Far from the World We Know: A Lesbian Romance Novel Read online

  “I’m sure it will be wonderful, honey,” I say, and hold her a little closer. Toby has already wandered off toward the shed. Scott and Megan arrive and park their car behind mine and, as soon as she gets a whiff of her mom being around, Emma shakes herself free from my hug, and rushes toward Megan.

  Fifteen minutes later, we sit down to dinner, which is never a quiet affair with three children at the table. Scott occupies himself with feeding Emma, who’s only just turned three, while Megan fusses over the boys.

  “How much did grandpa spoil you this afternoon?” she asks Max.

  “I do no such thing,” our dad says, though we all know it’s a lie. He’s always sneaking the boys candy when no one’s looking, against Megan’s explicit request to stop. “And when I do give them something, I make them work for it first. Toby helped me feed the cattle today. He’s going to grow up one fine rancher.” Dad holds up his hand for Toby to slap a high-five against.

  “So will I,” Max interjects.

  “You will become the star quarterback of the high school football team,” Scott says. “You’d better start practicing.”

  Max sits there beaming, in awe of his dad, the football coach, though he’s only been playing soccer so far.

  “What will I become?” Emma asks with a small voice.

  “Anything you want, my little angel,” Mom says. “But as far as I’m concerned, you’d make an excellent President of the United States.” It’s the exact same thing she used to say to Megan and me when we were little. However after college, which we attended together, both my sister and I couldn’t wait to get back to this town everyone always wants to get out of.

  We could never stand to be away from Earl and Maura Douglas for too long. Megan even lured Scott here to take a non-prestigious job coaching high school. She never dreamed of starting her family anywhere else but here. And me… I gladly took the opportunity to move back into my old bedroom. I tried moving out once, years ago, to live with a woman in Houston, but not only could I not get used to city life, the relationship didn’t exactly meet my expectations either.

  So, here I am, still living with my parents on the cusp of 40. I’m not unhappy, but, somewhere deep inside, I do feel a clock ticking. Not a biological one—I’m more than content being an aunt to the three rascals sitting across from me. But I’m so ready for true love, I can practically feel the desire for it pulse in my veins. It’s in my breath when I inhale and on the back of my eyelids when I close my eyes at night. That’s why, every time I meet an attractive woman I even remotely suspect of being a lesbian, my heart does a crazy pitter-patter. And that’s how I know I will go knocking on Laura’s door one of these days.

  CHAPTER THREE

  LAURA

  I glare at my computer screen. At the image that is not coming together. My work has suffered since Tracy’s death. Where I used to be able to draw a straight line with just a quick flick of my wrist, when I try now, all I get is a line shaken to the core—like me. I try again with the same result and let my pen drop onto the drawing tablet. But I have no choice but to finish this tonight. The client is waiting. One of the few who genuinely didn’t mind my relocation from Chicago to Texas. Whereas it is true that I can work from anywhere, most people like to discuss their artwork with the designer in person before trusting them to actually do the job. My portfolio is suffering.

  I sigh with exasperation. My portfolio is not alone. My hand is suffering. My bank account is suffering—though it helps that I live rent-free these days. I should have actually taken the woman from the newspaper up on her offer of work. I cast a quick glance at the card that I’ve shoved to the side of my desk. If only I were a better businesswoman, better at selling myself and my services—but I’m old-fashioned, and I like to let my work speak for itself.

  “Right,” I say to no one in particular. I know what to do. Sometimes all I can bear are a simple sketch pad and a real pencil in my hands. I grab them from the desk, my gaze drifting to the business card again—the words The Nelson Ledger displayed in a ridiculously out-of-date font—and head for the door. Just outside the house, there’s an ancient, massive oak tree where robins tend to flock. If I can draw a live bird, I’ll be able to cobble together that illustration of ‘an arty kind of lion, very stylized’ according to the client’s brief.

