Maura sat on the couch, her eyes riveted to the stone on her left hand.
"Do you know its history?"
"Actually, I do." Jane moved in closer on the sofa, taking Maura's hand in her own. "I bought this from a jeweler in Cambridge who purchased it at an estate sale in Sherborn. This was made by Tiffany & Company in 1927 after an original sketch by Louis Comfort Tiffany for his daughter Dorothy."
"Dorothy Trimble Tiffany Burlingham was the lover of Anna Freud, daughter of Sigmund and a noted psychoanalyst in her own right." Maura piped in, delighted by the lesbian connection to her engagement ring. She could have spoken at length about the contributions that the two women made to the field of child psychology and Dorothy's seminal work on human empathy, written after decades spent studying blind children; but she held back, her desire to hear Jane's reasons for choosing this particular ring overcoming her fondness to go off on an intellectual tangent.
"Yes." Jane smiled. She had counted on Maura and her giant brain knowing exactly who these women were. "Louis had hoped that his daughter would find true love after her unhappy marriage and designed this ring for her. He named the design 'Dorrie's Hope.'"
"Dorothy and Anna were partners for forty years until death separated them," Maura said quietly.
"I know." Jane swiped at her eyes with the back of her free hand. "I wanted to find the perfect ring for you, Maur. Something that wasn't only beautiful, but…" She struggled to find the words to go with the feelings in her heart. "…something that had meaning for both of us as women and partners…until death separates us."
Maura pulled her hand back and covered her face. She took one stuttered breath and turned back to Jane, her eyes shining like citrine and peridot under her tears. "I love it. I love you and the thought you put into this. I'm astounded, Jane."
"You astound me every day, babe. I'm glad I could return the favor just once." She leaned in and kissed away a tear that clung to Maura's eyelash. "No more crying…for either of us." Her own eyes were red rimmed and leaking.
Maura nodded, sniffling. "How did you find this?"
"Purely by accident. I've been looking for a ring for six months. I walked into that little store on Inman Square and this caught my eye. The salesman told me it was a vintage Tiffany with a limited production, but he didn't say anything about Dorothy and Anna."
"So you bought it without knowing and…"
"No. I didn't buy it then. It didn't seem special enough. I was looking for something as rare as you, baby. There are tons of vintage Tiffany rings out there. Damn, Frost and I looked at thousands of them."
Maura laughed. "Barry went ring shopping with you?"
"Yeah. He said he learned enough about stone quality and settings that he could have a second career as a jeweler when he retires. We were eating lunch at our desks one day and I was googling Tiffany rings and one link took me to another and another until I read the story of Lewis Comfort Tiffany, his daughter and her lover. I recognized the ring immediately. I showed Frost and he agreed that it was the one from the shop in Cambridge. We flew out of the station and raced there with the sirens blaring and lights flashing. I was so scared that it wouldn't be there anymore, that someone else would have bought it…"
"And you bought it that day, Jane?"
"No. They were closed. I was a wreck. I wanted to ask Judge Berkowitz for a warrant to get into that shop just to see if it was still there. I had to wait all weekend. Monday morning I got to Inman Square at seven and waited for the shop owner to open and…"
Maura was on the edge of her seat. "Oh, Jane, it was gone, wasn't it?"
"No. If it was gone, it wouldn't be on your hand now, would it?"
"Oh…right."
"I bought it and here we are."
"Do you think I could wear it as my wedding ring? I can't imagine anything more fitting than this."
"No way, Maur. Do you really want to dig into dead people with that diamond on your hand?"
"I guess not…"
"And we should have rings that match to show that we belong to each other. You can pick them. You have better taste than I do. Gold, silver, platinum…whatever you like."
Maura bit her lip. "Silver tarnishes."
"Yeah." Jane agreed. "And it's kinda cheap. You deserve something better. What's the best metal?"
"Well…" Maura sat up straighter, prepared to lecture. "Rhodium is the most expensive metal, but it's very brittle and perhaps not the best choice for jewelry…"
"Right. I don't want my ring to crack if I smack some dirtbag in the head during questioning."
"No, definitely not. That would be unfortunate. Rhodium is out. Francium, polonium, and astatine are very rare, but they're also radioactive…"
Jane pushed aside the thought of her hand, glowing green, creeping up Maura's inner thigh under their blankets at night. She blushed, but Maura didn't notice. "No nuclear meltdown rings, babe."
