Warm November Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  About the Author

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Just out of the closet, Hayley Daniels is excited to start exploring lesbian life in San Francisco. It has its ups and downs, but the one thing she can depend on is the support of her housemate, Merle Craig. Merle’s trying to recover from a broken heart and Hayley is a breath of fresh air, but neither of them is prepared for their attraction to each other.

  When Hayley falls in love with Merle, she hesitates because she wants to be a free spirit. Merle isn’t ready to dive into a relationship, especially with a brand new lesbian. Can they overcome their misgivings and find true love?

  Warm November

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Warm November

  © 2015 By Kathleen Knowles. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-544-2

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: August 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Shelley Thrasher

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design by Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  Awake Unto Me

  Forsaking All Others

  A Spark of Heavenly Fire

  Warm November

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank Judith for taking the time to tell me about her transition as a late-in-life lesbian. I’m also grateful to Yvette for friendship and insight.

  My spouse, Jeanette, performed her usual duty as combination muse, beta reader, critic, and cheerleader. My friend Kent was always there to hear about how “the book” was going. Love and gratitude go to my sister Karin for pretty much everything.

  Last but not least, thanks to all the friends of Bill for the last thirty years, one day at a time.

  For Jeanette, who’s always in my corner and always tells me exactly what she thinks. ILY

  Chapter One

  Merle Craig was a realist, a clear-eyed, clearheaded, facer-of-facts person. She’d been that way ever since she’d gotten sober at the age of thirty-seven after twenty years of hard drinking. She’d rid herself of the alcoholic haze that had enveloped her brain and learned to face life on its terms. In spite of her hard-won perspective, she still didn’t much like surprises.

  She came home after her routine Saturday-morning AA meeting to find Kay, her lover of ten years, sitting at the kitchen table staring into space.

  Merle poured herself another cup of coffee and sat down. She stared at Kay, trying to discern what might be up with her.

  “Hi, love. Do you want me to start with laundry, and you can take care of the living room and dining room?”

  Kay didn’t move or respond for an unusually long time. Then she looked up and at Merle, her expression unreadable. “I think we should break up.”

  Merle’s throat closed and she had a hard time swallowing her coffee. Her shoulders seized with anxiety. Things weren’t great between them, but she hadn’t thought they were that bad.

  “Okay.” She drew the word out carefully. “Could we talk about this? Why do you think we should break up?” She kept a close eye on Kay like she was a dicey lab experiment that might fail at any moment. Merle was one of those people who masked her inner turmoil by becoming quieter and calmer the more upset she was.

  “I’m not happy. Surely you’ve noticed.”

  Merle had noticed. She knew Kay was unhappy but didn’t think Kay was unhappy with her. At least Kay had never said she was.

  “Yes. I’ve thought that. Would you tell me about it?”

  Kay had been laid off two years before. Her mother had died. Those events could surely take their toll on Kay’s psyche but still…

  “I don’t know if I can. I feel like we’re missing something.” Kay stared off into space. She could be annoyingly vague sometimes.

  “I need some more detail. Is there something you want to do? Something you want me to change?”

  “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  Merle’s chin dropped to her chest. “You want to flush ten years down the toilet. Just like that?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Would you give therapy a try?”

  “Sure. We could.” She shrugged.

  “But would you participate?”

  “Yes. Of course I would.”

  So off they went to a therapist, and Merle tried hard to believe they weren’t going to therapy just so they could break up.

  After she’d gotten sober, she’d waited a long time to get involved with someone. She wasn’t sure it would ever happen, and when she’d met Kay, she was convinced she was the right woman. She wasn’t prepared to be wrong or to go down without a fight.

  *

  They sat in their twin armchairs facing their therapist, Aja. They described how, when, and where they met, and their most recent history.

  Aja fixed them with sharp, dark eyes that belied her benign expression and asked, “So. Are the two of you still having sex?”

  They looked at each other, then back at their therapist, and neither said anything.

  “Don’t both of you try and talk at once now,” Aja said drily.

  “No.” Kay spoke first. “I’m just not into it.”

  “Oh?” Aja raised an eyebrow. “Could you say a little more about that?”

  And sure enough, Kay said more.

  Merle grew to hate Aja’s prodding. It made Kay spew stuff Merle had no idea was in her brain. She’d known all along that Kay was codependent and a big procrastinator and a laggardly decision-maker. Merle often had to work to get Kay to say what she was thinking or to do something or decide something. She thought Kay had gotten over the codependence. Kay’s failure to tell Merle ninety percent of what was on her mind was the worst procrastination ever. Years of Kay’s thoughts came tumbling out.

