Laura got caught up in the unexpected beauty of the Texas Hill country and bypassed the entrance to the state park where Mavis, Susan, Jolly and Wanda had rented a cabin for a week. She slowed for a small herd of deer near the ranger station and became so
mesmerized by them that she pulled over and shut off the car.
A while later she located their cabin and recognized Jolly's truck in the driveway. There was no answer at the door, but she heard Wanda around
back. Laura found her stretched out in a drooping hammock, tossing peanuts to a squirrel.
"You made it!" she said, struggling to stand while the squirrel darted up a tree.
"Stay where you are," Laura insisted. "This place is beautiful. I can't believe I never let her bring me up here before."
Mavis had talked about Garner State Park for years—the clear river that ran through it, the wildlife and the scores of hiking trails that crisscrossed hundreds of rocky, wooded acres. In those days, the more Mavis had praised it, the less Laura had wanted to see it.
Why had I been so stubborn? she wondered. Why hadn't I listened?
"The girls are out bike riding. They should be back any time now. How are you?"
"I'm okay. It's good to get away." In fact, she was grateful for the invitation to visit for the day. She wasn't in the mood to see her mother.
"So stay. We've got plenty of room."
The smell of coffee drifted in on the tail end of a breeze, and Laura caught the faint scent of bacon not far behind. It made her feel safe for a moment, and she rubbed her arms through her thin windbreaker. She heard Susan, Jolly and Mavis ride up on their bicycles, chattering away and ready with generous hugs for her. She watched as Mavis hurried over to the hammock and began swinging it dangerously back and forth, while Wanda held on for dear life all the while shouting obscenities.
"She accidentally dumped Mavis out of it this morning," Susan explained. "They've been like two
little kids since we got here."
Mavis didn't stop tormenting her until Wanda threatened to throw up. Laura had always liked seeing them play together. She sighed and realized how much she had missed being a part of things.
Later on, the five of them strolled down the shady park road. Dodging deer droppings, Mavis described all the wildlife they had seen since their arrival. As they fed a loaf of bread to the ducks at the river's edge, Laura recognized the sharp scent of cedar close by.
It was a nice, clean smell, one that she would remember for a long time. She leaned against a cypress tree and took comfort in its rough texture on her shoulder.
"How many times did you try to get me up here?" she asked Mavis, who had just finished feeding the ducks the last of the bread. Susan, Jolly and Wanda were up ahead skipping rocks across the water.
"Plenty. You never were much on tryin' new things. Especially if it was somethin' I wanted to do."
"You still have that knack for seeing the worst in me.
They went back to the cabin and made sandwiches and mixed drinks. The simplest of meals seemed to taste so much better out in the open fresh air. A ham and cheese sandwich
became a delicacy.
The kitchen counter had been converted into a completely stocked bar. Oreos and Cheetos were piled high.
"Camping staples," Mavis explained as she nodded toward all the junk food.
"Why don't you stay the night?" Susan offered. "There's an extra bed."
"I have to work tomorrow," Laura said. Her
company was about to launch a big project, and Laura was part of the marketing team. "And there's Jo-Jo. Poodles are so possessive. She gets in my closet and pees if I'm gone longer
than she thinks I should be."
"Maybe I oughta try that," Mavis said, giving Susan a pensive look.
Laura stretched her legs and took the drink Mavis had made for her. The five women sat around the primitive table in the combination living-room-dining-room-bedroom and gossiped about mutual friends and the female ranger who had kept driving by the cabin all day long.
"Fess up," Laura said. "How much do you guys talk about me?"
"You?" Jolly said, looking away from her guiltily.
"Oh, lots," Mavis chirped. "Every night over cowgirl coffee we sit around the campfire and wonder when little ol' Laura's gonna wise up."
"Christ," Jolly muttered.
Laura sensed how uncomfortable they all were by the amount of squirming that took place and the loudness of the ice rattling in plastic cups. She laughed, feeling a sense of relief at not having been forgotten by them. Mavis, the only one willing to tell her the truth, laughed with her, while the others sat back and watched the exchange like a group of floundering attorneys itching for a recess.
"You're not even goin' through the motions anymore, Laura," Mavis said. "You work all day and piddle all night. You hardly ever go out. No one sees you anymore. If you'd just get
some kinda life goin', you'd never hear another peep outta me about it."
"We should all be so lucky," Wanda said dryly.
"They think you need a shrink," Mavis said. The other three wilted and groaned in their rickety wooden chairs, while Laura chuckled at their embarrassment.
"And what do you think, Mavis?" Laura asked.
Mavis smiled engagingly. "I think you need a good lay."
"Hasn't that always been your answer for everything?"
"Not everything." Mavis popped an olive in her mouth and rolled it around between her
perfect white teeth. "Not everything."
The following Sunday Laura and her mother sat on the porch swing and listened to the faint tinkling of a distant ice cream truck. They kept up a steady rhythm as the swing creaked on the offbeat against the soft thud of Laura's foot giving it a timely shove. She had been a good daughter today. She'd brought over sliced brisket, corn on the cob, fresh baked bread and a bouquet of flowers purchased from a street urchin at a busy intersection on the way over. The corn on the cob alone would have put her in good graces with her mother.
The flowers were an added bonus.
They had finally settled down, having barely escaped the beginnings of an argument less than an hour earlier. Laura knew the warning signs and was forever steering them away from dangerous topics. Just once she would like to leave from her usual
Sunday visit in a good mood, feeling loved, appreciated and accepted for what she was. So far no such Sunday had ever existed.
"Louise Barknagel has a throat infection," Mrs. Davenport said in that offhanded way she had when she wanted Laura's undivided attention.
"Oh?" Laura managed. It was warm for an April evening, with the ever present buzz of a mosquito as the first sign that it was time to go home.
"Her grandson took her to the doctor when she got sick. He's a wonderful young man.
Thinks the world of her."
Laura felt the beginning of a headache somewhere along her temple.
"Your father and I used to talk about having grandchildren some day. He had such plans for them."
"Please, Mother," Laura said quietly. "If I could put them on my Visa, I'd get you all the grandchildren you want." She found her purse and keys on the small table inside the door
and was back out on the porch with her mother right behind her. "I need to get going. It's late."
"You're thirty-one years old Laura. How much time do you think you have? How much time do you think / have?" They looked at each other for a long moment before the tears welled up in the corners of her mother's eyes. "If you hadn't gotten mixed up with that woman none of this would have ever happened."
"Mavis has nothing to do with it. It's me, Mother. I'm a lesbian. Get used to it because this is all there
is. No son-in-law and no grandchildren. Just me. I'm leaving now. I'll call you tomorrow."
Just one Sunday, she thought on her way down the steps. Just one Sunday visit without this.
PART TWO Two Years Later