by Gun Brooke
“Tea or coffee would be great, but I’ll make it. Just point me in the direction of the…oh, there’s the kitchen.” Pammie arranged two kitchen chairs for Faythe, the second one for the sprained foot. “Here. Elevate.”
“Bossy, aren’t you?”
“So I’m told.” Pammie grinned and walked over to the coffee machine. “Oh, look! Am I glad I work part-time at Starbucks or what? That’s some machine.” She fussed over the built-in espresso machine and expertly made two lattes. Faythe directed her to the drawer where she kept her favorite cookies, and soon they were munching away and sipping the hot drinks.
“So, your friend needs a counselor.”
“Hmm. Not so sure. She needs more than that. I thought—” Pammie interrupted herself and played with the rim of her coffee mug. “She needs to talk to someone other than me. Someone who’d understand and advise.”
“You sound just like the friend she needs. You really care, and you’re there for her, right?”
“Right. It’s just that we’re kind of more than friends. I mean, I want us to be, and I know she does too. She’s just so messed up that she can’t be with anyone. All she does is work. If she’s not at her day job, she’s working every charity known to man.” Tears were forming at the corners of Pammie’s eyes.
“And you’re in college, away from Grantville.”
“Yes. When I’m out of college, I plan to look for a better apartment in Manhattan. Right now I’m sharing a tiny space with another girl. I’m not going to be stuck in Grantville for the rest of my life.” Pammie broke a cookie in tiny pieces before eating them. “Or at least out of my parents’ house.” Something in the way she spoke, a sudden harshness to her bright voice, hinted at untold issues between Pammie and her parents.
“It’s only natural to fly the coop.”
“Trust me, at my house, flying the coop is something a girl does when she meets the guy she’s going to marry.” Pammie glowered as she spoke the last sentence. “You should’ve heard my folks when I told them that as far as I can see, I’ll never marry.”
“Not popular with your parents, huh?” Faythe sipped her coffee, pondering how up front to be with her new acquaintance. “I’ve come to a similar decision.” The words were out before she could stop them.
Pammie’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? Well, I hope your parents didn’t have half as many cows about it as mine did. They’re coming around, though. Slowly.”
“Cows?” Faythe laughed and soon Pammie joined her. Pammie had all but come out to Faythe with her talk about marriage and shocked parents. Faythe, who remembered her own parents’ indifferent attitude to her own nervous step out of the closet, felt her heart reach out to the girl. “Yeah. Mom is an expert on having cows when something bothers her. I love her to bits. I just wish she’d stop worrying so much.”
“It’s what most mothers do. Worry, I mean.” Faythe couldn’t remember her mother being concerned about anything but appearances, but she supposed that did qualify as a worry.
“I don’t mean to be nosy, Faythe,” Pammie said slowly, a shy expression on her face as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. “It’s just so easy to talk to you, and I…God, this is going to sound so presumptuous.”
Faythe, not wanting Pammie to feel awkward, spoke quickly.
“Ask away,” she said. “I can’t guarantee a favorable response, but I don’t mind questions.”
“Could you talk to her? You’re a familiar face, you know, credible from TV and such. She’d listen to you. And maybe you could look at the situation with fresh eyes and see a solution we don’t.” Faythe swallowed the last sip of the excellent latte so quickly she choked on it. She coughed several times and Pammie patted her on her back. “Now, now. Don’t breathe in the java. I don’t want to have to load you in the back of the car and haul you off to the ER again, this time for drowning.”
Faythe laughed, and coughed again. “Okay, okay. You can stop loosening my lungs now.”
“You’ll do it? Fantastic!” Pammie pumped a fist in the air, seeming so delighted that Faythe didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d taken her “okay” as meaning she’d talk to this friend of hers. Then again, what harm could it do?
Chapter Sixteen
Deanna took out the pink business card and held it as if Savannah had coated it with poison. She tried to ignore the surging bile in her throat and instead focused on the mystery of Savannah’s choice. Or was it a choice? Had her parents, her mother especially, cut her off financially? Or was she merely sick and tired of studying? Savannah was a straight-A student, always heading the honor roll. It was admirable to devote herself to saving runaway dogs, abandoned cats, and so on, but this girl had enormous potential and the money to back her up. She could do anything she wanted.
