Never Wake

by Gabrielle Goldsby

  “No, you don’t know where anything is. I’ll get them. Go hop in the shower before you freeze to death. I’ll just leave them outside the door for you.”

  Troy needed no further encouragement and seconds after Emma heard the door shut, she heard two heavy thunks and a thwack as Troy pulled off her shoes, followed by what sounded like her sodden cargo pants.

  The pipes squealed and then howled as water came crashing through them, and Emma heard the glass doors slide back. She could almost see Troy getting into the hot shower.

  Emma felt like someone had just draped a warm blanket over her—so comforting that she felt the slightest tingling between her legs. “Whoa,” she said out loud and did her best to tune out Troy to give her some privacy.

  Chapter Nine

  Troy walked into the living room drying her hair with a towel. Emma hadn’t moved from the window seat, but now she was pretending to read. She didn’t look up as she would have in the past. Didn’t smile, didn’t ask if she was hungry or wanted to play a board game. Something’s changed. Troy finished toweling off her hair and stood with her feet apart and looked at Emma. Her mouth was forming the words before she even knew what she was going to ask.

  “Do you know how to braid hair?”

  The question must have caught Emma off guard because she blinked and answered immediately. “Yeah, why?”

  “Because I don’t know how, and I’d like my hair braided.”

  Emma set her book down and swung around so that she could put her feet on the floor. Before Emma could utter another word, Troy slid to the floor and scooted back until her back was pressed against the wood of the seat and both of her shoulders were bracketed against Emma’s thighs.

  “I’ll need a…”

  Troy held up a large red brush.

  “Thanks,” Emma said.

  “Where did you learn to braid?”

  “One of my volunteers taught me.”

  “Volunteers?”

  “I ran a non-profit clinic.” Emma paused, and then said, “Ida Glass Clinic of Burnside?”

  Troy turned around and placed her arm on Emma’s knee. “You ran that clinic? That’s where I went when I got doored by a freaking Bug Be-Gone van. I felt well taken care of.”

  Emma grinned, and Troy could see the pride in her face. She turned around and let Emma brush another section of her hair.

  “You have a comb, too?”

  “Uh-huh,” Troy said as she handed the comb back to Emma. Pure heaven. This is pure heaven. Troy felt Emma draw the comb through her hair before her nimble fingers were working Troy’s hair into tight cornrows.

  “You always come this prepared?” Emma asked.

  Troy could tell by her muffled voice that she was gripping the comb between her teeth while she was braiding. Emma’s teacher had been thorough.

  “Yup, what’s that saying? Come right, or don’t come at all?” Emma didn’t answer and Troy was going to repeat herself, but Emma spoke first.

  “Um, you know that’s from a condom commercial, right?” Emma asked in a garbled voice.

  “It is not.” Even as she denied it, she heard a hip female voice intoning, “Tell him to come right, or don’t come at all.”

  “Damn it, I will never sleep with the TV on again.” Troy could feel Emma’s body shaking. “Go ahead, laugh it up,” Troy groused. Emma made a choking noise behind her.

  Troy crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And why do you know the dialogue to a condom commercial, anyway? You don’t even have a TV up in here,” Troy said. That must have been the final straw for Emma because whatever restraint she had been employing broke and she dissolved into a fit of laughter. A warm hand rested on Troy’s shoulder and any embarrassment she felt faded.

  “All right, so we’ve established that I’m an idiot. In my own defense, I think there’s subliminal programming in those damn commercials,” Troy said but she was smiling. She loved the sound of Emma’s laughter.

  Emma’s chuckles dwindled, and she ran her fingers through Troy’s hair as if she had forgotten that she was supposed to be braiding it. Troy stifled a moan just in time.

  “We had a carton of those condoms in the public bathrooms at the clinic.” Emma’s voice sounded wistful, and Troy wondered why she would stay away from something she seemed to enjoy. “I’d see that phrase every time I went in there. Always made me cringe.”

