"It's okay, sunshine." Nestled in the crooks of Lana's body, Mary Eunice kept her eyes pinched closed, fighting to shut out the world—fighting to shut out anything but the soft lull of Lana's voice, repeating those words over and over, her voice quiet under the rumble of the car, which rocked with bumps in the road. "It's okay. It's going to be okay." Lana shivered against Mary Eunice, but she had sacrificed her coat to wrap it around her girlfriend. It's not so cold. But all of her insides quivered from a chill sourced from deep within her stomach. Her stomach kept flipping. She swallowed the thick bile in her throat. "Mary Eunice? Can you hear me? We're almost home. We're almost there." A cool hand combed over her braided hair. Mary Eunice nuzzled into her hand. Snot poured into and from her nose, inhibiting her ability to smell Lana's perfume, but her soft skin soothed some of the kinks in Mary Eunice's gut.
The car chugged to a stop. Lifting her head, she peeked up at the front porch of the old farmhouse. The porchlight glowed, moths dancing around it. Home. Inside. She had escaped the crowd, and now it was just the two of them. But at what price? Frieda and Helen had gotten hurt trying to help her. Mrs. Winters hit her head really hard—and Frieda's pregnant… Her breath hitched. She choked on a lump of tears in her throat. Lana rubbed her back. "I'm so sorry. God, I'm so sorry." It's not your fault. Mary Eunice feared the sound of her own voice. She didn't know how to speak and comfort Lana. "Come here. Let's go inside. You can lean on me, alright? Stay close to me. We'll go inside, and you can brush your teeth and take a shower—whatever you want." Lana's words echoed, and half of their meaning was lost on Mary Eunice. In her mind's eye, the pastor's cold eyes glinted down at her with more hate than she had ever imagined before in her life.
Something brushed the inside of her thigh. Hiccuping, she braced herself, hands fashioned into claws, a scream threatening to tear from her, breath catching inside of her and refusing to emerge. "Hey, hey—easy, it's just me." Lana had taken her veil out of her lap. "I didn't mean to scare you." That same gentle hand touched her cheek, brushed away the tears rolling down her face. "Come inside. Please. Don't be afraid. There's no one to hurt you here."
I know. Numb, Mary Eunice nodded in agreement, struggling to focus her eyes on the planes of Lana's face. They darted everywhere, seeing shadows shift and leap and glow with reddened eyes. She spun her arm through Lana's and clutched her tight. Don't let me go. If she kept Lana nearby, the nightmares would stay in the shadows. "Good." Lana helped her out of the car and slammed the door shut. Inside the house, Gus's barks echoed, welcoming them home. Lana pushed the door open—Helen hadn't locked it when they left—and brushed past Gus, who bumped his head against their thighs. He whined, tail tucked, and trotted after them down the hall to the room they had shared the night before. "Here, sit down—sit down." Lana tugged the blankets back and pushed Mary Eunice onto the mattress. Her hands shook in the air. "Let me find your rosary." My chest hurts. She pinched her legs together again, crossing her arms over her chest.
A pill bottle shook in Lana's hand as she poured out her Valium and took one, and then she gave another to Mary Eunice, rosary in her other hand. "Take this." That's yours. Mary Eunice shook her head. "You need to take it. It'll calm you." She shuddered. With a pale hand, she pinched the pill between her thumb and forefinger and placed it on her dry tongue. "Here. You can take your rosary." She wrapped the beads around her hand. I don't know how to pray about this. What could she say to God about a man who had veiled his bigotry and violence in religion? The church had always protected her. The church was her safety. She had always run to God to escape the violence and vitriol of the world around her. He thought he could rape me without committing a sin. He thought he could rape me and have the moral high ground. "Tell me what to do."
The quiet words surprised her. She lifted her gaze to Lana's face. The light flashed on the streaks left behind by tears. Don't cry, Lana, don't cry. Mary Eunice crawled into Lana's lap and wrapped her arms around her neck, feeling quite childish. With wet lips, she kissed away one of Lana's tears, which made her girlfriend bring forth a throaty, incredulous chuckle. Lana reclined on the pillows and shifted, wrapping them both up in the blankets, arms and legs entangled. "I love you so much," she whispered. "So much. And I'm so sorry I left you alone. I never thought, I thought he was harmless, I didn't think—" She cut herself off, swallowing a sob, and Mary Eunice squeezed her tighter around the middle, resting her head on Lana's chest. "I'm sorry."
Say something. You have to say something. Mary Eunice's tongue laid in the bottom of her mouth like a limp, rotting piece of flesh. Eyes not moving from Lana's face, she made a thin keening sound in the back of her throat. Lana spun her hair out of its braid and let it cascade around her face in the natural waves from being tied up so long. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything." Tears kept falling from Lana's eyes, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand before she threaded her fingers through Mary Eunice's hair again. "I—I understand. As long as you're not hurt, that's—that's all that matters." Lana, don't cry. Mary Eunice's heart broke at the sight. "Do you want to try to sleep?" Eyes widening, she shook her head. I don't think I'll ever sleep again. She would see him behind her eyes. All of the shadows already crawled—if she gave them the opportunity, they would lunge at her and swallow her whole. "Okay, okay, that's okay."