Wanting Faythe’s opinion about this situation, she reached for the phone, then hesitated and, her heartbeat elevated until it drummed like distant thunder, put on her jacket and stepped outside. It was late afternoon. Hopefully Faythe was home. When she rounded the corner of her cabin, she saw Faythe’s car through the trees. Good.
Deanna knocked on the kitchen door, but nobody came, though she did hear a faint voice inside the house. Frowning, Deanna tried the door handle, which wasn’t locked. “Hello? Faythe?”
“Deanna? I’m in here, on the couch.” Faythe sounded a little sleepy and Deanna pushed off her sneakers and hurried into the living room.“The door was unlocked. That crazy— What’s happened?” Deanna saw the elaborate bandage wrapped around Faythe’s left foot.
“I sprained it while I was running.” Faythe told Deanna how Pammie had driven her to the ER.
“Thank goodness you weren’t alone.” Deanna frowned. The name sounded familiar. “Wonder if I know her, at least by name. One of the high school kids.”
“Sounds possible.”
“You were lucky. You could have been lying in the woods all night.”
“Hardly,” Faythe said with a grin. “I was running in an area with designated paths and streetlights.”
“Still…” Deanna shook her head. “And you’re crazy for not locking your door.”
“I know. I thought about it when Pammie left, but I was too tired to get up.” Faythe still looked tired, with faint blue circles under her eyes. “Glad you came, though.”
“Me too. You can’t hop around all alone over here on one leg. Did they at least provide you with crutches?”
“Yes. I’ll have to practice, though. Aunt Nellie’s hardwood floors are slippery.” Faythe blushed. “Could you help me to the bathroom while you’re here? I haven’t been since this morning.”
“Sure. Here, pull yourself up.” Deanna steadied Faythe and gave her the crutches. At the bathroom door, she held it open while Faythe hobbled through. “I’ll wait outside, okay?”
“Thanks.” Faythe looked determined as she closed the door.
“Don’t lock it.”
“I won’t.”
Faythe was in the bathroom for quite a while and came out smelling like soap and toothpaste. “I’m so glad you dropped by. I didn’t have a chance to wash up while Pammie was here, and I had been running for a while before I fell.” She wrinkled her nose. “Felt a bit stinky.” Deanna couldn’t imagine Faythe ever stinking. “It didn’t bother me,” she quipped, and eyed the bandaged foot. “How are you feeling?”
“Throbbing, mostly. It hurts, but it’s a dull ache, so not too bad right now.”
“Got any Tylenol?”
“I do, but only the PM version. Saving that for tonight.”
“I can swing by the pharmacy for you.”
“No, that’s all right. I know you have to get back to work. Oh, wait a minute. Did you want something in particular, or was this just a social call?” Faythe used the crutches carefully and hobbled over to the couch again. She elevated both her legs and leaned back against the armrest.
“Ah, yes, but it can wait. I had no idea that you’d taken the self-destructive route.”
“Tell me.” There was sweet command in Faythe’s voice as she looked calmly at Deanna.
“I can’t get Savannah and her damn business card out of my mind,” Deanna blurted. “I’ve kept it in the back of a drawer, and it’s been crawling out of there and into my head every time I pass the damn dresser.”
“Wow, sounds bad,” Faythe said. She pushed a small pillow behind her neck and leaned back farther. “So you’re considering doing something about this stalking business card of yours?”
“No, I’m more inclined to tear it up in minuscule little pieces, but then it will probably come back to haunt me from business-card hell.” Deanna could hear a near pout in her voice and reeled herself in.
“All jokes aside, I think I have to endure this discussion that Savannah wants to have. She obviously needs closure. She wants to blame me once and for all for what’s happened.”
“Are you sure?”
Deanna blinked. “You weren’t there. You don’t know what she told her friends and what her parents later repeated to me. I saw unforgiveable sides of Savannah. She fought dirty and she lied. Her mother, Gloria, took over after a while, and hammered the nails in my proverbial coffin neatly into place.”