"Iridium is fairly rare and quite beautiful. The name derives from Iris, the Greek goddess of the rainbow, because of the variety of colors that are found in it."
Jane grinned. "Perfect. Gay rainbow wedding rings. I love it."
"It wouldn't work, Jane. Iridium is extremely dense. A wedding band made from it would weigh more than your service revolver."
Jane imagined the knuckles of her left hand dragging along the ground like an ape. "So what are we left with?"
"Gold or platinum. I prefer platinum; it goes with everything."
"Right, because God forbid your wedding ring clashes with your shoes."
"Maura, can you please hurry up? At this rate we'll be watching the sunrise tomorrow morning instead of the sunset tonight."
Jane tapped an impatient foot on the pine floorboard. "Maura…" She growled. "Just throw on a t-shirt and be done with it."
"Hold your harness, Jane. I'll be right out."
"Horses, Maur, although…" She grinned at the memory. "You held on pretty tight to my harness this afternoon. I think I have rope burns in my ass crack. Can you get rope burns from leather?"
A soft chuckle floated out of the bathroom, followed by the doctor herself in a form-fitting blue and silver floral dress. She spun around once and curtsied.
Jane took it all in; the sculpted ivory calves leading up to firm thighs, the toned arms, bare from shoulder to fingertip, the golden tresses, pulled into an artfully messy chignon leaving a pale neck exposed.
"Wow." She looked down at her ragged jean shorts, the same ones she had driven in all the way from Boston, wore on the ferry and on her hike through the Meat Rack. There was a violet splotch of jam on one leg. "I, uh… think I should have let you pack for me, babe."
Maura smiled her enigmatic smile that meant both, "I told you so" and "I accept you fully just as you are."
"I passed a Walmart on my way to the ferry. Maybe I could pop over there tomorrow and pick up a couple of outfits."
Maura wrinkled her nose.
"No, huh?'
"We'll go through my wardrobe tomorrow, Jane. There should be a few items that we can muster for you. In fact…" She turned toward the closet.
"Sunset, Maura."
"We still have fifteen minutes." She pulled out a coral sheath dress. "Put this on and please tell me you brought something other than sneakers and flip-flops."
"Umm…I could decorate the flip-flops with some aluminum foil."
Maura sighed. "There's a drag queen boutique on the island. We're going there tomorrow."
"Drag queen?" Jane squeaked, an image of Madam Butthole-Fly and her Geisha costume springing immediately to mind.
"You're an inch taller than the average American man and your feet are enormous. They should have something to fit you."
Jane pulled off her tank top and shimmied out of the frayed shorts. Two minutes later, she followed her betrothed down the stairs in a $2,000 Helmut Lang dress and $5 plastic sandals.
They walked, holding hands the two short blocks to Cherry's, the iconic bar which fronted the bay. A dozen cherry-red tables, sheltered by red umbrellas stood at the water's edge. These were the prime seats for watching the sunset and all were occupied. Jane scanned the three-sided bar with her detective's eye, catching movement in the far corner where a woman with a bandana tied rakishly over her head had just stood and slapped a bill on the bar top. She dropped Maura's hand and bounded across the room, reaching the seat a split second before her closest competitor.
"Yes!" She pumped her fist. "Even in a dress, Jane Rizzoli moves like a tiger."
The woman she had beat out for the seat merely rolled her eyes and moved lugubriously off toward the bathrooms.
"Sit, babe." She pulled out the stool and Maura boosted herself up, crossing her legs gracefully at the knee.
A ray of light from the dying sun glittered off of the bay and caught the large diamond on Maura's left hand. Jane rested her own hand beside it, the stones in her promise ring shimmering with equal brilliance.
"What to drink?" The bartender approached. She was a solidly built woman with a Slavic accent, close-cropped grey hair and an enormous mole on the very tip of her nose.
Maura raised her hand, reaching out toward the woman's face.
"Don't even think about it, Doctor." Jane hissed.
"But…"
"You can do it, Maur. I have faith in you. Ignore it."
Maura pressed her lips together so tightly that they formed a white line.
"Look at menu. Fancy cocktailings." The bartender pushed a laminated sheet toward them and Maura snatched it up, eager to take her mind off of the nose and the large brown protuberance at its end.
"Midnight on the Dniepr." She read. "What's in this one?"
"Vodka." Came the answer. "And a little cocoa."
"Hmm. Pink Minsk?"
