Slices of Life (10 page)

Dressed and relaxed, Geri headed out to the lobby and made her next appointment. She pocketed one of Cara’s cards to remind her to call about her dad. Then she headed out to the red pickup with the company logo and set a course for Garrison’s, a little nearby wine store. She had a hankering for something nice, maybe a soft, gentle red.

It was nearing six-thirty, so the after-work rush had already been and gone, a fact that pleased Geri. It was a small neighborhood store and when it was crowded, maneuvering through the aisles could make for a tight fit, but there was something about Garrison’s that kept her coming back. It had been standing for decades, and once it was passed down, after his death, from David Garrison to his daughter Dorian, it was woman-owned—lesbian-owned, to be specific. Geri came in often enough that Dorian Garrison knew her by name. And despite being a good twenty years younger than Geri, Dorian knew her shit about wine. She was knowledgeable, approachable, and helpful.

And cute. Geri was a sucker for cute.

“Hey there, Ms. Scott,” Dorian said with her usual hundred-watt smile as Geri approached the counter.

“Dorian, how many times have I told you to please call me Geri?”

A pretty pale pink flushed into Dorian’s high cheekbones. “A few.”

“A few dozen is closer to the truth.”

“You’re probably right.” She leaned her forearms onto the counter and asked, “What can I help you with today?” The direct contact from her dark eyes allowed for many different interpretations of her tone, and Geri bit back a grin.

“Oh, such a loaded question,” she cracked, then winked. “How about some wine?”

Dorian feigned disappointment and followed it up with a grin. “Fine. Wine will have to do.” She came around the counter, asking, “What’s for dinner?”

“I’m not sure,” Geri admitted, “but I think I heard something about spaghetti this morning.” She fell into step with Dorian as they walked the short distance to the red wine display. Dorian tapped her forefinger against her lips as she scanned the shelves. Geri took that moment to study her.

Her short dark hair was an explosion of tight curls over her small head, and she definitely had the bone structure to pull off such a style. Eyes as black as onyxes were accented by lashes and brows just as dark. Hammered silver earrings in an artsy, spiral shape dangled from her ears, but they were her only jewelry today. Her skin tone and hair texture always made Geri assume Dorian was biracial, but there never was a time that seemed right to ask such a personal question, so she just hadn’t. She was a petite woman to begin with, about 5 foot 2 inches and no more than 110 pounds soaking wet, but Geri was certain Dorian had lost weight recently and had reached the point where she was almost too thin. Wondering whether the shedding of pounds was intentional or not, Geri was pulled from her thoughts when Dorian spoke.

“You smell great. Massage today?”

“Just finished one.”

“I thought so. I think my cousin uses the same massage oil on his clients. I love it.” She pulled a bottle down from the shelf without missing a beat, though Geri noticed an even deeper pink shadowing her cheeks.

Yup. Totally cute.

Handing the bottle to Geri, she said, “Try this one. I think Lisa will like it. It’s a Pinot Noir, not too dry—I know she hates that. Tell her it’s not too fruity, but it’s fruity enough to keep her interested. A little vanilla, a hint of oak, maybe a little blackberry and cherry on the finish, but enough spice to keep it from venturing into sweetness.”

“I will never remember all that,” Geri said with a chuckle, “but I’ll give it a try.”

“Trust me.”

“I always do.”

They headed back to the counter, Geri with a slight limp that she assumed was undetectable.

“Still thinking about retiring?” Dorian asked. The store was quiet with only two other customers milling around. Geri was the only one at the counter.

“I’m sorry?”

Dorian glanced up at her. “Last time you were here, you said you’d started thinking about maybe retiring, since your back was giving you so much trouble. I see you’re still limping a bit, so…” She trailed off and Geri could tell by her expression that she worried she’d overstepped her bounds. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“No, no. You’re fine.” Geri rushed to reassure her. “No worries at all.” She recalled her last visit was at the end of a particularly rough day. She’d lifted too much mulch, she’d spent too much time using a shovel, and it was rainy and damp, which didn’t help the arthritis any. By the time she rolled into the store to cheer herself up with a nice bottle of Cabernet, she was in grueling pain and was seriously considering throwing in the towel on working. With a sigh, she said, “I don’t know, Dorian. Could I retire? What would I do? I’d get up, have breakfast and read the paper. Then I’d watch
Kelly Live
. And then it’s eleven in the morning and I’m done. My day would be over. What do I do after that?”

