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She sniffed at it, but it only carried the scent of her, a scent as familiar
to her now as her own. It was cold, the sweatshirt looked warm, so she
shrugged into it, promising herself she d ask Taryn about it when she
woke. Have to get this mess cleaned up. I can t be hopping around
town in all the clothing of her former girlfriends, Rosalind thought,
then stopped. A huge grin worked itself across her face, met by the first
rays of the sun coming in the window, striking her face.
Former girlfriends. Past tense. That part of Taryn s life was over.
She was Taryn s girl now. She laughed, then covered her mouth at the
thought. I m a grown woman, a professional. I ve been married and
divorced, for Christ s sake. There s no call for me to be weeding the
wardrobe of my lover because I m jealous of her former girlfriends,
Rosalind told herself reasonably, but it didn t help.
" 129 "
SUSAN SMITH
The language was silly, applied to her. Girl indeed. But there was
fun in it. Play. She certainly wanted to lay some public claim to Taryn.
Wonder if I can make her wear my college ring on a chain around her
neck?
Rosalind glanced at the mattress, at the sleeping bulk of Taryn
under the blankets, the shock of black hair against the pillow. She had
the oddest urge to find a teddy bear and tuck it in with her. Taryn didn t
seem like the teddy bear type, though. Nothing in her room was stuffed;
a statue of a dancing Hindu god wasn t quite the same. She looked back
at the sleeping Taryn and pictured a dog, a Lab, curled around her, head
on the pillow, snoring away. It made her smile. She would have to get
them a dog someday. Taryn had never had one.
She looked around the room for a stuffed anything, convinced she
wouldn t find it. Something caught her eye on the floor of the closet, in
the back. It looked like it had fallen off the shelf and laid there, forgotten,
for a long time. What was it? A snake? An alligator? Rosalind fished it
out and held it up by the wings. It wasn t plush, didn t have any fur, but
it was made of cloth, and, when she squeezed it, Rosalind could feel the
stuffing. It was a pterodactyl, something from a science museum gift
shop, she thought. It wasn t cute or cartoonish, it looked rather naked in
its ivory cloth skin and bat wings, but it was a toy. She returned to the
mattress and tucked it in, setting its pointy head on the pillow next to
Taryn. It would have to do, for now. Not a dog, but a start.
She pictured Taryn waking to coffee and found she liked the idea.
She eased out of the bedroom and padded down the hall, past closed
doors. The floor was familiar enough to her that she could manage it
without creaking, a feat of no small skill. She snuck down the back
staircase to the kitchen, listening for sounds of inhabitance. She heard
nothing. Joe must not be up. Funny, she had expected him to be. Like
a kitchen elf or a household god, he was always there, preparing
something.
The party must have gone on late into the night, following the
ritual. The kitchen was dark. Rosalind crossed to the wall of coffee
mugs and turned on one of the overhead lights. It lit the center of the
room, leaving both ends in elliptical shadows.
She spied the blue coffee pot on the shelf above the stove and
reached for it, stretching up on her toes. There was a water purifier
attached to the sink. She ran the water into the pot, enjoying the
" 130 "
Of Drag Kings & the Wheel of Fate
mechanics, and lit the flame on the cast-iron stove. She felt like Joe
for a moment, savoring the joy of being the only one awake in a house
full of people, knowing that she was preparing to surprise them when
they woke.
Coffee is in the fridge. Back of the top shelf. A voice from the
darkness at the end of the room spoke, frightening Rosalind.
She whipped around, eyes wide. She wasn t alone. There, her
eyes adjusting to the gloom, she saw a shape at the table at the end of
the room. It was Rhea, sitting half in shadow. She leaned forward and
rested her elbows on the table, a teacup clenched in her hands. She must
have been there, in the dark, since Rosalind came into the kitchen. The
thought unnerved her. Been there long? she asked, trying to keep her
voice steady.
Rhea s face was in shadow, just catching splinters of light from
above. Long before you arrived, she said, and Rosalind knew she
wasn t just talking about the kitchen.
Rhea reached behind her and turned on the light. The single bulb
over the table revealed a weary looking woman in a brown robe, her
hair in disarray. In the light of the kitchen, Rhea didn t look fierce; she
looked haggard, worn.
She extended a hand to the chair opposite her. Have a seat. Her
voice was the only part of her that held her normal spark and emotion,
layered in between the words. Rosalind found her feet moving. She sat
at the table facing Rhea. Rhea sipped thoughtfully at her tea, watching
Rosalind over the rim. Making her coffee. That s good. She ll like
that. Rhea squinted, crinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. She
looked long at Rosalind, then shook her head. It s happened already,
she said, to herself or to her teacup.
Rosalind knew she wasn t even in the conversation Rhea was
having, but she wanted to be. She d recovered from the shock of finding
her sitting in the dark and calmed down, observing this woman. She
saw the fragility of Rhea for the first time, like the brittleness of steel.
It s still bright, and hard, and sharp enough to lay you open to the bone
if you grab it with naked hands, but a tap at the right angle will shatter
it. What s happened? Rosalind asked, proud to find her voice steady.
Rhea sipped her tea. Her energy is all over your aura. Threaded
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