the syrup into her favorite baking dish for custard and coated the inside carefully. Hemma loved Marian’s flan, and the key was in the caramel.

Marian always brought dessert because Hemma loved sweets. She said she could avoid most other temptations, knowing every week she’d get to sample one of Marian’s delicacies.

That first dinner, the first time they’d invited her over after she’d moved in next door ... the very first dinner had set the pattern of the last seven years. Hemma loved sweets, and Marian loved Hemma’s smile. She’d do anything for it.

Cracking eggs into her favorite mixing bowl made her briefly wonder how many eggs she’d broken over the years for Hemma’s sweet tooth. However many it was, it was worth it.

She beat the eggs absent-mindedly. When making dessert for their dinners together she always relived the day six years ago she had realized she was in love with Hemma. It was a cherished memory, one that comforted her while she worked alone in her kitchen.

They’d been to an estate sale out near the Amana Colonies, spending hours sorting through boxes looking for treasure. Amy had no patience for it, so she’d stayed home and was warming up the grill for their return.

“Here,” Hemma had said. “This is you.”

Marian looked down at the slender book with the slightly stained cover. “
Francie to the Rescue
?”

Hemma had her head back under a table, sorting through boxes.

“For your collection.”

“I have a collection?”

Hemma sat back on her haunches to laugh at Marian. “You don’t realize you have a collection of girl books?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. I just like them. I don’t know this series.”

“Hey—look at this! There’s a whole box!” Hemma hauled the container out from under the table. “Those girls who fly their airplanes about the country looking for adventures? Those books are here.”

It was treasure of the first order. Marian dropped to the floor next to Hemma. “Wow. I wonder if I can afford them?” Hemma put her hand briefly on top of Marian’s. “How can you
not
afford them? This is you.”

She blinked into Hemma’s eyes, those startling black eyes. She knows me, Marian thought. She looks at me, and knows me.

She studied the contents of the box, aware that she was blushing as she always did over the slightest thing. Hemma was chattering about the quality of the books, which was fair for 1920 editions. All Marian could think about was how much she wanted to kiss Hemma.

In something of a daze, she bought the lot for less than she thought. At home, Hemma excitedly helped her arrange them in order of publication. Her dining room table was covered.

“This is a collection. You can’t deny it. The Nancy Drews are going to fill up what’s left of the shelf in your study. You’re going to need a new bookcase.”

Coming out of the kitchen, Marian paused with the two glasses of iced tea. She actually felt something tremble between her legs, a sensation so unexpected and sharp she had to set the glasses down on the side bar. Hemma stood with her back to Marian, hands on her jean-clad hips, and all Marian wanted to do was put her arms around Hemma from behind.

Put her arms around her and touch. Soft, womanly stomach, lush breasts, angular shoulders ... she wanted to bury her face in the dark twist of hair at the nape of Hemma’s neck, and kiss her shoulders, turn her around and kiss her mouth. Fall to the floor and be kissed.

She knew her face was flaming red.

Hormones, she thought. Too long since Carrie. Carrie and she had been only one night, too, shortly after Marian had moved to Iowa City from Chicago. Before that ... too long. These waves of feeling for Hemma are just lust, she told herself vehemently, and you need to get over it or you’ll lose her as a friend.

She watched Hemma skip across her backyard to be folded into Amy’s arms. All through their outdoor dinner under the arbor they’d all built together earlier in the summer, Marian wondered if she had a chance, but the truth was undeniable. Everything Hemma was became
more
whenever she looked at Amy. Hemma without Amy would not be the Hemma she was falling in love with. Separately, they were complete women and distinct in their personalities. When they sat side-by-side it was as if they blurred around their edges.

Falling in love—she didn’t know the feeling until it washed over her like the scent of Hemma’s beloved climbing jasmine, heady and inescapable. She wanted somehow to be what Amy was to Hemma, to be the one who made her glow with joy. But she had to face facts.

Amy was everything Hemma loved. Hemma had a Ph.D., and so did Amy, and they both taught at the university. Her own master’s in history had prepared her for a career as a data entry clerk.

“That’s really what you ought to do.” Hemma passed her the platter of ribs.

“Sorry, I was thinking about the books and where I’ll put them,” Marian lied. Would she ever stop blushing?

“You could put a bookcase at the top of the stairs,” Amy suggested. “I know a couple of women who build them, if you wanted something custom-sized.”

“Thanks, I’ll think about it.” Though Marian had no idea how a professor of rhetoric got around so much, Amy always knew somebody who could build, fix, create, drywall, plan, plumb or hammer whatever needed it. Her best friend Ellie was kept pretty busy moonlighting with plumbing jobs just from Amy’s word-of-mouth refer-rals.

“Anyway,” Hemma continued, “you’re wasted doing data entry for the med center. I know it pays decent enough.”

“It’s not like I can do anything with my history master’s. I really don’t want a Ph.D. Teaching’s not my thing, anyway. I don’t have the patience.”

“Librarian—you should be a librarian. You’d get to read books all day.”

