Dark Dreamer (6 page)

Close to her ear, a voice said, “Phoebe. It’s me. No one’s going to hurt you.”

The grip on her wrists eased and Phoebe was suddenly aware of warm breath on her cheek. She knew that voice. Opening her eyes, she blinked up into the unearthly half-light of the storm.

“Rowe,” she whispered and burst into tears.

*

Some time later, at the Temples’ house, Rowe knocked on Phoebe’s bathroom door and asked, “Everything okay?”

“Come in.” Phoebe’s voice was just audible.

Rowe vacillated. The idea of being in the same room while her neighbor took a bath would have thrilled her a day ago, but that was before the black eye. It seemed pretty obvious that Phoebe had some kind of mental health problem. Had she forgotten to medicate while her sister was away? Rowe wondered how to raise the subject without getting punched again. Cagily, she entered the room but lingered close to the door in case Phoebe suddenly forgot who she was. Her assailant was lounging in a clawfoot tub, bath foam up to her armpits.

“Oh, God.” She gazed up at Rowe. “Your eye. Did you find that ice pack in the freezer?”

“Yep. Just giving it a break. It’s so numb it hurts, if you know what I mean.”

Phoebe looked mortified. Worse still, with her hair up in a knot, tied with a narrow violet ribbon, and her vulnerable neck and shoulders exposed, she was hauntingly, achingly beautiful.

In a voice husky from sobs, she said, “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

Rowe took a few cautious steps into the room. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’m not sure where to start.” Head tilted back, Phoebe lifted a sponge full of hot water and slowly squeezed it over her throat.

The sensuous ritual transfixed Rowe for several long seconds, and a strangled whimper rose from her throat. For one crazy moment she saw herself walking over there, taking the sponge from Phoebe’s hands, and tenderly bathing her. Not one of her brightest ideas. Groping for some traction on common sense, she compelled her thoughts back to the knotty matter of her neighbor’s mental health.

It was a delicate subject and none of her business, but the least she could do was ask a few diplomatic questions so she could assess the situation and maybe call the sister if need be. What if Phoebe was a danger to herself? Like most people on medication for their mental health, she probably didn’t want to make embarrassing disclosures to a stranger.

Trying to let her know it was no big deal if she was taking happy pills, Rowe said in an offhand manner, “Some prescription drugs have pretty strange side effects, especially if they’re not used exactly as directed. Could it be something like that?”

Phoebe looked at her squarely. “Is that a diplomatic way of asking me if I missed my meds?”

“Subtle, huh?”

“Don’t give up your day job to act in art-house movies.”

Rowe laughed, then groaned. “Jesus, that hurts my face.”

“Come closer.” Phoebe stretched out a fine-boned hand. “I won’t hit you.”

Rowe tried not to notice that the foam was disappearing. Phoebe’s long, delicate fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, sparking a craving so raw that she stopped breathing for several noisy heartbeats. The last time she’d felt like this was sitting across the dinner table from Marion Cargill, watching her flirt with her food and every man in the room, and knowing she could never have her. Rowe had realized in that moment that Marion knew exactly how desperately her husband’s gay friend wanted her and she enjoyed that knowledge. She would never leave her marriage for a woman. Like a cat walking away from a dead mouse, she would abandon Rowe as soon as the fun went out of torturing her.

“I want to tell you something, and you have to promise not to laugh at me,” Phoebe said.

“You got it.” Rowe reminded herself that straight women like Phoebe thought nothing of a situation like this. They took saunas together and exchanged gossip, wandering naked around changing rooms. Hell, even lesbians managed to share those kinds of experiences without assuming it had to be sexual.

Two perfect breasts parted the foam as Phoebe moved up the tub a little. They were small, high, and full, the nipples a surprising pale rose hue. Rowe prevented her gaze from traveling any lower. She had enough problems. It was getting late and the storm had dumped six inches of snow in short order. By morning it would probably be a foot or more. Having escorted Phoebe home, all she wanted to do now was make sure her neighbor was okay, then get herself and her dogs back to Dark Harbor Cottage before they were completely snowed in.