"Vodka and lemonade."
"Bloody Czarina?"
"Vodka and tomato juice."
"Siberian Winter?"
"Vodka and milk."
Maura grimaced at that one, putting aside the menu. She avoided making eye contact, and nose contact, with the woman. "We'll have a bottle of champagne. Do you have Veuve Cliquot?"
"Da."
"That'a a melanocytic nevus." Maura whispered.
"What is?"
Maura touched the tip of her own nose. "It could be malignant. I should offer to do a biopsy."
"Don't even think about it. I'm sure the woman owns a mirror. If she wants it removed, she can ask."
Maura nodded with great reluctance, but when the bartender returned carrying their chilled bottle, she blurted. "I'm the town doctor. I think you should come see me tomorrow."
"Oi, the vrachikha Isles." She pronounced it Is-Lez.
"Da. Ya vrach. Ya…"
The bartender cut her off, showing no surprise that Maura apparently spoke fluent Russian. "I see you now. You owe me a lot of money." She reached under the bar and pulled out a shoe box, dumping the contents in a heap on the bar top. Easily a hundred cream colored business cards spilled across the polished surface, each bearing the name Maura D. Isles, M.D., Chief Medical Examiner, Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
"Oh, the vouchers. Yes, I fully intend to make good on those." She reached into her purse and pulled out a platinum American Express card.
The woman looked at it disdainfully before swiping it through her cash register, returning with a charge slip and a pen. Maura signed with a flourish, adding a hefty tip.
"This is only for Cherry's. There are more cards at Ice Palace and Beaches."
"I will take care of those bills tomorrow. Please assure the owners of those establishments, should you hear from them…"
"I am owner. Volga." She thumped a chubby hand against her chest.
"Oh. I'm Maura and this is Jane."
Volga acknowledged the detective with a sharp nod of her head. "You open champagne or you want Volga to do?"
"I got it." Jane reached for the bottle and hooked her thumb under the cork.
"Don't." Maura reached for her wrist. "You could blind someone. Volga, do you have a towel?"
Volga pulled a greyish rag off of her shoulder and passed it to Jane. The champagne opened with a gentle pop.
"Ah…soft as a lady's sigh."
Volga placed two clear plastic cups on the bar then pulled them back, replacing them with two real glass flutes. "Go ahead, watch sunset. Volga will keep your seat empty. You tip good."
Maura led the way to the railing where a fingernail sliver of orange fire still hovered over the placid water, tinting the bay in shades of violet and indigo below a salmon sky. Jane stepped in behind her, wrapping long arms around her waist, molding herself to Maura's curves.
"It's beautiful." Maura whispered.
"You're beautiful. Thank you for loving me."
Maura covered Jane's hand with her own, unconsciously rubbing her thumb over the raised scar tissue. "You're easy to love. You're loyal and funny, brave and kind."
"You forgot sexy." Jane murmured into her hair.
"I didn't forget. Your sexiness is always foremost in my mind. You drive me to distraction, Jane Rizzoli."
"When do you want to get married?"
"Maybe in the spring…or next summer on the Vineyard. But I understand if you don't want a big wedding. I'd be happy to step into Judge Berkowitz's chambers with you one afternoon. We could just tell everyone after."
That was exactly what Jane wanted. The thought of a big poofy dress and a tedious reception with proscribed dances, throwing of bouquets and endless photos made her a little nauseated. But if Maura wanted that, she'd go along…within reason.
"We don't have to decide today. We have all the time in the world. I'm already yours, saying some words and signing a paper won't make me love you any more."
"I know. Let's think of an idea each day. We can brainstorm until we come upon something that will make us both happy."
"Your brain is bigger than mine."
"Not literally, Jane. Both of our brains are approximately 1,300 grams."
"Right." Jane chuckled, her warm breath ruffling a stray strand of hair on the back of Maura's neck.
"What about a destination wedding?"
"Where?"
Maura bit her lip, her mind fixing upon and rejecting location after location. St. Bart's? Jane would find it too snooty. Paris? Too clichéd. Rome? Jane in gladiator armor and herself in a linen stola, her hair curled on top of her head in the style of Livia Drusilla. It would make for an excellent evening of erotic role play, but not very elegant nuptials. She always loved the Costa del Sol and Jane spoke passable Spanish. But, maybe they should choose a destination that she had never visited so it would be fresh for both of them; they could discover it together. Although, that would severely limit their options, since Maura traveled extensively.
