Fresh Tracks (7 page)

blue box and sat back down next to Amy. She handed Amy the box. "This is what she gave

me for Christmas."

Amy opened the hinged box and sucked in a breath. Nestled in the navy blue velvet interior

was a watch. It was gold and dainty, exceptionally fancy and encrusted with diamonds.

"God, it's beautiful," she whispered.

"Isn't it?"

Amy looked up and met Molly's green eyes, tinged red around the edges; She'd known Molly

for thirty years and though she cleaned up tremendously well and was an extremely

beautiful woman, she was also what Amy liked to call "earthy." She wore denim skirts and cotton blouses and hammered silver jewelry. She preferred a ratty sweatshirt to silk, she

preferred leather to gold. She wore a single silver band on her left hand, not interested in

a diamond version at all. The watch Amy held was as far from Molly's personality as one

could get. Shouldn't her partner know that?

Molly watched the pieces fall into place on Amy's freckled face.

"You'd never wear this," Amy stated.

"No. I'd be afraid to."

"I bet it was expensive."

"Hugely. Ridiculously."

"Does she know how you feel?"

Molly snorted. "Of course not. I oohed and aahed over it like a good little wife."

"Jesus, Molly."

"I know." Molly closed her eyes. "I know."

"You have got to talk to her. I don't like that she's spending so much time away from you either, but in her defense, the girl's not a mind reader."

"I know," Molly said again.

She was well aware of her propensity toward passive-aggressiveness. It came from her

mother, from years of watching a good, kind-hearted woman think too little of herself and

allow others to make all her decisions, run her life, and trod all over her like an old doormat in the process. You do that long enough and you don't know how to live any other way, and

Molly had followed obediently in her mother's footsteps.

Now, she found herself breaking out in a cold sweat, dread seeping into her bloodstream

like poison at so much as the thought of a confrontation that might end unpleasantly.

Better to go on miserable but conflict-free, right? She'd had this conversation in her head

so many times, it was practically scripted. She was starting to understand, though. The

reality of what was happening was becoming searingly, painfully clear. If she didn't do

something—and do it soon—her relationship of more than seven years was doomed. That

thought made her stomach churn and bile rise in her throat.

"I love her so much, Ames," she choked out, tears welling in her eyes. "And I miss her. God, I miss her."

"Oh, I know you do, sweetheart." Amy wrapped an arm around Molly's shoulders. Molly leaned into her, a quiet sob escaping from her lips.

"I'm so unhappy." Her voice was no more than a whisper and it broke Amy's heart. She kissed the top of Molly's head and tightened her hold on her dear friend, hoping to convey

her love and support through her arms as she rocked her gently back and forth on the bed.

It was a good half hour before Amy had Molly calm enough and cleaned up enough to head

back downstairs to the others in the group. When they reached the bottom of the stairs

and rounded the corner, they stopped in their tracks. Amy began to laugh and Molly

actually smiled.

Darby saw them first. She swept her arm over the tree like one of the models from The

Price is Right showing a prize. "What do you think?"

"What in the world is that?" Amy asked.

"It's a lesbian Christmas tree," Jo said, an unspoken duh in her voice.

Amy glanced around, seeing the tossed-aside pair of scissors and the scattered remnants

of half a dozen magazines including Curve, The Advocate, and People. The tree held more

than twenty pictures of various women, hanging from branches with bent paperclips. A

string of popcorn circled the entire thing. Amy and Molly moved closer, studying the

"decorations" with big grins on their faces. Angelina Jolie, k.d. lang, Jennifer Beals, Maya Angelou, Mariska Hargitay, Melissa Etheridge, and Ellen DeGeneres all hung dutifully.

Amy's eyes trailed up the tree to the top where Jodie Foster was perched like a queen

looking down at her subjects.

"Jodie was Aunt Jo's addition," Darby informed her.

"I'm not surprised," Amy replied, knowing her wife's age-old love for the actress. She glanced sideways at Molly and almost sighed aloud with relief. Her face was lit up, and the

pain had left her green eyes.