“Hey, Deanna, it’s me you’re talking to. I’m sure you’re not exaggerating, but people and memories change, whether we recognize that fact or not. You aren’t the same as you were then, and I imagine she isn’t either. From eighteen to twenty is quite a leap for some kids. And, besides, it’s not like things can get any worse, is it?”
“Actually, it can,” Deanna said darkly, picturing a furious, saliva-spitting Gloria Mueller. “It can get a whole lot worse.” Faythe looked like she would object or ask questions, but instead she beckoned Deanna to sit next to her on the couch. Deanna was mindful not to end up too close but failed, since Faythe wrapped her arms around her neck in a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry they hurt you so badly.” She kissed Deanna’s cheek. “And for whatever reason you’re afraid they can do even more damage…” Faythe placed a line of incredibly soft kisses along Deanna’s jawline, then pressed her forehead against Deanna’s, their noses touching briefly. “Mmm, you smell good.”
“So do you.”
“Toothpaste and soap. As in Colgate and Dove.” Deanna laughed. “Same here.”
“Really?” Faythe buried her nose against Deanna’s neck. “Oh, yeah. I can tell.”
Deanna inhaled deeply, feeling her cheeks warm, no doubt to a hot pink. “You can?” She tipped Faythe’s head back and looked down into her green eyes. They were the color of maple leaves, translucent in the sun. Faythe’s lips parted—such sweet, full lips. Pink and moist, they beckoned her, drew her in. Deanna kissed Faythe’s half-open mouth and received a soft whimper. Faythe kissed her back, her tongue caressing Deanna’s over and over in slow circles. Nearly whimpering too, Deanna pushed her hands gently into Faythe’s hair, lacing her fingers through the silky masses of caramel-colored strands. “God, you’re so soft, so sexy,” Deanna murmured into Faythe’s mouth.
“Mmm.” Faythe purred. Deanna couldn’t think of any other word for the sound that emanated from her throat. Faythe felt lithe and supple in Deanna’s arms, and she couldn’t believe that anyone could feel so wonderful. She kissed a new trail from Faythe’s lips to her barely revealed collarbone, where she nudged the V-neck T-shirt out of the way. The small indentation above the collarbone was irresistible to kiss, then lick, just because it was there. Deanna cupped Faythe’s shoulders and held her tenderly while she tasted the velvet skin there. Faythe was gasping now, drawing one trembling, shallow breath after another.
“Jesus, Deanna. It’s been so long, and I can’t remember…”
“What to do?” Deanna laughed against the damp skin under her lips.
“…it ever feeling this way. This good.” Faythe moaned and moved restlessly against Deanna. “I swear you set me on fire.”
“Mmm, you are quite a combustible woman yourself.” Deanna blew yet another trail, this time deep into the V-neck, seeking out the valley between Faythe’s breasts. The skin there was damp and fragrant, making her mouth water. Nibbling along the faintly visible veins, Deanna reveled in hearing her moan again. “So you like this.”
“Yeah. Oh, sweet Jesus, I do.”
Deanna lowered Faythe to the small pillow leaning against the armrest. She slipped her fingers under the white T-shirt and felt Faythe’s stomach muscles jump when she touched them. “Ticklish?”
“No. Nervous, I suppose.” Faythe’s eyes were several shades darker now and enormous in her finely chiseled face.
“Nervous?” Worried, Deanna touched Faythe’s cheek. “How come?”
“As I said, it’s been a while.” Faythe’s lips trembled.
“For me too.”
“Exactly.”
“Huh?” Deanna couldn’t follow Faythe’s logic, then realized what Faythe was hinting at. “Oh. You’re afraid I can’t control myself since I’ve gone without for so long.”
“No, well, not put like that. No.” Faythe colored. “I don’t mean to suggest—”
“You just about did, didn’t you? You think that it’s been so long since I’ve lured anyone into my bed that I won’t be able to control my urges.”
“No!” Faythe sat up too quickly, cried out, and fell back against the pillow.
“You all right?” Deanna forgot her wounded pride and rose to cradle the sprained ankle in her hands. “What did you do?”
“I flinched. Remind me not to do that anytime soon.”
