If the Wind Were a Woman

Kelly Sinclair

Blue Feather Books LTD. (2011)

Tantona, Texas, in the 1970s isn't exactly a hotbed of women's activism and social turmoil. Barbara Wolfe lives in Tantona, and she's had her fill of wondering if any of the community's conventions will ever change. Local society has its expectations for all of Tantona's residents, and only a fool would dare to venture outside the well-drawn lines of what's considered acceptable conduct. So Barbara lives her life in the closet, and although it's dull to the point of inertia, it's at least predictable. Then beautiful and secretive Darlene Fisher comes on the scene. The relationship that develops between Barbara and Darlene puts Barbara on a collision course with Darlene's violent fiancé. At times, it seems citizens in every social stratum in Tantona have a stake in what happens between Barbara and Darlene. And then there's the upheaval that transpires in Tantona's political arena, thanks to two women daring to believe they have the right to fall in love. If Darlene were nothing more than a headstrong gust of wind, Barbara might have had a shot at getting a lasso on her and controlling the events that beset them both. Instead, with Darlene being an uncontrollable force of nature, Barbara finds herself on the verge of becoming a local legend and gay pioneer-that is, if she manages to survive. You met these fascinating characters later in their lives in Kelly Sinclair's debut novel, Accidental Rebels. Make the journey back in time to see how it all began here in the pages of If the Wind Were a Woman.

Table of Contents

- ALSO WRITTEN BY KELLY SINCLAIR

- Chapter 1

- Chapter 2

- Chapter 3

- Chapter 4

- Chapter 5

- Chapter 6

- Chapter 7

- Chapter 8

- Chapter 9

- Chapter 10

- Chapter 11

- Chapter 12

- Chapter 13

- Chapter 14

- Chapter 15

- Chapter 16

- Chapter 17

- Chapter 18

- Chapter 19

- Chapter 20

- Chapter 21

- Chapter 22

- Chapter 23

- Chapter 24

- Chapter 25

- Chapter 26

- Chapter 27

- Chapter 28

- Chapter 29

- Chapter 30

- Chapter 31

- Chapter 32

- About the Author

- Coming Soon from Blue Feather Books:

This book is for N___ and S____, who didn't leave town.

ALSO WRITTEN BY KELLY SINCLAIR

ACCIDENTAL REBELS

LESSER PROPHETS

AVAILABLE NOW FROM

BLUE FEATHER BOOKS, LTD

www.bluefeatherbooks.com

This is a work of fiction.  All characters, locales and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

IF THE WIND WERE A WOMAN

Copyright © 2011 by Kelly Sinclair

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, save for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews.

Cover design by Ann Phillips

A Blue Feather Book

Published by Blue Feather Books, Ltd.

www.bluefeatherbooks.com

ISBN: 978-1-935627-97-5

First edition: March, 2011

Chapter 1

Near Tantona, Texas, Chaco Draw’s sprawled layers of rock, caliche, red dirt, and brush are exposed to a wind that never quite calms down.

If the wind were a woman, friends would take her for a long walk, followed by a longer drink at the bar. Get her head straight before calling it a night.

If the wind were a woman, walks, talks, and Jack Daniel’s wouldn’t do a lick of good. Let her roll; let her go where she wants. She will anyway.

April 1975

Barbara Wolfe raised her head sleepily from the steering wheel and considered the garage door in front of her. This was not her driveway.

The blob of torment above her neck told her she had survived a night of drinking in the back room at Jackie’s Place. Jackie combined bootlegging and barbecue at her tin hut over in Flatville, which was the minority part of town. Of Tantona’s 19,000 residents, blacks were hardly more than a handful. Even so, they, and the Chicanos kept to their assigned neighborhood.

Unlike some whites who lived on one side of the railroad track but patronized the other, Barbara always talked to Jackie when she saw her on the street or when Jackie came into Tantona Pharmacy where Barbara worked.

Jackie played it smart around the more hidebound locals, handing out yessums and nosuhs as if they were Easter chocolates. With Barbara, neither of them played by the rules, even if a customer behind Jackie might blanch at her usual topic. Jackie tossed scorn upon various menfolk, the worthless, the no-good, and the double-dealing, but praised that pearl of great price, the Good Man, which Barbara was bound to find if she kept on trying.

Jackie knew she wasn’t trying. They talked last night about how Gracie Munoz was stirring up a fuss in town because she entertained male clients. For haircuts, that is. Oh, the conniptions from the good citizens of Tantona that this floozy-dressed beautician—and a Chicano gal at that—took on all comers. To some folks, Gracie was nothing but a Mexican with her shoes wet.

The wives who feared for their pearls didn’t know Gracie preferred the company of women and used to room at Barbara’s house until moving to Becca Reyes’s trailer in the country.

Gracie relocated her personal cosmetics counter eighteen months ago, long enough for Barbara’s heart to recuperate. A century in gay time. Barbara hadn’t tied one on in a while, but hearing the gossip about Gracie plunked her in a drinking and thinking place last night. And deposited her in an unfamiliar driveway.

Her eyes began to focus. The Rosen house. Shinola on a shingle.

She mulled over the course she took at three in the morning. She must have taken her El Camino down the road behind Flatville that crossed the Lubbock Highway. That route would take her to North Pecan Street. Where it curved, she failed to pull onto the country road that went by her house.

Instead, she conked out at the place on the corner, which belonged to Arthur and Estelle Rosen, owners of a department store in town. Maybe they weren’t up yet. She didn’t think Jewish people had any pressing place to be on a Sunday morning. She no longer did, either, even though she came from a long line of Baptists on her father’s side.

In the rearview mirror, she saw her usual tidy mane of black hair with only the dark circles under her deep brown eyes a giveaway as to why her car strayed into a neighbor’s driveway. Rubbing the crust out of her eyes, she sniffed her hands, then grabbed a handful of her blouse and sniffed again. She smelled like concentrated juke joint: stale smoke, whiskey, and bad decisions.

No, she didn’t regret moaning the blues and sharing some laughs. Tall and rangy like Barbara, Jackie had heartaches of her own from an AWOL husband and an unnamed girlfriend who’d been Jackie’s personal pearl until losing some of her luster.

“You can do better,” Jackie told her. “You can do better than someone like Gracie. You settle, thinking some gal with round heels is the best you can do. Don’t give up so soon.”

Her words kicked off a minor argument about their taste in women. Thankfully, that petered out.

Barbara yawned again. She needed to go home before the Rosens woke up. They probably weren’t expecting company, however unintended.

Too late. Estelle, wrapped in a housecoat, stepped out onto the porch and raised her coffee cup meaningfully.

Coffee would be nice, Barbara thought. And maybe a little food. What do Jewish people eat for breakfast?

Grits, fried eggs, and biscuits. When Estelle plopped a small, but tender, steak on her plate, Barbara didn’t mind missing out on her usual rasher of bacon. Estelle kept the coffee flowing and the questions dammed up.

Mr. Rosen sat across from her, carefully studying the Lubbock Avalanche Journal. The front page showed pictures of unhappy locals trying to leave Saigon, Vietnam, before the northerners got to town. She’d be hitching a ride, too, if she were in the same situation.

“What do you think?” he asked her, pointing out the headline.

“I don’t know, sir. Seems like things are going to pieces over there, but I haven’t been following the news lately.”

Barbara glanced at her watch. Creeping toward nine a.m.

Estelle sat down and buttered a biscuit. She said, between bites, “You need to be at work along about twelve-thirty to get ready to open up. You have plenty of time.”

Barbara wondered how Estelle knew her schedule. Then she remembered how thick the Rosens were with her bosses, Billy and Barlow Eckert, twin brothers and pharmacists who were completely unalike.

Barlow had married a force of nature called Mary, who relieved him of the pressure of speaking to earthlings. He was never happier than when staring through his telescope at night.

Barbara knew that from when they were in high school. She went with him once to the Texas Tech Planetarium, but he said he preferred the real thing.

A lot of people thought she and Barlow would marry, but to everyone’s surprise, including Barbara’s own, she married Billy Eckert. That ranked as a very bad decision all around, except for the fact that it produced their now-teenaged daughter, LaSonda, who lived with Barlow and Mary.

Mr. Rosen took a drag off his cigarette and a break from the newspaper.

“What I don’t understand is how you can be open all afternoon and nobody gives you grief about it, because you sell medicine. When I tried Sunday hours, same as yours, the preachers said no. Such a shemozzle. I got nine times hell, and I wasn’t going to sell from housewares. I planned to stay within the law.”

“We don’t carry many pots and pans, mainly one aisle for the bridal showers, but we don’t sell them on Sunday, either.”

Barbara didn’t feel up to a discussion of blue laws, even with a refill of Estelle’s excellent coffee.

“But you’re open. That’s what’s so unfair about it.”

“Now, Artie, let’s give our young lady a chance to enjoy her meal. Are you feeling a little better?” Estelle asked.

At age thirty-six, Barbara wasn’t a kid, though she was probably half Mr. Rosen’s age. Estelle appeared to be much younger than her husband and had the energy of a teenager.

“This is great food, ma’am. Mr. Rosen—”

“Arthur.”

“Arthur. I want to apologize for ending up in your driveway. I don’t do this sort of thing often. Now and then, I go somewhere and blow off some steam.”

“Builds up in you, huh?” Arthur took a well-worn pad and pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled something as he talked. “Look, I got a nephew who lives over in Fort Worth. Runs a music store. Real nice guy, but people keep leaning on him to get married. This is Texas, you know? Not exactly the Coast.”

Which coast, she wondered, and where was he heading with this conversation? Estelle cleared off the plates and brought out coffeecake. Barbara couldn’t possibly eat another bite. To be polite, she’d try.

“Estelle, would you dig up a picture for me?”

She nodded and ran off down the hall.

“He’s like you,” he said. “He’s not the marrying kind, but it’d be nice if the neighbors thought he had a fish on the hook but wasn’t ready to reel it in, and not that he didn’t have any interest in fishing at all.”

Barbara believed this is what her high school English teacher, Hopkins Tickner, the Boy Wonder, would have called an extended metaphor, which he said was not for the novice writer. Or listener, because she had no clue what Arthur was going on about.

Arthur lit another cigarette. “There’s nothing wrong with you shooting your wad, as long as you keep it out of town. You might want to be more careful. I’ve heard some things about you. The grapevine don’t have the goods on you yet, but they’re closing in. You need to throw them off, like my nephew does where he’s at.”

Estelle came back with a picture in her hand and gave it to Barbara. It was a studio shot of a chunky, dark-haired man cut from the same cloth as Arthur.

Arthur wanted Barbara to go out with this guy? It all came into focus. Arthur thought she meant blowing off steam as a euphemism for dating women, and he wanted her to give his nephew cover. The Eckerts told Arthur way too much about Barbara’s personal life.

“I’ve hardly ever been to Fort Worth, and besides, I’m not Jewish. Your family wouldn’t like it.”

“The two of you don’t have to meet. Say you’re going to see him sometimes and vice versa. Then do whatever you want. Maybe send him a birthday card.”

He handed over the slip of paper.

Estelle refilled Barbara’s cup. “I’ve always thought you looked kind of Jewish, not to mention your mother’s from Germany. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some blood in you.”

While Barbara’s dark hair and eyes were from her Indian father, the light olive cast to her skin came courtesy of her mother, Tilde.

“Her parents were from Germany, but my mom’s a born and raised Texan. Not that I care what y’all are. It’s okay with me. What I don’t understand is what you want.”

“Quid pro quo. My nephew claims you, you claim my nephew,” Arthur said. “Barlow Eckert’s a good man, and he’ll stand by you, but you ought to make it easier on your boss to do that.”

Barbara stirred more cream into her coffee. She desperately needed a catnap and a shower before she went into work. “Sure. I can say I’m seeing your nephew. I got no problem with that.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, all you need to do is drop off a picture of yourself. You can leave it in the mailbox or drop it by the store.”

Estelle beamed at her, but Arthur acted as though he’d sold a rack of off-brand items that should have gone for more. At least he’d cleared out some inventory.

They were nice folks, and he did have a point.

“I’ll give you a picture and some info in the next couple of days.”

Chapter 2

Sunday afternoons, the Eckert twins rotated filling prescriptions while Barbara and the other full-timer swapped staffing that day. Once either Eckert did their set-ups, they flew. They’d return for emergency call-ins, which rarely happened.

Barbara normally worked by herself, handing off meds at the drive-through and assisting customers inside. In slow moments, she restocked shelves and listened to the local country radio station.

When she pulled into the parking lot, she saw Darlene Fisher waiting outside the front door. The Eckerts recently hired Darlene to take over for Miss Reynolds, who retired due to crippling rheumatoid arthritis. Although the old lady was game, Barbara performed more and more of her duties, even pulling off carbons from the medication receipts for her. Barbara didn’t really mind, but it was long past time for new blood.

There stood the new blood, a slight figure in a crisp, blue, shirtwaist dress and blonde, beauty-shop hair, appearing as though she’d arrived from church, which she probably had, as with most Tantonans.

“I know I start tomorrow,” Darlene said as Barbara approached, “but I’d like to see how you handle Sundays. I need to be prepared for next week.”

Barbara showed her how to open and close, where the supplies were located, that sort of thing. It rapidly became apparent that Darlene knew her way around a cash register and could type better than Barbara. Once she got baptized handling some of the more ornery customers, Darlene would be an old pro.

Barlow was already at work in the back room, what he liked to call the inner sanctum, where he prepared the medications.

By this point, Barbara felt as though she could manage a few of his steps, since she’d been working at Tantona Pharmacy almost nonstop since high school. She’d leave the bucks and the responsibility to Barlow and Billy, the latter of whom rarely worked on Barbara’s Sundays.

Billy and Barbara coped with their weekday close quarters. Their divorce proceedings resulted in a few blow-ups, but her orientation wasn’t a major contributor. He liked the nightlife, consuming women and wine with equal gusto, which was why the Nevada judge heard nothing about homosexuality and adultery from either party to the split.

Billy could be something of a circus act on Sundays, what with recovering from his weekend rambles. She believed it best to keep from inflicting him on someone else.

She enjoyed sharing the counter with Miss Reynolds. The old gal stuck to her mending and even cracked a salty joke on occasion. Barbara had a feeling Miss Reynolds knew she wasn’t ever going to draft husband number two.

Miss Reynolds had worked for the Eckert family since Noah and the flood. Originally, she’d been in tandem with Sister, who Miss Reynolds always referred to as that. Not “my sister,” or whatever the woman’s first name might have been, but “Sister.” It took awhile for Barbara to figure out that Sister wasn’t a lapsed nun. Although Barbara and Miss Reynolds were never on a first-name basis, they’d always been a comfortable fit.

While watching her new coworker straighten out the comic book rack, Barbara considered the drawbacks of working with someone her own age. Darlene might represent a challenge. They didn’t run in the same circles, even back in school, since Old Man Tickner rarely let Darlene, an adoptee of sorts, out of his sight.

Darlene’s parents were farmers who died in a car accident when she was in junior high. She was left without close relatives, and her cousins, the Tickners, took her in.

Jarvis “Old Man” Tickner, the father of Hopkins and his prune-faced brother, owned one of the biggest businesses in town. He sold cottonseeds, not diamonds, although it’d be hard to know the difference by his snooty manner. Barbara’s father knew for a fact Tickner used to poke cattle for a living. He’d been a hayseed, which is what townies called rural kids, both farm and ranch, back then.

She and Darlene hadn’t been close friends back in school, although it had nothing to do with her being a townie and Darlene a rider on the rural bus route. Barbara spent summers chopping weeds in area cotton fields. She’d seen twelve-year-olds expertly handling huge tractors, a sight that bred in her respect for classmates who came from the surrounding farms and ranches.

Nor was it because, in a graduating class of 330, a shy girl would be easy to overlook. She and Darlene were in the same homeroom all through high school. Even then, Darlene had the kind of figure that attracted her attention.

Darlene wasn’t a joiner. Probably wasn’t allowed to. While under the Tickners’ thumb, Darlene could only wear spinster dresses in public. She couldn’t go on dates, and forget hanging out at the Dairy Queen with the other teens—no wonder she married right out of high school.

She didn’t even finish a semester of college in Oklahoma before the rumor mill had her hitched and then quickly unhitched to a G.I. Some hot-for-it soldier, most likely, eager to get married before he shipped out. What with her pale hair and demure good looks, Darlene probably had no shortage of offers once she broke free from Old Man Tickner’s domestic prison.

Barbara had only casual conversations with Darlene over the years, mainly when Darlene shopped at the pharmacy or they happened to attend the same community events. But the trouble with living in a town of 19,000 hall monitors was that, despite not being a gossip, Barbara still knew much of her former classmate’s history. The story included the fact that she lived with Old Man Tickner’s son, Hopkins, a man so light in the loafers they might as well be sprouting Mercury’s wings. Barbara didn’t know the most important detail: could Darlene spot a lesbian and keep her mouth shut if she did?

Thanks to Hopkins, she might notice if Barbara used the wrong pronoun about a girlfriend or didn’t respond the right way to a handsome man coming through the door. Barbara wouldn’t know she screwed up until Darlene blabbed it all over town.

Miss Reynolds should have stayed long enough to tout Arthur Rosen as Barbara’s fake boyfriend on the town’s grapevine.

Barlow exited the back room bearing a batch of prescriptions—a light run, from the looks of it.

“Hi, Barlow. I’m sorry. I… I mean, Mr. Eckert.” Darlene’s perfectly oval face flushed as she stuttered her apology.

“Keep calling me by my name,” Barlow said mildly. “Everyone does. Can’t have two Mr. Eckerts under the same roof. It’d drive us batty. Wouldn’t it, Barbara?”

“That’s right.”

“Is Hopkins feeling any better these days?” Barlow inquired of Darlene. “He had to leave bridge night early.”

“It’s those headaches of his. Goes through a spell of them every now and then,” Darlene said. “Poor thing. Has to sit in a dark room with a wet washcloth over his eyes. He said this morning he felt better.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Mary was worried about him. So, did Barbara get you squared away?”

“Oh, yes. She’s a good teacher.” Darlene grinned at her with a mouth that reminded Barbara of Carly Simon, without that singer’s broad smile.

“And she’s a better student.” Barbara could pitch a compliment, too.

Darlene probably nabbed the job due to the friendship between the Eckerts and Hopkins. Some folks laid off by the phone company would dread slogging through the Help Wanted ads. Darlene didn’t have to worry for a minute.

“I appreciate y’all showing me around, but I need to go meet Collier.” Seeing Barbara’s quizzical expression, Darlene explained. “Collier McKenna. My fiancé.”

“Oh yeah, the lawyer.”

The hotshot Lubbockite hadn’t been in town very long. Maybe a year or two. He evaluated the local talent and picked Darlene off the top of the pile.

“Y’all set a date yet?” she asked.

“Sometime next fall. I think, we both think, it’s important to take our time and attend to the details. We need to check out the real-estate market, make sure everything’s right before the wedding.”

There was a slight hesitation to Darlene’s last words, as though she’d said more than she intended. Barbara understood her wanting to make sure the second marriage lasted, even if Collier McKenna wanted to speed matters along. Let him wait.

Darlene and Barlow left in the next few minutes, Darlene in a late-model, silver Gran Torino. Due to the Tantona Tigers’ color theme, black or gold vehicles were commonplace in town. Darlene went against the herd in that choice.

After work, Barbara drove her El Camino over to her parents’ house on South Pecan Street. She picked up a couple of chicken-finger baskets on the way, with extra gravy on the side for Ry’s order.

Her older brother, christened Ryland but immediately nicknamed Ry, required the proper amount of gravy per finger. He wasn’t near as bad about proportions now as back when they were kids, when he refused to eat certain items because they didn’t match up on his plate.

His rule was simple: even to even, odd to odd. Two pieces of chicken meant he must have on his plate two halves of a baked potato, or four little piles of mashed potatoes, or an even number of fries. If given one chicken-fried steak, he required odd numbers on the dips of gravy and odds in everything else.

How he instantly knew there were thirty-eight peas to thirteen carrot slices, she had no idea. But to Ry, it mattered. He didn’t raise a stink. He simply wouldn’t eat, no matter what Mom did. Under duress, he’d peck at his food, but look so worried Barbara thought his hair would fall out on the spot. Although he’d eat now in public, he still believed that restaurants were poorly organized.

