Falling for Hope Read online

  Amy blinked, remembering her feeling from earlier that morning, that her night with Hope had only been a dream.

  “But sometimes…” Lindsey trailed off, scratching her nail against the counter again, absentmindedly. “Sometimes, things have a way of working out when you least expect them to. Don’t give up hope,” she told Amy.

  And Amy nodded, feeling her heart, and hope, rise within her.

  “Hey, you guys!” called Irene from outside. Lindsey’s mouth quirked sideways as she suppressed a smile and stood up.

  “And there’s my Princess Charming now,” she said, winking at Amy. “Coming, darling!” she said, much louder, and turned on her heel to walk out of the kitchen.

  Aspen wandered into the kitchen, then, brushing past Lindsey with a grin before plopping herself down on the chair that had been recently vacated. “The butches are up on the roof,” she said with a chuckle, swiping Amy’s yogurt cup with a brow raised. “Are you finished with this?”

  “Yeah, Asp, have it,” said Hope, pushing herself away from the table. With a sudden and firm resolve, she walked to the fridge and took out the fresh-squeezed lemonade that was Cole’s specialty. She poured three tall glasses and managed, somehow, to balance them all in her hands (secretly thankful that the glasses were plastic, and if she fumbled, it wasn’t going to end in tragedy, so long as she fumbled outside). She made her way toward the kitchen door and pushed it open gingerly.

  The broad front porch of the cabin had been built with large gatherings in mind. It was unusually empty, because everyone was assembled near the front area of the woods, staring up with shaded eyes at the roof. Amy ventured off the porch, too, with the glasses.

  Hope, Irene and Chris had a bucket of tar, two toolboxes and a few boards up on the roof with them. Chris had a tool belt around her waist, and she was currently flexing her arms—to the coos of delight from her new girlfriend below. Amy thought she remembered now that her name was Claudia.

  “I brought you guys some lemonade!” she called, and Hope turned, offering Amy her easy smile.

  “We’ll be down for lunch in a minute or two. I just want to make certain it’s all set,” she said, and Amy grinned in pleasure.

  “I haven’t even had a real chance to use this!” said Chris, making her voice boom into the clearing on purpose, as she thrust forward her tool belt, making Irene roll her eyes and Hope laugh.

  “Chris, Irene and I did all of the patching,” Hope pointed out, “while you very helpfully stood up here and birdwatched.”

  “That’s because there’s such a hot chick down there,” bantered Chris, as her new girlfriend sighed in raptures. “I got distracted.”

  “Oh, please,” said Irene, but the women on the ground were laughing too hard to hear her.

  When Irene and Hope and Chris safely descended from the roof, everyone retreated to the porch, and Lindsey went inside to get more lemonade for everyone, bringing out two full pitchers and a riot of funky-colored plastic glasses. Chris and Irene took their glasses gratefully, downing them, but Hope held hers in one hand and looped her other arm around Amy’s middle, drawing the woman closer.

  Amy could feel the flush begin to creep over her face as the women seated in wicker chairs and leaning against the porch rails watched in varying degrees of interest and shock as Hope bent down and kissed her.

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” said Hope companionably, as she raised her eyebrows with a grin and began to drink her lemonade.

  “Oooh!” said Aspen, straightening and watching the two of them, smiling brightly.

  “About damn time,” said Cole, crossing her legs and grinning at Amy and Hope. The rest of the women made agreeing murmurs, laughter echoing around the porch, and Amy smiled at them, feeling herself begin to relax.

  But then she glanced at Chris.

  The woman was clenching and unclenching her hands into fists, face tense as her jaw worked, as her shoulders began to rise. She pushed off from the porch railing, setting her lemonade glass down with a slam against the wood of the rail.

  “Wow, Hope,” she snarled, words cutting through the group like ice. “Couldn’t even wait until she was cold, could you?”

  Hope glanced up, blue eyes flashing. She stared at Chris, mouth open, breathing out.

  “Chris, you’ve got to be kidding…” began Irene, standing as she placed a hand on Chris’s shoulder, but Chris shrugged it off, stepped forward quickly. Tension crackled in the air.

  “No. I’m serious,” she snapped. “Melissa’s been dead, what—six months? How long has this been going on?” She almost spat out the last few words, growling them so that they sounded sharp, knife-like.

