Fresh Tracks

by Georgia Beers

  Instead, she squatted in front of Kristin’s knees so she could look up into her face. “Honey?” she asked softly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Kristin took Molly’s face in her hands and pressed a kiss to her forehead, inhaling the scent of the apple shampoo and getting a quick flash of her…dream? Hallucination? What the hell had happened to her out there? Shaking off her own confusion for the time being, she answered quietly, trying to keep her voice light despite the fact that her lower lip was chittering nonstop. “I’m freezing is what I am.” She reached for the dry clothes. “Will you help me get dressed?”

  Darby

  Darby had hoped the mindless channel surfing would help her ignore the fullness of her head, but it was actually serving the opposite purpose, especially after Kristin’s return. On her back on the couch, she continued to toggle buttons on the remote, absently watching the TV picture flit from news to sitcom to animation to infomercial. She supposed no one would be surprised to see her demonstrating the simple, typical behavior of anybody her age, focused on the nearest electronic device and paying no attention whatsoever to the outside world.

  Inside, however, was a different story, for Darby Cooper was anything but a simple and typical woman. Much as she wanted to be able to say that the various events of the day hadn’t affected her, they had. Big time. She tried to focus on The Simpsons, but her restless mind refused to cooperate. There were too many other subjects to think about.

  The chewing-out she’d gotten from Aunt Jo featured prominently. She knew she should just move past it, that Aunt Jo had only been trying to set her straight, so to speak, but she could still feel the painful embarrassment of knowing the others had seen her hauled out of the room by the scruff of her neck like a misbehaving puppy. Thank God Kristin had already gone by that point. Darby didn’t think she could bear knowing her nemesis had seen her treated like a child.

  Nemesis? Is that what I think she is?

  The thought sent a bit of a frightened chill through her. If Kristin was Darby’s nemesis, that would mean that Darby actually thought she stood a chance of winning Molly’s affections. After the display she’d just witnessed upon Kristin’s return, she knew that was never going to happen.

  She replayed the moment in her mind, despite having no desire to do so. Kristin banging into the house looking like a frightened animal—and yet somehow still stunning, at least to Darby’s critical eye. How the hell is that possible? The last thing in the world she wanted to admit to was Kristin’s good looks, but there they were, glaringly apparent even as Kristin stood in front of her, dripping wet and wild-eyed.

  Her soaked, clinging clothing only accentuated a great body, and the matted state of her hair did nothing but prove that she was, in fact, a real blonde with no dark roots and several different shades of gold sparkling in the firelight. The cold had given her cheeks a rosy red glow, which advertised how creamy and smooth her skin really was. The alarmed and confused darting of her eyes only forced onlookers to notice what a gorgeous shade of blue they were. If Darby had wanted the pleasure of ripping her apart for her physical shortcomings as well as her emotional ones, she was way out of luck.

  When Molly ran to her, Darby’s stomach churned. Don’t go to her. Come to me. It was a silly command, given telepathically in some childish hope that it might be heard. But the concern and tenderness in Molly’s incredible green eyes had nearly crushed Darby with its intensity…an intensity that was directed at somebody other than her.

  Come on, Cooper. Did you really think she’d just throw away her seven-year relationship with a VP, her home, and her financial support to hop into a ten-year-old rattletrap car with the manager of a Blockbuster? Seriously?

  But deep down, she knew there was part of her that had hoped, that had wanted, that thought maybe, just maybe, she did stand a chance.

  And what was that about? Where the hell did this desire for more than a quick, juicy fuck come from? It was as if something had changed overnight, which was out of the question because people didn’t change overnight. They didn’t change at all, especially people like her. Once a lothario, always a lothario. She wasn’t cut out for relationships, for commitment. She’d known that fact for years, since her very first, and only, girlfriend. Oh, she had no shortage of women. She was a pro at the pick-up, at the take-home, at the brush-off the morning after.

  Always drive. Always go to her place, never yours. Always leave before daybreak.