Amy chortled. “I don’t think it works that way, my love. Have you ever seen a librarian actually reading?”

Marian said slowly, “I’ve rarely seen librarians with an open book.” The table seemed to shimmer in the afternoon sunlight.

Something is happening, she thought, as if the world just took a left turn. Common sense cautioned that the career path for a librarian was surely a dead end professionally and monetarily. But data entry wasn’t?

“You should look into it.” Hemma relieved Marian of the basket of cornbread they’d picked up at their favorite Amana Colony bakery. “Though it occurs to me that you’d be Marian the Librarian from River City.”

Marian felt as if a breeze would blow her away. “Maybe I should watch the musical again so I’m prepared for the jokes.”

“How about tonight?”

Amy groaned. “We watched that insipid Lifetime movie last week. I don’t think I can take
The Music Man
this week.” Hemma touched her arm and Marian thought she would melt.

Melt not from the heat, but from the tenderness. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve always hung out at the library. I love books, I love
finding
books. It always seemed like whatever I could dream I could find at the library. And ever since I was a girl I thought librarians were the guardians of all the mysteries of time. It never occurred to me ...” She had to be crimson by now, but Hemma was smiling at her so encouragingly. “What never occurred to you?”

“That I could be one of the guardians.”

Hemma arched an eyebrow and for one of those rare moments over the course of the last seven years, the universe had seemed made up of just the two of them. “This is you.” All these years later, Marian had to acknowledge, Hemma still saw her for who she was.

She checked the doneness of the custard and inhaled the rich, creamy aroma. Hemma’s favorite dessert was perfect to celebrate the day Marian had decided to go all the way with her career as a librarian.

An M.L.S. combined with her hitherto useless history degree and her years of experience could net her a job in collection development and perhaps eventually the management of a specialized historical collection. Even being a library manager—administrative headaches and all—had a certain appeal.

She really would be a guardian then, a keeper of dreams. Hemma had shown her that she could have that future. It was a gift and she would always love Hemma for it.

“What
is
that? It smells divine!” Hemma took the covered pan from Marian and sniffed again. “Flan?”

“Chocolate almond flan, and still warm the way you like it.”

“You are the most wonderful woman.” Hemma hurried to the kitchen. “The pasties are just about done.”

“Pasties!” Marian worried abruptly that she’d forgotten it was a special occasion. Pasties were her favorite, her absolute favorite.

Amy came skipping down the stairs. “Heya. And hamburger milk gravy.”

“Oh, what have I done to deserve this?”

Amy skittered to a stop halfway across the living room. “Forgot something. I’ll be right back down.” Marian continued through the house to the kitchen.

Hemma was flushed as she lifted a cookie sheet from the oven.

“They’re done.”

“Done and perfect,” Marian breathed. The half-moon pockets were golden on top and brown at the edges. The savory aroma of shredded beef, onions and potatoes made her feel a bit faint. “My pie crust will never be as good as yours no matter how much you try to teach me.”

Hemma’s back was to her when she answered. “You make great pies.”

“They’ll never beat yours. I can’t wait until the berries come in this summer. I’ll pick all you want.” She got herself a glass of water.

When she turned back she intercepted a strange look between Hemma and Amy.

Not sure what was up with her friends, Marian held back her announcement until they were all at the table. Over a plate loaded with a pasty, gravy, steamed broccoli and corn-on-the-cob, she said,

“I’m going to get my M.L.S.”

Amy grinned in mid-chew. “Brava, girlfriend!” Hemma paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Honey, that’s
wonderful
. When did you decide?”

“Yesterday, when my period wouldn’t start.”

“Are you sure large life decisions should be made by hormones?” Amy licked butter off her fingers.

“I’ve had plenty of non-hormonal time to think it through.” Marian frowned. “Now I’m not sure why I waited so long. I’d rather be done now than just beginning.”

“You’re a look-before-you-leap girl. It’s exactly what you need to do.” Hemma salted her corn. “It’s important to take professional aspirations ... seriously.”

Amy excused herself for another beer.

“It’s thanks to you, you know.” Marian wanted to say more. She wanted to say there had never been anyone else in her life who had reached inside her and flipped on the poise, aspiration and determi-nation the way that Hemma had.

“You’d have gotten there on your own.”

“The pasties are incredible, thank you. What a treat.” Hemma sipped her water. Quietly, she said, “I treasure your friendship, Marian.”

Amy slid back into her chair. “We both do.” Neither of them would meet her gaze. Marian didn’t know what to think. She opened her mouth to ask, but the phone rang and Hemma hurried off to answer it.

She scraped broccoli remains into the composter while she worried that she had somehow made them nervous. Did they suspect how she felt about Hemma? Had they caught her spying on them?

They’d had seconds of the warm flan and moved to the living room when Marian couldn’t stand it any longer. “Something’s up. What is it?”

To her shock, Hemma’s face crumpled in distress. Amy patted her partner’s knee and said, “This is really hard. The hardest part.”

“I don’t understand.” They knew. She’d given herself away somehow. She wanted to say how sorry she was, how embarrassed and sad, and how she 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.