"Leslie, I think you're blowing this a little out of proportion here, don't you?" His eyes narrowed. "Did you start your period again?"

"No, Michael, this isn't about my hormones." She took a deep breath. "I'm trying to tell you that I can't marry you." She knew he would be upset. She expected that. But the look of devastation that crossed his face was nearly too much for her. "I'm sorry,"

she whispered.

"You want to call off the wedding?" he asked quietly. "You want to... break up?"

She met his eyes. "Yes." And of course, his next question was not unexpected.

135.*"You've met someone, haven't you?"

But she'd inflicted enough wounds for one night. There was no need to tell him about Casey or about the lie she'd been living. So she shook her head. "This has nothing to do with meeting someone else, Michael. It's just about us. And we just don't fit together."

He slammed his fist down on the counter. "And you've just now come to that conclusion? Just woke up one morning and it hit you?"

She deserved his anger, yes. But it was still shocking. He'd never once raised his voice with her. She kept her voice even, her gaze steady. "I think we should stop right here, Michael. Before either of us says something we'll regret."

He lowered his head. "I'm sorry. I just can't believe this," he whispered. "It's just out of the blue."

"Think about it, Michael. Is it really out of the blue? Think about it."

He rubbed his head, brushing the hair off of his forehead over and over again, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "Well, I...I can go stay with Jeff. You can stay here. We can-"

"No. This is your apartment, not mine. I'm just going to pack a few clothes and I'll get a room for the weekend. Next week, we'll talk. We'll see about our stuff," she said. God, how can breaking up be so civilized?

But no, it wasn't. Suddenly, the look in his eyes changed. He grabbed her arm tightly.

"I think we're just giving up too fast. We're not fighting for this. Let's go to counseling," he said, holding her in front of him. "We've got too much invested to just throw it away like this."

She stared at him. "No, Michael. Counseling will not help."

"Why not? Why won't you even try?" He dropped his hands from her, still staring at her. "I don't understand how you can just quit on this without trying? Don't you care even a little?"

"Michael-"

"I'll set us up an appointment. We can go to a couple of sessions, just see what we can do to change things. Come on," he pleaded.

"No. We can't change things."

"Yes, we can," he insisted. "We can. If we-"

"Michael, stop it!" she said, grabbing his arm. "Michael, we can't change, because...because I'm a lesbian."

136.*Michael's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He stared at her, questions flooding his eyes. But the silence was too much.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"No. You're just saying that. You're just using that as an excuse. You're no lesbian.

My God, we've been living together, we're fucking engaged. Lesbians don't get engaged," he said loudly.

"No. I guess normally they wouldn't get engaged." She swallowed hard. "I take full responsibility, Michael. And all the blame. You have done nothing wrong."

"No! Lesbians don't have sex with men," he yelled. "I just can't believe you think you're gay." He laughed bitterly. "Is that the excuse you came up with to break up with me? That you're gay?" He ran his hands through his hair again. "Jesus, Leslie.

How about you want to become a nun or something? I might believe that. But no, you're not fucking gay." He pointed his finger at her. "And don't you dare tell any of our friends that. I won't let you make a joke out of me." He spun away, and she heard him in their bedroom, pulling on jeans and shoes. Soon, the sound of his keys jingling and the front door opening.

And then the slam.

She knew it was coming and she still jumped from the force of it. She took a deep breath, rubbing her face with her hands, trying to get rid of some of the tension. It didn't work.

"That didn't go well," she murmured. But she couldn't blame him. She would be just as shocked if he had announced he was gay.

But surely he could tell. Over the years, couldn't he tell that she wasn't as responsive to him as she should be? He'd slept with plenty of women before her. Surely he knew what it was supposed to be like? Surely he could tell she was faking it.

"Oh, God." She felt like such a fraud. Which she was, of course. And he had every right to hate her. In reality, she'd just wasted nearly four years of his life.

And four years of yours.

No, truth be told, she'd wasted nearly fourteen years of her life, ever since she rejected Carol Ann and all that she stood for. Ever since she tried to hide under the heterosexual cloak and pretend she was perfectly happy. Ever since she ran from what she was and tried to be something she surely was not.

A straight woman.

So, without ceremony, she slipped his ring from her finger, clutching it in her palm for several long seconds before opening her hand, watching the light bounce off the diamond, mocking her. Strangely, just the simple act of removing the ring seemed to free her.

137.*

Chapter Thirty-One.

"Oh, my," she whispered, lowering her sunglasses to take in the full effect of Casey mowing the lawn in nothing but a sports bra and skimpy shorts. Her body was as tanned and toned as she suspected it would be. And the sight of it caused her libido to stir to life. Oh, my.

She got out of her car, smiling a greeting at an older man sitting on his porch watching Casey. This must be the Mr. Gunter whose lawn needed mowing. She walked up the sidewalk, past the perfectly manicured flowerbeds that were still overflowing with lush flowers even this late in September. The man stood when she reached his porch, holding out his hand in a friendly greeting.

"I'm here for Casey," she explained.

He nodded. "Sit," he said loudly as the buzz of Casey's mower came closer.

She saw her then and Leslie noticed the startled look cross her face. Startled because she was sitting in a chair beside Mr. Gunter, or startled to even see her at all, she wasn't sure which. Leslie smiled, then in an exaggerated show, let her eyes follow the length of Casey's body, past the ridiculously charming bright purple bra, the smooth, tanned stomach, the tiny baggy shorts that hugged her hips, and down the seemingly endless length of legs to a pair of old, ratty, grass-stained shoes. Oh, my. And the blush that covered Casey's face at her appraisal simply added to the allure. Casey held up two fingers and pointed to the yard. Leslie nodded.