  “This has been going on since last night, not that it’s any of your damn business,” said Hope quietly, voice low, eyes still ablaze.

  The two women stood, glaring, but not for long. Chris wavered for half a heartbeat, took a step back, and then said, “Am I the only one who still gives a shit about her?” It was sudden, how all of the fight drained out of her, and she turned quickly, brushing past Lindsey on her way off the porch, into the cabin. Doors slammed, and then all was quiet.

  “Well,” muttered Irene, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That might have gone a bit better.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” said Aspen, jumping up and hugging Amy tightly, and then Hope. “You guys are beautiful together, really,” she said. One by one, the women discreetly stood and began to let themselves into the cabin, or moved off the porch toward the soggy trails and the path leading to the lake.

  Hope and Amy found themselves alone.

  Amy’s shoulders were trembling. She didn’t realize why until the first tear traced itself down her cheek. She reached up, surprised, and wiped it away, turning from Hope even as the woman reached out and took her wrist gently.

  “Amy,” said Hope softly, but Amy was shaking her head. “No…please listen to me, Amy…” whispered Hope, stepping behind the woman before wrapping her arms around Amy’s waist and shoulders. Amy felt Hope against her back, felt the solidity of her, smelled the familiar, comforting scent of Hope’s shampoo and coffee. Amy was just beginning to learn the intimate details of Hope, that new language of a woman who felt so right… She’d felt right about other women before, but never quite like this. There had been such an intensity last night, and she felt it here again, now, as Hope held her.

  “I’m listening,” Amy whispered, closing her eyes tightly as more tears leaked out.

  “What happened last night… I’ve been waiting a while for it. And I know you have, too,” Hope murmured in her ear, the words soft and warm and strong. “Did it feel right to you?”

  Amy felt herself nodding as another fat tear squeezed itself from her eyes and began to roll down her cheek.

  “We’re starting to explore this. Whatever this is,” said Hope gently, squeezing her arms a little tighter about Amy. “And it’s good, and it’s golden. I wouldn’t take last night back for anything in the world. Even if Chris…” Hope’s voice caught. Amy knew how close Chris and Hope were and breathed out, feeling the weight of Hope’s sadness. “Don’t you worry about it,” said Hope, letting her go gently. “I’ll fix it,” she told Amy, as Amy turned, gazing at Hope through tear-filled eyes.

  “I’m sorry…” she began, but Hope shook her head, cupped her hands around Amy’s face gently. Hope’s fingers smelled of wood and tar and lemonade as she leaned forward and kissed Amy, her lips soft against Amy’s mouth. Amy wrapped her arms around Hope’s neck and drew her closer.

  There was another crash of thunder, though it was positioned a little ways down the mountain now. Rain began to sprinkle on the leaves surrounding the cabin, and Hope and Amy made their way back inside, hand in hand.

  And through that afternoon storm, the patch on the roof held out the rain.

  Finding Hope

  Amy struck the match and hurriedly held it to the clump of dried grass and twigs. But, as she expected, the match flickered and went out.

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bsp; “What if you were stranded in the wilderness?” asked Irene, taking the matchsticks from Amy and lighting another one. Irene placed the match against the tinder, and a flame flickered to life against the grass and twigs, shooting upwards to graze the bigger logs in the fireplace. Irene fed the small blaze a few more twigs, and within a short time, the fire smoked and crackled to life.

  “If I was stranded in the wilderness,” said Amy wryly, “I’d probably die of exposure.” She rose to her feet, dusting her palms off on her jeans. Irene chuckled and added a couple of logs to the fire before she shut the grate and stood, too.

  “Open that right back up, missy,” said Lindsey, briskly sailing into the room holding a large plate of hot dogs and veggie dogs, which she placed on the floor before the fireplace. “If we can’t have a bonfire wiener roast outside, by God, we’ll have it inside.”

  “Yes, dear,” said Irene with a grin, opening up the grate.

  “Supper’s on, ladies!” Lindsey called with all of her might, and the rest of the women in the cabin began to enter the warm room.

  Outside, an arc of lightning tore through the sky, followed by a spectacular boom of thunder as the storm raged on.

  Hope carried a plate piled with marshmallows and squares of chocolate and graham crackers, and Cole toted an assortment of sticks. Aspen, Vanessa and Shirley were bundled up in sweaters, but as the last three women came in from the hallway, Amy let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.