He worked for their father, Kenneth, at the auto parts store. Because of his long hair and quietly distracted demeanor, customers liked to crack jokes about Ry being a pot-smoker. He wasn’t—she had checked on her parents’ behalf years ago—because Ry didn’t like how marijuana made him feel untethered.

In other ways, he resembled a full-tilt hippie. He had the fishnet on his walls, a beanbag chair he made but never used, and black-light posters he bought at Buffalo Beano’s head shop in Lubbock. He owned stacks of records by such groups as Blue Cheer, Grand Funk Railroad, Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath. And for some reason, Sonny and Cher. He said he liked their show because they were an even number and seemed well-matched. Their break-up hit him hard. He watched Cher’s new show, but complained about Sonny being gone.

She found Ry in a good mood, though most folks probably couldn’t tell the difference. She didn’t bother with saying hello, because he didn’t. She handed over his bag, and while he arranged the food on his plate, she dug a couple of drinks out of the fridge. They sat down at his cramped dinette table and started eating.

She told him about her day at work. When she mentioned Darlene, he said, “She’s pretty.”

“You remember her from high school?”

“She was nice to me.”

Some kids weren’t nice at all, which was why Barbara spent her playground years defending her older-but-same-grade brother. By the time they reached junior high, none of the boys wanted to challenge her fists. It didn’t mean, though, that the teasing and petty torments didn’t continue for him outside her hearing range.

Ry wasn’t retarded. He was… eccentric, that’s all. Life would be boring if everybody was a bunch of perfectly round wheels chugging down the road. Ry did fine chugging along his own path.

“I liked working with Miss Reynolds, but Darlene will be great. It’s a change for me, but I’m okay with it,” she said.

Ry wanted her life to be as orderly as his.

“Darlene’s like me. She enjoys studying.” Ry dipped his chicken finger twice in the gravy and took a bite.

Ry called his habitual staring at objects “studying.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“She always studied you at lunch.”

More likely, Darlene had been wishing she could cut loose like the other kids.

“I think she’s gone beyond studying these days. She’s a grown-up now. She can do what she wants and not have to ask for permission.”

That included her plans to marry a well-heeled man. Darlene seemed to favor slow and deliberate on that process.

Barbara tossed leftovers in the trash, reserving a chicken finger to take home. She kissed her brother on the head and left. Neither of them said goodbye.

Her dog, Mutt, was barking in the backyard as she walked into her house. Mutt was mostly German Shepherd and all sloppy warmth. She opened the back door and tossed him the chicken finger. He gulped it down and then dived for her as though she’d been gone for ages.

Mutt adored her but hadn’t cared for Gracie, despite her ex-lover’s bribes of food. Apparently, the dog knew better than the owner, which was usually the case.

She found Mutt’s favorite toy, a much-chewed-on plastic ball, and lofted it toward the cherry tree. Mutt snapped it out of the air, took it on a tour of the back fence, and ran back to Barbara. She gave him a few more excuses to dash around the yard, after which they both went inside.

Mutt burst through the pet door and raced ahead to the living room where he plopped on his pallet, ready for the night’s TV programs.

“No McMillan and Wife tonight, pal. It’s on to bed.”

He made a hmph sound, as though he was disappointed.

She took off her jacket as she went into the bedroom. Like many businesses in town, Tantona Pharmacy allowed its female employees to wear pantsuits, although most places one still saw more dresses and skirts. She preferred wearing jeans to anything else, but she didn’t see that choice happening soon.

She wore pantsuits two or three days out of the week in line with the part-timers and the already much-missed Miss Reynolds. Barbara skipped wearing the jacket in the pharmacy, though, since it made no sense to layer her pharmacy jacket over yet another reason to swelter.

She wondered if Darlene was up-to-date on pantsuits or if she’d be in dresses all the time, subtly rebuking her coworkers for not being as churchy as she was.

Maybe Darlene wasn’t quite the mouse Barbara remembered. After all, she didn’t shriek on the senior trip when Billy Eckert showed off a condom he’d bought.

That’s right. Darlene attended the senior trip. She had turned eighteen by then, which meant her foster parents, the Tickners, had no further strings on her. Still, she might have been the only girl who didn’t drink or kiss a boy on the trip. Even Barbara managed the latter feat with Billy.

Darlene used to study her. That’s what Ry said. Probably out of teenaged envy for Barbara’s relatively carefree lifestyle. What would Darlene see now, and what kind of trouble could she cause?

Chapter 3

Early May

“You missed the turn.” Barbara saw Shelton Street shrinking in the side rearview mirror.

“We’re not going to the movies,” Mary said. “Hopkins invited us over to his place. A little get-together.”

LaSonda groaned from the backseat. “You told me a movie. I don’t want to go to some boring party where a bunch of old people are talking about boring stuff.”

“That’s two borings in one sentence. You can do better than that.” Despite her chronic high spirits, Mary had a streak of schoolmarm in her.

“I don’t wish to be at a party where I will be the youngest person there. Does that sound better?” LaSonda retorted.

“Less attitude, please.”

Barbara also didn’t like having a party sprung on her.

When Mary picked Barbara up, she brought LaSonda along in the bargain. Mother-daughter outing, Mary said. Barbara knew Mary hadn’t consulted LaSonda in the matter; otherwise, she’d still be sulking in her bedroom.

LaSonda hadn’t been a problem until lately. She had grown into an outsized, unsweet, sixteen-year-old, with every reason to question why her parents left her raising to relatives. Barbara didn’t plan to give an honest answer until she felt LaSonda could keep the secret. Mary believed otherwise, that LaSonda was ready to hear the truth.

LaSonda used to spend summers and occasional weekends with Barbara, even though it meant relocating Gracie to the house of a Munoz sister back when they were a couple. Before that, Barbara’s girlfriends weren’t live-ins, so she only had to put away certain books and photographs and play off phone calls as being from boyfriends.

With summer fast approaching, LaSonda made it clear she wasn’t going anywhere—not to Barbara’s house and certainly not over to Billy’s, who would have quailed at the idea of LaSonda ensconced in his bachelor pad.

LaSonda wanted answers, answers Barbara couldn’t give. Mary felt that movie night would make for a conflict-free occasion. A bridge-building exercise.

Mary, not one to be discouraged, returned to her theme. “It’s not a party. It’s a get-together. Nothing fancy. Here we are.”

LaSonda and Barbara were out of their seats and down the sidewalk when Mary, still at the wheel, called out, “I’m due back at the house. Need to meet the plumber. You call me when you’re ready.”

“How about now?” LaSonda said, to no effect. Mary was already gone.

Mother and daughter inspected one another. “Don’t ask me,” they said simultaneously.

Barbara continued, with a shrug. “We’re both in the dark. Let’s see what Mary snookered us into doing.”

Moments later, they stood on the patio out back, listening to Hopkins debate song choices with Darlene. Mary’s alleged get-together came down to the four of them. She heard LaSonda muttering beside her, something about walking home, yet neither of them moved.

Barbara and Hopkins rarely socialized, even at the bar in Lubbock. He kept company with the moneyed and comfortable, for which Barbara qualified on neither count.

While Hopkins merrily floated along, as a party balloon no one wanted to burst, she couldn’t join his clique. Someone might wonder why an aging tomboy hadn’t remarried or thrown herself into church work. Why she seemed a bit mannish. Hopkins plus Barbara equaled a quorum and a suspicious one at that.

As she inhaled the scent of yellow irises, she wondered whether she’d been too paranoid. That she was still closeted meant he hadn’t violated the code of silence. He could have introduced her to other closeted gays in town. A missed opportunity, all because she dreaded wearing a scarlet L.

And now she was on Darlene’s turf. Would Darlene’s friendliness at work the past few weeks carry over at home?

Darlene and Hopkins’s discussion percolated upward in volume. They wore matching white shorts and gold-striped tops, which represented the total amount of their cooperation.

“You’re wrong about Tammy Wynette,” Darlene said. “I can name you three songs off the top of my head that are easy to dance to. ‘I Don’t Want to Play House,’ for starters—”

“A three-hankie weeper about divorce. How romantic. Not to mention ‘D-I-V-O-R-C-E.’” Hopkins sang the last part. “Same song, different title.”

Darlene strolled over to a nearby cassette deck and pushed the lever. Out came the bouncy rhythms of “Good Lovin’.” Conceding defeat, Hopkins began pulling tables and chairs out of the way.

Barbara pitched her voice over the music. “What’s this all about?”

“I thought you already knew.” Darlene smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle in her shorts, in lieu of meeting Barbara’s eyes.

“LaSonda, this evening’s all about you.” Hopkins sounded serious, a rarity from him. “Mary said you refused to attend the prom last week, even though that Kindred boy stood ready and willing to be your escort. Dancing is the most normal thing in the world. You see toddlers hopping around all the time. It’s easy to learn with a little practice.”

“For you. Not for me.” LaSonda plopped down on a chair next to the wall. “You’re not too short for a man… Mr. Tickner,” she added hastily.

“Please don’t call me Mr. Tickner. I hear that and think you’re mistaking me my big brother, who’s a complete bore. I feel sorry for his students, having to pin their eyelids back in order to stay awake. Imagine what it was like for me growing up, sitting at the supper table with him and Daddy. You are so lucky to have a fun-loving family. Well, except for Barlow. He’s usually off circling the moon.”

Hopkins clasped her hands. “Darlie didn’t know how to dance when she came to live with us. I had to sneak behind Daddy’s back to show her the steps. You won’t have to do that.”

LaSonda lifted her head. “It don’t matter how good I dance. That’s not what people will notice.”

“Your boy doesn’t care how tall you are,” Barbara said. “I’ve seen him sitting with you at the Dairy Queen. He’s happy as can be. He’s not the problem. You are. You’re afraid to be seen dancing with him. You’re afraid people will laugh.”

“No, I ain’t.”

If Mary heard that, she’d be giving LaSonda a lesson in grammar, which was the reason why, until recently, Barbara rated a distant second as the cause of LaSonda’s blow-ups.

“That’s why Hopkins and I are dressed alike,” said Darlene. “We want you to see dancing as teamwork. If you do it right, no one notices who’s taller, or skinnier, or anything. They see two people moving as one.”

Hopkins spun Darlene toward him, and away they went, their tanned legs striding with no visible effort around the patio. They were good. Better than good, in fact.

Hopkins twirled Darlene once more then shut off the music.

Before he said anything, LaSonda established her beachhead. “I can’t do that. Never in a million years.”

“Which is sooner than you think. The country club’s annual end-of-summer dance is where you’ll make your debut. Tantona isn’t known for cotillions. This is the best we can do for you, my dear.” He carried on as though LaSonda weren’t trying to get a word in edgewise. “We have loads of time to prepare. I want to ask you, did you notice who was in the lead?”

“You.”

“About half the time. The rest of it, Darlie took the lead, but she did it without changing the position of her hands. It’s all about giving your partners cues with a squeeze or a tap. No one sees it happening. I’ll teach you how to lead your young man, despite his adolescent clumsiness, with the greatest of ease. That way, his toes and your pride remain intact.”

To Barbara’s surprise, LaSonda allowed Hopkins to shuffle her around the patio.

Darlene appeared at Barbara’s elbow with a glass of tea. “She’s doing fine.”

“I taught her how to waltz when she was little.”

“Really?”

“She tucked her feet on top of mine, and I went through the steps with her. Then she decided she was too old for kid stuff.”

“Waltzing is kid stuff? Not in the Tickner household. You danced with the devil, as far as they were concerned. If I’d known you were Miss Twinkle-toes, I’d have asked you to show me, instead of Hopkins. I expect you know all kinds of moves.”

All kinds of moves? Darlene’s expression revealed nothing. Surely she wasn’t being flirtatious.

“Barbara, I need to borrow your height for a moment.” A fine sheen of perspiration coated Hopkins’s face. Even a willing LaSonda took no little effort to steer.

She considered declining, then thought better of it. LaSonda needed to see her mother comfortably dancing with a shorter man—not too much shorter, unlike the Kindred boy, who was in shouting distance of five foot seven.

The mix tape moved on to “The Way We Were.”

Hopkins beckoned Barbara to take his hands. “I know you can lead, I know you can follow. Let’s show the girl what Momma can do.”

When had Hopkins ever seen her dance? At the bar in Lubbock. In the midst of his pals, he still noticed her.

To the strains of Streisand, she let him lead then she took over, still in the femme position. Dad called it swanning, when a couple ate up the floor with their swooping moves. A flock of birds must have landed, because the patio, once spacious, felt too confined for their pivots and swings.

During one of their turns, she saw LaSonda’s face, lit up with amazement.

“That’s what I was trying to show you when you were little,” Barbara called out to her. “Dancing’s fun.”

Hopkins stopped and beckoned to Darlene.

“Don’t move,” he hissed to Barbara, then said in a louder voice, “Darlie’s closer in height to who you’re going to dance with. When you see your momma, put yourself in her place, all right?”

Hopkins trotted over to change the tape. She knew her face had to appear as startled as Darlene’s.

Over the speakers came a ghostly soprano, joined by other soulful voices. For his entertainment, Hopkins picked a number that a team of rabid horses couldn’t push the tempo on.

“Get moving, ladies,” Hopkins chided. “Show her how it’s done.”

Three steps, a mile. Bodies the regulation distance apart. They began, without meeting each other’s eyes.

After a bit, she asked, “Who’s the singer?”

“Laura Nyro. Hopkins loves her. I think it’s called ‘Wind.’”

“When?”

“‘Wind,’ as in the wind. It’s a pretty tune, but not something they’d play at Tantona Country Club.”

Chitchat. A good distraction. She didn’t dare glance at her daughter, afraid to see the reaction. Girls danced together innocently enough; she two-stepped with friends at the bar. Nothing serious about it at all.

Darlene slid in a fraction closer, her face still demurely turned to one side. Although the song didn’t offer much of a backbeat, if at all, it posed no problem for them. Simple moves, easy twirls.

Darlene moved in still closer, then took back the lead, guiding them on a route through the far end of the patio.

“You need to smile. She’ll notice if you act nervous,” Darlene said.

“You and Hopkins look like you’ve been dancing for years.”

“We have. At the country club and various parties. Not in Lubbock, though, and not at that bar.”

Not a subject she wanted to explore with Darlene, especially with LaSonda so near. She regained the lead and guided them closer to her daughter, where, smile firmly in place, she spun Darlene into a faster pace, ballad be damned. Barbara could two-step, waltz, even cha-cha-cha, but she’d won dance contests at the bar on the strength of her blazing jitterbug.

Instead of wilting from the pace, Darlene went even faster.

“Go, Mom, go!” LaSonda hollered.

Her daughter’s voice brought Barbara back into focus. Dancing. How to handle a shorter partner. A shorter, sphinx-like partner.

She gestured that they should wrap it up. With that, they broke apart. Darlene held onto to her hand for a moment before stepping away.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that. Why didn’t you tell me?” LaSonda lumbered to her feet and clapped enthusiastically.

“And ruin the surprise? You can do it, too, with a little practice. That’s all you need.”

LaSonda’s newfound confidence showed as she took Hopkins on a gallop around the patio. Barbara watched her daughter’s face, rosy with excitement.

“She’s a pretty girl.” Darlene’s voice punched through the sonic wave of “Kiss an Angel Good Morning.”

Barbara glanced down at her. Darlene met her eyes then looked away again.

“She’s handsome—which isn’t a putdown. She takes after Billy that way, so she has an attractive face. She has my height and my dad’s build. That’s not the best combination if you want to be the next Farrah Fawcett.”

“I like it.” Darlene sipped her tea, her eyes still glued to the dancers.

Barbara couldn’t tell if Darlene was uncomfortable, shy, or what. “You and Hopkins cooked up quite a scheme to get LaSonda here. Looks like I wasn’t on the guest list.”

Darlene turned her attention from the dancers to Barbara. “I’m glad you came. I wondered what it’d be like to dance with you.”

She had thought the same thing at work, watching how Darlene infused grace into the simple act of going up a stepladder.

“What do you mean by that?” Barbara asked.

The song at an end, Darlene reached over and turned off the cassette deck. In the sudden quiet, Barbara was about to repeat the question when the telephone rang.

Darlene went inside with Hopkins on her heels.

Her face rosy from exertion, LaSonda reacted to Barbara’s applause with a mock curtsy. When they walked back inside, Darlene was nowhere evident.

Hopkins stood at the kitchen counter, making a martini. “That was Mary. She’s coming over to pick you up. LaSonda, you were lovely tonight. I told Mary to bring you anytime you need coaching.”

While Barbara and LaSonda stood at the curb, she decided to ask if her daughter’s summer plans had changed.

LaSonda spoke first. “Is that why you married my father?”

“Pardon?”

“Aunt Mary says he inherited all the rhythm in the Eckert family. And most of the personality. When I see you around each other, y’all don’t fit. He’s loud. You’re kind of quiet. You’re more Uncle Bar’s type.”

Barbara gathered her thoughts, which had roamed far afield from the current subject. “I didn’t marry your father for the dancing.”

“Then why?”

The truth? Hell, no. A fraction of it? “I… liked him well enough. All my friends were getting married.”

LaSonda abruptly moved a few steps away, looming in the shadows beyond the streetlight’s halo.

“Then I came along. You weren’t having fun anymore. You messed up. That’s what you’re saying.”

“You came along. And liking him well enough wasn’t good enough, not anymore. You deserved a real family. I wasn’t ready to be the mother you needed.”

LaSonda huffed, but said nothing. Barbara started to expand on a familiar theme, then stopped, her words stillborn. She didn’t want to say the usual words; LaSonda didn’t want to hear them.

She gazed at the diamond-cut glitter of stars. Barlow was probably watching them at his telescope. Someone, at least, could see clearly. It had evolved into a strange, strange night—Mary changing their plans without consulting her; Hopkins playing switcheroo on the patio.

Darlene. Above all, Darlene. Friendly, yet elusive at the same time. They danced, yet who was leading, and who was following?

Chapter 4

May

Barbara felt a touch guilty as she maintained her footing in the jammed women’s wear department at Dunlap’s. The Rosens kept their mouths shut about her waking up weeks ago in their driveway. No rumors came her way about it. A more loyal person wouldn’t be patronizing a rival store, even if it were up the road in Lubbock, the largest city on the Llano Estacado, where stores and choices were plentiful.

A sale in dresses and ladies pantsuits, however, trumped small-town loyalty. Two for one and plenty of selections in tall sizes. In Tantona, Rosen’s Department Store carried hardly any tall sizes for women, and Anthony’s store wasn’t much better. Barbara could handle brutal elbows from her fellow shoppers to experience actual choices rather than having to settle.

She happened to look over at the menswear section where traffic was less intense. Barbara didn’t long to wear male clothing, not really. But she admired a well-tailored man’s suit.

Darlene’s fiancé, Collier McKenna, sometimes strolled into the pharmacy in a three-piece suit, a gold watch dangling from his vest pocket. His hair was short enough to pass muster, but the sideburns were longer than those of a typical Tantonan male. Why was she thinking about him?

She could take a couple of her pantsuits in for tailoring to make them look a little less baggy and old-maidish. If she found a nice scarf to use instead of a god-awful bow, it might make her look as though she belonged in the same league as Darlene. Darlene wore pantsuits with a more attractive style than hers.

Barbara saw a familiar face two racks over. Gracie Munoz, her ex-lover, had a young Chicana next to her weighed down with several dresses. Gracie appeared to be in her element, instantly making judgments about quality and value with a flick of her wrist. Whisk to the pack mule, thump to the rack, and repeat.

Gracie greeted the world with a kind, forgiving expression and a body with curves that could make Richard Petty slow down. Her glossy black hair, given some height with judicious rat-tailing, flowed over her shoulders. Tantona beauty parlors tended to close on Mondays, so Gracie had joined the throng, accompanied by a tomboyish—make that butch—young woman who acted put-upon. Literally, in her case.

Barbara was glad she’d advanced to the stage of acceptance, as explained in the book about death she’d read after Grandma Wolfe passed. Losing Gracie didn’t compare to cancer, but it felt as final at the time.

Gracie had her pluses. She genuinely cared about people, and no one would fault her level of passion in bed. Unlike so many fluffs, Gracie didn’t date men or even pretend to, although her formidable flirting skills made Tantonans think otherwise.