  Those were the three rules she lived by. It kept her free and easy, without clinginess, without unwanted attachment or responsibility. It was the way she lived and she’d always been very happy. She was the envy of many a woman stuck in the boring routine of a relationship, picking out paint, staying home on weekends to do yard work, and visiting the in-laws. Those women wished they had the carefree, easy life that Darby did, and Darby didn’t envy what they had at all. Not even a little bit.

  Until Molly.

  Damn her.

  Damn her and her piercing green eyes and her intoxicating laugh and her invigorating scent and her sexy mouth. Darby’s mind took her back to the other side of the garage, back to the early morning and the snow and the intensity of pressing into Molly’s body. The sensation of physically pushing her up against the shingled wood, of holding her a willing prisoner, was almost tangible. Darby could feel her own muscles twitch at the memory and at the fantasies she’d harbored since that moment, of all the things she wanted to do to that hot, tight little body. The visions ran the gamut from the simple tameness of making slow, passionate love to Molly to the erotic polar opposite of tying her to the bed and teasing her for hours on end.

  That image was nearly her undoing and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, wishing for nothing more than to have the ability to scrub it clean from her mind, to make it disappear like wiping fingerprints from a windowpane. She tossed on the couch and settled on her side, heaving an annoyed breath as The Simpsons blended into Entertainment Tonight.

  “Damn tabloid news,” she muttered, thumbing the channel button, wishing she had a similar remote for her whirling thoughts.

  Part of her was irritated at the rest of the group for going about their day as usual. Can’t anybody see that I’m in turmoil here and don’t know how to pull myself out? She wanted to scream at them, to plead for help because she really was feeling lost and alone and confused. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain, she knew there was a good chance she was falling in love with Molly. She clenched her teeth at the thought. God, Julie was going to have a field day with this. Why couldn’t she have had these feelings for Rebecca? It would be a hell of a lot easier and make so much more sense. Rebecca wanted her. Rebecca would be ecstatic to think Darby was in love with her. She’d squeal with joy and throw herself into Darby’s arms, the giddiness oozing out of her like oil.

  And then we’d be picking out paint and staying home on the weekends to do yard work and visiting the in-laws.

  Darby closed her eyes, wanting to black the image out of her mind. And that’s when she knew it was true, that she had fallen hard for Molly. That despite her reputation and her usual behavior and her unwillingness to settle down, this one woman had wormed her way in. She knew because suddenly picking out paint and doing yard work and visiting the in-laws didn’t seem like they’d be so bad if she was doing those things with Molly by her side.

  Son of a fucking bitch.

  Darby rubbed viciously at her temple and cursed the gods or the Fates or destiny or whatever the hell was having a good laugh at her expense right now. Of all the women she’d been attracted to, of all the women she’d smooth-talked, of all the women she’d bedded, for Christ’s sake, the one she finally ended up having real, honest-to-God feelings for was off-limits. She thought of her conversation with Aunt Jo earlier.

  “I like her. Molly. I…you know…like her.”

  “That’s too damn bad. You can like her. You just can’t have her. She’s a married woman who’s desperate to fix her fail
ing relationship. If you do like her, then you need to step back and respect her enough not to interfere.”

  Careful to keep her frustration disguised as laziness, Darby hauled herself off the couch and went into the kitchen, where Aunt Amy was preparing dinner. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer.

  “I’m making your favorite.” Aunt Amy indicated the chicken breasts and ingredients for the breading to the chicken cutlets Darby had loved since she was a young teenager.

  Darby managed a weak smile before twisting off the cap and downing half the bottle in three long gulps.

  Aunt Amy arched an eyebrow at her. “Everything okay?” she asked with knowing concern.

  Darby nodded. “Peachy.” She kissed Aunt Amy’s temple and went back into the living room, flopping down onto the couch in much the same position she’d been in previously.

