Turn for Home

by Lara Zielinsky

  "Would you marry me, really? I have a terrible track record."

  "Bren, your track record has been for running the wrong race." Feeling Brenna's heartbeat under her palms and the warm flesh through the thin shirt, her mind turned to more immediate interests. With an intent look, she leaned close and brushed her lips against Brenna's. "I'm ready for bed, aren't you?"

  Brenna helped Cassidy up with a hand under her elbow. They walked together down the hall and entered the master bedroom, closing the door behind them with a click.

  Chapter 24

  Cassidy awoke feeling more rested than she had in weeks. She lowered her gaze to the woman lying across her shoulder. Brenna was awake, a peaceful smile on her lips as she traced her fingertip lightly along Cassidy's clavicle. Unable to see the clock, Cassidy wondered how late they had slept.

  "What..." she began, stopping as she realized her mouth was dry. She cleared her throat and summoned some moisture. "What time is it?"

  Brenna lifted her head from Cassidy's arm and her blue eyes sought out the clock on the nightstand behind her. "Just about 7:30. You can go back to sleep." Brenna lowered herself down to snuggle against Cassidy's shoulder. "Most strenuous thing we have today is to spend the day together."

  Cassidy turned onto her side and wrapped her arms more snugly around the smaller woman, then nuzzled Brenna's hair.

  With Brenna moving faintly against her, their breasts making contact as each breathed, their feet entangled, Cassidy felt her body gradually awakening, a pleasant experience until her bladder became uncomfortable. She reluctantly kissed Brenna on the forehead and pulled her arm free from underneath the other woman. "I'll be right back."

  Propping herself up on one elbow, Brenna watched as Cassidy rolled over, located her slippers with her toes, and pushed off the bed. She stopped at Brenna's vanity to take the robe hanging over the back of the chair, removed her brace and put on her robe. Brenna enjoyed the vision of lean, smooth curves, a generous rear, and softly defined shoulder and back muscles. Brenna's fingers itched to explore. "Need a hand?"

  "No, I'm fine," Cassidy answered distractedly as she made her way to the bathroom and settled on the toilet, leaving the door ajar so she could hear Brenna.

  "Since you've got the brace off, why don't we bathe this morning?" Brenna asked. "You haven't had anything more than a sponge bath in three weeks."

  "Sounds divine."

  "So what do you want to do today?"

  "Didn't you want to go see that art gallery owner?" Cassidy reminded.

  "I do, but I can do it later when you're napping."

  "A little sunshine would do me good."

  "You want to come?"

  "I want to know what James is involved in, too."

  "Wouldn't it be too exhausting?"

  "Not if we take the wheelchair."

  "You hate that thing."

  "I'd hate being out of the loop more."

  Brenna stepped into the bathroom and kissed the top of the blonde's head as she passed Cassidy. "All right."

  "Thanks for understanding."

  "Thanks for sharing."

  Closing the bathroom door, Brenna went to the tub and started the water. From underneath the bathroom sink, she retrieved a small jar of crystals and checked the label.

  "Are you allergic to any scents?"

  Cassidy leaned over her shoulder. "No. Why?"

  Rotating, Brenna kissed her. "Aromatherapy," she said, taking a handful of the crystals and bringing them close for Cassidy to sniff. "Lavender," she identified. "It's very relaxing."

  After filtering the crystals through her fingers under the running water, Brenna returned to looking under the sink. From a small wire basket, she took a natural sea sponge as large as her fist and a bar of clarifying soap. She placed both in a niche in the wall of the tub and stood. Turning, she offered her hand. "Ready?"

  Dropping her robe, Cassidy stepped carefully into the tub, and Brenna steadied her as she gingerly lowered herself to a sitting position. "The water temperature is perfect," Cassidy said, swishing her hands and forearms through the silkiness.

  Brenna's hands slid along her legs, from thigh to calf and back again, lightly massaging the muscles before lifting each leg out of the water and scrubbing it with the natural sponge.

  Cassidy moaned softly in appreciation as her body flowed with energy. The washing was thorough, between toes, over knees and ankles. An excited quiver started low in her abdomen as gentle fingers moved along the inside of her thighs and closer to her sex.