"Earth to Maura." Jane waved a hand in front of her face.
"I've always wanted to visit Greenland."
"Greenland as in ice and…" Jane dug through her mind trying to come up with something else she expected to find in Greenland. "…uh, ice?"
"There's more to Greenland than ice. The very edges of the island are quite verdant. We could fly our wedding party to Kangerlussuaq and marry at night on the Russell Glacier, under the Aurora Borealis. We wouldn't need a single decoration or embellishment; nature herself would awe and astound us as we exchange vows under the majesty of the northern lights."
"I don't think anyone we know would want to freeze their asses off in Kangaroo Suck with or without a light show. And who's gonna marry us? A polar bear?"
"Kangerlussuaq, Jane. It means 'Immense fjord' in the West Greenlandic dialect of Kalaallisut. As to a wedding officiant, I doubt you'll find an Ursus maritimus with the skill set or jurisdiction to perform a wedding."
"Is that a joke, Dr. Isles?"
"I don't think so, Jane. Polar bears really cannot officiate at weddings." Maura put on her most serious scientific face, then smiled, her dimples transforming her face.
"Do they even have gay marriage in Greenland, with or without the bears?"
"Not yet, but it's pending and expected to be passed in the Inatsisartut since the Siumut party is now in the majority."
"You follow Greenlandic politics?" Jane raised an eyebrow.
"Of course. Doesn't everyone?"
"I don't." Jane took her hand, the one with the ring, the sight of it filling her heart to near bursting. Maura would be her wife. "But, I will from now on. You can update me on all the news from the incest-a-runt every day at lunch."
"Deal. It's fascinating; the interplay of a classic European parliamentary system and the traditionally structured, tribal-based power paradigm."
Jane had no idea what this meant, but she was game. Maura had a way of making everything, if not completely understandable, at least interesting. She squeezed the soft hand resting in her own and leaned in for a gentle kiss.
A collective sigh resounded from the crowd, a few people clapped and whistled. Maura blushed. Were these people cheering her and Jane? Perhaps they had noticed the champagne and diamond engagement rings? But when she turned to acknowledge the applause, everyone had returned to their conversations, paying no mind to them at all.
"It's the sunset, babe. They were cheering the sunset and we missed it."
"Oh. I don't mind. I would rather kiss you than see a sunset or the aurora borealis or anything at all."
"Me too, Maur." Jane took her hand and led them back to the bar, where a second stool was now empty and waiting for them.
"Borscht?" A deep voice growled from behind the bar, startling the pair.
"What? No."
Despite their polite refusal, two steaming bowls of purple soup were plunked in front of them. The bartender returned a moment later with two enormous earthenware jars and a wooden spoon. She opened the first with a grunt and reaching into its depths with a meaty fist, she pulled out four white orbs, plopping two into each bowl. From the next jar came a splat of white cream which hit the top of the soup with a splash, sending magenta liquid in a cascade over crisp white cocktail napkins.
"Eat." The woman stared at them for a moment then shrugged and busied herself wiping at the bar top with a dingy towel.
Jane poked at the contents of her bowl, one white bolus floated to the surface then sank. "What is this? An eyeball?"
"It could be." A man on a nearby stool mused. "She probably has another jar full of tongues under that bar and a bucket of fingers cut from her enemies."
"I think it's a hard-boiled egg." Maura whispered. "Jane, did you notice anything different?"
"Yeah, the mole is gone. It must have been a piece of dirt."
"That was definitely a melocytic nevus. Dirt doesn't grow hair."
"Back in the day, they used to serve chili at Cherry's. Now it's borscht." Their neighbor sighed. "How sad and bad and mad it was‑ but then, how it was sweet."
"Robert Browning." Maura declared with a grin.
"Shirley Temple." The man answered, proffering his hand.
"No." Maura frowned. "I'm certain it's Browning, from 'Confessions.'"
"You're right, but I am Shirley Temple."
"I'm Maura Isles and this is my girlf… fiancée, Jane Rizzoli."
Jane shook the hand, grinning. "I've met five men today; Joan Crawford, Barbara Stanwyck, Madam Butthole-Fly, Shirley Temple, and Albert."
Maura tilted her head, confused. "Albert sounds rather…plain, in comparison."
"Yeah, but he was wearing a leather mask and hanging from a tree. You take me to all the best places, babe."