Gracie couldn’t say no, bottom line. If a woman flirted with her, Gracie returned serve and then some. If ever asked if she had been unfaithful, she admitted it immediately. Barbara might have preferred Gracie to tell flagrant lies about where she spent some nights, but in the end, knowing the truth was better. She had no interest in sharing Gracie with the world. She put her foot down one night, so Gracie picked hers up and left.

Feeling a bit bruised from her fellow shoppers, Barbara paid for her purchases and headed outside. She found Gracie standing by her El Camino. The butch, who sported a slicked-back do, had Gracie’s Mustang warmed up nearby. Judging by the girlfriend’s harried expression, she knew the pitfalls of leaving Gracie alone with another woman. Barbara wondered if Gracie had split with Becca Reyes yet or was drawing double duty.

Becca, who taught at the high school, was another undercover Tantonan, so deep in the closet she barely spoke to Barbara, even when shopping at the pharmacy. If Gracie broke Becca’s heart, who’d know enough to care? Barbara had two or three friends in town who knew she was gay and others who probably did, but they didn’t talk about it.

Gracie gave Barbara a warm hug guaranteed to heat up her girlfriend. “It’s been too long—and you need a haircut, mi corazon. You should come see me.”

Barbara entrusted her locks to a longtime beautician at Just Your Style.

“I’ll make an appointment.”

“No, no, no. Don’t go to Style. I’m over at Neil’s place now.”

“Neil?”

“Acuff. He has Neil’s Better Cuts over on Shelton. He’s been open at least a year.”

Gracie spoke with a slightly aggrieved tone as though Barbara should be keeping track of beauty parlors.

“What happened at your old job?”

Gracie was standing much too close. Butch Girlfriend honked her horn.

“Silly cows. They were jealous. They claimed I was after their men.”

“If only.”

She smiled indulgently. “You quit complaining. We had a good time, until we didn’t.”

Barbara knew about Gracie’s habits, but went for her anyway. Whose fault was it in the end? Call it a draw.

“How do you like working with Darlene?” Gracie asked.

An odd question. When they were together, Gracie couldn’t have cared less how Barbara earned her pay.

Darlene had been on the job a few weeks, and already customers acted as though she’d been there for years. The older ones loved her. She listened patiently to their health complaints and suggested various products as solutions. Barbara tended to cut them off after a few minutes, bored by the repetition and eager to move on to another task.

“She’s good at her job. More outgoing than when we were in high school.”

“High school. Such a waste of time.”

Chicano and black kids attended New Prospect School in Flatville until integration came. If Gracie had stayed with it, she would have been in Becca’s class at Tantona High School. Gracie wasn’t much of a finisher, Barbara thought uncharitably.

“You like her? She’s pretty, if you like blondes,” Gracie said.

“I like Darlene as a coworker. She’s engaged. I don’t need to know more than that.” Shouldn’t, couldn’t, no matter how inviting the view or how mixed the signals.

“You think, mija, you think she’s straight, but I know everything.” Gracie smiled enigmatically.

“You think any woman can be turned out.”

“That’s not true.”

Butch Girl honked the car horn again, with a long blast that made them both look. Time to end the girlfriend torture.

They hugged and went their separate ways.

Back home, Barbara wrapped the blouse she bought for her mother and romped with Mutt before she drove over to Gardner’s Steak House. She arrived to find her parents and Ry already seated at a table.

Marquetta Benson was with them. Mom had mentioned on the phone that, when she visited Ry the other day, she found Marquetta gamely sitting on the beanbag.

Somehow, Ry recently acquired a girlfriend. Marquetta had the distinction of being the first person to break the color barrier at Tantona’s white-only schools. No one knew she was black, or to be accurate, half-black, until she’d been in town awhile. Her mother was one of the funeral home Kindreds, white as the day was long. The mother had moved to California and gotten married to a businessman, who then died—Barbara couldn’t remember the story exactly—so she came back home and enrolled Marquetta in school.

Marquetta looked Greek or Italian. Nobody thought twice about it, since there were a couple of war brides in town who were as dark, not to mention families like the Wolfes who claimed Cherokee ancestry from their father. Marquetta wasn’t the only one on the exotic side of the ledger.

Marquetta was Gracie’s age, early thirties, and happened to be a cousin to LaSonda’s beau. If the truth about Marquetta’s father had come out at the start, they’d have shuffled her over to New Prospect. Barbara’s friend Jackie had loved going to school at New Prospect. Jackie thought her teachers there were great, but the Kindreds weren’t pioneers in either direction. They wanted their kid in the same classes with their friends, wanted her claimed by the white side. Somebody dropped a dime on them, but the ploy didn’t work. The story never got in the newspaper or on the local radio station.

The school board quietly decided to keep Marquetta. The Kindreds had powerful friends, but more important, Marquetta could pass for white. Years later, integration finally came to Tantona.

When word first spread about Marquetta, Barbara was in junior high. She thought all that fuss about some kid in a ponytail was ridiculous, like she was a rabble-rouser looking for trouble. They talked as though Marquetta had been caught stealing a white life and white privileges, when it shouldn’t have mattered, anyhow.

Marquetta now worked in the hospital’s business office down the street from the pharmacy. They’d crossed paths any number of times, particularly at Tantona Café, which lay between their two places of business. Marquetta struck her as being a more voluptuous version of that actress. What was her name? Sophia Loren?

If Marquetta had set her sights on Ry, good news for Ry, but Barbara hoped it wasn’t because local men were afraid of dating a woman with mixed roots. She didn’t want her brother to be Marquetta’s better-than-nothing boyfriend.

Barbara handed over the present and wished her mother a happy birthday.

“It’s already a wonderful birthday. I have my two children with me.”

Mom wasted no time opening her presents. She viewed life in practical terms. A gift to her had to serve a function, otherwise, why give it? Knick-knacks ended up on a shelf in the laundry room, eventually donated to a charity or rewrapped and given to a relative.

Ry’s present was a blow dryer. Dad had already given Mom two tickets to Las Vegas, but she wouldn’t be flying there with Dad, who wasn’t to be trusted around that much neon temptation. Mom’s sister, who lived in Odessa, would draw the honor this time. Mom might not be as locked-down as Ry, but the only time she blossomed was inside a casino. Her yearly trip brought her back home goggle-eyed and dazed, and, more often than not, with a cash surplus.

Barbara happened to look over during the meal and saw a young woman sitting by herself nearby. Her long hair half-hiding her face, she was absorbed in a book and ignoring her plate of food. Tina Ransom.

Tina’s mother had died a few months ago from Huntington’s chorea, which took Tina’s brother, Jack, a few years before that. Tina must have made a hundred trips or more in the pharmacy’s drive-through, picking up medication. She wasn’t always alone on those trips. Sometimes her mother would be weaving around on the passenger side, wrapped in a blanket, and clearly in need of a tranquilizer refill.

Once, Mrs. Ransom grabbed on to the steering wheel and wouldn’t let go. Barbara came outside and helped Tina pull her mother’s fingers loose. Miss Reynolds brought out a bottle of grape Nehi and the refill. After they got the med down Mrs. Ransom’s throat, Barbara stayed until Mrs. Ransom calmed down some.

Barbara and Tina were hardly friends, but if not for Marquetta staking a claim, Barbara would have tried to angle Ry and Tina together. Tina might be the only woman in town who wouldn’t ask anything of Ry except quiet and regularity, which he gave in abundance.

After the meal, their waitress brought out a cake that looked homemade. They sang “Happy Birthday” while Mom blew out the candles. Marquetta had baked the cake, apple-honey with cinnamon icing, which showed she studied up on her prospective mother-in-law’s likes and dislikes.

The cake went over well, and Mom wrapped it up for leftovers. It would be sliced and frozen, then doled out as Dad’s evening dessert for many days to come. Mom kept Dad’s business and the family Wolfe afloat in the early years with such cost-cutting measures.

As they were leaving, Marquetta said in a rush, “I-was-wondering-if-maybe-you’d-come-over-for-supper.”

“Pardon?” Barbara couldn’t pick out individual words in the barrage.

Mom stopped at the restaurant door.

“Supper, at 112 Camelot Apartments? I’ve wanted to invite you over. Ryland talks about you all the time.”

Ry didn’t go by his full first name, and he definitely didn’t believe in small talk. On occasion, he gave a report on things that interested him. Record reviews, car engines, television shows, or Chaco Draw, which Ry had hiked through any number of times.

Marquetta planned to woo Ry with a home-cooked meal and wanted evidence leaking back to the folks that she was a keeper. No real need for that. Marquetta seemed nice enough, if a bit freaked-out now, as Ry would put it.

“That sounds like a good idea. Call me and say when to put the bib on. I’ll be glad to come over,” Barbara said.

Mom gave Barbara an unreadable expression before she left. What was that about? Ry’s sweetheart was in no danger from his little sister. Barbara didn’t chase after straight girls.

Since Barbara had grabbed the check before Dad, she stood in line at the cashier’s desk to pay the bill, humming along to a Connie Smith tune playing on the transistor radio behind the desk.

The customer ahead of Barbara dawdled at the desk. He was more interested in talking to the cashier about a fiddlers’ convention scheduled at the National Guard Armory next weekend. Barbara made a mental note to tell Dad, since he liked old-timey songs.

The next customer up wanted to discuss her granddaughter’s upcoming wedding with the cashier. The line had shortened, but the wait hadn’t.

She sensed someone was watching her. Looking around, she caught Darlene doing just that over by the branding-iron display.

Darlene jerked her head forward and did a lousy job of trying to wipe the guilty expression off her face. She stood next to Collier McKenna, no surprise, who was holding forth on some subject to District Attorney Harlan Souther, a hack lawyer until his cronies got him appointed when death opened up a vacancy. Word was Souther wanted to move over to the district judge’s office. Probably thought the hours were easier, knowing his reputation.

Dad disliked Souther, who years ago had blocked the Wolfes’ plan to buy a vacant lot next to their parts store. The lot instead went to one of Souther’s friends, who put in an accountant’s office on a half-lot. The wind planted the rest with weeds that the accountant did nothing about, despite Dad’s calls to the city.

Barbara cast a smile in Darlene’s direction. Given her current company, Darlene might need a conversational ally. Despite her strangeness the evening of their dance, Darlene remained sociable at work, always bringing cookies or chips. She also didn’t mind running over to the café to buy them cokes on ice.

Darlene seemed about to say something, but the men burst out in laughter. Darlene turned her back to the cashier’s desk, as though no one of importance stood there.

Barbara kept her eyes on Darlene’s back, daring her to turn around. Look at me.

What an ugly way to find out the truth. She could dance with Darlene in Hopkins’s backyard. Make idle chitchat at work. Otherwise, she didn’t feature on Darlene’s social calendar.

The cashier cleared her throat with more force than necessary. Barbara scribbled a check, scarcely paying attention to the amount, and drove home.

She let Mutt in and searched through TV Guide for a good show. Maybe Medical Center. She liked the actress who played the head nurse.

Armed with a Dr. Pepper and her usual confident pen, she decided instead to work on a crossword puzzle. The phone rang, causing Mutt to groan.

“You want to get that?” Barbara asked him. She swore he scowled at her.

“Fine. I will.”

She went into the kitchen and picked up on the third ring. Darlene was on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry about the restaurant,” Darlene said in a pained tone.

“I’m not. I had an excellent T-bone. Look, you were with your friends, with your social set. It’s okay.” Barbara felt quite the opposite.

“It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have been staring. It’s not polite.”

“Then why were you?”

“You… you looked so free. I wish I could be that way.”

“Simple, you mean? Like I belong on Hee-Haw?”

“That’s not what I meant. I grew up around here, too, you know.” Darlene didn’t sound quite so timid now. “I was paying you a compliment.”

“Why don’t you try being a little less polite?”

“Never mind. You don’t seem to understand.”

“Say it slowly. Maybe my pea-brain will absorb it better.”

A prolonged silence. Darlene spoke deliberately. “How’s this? You’re not fake. You’re not fancy. You say what you mean. You do what you feel. You’re honest about yourself. I’m not strong like you. I’m afraid of what people would say if they knew.”

She had no idea if Gracie had the scoop or guessed, but Darlene wouldn’t have picked her for this conversation unless it concerned being in the closet. Brass tacks truth.

This meant that Tantona Pharmacy had more than one gay person working there. This was not a good thing. Barbara kept personal and professional acres apart. Her romantic thermostat remained at zero, no matter how beautiful a woman walked through the door or worked behind the desk. Until Darlene.

She’d already experienced being madly in love many years ago with Roberta Burlow, a local society-queen-in-the-making. Barbara was her favorite of the day, a lump of coal to polish into a precious gem, until Roberta dismissed her for lack of discretion. Barbara knew what it was like to have to pretend in public that her private world wasn’t crumbling to dust.

Work was work; Tantona, Tantona. Love, lust, and romance happened in another county or outside the city limits in the house Barbara rented from Mary Eckert.

She had no problem with the rules. It kept her safe. Darlene was not safe, by any definition. Darlene was supposed to get married in the fall; she was supposed to be straight. Darlene needed to bare her innermost thoughts to someone other than Barbara for the safety of all concerned.

If Darlene walked into the gay bar in Lubbock, Barbara would ask her to dance and then buy her a drink. If it went well, a date followed. Birds circling in the sky, the usual billing and cooing.

In the old days, she would play the butch to a fluff like Darlene, but lately she saw couples in the club who didn’t seem to follow the rules. Even so, there were still plenty of ducktails and bouffants. That would never change.

Barbara had height; she had toughness on her side. She needed it sometimes in the bar parking lot when frat boys came in carloads to cause trouble.

However, this wasn’t the bar, and there weren’t drunks waiting outside to throw beer bottles or worse at the drag queens and diesel dykes.

This was Tantona. Boring, safe, Disneyland Tantona.

On the other end of the phone, she heard a scared woman.

“Hello? It’s your turn to talk. Make fun of me again,” Darlene said in a near whisper.

“I don’t say what I mean or do what I feel. Leastways, not around here.”

“Do you… do things in Lubbock, places like that?”

“Sometimes. Darlene, if you’re having second thoughts about getting married—”

“No,” she interrupted. “No, I’m not. I’m… I’m trying to work out in my head how to make it happen.”

“Make what happen?”

“Be the person I’m supposed to be, live the life I’m supposed to live. Hopkins says I should make my decision carefully… I’m sorry. This isn’t your problem to deal with.”

“I think it’s perfectly natural to have cold feet.”

Another long pause. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

Barbara heard a click in her ear.

She hung up the phone and looked at Mutt, who’d followed her into the kitchen.

Mutt had a straightforward approach to life. He never read books about the stages of grief. He didn’t deal with coworkers staring or pointedly not staring at him. There were no weird phone calls for Mutt. All he needed was a ball, a butcher’s bone, and a comfy place to sleep.

At that moment, Barbara envied him.

Chapter 5

Late May

“I think it’s pretty,” Darlene said.

Mary Eckert returned the dress Barbara purchased for her daughter. It had hung in LaSonda’s closet for weeks, unworn, until LaSonda hurled it into the Eckerts’ living room and ordered Mary to take it back.

Mary, Darlene, and Barbara stood in the storage room at the pharmacy where they were giving the paisley blue dress intense consideration.

“You bet it’s pretty,” Mary said. “The child is acting hardheaded.”

“Did you keep the receipt?” Darlene asked.

Darlene was finally showing signs of life, having spent the days since their phone conversation being Miss Cold Front.

That morning, while Barbara was chatting with Jackie, who gave her usual rundown of bogus good-man sightings for Barbara, Darlene chimed in that Barbara should invite her Jewish boyfriend to town. Arthur Rosen’s nephew had sent a card and photograph to which Barbara responded with the same degree of feigned interest. Her coworkers studied his picture respectfully when she brought it to work one day. That show-and-nothing-to-tell proved enough to melt the iceberg.

“I kept the receipt, but I’m holding on to the dress for a while in case she changes her mind,” Barbara said.

“You do that, but regardless, she’ll wear this dress or she’s Guinevere on a horse.”

Mary was a handsome woman with a live-wire personality who had no second gear and zero inclination to go in reverse.

Besides pitching in as needed at the pharmacy and acting in community theater, Mary also sold a little real estate. She and Barlow, along with LaSonda and their young son, Jim, lived on the tail end of Phipps Avenue. Must be nice, being on a street named for your rich grandfather, Barbara thought. Born with a complete set of silverware in her mouth, Mary didn’t disdain money or people.

“While I’m here, I want to make sure y’all are still on for bridge tonight,” Mary said briskly. “Estelle and I are getting together a girls’ table, so don’t bring your boyfriends. We’re having a coffee klatch.”

Barbara forced herself not to sneak a peek at Darlene. She knew her own face showed the surprise of hearing that Mary had invited them separately. Over the years, Barbara turned down invitations to bridge night, but she heard enough details from Mary to know how it usually went.

They played a couple of nights a month, at either a Rosen or an Eckert address. The same core group attended every time: the Rosens, Barlow and Mary, and Hopkins Tickner, who came at first with his older brother, the fussy-acting school principal, before dropping him. The fourth man was George Bering, an insurance agent who’d been in Barbara’s class at Tantona High School.

Barbara didn’t go to straight parties in Tantona if she could help it, not if there was the possibility she might let the truth slip about a boyfriend’s real gender. She wasn’t good at lying, unlike Roberta, and she didn’t have Hopkins’s brilliance in avoiding the truth in an entertaining way. She liked to kick up her heels same as anyone, enjoyed a good joke and a cold brew, but preferred to do it in the company of other gays.

Bridge night sounded like a formal affair in an expensive neighborhood. Barbara had no interest in minding her p’s and q’s around her boss, even if he happened to be her ex-brother-in-law. Whenever she came to see LaSonda, or one of the Eckerts dropped her daughter off at Barbara’s house, Barbara saw herself as the girl’s mother and not as Barlow’s employee. They kept the situations separate, the issues on different pages. Made it easier that way. Even though she and Mary remained best friends, Barbara preferred socializing with her on more relaxed occasions.

This time, Mary said during her initial invite that the Rosens expected Barbara to be at the Wednesday get-together even though it was at the Eckerts’ house, and not their own. Barbara was serving a lengthy penance for waking up in their driveway—first, claim their gay nephew and now, attend bridge night.

Darlene may have attended with Hopkins in the past. She’d be a leg up.

Fine. Barbara could play cards and sip their coffee with a pinky extended. She wondered how Darlene would act around her this time. Good to know that Collier McKenna and his three-piece suit wouldn’t be present. She didn’t need the added stress.

Later in the morning, Barbara had sent off an elderly man with a jar of hemorrhoid cream when she heard a voice behind her call out, “Boo!”

She turned around. Hopkins Tickner beamed merrily at her. “I’m terrified, can’t you tell?” she said.

“Oh, you. Cool, calm, collected. You’d sleep through a tornado even with that little monster, Toto, yapping in your ear.”

“True. I wouldn’t budge a muscle. How’s tricks?”

Hopkins dipped his chin and smirked. “Beyond your imagining, tall, dark, and handsome. Beyond your imagining. Didn’t I just get a cutting look from that old hag?” He glanced over his shoulder at a gray-haired woman retreating down the aisle.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t justified, but how come?”

“As you know, First Baptist would have to close its doors without me leading the tenors in the choir. Well, a crisis has erupted of biblical proportions between the hand-wavers and the butt-stickers.”

“Pardon?”

“A cadre has formed of would-be holy-rollers who demand the right to stand and wave their hands during the morning service—and not only to signify their ardent desire to go to the restroom or watch a Cowboys game.”

“Why don’t they join the Assembly of God? I don’t care whichever way, but Baptists don’t jump in their pews.”

“From your lips to Billy Graham’s ears. We sing loudly, and we testify our faith between the hours of eleven and noon and once a year for the visiting evangelist. We have our folkways, and we’re mightily proud of them.”

“Are you a hand-waver or a butt-sticker?”

Hopkins let out an elaborate sigh. “If I need a set-up line, I’ll let you know. I’m a butt-sticker, of course. But if people want to raise their hands and sway a little, I won’t curl up and die. That old hag who slighted me in the antihistamine aisle, she thinks any sign of flexibility puts First Bap on the slippery slope to snake-handling.”

Barbara remembered there being a fuss at the church when she was a child over a new hymnbook being too modern. Since her parents didn’t care one way or the other, they took no side at the congregational meeting that resulted in several families moving their membership to another church.

“Do you think people will leave over it?”