  Just as I’m about to open the door, someone knocks on it. I’m so startled that I drop my pencil and sketch pad on the floor. I quietly pick them up, hoping that whoever’s there will go away. There goes my chance for drawing outside. I haven’t had any visitors here and I have no earthly idea who it could possibly be. If anything was up with Aunt Milly, someone from Windsor Oaks would call me. Or perhaps it’s an old acquaintance of my aunt’s who doesn’t know she doesn’t live here anymore. If so, I’d better help them and point them in the direction of the nursing home.

  Come on, Laura, I say to myself inside my head. How bad can this possibly be? This is not Chicago, but a small town where people still come knocking on each other’s door. With that, I open the front door.

  It’s her. The woman from the store.

  “Hi, er, Laura. Remember me? Tess,” the woman says. She rubs her palms on her ochre pants. “Sorry to bother you at home, but I didn’t have any other way of contacting you.”

  My protective instincts take over immediately and what runs through my head is: don’t let her in. Under no circumstances let her through the door. It’s stronger than myself. My wounds are still too raw. And how does she even know where I live?

  Tess fills in the silence that falls. Her Texan accent is very pronounced when she says, “I was wondering if you’d be interested in a feature in The Nelson Ledger. Well, I say feature, but I actually mean just a few sentences introducing yourself and your business.” Her gaze drops to my hands. “Oh, were you drawing? A drawing would be an excellent accompaniment to the article.”

  What is this woman babbling about? And why is she after me? Maybe she knows, I think. Maybe she recognized my face from the news. After all, she runs a local gazette, so it stands to reason she would follow national news as well. I tried to minimize coverage about what happened as much as I could, but reporters will stop at nothing these days. And that’s what this woman is. A reporter, out for a scoop.

  “No. I’m sorry. I’m really not interested in that,” I say, my voice stern—I’ve worked on my tone of voice a lot since the accident. I can state things firmly now, with real meaning behind them. It helps me feel less powerless.

  “Oh.” Tess slants her head. “Are you sure? It’d be a good way to get to know some people. We’re a real friendly bunch, you know?” She gives me a wide smile that comes across as totally fake.

  “I can tell.” I start to close the door. “Please don’t bother me again.” I close the door another inch.

  “Please, Laura, wait!” Tess yells. “I’m screwing up again. Going about this all wrong. I’m out here kicking myself, I swear.”

  It’s hard to ignore the pleading tone in her voice, so I re-open the door a fraction. “What do you want from me?” I ask. I glare at her with just my head sticking out from behind the door, using it as my shield.

  She inhales deeply, then loudly blows air through her nostrils. “I’ve just calmed myself down. Permission to start this encounter anew?” She peers at me from under her long lashes.

  “Fine.” I shrug. I must admit to being a tad amused by her tenacity. There’s also this vibe coming off her that I can’t describe—like there’s something intrinsically harmless about her.

  “Here I am trying to make you feel welcome while accomplishing the exact opposite. My deepest apologies,” she says. “I usually have my head screwed on my shoulders more firmly.” She breaks out into a smile. “No more talk about The Ledger, I promise. I guess I just wanted to apologize for cornering you at the store the other day. I have a bit of a, er, forward personality.” She stands there grinning, clasping her hands together at the waist. “But despite my screw-up, I enjoyed meetin
g you the other day. I guess that’s all.”

  “Apology accepted,” I say, but make no moves to open the door further.

  “Would you like to grab a coffee sometime?” Tess asks with her eyebrows raised. “I can give you all the information you need to know about this town.”

  I weigh my options, and start to, perhaps, get a whiff of what this is really about. Could she be? And if she is a lesbian like me, should I not run for the nearest hill and avoid her altogether? “Look, Tess,” I begin.

  She stops me and holds up her hands in supplication. “No need to reply now. Think about it. You have my number.” She takes a step back, for which I’m grateful. “Okay?” She can’t help being pushy though.

  “Yeah. Sure, I’ll think about it.”

  “Thank you.” Instead of waving goodbye, she holds one hand up to her ear and makes the universal ‘call me’ sign. Forward isn’t strong enough a word to describe this woman’s personality.