"She's just about done," he said.

Leslie leaned closer to him. "You must be Mr. Gunter. I'm Leslie Tucker," she said loudly. "A friend of Casey's."

He smiled and nodded, then leaned back in his chair, his eyes following Casey around the yard. At first, she assumed he was enjoying the sight of Casey in near undress- much like she was. But then she realized there was a bit of pride in his eyes, much like a father might watch a daughter. She wondered what their relationship was.

Obviously friendly enough for Casey to mow his lawn. Was he a widower?

After two more spins around the yard, Casey killed the mower. She leaned casually on it, watching her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Detective Tucker?"

"I thought maybe I could take you to lunch, Detective O'Connor."

"Lunch?" She came closer, her smile widening. She glanced at Mr. Gunter. "What do you think, Ronnie?"

"She's pretty," he said. "I'd take her up on it if I were you."

Casey nodded in agreement. "She is pretty, isn't she? Okay. Lunch."

138.*Leslie wrinkled up her nose. "But you are going to...you know," she said, pointing at her.

"Shower? Yes, I'm going to shower. I'll let Ronnie entertain you." She pushed the mower back across the lawn, then stopped. "And, Ronnie, no secrets," she called over her shoulder. "She doesn't need to know everything."

Leslie laughed. "Oh, I think she opened a can of worms there. Just what secrets do you know?"

He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling. "You want some lemonade?"

She looked at the empty glass in his hands and nodded. "Sure, if it's not too much trouble." But before he could get up, the door opened and an older lady came out with two full glasses. Ah, so he wasn't a widower.

"Ruth, this is Leslie. A friend of our Casey's."

Leslie took the offered glass of lemonade, then gently shook the woman's frail hand.

"Nice to meet you, Ruth. Thank you for this. I can't believe how hot it still is." She took a sip, her eyes widening. Not just lemonade, but homemade lemonade.

"Delicious."

"Oh, I've been making lemonade for years." She smiled sweetly. "Casey enjoys it too." Pulling the housedress away from her chest to fan herself, she pointed back at the door. "I think I'll go back in where it's cooler. Nice to meet you, Leslie."

He leaned closer when the door had closed. "She doesn't come out much anymore,"

he said quietly with a quick glance at the house. "Last few years, she just wants to stay inside."

Leslie didn't know what to say. "Well, some people can't stand the heat. And I know it's September, but it still feels like August," she said lightly.

"That's not it." He pointed to her flowers. "She used to love her flowers. Love to plant them, love to sit here and watch them." He shook his head. "Not anymore. It's like she's lost interest." He motioned to Casey's house and smiled. "The highlight of her week is when we drag Casey over and Ruth can cook for her."

"Casey hasn't lived here long, has she?"

"No, no. Just this year. I think it was late spring when she moved in." His eyes crinkled again as he smiled. "I was trying to get some bags of mulch out of my car. It was time for the flowers, you know. Anyway, Casey pulls up with her truck all loaded down, sees me struggling with the bag and comes right over, fussing that I was going to rupture something if I wasn't careful." He laughed. "I called her a young know-it-all and told her to mind her own business."

Leslie laughed with him, seeing the genuine affection for Casey in his eyes.

139.*"Oh, she put me in my place. Said it was her business if she was going to have to come over and do CPR all the time just because I was being a stubborn old cuss." He laughed again and slapped his knee. "Oh, she was feisty that day. Then Ruth told me to quit arguing with the neighborhood kids. Casey got a kick out of that, all right." He leaned closer again. "She invites me over for a beer every once in a while. We sit on her deck back there and talk."

"Ruth doesn't mind?"

"No." His eyes looked far away. "She doesn't mind much of anything now."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Just a part of getting older, I guess." His face brightened as he looked at her. "So, you and Casey are friends?"

"Yes."

"That's good. I was beginning to think she didn't have any."

Leslie frowned. "Really?"

"You're the first one she's had over. Well, except for that cop friend of hers."

"Tori?"

"Tall woman. Hunter, she calls her."

Leslie nodded.

"Yeah. She comes by some. They sit out back and drink beer or wine. Not that I'm spying or anything."

"No."

"And you know, it wasn't until recently that we found out she was...well, you know...that way. A homosexual."

Leslie tried to hide her smile. "I see."

His eyes fixed on her. "Are you a homosexual too?"

"Me?" Leslie felt the blush that quickly covered her face. "Well, yes. Yes, I am."

His eyes drifted away again. "You know, as old as I am-pushing eighty-I don't think I ever knew a homosexual before. It was kinda shocking. Casey, I mean. I wasn't quite sure how to take it." He glanced back at her. "She's been more family to us these last six months than our own grandkids have been. She's nothing like all the stories we used to hear in church, you know." He laughed and rubbed his hair. "I 140*expected to see horns growing on top of her head or something. But like I said, she's like family. She's a good person."

"Yes, she is."

"Well, you better go on over there." His eyes twinkled as he stared at her. "I'd surprise her as she got out of the shower, if I were you."

Again, Leslie felt a blush cover her face.

"That's what I used to do to Ruth," he said, laughing again. "Of course, I was sixty years younger."

"Well, actually, we're just friends. We're just getting to know each other," she clarified.

"No. I saw Casey's eyes light up when she saw you. That wasn't no look at a friend."