  “…If you do like her, then you need to step back and respect her enough not to interfere…”

  The concept of respect was a new one for Darby, but she suddenly had a crystal clear understanding of what it meant. As much as she wanted Molly for herself, she wanted Molly to be happy more, and despite her penchant for the disrespectful life of love-’em-and-leave-’em, she was relieved to note that she did respect Molly enough not to interfere.

  Maybe people do change.

  She shrugged, took another slug of her beer, and flipped the channel.

  Blackberry Pulp

  Later that evening, everybody was on the first floor, stomachs stuffed with the chicken cutlets. As always, Amy had taken great joy in preparing them by hand, using the mallet-shaped meat tenderizer to pound them into submission. Jo had recognized her wife’s subtle manifestation of all her frustrations. What a freaking chaotic week, she thought in amazement. When they’d come up with the brilliant idea of inviting their closest friends over for the holidays, they certainly hadn’t bargained on all this Dyke Drama—though with seven lesbians in the same house for a week, the chances were pretty good. She felt like she and Amy had been plopped into the middle of a soap opera.

  Now, from the vantage point of her leather club chair, Jo sipped coffee laced heavily with Bailey’s Irish Cream and tried to get a fix on everyone and everything that was going on.

  Kristin sat on a floor pillow in front of the fire and stared into the flames. She was finally dry and—Jo hoped—warm, bundled in a pair of black sweatpants and a thick gray hooded sweatshirt with the insignia of the school where Molly worked emblazoned in blue across the front. Her hair was dry and there was finally a little natural color back in her complexion, just the slightest hint of rosiness across her cheekbones. Her face remained fairly expressionless, yet her eyes seemed worried, tinted with confusion. Jo wanted to talk to her, to find out what was going on in her obviously working-overtime brain, but at the same time, she sensed Kristin needed to be alone. She seemed to be working through some stuff in her head and, curious or not, Jo was loath to cut in on her private musings.

  Across the room, stretched out on the couch, Darby had her earphones in. She listened to her iPod while reading a graphic novel, her eyebrow piercing reflecting the firelight. Jo seriously wondered how much reading was getting done, as her niece hadn’t turned a page in more than fifteen minutes. Every so often, Darby threw surreptitious glances in Molly’s direction but Molly’s only concern was Kristin, it seemed. She sat at the dining room table and looked up periodically from her hand of cards to check on Kristin, a mixture of wonder and apprehension on her face.

  Jo had a smidgen of sympathy for her niece, but at the same time hoped she was learning a valuable lesson. Given the look on Darby’s face when she’d said she “liked” Molly, Jo suspected it was the first time in ages—maybe ever—that Darby had felt genuine interest in somebody…beyond the sexual. It was sheer dumb luck that she hadn’t fallen for Sophie or Laura—the available women. Jo heaved a sigh of frustration, aimed at life in general.

  Across the dining room table from Molly sat Amy, her partner in their game of euchre. Amy was wearing one of Jo’s button-up denim shirts, and Jo found herself prey to a sudden vision of unbuttoning it very slowly to reveal what lay beneath the fabric: creamy-smooth, freckled skin just aching for her touch. She literally shook the image from her head, internally chuckling over her ridiculously active libido and vowing to save those thoughts for later.

  The other two seats at the table were occupied by the other set of partners, Sophie and Laura. Nobody had surprised Jo more this week than those two and she actually did chuckle when she thought of them. What a turnaround. Rather than scowling at one another and avoiding close proximity, as they had for the first two days of their stay, they now looked to be friends—friends who shared custody of the little terrier who moved back and forth between the two of them, giving equal amounts of love. Not twenty-four hours ago, they had hated each other—or at least disliked each other immensely. Now they were laughing and joking and winning at cards. Jo shook her head. Life is so strange.

  “Way to go, partner,” Sophie said with a smile. She slapped Laura’s hand in a high-five across the table.

  Molly grimaced at Amy. “We’re getting our asses handed to us, Ames.”

  Amy sighed. “I know.”

