Monday afternoon
After they had taken the stairs and passed the door that separated the underground garage from the upstairs corridor, Carol let go of Therese’s hand. Her eyes searched for Therese’s and she smiled tentatively as if to apologize for what just had happened. Therese raised her eyebrows.
“Are you okay?”
Carol nodded, then gestured to a door at the end of the corridor.
“Wait for me there. I will make some coffee for us.” She headed for the kitchen, where Florence, the maid, was preparing lunch.
Therese entered what she decided had to be Carol’s study. It was a square room with windows on three sides, making it a welcoming space filled with light. The mountain view was breath-taking. Looking around Therese noticed the simple, almost austere way Carol had decorated the room. Steel and glass dominated and the colour scheme was limited to grey, sand and white. A long wooden table served as a desk and held a laptop and numerous grey boxes that, Therese presumed, contained the casefiles Carol was currently working on.
Her attention was drawn to the only brick wall of the room, where, next to a bookcase filled with legal works, hung a large framed photograph. She recognized it immediately: it was one of the pictures of the BEACH series of Rineke Dijkstra, a Dutch photographer. It showed an adolescent girl in a soft yellow bathing suit on the flood line. Dijkstra magnificently had captured the innocence and vulnerability of the girl, but also her growing self-awareness. Therese loved Dijkstra’s portraits and was in awe of the way the photographer was able to lay bare the soul of her sitter.
“Do you like it?” Immersed in the image, Carol’s voice startled Therese. Carol entered the room with a tray that Florence had filled with two mugs of coffee and some sandwiches. She placed it on the table and joined Therese, who was still taking in every detail of the picture. Standing next to her, Carol once again felt her body ache for the touch of this delicate young woman. Therese looked at her and waved her hand at the portrait.
“I love it. Dijkstra is my favourite photographer.” She was silent for a moment, then added:
“You are full of surprises.”
They remained standing, looking into each other’s eyes. Carol saw how Therese’s were filled with questions; Therese noticed the shyness in Carol’s gaze. She touched Carol’s cheek.
“I want to – know. I think, I mean, to ask you … things. But I’m not sure you want that.”
Carol took hold of her hand, kissed it, then placed her forehead against it.
“Ask me. Things. Please.”
They sat at the table, facing each other, the tray between them. At first it had felt awkward. Therese searching for the right words, the right questions, Carol opening up to her, needing to shake off her usual reticence. But then followed an intimate conversation, an exchange between two women, who, though still almost strangers, eagerly wanted to connect.
Therese had listened attentively when Carol had told about her youth, growing up as the only daughter of liberal parents in a city dominated by Mormons and their conservative views on most matters. She also told her about her love for the law and why she had chosen it when she entered university. Most of all Carol had been frank about her lifelong friendship with Abby, about the time they had been lovers and their current, ongoing devotion for each other.
“So you have been with a woman before…” Therese had wondered about it after Carol’s sudden embrace and the way she had moved against her.
“Does that surprise you?” Carol looked uncertain.
“Well, yes and no…” Therese took Carol’s hand, then squeezed it.
“You obviously know how to touch me and I’m certain you feel the same attraction as I do. But then there’s Harge and Rindy. You’re a married woman, a mother. You can’t blame me that I’m somewhat bewildered.”
Carol sighed.
“No, I can’t blame you for that.” For a moment she looked at the young woman in front of her, her intelligent, observant eyes, her thoughtful expression. Then she made a decision.
“Therese, my marriage with Harge is not what it seems. We’re good friends but not lovers. We married because given the circumstances, our jobs and Harge’s political career, that was the best thing to do. But we are both gay.”
Therese let go of Carol’s hand and raised from her chair, walking over to one of the windows. With her back to Carol she tried to make sense of her confession.
“But… what about Rindy?”
Carol continued, wanting Therese to know the whole story.
“We both wanted a child.” She hesitated, then went on.
“Having both been in heterosexual relationships too, we decided we wanted to conceive our child in the traditional way. It was somewhat awkward, but we succeeded.”
She smiled.
“Rindy was born out of love. We both adore her.”
Therese remained silent, not knowing how to react. At an intellectual level she could make sense of Carol’s choices, but emotionally she felt less at ease with them. She had always been open about her preference for women and had consciously chosen for her life as a lesbian. Her friends had made the same choices. She could not picture one of them or herself to want Carol’s closeted, even deceitful existence.
Alarmed by Therese’s silence, Carol decided to join her at the window, carefully avoiding to touch her.
“Therese? Please tell me what you think …”
Sensing Carol’s need to know, Therese turned to her, not wanting her face to betray her unease.
“I… You must give me some time to digest this.”
She touched Carol’s shoulder, her green eyes seeking her intense, ice blue gaze.
“I feel attracted to you, Carol. But I need to make sense of this all … of your story and what it means for my feelings for you. Give me some time to think this over.”
Carol nodded, relieved that Therese seemed bewildered but did not reject her right away. She would give the girl time. No, she would give them both time. She was well aware that with confessing to Therese she had taken the first step on a very uncertain road. What risk was she taking? But she was also aware of her strong need to touch Therese, to take her in her arms and feel her slender body against her own. She shivered. Therese, her hand still on Carol’s shoulder, felt her tremble. She opened her arms.
“Come here.”
They embraced, holding each other tight until Therese lifted her head and sought Carol’s lips. Their kiss was hesitant at first, then deepened, Therese pulling Carol’s head closer, her tongue taking possession of Carol’s mouth. Their bodies burning, they both lost themselves in the kiss, desperately clinging to each other until a shrill sound pierced the air and Carol’s phone brought them back to reality.