Songs without Words (41 page)

Harper knew she should probably apologize, but she was still focused on the reason she was there. “I’ve come for Chelsea,” she said firmly.

Mary stared, looking confused, then approached her in her bare feet.“Harper,” she said, “let’s go inside and have a chat. Diana doesn’t need to be a part of this discussion.” She looked at the woman in the gazebo, who had taken a seat on the chaise lounge and was now coolly watching them. “I’ll be back momentarily. Don’t forget where we were.”

Mary extended a hand, inviting Harper to go into the house. When they reached the sunroom, she dropped gracefully into a white wicker chair.

“So where is she?” Harper said.

“You’re extremely demanding tonight,” Mary said. “And extremely rude. Sit down and calm down. Can I get you a drink?”

Harper shook her head. She tried to maintain her anger, but something about Mary’s demeanor, which was solicitous and inoffensive, was sapping it from her. She took the seat Mary indicated and the fight drained out of her. She felt as she always had, that Mary was invincible, a force that couldn’t be opposed. She had no more defense against her than Chelsea did.

A small, contented smile appeared on Mary’s face as she realized that she had gained the upper hand. The breeze from the overhead fan played capriciously with the silver shock of hair on her forehead. From a decanter on the table between them, she poured herself a glass of golden brown liquor.

“You know, Harper,” she said, “these impromptu visits of yours are getting on my nerves. I believe that I’m going to have to insist that you wait for an invitation before coming to visit.” She tasted her drink, then turned a calm gaze toward Harper. “So, why are you here? What’s gotten you all riled up?”

“I want Chelsea,” Harper said.

“Yes, so you said, but what does that have to do with me?”

“Isn’t she here?”

Mary shook her head matter-of-factly. “Why would she be here?”

“I heard your message on her phone, begging her to come back to you.”

“Begging?” objected Mary. “Oh, please, that just isn’t the right word at all. Cajoling, perhaps.”

“I don’t care what you call it!” Harper was exasperated and on the verge of losing control.

“Please, Harper,” Mary said softly. Despite the circumstances, her voice had a mysterious soothing effect on Harper. “Okay, so you heard one of my messages on her phone. So what?”

“
One
of your messages?”

Mary shrugged. “There have been a few. There are times, when I’m here alone, that I feel like having friendly company. It’s a weakness of mine. I can’t stand being alone.”

Oh, God!
thought Harper.
This has been going on all along. She’s been playing with poor Chelsea whenever she feels like it, on a whim, just to prove that she can.
She lowered her head in defeat, thinking,
I can’t be a part of this
.

“You don’t trust her, do you?” Mary said, standing in front of her, both hands around her glass.

Harper looked up, confused.

“You have no faith,” Mary persisted.

“I don’t understand.”

“Just because I’ve called her doesn’t mean she’s come.” Mary’s expression was one of compassion.

“You mean...?” Harper asked.

“As much as it irks me to admit it, Chelsea belongs to you, Harper. She’s committed to you. Oh, my God, dare I say it—she’s in love with you. She’s been inconsolably in love with you for the last two years.” Mary raised her glass to Harper, as in a toast, and took a swallow. “Not that you deserve it, for here you are, suspecting her of betrayal.”

“Really?” Harper felt the heaviness in her heart lifting.

“Really. She hasn’t been a barrel of laughs for the last couple of years. I’ve wondered why, sometimes, she ever bothered to come back to me. Well, I guess I know why. She’s serious about her commitments. She wanted to honor her vows to me.”

“You mean, you haven’t seen her at all? She hasn’t responded?” “Oh, she
has
responded. She called me two days ago and told me to quit leaving such ludicrous messages on her answering machine. I was offended. I thought my messages were rather entertaining. Chelsea used to swoon when I quoted poetry. But I’m afraid she doesn’t find me as amusing as she once did. She’s grown up and her sense of humor has been tempered a bit by life.”

Harper felt suddenly buoyant. “So she really doesn’t love you anymore?”

“You needn’t look quite so overjoyed. And I wouldn’t go that far. That girl will always love me. But she isn’t
in
love with me anymore. She’s in love with you. And although she will always have a prominent place in my heart, little birds gotta fly.” Mary waved one of her hands in imitation of a bird’s wing.

Harper sat silently for a moment. She realized she still didn’t know Mary’s position.

“And you?” she asked. “Do you love her?”

“Of course I do. Chelsea’s very special to me. She always will be. I hope she’ll get over being hurt, eventually, and we can have some sort of association again.” Mary cast a conciliatory glance at Harper. “Okay, a platonic one if necessary.”

She sat down again and looked at Harper with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “I’m afraid I just couldn’t be what she wanted me to be. I tried. I’ve never tried for anyone else. She wanted to change me. How hopeless is that?”

She looked resigned. “You know, Harper, I’m a child of the Sixties. My generation ushered in the sexual revolution and the feminist movement before you were even born. To be a lesbian back then was a radical position. It was a political stance, not just a personal one. We rejected everything that represented the establishment, and that included their whole concept of love, the whole ‘one man, one woman’ image of sexuality. My lifestyle has always reflected that unconventionality. I never wanted to be tied down to one person or to have kids or live inside four walls. I wanted to be the free, independent woman that my generation fought to make space for in this society. You’ve read all the literature. Even if you didn’t live it, you know what I’m talking about.” “Yes, I know,” Harper said slowly, realizing that Mary was describing the lifestyle that she had always admired and sought for herself.

