She had always stopped short of insulting Debbie over her sexuality, preferring to ignore the topic entirely, and to be fair, she told Debbie she loved her “no matter what your father would have thought.” Debbie sent her flowers on Mother’s Day and drove home to South Carolina once a year for Thanksgiving, otherwise known as purgatory, where she got to see proof of Adam’s procreative talents firsthand. She couldn’t even remember the names of all her nieces and nephews, and she’d lost count of how many there were. Ten, last Thanksgiving, or was it eleven counting the newest baby? None of them was named after her. Huge surprise.
“Mom’s not big on wide-open spaces,” Lone said. “She gets antsy if there’s no shoe stores nearby.”
Debbie laughed. From the descriptions she’d heard, Lone’s mom was the glamorous type. She’d dumped two husbands so far and was now dating a personal fitness trainer half her age who had his own workout video. Lone’s dad had been a drinker and a wife beater, and he was gone before Lone was even born. Husband number two was the man Lone called “Dad.” He had managed to stay married to her mom for almost twenty years. After he retired from the military, he bought a car dealership in Abilene. Lone got all her vehicles from him at cost. She said if Debbie ever wanted to trade up, she’d get her a deal.
Lone raised the TV volume when the Montezuma County sheriff started talking about the missing child. They were going to pull out all the stops tomorrow, according to the news anchor. The search would kick off at first light to take advantage of a break in the weather.
“I am making a personal plea to every able-bodied man or woman in this and surrounding counties to join us,” the sheriff said. “Little Corban Foley is out there somewhere, and I have personally promised his mom we are going to bring him home.”
“He thinks the kid is dead,” Lone said. “And he thinks the boy-friend did it.”
“How do you know?” Debbie protested. “He says he’s going to bring him home.”
“Notice how he didn’t say the word ‘alive.’”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
“I’m going to join the search,” Debbie announced after thinking things through for a few seconds. “I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if they found that little boy too late…if extra people would have made all the difference.”
“Okay, we’ll both go.” Lone sounded resigned. She ran one of her sinewy hands over her hair and Debbie imagined, as she often did, how good she would look with blond highlights.
Debbie couldn’t understand why anyone would put up with boring old mouse brown if they didn’t have to. Bleached streaks would make Lone’s unusually blue eyes even more arresting than they were. The thought unsettled her and she stared at Lone more intently than usual, trying to figure out if she felt queasy because she found her sexually attractive, even though they were just friends, or because going on the search meant she would have to be outdoors. Since the mountain lion incident, Debbie wanted to throw up every time she was in an open space.
She let her eyes wander from Lone’s attractive profile down her body to her thighs. Even the heavy khaki of her pants could not hide their muscularity. Lone kept herself fighting fit. She told Debbie it was essential to be prepared—you never knew when you could be called upon to take action. The mountain lion was proof.
Debbie pictured Lone as she’d looked that day, stripped down to her T-shirt, a fine sheen of perspiration accentuating the play of muscles beneath her smooth, tanned skin. Debbie wished she was in such great shape herself. She had a treadmill in the spare room, but she only used it after she saw heavy women on TV talking about their weight. She wondered what Lone would think of her pale, ordinary body, naked. The idea made her draw a jittery breath.
Lately she’d been going down that path too often, imagining how it could be, making love with Lone. She fought off the idea. Sex changed everything, and their friendship meant too much to risk destroying it. She lifted her eyes and gave a small start to find Lone watching her. Embarrassed that she’d been caught staring, Debbie gave a nervous giggle.
Lone’s expression held the usual mix of wariness and concentration. “Everything okay,” she asked, and for once Debbie wished there was something in her eyes other than gentle regard.
But she didn’t know if Lone was even a lesbian; she’d made an assumption about that based on her looks and the fact that she’d been in the military. Feeling awkward, she blurted out, “I was just wondering…” The words eluded her.
