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  Louisa was nodding off. Her mother dabbed a tissue at her nose and slipped out as Rayann kissed the parched lips tenderly, then offered water. Louisa drank briefly, then slept.

  The door opened again, this time admitting her favorite resident, the very first doctor she and Teddy had talked to. Dr. Kiung had a well of genuine sym¬pathy that the rigors of resident medicine hadn't yet drained.

  "I waited too long," he said, glancing at the sleeping Louisa. "I was hoping to catch her awake while you were here."

  "What is it?" Rayann knew she should brace her¬self for bad news, but she didn't have any bracing left.

  He sat down and talked quietly. "You can't tell in this light, but her skin is tinting orange. That's an indication of jaundice. I expect the blood test we did this afternoon to confirm that diagnosis."

  "What does that mean?"

  "The blood test will tell us if the jaundice is being caused by a virus, like viral hepatitis, or by an ob-

  struction that is allowing the pigments in the liver's bile to reach the skin. That's where the color comes from."

  "So what will you do?" The question came out automatically. Rayann felt as if she was mouthing lines from a script.

  "If it's an obstruction, an operation is the only way to fix it."

  "She won't survive an operation. Maybe a month ago she might have. And I don't think she'll agree anyway."

  He nodded with a flicker of a smile. "Given that her first instructions to me were 'Get this fucking tube out of my throat,' I think you're right. And you're also right — it's highly unlikely she'd survive the operation anyway. I can't believe she's still alive, frankly." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, if the jaundice is caused by a virus we can treat it, but the treatments can be unsuccessful. But I think we'll discover it's a blockage."

  "When will you know?"

  "Tomorrow morning."

  "And if she won't have the operation?"

  "A matter of days. We'll be barely able to keep her comfortable, considering her morphine dosage now."

  Rayann said slowly, "So what you're saying is that if the jaundice is being caused by liver failure or a blockage and she doesn't have an operation, she's going to need more morphine to be comfortable until she ... dies. And so the brief periods of consciousness she's been having are just about over."

  "Yes." He blinked back tears and she realized she didn't know his first name. She had become so self-

  centered. "If she declines the operation, I would say good-bye."

  "Thank you for telling me. I'll let her son know, too. I know she won't agree to the operation." She looked at Louisa's profile. "She's said her good-byes, most of them."

  She turned off the bedside light and sat in the dark. The heart monitor bleeped. She'd always thought it was off-key, somehow.

  She shied away from accepting that she might have only one or two more chances to tell Louisa how much she loved her. Finding the words was hard. A thousand words could not begin to describe the way her life molded to Louisa's, the way her soul had dreamed once it had filled with Louisa's love. That Louisa was dying was incomprehensible because her heart would not let go. She would never let go.

  4

  Teddy signed the paperwork the administrative aide proffered and then handed the clipboard to Rayann. "I still feel this isn't necessary. She's quite able to decide for herself."

  Rayann looked down at the little space while the aide mouthed something about hospital policy. By signing she was adding her consent to lack of treat¬ment as specified by Louisa, and she was admitting she understood the serious consequences of not accepting the advised treatment. The consequence was

  liver failure in anywhere from twelve to forty-eight hours.

  She didn't understand any of it. The world was a shadow and nothing had any substance. She'd achieved the numb state that she'd told Judy she needed.

  The pen moved across the paper, leaving blue marks against white.

  I'm letting you die. I expected you to go first, but not like this.

  I didn't expect this either.

  Teddy shook her gently. "It's what she wants."

  "I know." She wanted to be angry at the hospital for making her sign the paper, for making Teddy sign it. Did they really make adult children sign something like this if there was a spouse? But she didn't want to sign it either. She didn't want the responsibility.

  The aide took the clipboard out of her hands, tugging it a little when her fingers wouldn't unclench. The knifing pain in her heart was almost as bad as that first day, when the doctor had written DNR on Louisa's chart.

  "I'm very sorry for the pain your mother is going through." The aide's words were automatic. She'd probably said them hundreds of times. Only after she was gone did Rayann realize the aide had been speak¬ing to her, not Teddy.

