The Perfect Score 2 Widow's Weeds

by Beth Williamson

  Veronica found herself laughing as they chatted and ate. Patrice was very funny and charming. She could have drawn Helga, the German bowler from Podunk as a partner, but instead, she got a pixie. A pixie that made her smile, a feat that few had accomplished in the last five years. That made her special in Veronica’s book.

  * * * * *

  Patrice didn’t know what to make of Veronica. She was like a little blackbird with the saddest brown eyes she’d ever seen. Her hair was reminiscent of Carol Brady, and for some reason, everything she wore was black, even her socks and shoes. She had a wonderful smile, though, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.

  For the first time in a long time, Patrice found herself relaxing. The last year had been the hardest of her life, and she was damned determined to get out of her blue funk and start enjoying life again. She’d been devastated by her lover’s betrayal and the subsequent nasty break-up. Life had seemed so gray for so long, and now here she was at a bowling tournament that she had forced herself to attend. Suddenly, she felt the clouds part and the sun shine on her.

  Patrice was fairly certain Veronica was a widow, what with all the black. She didn’t think she was into Goth anyway. Not with that uptight little purse and her conservative hairdo. No way. She probably never even smoked or drank. She did curse, though, which meant she had at least a smidge of rogue in her. With Patrice’s help, perhaps she could nurture that smidge into a streak. Moreover, with Veronica’s help, perhaps Patrice could stay in the sunshine. It felt wonderful to smile again.

  The morning passed quickly and she’d met just about everyone in Espejo, apparently a small town. The goddess of the snack bar was Veronica’s friend Marlene. The owner was Jesse, an older gentleman with a quick grin and a sweet disposition. Patrice was a bit surprised that Veronica was friends with the sarcastic Babs, but it was a good thing. Another bit of that rogue quality that peeped out.

  “I was going to have an early lunch because Jesse asked me to be here at one for the afternoon practice. Do you want to go with me? I’m only going to the Opal diner in town.” Veronica seemed a bit nervous, almost as if she didn’t want to ask, but felt the need to be polite.

  “You don’t have to invite me, Ronnie.”

  Veronica’s eyes grew wide and Patrice noticed flecks of gold within the rich brown color. Her heart did a quick pittypat.

  What the hell was she doing? This was a straight whitebread girl.

  “Why did you call me that?”

  “I don’t know. It just sort of slipped out.”

  Veronica shook her head. “It’s just ... my husband used to call me that, and ever since he died, it’s bothered me when I hear it.”

  Oh, hell.

  “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Patrice reached for Veronica’s hand, and she snatched it back quickly.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m not offended. It’s just ...” She shook her head. “I don’t know. For some reason, it didn’t bother me when you said it.”

  She looked as confused as Patrice felt. “I won’t call you that, I promise.”

  This time, Veronica swallowed and reached for Patrice’s hand. “Please. I-I’d like you to call me Ronnie.”

  The buttery softness of her hand contrasted with the calluses on Patrice’s. A shiver of suppressed longing swept through her, leaving a melancholy behind. Hoping a straight widow from the Bible belt would heal her broken heart was like wishing for the moon. There would never be anything more than a friendship between them. That was a certainty.

  “Okay then, I will.”

  Veronica smiled and squeezed her hand. The sunshine grew a bit warmer under the pretty smile of her new bowling partner. She could at least enjoy it for what it was. Life.

  Chapter Two

  They rode over to the diner in Veronica’s Chrysler. It had been Orin’s car, and she couldn’t bring herself to trade it in for a new one, even if it was ten years old and the belts squealed like a baby pig. A pair of his sunglasses sat in the glove box, another piece of her husband that she hadn’t parted with. At least she’d given his clothes away to charity. Everything else remained.

  Since it was early yet, only 11:45, there were only half a dozen cars in the parking lot. The Opal Diner was one of those places that everyone in town ate at. No fancy chain or singing waiters, just old-fashioned good food, most of it deep-fried.