Lana fell silent. Mary Eunice missed the sound of her voice. She nudged her once, hoping to prompt her to say more. I don't want the silence. The indulgence of it made her loathe herself, but she feared the places her mind would wander if she didn't have the grounding sound of Lana's quiet voice at her ear. "I love you," Lana said. Mary Eunice squeezed her once. "You don't have to tell me anything. I'm just glad you're safe." She exhaled a long sigh and shifted a little. On top of Lana, her girlfriend's heartbeat pumped into her ear, all of the blood rushing there where she could hear it. Her heavy breaths fanned across Mary Eunice's face and rasped in her chest. Closing her eyes, Mary Eunice relished in the sweet sounds of Lana's life beating against her cheek. There is no silence when she holds me. "We can stay right here as long as you want." A sweaty hand caressed her cheek to wipe away tears, escaping where she had given them no permission to leave. A heavy lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard around it. Her throat and chest ached, and her belly wanted to relieve itself again, bile rising up for her to gulp it back down. "I'm so sorry. I should never have brought you there. He told us he was dangerous outright. It was stupid to ignore him." I have to say something. She's blaming herself. I've got to say something. But her dry lips had stuck themselves together and refused to separate. Her tongue wedged to the roof of her mouth like super glue had adhered it there. A shiver passed through her. Lana's hands swept over her shoulders and rubbed them. I'm still wearing her coat. Even the warm interior of the house couldn't bring the flame of life back into her soul.
Gus lay at the foot of the bed, whining, but neither of them invited him to join them; he was banished from the furniture, and Mary Eunice didn't want to worsen their horrible night by getting Gus kicked out again. Still, she dangled one arm off of the side of the bed for him to lick her hand. He thrust his large skull underneath her hand for her to distribute pats all over him, scratching behind his floppy ears and nuzzling his wet nose. Gus mouthed at her hand, and then he stood up on his hind legs, front paws on the side of the bed, to strain across the mattress, tongue flapping at her face. "Oh, Gus!" Lana's hand formed an open palm, ready to push him away, but at the first caress of his wet tongue, Mary Eunice's lips formed an inadvertent smile. His whiskers grazed her cheek, erecting goosebumps all over from the tickling sensation. "Oh, Gus," Lana repeated in a whisper.
The fat part of his tongue swathed into Mary Eunice's nose and thrust between her lips. She wriggled with giggles. On reflex, she nuzzled deeper into Lana's chest, trying to escape the whiskers which crawled all over her face like the legs of a spider. A hiccup rose from her, followed by a dry cough, followed by a gentle laugh. Her hand swatted at Gus's head, fumbling against his insistence. Burying her face deep in Lana's chest, she pressed her nose between her soft breasts, using the fatty mounds to hide from Gus's expression of love. But as she realized the sensation of Lana's breasts firm against her cheeks, her face warmed. This is nice. Her giggle died off. "Mmm…" Then, she lifted her eyes to Lana, vision watery as she made out the red-rimmed eyes and quivering lips of her partner. Her mouth wiggled. Gus had freed her from her shocked silence. "Lana," she whispered.
A small, sad smile flexed onto Lana's shaking lips. She tucked a wavy blonde lock behind her ear. "Hey, sunshine." All the safety Mary Eunice knew was between Lana's two arms, yet Lana shivered from the same fear which had paralyzed Mary Eunice's voice. She is so strong. She is everything. But she is so small. "How do you feel?"
Her brain gathered up its memories and hurled them at her—the pastor's voice, the glint in his eyes, his hands pinching into the soft flesh of her thighs and prying them apart, the purple flash of his glistening penis under the bright lights of the bathroom. She gulped to keep from gagging at the thought. She shook her head, unable to fathom a good answer. Not good. Her skin burned like with fever. "Dirty." Her voice barely registered on the still air.
Lana cupped her cheek with her damp palm and caressed her lips with her thumb. "Do you want to shower?" A certain intimacy locked between their eyes. In Lana's eyes, she found understanding gentler than she could've ever fathomed—true empathy, soft and weepy. Guilt pricked inside of her. How many of her demons did I awaken for her? How many nightmares will she have because of this? She bit the tip of her tongue. Lana wouldn't let her blame herself, so she restrained herself from speaking on the matter. Instead, she bobbed her head. A hot shower, hot enough to scald all of the sensations the man had left behind from her body, was a luxury she would not typically afford herself, but right now, she craved it like a desert wanderer craved an oasis.
"Alright. Do you want me to come with you?"
The second question took Mary Eunice aback. Thick saliva pooled in the bottom of her mouth. Her first instinct told her, Yes, yes, please, I don't see the shadows as long as you're with me, come with me! but she stifled those pleading words, sucking on her top teeth as she thought on Lana's offering. Her body ached from where a man had touched it. She needed to burn him off of her. She couldn't let Lana see her naked—it would have given her pause, anyway, but now, she could hardly consider the notion. And it would be dumb for her to stand outside the shower watching the shower curtain, anyway. She shook her head. "I'll be fine." Each word grazed her raw vocal cords and made her grimace.
"Okay. I'll stay right here. I might take Gus outside. Okay?" Mary Eunice hummed an agreement. Lana sat up and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "I love you."
The utter warmth of her love spread all through Mary Eunice's extremities. "I love you, too, Lana." She leaned into Lana's hand on her cheek a final time, steeling herself for their separation, however temporary. Then, she tugged herself away from her girlfriend and staggered off to the bathroom, whole body airy, immaterial to her, floating with an abnormal lightness to her step. In the bathroom mirror, her haggard reflection stared back at her, face covered with red and pale splotches. Clear snot strung out from her nostrils. She smeared it away with the back of her hand and wiped it on her torn skirt. Turning her back to the mirror, she refused to look at herself as she undressed, creating a heap of her dirty clothing in the floor.
But she couldn't escape her own naked body. The thick reddish cream curls between her legs sprang up when she removed her panties; the light-colored hair on her thighs could not obscure the hand-shaped bruises from view. Was this the body she wanted Lana to touch? The same skin which craved the caress of her girlfriend's fingers and lips? Inadequacy pooled in the pit of her belly. A shy hand gathered in her pubic hair atop her mound and curled her fingers there, threading them through the kinky, coarse hair. Does Lana have hers? For the times she had exposed herself to Lana in moments of illness and weakness, she had never seen Lana naked. When granted the opportunity, she averted her eyes, afraid of her own lust. Is it perverse to wonder? Perhaps. She pushed the thoughts from her mind and stepped into the shower.