  However, Brenna clearly was not working to arouse, only to energize and relax. When her legs were settled back under the water, Cassidy felt like she was floating. When she opened her eyes, Brenna was pulling her nightgown off over her head. A moment later Brenna stepped into the tub behind Cassidy, bending her knees around Cassidy's hips and cuddling against Cassidy's back as she stretched forward to retrieve the soap and sponge again.

  "Now for the top," she said.

  Soon Cassidy's stomach, arms, sides, and breasts were tingling from Brenna's detailed attention. She leaned forward, wincing just a little as her stomach muscles tightened.

  Standing up, Brenna pulled down the showerhead and Cassidy's shampoo. The scalp massage that accompanied the shampoo and rinse left Cassidy nearly asleep.

  "You are so good to me," she murmured, tucking her arms around her knees as she rested her head on top and felt Brenna's hands, slick with soap, begin to knead her back.

  She was feeling lighter than air when all motion stopped. Brenna's hands rested on the flare of her hips and Cassidy could feel the other woman's hair and cheek against her back.

  "Ready to dry off and have some breakfast?" Brenna's breath caressed the back of Cassidy's neck sending shivers of pleasure chasing up and down Cassidy's spine.

  "No," Cassidy replied bluntly. "I wish I could do this for you."

  "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

  Her lips lingered on the base of Cassidy's neck. Brenna rose and helped Cassidy from the tub. Seated atop the toilet lid, Cassidy accepted the thick green fluffy towel and said, "I can do this. You finish your own bath."

  Cassidy admired the wet beauty as Brenna scrubbed herself clean. Wiry legs, dainty feet, taut abdomen and smoothly muscled shoulders received the attentions of the sponge. Brenna refused Cassidy's offer to do her back, and soon she had finished shampooing and rinsing her hair, and was rising from the water.

  As the damp woman stepped from the tub, Cassidy pulled Brenna toward her and wrapped her arms around Brenna's back, pressing her face into the valley between twin handfuls of breast and licking at the warm beads of water. "I can't wait to make love to you again," Cassidy whispered.

  Mindful of Cassidy's limitations, the two shared a kiss of promise and then set about getting dressed. Brenna quickly donned a pair of jeans and a pale violet cotton, three-quarter-length sleeve cling top. Cassidy's supply of clothes was limited, and while the day promised to be sunny, it was still February. Brenna pulled the body brace around Cassidy's stomach and chest. "I should probably strap this up tight for the support today," Brenna said, suiting action to words. She secured the orthotic brace to Cassidy's left hand, and then helped her step into loose jeans. Lastly she helped her back into a button up shirt. "Do you want a sweater over that?" Cassidy nodded and Brenna found a long, overly large cardigan she wore when she curled up in front of the fireplace.

  The two women emerged from the bedroom and Cassidy followed Brenna into the kitchen, where they found Ryan and James finishing a breakfast of cereal. Each accepted a good morning hug from Ryan and a cautious, "Morning," from James.

  "Muffin, bagel? Some fruit?" Brenna asked Cassidy, looking through her cupboards and refrigerator.

  "Juice and a muffin would be fine." Cassidy reached into a tin and pulled out a blueberry mixed grain muffin. "You?"

  "Same." Brenna poured two glasses of apple juice while Cassidy collected two small plates and a second muffin. Together they walked back out to t
he table and took seats side by side opposite James and Ryan.

  James was quietly spooning down his last bite. Ryan, however, noticed there was something different and bubbled over enthusiastically, "You got dressed nice today, Mommy! So we're going home?"

  "We're all going downtown," Brenna said. "To see James' work at the art gallery."

  "What about Ms. Hyland?" the young artist objected to his mother.

  "I can use the wheelchair," Cassidy said. "We need to get out and about, and your mother's right — we should check out the art gallery where you've been spending your time."

  "Everyone?" James squeaked.

  "Why can't we go home?" Ryan asked. "You're all better."

  Brenna told James sternly, "Yes, all of us."

  "I am feeling better today," Cassidy acknowledged Ryan, "but we can't go home just yet. Why do you want to go home?"

  "I want my toys."

  "You have toys here," Cassidy pointed out.

  "I miss Ranger. Can we bring Ranger here?"

  Brenna shook her head. "The Talbots are taking good care of Ranger."

