Fresh Tracks (15 page)

"Here's your question," Jo continued. "Who was assassinated on November 4, 1995, in Kings of Israel Square?"

Laura looked at Sophie, eyebrows raised.

"Rabin, wasn't it?" Sophie offered.

"You think?"

"I do." Sophie nodded her certainty.

"I trust you," Laura said with a gentle smile. "Go ahead."

Sophie was surprised to find herself returning the smile. Then she focused on Jo and said,

"Yitzhak Rabin."

"That is correct."

Laura bumped Sophie affectionately. "Nice work, partner."

They rolled the dice again. "Brown," Sophie said.

"The category is The Written Word. What beloved family dog died after rescuing little

April in the comic strip For Better or For Worse!"

"Oh, God, I know this one," Laura responded. "I cried for a week." She turned to Sophie, who made a gesture that said "go ahead." "Farley."

"That is correct," Jo stated.

Laura bent forward to pet the terrier and Sophie patted Laura's back in congratulations.

When the little voice in her head screamed, "You're touching the cheater!" she told it to shut the hell up.

Just over an hour later, all three teams were in the home stretch. Amy had carried her

team, Kristin being unfocused and not answering a single question correctly, much to her

deep consternation. Jo felt sorry for her, knowing that The Molly and Darby Show was

bothering her a great deal. Sophie and Laura worked surprisingly well together, a fact that

did not surprise Amy at all. Molly and Darby were out in front, though, followed closely by

Sophie and Laura. Molly rolled a three that put them in the winner's circle.

"Okay, Team One," Jo said. "Answer this question correctly and you will be the winners.

The category is Stage and Screen. Here is the question: What comics-page 'girl reporter'

did Brooke Shields bring to the silver screen in 1989?"

Darby blinked and looked at Molly, whose face was scrunched up in a semblance of

concentration. Laura began to hum the theme song to Jeopardy, which made the others

chuckle.

"I have no fucking idea," Darby muttered to her team partner. "Not a clue."

Laura laughed. "What were you in 1989? Eight years old? Nine?"

Molly held up a hand, silencing them. "Hang on. I know this..." She stared hard at the floor, while Darby and Kristin both watched. Even the terrier had his eyes open and focused on

Molly. Finally, Molly flinched as though she'd been poked and looked up.

"Brenda Starr."

"That is correct," Jo commended.

Darby gave a hoot of joy and jumped up. "Yes!" She did a little dance around the room while most of the others laughed and the terrier yipped. "That's my partner," she said, pointing at Molly. She pulled her to her feet and made her dance, too. "That's my partner!"

No, that's my partner, Kristin thought, feeling nauseated. She stood up and stepped over

Amy. "Excuse me. I've got to use the ladies' room," she said quietly, heading upstairs.

Molly watched her go, her grin dimming several watts. Jo also watched. Turning her head,

she made eye contact with her wife, whose lips formed a straight line. Then she shifted

her gaze to pin Darby with a disapproving glare.

Darby didn't notice and continued to dance.

Friday, December 30

MOLLY

G

od, it was early. Molly didn't even think the birds were awake yet. Nobody else was. She'd

managed to sneak into her winter attire and out of the house making very little sound. She

wasn't sure what time it was, but she guessed somewhere between five and six in the

morning—closer to five, judging by the fact that Jo wasn't even up yet.

There was no sound but the crunching of her boots in the snow, and when she stood stil ,

the silence was almost eerie. It was still dark and she wasn't terribly familiar with the

area, so she wandered out behind the garage where she knew there was a big stump to sit

upon and plopped herself down on it with a world-weary sigh.

"What the hel happened to my life?" she whispered into the stillness, the puff of her breath visible as it drifted away into the atmosphere.

