Blanche thinks Agnes could quite possibly be mad. There are two sides to everyone, she'll begrudgingly admit, and one usually does not like the other. There is one Agnes who is still very much spoiled and very much naive. She is the woman whose pushed away a cheating husband and a dead sister as if none of it happened at all.

They argue. Nothing big or grand or so infuriating that Blanche is left seething for the rest of the day no, but little things. This morning it starts when she kisses her on the cheek at breakfast.

Agnes stops her. "No don't." she says quietly. "I'm…not feeling well. A cold."

She doesn't so much as sniffle at breakfast and Blanche sits across from her and says nothing. They go their separate ways. Agnes has made plenty of new friends at her job and is always walking home amongst a group of other ladies who find something to giggle at even in these times.

Tonight they make it home at the same time. Blanche sees her coming up the road. She waits. They're two houses away when Agnes sees her and her eyes go wide. Who's That? someone asks. My husband's aunt Agnes responds shyly, smiling at her and marching up the steps. She makes quite a show of waving goodbye to each and every one of them as they return home before she does an about face to stare at Blanche.

"Hello, Blanche."

"Hello. Good day?"

"As good as one can make of it."

"Good."

Dinner is silent. Something is wrong. She's too busy until to process it, but as Blanche gets ready for bed she thinks. Agnes is mad at her. For what? For any number of things. Agnes in the daytime is a mysterious creature.

There is no soft lamplight in the evening anymore. Blanche sleeps in pitch black in a room full of black out curtains and it's just about midnight (it feels) when she hears the door open and a body slide into bed with her.

And they're quite handsy. "I'm sorry…" comes a delicate whisper, almost shy. "I am not very good at this, am I?"

"No, you're not." Blanche rolls around to feel warm breath on her face as they share a pillow. "But who is to blame you? You'll learn."

"Maybe I will. Will you teach me?"

"To what? Be a homosexual?"

"To love people like they deserve to be."

"Oh Agnes, no one can teach you that." Blanche kisses her nose. "But I suppose I can try."