  She boiled with rage for a long minute, then it subsided as quickly as it had come, leaving her shaking. Teddy made her sit down.

  Even at the end people did not want to accept what the chart said — that she was Louisa's lover, not her daughter. She didn't know if they refused to

  accept it because they were both women, or because she was so much younger than Louisa, nearly thirty years. It didn't matter.

  Louisa hovered at the edge of consciousness. She tried to say something, so Rayann leaned down, wanting to climb into the bed with her, but being jostled would only cause Louisa more pain. Despite the maximum dose of morphine she'd been given, Louisa had been in tears after the morning's therapeutic massage to stave off bedsores.

  "I'm here, darling," Rayann said.

  "I love you." The whisper didn't convey the Garbo-esque tone of Louisa's voice, but Rayann heard it in her heart. "I just wanted to say it again."

  Rayann delicately stroked Louisa's cheek. Her eyes saw the distinctive orange-yellow tint, but her mind didn't register it. "I know." A thousand words churned inside her, but she could only manage a few past her choking throat. "I count the ways, every day," she whispered.

  Louisa tried to nod. "Thank you for not arguing about operations, machines."

  She had wanted to argue, to scream and fight, but she knew it was pointless. Once Louisa's mind was made up there was no changing it. It was that way in everything. "It's your choice, darling. I would never take it from you."

  For a moment Louisa's eyes flickered with desire, and Rayann felt her body responding. One last time — God, what she would give for one last time. She instantly hated herself for thinking about her physical needs.

  Louisa whispered, "Kiss me. I love you."

  It tasted of tears and yesterday, and memories of

  longing and fulfillment, a twining dance of desire as pleasurable as satisfaction.

  "No tears," Louisa said. She closed her eyes. "Promise me..."

  "What?"

  "It's a cliche."

  "Can't have that," Rayann managed to tease. She was rewarded by the glimmer of a smile. It was enough.

  "Don't chain up your heart. I loved again after Chris ... didn't think I would. Wasn't looking for you. You can, too. Promise me." Louisa's voice was getting thready. Rayann offered water and waited while Louisa drank.

  "I promise," she said. What was one little lie if it would give Louisa some peace? "Teddy's here."

  "Please."

  They'd gotten very good at jumping over useless conversation. No need for Louisa to say "good" or "how nice." Just "please" for "I want to talk to him."

  She made room for Teddy and looked unseeingly at the O'Keeffe prints she'd hung around the room. She even heard something like a laugh from Teddy. Louisa should by all rights be exhausted, but she was clinging to awareness as the closest family and friends came to say good-bye. There would be no funeral, just a family-only burial. What was the point, Louisa had wanted to know, of everyone saying nice things after she died? Why not say them while they had the chance? No funeral, but a party was planned. Louisa had even chosen the music.

  While Nancy, an old friend who ran Oakland's w
omen's center, was visiting, Teddy stood by Rayann at the window.

  He spoke quietly so neither Louisa nor Nancy could overhear. "I heard from the trucking company lawyers again today. They've upped the settlement offer."

  She detested all mention of the lawsuit. She hadn't wanted to sue, but Teddy had insisted if only for the symbolic gesture. It was the litigator in him, she supposed. Louisa had decided to let Teddy pursue it on her behalf, saying the money could go to her favorite charities, which would be something good from something bad. The company had known the driver had a history of drunk driving but hired him anyway. "Can we not talk about it now?"

  "I don't want to, but the offer expires tomorrow and I'm negligent if I don't tell you," Teddy explained. "Their timing is pretty awful."

  "Let it expire." The company obviously wanted it over and done with but right now Rayann would not give them any satisfaction.

  "That's what I thought." He didn't say any more, but Rayann had no trouble following his legal reason¬ing. They would gain much more in a settlement after Louisa died and all the beneficiaries, including Louisa's numerous charities, would be better off.

  She felt sick to her stomach. The smell of anti¬septic was making her gag.