“One couple already has. They went over to the Church of the Christian Revival, that new outfit. They’re big on hand-waving, but not as excitable as Assembly of God. I don’t know why people can’t live and let live on this instead of acting like Martin Luther with a hammer.”

“I agree.”

Hopkins gave their surroundings a casual glance. “Help me pick out a card, why don’t you.”

Over by the birthday cards, he stood next to her and said quietly, “What are you waiting for?”

“Huh?”

“Served up on a silver platter, and you won’t even pick up a spoon.”

“What is?”

“The correct word is ‘who.’”

Barbara leaned around the corner and saw that the next aisle was empty. She could probably achieve good distance if she tossed him toward the Brachs candy rack. The slide alone might be enough to pay him back for jerking her around.

It took no little control to keep her voice at whisper level. “If she—excuse me—they are interested in me, then they should let me know face-to-face, instead of making weird phone calls and having you carry the water.”

Hopkins had the grace to appear somewhat chastened. “I wasn’t aware they called you. Such an encouraging development.”

“I should have known the two of you—make that, the three of you, what with Mary being in on it—the three of you would be in cahoots.”

“Mary and I, yes. Not the other person.”

A woman turned into their aisle. Seeing Hopkins, she gave a sniff as she walked past them.

He grinned at Barbara. “There’s the butt-sticker. Barbara, the other person isn’t in on the planning. I shouldn’t have even brought up the subject. It’s obvious you’re not interested.”

Barbara leaned toward him. “Don’t use reverse psychology on me. You did that in senior English. I killed myself on Hamlet because you said that was too hard for me.”

“You made an A.”

“Which has made such a difference in my life.” Sarcasm lifted her voice enough that the butt-sticker woman paused a short distance away. Argument on aisle four. Clean-up please.

“I think it did. Sometimes the hardest things to do are the most rewarding. I know you’ll take on any obstacle.”

“Because I made an A on a paper about Hamlet.”

“Yes.” Hopkins turned to go.

“One question.”

“I may be inclined to answer.”

“What do… they think about me?”

“That’s for you to find out. I’m withdrawing from the field.” As he passed the older woman, Hopkins said somewhat loudly, “And that’s what I think about speaking in tongues. I don’t care who knows it.”

The woman looked both intrigued and scandalized.

Leave them guessing, always Hopkins’s motto.

*  *  *

Barbara went across the street for lunch with Marquetta Benson, who evidently had decided to continue cultivating her boyfriend’s sister, because this was the third time they’d met at the café. Ry couldn’t take a long enough break from the parts store to allow for his usual considered approach to dining, but Marquetta didn’t appear to mind his absence. She barely mentioned him, in fact.

Today, Marquetta burbled about the upcoming bridal shower of another secretary in the hospital’s business office, who’d landed in high cotton. “You would not believe her wedding dress. Came straight from Dallas. Fittings are being done here, some lady Roberta recommended, but the dress is from Dallas.”

Barbara swallowed her bite of hamburger and asked, “Roberta?”

Marquetta’s mouth oh-ed. “Mrs. Burlow, I guess I should say. You know, one of the Steinhalls? They’re rolling in the dough. I’m not on a first-name basis like Sherron is.”

Barbara wondered if Roberta was still cultivating certain girls. “Is Sherron related to her?”

“No. She’s a Bering, but she’s from Lubbock, not here. I think George Bering’s her uncle. Her fiancé is Mrs. Burlow’s nephew.”

“I’d stick with calling her Roberta, if I were you. I wouldn’t grant her that much respect,” Barbara said.

“You’ve had dealings with Roberta?” Marquetta cocked an eye at her, as though Barbara had something to confide.

Although Barbara enjoyed her company, Marquetta was too interested in grapevine maintenance.

“You might say that.”

Barbara’s dealings with Roberta took place in each other’s bed, but that wasn’t a polite or smart thing to admit in Tantona.

Barbara sluffed off Marquetta’s attempts to learn more about Roberta. They then nailed down a good night to meet for supper, since Marquetta was determined to feed her in Ry’s presence. Barbara would do it every night of the week if it improved her brother’s prospects.

She hadn’t witnessed him with Marquetta one-on-one. Patience. Marquetta needed to have patience.

Chapter 6

LaSonda was walking out the door when Barbara arrived at the Eckerts’ house for bridge night. She scowled at the sight of the offending dress folded over Barbara’s arm.

“I’m not wearing that thing.”

“Okay,” Barbara said calmly. “There’s no edict from on high. You shouldn’t have thrown it at your Aunt Mary. She doesn’t deserve you giving her backtalk.”

“I’ll tell her I’m sorry.”

LaSonda didn’t act repentant. As long as she mouthed the right words, Barbara saw no need to hammer the point.

“You doing okay?” Barbara asked.

LaSonda looked as though she wanted to say something sharp, then thought better of it. “I’m doing fine,” she said. “There’s my ride.”

LaSonda rushed to the car where two girls and Jim, Mary’s son, were waiting. He served as the tagalong and de facto fink in case they acted up at the movie.

Maybe Mary was right. Damn the torpedoes, and tell her daughter the truth. She knew what Mom would say. “Are you crazy?” Mom would prefer not knowing and still wouldn’t know if she hadn’t come into Barbara’s bedroom all those years ago right after an argument with Roberta.

Barbara cried in her mother’s arms for the first and probably last time in her life. Neither of her parents was thrilled about her personal life. They didn’t lecture, though. They deserved credit for that.

“Come on in.” Mary stood at the doorway.

Barbara had been there many times before, but not with Darlene on the premises.

She made her way to the kitchen, where Estelle Rosen arranged snacks on a tray while Darlene loaded ice into a shiny metal bucket.

Darlene looked up and smiled. She wore a green-striped, short-sleeved blouse, a khaki skirt, and espadrilles.

“Hi,” Estelle said excitedly. “I’m so glad you came. Do you like scotch? Artie brought a bottle. They had a sale on at Pinkie’s.”

Pinkie’s was a popular liquor store on the Lubbock Strip, located twenty-five miles away. Tantona’s nightclubs required customers to pay two or three bucks for private memberships for a mixed drink, but the thirsty were out of luck if they wanted to buy a bottle of liquor. Jackie’s Place was closer, but illegal.

“I’m not much on scotch,” Barbara said.

Mary came into the room. “Me, neither. I’m strictly bourbon, or wine, or beer if the wine isn’t working.”

Darlene loaded a glass with ice and Coke, to which Estelle added a hefty splash of Crown Royal.

Darlene took a sip and nodded. “That’s about right.”

After a few minutes, the women had their drinks in order—Barbara favored beer, while Mary and Estelle had glasses of Chablis. They sat around a card table in the den, listening as Estelle went over the rules to mahjong. No bridge for the ladies and no coffee, either.

Arthur, Barlow, Hopkins, and George Bering were in the dining room playing bridge. The smell of cigar smoke wafted down the hall, and male laughter rang out.

She heard Hopkins yell, “You’re on the table, son, you’re on the table. It’s the luck of the flop.”

Whatever that meant. She was stuck with the ladies playing some kind of Chinese dominoes, as near as she could tell.

Estelle was her partner. After tiles were distributed, Estelle spent some time explaining to Barbara and Darlene what the designs meant.

Half a Budweiser later, Estelle was still going at it when Mary intervened. “Hon, the only way they’ll learn is if we play. I wish your daughter still lived here. She’d get them squared away in a jiffy.”

“Yes, she would,” Estelle agreed. “Now, let’s do the Charleston.”

That involved giving the next player over three tiles. Barbara selected three and handed them to Mary, who handed one of them right back. “Are you daft? It’s a joker tile. Guard that with your life.”

It went on in that fashion for a while. Barbara or Darlene making a move, getting corrected, then Estelle or Mary swooping in for the kill. Gradually, Barbara absorbed not so much the hang of it as the rhythm. The game reminded her a little of gin rummy.

Ninety minutes later, Mary had switched over to bourbon, Darlene was on her second scotch and Coke, Estelle had going a gigantic glass of iced tea, and Barbara moved on to a beer called Heineken she’d found in the refrigerator. The taste improved the more she sipped it. She’d seen it at the bar in Lubbock.

Estelle stood up and stretched. “Time for a break, girls. I’ll go check on the men.”

Mary crooked one finger at Darlene and another at Barbara. “Come with me.”

She took them through the patio out to the backyard, which stretched out to the boonies under a dust-dark sky.

“You’ve really done a nice job on the lawn,” Darlene said.

“It’s not me. I’m strictly house-proud. Barlow Eckert takes care of the front lawn, and we have help on the back. Collier needs to loosen up the leash so you can come by like you used to. I don’t think you’ve been over since the housewarming. Oh, I need to go check on something. Y’all stay out here. Enjoy the fresh air.”

Mary zipped back inside as though the kitchen had caught on fire.

Barbara sipped the dregs of her Heineken. She’d gone from disliking it, to enjoying it, to thinking that she wouldn’t turn it down, but even Lone Star tasted better. Darlene pointedly inspected her own drink.

The Eckerts’ end of Tantona stood less than a mile from the edge of the Four Crosses Ranch, a once wide-ranging operation gradually shrunken by the Steinhall and Phipps clans, who parceled land into farmland and towns. Four Crosses still took up a deep chunk of the east-to-southeastern part of the county. Barbara liked to imagine what it must have been like back in the old days, say around 1910, when the post office was established and the train first came through.

Back then, water ran year-round in Chaco Draw. Old-timer Maitland Deakins said that, although most of the Comanche had long been rousted to Oklahoma, some of them worked as ranch hands in the early days. Quail were thick on the ground and dumb to boot. He recalled chasing after the feckless birds and catching a brace for supper.

Maitland told some whoppers, but the one about catching quail by hand might be true. For being older than rock, the longtime bachelor was surprisingly quick on his feet. For the annual Pioneer Parade, he joined other square dancers in weaving their intricate patterns over the red-bricked downtown streets.

Barbara gazed out at the well-manicured backyard and visualized the cattle roundup over by the triple garage. No, go back even farther, to the buffaloes rampaging onto the patio.

Not even a way-back mammoth could have shaken Darlene from her current imitation of a wax-museum dummy.

Barbara knew better than to get angry over it. “I’m going back in,” she said. “You can have the place to yourself.”

“Stay.” Darlene still wasn’t looking at Barbara, but her face, half-lit by the patio glow, had somehow softened. She rimmed the glass with a thumb and said matter-of-factly, “I’m not a nice person. People think I am, but I’m not.”

“Because you drink a little scotch now and then?” Barbara asked.

Darlene gave out a little sound that might have started as a laugh but didn’t end that way. Her eyes met Barbara’s.

“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t make me say it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the word. The word in Spanish is lesbiana, which sounds prettier.”

“Did Gracie Munoz teach you that word?”

Tantona rules: never admit a roommate is more than a roommate. Gracie supposedly had lived with Barbara because it was cheaper than an apartment, and because she didn’t get along with her parents who’d breathe down her neck if she lived in town. Barbara had the story so well memorized that there were times while telling people she actually believed it.

“I picked it up somewhere.”

Darlene’s eyes flitted away. “Uh-huh.”

“Did Hopkins say something about Gracie?”

“He doesn’t tell me everything. I get my hair done where she used to work. I’d see you come by sometimes and pick her up for lunch.”

Barbara didn’t remember seeing Darlene during her rare visits to Just Your Style. “Did women there talk about Gracie and me?”

“No. They think you’re a tomboy who’s never going to catch a man again the way you’re going.”

“I don’t want to catch a man.”

“I knew that from the beginning.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“You had girlfriends back in high school.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You treated them like girlfriends. You were real courtly. You opened doors for Mary.”

“We weren’t girlfriends. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s married to Barlow. They have a son. Might have noticed that?”

“You were married to Barlow’s brother who kept you close to Mary. I noticed that. And you have a daughter. People wonder why LaSonda doesn’t live with you all the time. I heard it’s because you have a drinking problem.”

Barbara bristled at that. “They can say what they want. I don’t care.”

“Maybe you cut loose now and then, but I’ve been around drunks. You’re not one.”

“What’s with all the questions, Darlene? You already know about me. Hopkins gave you the lowdown, I’m sure.”

Darlene put her glass down on a table and walked farther into the shadows, away from the patio. Barbara had half a mind to go back inside and finish learning mahjong. That game intrigued her. This one, not at all.

Barbara walked into the swallowing darkness, guided by the light patches of fabric that marked Darlene’s presence.

Her face a dim outline, Darlene took a step toward Barbara.

“I don’t know how tight you can keep it if rumors start,” Darlene said. “I don’t want them to start in the first place. I like church. I like having friends. There are limits as to how far we can take this.”

Barbara had worried about Darlene spreading stories when she came to work at the pharmacy. Turned out, she’d also been concerned, from a different angle.

“I haven’t come on to you, Darlene. I haven’t given you any reason to worry. You keep on going to church and being with your friends. I don’t go where I’m not wanted.”

Darlene came closer, the move putting her face into sharper relief.

“You’re wanted. Believe me.”

Darlene closed the gap between them and kissed her on the cheek.

She drew Darlene into an embrace. Barbara saw no limits. None whatsoever.

Darlene touched her on the cheek. Slowly, deliberately, Darlene kissed her again, this time on the lips.

A clattering noise came from the sliding door on the patio. Mary’s voice rang out too heartily, “Guess what, ladies. We have a visitor.”

They pulled away from one another, with Darlene hurrying toward the patio and Barbara staying put.

A moment later, Collier McKenna stepped out onto the patio, wearing a tan leisure suit that Barbara might have deemed badly-cut, but the outfit looked like something a tailor wouldn’t have deigned to touch in the first place.

Mary walked over in front of him and asked for his choice of drink.

“I don’t need a thing, Miss Mary, but my little girl—there you are.”

Slow down, Barbara told her mentally, but Darlene almost raced onto the patio.

Barbara thought about staying where she was at, but Collier spotted her immediately.

“Who’s out there?”

She ambled casually onto the patio. “I was out counting the stars.”

Collier frowned. “I thought y’all were playing a game.”

“We took a breather,” Darlene said.

“You sound like you need oxygen,” Collier said to Darlene. He acted more proprietary than suspicious.

Mary’s eyes widened when she saw Barbara. She stepped into Collier’s sightline and said to Barbara, “I’m sorry I sent you off into the dark like that. Barlow Eckert keeps the lampposts switched off on account of wanting to see the night sky.”

Mary brought her hand to her face and mimed rubbing one cheek.

Barbara turned around and quickly swiped at the lipstick smudge. “It is a bit on the dark side tonight,” she said calmly as she turned back to the others.

“Honey, let’s go back inside. I’ll fix you a drink,” Darlene said. She already had Collier by the arm, tugging him back into the house.

She and Darlene were lucky that Mary sounded the alarm in time. Whatever possessed Barbara to kiss a woman in the Eckerts’ backyard? Stupid. Plain stupid. Blame it on the stars or temporarily teenaged hormones. Barbara usually checked for possible witnesses, made sure everything was secure before she proceeded with an outdoor date.

She hadn’t planned on Darlene kissing her or kissing her back.

Mary lingered. “You missed a spot,” she said.

Barbara pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheek. Mary took it away from her and rubbed harder.

“There.” Mary handed back the handkerchief.

“Do you think he noticed anything?” Barbara asked.

“He’s pretty full of himself, so I doubt it.”

“I’m sorry,” Barbara said. “I don’t know what happened. All we were doing was talking.”

“That’s odd. I’ve talked to you any number of times. It’s never smeared my lipstick.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Barbara thought about Mary ducking back into the house the way she did. “You set us up, didn’t you, just like you did with the dance lesson.”

“Not for Collier’s sake—hell, no.” Mary had an irritated look on her face. “He messed up my plans. I could never get you to come over for bridge night when I knew Darlene would be here, and then when Collier nailed her down, she quit coming. I thought I scored a coup having her come tonight.”

“You could have left things well enough alone.”

“You’re taking too long. For heavens’ sake, you grabbed Gracie up in record time once she came back to town. Collier’s clamoring for Darlene to set the date, so you need to hotfoot it.”

Barbara stared at Mary in frank amazement. Over the years, she’d grown more comfortable about discussing her personal life with Mary, but she had no idea her friend had decided to do a little matchmaking. Once Mary made up her mind, the Red Sea parted.

“What made you think Darlene might be interested?” Barbara asked her.

“A little bird named Hopkins told me—but that’s between you and me.”

“Oh, I’ve already heard Hopkins’s sales pitch. I bet you lined up the pharmacy job for her, too.”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” Mary said. “Once I heard the phone company was about to lay off all those people, I put the bug in Barlow’s  ear about Miss Reynolds needing to retire—which she did, poor thing. Despite what the man says, stars do, on occasion, come into alignment.”

When they went back in, Collier had left. The game resumed, but Darlene seemed distracted. For her part, Barbara looked forward to another night sometime in the future of learning the game, whereupon to wipe the floor with Mary, as they had done in various competitions when they were younger. The two had a rivalry that verged on heated at times. Okay, they fought sometimes, but they always made up afterward.

Darlene was wrong about Barbara having romantic feelings for Mary, but at some level, maybe getting married to Billy had been her going “a-ha” to Mary. Game, set, match.

Now Mary was moving pieces around that were, in actuality, people’s lives. Mary had good motives and a heart like a Saint Bernard, but Darlene was in deep with a man who didn’t strike Barbara as someone who’d give up easily.

Mary had set the game in motion, but could Barbara finish it?

Chapter 7

Early July

“Come on.”

Ry stood at the crest of the rock outcropping and waited for Barbara to join him. Good thing she wore sturdy shoes and shorts, although a pair of gloves would have been an even better idea. There were no major hills in the county, but if climbers started from the dry bed of the Chaco Draw and pieced their way up to the cliff, they’d achieve enough height to break an ankle if they fell, if not something worse.

Ry clambered up as though he were a sherpa on Mount Everest or a mountain goat. He seemed to know where to dig in his hands and feet, probably because he’d climbed it so many times.

Leave it to her brother to create a unique hobby. If Ry liked doing it, so went his thinking, then Barbara would, too. She tried, for her brother’s sake, to get into it, but she had complicated thoughts going in her head which interfered with finding the best holds.

Darlene, for one thought. There’d been no more kisses since the night in the Eckerts’ backyard.

Barbara expected Darlene, with her warnings about limits, to be much chillier in public. Instead, Darlene did nothing to indicate that their relationship had changed, for better or for worse. Maybe the kiss was an experiment. Barbara had been through that before.

Barbara caught herself looking at Darlene sometimes. No one had discovered her ogling a woman since her high school days. Lately, however, she seemed to be breaking her rules right and left. Kissing Darlene with potential straight witnesses was a major mistake in Barbara’s book.

Darlene moved with the ease of a woman who didn’t need ballet shoes to look graceful. Who wouldn’t want to cast their eyes on that?

Darlene had done all the staring at first, but now Barbara couldn’t stop doing it. Maybe because it was forbidden, maybe because Darlene was supposed to get married to Collier McKenna, even if the date had yet to be set. Darlene was so completely forbidden fruit, she might as well occupy her own Garden of Eden.

Ry said nothing. Barbara knew from experience that her brother was perfectly capable of standing there until sunset without saying a word. She, on the other hand, had plans for the rest of her Saturday.

A hard scrabble advanced her almost to the top, and Ry’s helping hands did the rest.

“Houston, we have landed,” he announced and began unloading his rucksack.

He laid out their meal on a tea towel. One sandwich, one apple, and three celery sticks for him. Two half-sandwiches, two plums, and two celery sticks for her. One thermos of lemonade for the two of them to share.

“You’re quite the cook,” Barbara said without thinking.

“Mom baked the ham. All I did was assemble it.”

“A good job on assembly, then.” Barbara filled her idiot mouth with a bite of sandwich. “Have you taken Marquetta out here yet?”

“No. Should I?” He sat down on his favorite rock. She knew that fact from a previous hike.

“When people like each other, when they’re friends, they sometimes share a hobby. It’s not a requirement.”

Ry worked down a mouthful of apple and appeared to consider what she’d said.

“She’s soft.”

Knowing Ry, she knew he meant that as a description and not as a judgment.

“You could ask if she enjoys looking at nature. If she’s interested, then you could take her on a short walk, like to the overlook and back.”

He nodded as he took another bite from his apple. “That’s a good plan.”

Barbara had eaten supper over at Marquetta’s apartment. Although Marquetta seemed comfortable in Ry’s presence, even laid out his food in the proper numerical order, Barbara couldn’t figure out the attraction between them. Marquetta was warm and chatty, whereas Ry needed prodding into joining a conversation that wasn’t on his shortlist.