  They walked into the diner together, and Veronica realized that she was a few inches taller than Patrice. Her initial impression of a pixie was spot on. She was no bigger than a minute. Veronica waved at Erma, the hostess, and headed for her favorite booth by the window, which was luckily free. She scooted in, and Patrice sat across from her.

  “It smells wonderful in here.”

  “The food is delicious. I especially love the meatloaf if that’s something you care for.” Veronica pulled the menus from behind the napkin holder and handed one to Patrice. The sun from the window danced across her blue eyes, making them almost translucent. Veronica blinked and shook herself.

  Patrice winked and opened the menu. Veronica felt herself flush at the gesture. Today was definitely a weird day. What was wrong with her anyway? She wasn’t the world’s most gregarious person, but she kept staring at this poor woman like some kind of wacko. Soon Patrice was going to think she was a bit touched in the head.

  Veronica opened her menu and pretended to read it. She knew it by heart -- didn’t need to look at it, but it gave her something to look at besides the woman across from her.

  Sylvia came by to take their orders. She was one of those girls that had made some bad choices and ended up pregnant at sixteen. They’d been in high school together. Sylvia lived in the poorest section of town, definitely not appropriate friendship material. Of course, her getting pregnant just proved that point. Her son was grown and off in the military somewhere. She’d been working at the diner for at least twenty-five years and it showed. Her peroxide-blonde hair and dark roots complemented the tired brown eyes and bright red lipstick. Her gently curved young body had matured into a bulkier middle-aged one that strained the stitches of the light blue uniform.

  “Hey, Veronica, how are ya, hon?”

  “Good, Sylvia. How are you?”

  “Oh, I cain’t complain none. I got a letter from Benjamin yesterday, and he’s doing fine.”

  “That’s good to hear. I hope he stays that way.”

  “You know what you want, sugar?” Sylvia asked Patrice.

  Patrice smiled and glanced at Veronica. “The meatloaf, please, with ice water and hot tea.”

  Sylvia’s eyebrows rose at the request for hot tea, but she didn’t say anything to Patrice about it. “The usual, Veronica?”

  Dang it all. Her cheeks flushed again. Being so well known that everyone knew her likes and dislikes was embarrassing. Or maybe it was because she never changed anything, even her eating habits. Life was a routine, just the way Veronica liked it. At least, she hoped that was the reason.

  “Ah, no, actually I think I’ll have the fried chicken today.”

  “Iced tea?”

  “Yes, please, with two lemons.”

  After Sylvia left, Patrice took Veronica’s menu and tucked it with hers back behind the napkins. She folded her hands and cocked her head.

  “So what do you do?”

  “Oh, I’m an accountant.”

  Patrice nodded and her earrings tinkled. “So you just finished tax season, then. Must be a bit less frantic.”

  “You said a mouthful. What do you do?”

  Patrice smiled. “I’m an art teacher at a high school in San Antonio. I’m also an artist.”

  Veronica wasn’t surprised. Patrice seemed like an artsy kind of person. “What kind of artist?”

  “I paint and sculpt, dabble a bit in clay and sometimes metal. I’ve focused mostly on painting, but I think I’ve tried just about everything. I’d love to paint you.”

  Veronica couldn’t have been more surprised. “You want to paint me? Whatever for?”


  This time when Patrice smiled, there was something in her eyes. An indefinable something that touched a chord in Veronica that resonated through her.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Ronnie. Why wouldn’t anyone want to paint you?”

  Beautiful.

  No one had ever called her beautiful. Not even Orin. Oh, he told her she was pretty or cute and that kind of thing, but never beautiful. For a moment, Veronica couldn’t answer. She knew by the expression in Patrice’s eyes that she was sincere about it. That in and of itself was enough to steal her voice.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “I-I’m not embarrassed. I’m ... surprised.” And she was. Very surprised.

  Patrice reached across the table and squeezed Veronica’s hand. Hers was warm and comforting, and something else. It was ... soothing.

  “I can’t imagine you’d be surprised that someone called you beautiful.”