“Okay. No flinching.” Deanna lowered Faythe’s foot slowly and tucked an additional decorative pillow underneath it. “There. Better?”
“Yeah.” After a few deep breaths, Faythe looked up at Deanna. “I never meant to imply you couldn’t control yourself.”
“I know.”
“I only meant…you do?”
“When I quit acting like an ass, being so self-conscious, I understood.” Deanna stroked Faythe’s cheek softly. “I’m so used to being accused about anything and everything concerning my sexuality, I became defensive instantly.”
“Oh, Deanna.” Faythe held out her arms.
“Can we just hug a bit?” Deanna kissed Faythe’s temple. “You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?”
“Sounds heavenly. I must have been desperate to prove I’m not a lame lover because I never have any dates.” Faythe plucked at Deanna’s shirt sleeve. “Which in itself is sort of lame, isn’t it?”
“Shh.” Wrapping her arms around Faythe, Deanna merely hugged her and admitted to herself that it felt damn good. Her body calmed down, but her desire simmered just beneath the surface. The scent from Faythe’s hair surrounded Deanna’s senses, engulfing them with its freshness. She would always associate Faythe with the scent of clean soap, minty fresh toothpaste, and something resembling vanilla sugar, which she suspected was Faythe’s very own scent.
“So, how about the business card?” Faythe nuzzled Deanna’s neck as she spoke softly. “Want to call the kid and sort things out?” Deanna couldn’t answer right away. She tried to sort her conflicting emotions into her usual neat little compartments. Checking off each imaginary box, one after another, was the only way she knew how to proceed. Would her method work this time?
“Deanna?” Faythe pressed her soft lips against Deanna’s neck.
“I just want this to end,” Deanna whispered hoarsely. “I just want everything to end and go back to the way it was.” Stupid, hateful tears ran down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and ending up on Faythe’s cheeks.
“Oh, honey.” Faythe tugged Deanna even closer.
Afraid that she’d hurt Faythe’s foot, Deanna shifted them so Faythe was cuddled up on her lap now.
“Wow, you work fast,” Faythe said, in a mock-admiring tone.
“I do.” Smiling through her tears, Deanna didn’t feel quite so silly. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I never cry.”
“That’s probably it.”
“What?”
“That you never cry. Not good to bottle up. I know. I do it all the time.”
“Cry?” Deanna was trying to keep up with Faythe’s reasoning, a few sobs still making her shudder.
“No. Bottle up.” Faythe made a big production of rolling her eyes. “Pay attention.”
“Oh, trust me,” Deanna muttered. “You’ve got my full attention.” She ran her hands over Faythe’s back. “Any more attention from me and you’ll find yourself on your back in bed.”
“Really?” The teasing tone quickly changed to a breathless one. “How decisive. And greedy.”
“You bet.” Deanna buried her face in Faythe’s hair and inhaled deeply. “You’re irresistible, you know.”
“No. That’s just it. I don’t know. It’s been too long. Last time I was on a date, a friend at the network set me up. Major disaster.”
“She was boring? Mediocre? Ugly as sin?”
“Worse. I would have been able to work around a boring, mediocre, ugly woman.”
“So what was the problem?” Deanna kissed Faythe’s temple.
“She was a he.”
“A cross-dresser? Transgender?”
“I could have had a great evening with a cross-dresser or a transgendered individual,” Faythe said with exaggerated patience.
“Then what?”
“He was a man. A super-duper hunk. A God’s-gift-to-woman, if you like the type.”
Deanna straightened and looked at Faythe. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. He sat there, long hair and all, a Fabio look-alike, and I think he must’ve attended a 101 course in how to entice women. He pulled no punches when it came to charming me. When I finally got a word in, it took me half an hour to make him listen. I don’t know if it’s happened to you, but when you warn some guys off with the ‘Sorry, but I’m a lesbian’ explanation, they get this glow and become all dewy-eyed. I know they’re picturing themselves with two—or more—women in a scenario where they convince the ‘lesbians,’” Faythe enunciated the word slowly and carefully, “that they’re mistaken about their sexuality. They only need this stud of a man to show them what they’re missing.”
