"Hey," a light voice called behind her, young, cheerful. "You're Brenda, right?"
Brenda stopped walking, cautiously turned around. A girl, maybe sixteen, was waving animatedly at her from half a block back, a large tote bag hung awkwardly from her shoulder.
"Hi!" she called. "I'm Cherry, I heard about you."
News sure travels fast around here, Brenda thought, remembering the small towns of her Georgia youth, being dragged into the hinterlands to visit some decrepit great-aunt or another, the vague discomfort of every unknown face she saw in all the churches and grocery stores and five-and-tens seeming to know all about her. The feeling of the situation being unbalanced, of being at a disadvantage.
Not everyone is out to get you, Brenda Leigh, her mother had huffed at her more than once. Folks are just friendlier in parts like this. They know their neighbors.
A long career of seeing firsthand what people did to their neighbors had done nothing to change Brenda's mind about small towns. Or neighbors.
"Hello," she said, her voice neutral. "That's me."
Cherry bounded up the rest of the block, carefully steadying her bag; startled Brenda by giving her a hug, gently, since she seemed to know about the collarbone too.
Or maybe you're wearin' a sling, she thought wryly.
"I'm so happy to meet you," she said, and her wide grin told Brenda it was true, though she had no idea why.
Just how fast did rumors spread here? Did this girl already know—
"It's been forever since anyone new came," Cherry continued. "And I guess Maura knows that doctor you came with? Like, from forever ago? Which is so crazy, you know?"
"So crazy," Brenda murmured, still trying to get her bearings in the conversation.
She'd set out for a walk right before sunset, after Dr. Morales had shown her to her new apartment, clean and soft. Brenda had taken a bath—lukewarm, but still miraculous—and wept into the water, not sobbing, just feeling things release. New things take their place. Well. Old things.
She hadn't seen Maura again. True to his word, Fernando had managed to whisk them upstairs while the lobby was empty, and Brenda hadn't lifted her eyes anyway, just in case. Opened the door to her unit with a flourish, revealing a perfectly pleasant, neutral space, a beige loveseat and armchair in the central area, her battered duffel bag resting on the coffee table. A small kitchenette, a tiny breakfast bar. A bedroom, the queen bed with its soft white duvet the most beautiful thing Brenda had ever seen, at least until she flipped on the faucets in the gleaming white bathtub.
She'd found a cabinet stocked with towels, a few pairs of sweats, a couple of tank tops, socks. Nothing specific, but all of it her size, more or less, and comfortable. A few dishes in the cabinets, some canned food, a loaf of what looked like fresh bread. She wondered how this little town operated—had these things been amassed specifically for her? Did they have some bank of supplies for refugees?
She thought about Maura then, her soft eyes, her kind heart. Maura would have made sure anyone and everyone was taken care of, Brenda knew.
Thought about the afternoon they'd spent in the arboretum only a few days into their abrupt passion, the hummingbird that had appeared from nowhere, had alit on Maura's finger, had investigated the blossom she'd offered. A real-life fairy tale princess. Gentle and loving and sweet, her cascade of copper hair shimmering in the sun. Brenda had laughed, made a little joke, but had waited until the bird had flown away. Had been transfixed by the wonder and delight in Maura's warm hazel eyes. Had known right in that very moment that she loved her.
Yes, Brenda thought, Maura would do this for anyone.
And there, on her pillow, a small, foil-wrapped bar of chocolate.
Brenda had immediately turned away, her eyes filling with tears again, headed immediately into the bathtub, had wept while the warm water soothed her clean. Had decided to go out, to watch the thin gray winter light fade into the sea.
"So," Cherry's bright voice broke in. "You were a police officer too?"
"Too?" she said, the word leaping out if her mouth before she could think.
"Oh, um," Cherry looked slightly abashed. "It's just that Jane—she was a cop. A detective. And you are too, and your friend is a medical examiner like Maura. So that's kind of funny, I guess," she trailed off.
"Okay," Brenda said, confused. "Well."
"Jane was the one who saved us. Her and Maura."
"Okay."
Her and Maura. Brenda felt her heart thud in her chest. Didn't have to guess why.
"Nobody told you yet?"
"Well, I," Brenda stammered, "I just hardly got here." Close enough to the truth, she supposed.
"Oh, duh," Cherry slapped her forehead lightly, giggled.
Brenda found herself smiling too, despite the wave of new, prickly feelings the mention of this other woman's name had set loose; this girl seemed so young, sweet, awkward. Like she had been, once, so eager to connect, so eager to please.
"But I bet it's a real good story," Brenda said, patting Cherry on the arm. "You want to tell it to me?"
Cherry blushed slightly, though it was hard to see in the fading light. "Yeah, sure. But I can't right now. I have to go bring Maura her dinner." She indicated the bag, which Brenda could see was filled with glass containers.
"Dr. Isles working late?" Brenda asked, hoping her voice sounded light.
"No," Cherry said. "I just make dinner and bring it to her house on Sundays. We talk. Play chess sometimes. It's nice."
Brenda smiled again, though it was a little pained. "That does sound real nice," she murmured. "I don't want to keep you, now."
"It was nice to meet you," Cherry said. "I'm glad you're okay. And that you're here. It's safe here," she added, but Brenda couldn't quite parse her tone.
"We'll see each other real soon, I'm sure," Brenda said, laying on the charm a little, a little embarrassed about it, but it was clear this girl would immediately tell Maura all about their encounter. Wanted to make a good impression.
"If you want to get to the beach road, go left up here, and then right, and you'll be right there," Cherry said as she hugged Brenda again.