  “You know what’s funny? If you and I had met, I don’t know, at the clinic or wherever, you wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”

  Emma slapped Troy’s shoulder with the comb.

  “Ouch,” Troy yelped.

  Emma laughed. “Oh, stop it. I didn’t hurt you. And that’s not true, anyway.”

  “So, you’re trying to tell me that if I walked up to you at the clinic and said, ‘Excuse me, miss? I’m having a bad hair day. Would you braid my hair?’ You’d be like, ‘Sure, come snuggle up between my legs and…’” Emma popped Troy again.

  “Okay, that hurt.” Troy rubbed her shoulder and squirmed.

  “That’s what you get for being weird. Now, stop moving around so much.”

  “I like your tattoo, by the way.” Emma’s voice sounded close to her ear, and Troy’s hand went to cover the two intertwined dolphins on her shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  “Does it mean anything?”

  “Yeah, supposedly dolphins find one mate and that’s who they’re with for the rest of their lives.”

  “That’s kind of sweet; I don’t think I knew that.”

  There was a dark side to the story. Sometimes one of the dolphins died, and the other one was left swimming alone. She’d keep that part to herself.

  “Emma?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Someone hurt you, didn’t they?” She wanted to ask, “How’d you go from running a clinic to being too afraid to leave your home?” but she didn’t want to hurt Emma’s feelings.

  Emma didn’t answer right away and Troy wondered if she had already overstepped her boundaries. Just because you sleep on the woman’s couch doesn’t mean you have the right to know her life history. “I don’t mean to get in your business. You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “No, it’s all right. I was wondering when you would get around to asking.” Emma stopped brushing and ran her fingers through Troy’s hair. Her voice was low and shaken as if she hadn’t expected Troy to ask even though she may have considered it. “I never thought of it as a secret, but I don’t think I’ve ever had to talk about it with anyone. Everyone either knew or they didn’t need to know.”

  Emma’s fingers stopped moving, and Troy realized that maybe she wasn’t ready to hear what had happened. The thought startled her so much that she spoke out. “If you don’t want to tell me, I understand.”

  “I want to tell you.” That was all she said for several long minutes. Troy could smell the raspberry tea she was having and it made her feel closer, almost protective, as she felt Emma struggling with her words.

  “I was leaving the clinic late.”

  Troy tensed. She closed her eyes and willed herself to breathe.

  “It was so cold outside that the locks on my car froze. Or maybe he put something in them.” Emma’s fingers had curled into a tight ball tugging at Troy’s hair almost painfully. “The police never said anything, so I never thought about it either way.”

  “What happened?” Stop, don’t ask any more. You don’t really want to know. No, that’s not true. You do want to know…if someone’s hurt her… Oh God, no.

  “He didn’t rape me.” The words came out like a whisper. No, more like a mantra, as if Emma were reminding herself of something and had been doing so for a long time. “He just…”

  “Beat the shit out of you.” Troy finished the statement for her. She welcomed the anger over the fear that stole over her now.

  Emma went on as if Troy hadn’t spoken. Her fingers had tangled themselves even tighter in Troy’s hair. “He used to come to the clin
ic every so often with bumps and bruises. If he’d have just asked me for my money, I’d have given him everything I had. He didn’t even ask.”

  “Emma…” Troy reached up and placed a hand over Emma’s clenched fist. Emma jerked as if Troy had hit her.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. Was I hurting you?” The en-dearment came out of nowhere, but it felt right. Troy thrilled at being called “sweetie.” When she looked back, Emma’s face had turned red.

  “No, I just—it made me angry to think that someone would hurt you.”

  “He wasn’t a bad guy. He was just sick and desperate and angry at one of the doctors. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “If you say so,” Troy said and turned around so that Emma wouldn’t see her face. Emma was trying to tell her that this man wasn’t responsible for his actions. That he was sick. But even a dog knew better than to bite the hand that fed him. Emma seemed to be apologizing for having pulled at Troy’s hair by rubbing her fingers over Troy’s scalp. Troy leaned back and forced the muscle in her jaw to loosen. Emma inhaled and Troy felt the soft breeze of her exhale touch her shoulder.