  I don’t close the door immediately, trying to show a modicum of politeness. But I already know that there is no way I’m going for coffee with Tess Douglas. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll get rid of that business card sitting on my desk straight away. What does she think? Because we’re both lesbians we must have coffee? What is this? The eighties?

  Maybe in Nelson, Texas, it is.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TESS

  I examine The Nelson Ledger’s logo again. Even its off-green color is offensive to me now, after all these years of being forced to look at it. I could just bite the bullet and ask Ivan, the guy who’s done all Ledger graphics for two decades, to come up with something new and fresh. Yeah right. He might be able to come up with something new, but it’ll never be fresh. And The Ledger needs something fresh. On the website, which I put together myself—teaching myself WordPress in the process—it just looks so off. It makes TNL look so hopelessly old-fashioned.

  I’ve tried my hand at designing a new house style myself, but I had to admit defeat depressingly quickly. I don’t have the skill for it. I just know what’s wrong and what will work. I can dream up a concept—I have many written down in a stashed-away notebook—but I can’t bring it into reality myself. I need an artist for that.

  The thumping of running footsteps outside pulls me out of my dreams for a new Ledger logo. The sound immediately makes my heartbeat pick up speed. Could it be her? It’s been more than a week since I made a fool of myself outside of Laura’s front door, which, I have concluded, was so ghastly it made her change her running route so as not to have to pass by my office anymore.

  I rush out of my chair and pull the front door open. It’s her. “Laura,” I yell, without giving it any further thought.

  She’s a few houses farther already, but she stops and turns around.

  “Hey.” I wave. I shouldn’t be so happy to catch a glimpse of her, I think. I’m like a puppy whose owner has returned after weeks of absence.

  “Hi,” Laura says while catching her breath, then jogs in my direction. She’s dressed in a tiny pair of running shorts—the professional kind, I think—and a loose fitting, faded t-shirt.

  “Have you thought about my humble invitation to share a cup of coffee with me?” She must think I’m shameless for not knowing when to stop, but, gosh dang, I’m going to keep on trying with her.

  “I have.” Laura gives me a subtle smile. “I’ve even visited The Nelson Ledger’s website, and I see what you mean.”

  My heart whoops inside my chest. I really should tone it down. What is wrong with me? Though I know exactly what’s wrong with me. It’s been far too long since I last met someone who as much as sparked my interest. “You have?” My voice comes out like a jubilant cheer. “Do you have time to meet sometime this week?” I point at the coffee shop across the street. “Mary in there brews the most excellent cup of coffee.”

  “If she brews tea as well, I could be persuaded.” Laura still stands more than an arm’s length away from me.

  I chuckle. “Of course. Any kind you like.”

  “Oh really? Does she have Yunnan pu-ehr?” Laura asks.

  I burst out in too exuberant laughter. “I honestly haven’t a clue.”

  “How about tomorrow before lunch? Say eleven?” Laura asks.

  “I’ll be there with bells on.” I can’t make my lips stop smiling.

  “Okay. See you then.” Laura gives a quick nod, turns around, and starts running again. She has a graceful stride, as though she’s floating over the sidewalk. I do wonder what made her change her mind.

  As soon as I go inside I call Megan. Before she can even say hello, I blurt out, “I have a coffee date with Laura tomorrow at eleven.”

  “That’s great news, sis,” Megan says. “Good to hear your charm isn’t entirely dwarfed by your goofiness.” In the background, I hear Toby and Max yelling at each other.

  “I’m coming over later, okay? You need to give me detailed instructions on what to wear and how to behave.”

  “I can pick out a dress for you, hon,” Megan says, “but no matter how much I tell you to be calm and collected, I know not even the words of the sibling you shared a womb with are strong enough to actually make you behave that way.”

  ✶ ✶ ✶

  I’m at Mary’s Café at ten thirty just so that I can arrange The Ledger’s promotional materials in a good way and—ah, who the heck am I kidding? I was falling apart with nerves at the office, kept checking my reflection in the mirror, and couldn’t keep my eyes off my watch. As luck would have it, I actually had a meeting scheduled this morning with a freelancer who regularly contributes articles to The Ledger about the surrounding towns, but I was quick to postpone that.

