Goodbye Earl(86)

“Hey. So, I have a feeling none of this is going according to protocol. A private citizen can suggest that we come up here and give statements, although it has nothing to do with us? Is this a murder investigation or what? Who said anyone killed him?” Rosemarie asked him quietly after they hugged.

“It’s a death investigation right now. They’re doing the autopsy soon, but besides that, I don’t know what’s going on. When I do, I’ll tell you. You know I will. How’s Caro doing today?”

“Grandma Mimi says she’s fine and should be out within the week. I’m going to see her after this,” Rosemarie said, motioning her head toward the building.

“Good,” Silas said. “A friend of the Foxberrys said they heard Beau Bramford ask Trey, ‘How’d you like it if I tried to kill you, you piece of shit?’ in the hospital parking lot last week, so Beau’s in there right now, talking.”

“Really?” Rosemarie’s mostly empty stomach dropped. She might puke. She should stop by the bathroom first, just in case. Beau would be fine, she knew it, but a lot was happening all at once. Whoa. She hadn’t gotten properly stoned at the farmhouse, but the edges of the world still curved and fuzzed a little—a good thing.

Silas nodded. “What’s up, Bell?” he said over Rosemarie’s shoulder, and she turned to see Leo standing behind her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“I was going to sit and read until you were done. Moral support,” he said, holding up a James Baldwin paperback. She’d called him on her way and let him know what she was doing, but she hadn’t asked him to come along.

“Good man,” Silas said, shaking Leo’s hand. “Want some coffee? Bottle of water?” he asked him.

“Coffee, yeah. I’ll take it. Thank you,” Leo said, sitting on the bench in front of the police station. Silas went inside and Rosemarie sat next to Leo. He put his arm around her and she stayed there until it was time to go in.





2006


38





In Seattle, no women asked Rosemarie to keep their kissing a secret. No women in London asked her that either. Or Paris, for that matter. It was studying abroad in Paris where she met Mélanie and kissed Mélanie and let her tongue taste every part of Mélanie in Mélanie’s art studio. It was where Mélanie would go down on her for twenty minutes at a time while Rosemarie closed her eyes to writhe in ecstasy, then opened them in a shock of pleasure to gasp up at the skylight. Blue sky or gray clouds. Moonlight and raining stars. It didn’t matter, because time froze in Mélanie’s art studio.

Mélanie was the sister of Rosemarie’s brother’s friend, and Rosemarie met her one night at a party her brother’s friend threw. Rosemarie loved that she and Rune were in Paris at the same time, especially since it’d been sort of an accident. He’d gotten a semipermanent DJ gig, and she was there for two months in the spring, studying art history.

Leo was in music school in Boston, and she had plans to visit him on her way home when she left Paris. He’d been dating a cellist from Wisconsin for the past few months—a girl called Annie with dark bangs that got caught in her eyelashes. Rosemarie studied every picture she’d found of her online. Rosemarie lied and said yes when he asked if she wanted to meet Annie when she was in town, but Leo knew that, so he laughed when she said it and she laughed too.

Rosemarie could completely let go in Mélanie’s world because it didn’t feel like a betrayal to Leo. Nothing sapphic felt like a betrayal to Leo and never would. Bifurcation. Paris, like Seattle, was decidedly not Goldie. Rosemarie could comfortably be exactly who she was, all the time. She and Mélanie walked hand in hand up and down the streets of Paris and along the Seine, sat outside cafés feeding each other strawberries and Chantilly cream.

*



From: [email protected]

To: [email protected], [email protected],

[email protected]

Subject: Salut!



Okay, I’m sending a pic of Mélanie FINALLY but she prefers to be behind the lens. She’s aggressively sexy and smells like vetiver and violets most of the time. Sometimes, smoke and rain. I don’t know how she’s real. I took this pic right outside the café we go to most often. (I’ve also learned to love extra-frothy cappuccinos.)

Caro, how’s it feel to be almost done with pastry school??? Do tell!! And Jay! I hope everything is good there with that cutie.

Ada, you’re taking a color class right now? Mélanie’s been teaching me about different kinds of paint. Gouache vs. tempera, etc. Don’t tell my mom that because she’s tried to teach me about paint my whole life, but I wouldn’t listen.

Kasey, I know you’re busy and I know you’re not emailing us back right now even though it’s been TOO LONG, but I’ll never take you off here because I know you’re there I KNOW YOU’RE READING THIS. We love you so much. Hope you’re having so much fun when you’re not working or studying and I hope you are so excited about life that you’re never sleeping in never-sleep NYC.

TALK SOON RACK FOREVER.

Roses



*



The breakup with Mélanie was torturous and Rosemarie sank into it, letting herself really feel it. Even though it was only two months, it was the longest time she’d been in an open, real relationship with a woman, and weirdly, Rosemarie wanted to remember even the bad parts, as a guide for something she knew would happen again. She found a hope in that—that she’d get to do it again. Rosemarie was returning to the United States and Mélanie was going to Vienna to live with her sister, and they said they’d call and write. Lied and said they’d meet up again one day when they could.