  “Okay?” Emma asked. Troy closed her eyes and squeezed Emma’s thigh for an answer. She would try to figure out why she had been so angry later. Emma massaged her scalp for a few moments more. “How did you get this scar? Must’ve hurt.”

  “Which one?”

  “This one.” Emma ran the pad of her thumb over a small scar just above Troy’s right earlobe.

  “Ahh, some guy opened his car door without looking first.”

  “That happen often?”

  Troy shook her head. “Not a lot. It’s called getting doored. People look for cars, not bikes. See this one right here?” Troy separated her hair and pointed to a small bump on the right side of her head. “That happened because a guy walked in front of my bike. I stopped so hard I went right over the handlebars. And this one,” she propped her arms up on Emma’s thighs and leaned her head back so that Emma could see the scar buried in her right eyebrow, “was from a rock that popped up when a MAX train went by. You should have seen the gore. It looked way worse than it was.”

  “Your job sounds dangerous.”

  Troy straightened and shrugged. “I’d be on a bike whether I had the job or not. Besides, I’m careful.”

  “Didn’t your family worry?”

  “I don’t have any family.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve never had any. You don’t miss what you never knew.”

  Emma went quiet and the lie hung heavy between them. Troy felt compelled to continue even though she could count on half of one hand the number of people she had shared her story with. “I was left on a pew in a Catholic church when I was about two months old. I don’t know who my parents are. I know I’m mixed heritage, but I don’t know what with.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Sometimes. Not as much as it did when I was a kid. People want kids that look like them.”

  “I think that’s changing, isn’t it? People adopt kids from overseas that don’t look like them.”

  “Yeah, but why? There are kids in America who need homes.”

  Troy thought Emma wasn’t going to answer her. She had to remind herself that talking about things like that sometimes made people uncomfortable. Besides, Emma was probably thinking. “What difference does it make now?”

  “I don’t know.” Emma’s answer was slow as if she had been pondering Troy’s question. “I do know that if I ever have children, I won’t care what they look like or where they come from.”

  “Me either,” Troy said, and something hung at the back of her throat, and Troy cleared it. “What about you? Do you have any family out there? I could check on them next time I’m out, if they’re in the area.”

  “I wish you could. My only close relatives are my parents. They live most of the year on a cruise ship.”

  Troy turned around, “You’re kidding me, right? People do that kind of thing? Full time?”

  “Yes, they do. I get an e-card from them every so often.” A flicker of worry crossed Emma’s face.

  “I’m sure they’re fine,” Troy said, but even as she reassured Emma, she wondered how long a boat the size of a cruise ship could avoid running into land without someone awake to navigate it.

  Emma continued speaking as if she hadn’t heard Troy’s attempt at reassurance. Or maybe she had heard, and her mind had traveled the same path as Troy’s. “My grandmother died—almost four years ago.” Emma sounded surprised, as if she hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

  “Were you two close?”

  “She was my hero.” Emma’s voice sounded wistful and sadder than Troy would have expected after four years.

  “How did she…?”

  “She had a heart defect none of us knew about. She was too busy taking care of other people to worry about herself. She just didn’t come to work one day. I knew something was wrong when she was late. I was told she died, without pain, in her sleep.”

  “I’m so sorry, Em,” Troy said. “She must have been a great person.”

  “The clinic was her life. That’s why I wanted to keep it open.”

  “I don’t know what messengers would do without free clinics. It’s not like any of us can afford health insurance.”

  “That’s why she started the clinic in the first place.” Pride and loss were both evident in Emma’s eyes and voice.

  “So, you took over the day-to-day of the clinic?”