Her eyes found something to focus on. A star-shaped bottle of perfume sitting innocently on the tiled vanity counter, the source of that crazy-making fragrance, no doubt. Angel by Thierry Mugler.
The guy should be shot,
Rowe thought and returned her gaze to Phoebe. She couldn’t help herself. What right-thinking lesbian would study the décor with a gorgeous women sitting just a foot away, naked in a bath, and holding her hand?

“I don’t need medication.” Phoebe’s fingers slid from Rowe’s and she toyed with the bath sponge. “The thing is, I
see
things sometimes, that’s all. I know you don’t believe in that kind of thing. I never used to, myself. But I had a car accident a few years ago and injured my head. Since then, I’ve been like…
this
.” Wide, pleading eyes lifted to Rowe, begging her not to mock.

“When you say you see things, what exactly are you talking about?” Rowe asked. “Do you have premonitions?”

“No. Not usually. I see things that have already happened.”

“And you saw something in my kitchen?”

Emotions flitted across Phoebe’s mobile features. Anxiety. Sorrow. Resignation. “I’m certain something terrible has happened in your house.”

Rowe cast her mind back to Phoebe’s frantic departure from the kitchen, the naked terror on her face. Whatever delusions she suffered from, they were completely real to her at the time. “When you hit me, who did you think I was?”

“I don’t know.” Phoebe rested her hands on the sides of the tub. They were shaking. “I thought I was going to be killed. I have dreams, too, where I see things. But today was different.” She sounded winded, her breath congealed in her throat. “You think I’m crazy.”

“I’m not making any judgments. I believe you’re telling me the truth.”

Tears welled in Phoebe’s eyes. “You’re the first person I’ve told, except for my sister and…a man who helps me.”

So, she was seeing a shrink. Or was she talking about a lover—Vernell, the guy who had sent the pricey bouquet? Rowe wondered what was really going on with her state of mind and thought about the sister, Cara. She had formed an impression of an overprotective older sibling who was possibly envious of her younger sister’s looks. But recent events cast Cara in a different light. If Phoebe had a mental health problem, maybe her sister was just trying to find a way to keep her safe. Maybe that’s why they lived way the hell out here. Islesboro was not exactly a Mecca for attractive young women who wanted a social life.

Phoebe turned on the faucet, adding more hot water to her bath. “I didn’t choose this,” she said in a defeated voice.

A wave of sadness swept Rowe. Some of the most remarkable people in history had suffered debilitating mental illnesses. It had to be torture for those who were themselves enough to know their condition made a moveable feast of reality.

She touched Phoebe’s arm. “I know you didn’t. And we don’t need to talk about it anymore.”

“Do you still like me?”

“Of course.”

“You’re gay, aren’t you?” Phoebe slid down the tub again, submerging herself to her chin.

In the opaque water, Rowe could make out a narrow-hipped form, the stomach slightly rounded above a small dark vee. Phoebe was not voluptuous, not like Marion. She was lissome and fine-boned, almost boyish. Remembering she’d been asked a question, she dragged her eyes back to Phoebe’s face.

“Yes, I’m gay.”

“Me, too.”

Heat rushed from Rowe’s neck to her forehead, and her newly acquired instinct for self-preservation made her step back a pace. What was she supposed to say to this frank revelation?

Phoebe spared her the task. “I thought maybe you’d guessed.”

“Why?”

“Because you invited me to lunch.”

“We’re neighbors. I thought we could be friends, too.”

A rare, full-tilt smile lit Phoebe’s face. “I could use a friend. I’m not in the market for anything else.”

Was this what Rowe thought it was? One of those well-meaning brush-offs beautiful women deliver ahead of time?
Don’t hit on me and you won’t have to suffer rejection.
She should have been relieved, but nuts or not, Phoebe was the first non-straight woman she had been attracted to in a very long time. She was so thankful for that small mercy she felt like throwing caution to the winds and kissing her.