  Now I sit here drinking too much coffee, and I’m already such a naturally hyped-up person. Megan told me to take at least five deep breaths—in through the nose, out through the mouth—before meeting Laura, so I do that. “Don’t think about anything,” Megan said. “Focus only on your breathing.” I try but find it to be the worst advice ever. As I inhale and exhale deeply, I find it impossible to clear my mind of thoughts. There’s always something jumping in. A promise I made to call back the mayor’s secretary about a feature. Something Megan said years ago about identical twins with identity issues. The tiny smile on Laura’s face when she agreed to meet me here.

  “Are you feeling unwell?” A voice comes from behind me. “Your breathing seems labored.”

  I nearly jump out of my seat, that’s how much Laura’s voice startles me. She’s at least fifteen minutes early. “I was, er, meditating,” I quickly say, hoping my cheeks won’t flush bright red.

  “Good for you,” Laura says. I don’t have to remember the smile she shot me yesterday because I’m looking straight at it. “I’m going to get a cup of tea. Can I get you anything?”

  “Sure. I could do with another cappuccino. Double shot. Mary knows.” My self-confidence is returning and I’m able to grin widely at Laura.

  She nods and heads to the counter. She’s dressed in a pair of jeans, a pristine white t-shirt of the type you can get at any chain store for under $5, and that brand new leather jacket I saw her wearing at the supermarket. She didn’t dress up then. Maybe she doesn’t do dressing up. I’ve certainly met a lesbian or two who refuse to cater to the male gaze by doing so and who consider wearing anything else than jeans a compromise they’re unwilling to make.

  “Mary said she’ll bring our beverages right over.” Laura sits next to me. “Do you meditate often? It’s part of my morning ritual these days. I find it a great help.”

  “No… My sister told me to take a few deep breaths to curb the worst of my full-on ways,” I blurt, as I mentally kick myself for never getting the hang of weighing my words before speaking them.

  “Your sister? Does she tell you that before every meeting?” Laura asks.

  Our eyes meet and I burst into a nervous giggle. Then I shake my head. “No, she doesn’t.”

  “Here you go, ladies.” Mary deposits a cup of t
ea and a cup of coffee on the table. “Enjoy.” She winks at me, which doesn’t help with keeping myself calm.

  “Which kind did you get?” I try to change the subject, because I don’t know anything about meditation—though I make a mental note to do some research on the topic later—and I don’t want to delve deeper into the reason Megan made me breathe so heavily in public.

  “Just green jasmine.” Laura holds her cup up to her mouth and blows on the hot liquid.

  “Not a coffee girl?”

  “Nope. No coffee, no dairy, and no alcohol.”

  My eyes grow wide, then I decide to counter. “Tea has caffeine too.”

  “True, but it has a different effect on the body. The double shot you ordered is going to hit you straight away, whereas this cup of tea is going to have a slow, more lingering effect. Plus, green tea has enough nutritional benefits to cancel out the effect of the caffeine.” She puts her cup down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lecture you. I guess I’m a little nervous too. This is my first time actually meeting up with someone since I arrived in Nelson.”

  “When did you arrive?” Inwardly, I sigh with relief that Laura is nervous too.

  “About four weeks ago. I helped my aunt move into Windsor Oaks and now I’m living in her old house. I’m slowly clearing it out. I’m the only family she has left.”

  “That’s very nice of you.” I sip from my coffee and await the hit to my nervous system Laura predicted earlier.

  Laura shrugs. “I needed a change of scenery.”

  I sense a reluctance to talk more about that and I’m eager to keep the conversation going. “I know I said it before, but welcome to Nelson. There aren’t that many of us, but we do love the community spirit. Apart from four years of college in Austin, I’ve lived here my entire life.”

  “That’s commitment.” Laura sinks her teeth into her bottom lip for an instant.

  “When someone hassles me about it, I always say I don’t need a wife because I’m married to Nelson.” I pull my shoulders up. “Works every time.”