Dorian’s gentle laughter lifted her shoulders up and down. She said, “My Uncle Derek retired last year. He used to say exactly the same thing you just did and you know what? I see him less now than I did when he was working. He’s so busy! It’s ridiculous. You’d find things to occupy your time. I’m sure of it. And more importantly, you’d be giving your body a better chance to heal.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Geri exhaled a frustrated breath and paid.

“I am once in a while.”

They said their goodbyes and Geri headed home, her mind on what Dorian said and remembering how she felt during that last trip when her body was aching so badly she could barely stand long enough to pay for her alcohol. She was infinitely more mobile when she wasn’t working. When she and Lisa took a week’s vacation, Geri felt terrific by the end of the seven days. After two days back at work, she was aching again.

Stubbornness ran in Geri’s family. She knew that. She was very much an if-you-want-it-done-right-do-it-yourself kind of girl. She learned that from her dad. Unfortunately, doing it all herself was becoming less and less of an option, and it was soon going to be time for her to deal with that.

God, she hated getting old.

She was right about the spaghetti, the house permeated with the mouth-watering aroma of Lisa’s homemade sauce. Geri followed her nose to the kitchen where her partner of nearly three decades stood at the counter in the apron Geri gave her for Christmas a few years ago.
Smooth, sophisticated, full-bodied. And the wine’s not bad, either
, it read in bold white letters on a burgundy fabric. Geri wrapped her arms around Lisa as she chopped veggies for a salad.

“Hi, babe.”

“Hey, you.” Lisa turned her head and pecked Geri on the lips. “How was the massage?”

“Very nice, as always.” Geri snatched a cherry tomato and popped it into her mouth. “By the way, Cara White had a crush on you in tenth grade English.”

“Really? And is the sky blue, too?”

“I figured you probably knew.”

“Fifteen-year-olds are not exactly known for their subtlety.”

“True.”

“And she was a cute little baby dyke. She stood out to me.”

Geri smiled against Lisa’s hair and handed her the wine. “I brought you a present. Dorian says you’ll love it.”

“A Pinot, huh?”

“Yup. She said a bunch of other things too, but I don’t remember them. You’ll love it. That’s all I can come up with.”

“She has yet to steer me wrong,” Lisa commented, and it was true.

“How long until dinner?”

“You’ve got about twenty minutes. Go shower off the oil.” With another kiss, Lisa sent Geri on her way.

Something akin to melancholy settled over Geri as she walked through the house—the life—she’d built with Lisa. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling, but it made her more cerebral, more pensive about the current path of her life and what her immediate future might hold. Lisa had been trying to get her to retire for almost two years now.
Soon
was always Geri’s answer, though
soon
never seemed to get any closer.

She passed down the hallway slowly, stopping to look at each photograph Lisa had hung lovingly, precisely, on the wall. They were excerpts of their life together, like still shots from a movie. Their trip to Ireland more than twenty years ago, both smiling, intoxicated, and looking impossibly young. The two of them sitting in front of their first Christmas tree, a pathetic sapling that made Charlie Brown’s tree look full and mature. Geri grinned as she thought about Lisa pleading to let her get that one, that it was just too small and sad to be left at the garden store, how nobody would buy it and how no tree should be left all alone at Christmas. Geri hadn’t stood a chance against that face of hers, the pleading eyes, the pouty lips. The tree had one sturdy branch on it, so that’s where all their ornaments were hung. They looked stupidly happy sitting there on Christmas morning in their jammies in front of what was essentially a decorated branch. And again, unbearably young.

“Were we really such babies?” she whispered to the air.