An underground well pumped the water up to the farmhouse, so the scent of rotting eggs fumed over her—tainted by sulfur, the water carried the stench, but it didn't faze her. She twisted the knob for the hot water all the way on as steam lifted into the air like smoke. Her skin burned. She bit her tongue to shove away all thoughts of how the scalding water hurt her. Instead, she slurped in a deep breath, smothered by the water vapor in the air. The shower head beat into her back when she turned to wash her hair; the heat ripped the soap suds off of her skin and left it swollen and irritated after she washed her body. Whenever the pastor rose up behind her eyes, she dragged her fingernails across the scabs on her left arm, and the open wounds burned under the hot water. The heat relaxed the dull throbbing pain in the bruises on her thighs. Her sinuses opened so she could breathe more clearly.
By the time the hot water had run cold, her burned skin had gone numb to the heat, swollen and tender under her slightest touch. The frigid rivulets streamed over her, eliciting goosebumps, and her small pink nipples rolled into tight pebbles, the areolas pinched and bumpy at the edges from the chill. Mary Eunice wrapped herself in one of the ratty, stained towels from the basket—she supposed Mrs. Winters hadn't replaced her bath supplies for over a decade—and used it to sponge up the cold water from her shivering body. "Where's the…" She swept the steam-filled room, but she hadn't brought any clean clothes with her to the bathroom. Oh, dear. Swallowing hard, she tucked the towel around herself and gathered up her dirty clothes in her arms, tiptoeing back toward their bedroom. Don't be stupid. There's no one else here. Even if there were, what's Mrs. Winters going to do? Scream? She's seen a woman's shoulders before. Mary Eunice plucked at the lower hem of the towel, trying futilely to elongate it and cover the reddish purple bruises on her thighs. The hot water had stained her skin a hot red, but it couldn't obscure the hand-shaped prints left behind.
She nudged the bedroom door open. Lana reclined on the bed, reading glasses on, her nose tucked into a book—into Mary Eunice's Bible, reading one of the bookmarked passages. A thin nightgown rested on the foot of the bed, sheer and silky and pink. "It's Frieda's." Her eyes darted back up to Lana, who peered at her over the top rim of her glasses. The look made Mary Eunice's mouth dry up, heart fluttering, mind short circuiting with repeated hoots of, She's so pretty, she looks so good, oh my word why am I naked, my skin burns, and her chest ached until she remembered to breathe, inhaling deeply like a drowning victim breaching the surface of the water. "All of ours are dirty."
Hovering in the air like a hummingbird uncertain of its purpose, Mary Eunice lingered at the foot of the bed, pinching at the top hem of the towel. Lana closed the Bible and placed it on the end table, swinging out of bed, and she picked up the silky nightgown. Her feet sank, silent as a cat's, into the carpet. She lifted the sheer fabric above Mary Eunice's head and tugged it down. Numb, Mary Eunice fumbled to find the arm holes, eyes closed, lips quivering. "You burned yourself with the hot water." Lana guided her hands through the short sleeves. Her fingertips grazed the scarred areas of Mary Eunice's left arm, but she didn't remark on the scratches. Gentle as a mother cat nudging a kitten, Lana tugged the ratty towel so it fell away from Mary Eunice's body. "Here. Put on some panties. Then I'll brush your hair."
Stiff, Mary Eunice bent at the waist to step into the underwear, clumsy feet fumbling to go into the leg holes. Lana held her up by the shoulders, hands placed there but not gripping, not possessive—only supportive. Lana handled her like a frail piece of china or crystal. "Thank you," Mary Eunice whispered after she hiked up the clean cotton underwear.
As she straightened, her back ached. Lana tucked a stray, sodden lock of hair behind her ear. Single droplets of cold water dribbled from the ends of her hair. "Sit on the bed," Lana said, but her tone had nothing imperative to it, and she sank onto the soft mattress with a relived sigh floating from her nose. Lana crawled to sit behind her. "I'm not good at this like you are. Bear with me." Lana smoothed a hand over her wet hair before she ran the brush through it. A few tangles hiccuped at the thick bristles, but she collected the wet locks in her hand to keep them from pulling too much. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" Mary Eunice hugged herself around the middle. "You don't have to," she amended quickly, "if you don't want to. I—I really understand."
"No, I…" Mary Eunice's throat closed up tight. She gulped around the scratchy texture inside her mouth, all rough from where she had screamed for help. Squeezing her arms tight around her chest, she licked the roof of her mouth. "He followed me to the bathroom. He—I think he was waiting outside—he knew there wasn't anyone else in there. He grabbed me—" She hiccuped and shuddered. Lana eased closer behind her, pressing a tender kiss right behind her ear. "He hit me so I'd stop fighting him. I don't—I don't know why I stopped—" Clumsy thumbs fumbled to wipe the ears from her cheeks as they fell. "He p-put his knee between my legs, and then he ripped my skirt off."
Those soft lips moved from the cusp of her ear to the expanse of her neck. They weren't sensual, didn't leave the red marks behind, but they brought her comfort; Lana kept her hair pulled to the side like a curtain and wrapped her arms around her, a security blanket weighing her down. "I remembered—I remembered what you said, with Rachel, when you asked me why I didn't scream, but I—I couldn't, I couldn't breathe, he smelled so bad." She gulped around the lump in her throat which threatened to choke her or gag her. "Until he unzipped his pants, and—" She had never said the word penis before in her life, and it stuck under her tongue like all of the curse words she had never learned to say.