"This is awesome," Molly said and vowed anew to enjoy herself this week, with or without Kristin standing by her side.

Darby inched up next to her. "You okay?" she asked softly as the others were talking.

Molly shot her a look of gratitude. "Yeah. I will be. Thanks."

"Sure." Darby quickly touched Molly's cheek in an affectionate way, not quite a pinch, but more than a stroke. It reminded Molly of the way her grandfather used to touch her face,

with such fondness, and she swallowed down an unexpected lump.

"Hey, Molly." Sophie held out a needle with a long strand of thread and a bowl of raw cranberries. "I saved these in case you wanted to do them. If not, I can."

"No, no, that's great." Molly took the offered items, knowing some busywork to keep her hands moving would help calm her roiling, churning thoughts. "Thanks."

Sophie nodded, trying not to look too sympathetic. She remembered when her own

relationship was beginning to crumble, how helpless she'd felt and how much she didn 't

want people looking at her like they felt sorry for her. "Here." She offered the club chair she'd been occupying. Molly took a seat gratefully and set to work on her string of

cranberries.

Amy stood with her arms around Jo's waist, admiring the tree. "You're very creative, I

must admit. I've never seen anything quite like...this."

"Only the best for my woman," Jo said, squeezing her. "I think we should have a lesbian tree every year."

"Let's not get carried away."

SOPHIE

S

ophie Wilson was doing okay. She was doing better than she'd expected, certainly. Only

five more days, she'd been telling herself. Only five more days and I'll be home free. She

had expected the holidays to be hard. It was true that Kelly had been gone for close to six

months, but being alone for the holidays brought everything back in a rush and she felt like

Kelly had only left her last week. She just had to get through New Year's Eve—which she

suspected was going to be the hardest of the cluster of days focused on togetherness and

love—and she'd be ready to move forward with her life.

She tended to oscillate between bitter and angry, and hurt and heartbroken. Neither side

was preferable. Bitter and angry at least kept her from crying constantly, but it was

exhausting to hate everybody and everything all the time. And it wasn't her; she wasn't

like that. Bitter and angry didn't become her. Hurt and heartbroken was harder. She

didn't like feeling vulnerable or allowing her emotions that close to the surface. She didn't like that people could take one quick glance her way and know she'd been destroyed by

somebody she loved and trusted. Hurt and heartbroken sucked. Mostly, she'd thrown

herself into her work. It had been the only thing that kept her sane. Ironically, she was

getting more freelance graphic business now than she'd gotten in the five years she'd been

offering her services. Life was so weird.

Leaning against the front door and surveying the group around her, she recognized the

expression on Molly's face, knew it too well from seeing it in the mirror every morning for

three, months before Kelly finally dropped her bomb. It was the expression of confusion,

of loss of control, of I'm worried my life is about to fall apart and there isn 't a damn

thing I can do to stop it.

Part of her wanted to help, wanted to take Molly aside and fill her in on the dark and dirty

details of what might come. But she didn't know Molly, and she didn't know anything about

her relationship with her partner. She could be totally off base. And the truth was, Sophie

didn't want to rehash her own experience, not this soon. She was afraid doing so might

send her into a tailspin, a backward slide. She'd worked too hard to claw her way up from

the depths of destruction and depression. You couldn't pay her enough to skid back down

even a few feet. The very thought terrified her.

Only five more days...

A knock on the door startled her, vibrating through her shoulder, and she jerked away.

Amy looked up from the counter in the kitchen where she was fil ing wineglasses with the

deep red selection from the shelves Jo had built in the basement. "That's Laura. Would

you let her in, Soph?"

Nodding, Sophie opened the front door to a smiling blonde with the dimples of a six-year-

old.

"Hi," the new guest said in a voice not at all childish, but surprisingly robust. "I'm Laura Baker."

Sophie stepped aside and let the shorter woman in. "I'm Sophie." She waited for Laura to set down her bag, then shook hands with her. Laura's was cool and soft. "Sophie Wilson."