  “Yup. I wasn’t the best person for the job. I’m not a doctor, but I think that’s what Ida would have wanted me to do.”

  “Who’s running it now?”

  Emma looked uncomfortable. “I make most of the money decisions.” She looked at the desk where her computer sat. “My assistant handles the day-to-day administration, though. I trust her implicitly. She was like the daughter my grandmother wished my mother had been.”

  “It sounds like you might have been more like a daughter, too.” Troy turned around so that Emma could continue working on another cornrow.

  “Sorry, I’m kind of slow at this. It’s been a long time since I’ve done it.”

  “S’okay.” She turned back around and propped her arms on Emma’s thighs. “I got no place to be.” Troy sighed and Emma knew without looking that she had her eyes closed.

  “Come on. You mean to tell me a gorgeous girl like you doesn’t have anywhere else she can be on a Friday night?”

  “Is it Friday?” Troy asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m just sayin’…” Emma said around the comb in her mouth.

  Troy chuckled and shook her head. Emma mumbled something, which Troy took to mean “sit still.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said, liking the way it felt to sit with her arms propped on Emma’s thighs. “It isn’t like I dated much before the whole world went on siesta.”

  “No girlfriend?”

  Troy grinned but decided not to tease Emma about assuming she was gay. “No. I haven’t dated anyone for over a year and a half.” Troy was surprised to find that saying this didn’t hurt as much as it had just months before. “I don’t know many women who would be all that interested in dating a dusty little bike messenger.”

  “Here, hold this.” Emma handed the comb to Troy and leaned closer. Troy could smell her shower gel. “I would think women would be breaking their legs to get to you. Besides, you’re not dusty. You take more showers than anyone I know.”

  “I bet I sweat more than anyone you know, too.”

  “This is true.”

  “You know, you’re not so good on the ego.”

  Emma snorted, but didn’t comment.

  “How about you?”

  “How about me what?”

  “I just figured you wouldn’t have those magazines over there if you didn’t like the ladies.”

  Emma went quiet. She looked as if she couldn’t figure out if she wanted to blush o
r laugh. She must have settled on the latter. “I haven’t seen anyone in…in a while.”

  “You know, The Minge went out of business last year.”

  “You’re kidding? I had no idea.”

  Troy wondered if the subject of her sexuality was embarrassing to Emma. She herself had never had any hang-ups about being a lesbian. There were always so many other things to worry about. She knew not everyone felt the same way she did, though. She decided light teasing was the best way to put Emma at ease.

  “So, would you have looked at me? Asked me out, I mean, if things weren’t like they are?”

  “I never asked anyone out. I think I’m too shy for that.”

  “Not even a coffee date? A coffee date isn’t a real date, you know?”

  “It isn’t?” Emma frowned. “How is it different?”

  “It’s almost a date without all the awkwardness of asking. You could just say, ‘Let’s go have coffee.’ Not, ‘Will you go out with me?’”

  Emma laughed. “I’ve never asked anyone out for coffee, either.”

  “Me either, but I used to think if I ever did ask someone out, that was the way I’d go about it.”

  “So your last girlfriend? She was…African-American?”

  Troy laughed. “Did you just stumble over that, or were you trying to figure out if ‘black’ was the proper terminology?”

  Emma didn’t say anything and Troy hoped she hadn’t gone too far with her teasing.

  “Don’t worry. I have a hard time remembering what’s PC and I’m at least half African-American, if not more. But, yes, she was. She had the most beautiful dark skin, and eyes so deep they just swallowed you whole. Her voice was just… I could listen to her speak for hours.”

  “She sounds beautiful.” Was that jealousy she heard in Emma’s voice? Troy dismissed the thought immediately.

  “She was,” Troy agreed. Patricia’s beauty had taken an almost surreal quality now. She realized too late that she had left herself open for questions about Patricia when she had slipped and said “was.”

  “What happened to her?” Even though Troy had expected the question, it startled her when it came.