“I never wanted a
relationship
,” Mary said, emphasizing the word with distaste. “I’m not that kind of person. Chelsea somehow got through my defenses. She’s an exceptional girl.” Mary smiled to herself. “But what she wanted wasn’t something I had in me.”

So that was it, thought Harper. Chelsea loved in the most traditional way there was. That was how she loved Harper too, and for that realization, Harper was ecstatic. She leapt to her feet.

“Harper,” Mary warned, her voice suddenly stern, “she deserves someone who will never falter. Do you know what I mean?”

Harper nodded. “Yes, I understand.” What she understood at that moment was a great deal more than she could say.

As Harper turned to leave, her phone rang. It was Chelsea’s cell. She answered immediately. Mary sat back in her chair and sipped her drink, looking composed and satisfied.

“Where are you?” Chelsea asked. “I got your message that you were home, but I’ve been there and now I’m at my place, but you’re not here either. I’m wondering if we’re passing each other on the street, you know. That damned faculty meeting ran long or I’d already be lying naked in your arms with a smile on my face.”

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes,” Harper said breathlessly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Mary rolled her eyes.

“Me too,” Chelsea said.

Harper pushed her phone into her pocket. “I’m sorry,” she said to Mary. “Sorry for intruding and for being such an idiot.”

“Well,” said Mary nonchalantly, “you can’t really help that, can you, dear?” Harper laughed and noted with gratitude that Mary’s smile contained genuine affection.

“By the way, Harper,” Mary said, “did you ever get that lovely niece of yours back to her parents?”

“Oh, yes, I did. I’ve just returned, in fact. But I don’t believe you’ve seen the last of her. I think she’s going to be back next year to go to college.”

“Really? That will be interesting. I’ll definitely look forward to that.”

“I’ll let myself out,” Harper said.

“Yes, you do that, and I shall return to my entertainment. And please, Harper, don’t drop in on me again, okay? Not without calling first.”

Chapter 35

WINTER

The stairs creaked under Harper’s feet as she climbed to the second floor of another unique old house encircled by stately oaks, a scrubby lawn and a narrow, shady street in the neighborhood surrounding the university. The banister was polished wood, worn dull in places by many grasping hands. Below her lay the front room with its hardwood floors, refurbished fireplace and large unadorned windows letting in refracted heat and plenty of light. The real estate agent was downstairs turning on lights and opening blinds, dispelling any hint of gloom. Although it had warmed up considerably outside, the chill of morning still lingered in the vacant rooms.

This was the third house that they had seen today, but already Harper felt differently about it. From the moment she stepped up to the front porch with its weathered railings and overgrown wisteria vine, she could easily imagine sitting there contentedly on a summer evening. It reminded her of the porch behind her parents’ home. As she reached the second-floor landing, Chelsea poked her head out of a room along the hallway, grinning, and said, “Check out the master bedroom.”

Harper followed her into a spacious room with windows overlooking the backyard. She admired the wainscoting and the light fixture, a gaudy old thing that looked like it might be original. The master bath had been remodeled and modernized, but someone had taken care to preserve the antique details so it didn’t look out of place in this turn-of-the-century house.

“I’ve just got a feeling about this one,” Harper said.

“A feeling?” Chelsea laughed. “Of course you do.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Yes, I do. But, let’s be practical for a second. It needs some work, which means money. If we could talk the price down a bit, that would help. We ought to be able to get some reduction just for the dry rot.”

“Dry rot?” Harper asked, perplexed.

“Around the downstairs windows. They must be leaking. Probably should be replaced. You didn’t notice the dry rot, did you?”

Harper shook her head.

Chelsea smiled her crooked smile and said, “Or the rain gutters, rusted through in several places. Or the fact that a couple of the doors are warped and won’t actually shut.”

“It’s a mess,” Harper said, suddenly disheartened.

“No more than the others we’ve looked at. It’s an old house. There are going to be things like that. It just needs some attention.” Chelsea hooked her hair behind her ear as she looked critically along the ceiling. “However, on the positive side, there are plenty of rooms to spread out in, and that sunny room in the back is just right for your music room. An ideal workspace for an aspiring composer, don’t you think?”

Harper just smiled. She had written only one piece of original music so far, the background for the film about her mother, which Chelsea, with her limited musical knowledge and slight prejudice, had pronounced a “magnum opus.” Harper herself thought it wasn’t half bad. If Chelsea’s aspirations for her musical career were any indication of the future, there might be more such compositions on the horizon. And that would be fine with Harper. She was also considering teaching music. Her mind kept returning to Wilona’s grandson, Andrew, and the possibility that there were ways that she could share her musical gifts that would really make a difference in people’s lives. Now that the semester was in full swing, though, she hadn’t had much time to devote to music, other than the symphony. Still, she thought, with a space as inviting as that delightful music room, she might be able to make the time. It would even be possible to teach out of her home, something that was out of the question in her current house, especially now that Chelsea had moved in.