  She didn't deserve this. Louisa didn't deserve this.

  Late in the afternoon Louisa's strength gave out. Rayann knew the moment it happened because one moment Louisa had been listening intently to Pride and Prejudice, and the next her eyes were closed. Her hands went limp.

  After a minute the respiration monitor blared, but

  Louisa didn't move. The nurse came in, checked Louisa's pulse, then the machines. Dr. Kiung did the same thing two minutes later.

  "I'm going to administer an APNEA test," he told the nurse, who took the chart and nodded. He flicked light into Louisa's eyes and pricked different parts of her body to see if any pain was registering. Louisa didn't move.

  Rayann was breathing hard. She felt like a mara¬thon runner in the twenty-fifth mile. Her mother came to stand next to her. She clutched the book she'd been reading aloud as if it could give her com¬fort.

  Dr. Kiung made some low-voiced observations to the nurse, then turned to them. "There is still pupil activity, and I think her current state has more to do with the morphine than anything else. I mean that she hasn't had a stroke or seizure. She's in a state of collapse."

  There was a long silence, then her mother asked quietly, "Will she regain consciousness again?"

  Dr. Kiung shook his head. "I seriously doubt it." He swallowed hard. "And I can't say it would be a good thing for her if she did."

  "We understand," her mother said. "Thank you."

  Teddy was shaking; Rayann could sense it. There was a knock on the door and Joyce came in, stopping short after a quick look at Louisa. Teddy went to her without a word while Rayann accepted her mother's tight embrace.

  "I'm so sorry, honey, so sorry."

  They waited together, the four of them. Joyce made a quick phone call to have a friend keep Tucker

  for the night, then they waited. The dinner hour came and went. Her mother called Jim to let him know she would be at the hospital all night if need be.

  They didn't turn on the lights after the sun set, so Rayann did not know how long Louisa's fingers had been moving when she finally noticed it. She hurried to the bedside and leaned down, her head on the pillow. "I'm here."

  Louisa's lips moved, as if she was dreaming. The heart monitor stopped beeping. The horrible flat tone was worse than any TV show could make it.

  Teddy was jamming the nurse call button, but the door was already opening. The lights came on as two nurses entered quickly. They efficiently took vitals and cleared space next to the bed. Dr. Kiung, looking very weary, came a few moments later and stopped the nurses.

  "She's DNR. Cancel the code blue, please."

  Rayann turned her face into her mother's shoulder.

  It's not you.

  Not anymore, my love.

  Dr. Kiung clenched his fists as if to keep his hands still. After a few minutes he checked Louisa's pupils, then said softly to one nurse, "Time of death is nine-fourteen." He turned off the heart monitor and only then did Rayann hear everyone else's tears.

  After months of crying, her well was dry. She was the only one who didn't cry.

  "To Louisa!"

  Teresa watched everyone in the Lace Place bar

  raise their glass. She turned to Vivian. "It looks like some sort of party. Maybe we're here on a bad night."

  Even as she said it, the bartender, Jill, was hurry¬ing over. "I'm sorry there's not much room in the bar tonight, and there won't be any dancing. We're having a wake. The cafe is open if you're hungry. We can bring drinks in there, if you'd like."

  "I'm starving," Vivian said. She looked dis¬appointed, too.

  Jill showed them to a table. By peeking through the lattice wall Teresa could see the "mourners." They all looked like they were having a good time. She noticed a blow-up of a woman's photograph — older, probably late sixties. But very... handsome. Gorgeous hair lifted in a brisk wind, like sewing silks of silver and black. Teresa wondered what she had died of.

  As she glanced at the other people in the bar, she saw one woman who tickled her memory. The redhead next to the woman was a stranger — she'd have remembered the thick, Titian hair. She pointed her out to Vivian.

  "Oh my," Vivian said. "No, I don't think she was here before. I wouldn't have forgotten."

  They ordered their dinner, but it was hard to talk with the increasing hubbub in the bar. More toasts to the departed Louisa were given. Teresa's cobb salad was good, if a tad simple, but it filled the hungry spot.