Barbara thought that Ry and Marquetta made an attractive couple.

“Have you done what I suggested and asked Marquetta about her hobbies?”

“Yes. She enjoys taking care of her baby cousins. Is that something I have to help her with?” A note of alarm crept into his voice.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. She wants to have a baby, too. Like Sonny and Cher had Chastity.”

Barbara studied her brother’s face. It wasn’t any of her business what Ry was up to with Marquetta. He could make his own decisions, within reason.

Ry possessed a driver’s license, but the farthest he drove was to the Four Crosses ranch cutoff for his hikes along the draw. He had a bank account and wrote his own checks, but Mom or Barbara went with him to the grocery store because the lighting and other shoppers distracted him so much, he had trouble sticking to his grocery list. On his own, he could come home with three frozen turkeys or nothing at all.

Marquetta was talking to Ry about having children. Barbara needed to discuss with Marquetta Ry’s variety-show understanding of parenthood. Just to be on the safe side.

*  *  *

The rest of the day was easier on her feet, as she showered, did a couple of loads of laundry, then sat on her back porch with Mutt to enjoy the early evening air. The phone rang in the middle of her first toss toward the cherry tree. Mutt followed her into the kitchen, grumbling querulously about the interruption.

It was Darlene. “I know it’s late to be asking, but I want to see the play, and Collier’s off with his buddies in Lubbock.”

Tantona Community Players put on a play every winter and every summer. Hopkins Tickner was the guiding force behind the troupe.

“I figured you’d already seen it.”

“Only in dress rehearsal. I always do that. I want to see it with a real audience.”

“And with me,” Barbara said.

There was a pause. “Uh-huh.”

“Should I consider this a date?”

A longer pause. “I’ll meet you by the concession stand in about thirty minutes.”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Then say it, silly.”

Chapter 8

There were already people seated in the amphitheater when Barbara arrived. She found Darlene planted by the concession stand, talking to some friends. She kept quiet, stayed unobtrusive, until the girlfriends went off chattering amongst themselves.

“Glad you could make it,” Darlene said.

“As if I had a choice.”

Darlene looked around for listeners. There weren’t any. The tentative expression on Darlene’s face annoyed Barbara, but she understood first-time jitters. Even now, she felt a touch of nerves.

“Go ahead and get seated,” Barbara said. “I’ll come along as the lights are going down. It’ll look like we happened to meet up, not like it was planned.”

Barbara ambled over to a railing that overlooked the amphitheater. The amphitheater lighting flickered twice, cueing lollygaggers that it was nearly time for the play to start. Darlene went down the steps to her seat, followed a little later by Barbara as the amphitheater lighting faded.

Scarlet filigrees from a late-falling sun smoldered behind the stage shell, while above Barbara’s head, she noticed the Big Dipper beginning to emerge, followed quickly by Vega, always a bright spot in the summer sky. She’d learned something from Barlow about stars over the years.

The air felt clean and light with few traces of the day’s heat wave. August, when it came, would be more heavy-handed.

She’d been there the week before when the Jaycees conducted the annual fireworks display, which drew in bigger numbers. She and Jackie sat together for the explosions. Jackie reported that her son was agitating for his own TV, her husband was still AWOL, and her no-name girlfriend, who’d been reliable until recent months, was continuing to give her fits.

Barbara turned away questions about her own love life despite Jackie’s expert interrogation. Barbara didn’t need any more help or interference from her friends.

Tonight’s crowd was smaller, whiter, and a little older than the throng that showed up for the fireworks. When a young Barbara and her family attended plays, everyone in the county would be there.

Too bad for the no-shows tonight, because Ali Baba and His Two Daughters, a comedy by Hopkins Tickner, was hilarious. Mary played the Queen of Persia, for which she had both the tan and a comic timing worthy of Carol Burnett.

Hopkins should have gone to Broadway, the way he turned a line. He’d given himself the title role and did a convincing job as the beleaguered father. Hopkins could project the masculinity on stage he lacked in real life.

Barbara wondered how well she could pull off pretending to be a fluff. She wasn’t as butch as she probably seemed to be at the gay bar in Lubbock, but neither was she frills and lace.

The woman seated beside her happened to be the genuine article. Nobody in Tantona had any reason to think Darlene was gay, but if Arthur Rosen was correct, some people were suspicious of Barbara. Who told on her? she wondered.

Billy Eckert could get rather gabby when he was drunk, which judging by his sallow skin and sour demeanor, happened more and more these days. Even though he spent most of his free time in Lubbock, he did have his cronies at Tantona Country Club.

Closeted girlfriends she’d had over the years, like Sydney the English teacher, for instance, would keep their mouths shut. Unlike Gracie, they barely wanted Barbara near them in public, much less sit next to her at an outdoors event.

Others might not be so careful about her secret. Gracie’s sisters knew about Barbara and so did Roberta Burlow, who, with her high-class airs, came off as Superwoman in a world without kryptonite.

But tonight, Darlene had asked her out. Therefore, Darlene wasn’t worried, but maybe she should be if word was getting around.

Barbara blamed television. Now and then, a news program claimed to show what homosexuals looked like and how they lived their lives, usually as tragic victims in the big cities.

A movie or an episode on TV sometimes used homosexuality as an angle. She remembered a blonde butch on Mission Impossible who turned out to be a killer. Shows like that gave people clues about how to spot gays—or at least the ones who fit the stereotype. Barbara had been leaving too many clues, apparently.

The spotlight went down on the stage, and the amphitheater lighting came up to full strength. The crowd rustled to their feet. Time for intermission.

“Do you want a drink?” Barbara asked.

Darlene hesitated before she answered. “A Coke would be nice.”

A couple of women, who struck Barbara as being church ladies, almost immediately joined Darlene.

Barbara left her with the gaggle and headed over to the concession stand. Buying Darlene a Coke meant nothing in the scheme of things. Friends, coworkers, did that for each other as a matter of course. Darlene didn’t need to worry about it as much as she apparently did.

Darlene’s second thoughts on Barbara’s simple offer to bring back a drink, however, did prove that Darlene knew they were on a date. Darlene couldn’t back out later by pretending there’d been a misunderstanding.

Drinks in hand, she had a bit of a spring in her step when she started back to the amphitheater.

She heard a familiar, placid voice.

“Whoever you get, they’re going to hate the pay, so I don’t see how you’re going to find anyone young enough to suit you.”

Barlow Eckert stood under a tree next to George Bering, an athletic, smooth-faced man who had been all-everything back in high school. He currently sold insurance and was a happily single skirt-chaser. He was also an inveterate card player. The latter fact accounted for his presence at bridge night.

“The high school librarian’s nowhere close to retiring, so she’s not interested.” George crooked a finger at her. “Barbara, come over here. I need your opinion. You read, don’t you?”

“On occasion. Don’t let that get around,” Barbara said, amused.

“That old gal at the public library’s about to retire—her and her first assistant. Matched set, you know. The city fathers built the place around them. I head up the library board, and we’re looking for a fresh face.”

“George wants the next librarian to be a whippersnapper,” Barlow said.

“I don’t know about that,” George said, “but someone our age would be nice. She’d be open to new ideas. We haven’t found a girl to do it yet.”

George noticed Barbara’s reaction to the poorly chosen noun. “Make that, a woman, a woman interested in a career change,” he said. “Think about it: she wouldn’t have to deal with school boards and irate parents. All she’d have to do is buy books, manage the staff, and give out ice cream cups to the summer readers. It’s a good job. Doesn’t pay beans, but money’s not everything. You’re friends with all kinds of women. You might know someone who’d be perfect for that line of work. Someone single, never married?”

He looked at her expectantly.

Barbara felt uneasy, despite his boosterish demeanor. Although they’d been friendly toward each other in high school, they hadn’t spent much time together, then or now, except for the recent bridge game. George had no good reason to draw her into the discussion. Even though Barbara cracked a book now and then, she hadn’t attended college. Barlow, as usual, had one ear to the conversation and both eyes on the night sky.

George used the phrase “all kinds of women.” It took no leap of logic on her part to know that they’d discussed her name and orientation on a bridge night.

Why not stick another lesbian in the job, someone who’ll stay in the woodwork, do her job, and never cause one day’s worth of trouble, and certainly never get married or end up pregnant. Go ask Barbara. She knows the local lesbians. Not really, though.

She had identified a few lesbians in town. She thought about her ex-girlfriend, Sydney, the English teacher, but dismissed the idea. An overly alert blonde, she no doubt would see the job as both boring and too much of a cut in pay. The other women, for various reasons, also wouldn’t be good matches for the job.

A name popped into her head. Quiet and bookish. Not the partying type. “How about Tina Ransom? I don’t know her very well, but she’s a teacher. I’ve seen her reading over at the steak house. If she’s doing it there, she must really like books.”

“Arthur says she worked her butt off at the store for him all those years. More so than her father, who was supposed to be the manager,” Barlow said. “Poor thing. She’s had a hard life.”

George’s smile vanished. “I knew her brother. We all dearly miss him. He was a talented young man. Thank you, Barbara.” He nodded at her gravely. “She’s the obvious choice.”

Barbara went back to her seat with a nice, do-gooder buzz, then stopped a step up from the row where she and Darlene had been sitting. Darlene was talking to Roberta Burlow, who had with her a primly dressed girl, who looked to be in her late teens.

Barbara closed the distance in short order. “I’m back,” she said, handing over Darlene’s drink.

“Why, hello there, Barbara. I was just saying to Darlene how lovely it would be to see her in church. What with the current unpleasantness, we need a longtime member to return to the fold. May I add, Barbara, you could certainly darken our doors, too.”

As long as Roberta called First Baptist her church, no way in hell Barbara had an interest in attending. Darlene must be backsliding lately, despite her talk to the contrary on bridge night.

“Where are my manners?” Roberta gestured to her blonde companion, who looked familiar. “Barbara, this is the newest addition to the Steinhall family. Married my nephew, Ryan, last week. Sherron, this is Barbara Wolfe.”

Barbara had seen Sherron at the café on occasion over the past year, but more recently, she’d paid a visit to the pharmacy to pick out new dishes and doodads to add to her bridal registry. That day, the girl possessed confidence, briskly adding the most expensive items without hesitation.

Now, her eyes darted from Barbara to Darlene and back again. “Pleased to meet you.” She bore a cowed expression.

“Likewise.”

“My, my, my, Darlene,” Roberta said. “I’m sure you’re missing Mr. McKenna as an escort tonight. But like the normal male specimen, I suppose he’s not one for theatrical occasions. Anyhow, when the cat’s away, the mice will play and play.”

Roberta modeled a chartreuse silk wrap dress that set off her elaborately coiffed hair and emerald earrings. Darlene wore a solid white shell and a blue patterned skirt.

“Sherron,” a male voice called out from behind Barbara. She turned around and saw Ryan Steinhall urgently waving Sherron back to his side. The girl complied in double time, leaving Roberta without an acolyte.

No one saw the interactions, or more to the point, recognized what happened. Barbara hoofed it back to Darlene, as though Roberta constituted a threat, when Darlene was obviously too finished a product to attract Roberta’s interest. Sherron’s new husband, who possibly knew about his aunt’s secret habits, brought his wife to heel.

Roberta’s remark about cats and mice was anything but casual. Darlene and Barbara were barely into their first date, yet already Roberta had them sized up as a couple.

Roberta had some kind of a relationship with a girl half her age, so she had no right to say anything other than hello and goodbye to her ex-lover—preferably the latter.

“It’s been nice catching up with you, Roberta.” Darlene took a sip of her drink and sat down, paying no further attention to the woman standing in their aisle. “You know, Barbara, I think Mary gets better every year. Hopkins was telling me the other day he’s thinking of doing ‘The Glass Menagerie’ this winter. Mary’s still too young for it, he says, but she’s champing at the bit to play the mother.”

“I wouldn’t stand between Mary and something she wants.” Barbara took the seat beside her. “I have the scars from softball league to show for it.”

Roberta showed no sign that she knew they’d dismissed her. She wandered back to her seat with her usual smiles cast out to the multitude.

Barbara leaned over and said quietly, “You sent her packing pretty quick. Are y’all on different sides of the fuss at First Baptist?”

“I’m with Hopkins. Sit down, stand up, shout, or zip your mouth—it doesn’t matter how people do church. Live and let live. Fact is, I don’t care for Roberta.”

“How come?”

“She dresses like you need reminding how rich she is… as if we could ever forget.” Darlene put her fingers to her lips. “Shhh, the show’s about to start again.”

The second act was, if anything, even funnier, and when Hopkins and Mary sealed the last scene with a fiery kiss, Barbara heard an admiring gasp behind her.

They lingered long enough afterward to congratulate the cast, and then they left separately for Barbara’s house. On the way home, with the lights from Darlene’s car in her rearview mirror, she thought about Darlene’s mixed signals.

Despite Darlene suggesting the play outing and treating one of the richest women in town like an annoyance, she’d run like a scared child to Collier McKenna the second he showed up on the Eckerts’ patio on bridge/mahjong night.

Gracie Munoz, for all her infidelities, was as uncomplicated as a crop of cotton. Strong and beautiful, yet not meant to stay. Darlene’s emotions seemed more fragile, as though she’d been wrapped in a blanket and only recently been exposed to the outside world. One hard gust of wind might knock her down.

Barbara pulled into the driveway and parked. Darlene pulled in behind her, and they went into the house together.

“Are you hungry? I can make us some popcorn,” Barbara offered.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No, not at all. I have a pan of Jiffy Pop. A couple shakes on the stove’s all it takes.”

“That sounds good.”

A few minutes later, they were sitting on the front porch swing, soft drinks in hand, with a bowl of popcorn between them.

They watched Mutt snuffling the lawn, probably in search of past animal visitors, as they talked about their impressions of the play.

Through the buttery aroma of popcorn, Barbara caught a scent of something amber and rose, a touch metallic, yet pleasant. “What are you wearing?”

“Rive Gauche, from Yves Saint Laurent. You like it?”

“Yes, I do. I’m not much on perfume. On me, they all smell like eau de blue hair.”

“Maybe you should change to a cologne.”

“Maybe so.”

“Well, I’m popcorned out.”

“Me, too.”

Darlene switched the popcorn to her other side and moved next to Barbara.

“Should I worry about Collier McKenna making an appearance?” Barbara asked.

Darlene wrinkled her nose. “I wish you hadn’t mentioned him.”

“If he does show, we’ll have plenty of warning this time. There’s hardly any traffic down this road at night.”

“Let’s talk about something else. My heart’s racing ninety miles an hour as it is.”

“You don’t have to be here if it’s upsetting you that much,” Barbara said softly.

“I’m fine. I’m nervous, that’s all.”

Darlene lunged into a kiss that took Barbara by surprise. Their kiss worked into a long embrace, the embrace back into a kiss, and by the time they were through, Darlene was perched on Barbara’s lap and the popcorn bowl had toppled to the floor. Mutt beat it back to the porch, ostensibly to keep them company, but really to snag the food.

Catching her breath, Barbara looked at her date for the evening. She’s back in heat wave mode, she thought, for however long that lasts.

Darlene slipped her hand underneath Barbara’s blouse and began working on her bra. Barbara caught her hand gently and pulled it loose.

“I’m a big believer in first dates,” she said. “There’s no need to rush into anything.”

Darlene slipped off Barbara’s lap and stood up. “You don’t want to… you’re not attracted to me?”

“Of course I’m attracted to you, and I’ll be attracted to you the next time we go out. That is, if you want to go out again.”

“Yes.” Darlene’s voice was tremulous.

“Then sit back down, darlin’.”

Chapter 9

The good folk of Tantona, it seemed, were doing something other than seeing to their medicinal needs on a meandering Sunday afternoon.

This gave Barbara time to listen to her cassette of the Amazing Rhythm Aces. She dearly loved the guitar licks in “Third Rate Romance.” Ry could and would talk for hours about Jimmy Page, but there was something to be said for the right handful of notes.

Even after the kisses last night, even after they relocated to the private confines of the backyard to reduce Darlene’s heart rate, Barbara couldn’t move the conversation over to how Darlene felt about Collier McKenna.

Maybe she didn’t use the proper words, but when Darlene sped away at the end of the evening, Barbara still didn’t know the situation beyond vague phrases about how Darlene and Collier were having problems. Barbara figured that out already.

But what kind of problems? That Darlene had feelings for women? That was enough of an issue, but Collier struck her as being a bowlful of upset. He possessed an overbearing quality that had nothing to do with height, although she almost matched him there.

Collier dropped by the pharmacy on occasion to say hi to Darlene, he said, but that’s not how it looked to Barbara. He had a measuring eye, like a carpenter working on an addition to a fancy house. Darlene might be shapely enough, but if he had to plane off some edges, he struck Barbara as being cold-blooded enough to do it. A lawyer’s wife, even in a small town like Tantona, needed to have the polish and grace to adorn his arm.

Although Darlene didn’t wear expensive outfits, she wasn’t tacky, either. She wore her hair wavy and cut shoulder-length with a bit of backcombing, but not curlicued or inclined to height. She had had a nice job at the phone company with some employees under her, but she was no more than a step up from Barbara by background.

Darlene said that Collier wanted her to quit working when they got married, which was about par for the course for lawyers’ wives. She didn’t seem happy about it. Said she wanted to have her own money. If she wanted to keep working after she got married, then she needed to tell Collier that.

A lawyer like Collier had to be earning seriously large paychecks. Darlene needed to decide whether the price for catching a man was worth it. Barbara long ago endured a private hell reigned over by Roberta Burlow. She had no interest in revisiting it under Darlene’s supervision.

Barbara took advantage of the quiet and visited the restroom. When she came back out, Darlene was walking through the front door. She was dressed in white culottes and a navy blouse, as though she was about to tread the deck of a sailing ship. Her look was casual, her face anything but.

“I thought I’d take a chance and come by. There’re no cars in the parking lot.”

“I guess everybody’s watching baseball on the TV or having cookouts.”

Darlene walked behind the counter and kissed Barbara, who stepped back immediately afterward.

“I’d rather we avoid doing that in public.”

“Why? It’s safe.”

“It’s never safe enough, Darlene. Maybe you’d be able to blame it on being confused or some other lie, but I don’t have as much leeway.”

“I’m not confused.”

Darlene kept her distance, but she didn’t look happy about it.

“What are you, then?” Barbara asked. “If I’m part of your playtime when you’re not sleeping with Collier McKenna, then I’m not interested.”

“I’m not sleeping with him,” Darlene said, indignant. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

“I don’t have a clue. I work with you, but I don’t know you. Not really. You’re nice, you’re sweet, you kiss like you’ve done it before, but I don’t know if you’re serious. You plan to marry a man, and yet you kissed me last night. I don’t know what to make of it.”

Darlene stared at her, mouth slightly open and trying to form a word. It took a few seconds, but Barbara gave her enough time.

“I don’t know what I want this to be like,” Darlene said. “All I know is that I want to be with you.”

“What about Collier?”

“We’d been dating for a while. He’s kind of shy talking to women, though you wouldn’t believe it to look at him. Then he popped the question all of a sudden.”

“You weren’t expecting it?”

“No—maybe. It’d happened before.” Darlene refused to meet Barbara’s eyes.

“This time you answered yes. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Barbara heard a creaking sound, one she recognized well. The comic book spinning rack, left ungreased because she liked knowing who was there. She swiftly stepped over to the counter and looked at the nearby rack.

She saw a small black-haired teen holding a rolled-up comic book. Douglas Gabriel. A thief she’d banned from the place, and there the punk stood, smirking. He’d heard everything.

Barbara and the thief both took off at the same time, but he hit the exit before she did and whipped down the alley on a bicycle.

Barbara stood there at the door, biting back a curse as Darlene scurried out.

“Wait,” she called out, but Darlene kept going.

“I’ll call you,” Darlene said over her shoulder.

Damn it. This was bad. Really bad. Darlene blurted out too many incriminating details for Barbara to pass it off as pure gossip.

She forced herself to breathe slowly, to look at what had happened in a rational manner. Douglas Gabriel was a juvenile delinquent who’d end up like his father, Charley, a parolee and alcoholic who ran the magneto shop.