"Ah, Albert is still up to his old tricks." Shirley smiled, poking at his cooling borscht with a spoon. "I used to play with him back in the '80s. I really am Shirley Temple, though. My mother was a sadist."
He pulled out his driver's license which clearly read "Shirley Temple" above an address in Massapequa. "It could be worse. I dated a man years ago named Seymour Dick. Unfortunately, his name should have been Touchmour, a chronic cheater."
"Geez, I thought I had it bad with a middle name like Clementine."
Maura leaned into her neighbor. "Shirley, could you settle a little dispute for us? The bartender…"
"Which one?"
"Volga. Do you know her?"
"Of course. I'm either here or in Ice Palace every day all summer, don't go to Beaches very often, it's a little young for me."
"Didn't she have a melocytic nevus on her nose?"
"I don't know." He frowned. "But she does have an enormous mole."
Maura drew her eyebrows together. She had never read in any journal of a growth that could appear and disappear at will. "But, now it's missing."
Shirley laughed. "It's not missing. That's Olga. They look exactly alike; the only way anyone can tell them apart is by the mole. Butthole-Fly always says that if they were making a movie about the Grove, Kathy Bates could play both roles. She would only need a Hershey's kiss to transform herself from Olga to Volga."
Jane snapped her fingers. "That's it. Kathy Bates. The likeness is uncanny."
"So they're identical twins?" Maura asked.
Shirley looked around nervously, then waved the women closer. "No one knows. They may be sisters, or lovers or…" His voice dropped. "…both. We're all afraid to ask."
"Do they act like they're in love?"
He shrugged. "They're in love with money. They own every hotel, bar and restaurant in town, except for the Belvedere, and whenever a house goes up for sale they buy it, outbidding everyone." He waved them in closer again. "Russian mafia."
"Really?"
"Mmm-hmm. This is a cash business, with a quick turnaround. A great way to…"
"Launder money." Jane finished his thought. No wonder Olga or Volga looked at Maura's credit card like it was covered in dog shit.
"Bingo!" Shirley declared.
Maura took a tentative taste of her borscht, avoiding the floating eggs and cream. "This is actually very tasty. Eat your soup, Jane. Beets are very high in betanin and vulgaxanthin, both of which have antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties. Beets may, in fact, be the new superfood."
"You say that every time you want me to eat something nasty; 'kale is the new superfood.' 'Brussels sprouts are the new superfood.' 'Panda poop tea is the new superfood.' Why can't hot dogs and beer be the new superfood?"
Maura ignored her and, as always, Jane quieted down and began eating from the bowl in front of her with only an occasional groan and mutter of, "Tastes like fucking dirt."
After a second bottle of champagne, Olga, or was it Volga, led them out of Cherry's and up a wooden flight of stairs into a dimly lit restaurant. A dozen tables, covered in crisp white linen sat under French casement windows, open to the night air. Couples, both male and female sat talking quietly over bottles of wine and elegantly plated dishes. A man in a black tuxedo played a piano softly in an alcove next to bar. Jane closed her eyes and listened for a moment.
"'Strangers in the Night.' My pop loved Sinatra."
Maura rested a hand on their hostess's shoulder. "Do you think we could have a table in the back room overlooking the bay? This is a special night for us."
"Engaged?"
"Yes." Maura held out her left hand to show off her diamond. After a beat, Jane did the same.
"Поздравляю! Желаю счастья." She kissed Maura three times, on her left and right cheek and then on the left again. After a second's hesitation she did the same for Jane with an added punch in the arm, American style.
"She congratulates us and wishes us happiness." Maura confided once they were seated at a lovely table with a sweeping view of the bay and the twinkling lights of Long Island's south shore in the distance.
"I don't understand a word of Russian, but that would have been my guess."
Jane leaned in. "Is that Olga or Volga?"
"Olga."
"Did you come up with some fancy memory trick to tell them apart."
"Yes. Ohne is the German word for 'without' and it begins with the letter 'O.' Olga is without a melocytic nevus."
"But they're Russian, not German."
"True, but the Russian word for 'without' starts with a 'B.'"
Jane groaned. "I'll never remember that." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "How about this; Volga has one more letter than Olga and Volga has one more thing on her: the mole."
"очень хорошо, Jane. That means very good! I'd also like to add that I'm proud of you. You didn't spill a drop of borscht on my dress. I can usually tell exactly what you had for lunch by the stains on your T-shirt and on Vince's tie."