  In between therapy visits they talked and argued and processed.

  “It’s getting better, isn’t it?” Merle asked after a few months.

  “Maybe, we’ll see,” Kay said.

  When the Supreme Court invalidated Section Two of DOMA and finally voided Proposition 8, Merle asked Kay if she was ready to get married. In 2008, Kay hadn’t wanted to get married, citing the uncertainty of Prop 8 and the upcoming election and the fact that they wouldn’t have full equality because of DOMA. It had made sense to Merle at the time. Kay’s difficulty making decisions made
any whiff of ambiguity or uncertainty stop her cold.

  “You want to get married now?” Kay asked. “We’re trying to get through therapy and don’t know if we’re going to stay together.”

  “That’s the point of marriage! It’s supposed to help you stay together. I love you. I want to stay with you. I want us to stay together! We’ve got this house.”

  “Oh. You know. Marriage isn’t really a gay thing. It’s a straight thing. Who needs it? We don’t.” Kay waved her hand, dismissing the possibility.

  Merle shut her mouth. She was ready to pay any price to keep them together. The therapy continued and she waited for the miracle to happen. It didn’t.

  At last, on one bright April day, Kay invited Merle to join her on the living-room couch.

  Kay uncharacteristically sat close to Merle, took both of her hands, and said, “I’ve tried. I really have, for your sake. But we can’t do this anymore.”

  Merle held back her tears. She wanted to say many things, but the only thing she could articulate was, “What are we going to do with the house? You can’t buy me out. You’re going to walk away from your equity?”

  “The house was always your thing, sweetheart. You can stay here and buy me out. I’d give you lots of time.” And she smiled, sadly.

  It was true. Merle had wanted to buy the 1930s Craftsman with a front porch on Bernal Hill’s south side the second she saw it. Kay thought it was dull looking and too expensive. They’d argued about that too, of course. Not only would she have to pay the mortgage herself, but she’d have to repay Kay thousands of dollars. Anger piled on top of sadness and fear.

  It took a full year, but Kay finally made the decision to leave and Merle had to accept it.

  For someone who wasn’t especially well organized about life, Kay was coldly efficient about removing all traces of herself from their home.

  On the day Kay was to move, Merle’s friends made many offers of sanctuary to her and warned her to not be there, but Merle didn’t listen. Kay could change her mind. That wasn’t unprecedented. Merle didn’t want to miss it in case it happened again.

  Kay had rented a U-Haul and somehow acquired a nondescript young man to help her move. According to the old joke, the answer to the question of “What does a lesbian bring to the second date?” was “a U-Haul.” Turned out she brought the same U-Haul when the whole thing ended.

  Merle found that amusing in a sickening way. Her friends were right; she should have stayed away. The whole scenario was surreally unpleasant.

  She stood in the driveway with her yellow Labrador retriever, Arthur, at her side. Where had the moving boy come from? Some son of one of Kay’s friends, no doubt. Kay hated to pay for stuff she could get for free.

  She felt rather than saw Kay’s presence at her side, likely for the very last time.

  “Well, that’s it,” she said. At least she had the grace to look sad. For the last year of the endless therapy and processing and back and forth, she’d had two modes: acting peeved or showing fake solicitousness.

  “Yep.” Merle didn’t trust herself to say more.

  “Here’s my key.” Kay dropped her house key into Merle’s hand. Merle looked at it for a second, then closed her fingers and stared at Kay. She was still pretty, with her long reddish-brown hair, gray eyes, and faraway expression. Long ago, Merle had thought she looked ethereal, like a born-again hippie. These days, she had worry lines and a twitch in her left eyebrow. They’d both aged.

  “So you’ll let me know when you get the title changed? You’ll do that right away?” Kay asked. Except it wasn’t really a question. It was an order couched as a question.

  “Sure.”

  “Take care.” Kay jumped up into the cab of the U-Haul. Merle watched her practice her familiar ritual of settling herself: she straightened her clothes, flipped her hair, and buckled her seat belt. The U-Haul drove away.

  Arthur leaned against Merle in his affectionate big-dog way. She touched his head and he nosed her hand. Arthur’s bulky body against her leg made her feel a little better.

  “Well, that’s that, buddy. Just you and me now.” And after all the drama, the trauma, the endless discussions, it was done. She hadn’t the foggiest idea what was next. She closed her eyes and recited the Serenity Prayer.

  God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

  She turned and went into the house.