“Okay. We’ll be friends, then,” she said with plausible sincerity.

Only a fool would walk away because of a small matter like a psychotic episode and a black eye, she reasoned. Once Phoebe was taking the right meds, who knew what might be possible?

CHAPTER FOUR

“It’s over? Is that what you’re trying to say?” Cara licked salt off her lips and watched her willowy companion flounder for words.

Adrienne had a PhD in beating around the bush. “It’s not your fault,” she said, nervously rearranging the olives in her martini with a swizzle stick. “It’s about me.”

Huge surprise. “You don’t need to explain. I get that the distance is an issue.”

“I feel like I only exist on the periphery of your life.”

“I thought you wanted it that way. No complications, remember?”

Adrienne abandoned her cocktail ministrations to slide a hand over her short blond waves. The chunky red coral ring on her thumb drew Cara’s gaze. Adrienne wore gifts from her exes like trophies and liked to recount the lessons each woman represented to her. Cara wondered how their short-lived relationship would be described:
Cara and I got involved at a time in my life when I was working on my self-esteem. But Cara can’t commit. I deserve more, so I ended it.

“That was my protective self talking,” Adrienne explained. “And I got the impression it was what you wanted to hear.”

“You were right.” Cara had been completely honest with Adrienne. She wasn’t planning a commitment ceremony any time soon. Yet at the same time, she wasn’t completely closed to the idea. She had figured they would just wait and see what happened.

“The thing is, there’s another woman I’ve been getting close to, and—”

“A lover?” They hadn’t made any promises about not seeing other people, but they had agreed to discuss it first if either of them wanted to.

Adrienne seemed unabashed. An accusatory note entered her tone. “If you were interested in taking our relationship to the next level, you’d have moved out here or at least we’d be talking about it. Did I miss something?”

Cara did not participate in the change of subject. “How long have you been sleeping with her?”

“It just happened. She’s a really nice person.”

“What does she think about you having a relationship with someone else?”

“She knows there’s nothing between us.”

“We date when I’m in town. We sleep together and have sex. I’m not sure I’d call that nothing.” Cara could hear the edge in her own voice. “You didn’t answer my question. How long?”

“It’s hard to say. I met her about a year ago, and we kind of hooked up after she moved to the neighborhood a few months back.” Adrienne fidgeted with the cuffs of her white blouse. “I know I should have told you sooner, but it just…evolved.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“I like her a lot. But the problem is, you and I are more compatible sexually.”

“Oh, I get it. The sex is better with me, but she’s here, so you thought you could have both?”

“You make it sound so calculated. It’s not like that. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Cara finished her drink, uncertain what she felt. There was no anger, just a leaden disappointment. Nothing ever seemed to work out for her. “You have to do what’s right for you, Adrienne.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then, as if pleading for understanding, Adrienne said, “She’s there for me. She makes herself completely available.” The inference was unmistakable.

Cara stood and picked up her cabin bag. “I better get to the gate. My flight is boarding soon.” She took Adrienne’s hand and softened her tone. “I hope you’ll be happy. I really do.”

“So it’s fine with you if we don’t see each other anymore?” Adrienne sounded vaguely disappointed.

What had she expected? That they could carry on a sexual relationship behind the new girlfriend’s back? With a small shrug, Cara said, “All good things come to an end.”

Adrienne’s smile seemed fixed. “Well, I’ll be seeing you, then.”

“I doubt that.” Cara bent and kissed her on the mouth, just thoroughly enough to make her gasp. “Good-bye, Adrienne. Take care of yourself.”

*

Rowe gazed around her kitchen. The room was absurdly small for such a large home. No doubt when it was built, it had been the domain of a few underpaid domestic servants, the same women who must have occupied the tiny bedrooms on the second floor of the carriage house. Converted long ago for storage, those dusty, cobwebbed rooms were choked to their ceilings with old furniture and boxes. Rowe had not had a chance to explore them yet.