Continuing down the hall, Geri’s gaze skimmed over snapshots of her life, a bittersweet sigh escaping as she passed the pictures of the five different dogs they’d chosen, loved, and lost in their time together, finally deciding they couldn’t take the heartbreak one more time. It was still weird to come home and not be greeted by a wet nose and wagging tail. More photos, more memories, and not for the first time, Geri understood how lucky she was. Like any long-term couple, she and Lisa had their bumps, their issues, their heated arguments. They had ugly moments and they each said things at one time or another that they wish they hadn’t. But ultimately, they were there for one another with a strong, deep love and gentle forgiveness that outlasted any kind of muck, no matter how thick. Geri couldn’t imagine her life without Lisa. And more than anything, what she did
not
want was for Lisa to have to take care of her down the road. With her back issues and her arthritis, she knew she could end up at least somewhat disabled if she didn’t watch herself, if she wasn’t more careful and less stubborn.

She shucked her clothes and stepped into the hot shower. Standing so the water tattooed a gentle rhythm on her back, she braced herself against the wall and inhaled deeply. “God, I can’t stand getting older,” she muttered into the steam. The thought of being weak, of not being able to carry her own weight, nearly brought her to her knees. If she was anything, Geri was independent.

A quick wash and rinse and she was finished. At the dresser in the bedroom, yet another shot of her and Lisa—this time on an Olivia cruise to Alaska—looked out at her from a brushed silver frame; their faces radiated warmth and happiness. When she picked up the picture and looked closer, one corner of Geri’s mouth quirked up as if tugged by an invisible thread.

Do we always look this happy?
she wondered as she rubbed her short hair with a towel.

The thought flushed a lovely tenderness through her entire being and an answer to her question seemed to come to her from nowhere and everywhere at once.

Yes. Because we are.

Nodding slowly, she set the photo frame back down and glanced around the room, the most important room in the house, in her life. The walls were soft khaki, the accents eggplant and ivory. She and Lisa picked the colors together; Lisa stumbled across the paisley print bed linens and matching curtains when shopping with her mother one day. She found them totally by accident. The hardwood was polished to a glorious shine and the area rug was thick and plush. They shared everything in this room: sleep and dreams, emotional meltdowns, lovemaking (both gentle and raw), favorite TV shows, foot rubs, favorite books, endless conversation. It was the heart of their home and for some reason, standing in the middle of it, completely naked and still damp from her shower, Geri Scott finally got it.

Lisa was just untying her apron when Geri came in from cleaning up. “Good timing. Everything’s ready.”

“Smells delicious,” Geri said, taking Lisa in her arms and kissing her more intimately and thoroughly than usual, more than she had in a while.

When she was freed and fighting a slight flush, Lisa arched one eyebrow and studied Geri. “What was that for?”

“What? Can’t I kiss my wife?” She winked at Lisa and grabbed the bottle of wine that was now breathing on the counter. “
Vino
?”

“You better believe it.”

With a nod, Geri poured two glasses. They took their places at the table where Geri held her glass up to toast.

Lisa tilted her head slightly, waiting.

“I love you so much,” Geri said softly. “To us.” She touched her glass to Lisa’s.

“I love you too.”

They dug in, Geri eating slowly, wanting to savor the deliciousness of Lisa’s cooking. After a few bites, she said nonchalantly, “I think it’s time for me to retire.”

Lisa’s gaze snapped up and she blinked several times, her fork stopped in mid-air halfway to her mouth. She watched Geri’s face and Geri wondered what she was searching for. Dishonesty? Teasing? Insanity? Geri simply looked back at her and said again, “I think it’s time.”

An interesting mix of elation, fear, and relief blended together and spread itself across Lisa’s face. She pursed her lips like she was thinking, then gave a nod and took the bite of dinner. Chewing slowly, she never took her eyes from Geri. She swallowed, sipped her wine, and gave one more nod.

“Okay. Let’s talk.”

For the first night in nearly a month, Dorian Garrison finished tallying up the days’ totals and did
not
end up with a massive headache. She actually had a somewhat decent day of business, something that was not happening nearly often enough lately. A large local grocery-store chain had opened a huge warehouse-type liquor store not two miles from her shop. Another long-standing liquor store had expanded, and now she could fit five of her shops into the middle of theirs and still have room to spare. It was getting harder and harder to compete, and she recently had to face one nausea-inducing fact.