"I was careful, and I held the spoon far away from my nose."
"Please be careful now. I predict you are going to order the bistro burger with extra cheese; one little strand of gouda and the dress will be ruined."
Maura reached out and secured an extra napkin from an unoccupied table next to them. "Just in case."
"Should I tie it around my neck like a bib? Got a sharpie? Maybe I could write something cute on it; 'Baby Dyke' or 'L'il Lesbo'?"
Maura ignored the sarcasm, but one corner of her mouth twitched; she was holding back a grin.
"I came here yesterday for dinner. I had the scallops. They were perfectly cooked."
"I hate scallops. They smell like the diaper pail Ma used to keep in the kitchen when Frankie was little."
Maura sighed.
"Sorry, babe. I didn't mean to turn your stomach."
"I'm a Medical Examiner; it takes more than an allusion to baby poo to nauseate me."
"But I'm guessing you won't have the scallops tonight."
"In fact, I will. Scallops are very healthy, unless they are infected with the Vibrio vulnificus bacterium, which can cause mild diarrhea."
Jane snickered. "I love you, Maur. From your lips, the word 'diarrhea' sounds like a fine French perfume. You're right, of course, I will have the burger, and for $19 it better be bigger than my thumbnail. With places like this it's usually the more you pay, the less you get."
A waitress in slim-cut black slacks and a tailored white shirt approached carrying a silver tray laden with ice. Nestled within were six tapered shot glasses, filled to overflowing with clear liquid.
"Ladies, our proprietors would like you to toast your future with some complementary vodka." She placed the tray on the table between them. "Enjoy! I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order."
Jane took one glass and passed another to Maura. "The Russian mob sure knows how to treat people. Here's to us, babe."
They clinked glasses and drank, both shuddering as the chilled alcohol hit their throats.
Maura fanned herself. "May I suggest we pour the rest of this into the ice?"
"Good idea. If I drink any more you'll have to take me home in one of those little red wagons."
A loud whine filled the air of the restaurant. The piano player froze with his hands still on the keys. Maura cocked her head, listening. Two long blasts then a short.
"Jane, we have to go."
They made it to back to Belly Acres in less than five minutes, having passed the EMT crew from the Cherry Grove Fire Department racing past them in a quad along Bayview Walk. Maura grabbed her medical bag and, kicking off her treacherously heeled shoes, took off barefoot toward the flashing lights, Jane loping behind her.
When they arrived at the scene, just past Maryland Walk, they were met by angry voices. Two beefy female EMTs stood on the boardwalk outside of the Belvedere Hotel for Men, arguing with a speedo-clad man who was barring their entrance.
"Sir, please step aside."
"You are not needed here, ladies. We will bring the injured gentleman directly to the doctor's house."
"Don't be a dipshit. Someone called in an emergency." The larger of the two women moved to brush past him into the hotel.
"Don't even try it, sister. No woman has ever set foot in the Belvedere, and you will certainly not be the first. Don't make me slap you."
"Slap me?" She rolled up a sleeve, revealing a muscled forearm emblazoned with a Marine Corps tattoo.
Maura pushed her way to the front of a rapidly growing crowd. "I'm the doctor. May I?"
"You may not." The man at the door replied curtly.
"This is bullshit." A female voice called from somewhere to Jane's right.
Maura didn't know what to do. She stood in the doorway with a polite smile on her face until the door itself was slammed closed.
"Oh snap!" came a male voice. "That queen just slammed the door on the lady doctor. So rude."
"C'mon, Maura." Jane took her hand. "Maybe it's some sort of joke that we haven't been here long enough to understand."
"Like a prank?"
"Yeah, maybe."
"It's no prank." The ex-marine EMT spoke. "The Belvedere is an all-male hotel, and obviously they'd rather die than let the likes of us help them."
"Cherry Grove needs a women's space," someone shouted.
"Sisterhood is powerful!"
"Down with the patriarchy!"
A lone soprano began to sing the old spiritual "We Shall Overcome." Soon a second voice joined her and a third. A cigarette lighter flickered on, the flame moving in arcs illuminating a tight group of women, swaying and singing. A few male voices joined in as well. The smell of marijuana hit the air.
"I smell cannabis, Jane."
"Me too, but I'm ignoring it, just like I'm going to ignore the Russian mob and money laundering. I'm on vacation."