Kristin hadn't said a single word to her for the rest of the night. When she didn't return

right away from the bathroom, Molly went up to check on her. She was already under the

covers in the bed and— Molly was sure—feigning sleep. Molly knew they were going to have

to have a serious discussion, more likely several of them, but she just hadn't had the

energy last night. She'd had a little too much rum, and the idea of arguing around and

around in a pointless circle with Kristin was just too exhausting to entertain. Instead,

she'd closed the door and gone back downstairs to laugh and joke with the others, telling

them that Kristin wasn't feeling well and had decided to retire early.

It was something she felt decidedly guilty about now and it was probably the main reason

she hadn't slept. The bed was cozy and

comfortable and she'd sensed the familiar warmth of Kristin's body heat next to her and

still, she'd never felt so cold and lonely in her life.

Now she was out in the dead of winter, in the freezing dark of the early morning, because

she couldn't stand lying there for one more second. At least if she was moving, she'd feel

like maybe she was getting the tiniest bit of exercise. She stood up again and began

walking a large circle around the garage.

Am I being too hard on her?

It was a thought she had often, too often for her liking. It forced her to stop heaping all

the blame for the failing relationship on top of Kristin and take some of it herself. Last

night was a perfect example. Rather than settling into the bed next to her partner and

talking about what was bothering her, what was bothering them, she had run away. It's

what she did best and she inwardly cursed her mother for teaching her the fine art of

never facing a problem head-on. If you ignore it, it's not there.

She loved her mother to pieces, but the woman was queen when it came to avoiding

conflict. Oh, she'd be upset about something, lose sleep over it for weeks, even give the

cold shoulder to the source, but she'd never face it directly. Her mother deferred all

decisions to her husband without even knowing it. When Molly's father asked his wife for

her input, her most common answer was to shrug and wave a dismissive hand and say, "Oh, I don't care," even when she did.

So her father was left to make all the decisions and to hear about it later when he made

one that his wife suddenly didn't agree with. Molly had watched this behavior over and

over as a child, as a teenager, and as a young adult. She vowed never ever to be that way,

especially in her relationship. Yet here she stood, in the black of predawn in the middle of

winter, pacing in the snow rather than facing her problems, hoping they'd all just disappear

on their own if she ignored them. She was a carbon copy of her marshmallow of a mother.

The most frustrating thing, though, was that she knew it. She knew it and yet she couldn't

find a way to make herself stand up, to say what she felt, to act like her opinion counted,

like it mattered. When she and Kristin had moved into their house a couple years back,

they were painting their bedroom. Kristin had two paint chips from the hardware store—a

soft lavender and an earthy khaki. She'd asked Molly which one she liked better.

Molly had looked at them both, shrugged, and responded, "Oh, I don't care. You pick."

/ Kristin picked the khaki, and now Molly hated the color of their bedroom and blamed

Kristin for it.

In her defense, though, it wasn't all her own fault. Of that, she was well aware. When had

Kristin's priorities gotten so out of whack? On her way out of the bedroom that morning,

Molly had glared insidiously at the Blackberry on the dresser and her fingers had literally

itched to pick it up and whip it across the room. She suspected she'd feel an enormous

wave of satisfaction to see it shatter into a million pieces and fall to the floor. If Kristin gave her half the amount of attention she paid to that stupid piece of electronic

equipment, they'd be two much happier women, of that she was sure.

That's why Molly couldn't regret that she'd been having so much fun with Darby over the

past couple of days. Darby listened to her. Darby looked at her. Darby didn't seem to be

thinking about her job when Molly was talking to her. She actually made eye contact and

seemed genuinely interested in what Molly was saying. Molly felt like she got all of Darby's

attention when they were talking, not just a certain percentage of it. It had been ages

since she'd felt what it was like to be the focus of somebody else. Somebody like Kristin.

Darby also flirted with her mercilessly. Molly knew it was something she should probably

put an end to, but if she was going to be honest with herself, she'd have to admit that part

of her—a big part of her—was enjoying the green tint of jealousy that Kristin had been

sporting.

That's right. There are still women who want me, even if you don't anymore.