Dad had no respect for the man, because he’d left his retarded wife and the oldest boy to keep their shop afloat while he was in prison. Now that Gabriel was out, he still drank. A crying shame, Dad said. Barbara had no sympathy for any of the Gabriels. The wife should have divorced Charley, while Douglas should be cooling his heels in reform school.

Instead, the shoplifter was down the road and in possession of the truth, even if he didn’t have a Watergate tape to prove it.

No one took the Gabriels seriously, Barbara told herself. No one in town would believe a word he said, so why did her breath catch at the thought of being found out?

Chapter 10

It’d been a quiet Monday morning, what with Billy Eckert calling in sick—hungover, more likely—and Darlene spending most of her time doing an unscheduled inventory. As per custom, Barbara headed home at lunch, done for the day and wondering if Darlene ever planned to speak a word in her direction again. Or vice versa.

What to do? Ignore Darlene, from here on out? They were coworkers, true, but based on Darlene’s formal behavior that morning, they could pretend the kisses and conversations hadn’t happened.

If Barbara wanted to go along with it, that is. She didn’t. Darlene’s fecklessness came from being new to the game. With a little steadiness learned from experience, she’d be more reliable, be more secretive—like girlfriends in the past.

Barbara decided not to fret about it and get on with her day. After eating a chicken sandwich, she mowed the front yard then rolled the mower into the shed and took a shower. The backyard could stand a trim, but the day would only get hotter. She could put it off ’til the weekend as well as giving the grass a dose of sprinkler.

She wasn’t as maniacal as many Tantonans were about watering their lawns. They’d do anything to keep the dust clouds away, which were the price for living in such a dry place.

She dressed and headed into town to buy groceries. Turning into the United Supermarket parking lot, she saw LaSonda and a trio of girls going into the arcade across the street.

LaSonda stood a good three or four inches taller than the others, much like Barbara at that age. But LaSonda also had a big-boned assertiveness that Barbara suspected would give her problems in dating. There were few boys in town large enough in build or strong enough in temperament to match up to her daughter.

LaSonda owned a level of butchness Barbara would’ve liked having when she began going out to the bar in Lubbock, but from an early age, LaSonda made it clear she preferred boys.

Barbara remembered one time in the park when seven-year-old LaSonda chased down the younger of the Kindred boys and nailed him with a kiss. When he protested too much, she followed the kiss with a nose-busting punch.

Wasn’t that a riot, working out the situation with the Kindreds, who’d been peaceably conducting a picnic? Barbara and Mary smoothed over the situation, while Barlow applied his handkerchief to the boy’s nose. After all that, LaSonda and the Kindred boy, a cousin to Marquetta, ended up playing together on the monkey bars.

Back home, Barbara put up groceries and ironed her blouse and suit for tomorrow. Enough busy work. She popped open a bottle of Budweiser and sat on the front-porch swing to think about the woman who’d sat next to her last night.

Mutt’s tongue hung out happily. She figured he had no interest in venturing beyond the shade of the porch.

Across the road, a family of migrant workers chopped weeds in the cotton field. They were sensibly dressed in loose, long-sleeved shirts and baggy pants, with caps or hats to block the sun.

When they were young, Barbara and Ry worked the summer fields chopping such green intruders as careless weed, which, despite its name, required extra dedication to decapitate and uproot if a farmer waited too long to hire a crew. Tall, tall weeds and scorching days that started before dawn. No bathroom breaks, unless one didn’t mind crouching behind a particularly large weed.

Barbara had boundless energy then, able to work all day and play league softball in the evenings with Mary Phipps, who ignored her parents’ indignation over their only daughter’s tomboyish, blue-collar ways.

Darlene never played sports or participated in much of anything when they were classmates. Barbara thought of her then as being pretty, but prissy. Tammy Wynette recorded a song about a good girl going bad. Barbara didn’t think of herself as being bad. She figured she must be hinged from the left instead of from the right like most folks, while Darlene might be inclined toward preferring women, but her door swung both ways.

The Gabriels had less than zero reputation in the town, yet if Douglas started the rumor, the word would easily spread into all kinds of circles. How could Barbara deflect it?

She might persuade Arthur Rosen’s nephew to visit Tantona and squire her to various places in town. She could even wear a fake engagement ring.

Instead of all that, Barbara could move to Lubbock, even leave the area altogether, and work in a factory where nobody had a vote on how she conducted her personal life.

She’d thought about that many times. Leaving would take her too far from LaSonda, who had two more years of high school to get through. Barbara might consider moving then. As long as the folks were healthy, they could keep track of Ry, and if that situation changed, Ry could move in with her. Could Ry handle living some place other than Tantona? Barbara wasn’t at all sure about that.

A black pickup driving up the highway slowed well before the house, spun almost in place, and veered into the far ditch before heading back in the direction of town. It kicked up waves of red sandy loam that a passing wind swirled into a haze.

The workers trudging back toward their car in the turnrow didn’t seem to notice the pickup.

Barbara knew that end-of-the-day sensation in the field when she’d feel like a reverse sponge—with all the moisture on the outside of her body, and the inside a complete desert. She hoped they had a decent shack to stay in at the work camp on the other side of Flatville.

She’d moved to the kitchen to put together a King Ranch casserole when she heard a knock on the door. Mutt raced ahead to greet the visitor. Barbara halfway expected Darlene.

Instead, Collier McKenna and Charley Gabriel stood on the other side of the screen door. McKenna had a gritted smile on his face, while Charley looked spooked.

Charley was small, but stubby-strong. He had a reputation for ending most of the fights he started, but he didn’t seem happy to be standing next to McKenna.

Barbara came to the door and hesitated.

“Open the door,” McKenna commanded.

Mutt reacted with a rumble. Charley looked at the dog apprehensively.

McKenna’s smile widened. “I want to talk, that’s all.”

She would lie boldly, lie without shame. Say that Douglas got caught stealing—which he had—and made up a nasty story in revenge. Lies told, Darlene off the hook.

“I’ll come out,” Barbara said.

Based on Mutt’s warning growl, Barbara knew he’d already sensed the visitors were angry. That meant he needed to stay inside if Barbara hoped to calm everyone down.

She stepped out quickly and closed the screen door behind her.

“I know what this is about,” she said briskly.

“You do, do you?” McKenna said.

“Don’t go believing anything Charley has to say. His boy got caught shoplifting.”

“Charley’s a client of mine—someone the county stuck me with—there’s not enough brain cells in that whole family to come up with a story like this.”

Charley didn’t look insulted by the remark. Rather, he appeared ready to dive off the porch at any moment.

His face flushed by more than the heat, McKenna was dressed in a brown jacket and slacks, his tie loosened. He pulled out a small notepad and flipped open the cover.

“Quote one: you said you didn’t want to be Darlene’s plaything unless she left me. Quote two: you said Darlene kissed you last night like she was a whore—”

“That’s not true,” Barbara said before she stopped herself.

“Quote three: you told Darlene I was a shy faggot and she needed to be with you.”

She pushed down her nerves with a mental anvil. McKenna wanted to see a guilty expression. She couldn’t oblige him. He wouldn’t believe a complete lie from her, and she hadn’t the patience to untangle his so-called quotes.

“It’s true that Darlene and I had a talk.” Time to take out her sword and fall on it. “It wasn’t a lover’s quarrel. Darlene’s normal. And I didn’t call you a faggot. You don’t have the style or the taste to be that.”

McKenna’s face went from flushed to purple.

“I asked her to go out with me, and she turned me down flat. That’s all there was to it,” Barbara said.

She kept a steady expression on her face, hoping she’d made the sale.

“That’s not what she told me,” McKenna said with a strange little smile.

His fist lashed out at her. She lifted her arm and deflected the blow into the doorframe. Mutt barked frantically, scratching his side of the screen. If she went back inside, they’d follow, and Mutt might get hurt.

Barbara tucked her head down and barreled into him, hoping to get past McKenna and run around to the back fence. Her charge sent both her and McKenna off the porch and into her flowerbed. Rolling to her knees, she felt a boot in the small of her back that slammed her face-forward into the grass.

She lifted herself onto her knees again and sent her fists flying. Her left hand crunched into something achingly solid, and she heard Gabriel yelp in surprise. She’d punched his leg. He went down; she came back up and McKenna’s arms wrapped around her midriff.

She delivered an elbow that made him grunt in pain. An upward thrust of his fist mostly missed her face but caught enough of her jaw to create a skein of sparklers in her eyes.

She peeled away his remaining arm but managed only a step before McKenna grabbed a handful of her blouse and dragged her backwards.

“Do it,” he commanded to Gabriel. “Do it like I told you.”

Even as McKenna was dragging her, Barbara doubled up her fists and aimed for Charley, who was bobbing back and forth.

“Do it, I said,” McKenna hollered.

She saw a flash of steel and reacted instinctively by raising an arm. The knife sliced into the side of her forearm and seared her left cheekbone. The pain was blinding. As if belonging to another body, her fist landed in Gabriel’s face. They fell into a heap on the ground.

Barbara got free of Gabriel only to get kicked in her stomach. Out of breath, she lay on her side, unable to move.

“Damn it, Gabriel. Get your ass off the ground,” McKenna ordered. “Come on.”

She could hear Mutt using his deepest, most guttural, beware-of-stray bark and the sound of seventy-five pounds of canine fury ramming the screen door.

Gabriel let out a wheezing cry as McKenna dragged him to his feet. “She hit me. The fucking dyke hit me.”

She saw the men sideways in a mass that divided when McKenna turned around and ran toward her. She had time to pull her knees up so his kick landed on her shins.

She cried out in pain. Mutt’s bark pitched higher, and the door sounded close to coming apart. McKenna dragged Gabriel with him to his car.

Mutt burst through the shattered screen door as the car roared out of the driveway. He flung himself down the road for quite a ways before he turned around and hustled back to her side.

She managed to quiet him down enough so she could sit up and catalogue her injuries.

She touched her right shin first and cried out involuntarily. More than a bruise, but maybe not broken. Her left arm felt wet. She was bleeding. Bleeding badly.

Barbara pressed down hard on the slash to her forearm and chanted, “Get up, get up, get up.”

She crawled onto her knees and then to her feet, feeling like a cowboy thrown by a bull. Maybe by two bulls. She limped up the steps and into the house. She couldn’t drive and try to staunch the bleeding at the same time.

She struggled to her phone in the kitchen and somehow managed to get the receiver off the hook. Pressing her arm against her thigh, she dialed the numbers and put the phone under her chin. Doing that did something jiggly to the slash on her cheek that almost sent her to the floor.

Mary answered with a cheery hello.

“Mary? I need your help,” she said faintly.

“Barbara, what’s the matter?”

“McKenna came over. It got bad. I’m cut.”

“Oh, my Lord. I’ll call you an ambulance.”

“Don’t do that. Come get me, please.”

“All right, all right. Barlow Eckert,” she called out. “Get here now. We’re on our way, sugar. Hang on.”

Chapter 11

It took some effort by Barlow and Mary to drag a frantic Mutt into the backyard. Then they raced Barbara to the hospital.

She lay on a bed in the emergency room, not groggy enough from the pain shot. Dr. Schaust, an energetic, Northern-sounding man, had quickly sewn up the mess on her forearm but was taking more time on the wound to her cheek. A mammoth ice bag covered her shin, and a pint of blood wended its way into her arm.

He’d injected a local anesthetic into her cheek, but it wasn’t doing much good.

“Hang in there,” he said. “You’ll have a scar, but if I do it right, not much of one. You don’t want to look as though you’ve been dueling in Heidelberg.”

Mary came back into the room and said, “I finally raised up Darlene on the phone. She sounds worried, but I told her not to come up here. It’d just make things worse. The hospital needs to fix its pay phone. There’s so much static it sounds like I’m calling China.”

Barbara’s parents and Ry came in behind Mary, who didn’t look abashed when Barbara stared at her reproachfully. She’d told Mary not to call her family.

“Those sons of bitches are gonna pay for this.” Dad’s long stride took him in an instant to the side opposite Dr. Schaust. “You don’t worry, gal. They ain’t getting near you again.”

Mom said nothing, but adjusted the bag on Barbara’s shin. Ry’s hands flicked to his hair and smoothed it down. Again, and again.

“There. All done.” Dr. Schaust rolled away from table and stood up. “A nurse will be in to apply a bandage. You need to put ice on that leg intermittently and keep it elevated. It’s not broken, but that’s a deep bone bruise. Use a cane for at least a couple of days. Do not use your left arm for anything tonight. That pressure bandage’s there for a reason. Come back in the morning, and the nurse will put on a fresh one.”

Dr. Schaust left the room, replaced immediately by Barlow. “I called the sheriff. He wants you to come by his office tomorrow and tell him what happened.”

“I’ll take her,” Mom and Mary both said.

Let them flip a quarter to decide. Barbara didn’t care. The pain shot drifted her off to a misty place.

“Why isn’t he arresting them boys tonight?” Dad demanded.

“I asked him to refer it to the district attorney, but he said since there weren’t any witnesses, he’d need to get statements from everyone in order to open the investigation.”

“Look at her, damn it.” Dad was beside himself. “She didn’t do it to herself.”

“Kenneth, come with me. We need to talk out in the hall.” Barlow’s voice was as calm as ever, but more forceful than she’d heard it in a while.

Dad and Barlow left the room, followed by Mary, who said she’d put a fire under the nurse to move things along. Mom found Barbara’s clothes on a chair and tried brushing off the dirt. Seeing the dried blood, she meekly sat down, the clothes dropped in a jumble at her feet.

Barbara noticed the panic in Ry’s eyes.

“Ry, come here,” she said, trying to fight off the fog in her head.

He stood next to her, his hands patting a space above her body.

“My right shoulder,” she said. “You can touch me there. It won’t hurt.”

Carefully, he used small strokes on her shoulder as though she were a newborn puppy. Stroke by stroke, he began calming down.

“Those men should be punished. They broke the law,” he said.

“We’ll let the sheriff take care of that. It’s his job.”

The fog in her head deepened further by the time her parents took her back to their place. Mary said she’d spend the night at Barbara’s house to take care of Mutt and keep an eye on the house. McKenna and his flunky wouldn’t come near the house if they saw her Cadillac.

There’d been nurses and aides going in and out of the emergency room, some of whom didn’t seem to be doing anything except peeking in the door to Barbara’s room. The Gabriels didn’t have to say another word about her and Darlene—the story now had a toxic life of its own.

As Dad and Ry guided her through the kitchen and down the hall, Barbara told Mom she wanted to use the phone.

Mom shook her head. “It’s late. Mary told that woman where you’d be tonight. She got you into this jam. She needs to stay the hell away from you.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Barbara said. “The Gabriels made it sound worse than what it was.”

Once they delivered Barbara to her old bedroom, Ry and Dad fled. She sat on the side of the bed, still dressed in her hospital gown.

Mom didn’t do gentle. Dad was the softy in the family, the one who choked up at weddings, but Mom’s face looked stricken as she helped Barbara under the covers.

Barbara tried again to explain. “It’s not Darlene’s fault what happened.”

“You shouldn’t defend her. You’re as pretty as they are—even prettier—but they think their makeup and jewelry, their fancy cars and big houses, they think it makes them better than you. Then they go gallivanting off, and you’re stuck with the consequences. Those men almost killed you tonight. No girl is worth that.”

Mom had never talked this plainly about Barbara’s ways, even though she was mixing Darlene up with the long-ago Roberta Burlow.

Barbara started to tell Mom about how different Darlene was from Roberta. She started to, but fell asleep in mid-sentence.

Chapter 12

“Wake up, lazybones.”

Barbara opened her eyes. Mary sat on the bed next to her.

“Do I have to?”

“Uh-huh.”

She sat up and took the cup of coffee, along with the pill Mary offered.

“I must look like hell.”

“You won’t be voted prom queen, I can tell you that,” Mary said.

“Only ’cause you ran against me.”

“I had the thing won. It was in the palm of my hand.”

“Then why’d we both lose?”

“Because, my dear, we weren’t ladylike enough.”

Barbara’s laugh veered into a cough. She took a sip of coffee. Ah, home. Sludge as only Mom could make it. Among the many patches—make that acres—of pain, her back hurt where McKenna or Gabriel had kicked her, but the ice had done some good for her shin.

“I need to take a shower, and I need to go home.”

“No on both counts. The more bedraggled you look, the better at the sheriff’s office. Barlow Eckert’s over there now. He says we need to get going. Collier McKenna and Gabriel have both been by to make their statement. He said they went in together.”

Barbara swung her legs off the bed and onto the floor, regretting it every second.

“Isn’t that against the rules? Wouldn’t they back each other up?”

“That’s the idea. McKenna and the sheriff are drinking buddies. It won’t get any better with the D.A.”

“Dad hates Souther.”

“Your father’s a good judge of character, or lack thereof. Souther told Barlow Eckert on the phone that your story sounds suspicious, that you probably had a lover’s quarrel.”

“With who? Darlene?” She felt stunned. “That’s ridiculous. A two-year-old could whip her butt.”

Mary’s chin was set, which meant the rest of her had turned to granite.

“That’s Souther for you. The sheriff’s following his lead on this. Any story will do, as far as they’re concerned, as long as McKenna’s not a part of it.”

“What about Mutt? Is he okay?”

“He’s a bit sore from using his chest as a battering ram to get out the door, but he was moving better by the time I left your house this morning. I tell you, if I ever need to have a door removed, I don’t need to call a carpenter. Mutt will take it off in a jiffy. No charge. Now, I brought you some clothes, and your mom made one of those knish things for you to eat on the way over to the sheriff’s office. I used to love those when I’d come for a sleepover.”

“I’m surprised you left me any—and please tell me she didn’t use sauerkraut.”

“I like them that way, and I’m not at all German. No, she used potatoes. Lucky you.”

Mary was forcing the cheer too much, but Barbara believed in letting Mary be Mary. At the moment, it helped to have a friend beat the drum for her.

Mary laid out a lacy brown dress and flats on the bed beside Barbara. “I brought you some of my jewelry. We need to girly you up some, but no makeup. Your bruises are enough color as it is.”

“Have you talked to Darlene?”

“I spoke to her last night on the phone. She’s worried about you.”

“She’s at work, right? I need to call her before we leave.”

“No, you can’t. You’ll get her upset, which the customers will see. We can’t let people think that jerk had any excuse to do what he did.”

“I wasn’t sleeping with her. Not yet.” She added the last reluctantly.

Mary hooked Barbara into her bra and helped her slip on the dress.

“I don’t care if ya’ll were doing the mambo naked hanging from a chandelier—heck, I’ll loan you mine—but the only way we have of getting anywhere on this is to pretend that both of you were totally innocent in this.”

“I guess my reputation’s shot.”

“Oh, I think some people kind of knew already. They, you know, pretended they didn’t.”

“And now they can’t.”

“Given time, they might let it slide, particularly if we come up with a gentleman caller. Barlow Eckert and I were talking about a friend of ours.”

“I have Mr. Rosen’s nephew lined up.”

“I’ve met him. Gay as a goose. Good for letters and flowers on Valentine’s Day, but Estelle’s sniffing turpentine if she thinks anyone here will buy him as your boyfriend once they get a look at him.”

Mary began applying a brush to Barbara’s hair. “Giving you a better cover story, that’s down the road. Right now, we’re going hammer and tongs with McKenna. When we walk into the sheriff’s office, you’re a God-fearing woman who’s been assaulted by a maniac. You’re also disgusted that an ex-convict has slandered your coworker.

“If the sheriff asks if you’re gay, you deny it. He expects you to say no. Don’t change the script while you’re there.”

Chapter 13

The last step up the stairs to her porch was the hardest, even though there were only four in all.

Ry paused in his labors to report. “I couldn’t locate a screen door that matched what you had, but this one will do. I’ve replaced the jamb, and I’m almost done with the door.”

Barbara didn’t thank him. Ry would have found that strange. Naturally, he’d replace his sister’s broken door and make it better than what she had before.

“You’ve made it this far,” Mary said. “Let’s go the distance.”

Ry helped get her into the house and to her bedroom. She could hear Mutt keening in the backyard.

“Let him in,” she said.

Mary looked as though she wanted to cross her on it, but kept silent. Ry went off to do Barbara’s bidding.

“I used some salve on his scrapes, and Barlow Eckert gave me medicine to put in his food. He’ll be fine in a day or two. Both of y’all are dragging, so don’t be too worried.”

Mutt limped into the bedroom and came over to her knee. He began licking it reverently. He’d looked worse in the past after battles with strays and skunks. Today, she noticed a few jagged places in his black-tatted brown fur.