This was not the right part of the country to ask someone about their lifestyle preferences. What if Lone took offense? What if she was straight and then wondered about Debbie? Her part-time hairdresser job was already precarious in the tough economic conditions; she’d have no customers if people knew she was a lesbian. It was hard living in the closet after so many years being out in Denver, but she wasn’t going to take a stand if it meant throwing her one source of income away. Political statements were for those who could afford the consequences.
Lone angled her head and gave a small encouraging nod. “What were you wondering, Debbie doll?”
Debbie couldn’t help but smile over the pet name Lone had taken to using for her. “It’s not important.” A roundabout approach occurred to her then, and she added, “I was just wondering if you were ever married.”
“Do I look like the marrying type?”
Debbie caught her hands together in her lap so her nerves wouldn’t show. “Not really. I was just curious.”
“Are you asking if I’m gay?” Lone inquired with a directness that startled Debbie.
She blushed and risked a darting glance at Lone’s face. What she saw there made her mouth even drier than it already was. The kindly regard had been replaced by a frank, sensual gaze. Debbie found herself held captive by those eyes, fascinated by the mosaic of blue and green studding each iris, and the way the pupils pulsed, pooling limitless black into the tiny oceans that encircled them.
“It’s none of my business,” she said weakly.
Lone reached for one of Debbie’s hands and lifted it to her mouth. With surprising softness she brushed her lips over the knuckles. “Does that answer you?”
“Yes.” Debbie thought her lungs were going to burst. “Me, too. I mean, I’m a lesbian, as well.”
“I know.”
“You do?” Alarmed, Debbie stared down at her dusty rose corduroy pants and floral shirt. She’d always thought she was the last person anyone would mistake for a lesbian.
“Don’t worry. No one would guess unless you had it tattooed on your head.”
“But you did.”
“I pay attention and I’ve been in your house.” At Debbie’s frown, Lone said, “Two cats. Crystals in the kitchen window. Melissa Etheridge and the Indigo Girls in the CD rack.
Desert Hearts
inside the
Sleepless in Seattle
case on your DVD shelf. Copies of
Lesbian Connection
facedown under the trash basket in your bathroom—”
“You searched my house.” The accusation fell out before Debbie could think twice.
Lone released her hand. “I didn’t have to. You left it all out there.”
“I’m not used to hiding.”
“I can tell.” Lone seemed very serious all of a sudden. “Look, I don’t want to scare you, but these days even our basic liberties are under attack. If you don’t think a minority could ever be rounded up in this country, think again. People like us need to take some basic precautions.”
“But we haven’t done anything.”
“That’s not the point. The point is, the signs are already there. The military industrial complex doesn’t want the American public noticing what’s really going on in Iraq, so their flunkies at the White House are blowing smoke up our asses every day. They own the media, remember.”
Debbie thought that was an overstatement, but she didn’t want to argue. Besides, what did she know about politics? As far as she was concerned everyone in Washington was equally disinterested in the lives of ordinary people. She had registered Republican, like her parents, when she first voted, but these days she supported Independents or Democrats. Meg had been the one who was interested in politics.
Lone was still talking, mostly about oil, the dollar, and OPEC. Debbie only understood every third word until the conclusion, “So, you see, homosexuals are the perfect target.”
“You’re right,” Debbie agreed. “But the Marriage Amendment Bill won’t pass. It’s just a political stunt.”
“That’s not the point,” Lone said patiently. “The point is that propaganda feeds the social climate. We are at greater risk because the government is sending a message that it’s okay to discriminate against us. Hitler didn’t declare war on the Jews overnight. He softened the public up first with propaganda and changes to the law. Sound familiar?”
“I never thought about it that way.”
Debbie felt a little defensive. She and Meg had volunteered at Pride events sometimes and had gone to a few fundraisers, but most of the people they knew thought the gay marriage debate was a phony issue and the government would let go of it when they found something else to scare conservative voters with. Meg always said the best way to deal with prejudice was to set a good example and don’t look for trouble.