  "Why can't he come here?"

  "This house isn't set up for a dog," Cassidy explained.

  "Can I go stay with Ranger?"

  Cassidy wondered where Ryan's distress was coming from. Was it really the dog? He had first asked about his toys, only asking about Ranger when that excuse was challenged. Asking directly, however, probably was not the best approach. Next to her, Brenna was quiet. A dimple had formed in her cheek where the other woman was clearly biting to stay quiet. Under the table, Cassidy reached out and gently squeezed Brenna's thigh.

  "We're going to see some artwork that James made," Cassidy said, wondering whether her son could be distracted for the time being.

  "Why?"

  "Because that's what we've chosen to do," his mother said patiently.

  "When can I choose?" he asked.

  Cassidy looked over to Brenna. "Tomorrow?" she queried.

  "Thomas will be home tomorrow morning," Brenna said. "He's supposed to be at a FIRE session until then."

  Nodding, Cassidy offered to Ryan, "How about a trip tomorrow afternoon to see Chance? I can call his mom tonight."

  Ryan frowned. "I have to wait 'til tomorrow?"

  "Yes," Cassidy said firmly.

  Brenna didn't say anything but Cassidy knew her mood had shifted; she seemed upset. The auburn-haired woman tucked her hair behind her ear as she looked down at her wristwatch and pushed away from the table. "I guess it's time to go."

  Chapter 25

  Following the directions James gave from the back seat, Brenna drove into an area of Los Angeles that Cassidy was sure she had never seen before. For an "underbelly" of the city, it was pristinely clean, and historic looking.

  There were cafe-style eateries mixed in among the storefronts. Each business had its name on a wide canopy, shading the doorways in a variety of colors.

  Brenna stepped out of the SUV looking around in curiosity before she assisted Cassidy into the wheelchair. Cassidy noted one place in particular and looked up at Brenna to suggest, "Want to try Mata Hari's Mediterranean for lunch?"

  "We may want to placate them with pizza or burgers afterward." Brenna nodded toward the children.

  Perhaps Brenna was right. The boys were mutually unhappy about accompanying them on this trip. Cassidy noticed Ryan's frown as a couple walked past with their small breed, long-haired dog, matched James' frown beside him, though James was looking at the pavement, hands shoved deep in his pockets. A clear sign he was expecting to be thoroughly embarrassed by the upcoming meeting.

  James started south down the wide sidewalk and Brenna followed, pushing Cassidy as Ryan skipped between them.

  By the time they reached the gallery, Cassidy was grateful that Brenna had paid so much attention to massaging her lower back. While she felt her muscles had tensed during the ride over the uneven sidewalk, the pain was nowhere near the usual levels. I might just manage this, she thought as James stepped back and Brenna wheeled her inside the open door.

  The wide open door had a glass inset covered with every manner of printed flyers, signs, and business cards, almost obscuring the gallery name etched in the glass — Isis Gallery.

  Inside, Brenna lowered her sunglasses from her nose and turned slowly to take in the layout. Cassidy received a warm smile as their gazes intersected, but Brenna's smile immediately vanished into the seriousness she usually reserved for her performance in front of the camera as her gaze continued around the room.

  The lighting was track style, selectively placed to illuminate the art pieces — those hanging from the various dividers and walls, as well as the sculptures posed on boxlike stands in the open spaces. The walk areas were mostly in shadow and Cassidy saw a few figures moving among the displays near the back. A person would have to practically be on top of another to make any sort of identification.

  Only in the front area was the lighting better, due to the sunlight streaming through the front glass windows.

  At a small counter to one side, next to a battered metal cash box stood a young man, probably no more than sixteen, who was dressed like someone out of the Dillinger era of gangsters and Prohibition. His pressed suit pants were midnight black, his vest the same single color, v-points on each side of the vest lining up exactly with the creases on the slacks. He wore shined patent leather shoes.

  "How many tickets?" he asked, as Cassidy continued to study him. His voice was young, not quite fully changed. Nodding down at Ryan, he added, "We have an art room for the younger kids. Only thirteen and up can go through the displays with a parent."

  Brenna stepped forward, and the young man stopped his ticket spiel when her business tone declared, "We would like to see Hannah, please."