  Laura grinned. “And they’re such nice asses.” Looking to Sophie, she said, “Maybe we should hang on to them for a little bit before we hand them over.”

  Sophie nodded with enthusiasm. “I like that idea. Can we touch them and play with them, too?”

  Jo’s voice boomed across the room. “I’ve got a little bit of a problem with that.”

  The table erupted in laughter.

  “Thank you, honey,” Amy said, her voice managing to rise among the mirth of the rest of the table. Then she furrowed her brow. “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?” Sophie asked.

  “That humming.”

  The four of them looked around until Molly’s eyes settled on the Blackberry Kristin had left behind earlier that day. It had been moved to the kitchen counter to make room for the card game and was now lit up as it buzzed in place, indicating a call or an e-mail coming through.

  Molly sighed inwardly, vowing not to let the annoyingly familiar interruption upset her tonight. She was enjoying herself too much. “Kristin?”

  Kristin continued staring into the fire.

  “Kristin.” Molly’s voice was firm and this time Kristin flinched and blinked rapidly as if returning from a dream.

  “Hmm?”

  “Your Blackberry’s ringing.” Molly indicated its location with a jerk of her chin.

  Kristin followed Molly’s gaze until she saw the item in question. “Oh.”

  She stood up and walked into the kitchen, following the buzzing. Her face devoid of any expression, she picked the device up, noted the caller, then set it back down. Without preamble, she grabbed up the nearby mallet-shaped meat tenderizer Amy had used on the chicken earlier, and with one vicious whack, smashed the Blackberry into useless plastic fragments.

  There was no sound at all from anybody else in the room as she set the tenderizer back down and returned to her seat near the fire, running a gentle hand across Molly’s shoulders as she passed her. Back in her previous position, she resumed staring into the flames. The others simply gaped in astonishment.

  Life is so strange, Jo thought again, feeling the sudden urge to burst out in giddy laughter. A sense of pride in Kristin welled up within her. Even after fifty years on this earth, I still don’t get it.

  Saturday, December 31

  Molly

  The only reason Molly opened her eyes was because of the loss of body warmth, the realization that she was alone in the bed. It was morning and the sun was shining brightly. It was the first time all week she hadn’t woken up at the crack of dawn, and when she thought back on her night, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept more soundly. Watching through slitted eyes while Kristin dressed, she also couldn’t remember the last time they’d slept so closely toge
ther. Kristin had fallen immediately asleep, as though her body had been worn out from the day’s activities. Any time Molly had rolled over or adjusted positions, she felt Kristin—a hand on her hip, her leg thrown over Molly’s, her head on Molly’s shoulder. Now her body was protesting the cold, wanting that proximity back again, having gotten a taste of something it had been missing for months.

  “Where are you going?” Her voice was hoarse with sleep as she questioned Kristin softly, not wanting to startle her.

  Kristin looked up from her foot, sock in hand. She whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetie. Did I wake you up? I was trying to be quiet.”

  Molly stretched, reaching her arms over her head to grab the headboard as she willed the sleep out of her system. “I just didn’t hear you get out of bed.”

  “Did you sleep okay?”

  “I slept great.”

  Kristin smiled. “Me, too.”

  She looked amazing, Molly noted. The lines of stress that usually marred her creamy skin had eased and her blue eyes had softened, showing only a fraction of the worry that had glazed them the previous night. She’d pulled her blond hair back into a ponytail and it shimmered in the morning sun that sliced through the window, golden highlights winking at Molly. She was wearing a pair of jeans, a white turtleneck, and a navy blue sweater. She looked like she’d just stepped out of an L.L.Bean catalog.

  Molly sat up in bed. “So, where are you going?”

  “I’m going to take a walk, get a little fresh air.”

  “Do you want some company?”

  Kristin hesitated. “Would you be okay if I said ‘not yet’?”

  Molly tried to ignore the small prickle of hurt that poked at her. “Sure.”