  Veronica felt a little bit of the pinch around her heart lessen a smidge. “Thank you, Patrice. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything. I brought my paints and brushes with me. Let me know if you have some free time this week.”

  She wanted to paint her.

  It was exciting. The few times she’d even had her picture taken had been for an occasion, like high school graduation or her wedding. She’d never had anything done just because. Certainly not a painting. For the first time in a very long time, Veronica found herself really smiling, and meaning it.

  She squeezed Patrice’s hand. “Thank you.”

  Patrice squeezed Veronica’s hand again before releasing it. “You are more than welcome, partner.”

  Before Veronica could react to the handholding, Sylvia was back with their lunch. She chatted away as she set the food on the table, oblivious to Veronica’s confusion.

  Patrice had squeezed her hand, twice, and the sensation of someone else’s hands on her skin was indescribable. She hadn’t held hands with anyone since Orin. Patrice’s hands were soft and warm, almost hot, against her hand. More than that, they were intriguing.

  What in the world just happened?

  “Are you okay?”

  Veronica nodded and looked down at her plate of fried chicken. Not what she wanted. She really wanted the meatloaf, but for some reason, she didn’t want Patrice to think she was boring. She glanced at Patrice who was just taking a bite of the meatloaf. A drop of gravy sat on her bottom lip. When her tongue snaked out to lap it, Veronica froze like a deer in headlights.

  “Ronnie?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She was incredibly embarrassed. Again.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. I feel it, too.”

  Feel what?

  “You do?”

  Patrice scooped a bite of mashed potatoes and held it out to Veronica. She opened her mouth and Patrice slid the fork in. The creamy, hot texture of the potatoes and the salty gravy coated her tongue. As she swallowed, Patrice smiled.

  “Yes, I do. I didn’t expect it, but it’s there.”

  Veronica swallowed.

  “Do you feel it?” Patrice’s blue eyes locked on hers.

  Veronica’s heart was beating quickly, her palms were sweaty, and she felt the urge to squirm on the vinyl seat.

  “Yes.”

  * * * * *

  After they finished lunch, Patrice hooked her arm through Veronica’s as they walked to the car. She stiffened a bit, but only for a moment. Patrice didn’t want to scare her little blackbird away, but the attraction was growing every moment she spent with her. It wasn’t like her to immediately connect with someone. It was obviously not Veronica’s way either. She was like a skittish colt, but within the depths of her brown eyes beat a passion that Patrice could see.

  It had been more than a year since she’d been with anyone. She had wondered if she’d ever feel that spark again, and here she was, in the middle of nowhere, feeling it for a straight woman. Patrice wasn’t one to fight her natural instincts. She would follow them wherever they led.

  Even if it was into the arms of Veronica.

  * * * * *

  When Veronica got home that night, she flipped on the light and flopped onto the couch. She stared at her wedding picture, into her husband’s eyes, and wondered for the hundredth time what had happened with Patrice.

  She didn’t want to say it aloud, but she felt attracted to her. She was bright, sweet, and fun. She made Veronica feel good about herself and about life. Aside from all that, she was gorgeous and sensual. She had an air about her that called to something deep inside her. A part of her that she thought was dead and buried with Orin.

  After a time, she got up and went into the bedroom. The drawer to the nightstand was partially open. Even in the soft light from the lamp, she could see the jumble of toys in there, taunting her.

  She undressed and brushed her teeth, studying her reflection in the mirror. At forty-two, she’d never had children so any fat was just that. Fat. She could probably lose twenty pounds, but overall, she had a nice figure. Plain brown hair and plain brown eyes. She didn’t know what Patrice saw, because Veronica didn’t think she was beautiful at all. Not dog ugly, but certainly not beautiful.

  Veronica pulled on her nightie and headed for bed. This time, she decided not to fight it. She felt antsy and hot all over. She pulled the nightstand drawer open and found her clit licker, a snazzy little toy that simulated a tongue licking.

  With flushed cheeks, she lay down and wasn’t surprised to find Patrice’s face behind her closed lids.