Her voice dropped to a low whisper. "He took out his thing." Her hands trembled. She loathed herself for the childish choice of words, but she didn't amend them. "And I looked at it, and then I—I threw up. On him. Everywhere. And he let me go, because—I guess he was surprised—I ran, and then I screamed. And that was when your mother and Frieda—they saw, and they got him off of me—" She hiccuped. And now they're hurt and they might not be okay and Frieda's pregnant and Mrs. Winters is old and they shouldn't have had to wrestle a grown man. I should never have left them. None of her words came with ease, so she stopped rambling. "I'm sorry."
Lana pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "Don't be sorry."
"But—they got hurt—and I threw up on him—"
"Mama and Frieda are farm wives. They can kick ass harder than a wrestler. And he deserved every drop of vomit you put on him." Mary Eunice placed her hands over Lana's where they interlocked in front of her body. She threaded their fingers together. "Nothing that happened is your fault. I promise you that. You did nothing wrong." Lana's chest pressed flush against Mary Eunice's back, and she nuzzled against her cheek. I want to kiss her. Mary Eunice turned her head just enough to meet Lana's lips in a chaste brush. Lana smiled, and this time, she didn't carry all of the darkness in her eyes but rather looked genuine. She slid from around Mary Eunice's body and kissed her again. "Do you understand?"
Mary Eunice glanced sideways at her, and then she lay back, catching herself on the plush pillows beneath her. "I shouldn't have left them at all. That was stupid." Lana lay on her side, head propped up on her hand. Mary Eunice stared up at the ceiling. "If I had stayed with them, he wouldn't have found me. I shouldn't have been by myself—" Lana shushed her, placing an index finger over her lips. Mary Eunice's mouth buffered a few times before she fell into the obedient silence, lips puckered to kiss the pad of Lana's finger.
"You didn't do anything wrong. He wanted to hurt you. He's probably hurt women before you, and he will keep hurting women if he isn't stopped. You can't blame yourself for what he wanted to do to you. That had nothing to do with you." Lana traced Mary Eunice's cheekbone with the pad of her forefinger, mapping the planes of her face with that single digit like an artist referencing a still life. "It's not your fault. Will you say that for me?"
A gentle nudge on her side prompted Mary Eunice. In a bare whisper, she said, "It's not my fault." Lana kissed her on the corner of her lips in a small reward, so she said again, "It's not my fault," and Lana kissed her full on the mouth. Her face warmed with blush. All of her itchy, irritated skin, burned from the shower, craved the sensation of Lana's hands. "Lana?" Lana hummed in response. "I like that. I love you."
Lana's wet mouth attached to Mary Eunice's jawbone and suckled, gentle as the rain, sliding down the pale expanse of her neck. Mary Eunice giggled, a giddy sound. Lana didn't climb atop her, but stayed perched at her side, keeping from pinning her down. Her heart skipped a beat, but instead of fear, an anxious form of joy flushed through her. One of Lana's hands pressed the palm right atop her left breast, measuring the pulse through her chest. She detached her mouth from Mary Eunice's collar bone and exhaled, fanning a sweet breath against her face. "Are you okay?" Yes, yes, I'm fine—don't stop. Mary Eunice nodded. Enthusiasm and adrenaline pumped through her veins. "You're trembling."
Gathering up her silky nightgown in one hand, Mary Eunice tugged it up—the best response she could muster. She tugged it up, higher and higher, past her knees, past the bruises shaped like fingers on her thighs, past the curls peeking out of the hem of her panties, past the squish of her belly and her navel. She guided the fabric up her body until she folded it over each breast with a quiet, trembling sigh. "Lana," she whispered. "I want you to touch all the places he touched me."
Lana studied her girlfriend, pale beneath her, a snowy landscape upon which she could leave her own tracks. She kissed Mary Eunice once on the lips, a silent agreement. I know. I know what it's like to wonder if you'll ever get the feeling of his hands off of your body. She grazed her nose along the itchy fabric that Mary Eunice had pulled all the way up under her throat. Then, the tip of her nose met the soft skin between her breasts. Lana buried her face between them. The sensation, a woman's tender breasts on her face, lit a fire in the pit of her stomach. Lips puckered, she pecked her way across the flushed skin, around in a lopsided circle until she reached the spreading pink of Mary Eunice's areolas. Her girlfriend hitched a breath beneath her when she left the first wet streak on her nipple. Delicate as a bee landing on rose, she pressed a kiss right to its bud, and then she slipped it into her mouth, both round eyes on Mary Eunice's face, ready to sever if she so much as breathed out of rhythm.
Mary Eunice's mouth twisted into a soft O. A quiet moan floated from her, chest rumbling with it. Lana nursed on her breast with gentler suction than she'd ever used before. Her mouth slipped from the nipple and grazed her teeth on the sensitive underside of her breast. "Lana," Mary Eunice breathed, and she paused, gazing up at her lover for instruction. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop." She bit her lower lip, hands clawing in the sheets. With a bit more gusto, Lana suckled on her other breast, kissing all of the exposed skin until she had left faint reddening marks in her wake. "Mmm…" Mary Eunice arched her back into Lana's mouth, thrusting her modest chest upward. Lana slid her hand up to fondle the breast she had left behind, flicking the nipple under her thumb and index finger.
As she moved down Mary Eunice's squishy abdomen, planting kisses and suckling whenever she squirmed from ticklishness, she kept teasing her nipples with her fingers, massaging her soft breasts. Her hands didn't leave Mary Eunice's chest until her lips rested below her belly button, from which a long tuft of hair trailed down into the hem of her panties. You can't do that. The delicious smell of woman rose up from under the fresh underwear. Lana's mouth pooled with saliva at the salty, acidic odor. She trailed her nose along the top hem of her underwear, letting the protruding pubic hair graze her chin.