  No sign of Chris.

  Amy sat down on one of the rocking chairs in front of the fire and let it rock her for a long moment, the chatter of the women fading into the background as she thought back on the strange day she’d had. She wondered if Chris would ever speak to her again.

  Hope, too, was moody as she set down the plate and sat in the rocker next to Amy, taking her hand but not saying anything. She didn’t even smile when Amy glanced her way, only stared into the sizzling fire with a downward turn of her mouth. On Hope, who smiled as naturally as most people breathed, the frown seemed out of place and strange.

  Hope and Amy had kissed for the first time and had finally gotten together, after years of pining for one another, only the night before. Since all of the women gathered in the cabin were the best of friends, and—more to the point—women who loved other women, it shouldn’t have been a problem that Hope and Amy had decided to begin a relationship.

  But six months earlier—six months and two days, thought Amy quietly—Melissa had passed away in a fatal car crash that rocked the core of their group of friends. And Melissa and Hope had been partners, on and off again, for many years. They weren’t together when Melissa died, though, and they had never been quite right for each other. Everyone had said so. Everyone had known it to be true.

  And Amy had discovered only this morning that, during one of the “off again” periods of Hope and Melissa’s rocky relationship, Melissa and Chris had possibly dated. Lindsey had shared this suspicion with Amy, and Amy thought it made sense, considering Chris’s angry reaction to Hope and Amy’s new relationship.

  Amy hadn’t seen Chris since that afternoon, when the woman retreated to her bedroom—with her new girlfriend, whose name Amy couldn’t remember, in tow. Hours had passed, but Chris still hadn’t emerged. If there was one thing Chris loved almost as much as she loved ladies, it was food. So it was very unlike Chris to miss dinner.

  But she wasn’t here.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” asked Hope, and when Amy glanced sidelong at her now, the easy smile blossomed over her handsome face. Amy studied Hope for a long moment before returning the smile, albeit a little weakly. She’d been in love with Hope for the entire span of the five years they’d known one another. Amy loved everything about Hope, from her open smile to her unruly black hair (that was usually pointed in a thousand different directions), to her long fingers and softly muscled arms. These were things that Amy had felt incredibly guilty for noticing before, since Hope had been involved with Melissa, but now she allowed herself to fully gaze at Hope, even as Hope grinned at her, tossing a bit of hair out of her eyes and squeezing Amy’s hand.

  In front of the fire, Irene grabbed Lindsey around the waist, drawing her wife down and onto her lap. Lindsey made a few protesting noises, but she was laughing too hard, and she put her arms around Irene, pushing her fingers through her wife’s short, brunette hair as she kissed her playfully on the cheek. Irene chuckled while they held one another tightly. Amy had never felt jealous of Irene and Lindsey’s relationship; it filled her with comfort, knowing that there were at least two people in the world who shared the kind of love that people wrote stories about. Amy had always hoped that she’d get a shot at that kind of love someday, too. Irene and Lindsey had been together for fifteen years, and they were still so in love that it made Amy’s heart hurt a little, sometimes, watching them.

  But as Hope squeezed her hand again, Amy wondered if, perhaps, they might have a chance at that kind of love themselves.

  Amy returned the squeeze and sighed. “I was just thinking about Chris,” she murmured, clearing her throat. “Wondering if she was hungry…”

  Hope’s eyes darkened, and she glanced at the fire, mouth curling down again. “I wish she wasn’t so bullheaded. But she wouldn’t be Chris if she wasn’t.” She laughed a little, though her words sounded hollow. “I’ll take her some food later, see if we can’t get this mess sorted out.”

  Amy wondered whether Hope knew what Lindsey had suggested to her, that Chris and Melissa had had a relationship. Regardless, now was probably not the time to ask.

  “Everyone grab a stick and the wiener of your choice,” said Lindsey, pecking Irene one more time on the cheek before rising and waving to the plates of dogs and the sticks set in front of the fire. She made an elaborate show of gesturing to the plate of hot dogs. “These are for the meat eaters.” She imitated Vanna White as she moved her hand over the plate of veggie dogs. “And these are for the vegetarians.”