She immediately felt guilty for the thought. The gut-wrenching truth was, plain and simple,

she missed Kristin. She missed her so much, it was like a constant, physical ache in her

body as well as her mind.

She shook her head and continued doing slow, easy laps around the garage, willing it to get

lighter out so she could take the path through the woods without feeling like she was being

swallowed by them. She rounded the back corner of the garage, so lost in her own thoughts

that she ran straight into another body. A thick-mittened hand clamped over her mouth

and muffled her startled scream, pulling her body close and holding her tightly.

"Shh. It's me," Darby whispered as she chuckled. "You want to wake up the whole house?"

"Jesus Christ," Molly hissed when Darby removed her hand. "You scared the living shit out of me."

"Sorry. I was sure you must have heard me coming; it's so quiet out."

Molly inhaled deeply, bidding her racing heart to slow down. "No. I didn't hear a thing. Lost in my own head, I guess."

"Wel , still. I'm sorry I scared you." Darby laid a hand on her shoulder and Molly looked up at her. Her dark hair was tousled, but Molly was learning that it always looked that way.

She was wearing jeans and Jo's ski jacket, so Molly suspected she'd dressed in a hurry.

Flattery closed in on her as she realized that Darhy had probably seen her outside and had

quickly donned whatever clothing was available so she could join her in the chill morning air.

Molly had wanted to be alone with her ruminations, but Darby's presence was not

unwelcome.

"Penny for your thoughts," Darby said as they automatically continued on Molly's circular path.

Molly tucked her hand in the crook of Darby's elbow and tried for a smile, but felt it

appear as a grimace instead. "Thanks."

"Want to talk about it?"

"There's not really a lot to say."

"Okay." Darby nodded and they walked.

After a few minutes of silence, Molly blurted, "I just don't know what to do, Darby. I

don't know how I got here and I don't know how to fix it and I don't know what to do. You

know?"

Darby frowned. "Kristin obviously doesn't know what she has."

Molly sighed. "Thank you for saying so, but that's not quite true."

"Sure it is. I've seen the way she's treated you while you've been here. She's been on her damn cell half a dozen times even though she knows how you feel about it and she was

already two days late."

Molly was impressed by Darby's observations and despite the fact that a small part of her

wanted to defend her partner, a larger part welled with indignation. "I hate that damn

thing."

"Why wouldn't you? She certainly hasn't allowed you to forget about it." Darby's tone was angry, like she was pissed off on Molly's behalf.

"She wasn't always like this, you know."

"Yeah, well, she's definitely like this now."

"I don't know what happened. I keep wracking my brain to pinpoint the moment when it all went to hell, but I can't find it."

"If I were you, I'd dump her ass."

Molly's eyes snapped to Darby's. "Don't you think that's extreme?"

"You're obviously not happy." Darby shrugged, as if she thought things were incredibly simple.

"But I was. I'd like to get back there."

"Do you think you can?"

Molly watched their feet, her voice a whisper. "I don't know."

"You deserve better."

"Maybe." Molly said without conviction.

"You do, Molly." Darby sounded adamant, firmly insistent. They rounded the back of the garage and started along the far side, away from the view of the house. Darby suddenly

swung Molly around arid pushed her backward against the wooden shingles. Molly blinked

and then focused on Darby's blue eyes as they bored into hers from only inches away. "You deserve so much better," Darby whispered before her lips descended onto Molly's.

Molly was taken so off-guard that she was momentarily caught up in the moment and made

no attempt to stop what was happening as her eyes drifted closed. Darby's mouth was soft

and warm. And talented, was a thought that zipped through her brain as Darby slipped her

tongue easily between Molly's willingly parting lips. The solid contact of Darby's tongue

ring surprised her, but not in a bad way, and she felt herself sinking into the sensation.

Molly couldn't recall the last time Kristin had kissed her like this, so thoroughly, with such intensity, every part of her communicating that there was so much more to come. Molly's