Barbara ran her hand over his body, feeling for any abrasions Mary might’ve missed. He’d done a meticulous job of licking off the salve, but maybe he got some good out of it.

Ry came into the room and dropped Mutt’s pallet in the corner. “Mom called to say she’s coming over to check on you.”

She looked into Mutt’s eyes. He was definitely stoned on something, probably pain meds. Her eyes teared over.

“Can I get you a Dr. Pepper?” Ry asked, anxious.

“Sure,” she managed to say.

When Ry left the room, she said, “Thanks for looking after Mutt.”

“He’s the son I never had.”

“You have Jim.”

“I have enough trouble getting him to take out the trash. Forget about bringing him to heel.”

Mary kneeled down and began taking off Barbara’s shoes. “Okay, you finally get your wish. We’re going to put a bag on that arm so you can take that shower you’ve been harping about.”

After telling Ry and Mary to get on with their day, she stood underneath the stream and inspected herself gingerly. She’d caught a glimpse of her face while undressing in the bathroom. As advertised by Mary, it wasn’t pretty.

A bandage, which counted as a blessing, covered the stitches on her left cheek. But there was a scrape on her forehead, and the chin was practically black. A swollen lip, but her teeth felt well set.

The rest of the terrain, Lord help her. Both hands sported bruises, she had a blue-black trail up and down her arms and legs, the back still felt hammered, and her stomach looked like a good-sized man had kicked her dead-center. And he had, without suffering any consequences.

Ry hadn’t asked her about the meeting at the sheriff’s office, which meant Mom hadn’t told him yet. He probably assumed that the evildoers were about to be rounded up, Dragnet-style.

The sheriff had taken her statement, or rather, his secretary had, with District Attorney Souther sitting in a chair by the door the whole time, smoking a thin cigar and pretending to be impassive. His smirking eyes had given him away.

The sheriff had read some papers while Barbara spoke. Then when she’d finished, he’d shook his head and finally opened his mouth.

“That doesn’t jive with statements made by Mr. McKenna and Mr. Gabriel. They have a witness placing them elsewhere at the time of the alleged assault. I’m afraid that without any further evidence, this is how it stands: you got yourself hurt doing something you shouldn’t have. I hope you’ve learned your lesson and you don’t show up here again. You come from a decent, hardworking family. You shouldn’t be shaming them with these kinds of antics.”

“Antics? I got the holy hell beaten out of me, and you’re calling it antics?”

“Watch your language, young lady.”

“I’m not young, and I’ll never be a lady, but Collier McKenna is no gentleman, either. You’re letting him get away with this. If he hurts someone else, her blood will be on your hands, so you think about that, sir. You think about that real hard.”

Souther’s voice had come from behind her. “McKenna and his fiancée will be fine. They’ve set the date for the wedding, I hear. Should be a humdinger. I wouldn’t expect an invitation, if I were you.”

Mary, who’d sat impatiently next to Barbara the entire time, wheeled around in her chair. “You’re a godless bastard.”

“Now, Mary, you shouldn’t be slandering the next district judge. We should try to get along.” Souther had a chuckle in his voice, unfazed by her fury.

“You should be the judge. That way, no one will expect any justice in this town. They’ll know it’s rigged from the start instead of having to find out the hard way.”

Barbara had struggled to her feet. “Come on, Mary. Take me home. This was a waste of time.”

Now, standing under a stream of hot water starting to run cool, Barbara wondered if there was any truth to what Souther said about the impending wedding.

When she stepped out of the shower, Mom was waiting with a towel. Barbara dried off and let Mom help her to bed. She had officially run out of steam, in more ways than one.

“I’m bringing you some of that King Ranch casserole you started making last night. Mary finished it up for you,” Mom said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something.”

The phone rang.

“I’ll get that for you.”

Mom came back into the room a little later with a plate of food. Barbara glanced over at Mutt sacked out on his pallet. He had to be stoned, because he never missed a chance at King Ranch casserole—or anything else, for that matter.

Barbara took a bite of food and asked, “Who was it on the phone?”

“That woman,” Mom said reluctantly. “I told her how you were doing. She said to tell you she’ll be by after work to check on you. I asked her if she was still planning on getting married, and she said she couldn’t talk about it.”

Barbara gazed at her mother, feeling stupefied. Why would Mom even inquire about that, she thought and then said as much.

“I knew you’d want to know, that you’d ask her if you were on the phone. I would. I’d want to know if somebody I cared about planned on marrying the man who tried to kill me.” Mom’s voice broke at the end.

She didn’t know that Mom thought at all about the situation, beyond the fact that McKenna and Gabriel had attacked her daughter. All those years of Mom not asking didn’t mean she didn’t care. Barbara would’ve preferred learning that by some means other than getting the stuffing knocked out of her, but still, a good thing to know.

Three bites into her food, and Barbara felt like the fork—and the plate, and gravity—were conspiring against her.

“Mom, I’m going to take a nap.”

“You do that. I’ll stay with you.”

“There’s no need for that. The nurse who changed the bandage said my arm shouldn’t start bleeding again. It’s in good shape now.”

“Maybe so, but I’ll stick around. Don’t you worry. I’ll keep busy.”

Mom took away the food, and Barbara lay down, falling asleep almost instantly. It was a restless sleep, full of dreams that felt vivid yet shapeless, and when she awoke, she couldn’t remember any of the details except that she was running in most of them.

Darlene was sitting in a chair next to the bed.

“I sent your mother home.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after five. I left work early. Barlow said it’d be all right.” Darlene wore a drawn, pensive expression. “It’s not true what Collier’s been telling people, about how we’re still getting married.”

“How come you didn’t tell that to my mother?” Barbara sat up in bed, wincing as she did.

Darlene leaped to her feet and offered Barbara a drink of water, plus a couple of pills. “This should help.”

She swallowed the pills and the entire glass of water, yet still felt thirsty.

“I’ll get you a drink.”

“That’d be nice, but first, I need to… you know.”

She thought it’d be relatively easy; after the shower, her legs had been working well. But with her first step, the right leg almost gave way. Her shin had decided to start hurting again. Darlene fetched the cane that had been resting on the dresser, and she helped Barbara struggle to the bathroom.

Barbara waved for Darlene to step outside once they got to the door.

“No,” Darlene said. “You might need help getting back up.”

Strange how Barbara could strip naked around Mary, and had any number of times before in their long friendship, but around Darlene, it felt weird doing something intimate. Darlene’s fiancé tried to kill Barbara over a kiss. The word awkward didn’t begin to cover the situation.

A few minutes later, Barbara was sitting in her recliner, eating casserole. Darlene pecked at her own plate. She’d led an unprotesting Mutt into the backyard and fed him his usual chow, with a dollop of people food. A woman after his own heart.

Barbara finished eating. Time to bring up something that had been bothering her since the fight.

“McKenna’s a liar. I know that, so I’m not trusting what he said. I want to make that clear.”

“What’d he say?”

“He was so-called quoting the Gabriels, making our talk sound ten times worse than it was, so I admitted to making a pass at you. I said you’d turned me down.”

“You did that?” Darlene wrinkled her brow.

“I didn’t know what else to do. Then he said he’d talked to you, but your story didn’t match with mine.”

“He called me yesterday at work. He asked where I was Sunday afternoon ’cause he’d tried to call me then. I said I’d been out working in the yard. He didn’t sound upset or anything. Said, oh, he was just wondering, and he hung up. Barbara, I swear I had no idea he was planning this thing. If I had, I would’ve called you immediately.”

“If he’d asked you about me, what would you’ve said?”

Darlene turned her head. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I don’t know. He gets so angry sometimes.”

“Has he ever hurt you?”

“No. Never. I’ve seen him lose his temper at other people. I wish you hadn’t said what you did. You might not have gotten hurt.”

“You weren’t standing eye-to-eye with him like I was, Darlene. He came here to do me harm. And he did.”

“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“Yeah, it is. It’s President Ford, and the Russians, and the Man in the Moon. It’s their fault, not McKenna’s. Don’t you get it? He told that slime ball, Charley Gabriel, to stick a knife in me. I’d understand him pitching a fit. I’d even respect him wanting to take it out on me, but he brought a man with a knife. And there’s no respecting someone like that. I’m surprised you’re here right now. Aren’t you afraid your fiancé will come over and find you?”

Barbara’s outburst had restarted the pain in her middle section. She couldn’t move for a moment, afraid that a spasm might make her cry out. She didn’t want to act as weak as she looked and felt.

Darlene leaned forward on the sofa. Her words came out soft, but firm.

“Collier and me, we’re over. I’m done with him. But I’m not leaving him. Not yet. Barlow said the sheriff won’t charge Collier. He’s walking the street thinking he can do anything now and get away with it. Collier will kill you if he thinks I’m still messing with you. He will.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do.” Tears welled up in Darlene’s eyes. “The only reason I’m here right now is because I know Collier’s helping out at the high school band’s watermelon fundraiser. His partner Dale’s boy plays the trumpet. Anyhow, I don’t have much time to talk, so I’m telling you how it has to be for a while. I still want to see you, and I’m not going to change my mind about it. Give me time to get untangled from him. When you’re up and around, we can meet in Lubbock somewhere. We can talk on the phone between times.”

“I see you at work every day,” Barbara said. “We can talk there, too.”

“No, we won’t.” Her voice caught. “I gave Barlow my letter of resignation before I left today. Effective immediately. He didn’t like it, but he understood.”

“I don’t. I don’t understand at all.”

Darlene left the sofa and got on her knees next to the recliner.

“Collier came into work this afternoon and stood watching me for a good half-hour. He didn’t say anything. He smiled, and I smiled right back. Played along with him. Barlow was so upset, but he couldn’t tell the man to leave when Collier wasn’t doing anything illegal. Barlow and Mary were kind to offer me this job. I won’t make them regret doing that. I can find work easy enough. I’m not worried about that.”

“How long, though? How long will you stay with him?”

The pills were starting to work, blurring the details, but she could see Darlene’s face plainly enough, could make out the tears on her face.

“I’ll give him a month or two, then I’ll find some way to mess things up. I’ve done it before with men. Criticized their clothes, made fun of their relatives, acted reckless with money. It’s easy. I can do it again.”

Darlene tried to smile. Barbara made the same effort.

With her good hand, she stroked Darlene’s cheek. Darlene brought the hand to her lips and kissed it.

“I’ll wait. Just don’t take too long,” Barbara said.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Chapter 14

A knock sounded at the door. Barbara called out, “Come on in.”

She’d spilled a glass of water in the kitchen and was towel drying the spot on the floor.

Estelle Rosen entered the room and said, “I’m doing that. You sit down.”

“I’m almost done. There. See?” Barbara tossed the towel in the sink.

Noontime Friday. She wanted to get a little work in before the week was over. At her follow-up appointment with Dr. Schaust, he cleared her to work a half-day Friday and return to full-time on Monday.

Barlow, left in the lurch due to Darlene’s quitting, was making do with the part-timers, along with Mary and Miss Reynolds, who’d come back to help. Mary said that Billy Eckert was even working out front, which was something he hated doing.

Mary, though, was about to start work at the library and wouldn’t be able to pitch in any longer. She’d achieved her heart’s goal, she claimed, of being the first assistant, having lusted for it since childhood. She didn’t mind she’d be working for a younger woman, Tina Ransom. Mary said that when George Bering approached Tina about the librarian job, she accepted immediately, even before he’d posted the position.

Estelle saw the plate of food on the table, and her expression changed to mystification. “Who brought you those?”

“My friend, Jackie, made the cornbread—”

“The knishes. Who brought you those?”

“My mom. She’s not the world’s greatest cook, but she can do German.”

Estelle shook her head. “I wish her parents were still alive, so I could call them. Your mother can’t seem to tell me anything about—well, enough woolgathering. I’ll help you put up the food and get you to work. I need to head back to the store as soon as I drop you off.”

Work felt strange to Barbara, as though she were floating on a cloud of notoriety already, even though nobody said word one about the incident other than to ask how she felt.

Miss Reynolds crept along like an elderly mare in harness. She allowed as to how she and Sister would be happy to drop Barbara off at home after work, which would save Barlow the trip. Miss Reynolds seemed to be moving a little better than before she retired. Maybe she’d set out in the sun the past few months, baked some of the creakiness out of her bones.

Along about five, there was a run of customers. Barbara, feeling increasingly achy and tired, limped over to the smaller register to help. One of the women near the back of the line came over with her purchase. The woman at the very back stayed put.

“Ma’am?” Barbara called out. “I can help you over here.”

The woman practically spat her words. “I prefer to stay right where I’m at. Miss Reynolds can help me. Won’t you, honey?”

Miss Reynolds turned her head to Barbara and gave her a subtle, what-have-we-here look.

After the rush, Miss Reynolds drawled, “Barlow said you’d had a gardening accident. Looks to me like the lawn mower had its way with you.”

“That sounds about right.”

“Sister and I hire a man to take care of our yard. You might want to consider that from now on.”

“I will.”

Since Barbara started at the pharmacy, they had always been Miss Reynolds and Sister. They moved to Tantona with Barlow and Billy’s father back in the late ’40s to open the pharmacy.

Tantona was bigger then, with dreams of expansion. Tantona tried to land a community college and failed. Barbara still heard stories about the college, the denim factory, the meatpacking plant, and other initiatives that failed, or failed to take root—the coulda-wouldas, Mary called it. Tantona had cotton, oil, and ranching, and would until the T-shirts and the cars and the cows came home. When Sister quit in order to hawk Avon, Barbara took her place.

If more women began turning their nose up at Barbara in public, she might have to find another job. She owed Barlow and Mary, even Billy—his alcohol-soaked self—a lot. Enough that staying on and hurting their business was a prospect she hoped to avoid.

Forget about selling cosmetics, however. That wasn’t Barbara’s idea of an interesting line of work. In their phone call last night, Darlene said that Hopkins lined her up a secretarial job at the high school. Barbara hadn’t worried about Darlene’s employment chances; she’d land soft.

The doctor said the scar on her face would fade, and Barbara believed it. She knew it wouldn’t always look that bad, but she cringed seeing her face in the mirror. The scar would always be a reminder of what happened. The slash wasn’t very long—about an inch and a half—but it took an upper curve toward her eye. At some point, she’d have to leave off the bandage. She dreaded the attention the scar would attract.

She remembered the first time she walked into a gay bar in Lubbock. It was back in the mid ’60s, in a broken-down building in a rough part of town. She hadn’t known whom to ask in Tantona. Hopkins might’ve been able to tell her, but she didn’t want him to know at the time that she was looking.

For months, she’d thought about how to find what she needed. Then one evening she was driving near the bus station—searching for a possible bar, actually—when she saw a young man standing on the corner. He was a young Chicano, wearing a Western shirt and tight jeans. When a car pulled up, he bent over and talked to the driver, then got in after a brief conversation.

The boy was a prostitute, she realized. Thinking he’d be back, she drove around the block a couple of times. She saw another man who looked like he might be in the same trade. She rolled to the curb and waved him over. He approached reluctantly, but after she gave him a ten-dollar bill, he cheerfully gave her directions to the bar and even rode with her to the location.

When she walked in the door, she almost walked right back out. The women scared her. Tough, surly faces. Greasy, combed-back hair, and the fluffs weren’t much better. They sported peroxide hairdos, and they looked as though they had razors in their bras.

Barbara stayed. She kept returning on weekends, kept toughening her look, until she fit the profile. The cigarette pack rolled up in her shirtsleeve was overkill, since she didn’t even smoke, but she studied the women carefully and tried to fit in. She wasn’t about to dye her hair and buy a razor, which left being a butch or playing the role of a butch.

The bar hadn’t been there long, she learned. Before that, gays had gathered in a back room behind a gas station or a used car lot—memories differed—but it was a room, where a cop came by occasionally to shake down the owner for money. And drug dealers used the parking lot to make sales, knowing homosexuals couldn’t complain to the authorities.

The bar eventually closed, and Barbara quit going to the new club for a while once she started dating a fellow Tantonan she met in the parking lot.

The women in the bar weren’t all as tough as they looked. They could get sentimental over a Gene Pitney ballad or bend Barbara’s ear about the girl who got away.

They had scars, some visible, some not.

Barbara’s mirror at home showed almost no wrinkles. She was only thirty-six. A damaged thirty-six, whose dating habits had finally come home to roost.

Darlene said she’d come back to her and repeated those words on the phone last night. But try as she might, Barbara couldn’t get an image out of her head from the first night she walked into a gay bar.

An older woman sat in the corner, her hands surrounding a glass of whiskey. She might have been sad or merely contemplating the universe, for all Barbara knew.

The woman was alone. That, she did know. Alone.

Chapter 15

August

Barbara walked across the street to the café, ready for a burger. She’d brought lunch from home but didn’t fancy eating a tuna sandwich.

Marquetta popped off her seat and waved energetically for Barbara to join her.

“I know you prefer chairs ’cause you like to stretch out, but all they had was a booth,” Marquetta said. “I already ordered you a Dr. Pepper.”

“Thanks.”

Had they made plans to eat lunch together? She couldn’t remember Marquetta mentioning that the other night at her apartment, but it would’ve been hard to discuss anything once Ry got going about Jaws. He’d already seen it three times at the movie house. Barbara made it through once and only then by reminding herself she lived several hundred miles from the ocean.

She might as well be on an island, the way some of the café customers ogled her. They believed Barbara Wolfe made a pass at poor Darlene and suffered a well-deserved beating from Collier McKenna, or from a vigilante, or from a sheriff’s deputy, depending on which rumor they believed. Barbara Wolfe had it coming. Everyone who thought they knew the truth had that part down cold.

Other faces in the café graced her with kindly smiles. They hadn’t heard the rumors, didn’t care, or were practicing Christian charity.

Marquetta knew the stories going around, courtesy of Ry, who lacked the guile to pretend otherwise. Yet she sat across from Barbara, acting as though they were close friends while she munched on chicken strips.

Barbara’s female coworkers, other than Miss Reynolds, had stopped talking to her, and even the grocery checkers were close-mouthed these days. Jackie was as friendly as always, but being a black female bootlegger, she had a limited social reach in public. At best, Jackie received slightly more regard than a predatory dyke.

The capper came when Barbara tried to get her hair cut at Just Your Style. Her longtime beautician hemmed and hawed about her schedule being full, then said, “Wouldn’t you be happier going to a barber?”

Following Gracie Munoz’s earlier advice, Barbara made a Saturday appointment at Neil Acuff’s beauty parlor. In the meantime, her bangs threatened to cover her eyes. A little farther down on the left, and she wouldn’t need to keep wearing the bandage.

Although Mary claimed the scar wasn’t that noticeable, it had only been a few weeks since Charley Gabriel’s knife marked her skin. The scar, swollen and sullen, stretched along her cheekbone.

Whatever Dr. Schaust meant about dueling in Heidelberg, Barbara thought her match had been all too one-sided. Darlene did say that McKenna had trouble for several days getting up from chairs. That was some consolation.

Darlene called when she could, but they hadn’t been able to figure out a meeting place yet. McKenna monitored Darlene’s whereabouts in town, and she hadn’t been to Lubbock without him since before the fight.

Years ago, Barbara used to take a girlfriend to a brushy part of the park where a storage shed and a large oak tree stood. Between them, a thick, unkempt bramble hid a spot that Barbara had cleared out back when she was a teenager. She needed a place to hide sometimes when, as much as she loved her brother, she needed a break from his conversational obsessions.

Although Ry didn’t run off at the mouth as much as he used to, back then, having to absorb his repeated telling of Superman’s comic book adventures wore her out.

Barbara always remembered the lovely solace of her cave, as she called it. One summer evening at the Dairy Queen, her then-girlfriend, Sydney the teacher, acted paranoid about being seen with Barbara. Barbara remembered the spot, and off they went.

Barbara had cut a notch and stuck a wooden plug in the back of the tree so that she could step up, swing on a branch, and land inside. Sydney thought it clever then.

The plug was still in the tree, and the chair still sat where Barbara had left it, a little worse for wear, but they didn’t use it. Barbara took off her jacket and laid it on the ground. They made love there under the stars, listening to the sound of owls hooting in the trees.

One evening, eager for another rendezvous, they returned. Barbara swung into the cave and found a hobo lying in a sleeping bag. The man leaped to his feet, cursing loudly, as Barbara jumped for the branch and swung out of danger. Ahead of her, Sydney raced through the trees, moving pretty well for a woman in a tight skirt.