  "So much for my meeting anyone," Teresa said. She indicated her suit and heels. "I'm as dressed up as I'll ever get."

  "You looked great for your big board meeting. I'm glad it went well."

  "I'm really glad we got the money. It wasn't much.

  I was scared I wouldn't present it very well, but it seemed to go okay. A couple of board members even said thank you — oh, now I remember."

  "Remember what?"

  Teresa quickly swallowed. "The woman next to the redhead. She was here with the creative director from hell."

  "Haven't you gotten over that yet?" Vivian deli¬cately dabbed away a smidgen of dressing from the corner of her mouth. Teresa couldn't believe her lip¬stick wasn't even smudged. If she wore lipstick it got all over everything.

  "Of course. I just couldn't remember where I'd seen her before."

  "You were oil and water. You should put it behind you."

  "I have," Teresa insisted.

  "That's good," Vivian said, "because she's right over there." She pointed with her fork.

  Teresa had to look twice. Rayann Germaine seemed dwarfed by a broad-shouldered man sitting next to her. Teresa remembered the way Rayann's vivid personality had seemed like an assault. That was all turned around now. She was not just cold, but frozen. All the vitality and life around her seemed to get sucked into her stillness, leaving her wholly unaffected. Even when she spoke she seemed silent. It reminded Teresa a little of DaVinci's Last Supper. Everyone else was talking and eating, but Rayann, like DaVinci's Christ, was focused inward as if contemplating an inevitable sadness.

  Teresa noticed the redhead helping the pale woman next to her up — ah, the pale woman was in a maternity blouse, which probably accounted for her

  pallor. The redhead briefly rested her hand on the other woman's slightly swollen belly. Doing the lesbian mommy thing, apparently.

  "You're staring," Vivian said.

  "Sorry." She took another bite of her cobb salad and grimaced when she got more blue cheese than she liked at any one time.

  Vivian had apparently seen the two women as well, because she asked, "Have you ever thought about having kids?"

  "Not really. My dad would be thrilled no matter how they arrived. But I think his soon-to-be son-in-law has two kids, which takes the pressure off me."
<
br />   "Used to be, just being a lesbian you got to walk away from that kind of pressure."

  Teresa grinned. "More choices — I didn't really need them." Vivian looked pensive, so Teresa asked, "What about you?"

  "I'd love to have a big family. Lots of kids, at least three. I have five brothers and sisters and I miss the closeness of family. That's why I broke up with Tamala last year. She was dead set against it. I hear the clock ticking, but I don't think I can do it all by myself." She sipped her water, then studied the glass after she set it down. "All my brothers and sisters have kids and none of them has two cents to rub together. Which leaves me helping out mom and dad because I don't have kids. And if I had kids I wouldn't be able to help mom and dad anymore. My family is accepting of my being gay, but I know they feel I don't really have a life. So I can afford to be the major support. If I lived closer I'd be the one stopping by twice a week to make sure they have groceries, but my two sisters take care of that. I just pay the bill."

  As an only child with a hale and hearty father, Teresa found it hard to relate. "I know it's not easy. But I don't know about having kids. I like my soli¬tude."

  "Give it a few more years, you won't."

  "You talk like you are so much older than I am."

  "Six long years."

  Teresa shrugged. "What's six years, here or there?"

  Vivian wrinkled her not-in-the-least-bit-pointy nose, which Teresa envied. "They haven't happened to you yet. You're still on the verge."

  "Verge of what?"

  "Life. Whatever life has in store. This is when you find out what you're really made of and what you're not. You'll be into your life before you know it, and nothing will be the way you thought it would be."

  Teresa wanted to say, "For you, not for me," but for once her mouth knew when to stay shut. She knew that Vivian had wanted to be a lawyer but failed to pass the bar in several tries. She had also dis¬covered she couldn't handle the long hours and stress. Instead she was a paralegal and highly valued precisely because she did not want to be a lawyer. "Will it be so awful?"