"That's very wise. The Russian mafia is notoriously brutal."
"You need a lift, doc?" The EMT's had packed up their equipment and turned the quad around, heading back toward the town center.
"I would be most appreciative. This boardwalk was not meant for running in bare feet. I think I have a splinter."
Strong arms wrapped around her waist and she was lifted onto a seat in the back of the quad, which immediately began moving at a good clip, the pine boards of the walkway thunking regularly under its tires. Jane watched the tail lights disappear in astonishment.
"Motherfuckers."
When she arrived back at Belly Acres, Maura had changed into black scrubs and crocs and was pacing in her examining room.
"I'm so sorry, love. I never would have left you."
"S'all right, Maur. It's not your fault."
"And I'm sorry you didn't get to have your dinner."
"My tiny, overpriced burger? That's okay, too. You'll make it up to me tomorrow. I get to plan our menu for the entire day."
"We have a deal."
The screen door of the clinic opened with a squeal and two heavily muscled men in jeans and tight-fitting black T-shirts half-carried a smaller man into the waiting area. He was naked except for a slightly bloody white towel wrapped around his waist.
Maura met them at the examining room door, snapping on a pair of purple latex gloves.
"What happened?"
"I broke my penis," he whined.
"Put him on the table." Maura directed, in full doctor mode. "What's your name?"
"Dennis." He whined again.
"He put his penis in the pool's filter return and it got stuck," one of the big men explained.
"Why?" Jane's face was contorted with revulsion.
"Jane, please wait outside. You two as well."
A moment later, she stuck her head out into the waiting area. "Jane, would you please call Faye for me?"
"Is it serious?"
"I don't think so, but I upset the patient when I told him that the vast majority of penises I've seen have been dead. He wants to talk to another doctor."
Maura slipped under the covers wearing Jane's old BPD T-shirt that she had brought with her. She had slept in it the two previous nights, comforted by the Ivory soap and coffee scent that clung to the well-worn fabric. Now that the woman herself was downstairs, double checking the locks and filling Jo's water bowl, there was no reason for her not to put on her own silk pajamas or even to slide naked into the sheets to await her. She supposed it was the sense of belonging that she craved. She belonged to Jane; she wore her lover's favorite shirt and her ring.
Jane jogged up the stairs, making as much noise as two women. "You sleeping, babe?"
"No. I'm waiting for you."
"Naked?"
"From the waist down, yes."
A raspy chuckle echoed from the doorway. "I was wondering what happened to that shirt."
"I've been sleeping in it. It made me feel as though I was still wrapped in your arms when I was alone. Did you sleep in my pajamas, Jane?"
Jane frowned, feeling as though she had failed some test. "No, but that's only because I didn't think of it. I would have, Maur. I did stick my snout into your pillows when I couldn't fall asleep. It helped."
Maura pushed herself up onto her pillows. "Studies have shown that olfaction, more than sight and sound can profoundly affect one's mood and evoke the most vivid memory of a loved one. Most likely due to the relative closeness of the olfactory nerve to the amygdala and the hippocampus, the centers of emotion and memory in our brains."
"Really? That makes sense. Every time I smell oranges, I think of my pop. It must be the industrial soap he used to clean up after work, came in a big tub that he kept in the garage." Jane shimmied out of the Helmut Lang, leaving it in a coral pool, like spilled flowers, around her feet.
"Peppermint reminds me of my father. He's been dead for more than half my life and yet whenever I smell it, I expect to turn around and see him in his favorite sweater with a book tucked under his arm. He always kept a roll of peppermint lifesavers in his pocket. He sucked on them all day after he gave up smoking his pipe."
Jane stepped out of her panties and kicked them aside. Maura was staring at her, biting on her bottom lip. She read desire there and something else.
"I should hang up the dress, right?"
"Yes." The doctor smiled and relaxed back into her pillows.
Jane carefully shook out the dress and hung it on a velveteen hanger, making sure the seams were straight and the garment didn't snag on any of its neighbors. She padded across the pine floorboards and slid into the cool sheets.
"Take off that shirt, baby. I want to feel your skin against mine."
Maura complied, turning onto her side so Jane could fit against her, warm flesh to warm flesh.
"I have to set my alarm, love, but you can sleep as late as you like."
"Mmm." Jane purred against her neck. "Working vacation."
"Yes, but only for me and only four hours a day."
"Except when some weirdo tries to fuck a swimming pool."