her old friend, feeling his empathy emanate toward her. They had been comrades for too many years for her to hide anything from him. She had met both Glenn and Fred in graduate school, the three of them quickly befriending each other, eventually sharing a three-bedroom house. Iris had expressed concern about her granddaughter living with two men, but Beth Ann had assured her they were just friends. Besides, Fred was gay and Glenn had a girlfriend. When Iris met the two for the first time, Beth Ann had been relieved when Iris squeezed her hand, approving the friendship.
Their relationship didn’t end with graduation. When she moved back to California, she was pleasantly surprised to find that within a few months, both Fred and Glenn had found a place together in San Jose. After they’d popped the champagne for their housewarming, the two men had exchanged glances with each other and gently told her they were intimately involved.
Beth Ann had been stunned only because she’d had no idea that Glenn was gay. Once she’d closed her mouth, she’d hugged them both fiercely, her blessing genuine. Her unreserved joy for them had only deepened their friendship, especially after Glenn’s family had reacted terribly to his announcement. Fred, originally from the Midwest, had long established a cordial if not enthusiastic relationship with his parents, exchanging cards at birthdays and Christmas but not much else. However, after their commitment ceremony, Fred’s mother had started sending Glenn birthday cards as well.
Just friends. Beth Ann shook her head. No, just family.
Conventional or not, Glenn and Fred were as much her family as Bernie and Iris. They’d turned the attic into her studio. They’d stood by her side when Carrie abandoned Bernie. They’d come at anytime of the day or night, driving the hour and a half to baby- and grandmother-sit when Beth Ann couldn’t stand it anymore. They were present for every important event in her life—from the rise and fall of her short art career to the death of her sister to Bernie’s first steps to the mental decline of her grandmother.
But she remained silent, feeling like she wanted to be a color. If she were that perfect French ultramarine blue, she wouldn’t have to think about Carrie or Carrie’s husband or his reasons for being in Mercy Springs.
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