"Thank you very much, Cherry," she said. "That sounds just perfect."
"It's really pretty even at night," Cherry said, adjusting her bag. "It'll get cold soon though." She eyed Brenda's thick hoodie.
"I promise I won't stay out too late," Brenda grinned.
"You could come with me," Cherry said a little too forcefully, like she'd been wanting to say it for a bit. "To Maura's. We always have way too much food now."
Brenda was relieved that the deepening twilight must be masking the flush on her cheeks. Was relieved only she was aware of her heart pounding.
"No, that's all right," she said softly. "You go on, have a nice dinner."
"Okay. Bye, Brenda!"
"Bye-bye, now."
She watched the girl lope off into the night, her limbs still awkward, coltish, her long brown hair swinging. Thought of her and Maura sitting together, Cherry talking excitedly, Maura's indulgent smile.
Thought of the long nights she'd rambled on at Maura, tucked sweetly into each other on Maura's cozy little bed, as Maura had listened patiently, had murmured agreements, had stroked at her temples, had eventually persuaded her there were better things she could be doing with her mouth than complaining about her fellow officers.
Thought of Sharon, of how Sharon had, right up until the end, rolled her eyes whenever Brenda had gotten herself worked up on some scrap of an idea or other, of how for so long she'd been sincere in her annoyance, but how one day she'd rolled her eyes, sighed, pulled Brenda into her arms on the sofa, murmured mm-hmm, go on into her hair. Had given that little half-smile Brenda had loved so much, the one that meant all right, if you must.
How she'd then spent the better part of two hours rehashing old LAPD grudges just to let herself feel outraged about something long past, something painless at that point. How Sharon had gotten in a few well-timed jabs herself, how Fernando had passed by the door to the living room with a dramatic ugh, those terrible men again?
How Sharon had let her grouse and grumble and holler for emphasis. Had looked at her with wry amusement but no condescension; had liked watching Brenda get herself good and riled up, had liked to use her hands and her mouth and her voice to shift that fire into something else, something that even Brenda acknowledged was a far more enjoyable use of their time and energy.
Fernando's dry goodnight, ladies, as they shut the door to their bedroom; the low laughter from the front room as he and Jason, a kind and lovely man they'd met while trying to establish some kind of life in the remote Utah mountains, no doubt teased about them in front of the fire.
Jason had been staying at his own cabin, taking a working vacation, when it had happened. It was the off season, so he had ended up totally alone in the small, isolated resort community for weeks until the three of them had come limping up the mountain, hoping to find Sharon's family, hoping to find somewhere safe.
He'd smiled at Fernando right away, and Brenda hadn't needed any of her fancy qualifications to read Fernando's expression in reply.
She'd been so pleased for him. For them both. That something like love could still happen, even now. She hadn't even been jealous.
Well, not for a while, at least.
But then Sharon had pulled her close, had murmured in her hair. And then everything was perfect.
Well, she thought sometimes, Fritz is dead, the squad is dead, Sharon's kids are dead. But we're not, she'd always remind herself, and then go wander off to find Sharon, to see if Sharon could soothe away that phantom pain; sometimes she ended up soothing Sharon's, but it always seemed to make her feel better, too.
She hadn't really missed Fritz, and it wasn't even something that caused her regret. They'd been heading for some kind of end for a while before. She wished it had been different for him; she wished sometimes he'd been down there with her in the morgue, had made it out with her, but not because she wanted him beside her. Just that it felt awfully unfair, sometimes. That she was here, safe, happy, loved, and he was—
"I can hear you thinking," Sharon murmured, not looking up from her book.
"Just the same old," she said. "You know."
She must have sniffled more loudly than she thought, because Sharon was setting her book down, was drawing Brenda close, was pressing her lips softly, tenderly, to Brenda's temple.
"I've got you, Brenda Leigh," she whispered. "We've got each other."
"I love you, Sharon," she whispered back.
"I love you too, honey."
Brenda stood at the edge of the cold gray ocean, listening to the waves fizzing and lapping back onto themselves. It had gotten colder, but it was mostly because the sky had finally cleared, and she could see hundreds of stars; thousands; glittering in their own ocean far above.
She had stood there for a long time, maybe an hour, just watching, awestruck. To be here. To still be here, and in a place like this, listening to the sea, surrounded by stars. Cherry had been right about the weather, but Brenda lingered. Didn't feel how cold she was, didn't feel the wind and sand whipping at her face. Didn't feel anything, really, but in a way that didn't hurt.
"You shouldn't be out here," a soft voice beside her said. "I can't imagine catching cold with a fractured clavicle and deep-tissue bruising would be a particularly enjoyable time."
"I just wanted to see," Brenda whispered, not looking at her.
Maura moved closer, draped a thick wool blanket around Brenda's shoulders, stepped back.
"It's very beautiful," Maura said. "A bit overwhelming."
"A bit?" Brenda laughed. "I've never felt so small in my whole life."
"You don't get used to it," Maura said softly.
They stood there for a while, close but not touching, staring out to sea.
"Please go get some sleep," Maura said finally, and Brenda knew it wasn't a request.
"Yes ma'am," she replied. "You want your blanket back?"
"Keep it," Maura said, still not looking at her. "It works well against the wind."
She turned and moved up the rocky shore, toward a little house Brenda imagined must be hers, lanterns lit in the windows. Brenda watched until she disappeared inside, until all but one lamp went dark.
She walked to the beach road, giving a glance back to the little house. Saw the last lantern flicker out as she made her way back toward the town.