"We've met, haven't we?" Laura asked.

"Probably at one of their parties."

Laura studied her, not releasing her hand. "Or maybe at Amy's restaurant?"

Sophie surprised herself by not pulling away. These days she flinched at the touch of

others, wishing she had a force field to guard her personal space. Laura's grip wasn't at all threatening, though. Not even a little uncomfortable. It was steady, sure. "That could be..."

"The day you came in with the ideas for the new logo," Amy offered as she approached, flipping a dish towel over her shoulder. Sophie noticed that she glanced quickly at their

still-linked hands, then up at Laura's face. "Hi, sweetie." She reached out for a hug. Laura did let go of Sophie then.

"That's right," Sophie said, snapping her fingers as recognition dawned. "You were looking for a specific kind of wine behind the bar the day I was there." She recalled sitting at the bar early in the day with

Amy, showing her a few designs for the new logo she was suggesting. Laura had slipped

behind the bar and began reading each and every label of every bottle of white wine in the

cooler until she found what she wanted for the evening's special. Sophie remembered the

blond hair pulled back in a smooth twist, the pristine white chef's jacket, and the sparkling distraction in the blue eyes when Amy called her over and introduced her to Sophie. And

she remembered those dimples.

"For my Artichokes French. You're right."

"Wel ." Sophie shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "It's good to see you again."

Laura's smile seemed very genuine as she replied, "It's good to see you, too, Sophie."

Sophie watched as introductions were made to Molly and Darby and Laura was enveloped in

a huge hug from Jo, who commented on not seeing enough of her. Sophie's mind gave her a

jolt of surprise when it tossed her the idea that she'd like to see more of Laura, too. It

had been such a long time since she'd had any thoughts even remotely sexual, she often

wondered if her vibrator had collected so much dust by now that it wouldn't run ever again.

But there was something about Laura.

Sophie studied her as she was stripped of her coat by her hostess and chatted with Darby

about her Toyota. She wasn't conventionally pretty; she was actually rather plain, but in a

wholesome, girl-next-door kind of way. Her dark blond hair was pin-straight, some of it

fastened with a black clip at the back of her head. She was of average height, maybe an

inch shorter than Sophie, and her build was pleasing.. .round in the right places, curved

where it should be. Sophie forced her eyes away from Laura's backside before anybody

could catch her staring. / couldn 't help it; girl knows how to fill out a pair of jeans! Her face was round and her complexion as smooth and soft as the skin of a peach. The pink

sweater she wore highlighted the rosy tint of her cheeks, the only color on skin so pale,

Sophie was sure the slightest amount of sun would burn her as red as a cherry Life Saver.

Laura followed Jo and her bag upstairs, and Sophie had the happy realization that Laura

would be occupying the other twin bed in the room where she was staying. She suppressed

a grin as Amy handed her a glass of wine.

Two hours later, the six women sat around the dining room table, pleasantly full from the

enormous pot of chili Amy had made. They sipped coffee and tea and picked from a variety

of sweets scattered about the table.

"That was delicious, as always, Amy," Sophie said, leaning back in her chair and patting her belly. "I think this week is going to be bad for the scale."

"Like you couldn't stand to gain a few pounds, Soph," Jo commented.

"I know. But a breakup will do that to you." She eyed the chocolate cheesecake in the middle of the table.

"It's definitely the only surefire way I've found to lose weight," Laura said. "I dropped almost twenty pounds when I got a divorce."

"You were married?" Darby asked. "Like, to a guy?"

"Sadly, not every woman is a lesbian," Sophie responded, gently chiding Darby and hoping to hide her own disappointment.

"Oh, I'm a lesbian," Laura said. "Thus the divorcing of my husband."

Sophie was curious and wanted to hear more. "Do tell."

Laura shrugged. "It's not really anything earth-shattering. I was married to Stephen for eleven years. Two years ago, I met Amanda, the wife of one of his work buddies. She was