The Ghost of a Chance Read Online Free PDF Page A

I could invite
her to my house tonight. She would leave with me; I know she would.
"Follow me upstairs," I'd say, and she'd follow—or perhaps she'd
lead.
    But Portia would see us. Portia
wouldn't forgive me.
    Oh, never mind the cat. I wouldn't
forgive myself.
    I sob helplessly into the sink,
knocking my forehead against the mirror.
    Catherine was going to prepare
Thanksgiving dinner this year. For just the two of us.   No friends, no family. Neither of us cared
much for our families. Mine keeps little contact with me; any
correspondences—by mail, phone or Internet—are stiff, impersonal, obligatory.
My parents have never disowned me officially, but they've made it quite clear
over the years that they’re ashamed of my "lifestyle." Every year,
they send a Christmas card addressed only to me, never Catherine, with a note
explaining that a donation has been made in my name to their current pet
charity, the more Christian and Conservative, the better.
    If only Catherine could hold me
right now, just for one minute... Maybe then I'd have the will to move on. I
just want to feel her arms around me, her breath in my hair. Why can't I have
that? Something so simple and ordinary and sweet.
    It isn't fair.
    I tilt my head backward, close my
eyes, and imagine not Caroline's but Catherine's eyes smoldering over me as I
lie beneath, her lips pink and parted, hungry to connect with my own. But she
knows how I love to be teased, tormented, and denies me those lips for as long
as either one of us can stand it, instead tracing feather-light fingertips over
my neck, my breasts, my stomach...lower still—
    "Darcy?"
    With a start, I realize that I’m
sitting on the floor, against the door, with my arms wrapped around my knees.
Alis knocks again.
    "Darcy, are you all
right?"
    "I'm fine," I lie, rising
and turning on the faucet. I take the cool water in my hands and splash it on
my still-red face. "I'll be out in a second."
    As much as I long to climb out of
the window and run all the way home, I decide that it would be better to stay,
eat Thanksgiving dinner and then call a taxi to make my escape. By that point,
everyone will be so stuffed and sleepy, full of turkey and dessert and wine,
that they won't notice my absence.
    The plan works, more or less. I
have little appetite, after all, but take small bites of the turkey-like tofu
Alis made just for me out of politeness. Whenever her blue eyes catch mine,
they seem so concerned, so encouraging.   I stop looking at her. I try to avoid Caroline's gaze, too, but she’s
far more insistent, addressing me directly, confusing me with her bedroom
smile.
    Unexpectedly, it’s Alis' husband
who makes the most effort at including me in the conversation.
    "That's some pretty land
you've got up there, Darcy. What is it, ten, fifteen acres?" His
unschooled accent catches me off-guard, so inconsistent with his well-coiffed,
metrosexual appearance.
    "Twenty-three." I spoon
up some mashed potatoes reluctantly, anxious to appear normal now that the
table's attention is focused on me.
    "And Alis tells me you've got
a log cabin out there, too, along with the big house?"
    Panic clutches my heart. No, we
can't talk about the cabin. Not Catherine's cabin...
    Alis covers my hand with her own.
"Jason, there are some gorgeous apple trees in the back orchard," she
says, pointedly changing the subject. "And a cherry tree, too, I
think?"
    I nod. Yes, there is a cherry tree.
    "I don't think I've told you,
Darcy," Alis says, "but I love making jams and preserves. Maybe we
could do that together sometime."
    Alis' smile can't reach me here;
I'm too far away. But I nod again and spear a green bean with my fork.
    "So you ever do any hunting on
your land?" Jason persists, slathering his meat with enough gravy to drown
a small animal. "Bet you've got herds of deer right in your backyard.
Maybe while you and Alis are picking apples, I could shoot a ten-point for you
two girls to fry up, make a proper feast." He