  *

  A light fog drizzle was falling as Merle walked to the Full Moon Café after the Bernal New Day AA meeting with her friends Sigrid and Clea. They kept the conversation general and light until they got their food and sat down near the front window. Kay had left a couple of weeks ago.

  “So, Mer. How’re you holding up?” Clea asked. She and Sigrid had been Merle’s closest friends in the program in recent years. They were there when she’d started. They’d lost touch and then reconnected a couple years after she met and courted Kay. They’d been a couple since before Merle had met them.

  “I’m okay. I guess.”

  “Not a very convincing answer.” Sigrid glanced at Clea but then returned her attention to Merle, who took a drink of coffee.

  “It’s like she’s still there. I keep looking up and expecting her to walk into the room.”

  “I hear that’s what happens when someone dies,” Clea said, her tone arch.

  “She’s very much not dead, thanks. Though she might as well be.” Merle stared at the ceiling, hands in pockets, and sighed.

  “You’re moping.” Sigrid was stern though not cruel. Her tone was kind rather than snarky. Merle still didn’t want to hear her observation, though it was true.

  Merle shifted in her chair and frowned. Where were her two supportive friends? Today she was mired in sorrow and wanted at least to have them acknowledge her loss. She wanted a little compassion.

  Clea and Sigrid had always been noncommittal about Kay. Not critical but not effusive. She didn’t ask them for much information. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to hear what they really thought. “They” was the correct pronoun because she never heard them express anything but agreement with each other.

  “Can’t I mope a little? I lost my lover, for Christ’s sake. Give me a break. I’m not drinking, I’m not suicidal. I’m not even stuffing sugar into my face. How about allowing me just a touch of self-pity to make me feel better?”

  She put her thumb and forefinger close together and grinned then, and they laughed.

  “Like someone with a terminal disease, I have good days and bad days. This is a bad day. Let me enjoy it.”

  Sigrid nodded. “Go right ahead, sweetie, but tomorrow, you’ve got to snap out of it.”

  She patted Merle’s cheek. “You’ll be fine. Your sense of humor appears intact. Yes, of course you’re allowed to mourn the loss.”

  “So tell me, now that she’s gone, what did you really think of her all that time?” It was time to find out what she’d avoided asking about.

  Kay had always said, “You can have your AA friends. I don’t need to be part of that.” And Merle had agreed. Clea and Sigrid had never pressed the issue.

  “It’s not important what we thought,” Clea said, “but what you thought.”

  “Oh no. You’re not getting off that easy.”

  “What does it matter now?” Sigrid asked. “She’s out of the picture. You’re going to find someone else. Someone better.” Sigrid looked away when she said that, and Merle’s curiosity perked up.

  “Aha. So come on. Tell me.” Sigrid looked at her spouse. Clea shook her head, making her hair-weaves sway.

  “Go ahead on. She’s not going to let it go. Girlfriend’s like a pit bull when she gets going.”

  “We thought she was self-absorbed,” Sigrid said. “She was okay. But well. It was always all about her.”

  “Don’t you think we’re all self-absorbed?” Merle asked, knowing Sigrid was right but wanting to argue anyhow. “But
that explains why we never got together as a foursome. Why we didn’t ‘couple date.’”

  “She was emotionally withdrawn,” Clea said.

  “Hard to pin down,” Sigrid said.

  “Wishy-washy,” Clea said.

  “Narcissistic.” Sigrid said the word as though that was the final straw.

  “She had issues, I agree, but—”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “That time she left you at Tim’s party because she was bored.” Sigrid rolled her blue eyes heavenward. “Or when she refused to go with you to your dad’s funeral. You said she said it was too inconvenient and you’d be better without her.”

  “That was likely true. Kay in a bad mood on a trip?” She shivered, recalling a few occasions.

  Sigrid pursed her lips. Her attitude indicated that Kay’s actions were a grave violation of relationship commandments. Maybe they were. At the time, Merle hadn’t thought about it, but now she wondered. Everything was called into question. Had she spent ten years making excuses? Had she simply ignored her own needs because she knew Kay wouldn’t be able to meet them? She was pretty self-sufficient. She’d never wanted to be in a clingy relationship. She and Kay had made fun of other lesbians who were inseparable, attached at the hip, dressed alike, and so forth. Not us, they’d agreed.

  On the other hand, Merle was in awe of her two friends and their relationship. Sigrid was a Scandinavian with white-blond hair, and Clea was a very dark-skinned black woman. They were opposites in looks but were always in agreement emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually. They had minor disagreements, but they either worked through them or agreed to disagree. That was what made them work, she supposed. Where it counted, they agreed. They were in sync. They flowed.