  He looked confused for a moment then looked up at James shifting from foot to foot behind the woman's shoulder. "Got another piece, Jamie?"

  Jamie? Cassidy was surprised. Even his mother did not call him that. Brenna had noticed it too, if the narrowing of her eyes was any indication.

  James took a step to the side then forward. "I, uh, don't have another one yet, Micah. I, uh, this is my mother." He gestured awkwardly and somewhat dismissively to Brenna beside him.

  Micah looked down from Brenna to Ryan again. "Thought your brother was older," he mused.

  James turned red and his expression darkened in anger. Before he could speak, Cassidy interjected, "James' brother is older. This is Ryan, my son." She gestured out to the gallery area. "We're friends of the family and came to look at James' work."

  Micah did a double take when he looked at her more closely. Finally, though, he simply nodded. "His work is among the best my mother has ever seen."

  "How did his work come to your mother's attention?" Brenna asked, looking relieved to finally have an opening.

  "Jamie's art teacher is my partner."

  A mellifluous voice reached them all just as the generous figure of a woman blocked the light through an open doorway behind Micah. The woman stood still a moment, holding her hands open against the door jambs as if to give everyone a moment to adjust to her presence. At last she stepped up beside Micah and rested her thick forearms on the counter. "So you're Jamie's mother." Her hazel eyes held a twinkle.

  Brenna bristled. "James," she emphasized, "says you want to sell his work. I like to know the people my son deals with."

  Brunette ringlets bounced in a dark halo around the woman's head as she nodded and reached out a hand as big and meaty as any man's. "I'm Hannah Shropshire. I own Isis Gallery, and I have collected and sold art for almost twenty-five years."

  Brenna did not take the woman's hand. "In L.A.? I've never heard of this place."

  "We've only been here since September. Connie, Micah, and I moved to L.A. in August."

  Brenna continued to keep her hand to herself, despite Hannah's ready openness, and Cassidy recognized that her lover was determined not to give an inch. "And your 'theme' for this showin
g?"

  "Happenstance," Hannah answered. "Connie's students have been my main resource, though I have shown a couple of featured private artists."

  "What happens if something does sell?"

  "James would receive the money from the sale. The gallery would take part as a commission. Visitors are constantly asking about several of Jamie's works. Two in particular," she added as she stepped back from the counter.

  "He's only 15," Brenna objected. "He paints in his spare time. I've never seen—"

  "Your son's work belies his age. The style is a merging of Durban's and Rye's vivid realism with an atmosphere of the fantastic, reminiscent of Vorhees or Pinot."

  Hannah Shropshire was tall, Cassidy realized; the woman loomed over Brenna and herself in the wheelchair.

  "Are you all right, ma'am?" Hannah asked her.

  "Yes, thank you." Despite what sounded like a distinctly English name, Cassidy got the impression from Hannah's dark thick hair, and Mediterranean coloring that she was actually Italian. She had the vaguest accent in her speech.

  Hannah was talking again, and gesturing them to follow her. "Why don't you come with me?"

  His voice anxious, James interjected, "Hannah?"

  Hannah stopped and studied his face a moment with deep affection and compassion. Finally she said, "Don't worry."

  Micah took Ryan into the children's art room while Brenna pushed Cassidy after Hannah and James, catching up to them as they rounded a separator wall which made an alcove of about fifteen square feet of space against the building's back wall.

  Each of the three walls held framed oil paintings, eight in all. The middle three caught Cassidy's attention. There were noticeable differences in their style and yet, somehow, the content and complementary nature clearly made them a group.

  Brenna stepped around a free-standing statuary and read the identifying placard to the right of the sequence of works: "Jamie Logan, Los Angeles."

  He's not even showing his artwork under his given name.

  Cassidy studied the first of the three, from right to left, and found a nightmare leaping out at her from the dark heavy layers of paint. The subject of The Animal Man was figuratively human, male genitalia bulging but hidden beneath tight, spandex-looking shorts. The wild feral feeling came from the fact that the eyes, a deep sea green, had the elongated pupils of a cat, and the facial muscles stood out in strained relief from the snarl of lips pulled back from dog-like canines. Bare-chested, the body had the physique of an attacking bear on its haunches, even the arms and hands, drawn wide, had fingers tensed and extended claw-like.