At the brow of Mary Eunice's thigh, Lana dipped down, crossing the band of fabric to kiss down her inner thigh toward the bruises shaped like a man's hands. The fingers had left their image behind, thicker and larger than Lana's own delicate hands. Mary Eunice didn't spread her legs for Lana, and Lana made no attempt to separate them. Mouth slightly open, she sucked on the center of the forming bruise, and then she nipped there. Mary Eunice shivered and hummed a pleasant noise. This is mine. Tears burned in Lana's eyes. She blinked hard to hold them back, turning her head to kiss the identical bruise on the other thigh. Don't think of him. Think of me. Remember that I love you. She exhaled through her nose and sucked in another deep breath. The scent of arousal assaulted her. Oh, god, I didn't mean to do that. Lana pinched her own legs tight together to sate the pressure growing in her vulva. A small wet stain darkened the crotch of Mary Eunice's panties.
"Lana?" This summoning was different from the moans Mary Eunice had created up until now. "Lana, I—I feel funny." Lana slid back up beside her. She took the hem of Mary Eunice's nightgown and tugged it back down to cover all of her exposed body, covering her breasts, her panties, her bruised thighs where the man had grabbed her. Mary Eunice peered up at her, face dark with a shamed blush. "I feel…" She curled her toes into the blankets. "My stomach is all funny."
"Your stomach?" Lana asked. She folded the pillows up beside Mary Eunice and reclined there. I smelled a lot more than a stomachache. She grinned, resisting the urge to tease her lover. Mary Eunice had never experienced anything like this before in her life; she didn't deserve any mockery for it.
"And…" Mary Eunice covered one eye with her hand, the other darting to Lana with shame. "Lower. It's sort of—tingling." Her eyes gleamed in the low light of the bedroom. "It's because I want to make love to you, isn't it? That's where it is."
Wrapping her cool hand around Mary Eunice's, Lana tugged her palm away from her eye. "There's nothing to be ashamed of." She squeezed her hand tight, rolling her thumb over the back of it. The swollen burns splotched all over her body made Lana wince, but she didn't remark on them except to brush her fingers over them where she could manage. "I feel it, too." At the words, she pinched her legs tighter together, knees bumping into one another, and she bit her lower lip to keep from making a sound at the slight relief she gained from the movement.
Mary Eunice threaded their fingers together and nuzzled into Lana's hair, inhaling. The sound of her deep breath sent the hair on the back of Lana's neck standing up. God, I love you so much. The urge to wrap her girlfriend in another tight hug and smother her in kisses and bind them together in the blankets rose within her, an unbidden urge to protect Mary Eunice where she had failed earlier. "You feel it for me?" I could've lost her. If he had wanted to kill her, he could've done it. Her bones stiffened like planks. Goosebumps erupted down her arms. She clutched Mary Eunice's hand tighter. "Lana? Are you alright?"
She blinked at the address, resisting the urge to shake herself from the traumatizing but illogical fears. "I'm fine." Her throat had a slight croak to it, a hoarseness which broke the credibility of her words. Mary Eunice's brows quirked together skeptically, but she didn't say anything to challenge her. "Yes, I—I feel it for you." I won't lose her. No one can take her away from me. I'll be careful. I'll keep her safe. She tucked a lock of hair behind Mary Eunice's ear. "I love you."
"I love you, too." Mary Eunice rolled onto her stomach and rested her cheek on the pillow. "I'm tired."
Lana smoothed a hand over her hair before she hooked her arm around Mary Eunice's waist. "Get some sleep, Mary Eunice. We can head home tomorrow." Her lover hummed a soft note in reply. Lana pressed her nose into the blonde locks and rested there, lingering above there, until her back rose and fell with even breaths. She strung her hand through the long hair, ambivalence curling inside of her. Is it right to love her so soon? Her heart had yearned for Mary Eunice for months now. Nothing brought her more joy than lying in the arms of the woman she loved, kissing her, inhaling her sweetness. Would Wendy hate her for finding a replacement so soon? She isn't a replacement. I love them differently. Apples and oranges. She had thought the same on the night of Halloween, when she thought she could never love Mary Eunice freely. I'll never stop missing Wendy. But that didn't mean she couldn't have another love.
Her father had told her to let Mary Eunice love her. She was blind, buried deep in denial, but she had promised him to allow happiness to come to her. She wouldn't deny herself. I deserve better. And so does she. Lana pressed a kiss to the back of Mary Eunice's head. Then, she tugged the blankets up over her own shoulders. Reclining there on the bed, she closed her eyes. Outside the room, the crickets purred their unique melody, and the southern night sky peered through the window with a moon brighter than she would ever see from Boston. Some part of this place would always be home to her; something about the red clay which she had painted on her face as a child would always run through her veins. The soothing lull of the forest passed her into a peaceful sleep in spite of all of her qualms trembling in her chest.
Hours later, Lana stirred from her dreamless sleep to the lamp flicking on. "Hm?" Her arm tightened its grip; Mary Eunice hadn't budged an inch, and her steady breath puffed on, uninterrupted. Sleepy eyes drawing upward, Lana rubbed her eyes with her fist. What the hell? By the time her heart had the presence of mind to skip a beat, she locked eyes with her mother, and the panic of Who else is in the room? overlapped with Shit, she saw us. Lana set her jaw. Her arm didn't withdraw from around Mary Eunice's waist; it tightened, ready to hold her close, to defend her if the situation called for it. "Mama?"
Helen leaned into the dim lamplight. She wore a bandaid on her right brow. "Hey, sugar. Didn't mean to wake you up." A weak smile crossed her face, not quite meeting her eyes. "How are you? How is she?"
Don't trust her. The coils in Lana's stomach eased but didn't dissipate at her mother's friendly address. "I'm fine. She's…" Mary Eunice nuzzled along the pillow until her face pressed at the hollow of Lana's throat. Brilliant. Lana didn't have the heart to push her away, but her heart floundered at the performance in front of her mother. "She's shaken. But she's not hurt. That's what matters." The unique scent of rain tied to Mary Eunice's hair floated up to Lana's nose, soothing her insides. "Thank you," she whispered, an afterthought, "for saving her."