Trying to lighten up the conversation, she said, “I can’t believe it took us six months to come out to each other.”
This raised a faint smile. “There had to be trust.”
A lightbulb flicked on in Debbie’s head, and she suddenly understood why she’d avoided seeing Lone as anything but a friend. The breakup with Meg had damaged her trust so badly she didn’t want to be vulnerable again. Another thought intruded. Lone had known she was a lesbian all along, and yet she’d never tried to change the footing of their relationship. Why? Wasn’t she interested?
Filled with apprehension, Debbie asked, “Lone, do you think I’m attractive.”
“You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”
The answer wasn’t exactly what Debbie wanted to hear. She took another stab at the question. “I guess I’m trying to ask if
you’re
attracted to me.”
Very romantic.
Debbie sighed. She’d never been any good at chatting up women; she hadn’t had much opportunity to practice. Meg was her very first girlfriend, the only lover she’d known. Even now, she couldn’t allow herself a mild fantasy about Lone without feeling guilty.
To her surprise, Lone got to her feet and extended a hand. “Come here.”
When Debbie allowed herself to be drawn up, she was immediately in Lone’s arms, and a bewildering flood of emotion engulfed her. She wanted to laugh and burst into tears all at once; it had been so long since anybody held her like she mattered. She felt very small against Lone’s powerful body, and even smaller when she was lifted from her feet and Lone held her in the air so their faces were level.
Lone looked her dead in the eye and asked gravely, “Permission to kiss my Debbie doll.”
Debbie giggled. She felt breathless and giddy, flabbergasted by this turn of events. “Permission granted.”
The kiss was everything she’d imagined and more. And every passionate caress that followed reminded Debbie that she was not only a woman, but a desirable one. Lone took her to bed and made love to her with such hungry intensity, Debbie had no idea how she’d managed to hide her cravings for so long. She couldn’t imagine having that much self-control, but she supposed it was something the army must have taught.
That, and astonishing stamina.
For which she silently thanked the U.S. government as she lay cradled in Lone’s arms in the still of predawn. More exhausted than she’d been in her life, she trailed a hand over the hard contours of Lone’s torso and belly, down her hip and thigh, and marveled that they’d begun the day in one relationship and ended it in another. And it felt so right that her fears seemed silly. Tilting her head back, she looked up, wanting to see her new lover asleep. But a pair of night-dark eyes drew hers.
Lone asked, “Can’t sleep, baby?”
“I was just laying here thinking how everything can change so fast.”
Lone rolled onto her side and cupped Debbie’s chin with her hand. “I promise I’ll take good care of you.”
Debbie sighed contentedly. “I’ll take care of you too, Lone.”
A knee parted her thighs, and yet again she was on her back with Lone’s weight descending on her. Debbie managed a half-hearted protest, “I’m sore.”
In her ear, Lone said, “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Debbie lifted her hips and clasped her hands behind Lone’s neck. Faking a big sigh, she murmured, “Stop.”
“Too late,” Lone said and kissed her into heaven once more.
*
“Thank you for coming in, Mr. Roache. I’m sorry we kept you waiting so long.”
Jude sat down opposite a nerdy-looking, slightly built man of twenty-three whose older sister claimed he was involved in the goat’s head incident. She’d read him his rights, then had to provide him with several Kleenex after nerves made him throw up. The guy was a basket case and the interview hadn’t even begun.
He said, “You can call me Matt.”
“Okay, Matt.”
“I didn’t do it,” he feverishly declared. “I never touched that kid.”
“Okay.” Jude decided to adopt a narrative interrogation method, letting him unload whatever was on top before she moved into more structured questioning. With an emotional individual like Matthew Roache, the best way to get results in an interview was to build empathy. By having him repeat his story several times over, various different ways, she could compare the versions and catch him on any lies.