  Chapter Three

  Apparently, many folks decided to show up early to practice on the wood lanes. There were more people in the Starlite Lanes than ever before. Marlene was nervous about achieving her perfect three hundred game in the tournament, so Veronica was trying to make her sit down and relax. Not an easy feat since Marlene outweighed her by at least eighty pounds and was probably eight inches taller.

  “You’re going to kick butt, Marlene.”

  “I’ve got three chances to hit my three hundred game. What if I blow it?”

  Veronica took her friend by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You are the best bowler I’ve ever seen, even those on TV. You will not blow it.”

  Marlene sighed gustily. “Okay, I know I’m being a pest, and I appreciate you talking me down.”

  “No problem. That’s what friends are for.”

  Veronica was in a state of frazzled nerves herself, and helping Marlene kept the edge of panic from slicing into her.

  “You okay?” Marlene was looking at her with a frown.

  The urge to confide in someone was strong, but she hesitated because the whole thing embarrassed her.

  “I know there’s something burning a hole on your tongue, so you might as well spit it out.”

  Veronica took a deep breath. “You know I got a bowling partner for the doubles, right? Well, her name is Patrice and well ... she’s really beautiful and funny and sweet.”

  Marlene’s eyebrows went up. “Go on.”

  “Something happened.”

  “Okay, now I’m dying to know what’s going on here, Veronica. Are you trying to tell me that you had sex with this woman?”

  “No, not that. I just ...”

  Marlene leaned forward and locked her gaze on Veronica’s. “You have feelings for her. Itches, inclinations, urges, whatever you want to call them.”

  Veronica nodded, relieved that Marlene could understand what she was trying unsuccessfully to spit out.

  “And?”

  “And nothing! I don’t know what to do, Marlene. I’ve never had feelings for a woman before, and I feel like I’m in a boat in the middle of the ocean with no oars.”

  She was confused and desperate and ... excited. Yes, deep down in the pit of her stomach burbled excitement. Something that had been hibernating for five years.

  “First thing you need to do is tell yourself it’s okay to feel the way you do. There
is no wrong in that.”

  “I can try.” Veronica would try, but it wasn’t going to be easy. She kept hearing her mother’s voice in her ear.

  “Second thing you need to do is relax. If this is meant to happen, it will happen. Open yourself up to something new and take the ride. You’ve been closed up for so long, sweetie, I was afraid you’d be in that hole forever.”

  Veronica swallowed the lump in her throat. She knew she hadn’t been living life since Orin died; it certainly wasn’t news, but to hear her friend say it was something different.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Marlene gave her a back-cracking hug -- something she’d never done before. Veronica felt the sting of tears in her eyes. Her friends had respected her “no touching” policy without breaking it. Just when she needed it, Marlene was there to give her support.

  “Oh, don’t you ever say you’re sorry for being who you are, Veronica.”

  “Thank you, Marlene.”

  Marlene grinned. “No need to thank me. You’ve already made up your mind what you’re gonna do. You just needed me to say go for it. Ride the wave, girl, and see where it takes you.”

  Ride the wave.

  Veronica realized Marlene was right. She hugged her quickly and left her with a surprised expression on her face. It was definitely a day for new things.

  “Good luck! I’ll be by to watch you!”

  Wearing a silly grin, she walked to the snack bar to have lunch with Babs.

  * * * * *

  Patrice spent the morning at the hotel’s pool, drinking water, nibbling on soy crisps, and keeping her distance from Veronica. She hoped it was simply the effect of meeting someone new that had caused her attraction. Giving herself a good chunk of time away from her was a way to test that.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t working. Her mind kept drifting back to the color of Veronica’s eyes or the way she cocked her head while she was listening or the small baby-fine hairs at the base of her neck.

  Hell, she felt like a young girl with a crush rather than a forty-year-old veteran of three long-term relationships and half a dozen one-night stands. In fact, Patrice was tired of playing the game of artifice. Of wearing a mask for other people so they would be comfortable. It was bullshit and she hated it.