  “And vegans,” said Aspen helpfully. She was curled up on the couch, very close to Shirley, Amy noticed. When Shirley, who had gone on vehement tirades in the past about how people were born to eat meat, glanced lovingly over to Aspen instead of arguing with her that veganism was for cows, not humans, that clinched it. They were starting a relationship, too.

  “I think we should tell ghost stories,” said Cole, eyes sparkling as she got up, took a veggie dog and speared it a bit more violently than necessary on her stick. She brandished the stick in front of her and waved it before Hope’s nose. “And the second-in-command ghost storyteller should go first.”

  Everyone knew the first-in-command was Chris, but no one mentioned that as they inched closer to the fire, popping uncooked marshmallows into their mouths or spearing hot dogs on sticks. Hope cleared her throat and tilted her head to the side thoughtfully.

  “Well,” she said, moving toward the edge of her rocker and leaning forward—she had still, to Amy’s delight, not let go of her hand—“did I ever tell you guys about the lesbian zombie from Mars?”

  “Heard it!” called Irene, laughing. Lindsey rolled her eyes and shook her head, brandishing her stick in Hope’s direction.

  “No zombies,” she called out. “Stick to ghosts or whatever, but no zombies!”

  “Well, what about the headless horsewoman?” asked Hope. “That’s sort of a ghost.”

  “Heard it!” called Aspen, poking a veggie dog on a stick.

  “Tough crowd,” said Hope, with a laugh. “Okay, then.” With a final squeeze, she slid her hand from Amy’s grasp and cracked her knuckles, leaning back as the rocker creaked ominously. “Have I ever told you the story of the flesh-eating crawler that lives on this mountain?”

  “That sounds like a zombie to me, Hope,” said Irene, grinning over her shoulder as she snaked her arm around Lindsey’s waist and drew her wife closer. “I have to protect my lovely spouse’s ears from anything zombie-related. She gets nightmares!”

  �
��I do not,” said Lindsey, softly poking Irene in the arm. “I just think they’re gross.”

  “They’re supposed to be gross,” Aspen piped up, blowing out the little flame that had erupted on her veggie dog. Amy watched as Shirley stepped forward and tentatively placed her plump arm around Aspen’s shoulders. The slighter woman glanced up at Shirley with a wide grin, craning her neck to kiss her softly on the mouth. Shirley’s long red hair was pulled back into a ponytail and crushed under a baseball cap that shielded the rest of the kiss from view as Amy glanced discreetly away, smiling to herself.

  “I have a true story I could tell,” said Amy, then. As the other women looked toward her, she grinned at them, folding her hands in her lap. “If anyone would like to hear it.”

  “A true story?” asked Cole dubiously, spearing three marshmallows above her hot dog on the stick. “Yeah, right.”

  “No, no, it’s true,” said Amy, cocking her head as she lowered her voice, clearing her throat. “There used to be panthers in these woods,” she said then, voice almost a growl. “Over a hundred years ago, people had to wander beneath the trees with shotguns, because if you were caught without a weapon in the woods, you were dead. The panthers,” she said, standing, crouching low and twisting her hands into claws, “were as big as a wolf, but—unlike a wolf—they traveled from tree branch to tree branch. They came at you from overhead,” she said quietly. The rest of the woman had grown silent, the hiss of the fire punctuating Amy’s words. “They stalked you, and they screamed before they struck. The thing about their screams?” Her words were almost a whisper now. “They were like a woman’s scream—high-pitched and eerie. And you heard the scream before you saw the panther, because you never saw a panther until it was falling out of the treetops, falling on top of you, ” she said, her voice rising a little as she straightened, her right brow raised. “Once, there was a woman who needed to journey up the mountain to reach her home. It was night, and she couldn’t wait until morning. She couldn’t afford to hire a man to come with her, and she didn’t own a gun. So she took the fastest horse she could find, and she began to race up the mountain, toward the summit. The horse knew that there were panthers in the woods, so it balked at the slightest shadow. The woman could sit the horse pretty well, but not well enough. So she lost her seat, and the horse ran away through the dark. Now it was only that woman, with her knapsack, alone in the silent woods. But the woods didn’t stay silent for long,” whispered Amy, sitting back down in her rocker. She let it rock once, creaking in the quiet. “The scream came through the trees toward this woman, who began to run, sprinting up the mountain on foot.” Amy rocked again. The chair creaked louder and longer.