Her mother's upper lip flexed in disgust. "That man should never be allowed near a woman again. God knows what else he's done—and who to."
I know. Men are scum. Lana swallowed the dry flavor in her mouth, restraining her reflexive words—she knew they would only start debate, and she wanted to keep their voices soft to keep from disturbing her sleeping girlfriend. "Are you okay? And Frieda?"
Her hand floated to her brow, touching the bandage on reflex. "Me? Oh, I'm fine." She peeled the bandage off of her cut brow. "I hit my head, but I'm healthy as a horse. The doctors sure did every test under the sun to make sure of it, too." She leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs. She hadn't taken off her church clothes, sitting there in her Sunday best, but she wore no shoes or her church hat, and without her makeup and the scent of her perfume faded, she made a picture of a mother Lana had never really known. "Frieda's peachy, too. She thought her water broke, but it turned out he dropped her so hard, she peed. They were keeping her overnight to keep an eye on her, but she's going to be alright." Half of a smirk flexed onto her mouth. "When I left, she was reading John the riot act about not letting her get fixed. I think he's finally going along with it. I think this little incident scared him. At least it served some good."
"I thought you wanted her to have more children."
"I did. But I would rather her be happy." Helen's brown eyes, the same shade as Lana's, softened where she met her gaze. "I want the same for you. I hope you know that. Whatever it is you two…" She made a vague spinning gesture in the air with her hand. "Whatever it is you've got going on. I want you to be happy first." I don't believe you. Lana shrugged vaguely in reply, too tired to conjure an intelligent response; it was the wrong time of day for a debate, and she didn't want to risk disturbing Mary Eunice's sleep. "Why did you lie? About her? About all of this?"
Eyelashes fluttering, Lana quirked a brow at her mother, confused at first—but then she reconsidered. We made the whole thing look like a cover-up. "It wasn't a lie." Mary Eunice mumbled something unintelligible, turning her face into the pillow. Lana lifted her arm from around her middle and stroked her hair to soothe her. "None of it was a lie. I wouldn't have brought her here otherwise." You always could smell dishonesty, she wanted to say, and I prefer not having a bullet between anyone's eyes. She bit the tip of her tongue. "We talked while we were in the creek, about—about us. But I didn't lie to you. I was never good enough at it."
Helen smiled, a small thing. "You made me believe you and Wendy were just friends." Wendy. Lana averted her eyes. It wasn't disloyal to love another. It wasn't dishonest. Wendy wouldn't fault her. I promised Mary Eunice I wouldn't feel guilty. Longing stirred inside of her, a need to smell Wendy's lotion again. I can't help missing her. She breathed in the smell of Mary Eunice's hair to ease the quivering nerves inside her stomach. "I'm sorry, Lana." Her mother stood, and Lana expected her to leave the room—she had never cared for emotional expressions from any of her children—but instead, the mattress sank, and she curled up on the other side of Mary Eunice, squeezing all three of them tight into the queen-sized bed. "You said I was invited if I wanted to join you."
Lana wriggleed to the right. She tucked her arm around Mary Eunice's waist again, tugging her back to make more room on the bed. "I did." Mary Eunice stirred in her sleep, peeking up at Lana through half-opened eyes behind her tangled locks. "Sh, go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you." To her surprise, Mary Eunice didn't utter a complaint, only forming a sleepy mumble in response. She's exhausted. She didn't even acknowledge the other presence in the room. Sucking on her lower lip, Lana watched the way her chest rose and fell with each steady breath, until she was confident her lover had fallen back asleep.
Her mother rested her cheek on the pillow, peering at her. "She's pretty. You could do worse."
"You don't have to act like you like it."
"I don't. But you do. That's what matters." Lana kept her arm curled around Mary Eunice's waist, prepared to protect her if the moment called for it. "I'm worried that she'll hurt you."
"I've already been hurt, Mama. It won't take that away if I don't let myself love her."
"I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry." Her mother leaned forward, almost on her lover's hair, and she placed her hand on top of Lana's. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there with you. For you. And if she makes you happy, that's what you deserve—every ounce of it, for as long as you live." She squeezed Lana's hand tight, lifting it up to her lips and planting a kiss on its back. "She's a sweet girl. Knows her way around the kitchen. I bet she can take good care of you."
Lana grinned in spite of herself. "You know there are more things to a relationship besides who cooks and who eats, don't you?"
Helen winked at her. "I know you're definitely not the one who cooks." She allowed Lana's hand to slip out of hers, instead reaching to tuck herself into the bed. "I love you. Both of you. Don't forget it."
"I love you, too, Mama."
"Are you leaving tomorrow?"
She asked me to stay. Lana's heart sank. She didn't want to stay here any longer. Mary Eunice had been attacked, but that was just the bitter cherry on a shit sundae. They'd fallen into the creek, they'd lost Frieda's girl, they'd had more arguments than she liked to count—coming here, after all these years, had stirred a pot Lana preferred to abandon. "I think so." Her mother's eyes glistened in the dim lamplight. "I might come back—next year—it's just…" She shook her head. "We had to leave so fast, and with everything that happened—we're both ready to go home and have some peace. I left my work, and I'm sure her priest has noticed she hasn't been in touch with him. My friends reported us missing."
"I—I understand, Lana. You don't have to explain it to me." But her mother's smile was watery and weak. "I'm afraid to be alone here. But that's not your problem." She licked her lips. "It didn't hit me, until tonight—that I'm alone, without him. That all you kids are grown, and this house is about to be empty except for me, myself, and I." I know what that feels like. Her home without Wendy was the emptiest thing she had never known. Walking in for the first time, seeing the blood stains in the carpet which had faded to the faintest of unnoticeable marks with time, not even having the heart to take down the cracked picture frames—it ripped the wound open again, knowing Wendy was gone and she would never walk down the hall or sink into the bed again. "Maybe I'll finally open up Frieda's college fund and buy myself one of them fancy televisions. Back when we thought she might want to go to college—guess you can only have one smart kid in a family."
In spite of herself, Lana opened her hand. "Maybe you'll get lucky, and somebody will give you a—"
Her mother took her hand again, all weathered and calloused in her grasp. She had small, worn hands. "Not a nun, I'm not adopting anyone's rejects into this house."
Lana chuckled. "I was going to say dog. You could get a dog." She let their palms press together like they did when she as a child, taking one of her parents' hands and bending their fingers at the knuckle to examine how their tendons moved, how their knuckles rose up and ridged in response to the stimulus. As a girl, she had marveled at how her tiny hand fit right into her mother's soft palm. But now, age and arthritis had folded her mother's fingers downward and shortened them; Lana's hands were larger than her mother's, the same hands she had once known as larger than life. "Or a cat. You would be a good crazy cat lady."
"You think?" Lana nodded. "Nah, we saw that bobcat. It'd be stupid for me to get cats. Or a dog, at that. Hate for my pet to get hurt." Helen exhaled, long and gentle. "I don't have a man to go hunting for it, either. I reckon Fred would do it for me, if I asked him, but I'd rather the damn thing kill me and eat my corpse than lower myself to ask him for something. Old bastard ought to rot with the pastor." She rolled onto her back, hand leaving Lana's, and this time, Lana didn't make any attempt to connect them. There were some wounds even human touch couldn't remedy. "But I'm going to be real lonely. Even if I get to babysit—I'm sure Tim and Roger will swing by—but, lord… The house is going to be empty. Empty for real, not just empty like he's in the hospital and he might be home next week. And there's nobody to go see. Nowhere to go." Her voice quivered. Lana's lips warmed in response, shaking at the sound of her mother's teary, hoarse voice. "Does it get easier?"
For a moment, she bit the tip of her tongue, uncertain how to answer and reluctant to give any response without full consideration. Did the loneliness get easier? She had Mary Eunice. She didn't think about Wendy every waking minute of the day, and when she did, she had a pair of soft arms to hold her. When she had nightmares, Mary Eunice protected her. When she grieved, Mary Eunice comforted her. "I don't know," she said finally. "I—I have her." She stroked her girlfriend's hair with an absent hand. "The house isn't empty while I'm with her."
Her mother nodded, long and slow. "I'm glad you have someone. You don't deserve to hurt." Her hands bundled tight in the blankets. "Could I come with you? To Boston?"
Blinking from astonishment, Lana's lips buffered against one another in an uncertain formation of meaningless syllables. "I—You—" Her mouth dried, tongue serving as a giant sponge, leaching her of all warmth. "You'd hate it there, Mama. It's cold—It snows, there's ice, and it rains a lot—you'd get yourself in trouble if you slipped and called somebody a slur—I've only got one bedroom…" I could tear down the office and make it into a bedroom. I told Mary Eunice I would, if she had a baby, and my mother is a lot more important than a nonexistent baby. "You can come with us if you want, but… I don't want to hurt you, and I think it would. I live by my own rules there. All of my friends are like me. We go to a Catholic church. You'd lose everything you have here. I can't live on eggshells around you. You aren't happy with how I am here. You'd torment yourself there."
"Is that how you feel? That you have to be on eggshells?" The light glinted in a tear rolling down her mother's cheek.
Lana's face relaxed, but she implored, "Mama. You told me the first night I was here you'd make me leave if I touched her. You put us in separate rooms. I know you're trying, and I appreciate it, but… I'm not ready to be like that around you." You broke my trust. You scarred me. You made me feel like I couldn't invest anything in you, so now I'm not doing it. "There's room in my car. But I think you belong here, where you can be with Frieda and her family. She would miss you."
A tearful chuckle shook the bed. "I suppose I'm a few years too late to expect you to miss me." Lana opened her mouth, hoping to stammer around an excuse which wouldn't hurt her mother even more, but she was interrupted. "You're right. We only buried him yesterday—two days ago." It's after midnight. What time is it? "Moving a thousand miles away won't fix it." Lana's quelling insides calmed at the decision. She bit back a relieved sigh. "But I don't want to lose you again. I messed up once, and that was my fault, but—I want to keep in touch with you. I know I don't deserve it, but will you give me that? Will you promise me that?"
"I promise, Mama." Sleepiness dragged at the backs of Lana's eyelids, but she bit the inside of her cheek. "I've got a house phone like you. We'll be able to call."
"Right. We'll call. Every day?"
"If that's what you want."
"No, you're too old for that." Thank god. Lana could think of little more tedious than calling her mother every day to give a daily report. "Once a week—twice a week. Twice a week. And then whenever you want. Is that okay?"
A sleepy grin crossed Lana's face. "You weren't this obsessive when we were leaving for college."
Sighing heavily, her mother nodded. "I know. I know. I'm going crazy. I'm sorry. You don't have to call me if you don't want to. I know you came back for him, not for me."
"I'll call. I promise." Helen wiped her tears away with the back of her hands. "You need to get some sleep, Mama." Sniffling, she bobbed her head in agreement. "Get some rest. Okay? And then you should ask Frieda if you can stay with them for awhile and help her take care of the kids. She's going to need more help, with two babies on the way." Lana's heart skipped a beat as her mother reclined in the bed, head easing on the pillow, and she waited with bated breath until she heard even snores. She's going to be sick for missing him. Bowing her head, Lana nuzzled deep into Mary Eunice's hair, all the more grateful for the soft, warm body beside her, offering some modicum of comfort which nothing and no one else could provide.
The night bled into the late morning with ease, when Mary Eunice finally stirred from her sleep. "Mmm…" A pair of arms had folded around her. "Lana," she murmured, burrowing nearer under the blankets. "It's cold." She fumbled with a clumsy arm to wrap around the other woman's waist and pressed her face against her chest. A shiver passed through her. A hand rubbed up and down her back, soothing her, but the limbs felt stiff. Did I wake her up? "What time is it?" she whispered, a quiet afterthought.
The hand moved to her hair and combed through it where it had tangled in the night. "Almost noon, babygirl. Go back to sleep." Not Lana. The voice was older, crackling at the edges. Lana would never call me that. Mary Eunice hitched a tight breath as she realized the body she had snuggled against was far too plump and smelled like Sister Jude's incense rather than Lana's sweet perfume. A whimper budded in her throat. Shoving herself away from the intruder, Mary Eunice pedaled across the bed, first instinct ordering her to put distance between herself and the intruder.
Her eyes locked on Helen. Oh. Oh, no. Tongue darting across her lips, she stammered, "Mrs. W-Winters. I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I thought you were—" Tears filled her eyes alongside the terror in her chest. She's going to throw us out. Lana's going to kill me. No, Mrs. Winters is going to kill us both. I outed us. Oh, God, forgive me! A lump budded in her throat, and she fought to gulp the dryness around it.
Mrs. Winters held up a hand to her. "Hey—Hey, take it easy. I didn't mean to scare you." She extended an arm. Mary Eunice flinched away from her hand, but it landed on her bicep, and she held her breath, waiting for a slap of retribution, a string of curses. "Relax. I won't hurt you, baby." Her brown eyes, the same shade as Lana's, held a tenderness Mary Eunice hadn't noticed in them before. "Lana told me about the two of you. You don't have anything to be afraid of from me, sweetheart." She rubbed Mary Eunice's bicep until the tension rolled out of the muscles. "Come here. You're right, it's chilly in here. We both had a long night."
She opened her arms, an invitation for a hug. Mary Eunice's chest ached at the sight. Folding herself down small, she inched into Mrs. Winters's embrace. Those plump arms clutched her tight, the way Mary Eunice had always imagined a mother's hug would feel. Tears stung the back of her eyes. The events from the night before came flowing back to her. "You—Are you okay? And Frieda—"
"Sh, baby." Mary Eunice's stammerings came to a sharp halt. "I'm okay. Frieda's fine. Nobody got hurt." The man in her memory grabbed her thighs and wrenched them apart. She hiccuped, shutting her eyes tight to try and banish him from her mind. "You're alright. You're safe." Mrs. Winters sat up a little to tug Mary Eunice on top of her, arranging them more comfortably, and Mary Eunice clung to her like a baby sloth to its mother's back. "Are you okay, dear? Lana said you had a rough night." Brushing her hair back out of her face, the unfamiliar eyes crawled all over Mary Eunice's face; she could feel them, though she could not see them, with her eyes shut tight. "Hm?"
She gulped around the tight lump in her throat. Her voice, high-pitched and brittle, slipped through like a breeze through the cracks of a wooden treehouse. "I… I don't feel so good," she admitted. Mrs. Winters touched her cheek with the back of her hand, measuring her temperature. "Where's Lana?" she asked, feeling quite like a petulant, unsatisfied child.
The hand moved to her forehead before it shifted back into her hair. "You feel a little warm." Mary Eunice's eyes fluttered closed. Holding them open was a struggle. "Lana ran into town to grab some things for you to take on your trip back up north. I'm sure she'll be home soon." A soothing stroke ran down her back. "Close your eyes. Get some more rest." Mary Eunice shivered. In her memory, he kept reaching for her. Shadows moved behind him, demonic figments of her mind but real nonetheless. Her sharp shudder drew Mrs. Winters's arms tighter around her. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. Can you hear me?" Mary Eunice nodded. "I heard you on the phone with the police yesterday morning. What you told them, about your mama and daddy." Mary Eunice's heart sank, cold, into the pit of her stomach; she needed no more reminders of anything horrible right now. The back of her tongue swelled up, like she wanted to puke. "I want to know—as long as you're Lana's, you're mine, too. If you ever want something, or need something, I want you to feel like you can come to me." Does she mean that? Mary Eunice rested her cheek on Mrs. Winters's chest, hesitant at the sudden intimacy but too broken to discard it. "I always wanted a daughter with blonde hair." A gentle laugh hiccuped through Mary Eunice's distressed, quick breaths. "I did. I wanted a blonde daughter. It used to make Frieda so mad, when she was little, that she wasn't blonde." A hand massaged her shoulder. "Would you like that? To be my girl?"
Mary Eunice peeked up at her. Is it a trap? Nothing of her behavior had ever suggested malicious intent, but this? This was a mood swing larger than she had anticipated. "I would like that," she whispered in response.
"Good." Mrs. Winters held her gaze, reading the skepticism there. "You don't have to look so afraid of me, babygirl. I know I hurt Lana before, but I want to fix that. I want to be her mama, the way I'm supposed to. And you deserve a family, too." I believe her. Mary Eunice knew she was naive—if she knew nothing else, she knew of her own naivete—but she trusted the words of a mother pleading to win back her daughter's heart. "You're my girl now." A soft thumb cradled her cheek. "Lana will be home soon, alright? And then you'll be headed home. Just get some more rest for now. I won't leave you."
"Thank you," Mary Eunice whispered. "For everything."
"You're welcome, darling." A soft kiss pressed to the top of her head. Is this what it feels like to have a mama? Her heart, quivering with pins and needles inside of it, wondered if Lana would protest this arrangement. Helen had thrown her out; she hardly was in a position to start adopting more adult children into her circle of loneliness and grief. "Goodnight. Sleep well." And Mary Eunice did in spite of the bright sunlight streaming through the window, peacefully falling back to sleep until her angel arrived to carry her home again.