Barbara didn’t bother to call her after that. Sydney, after all, had never made it into the gay bar in Lubbock. She’d been sitting outside in her car when she recognized Barbara walking by.

Barbara thought it strange that a woman so afraid of others seeing them in public or of one of their cars being spotted at the wrong house at night, gladly followed Barbara up a tree and over a bramble in a badly lit area of the park. Sydney preferred the risk of a mugging to the chance of someone she knew seeing them together.

Barbara knew better than to tempt the fates again, regardless if the cave was currently empty or not. Darlene claimed she’d be happy to go to the bar with her. But even if any Tantonans present kept silent, McKenna probably had friends in Lubbock who could check the parking lot, even stick their head in the door for signs of Darlene.

There was no completely safe place in Tantona. Relayed by Darlene, Hopkins said he could spirit Barbara to his house and let her out in the garage, but she hated the idea of having to skulk around. McKenna needed to get tired of Darlene’s manufactured shenanigans as soon as possible.

“Hellooo?” Marquetta grinned at her. “I know I’m exciting as all get out, but at least pretend to listen, okay?”

“I’m so sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind these days. What were you saying?”

“It wasn’t that interesting.” Marquetta chewed on her straw thoughtfully. “Look. It doesn’t matter what people say about you. They don’t know you. They only think they do.”

“I don’t want Barlow and Billy to have problems with their business because customers are staying away. The place isn’t dead, but I’ve heard his end of the phone calls. People are complaining.”

“Let them complain. There’re plenty of other customers. I bet if ya’ll hired a Mexican girl, you’d get their business in a hurry.”

They already were seeing more Chicano customers, partly because Gracie sent Barbara her family’s business, and the relatives followed. Gracie said her mother liked Barbara because she was polite.

“I learned some Spanish from back when I chopped cotton in the summers,” Barbara said. “I’m not that great at it. Those little abuelas, the grannies, they look up at me and go, ‘what the heck are you trying to say’?”

“Same here. I picked some up over the years in self-defense, ’cause Mexicans coming into the business office think I might be one of them. Not that there’s anything wrong with being Mexican—I mean, I know you and Gracie were, uh, really good friends.”

Marquetta looked around following her last comment, checking for eavesdroppers.

Barbara huffed once, then, annoyed by her annoyance, worked a smile onto her face.

“Ry’s a tape-player. He records everything and plays it back, no matter how personal. We’d gotten him trained on not unloading on anyone else, but you’re practically a relative now. He thinks highly of you.”

“He does? It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“He approves of your stereo. He finally has your car running the way he likes it, and your meatloaf’s as good as Grandma Wolfe’s. That’s not a dozen roses, but high praise coming from him. If he didn’t want to be around you, he’d go into his bedroom or not talk to you on the phone. He doesn’t pretend about his feelings, like the rest of us do.”

Barbara needed to discuss Marquetta’s intentions toward Ry. Trying not to sound like an overbearing relative, she eased into the topic.

“Ry really likes you, is what I’m saying. He told me you enjoy babysitting. Is that something you want? To get married and have a family of your own, like with Ry?”

Marquetta didn’t seem upset. “I do want to have a child. I work with a girl—you’ve met Sherron, haven’t you? She’s already shopping for baby things, and she’s not even pregnant yet. I ought to hold a thinking-about-a-baby shower for her.”

An answer, followed by a dodge. Marquetta slipped out of that one nicely. Barbara changed tactics.

“My brother’s a grown man. He makes his own decisions, but he’s—how can I put this? The decisions he makes, they’re the same ones, over and over. He doesn’t change much. He can, but it’s hard, and there are limits.”

“I like him the way he is. I know where I stand with him, unlike with some people,” Marquetta flared back.

Temper, temper. Good. Barbara preferred people to be honest and not be afraid to get in her face. Leastways, not with a knife.

“‘Some people.’ Like with who? Me?”

Marquetta didn’t answer. She looked at her watch. “I need to get back to work. There’s a pile of paper on my desk, and all of it needs to be filed.” Marquetta’s mood softened slightly. “I care about Ry. I’m not out to hurt him in any way.”

“I didn’t mean to be nosy,” Barbara said. “We all like you. We’re careful when it comes to Ry. It’s nothing personal.”

Marquetta’s eyes dipped downward. “That means a lot. I like you, too.” She dropped a dollar tip for the waitress and walked out the door, attracting looks from those customers who’d glared at Barbara during the meal.

They probably believed that Barbara Wolfe was back to her evil ways, trying to corrupt innocent young women. If she had the mustache, she’d twirl it to spite the gawkers. Instead, she left a tip and strode out the door with a tough, no-bullshit walk that wouldn’t have fooled anyone who knew her.

A little less John Wayne next time, Barbara thought. Think Gary Cooper.

Chapter 16

Gracie had the men mesmerized by her tush, which she’d encased in tight-fitting jeans and wiggled around the chair as she worked on the customer’s hair.

Barbara was next in line, but there were two young men sitting beside her, one of whom she learned wasn’t there for a haircut, but joined his friend because he “had nothing better to do.”

Both of them were goggle-eyed. They’d not had the privilege of seeing Gracie dance at the gay bar in Lubbock. A drag queen once asked Gracie out on a date—that’s how potent the hips were to an unprepared viewer.

A hard-edged beautician working the station next to Gracie announced, “I can take one of y’all, if you’re in a hurry.”

They paid her no attention. Barbara had enough manners to say that she had an appointment with Gracie.

The woman rasped, “I imagine you do. Yes, ma’am.”

“Your hair’s looking so nice now,” Gracie cooed to the man in her chair.

He was a weathered ranch hand whose lank locks had been trimmed and shaped into a style shorter on the sides and top, but longer on the back. It looked different, but nice.

“Your girlfriend will love it.”

His face blushed under his tan.

“Oh, you don’t have a novia? Handsome boy like you, makes my heart go pitter-pat.” One more snip, then she brushed hair off his shoulders, whipped off the cape, and trilled, “Now go, and watch how the women faint at your feet.”

The man, who looked as though an estrogen train had run him over, emptied his wallet and left.

Barbara’s turn. Chaired and draped, she didn’t bother suggesting how she wanted her hair done. She’d learned from experience that Gracie didn’t pay attention, which was why Barbara had stuck with her old hairstylist until she had no choice but to go elsewhere.

“Look at your hair,” Gracie said mournfully. “It hasn’t been treated properly. You shouldn’t have been going to that place. They didn’t love your hair the way they should have. I’ll make it look better. You’re a beautiful woman, so your hair should be, too.”

Gracie turned to the men sitting behind them. “Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

The men gladly agreed. But other customers, women in various stages of curlers and cuts, kept quiet.

Gracie played to her fans as she began snipping. “You’re so tall and skinny, I don’t see how you can get around on a windy day. Someone hits you with a feather, you’d fall down. See, I’m cutting your bangs so everyone can see how pretty a face you have. Oh no, what happened here?”

Gracie pretended to see the bandage for the first time.

“It’s a cut. A scar, actually,” Barbara said.

“It needs to breathe to get better.” Gracie whipped off the bandage. She gasped. It didn’t sound faked. “You poor thing. Who did this to you?”

Gracie of course knew the answer.

“It doesn’t matter. Nobody cares, anyway,” Barbara said reluctantly.

“Why wouldn’t they care? Even a criminal, he serves his time and gets out of prison someday. He doesn’t have a brand on him. You’ll have this on your face the rest of your life. Who’d be so cruel to do such a thing?”

No points for subtlety there. In the mirror’s reflection, Barbara saw the discomfort on the men’s faces. The angle didn’t allow her to see how the other customers were handling Gracie’s well-pitched performance.

“Gracie, Gracie, Gracie,” the only male beautician said. He had to be Neil Acuff, the owner. His blond curls glistened in the afternoon light. “You know it has to be somebody with money, and a real sicko at that, to get away with it. You and me and my sweet little angel over there, we couldn’t say boo without getting a ticket.”

His scissors moved incredibly fast as he spoke, as though his hands had their own set of eyes.

Barbara snuck a peek at the front of the shop where a Chicana teen was sitting at the desk reading a book. A toddler staggered around her, a small stuffed bear clutched in his hands.

“Sweet little angel?”

“Yeah?” The girl answered, her nose still in the book.

“Aren’t you the least bit hungry?” Acuff asked.

“Oh yeah.” The girl jumped to her feet. “I’ll go pick up our food.” She lifted the boy up and carted him over to Acuff’s station. “I’ll be right back.”

The girl strutted her long legs out the door with a confidence that outshone Barbara’s effort at the café.

Barbara quirked an eyebrow at Gracie, who gave her a knowing look. Confirmation: butch.

“That’s Mrs. Neil,” Gracie said. “My boss is a cradle-robber.”

“Guilty as charged,” Acuff said cheerfully. “As long as she feeds me, I’ll admit to anything.”

Gracie brushed the hair off Barbara’s shoulders, undid the cape, and gestured for Barbara to stand up. Barbara glanced in the mirror, pleasantly surprised by the cut. Gracie had taken off some of the overall length, which gave some bounce to the waves.

“Promise me this,” Gracie said, again with a shop-filling volume. “Don’t wear that bandage anymore. The pendejo who did this to you, he’s the one to be ashamed, not you. Don’t be afraid. People know who the real criminal is.” Grace turned to the men. “Okay. I so want to run my fingers through a handsome man’s hair. Are you the one to grant me my wish? I thought so.”

Back at the house, Barbara thought about weeding the flower bed, thought about it, then snagged a bottle of beer out of the fridge and sat on the porch swing. Mutt nudged her knee, which was dog talk for “may I join you?” She lifted him onto the swing where he laid his head on her lap and soon began snoring.

Across the road, cotton bolls dotted sullen green rows like toppings of Kool Whip. The field still bore the manicured look of recent weeding with few rogues poking above the pack. Sometimes harvest, delayed by summer rain washouts, lasted until late in the season. It’d been a good year for the farmers. Defoliating sprays would soon kill the leaves and create a bumper crop of bolls popped and ready for stripping.

She didn’t much care for when the sprayers went to work, particularly when planes roared roof-high to lay down defoliant. The wind drifted its pungent odor onto her yard, and it lingered for days.

A puff of dust emerged on the horizon, clouding the path of an approaching car. Traffic on her road largely consisted of pickups and cotton trailers. She talked herself down from the apprehension that flooded her veins. It could be a farmer’s wife, a teenaged daughter, or anyone out for a drive. McKenna had no reason to return to the scene of his victory.

Mutt jerked awake. His hackles rose until, when the car turned into her driveway, he leaped off the swing and would have charged if she hadn’t held on to his collar.

Hopkins stepped out of his Lincoln and announced. “Delivery service.”

Mutt instantly switched from killer mode into man’s best friend. Since he hadn’t met Hopkins before, he must have sensed Barbara’s relief.

A little later, Hopkins had displaced Mutt from the swing, where he and Barbara worked on slices of vanilla wafer bundt cake.

“Darlie wants you to know she baked it from scratch, without any help from me.”

“I don’t care if she brought in Julia Child, this is flat-out delicious. How is she?”

“You ought to know. If not for her having her own line, I’d be phoneless and lonesome because of you.”

Barbara considered her plate. Instead of visits, she and Darlene exchanged letters and phone calls. Instead of kisses, they talked of weekend getaways in a future free of McKenna. All in all, she preferred a taste of Darlene over cake, no matter how flavorful.

“Cheer up, pumpkin. I’m writing some of my best dialogue ever for Darlie. She’s giving that heathen such fits. The scene where she gets tipsy in front of the potential in-laws is golden. And the scene at the jeweler’s, where she throws a necklace at him because it’s only eighteen carat—if there were such a thing as a hometown Emmy, I’d win it, no doubt.”

Hopkins leaned back in his chair with an attitude of supreme confidence. He was a slim man whose hair turned to gray while in his twenties. But even now, somewhere in his early forties, he still had a youthful air. Mary liked to say that Hopkins had more personality than strictly necessary for a man.

“I don’t know. We barely had one date together, and now we’re down to phone calls and cake. What if she gets cold feet? I don’t blame her—”

“She’s been eyeing you for ages. Every time we went to a football game, she’d want us to sit near you. You kept ignoring her. You never came to bridge night.”

“How was I supposed to know you were playing matchmaker? Mary didn’t tell me anything.”

“Silly me, I thought I gave Mary enough hints about Darlie that she’d surely put pressure on you. I am, on occasion, too subtle.”

“No.” Barbara laid on the sarcasm.

“Cheeky. And when she did see the light, you still didn’t come to bridge night and Darlie quit going. Took that idiot Collier up on his offer. I told her, you can toy with the boys all you want, but don’t ever accept an engagement ring. She knew she’d messed up. When the job at the pharmacy opened up and Mary called us, Darlie didn’t give Mary a chance to talk—she couldn’t wait to be around you.”

“She had a funny way of showing it, like, not at all.”

“She wore out our oven baking you cookies. Even used some of my lines after you refused to take the first step. Look, with her, it’s… complicated. It’s hard for her to trust people. Anyhow, I’m here on a church visit.”

“Pardon?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m inviting you to attend Sunday service at First Baptist. People need to see you there, trying to get right with the Lord.”

“Hopkins, I’m already a Christian. What do they want me to do, get up there and cry? Get baptized again? Say I’m sorry when I’m not? I’m not bowing down to them.”

Hopkins seemed genuinely hurt. “I pray every day. Don’t look at me like that. I do. I’m not ashamed of it. Those people you’re talking about? Yes, a lot of them are prejudiced. Some of them are downright cruel. But one-on-one, face-to-face, most of them will choose to be kind.”

Barbara looked down at Mutt, who was ever hopeful of crumbs. She laid her plate on the porch and watched him lick it clean in point two seconds.

“How do you do it? You don’t date women. You don’t come out and say you’re gay, but people pretty much know already. Yet you’re popular.”

Hopkins laid his plate next to hers. His leftovers disappeared even faster.

“I don’t kiss and tell.” His face hardened. “I’m everywhere in town, helping out at school events, singing in the choir. I’m in Rotary, all the charity organizations—no one has ever asked me, are you seeing someone? Are you happy? They don’t want to know, and I have no intention of telling them.”

His eyes filled to the brim, but then the familiar, jaunty Hopkins resurfaced.

“If you come to church, you can sit with my crowd. Some of them are in high cotton, let me tell you. Wives dripping in diamonds. People see you making an effort, hobnobbing with the nabobs, they’ll come around. ’Tis the gospel truth.”

“I show up there, I’m agreeing with them that I’m wrong. A month of Sundays won’t change how I feel.”

*  *  *

That night, the phone rang, waking Barbara from an uneasy slumber. She walked into the kitchen, picked up the receiver, and pulled over a chair from the table.

“Barbara?” Darlene’s voice echoed in her ear.

“Are you okay?”

“I miss you so much. I don’t know if I can pull this off. Hopkins thinks I’m the greatest actress alive, like all I have to do is spout his lines and eventually Collier will go away, but he doesn’t have to be near the man. I do. I hate being near him. I hate Collier for what he did to you.”

Being near him, Darlene said. Barbara knew Darlene wasn’t sleeping with McKenna. Believed it implicitly. But the thought of that man touching Darlene made her feel as though her brain were exploding.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore. Say you’re tired of him. Hole up someplace until McKenna gets the crazy out of his system. You’d be safe, then.”

“You wouldn’t be safe. He’d come after you again. Why wouldn’t he? He got away with it once.”

“He wouldn’t this time. Dad gave me his rifle. It won’t come to that, though. Hopkins has the right idea on how to deal with the situation. If McKenna thinks you’re freaky, he’ll eventually back off. But if you want to move up the timetable, why not? You do that, you need to leave town.”

“No.” Darlene’s voice was soft but insistent. “He thinks he’s the smartest man alive. We pull this off, he’s the perfect picture of a fool. Then I’ll know you’ll be safe. I won’t ever have to worry again about putting you in danger.”

“What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I’ve been stringing men along for years. Hopkins always told me to be careful—said a man’s heart is a delicate thing—but I didn’t take him seriously. I wasn’t careful enough. Collier’s not off the hook for what he did. He’s evil, but he wouldn’t have been in your yard making threats if I hadn’t put him there. I’ll make it up to you the best way I know how. I’ll make him regret he ever got engaged to me, and he’ll never see it coming.”

Chapter 17

LaSonda looked across the table and said, “Your butt is mine.”

She laid down a mahjong tile and glowered at the other women, as though she could win by intimidation. While Estelle smiled timidly, Mary met LaSonda’s eyes dead-on.

“My butt is staying with me.” Mary curled her lip and tossed out a tile.

LaSonda rolled her eyes. “Crap.”

She got up and left the table, acting relieved to be done with the game. If not for bridge/mahjong night happening at the Rosens’ house, LaSonda most assuredly would’ve disappeared into her room. Instead, she left the living room for the dining room, where the men were hotly contesting a game of bridge. The smoke from there made the house smell like a cigar factory.

Barbara joined the women in the kitchen, where they replenished their drinks. LaSonda hadn’t met Barbara’s eyes all evening, which was quite an accomplishment since they were supposedly partners.

“Talk to her,” Mary said. “We’ve told her the story going ’round’s mostly a lie. It’ll be hard, but you can get through this with her. Tell the truth. It won’t kill her.”

“It might kill me, her knowing why she ended up with y’all.”

Barbara couldn’t say more than that, not with Estelle Rosen standing over by the fridge, wondering what the hell was going on.

“It’s time, sugar. It’s time.”

Barbara put down her beer and said to Mary, “If she drags me down the street, I’d appreciate it if you stopped her.”

“If you don’t talk to her, I’ll do it myself.”

“I know, I know. On my way.”

She found LaSonda sitting next to Barlow, smiling at something Hopkins said. The men saw Barbara’s face and, as one, folded their cards.

“Artie, you cheap bastard,” Hopkins declared as they all stood up and left the dining room, “if you don’t start pouring the good bourbon, I’m never coming back here again.”

“Is that a promise?” Arthur said.

Barbara and her daughter were now alone, or as alone as they could be with active ears in the next room.

LaSonda wasn’t smiling now. “What?”

“We need to talk.”

“Now? If it’s about that jerk cutting you, don’t worry. I know he’s crazy. I already told my friends that. It’s cool.”

Barbara sat in Barlow’s chair. “What I need to talk to you about is a little bit about the fight, but mainly about… everything else I haven’t told you.”

LaSonda’s foot tapped the floor impatiently. “Can’t this wait? Uncle Barlow needs to drive me back home. Jim wants me to watch the late show with him. Some monster movie.”

“This won’t take long.” Barbara took a deep breath and began. “Collier McKenna came over to my house because he thought I was having an affair with someone.”

“With Darlene Fisher. I already heard about that. It’s a lie, right? My friends say you’re queer—don’t tell Aunt Mary I used that word. She’d go nuts. But you can’t be. I’ve never seen you around people like that. You’re not a girly girl, but neither is Aunt Mary, and I swear, she’d marry Burt Reynolds in a heartbeat if Uncle Barlow let her.”

Barlow’s glass sat in front of her. Barbara claimed squatter’s rights and downed its contents.

“The reason you never saw the women is because none of them ever came over when you stayed with me. I didn’t want you to see me the way I really am. The fact is, I’m a homosexual. That’s not going to change. I didn’t want to tell you, for a lot of reasons, but not because I’m ashamed of myself. I used to be ashamed, but I’m not anymore.”

LaSonda’s mouth fell open. Barbara kept going.

“I was afraid you’d hate me and to talk about it means talking about why you grew up mostly with Barlow and Mary instead of with me.”

“Shut up,” LaSonda said at first in a whisper, then her voice rose. “Shut up. You can’t say that. It’s one thing when it’s Hoppy. He’s a great teacher, he’s so much fun, and everyone loves him. He’s not trying to be someone’s dad. You can’t say you’re something you’re not. You can’t say you’re queer and be my mom, too. You can’t do that.”

“Then maybe you can see why I asked your Uncle Barlow and Aunt Mary to raise you. It wasn’t because of a drinking problem or not having the money, like it’s been said. I was afraid the truth would come out—someday, somewhere—and that it’d hurt you. I was trying to protect you.”

“Nothing hurts me. You don’t have to worry about that. You can’t even protect yourself. What makes you think you can protect me? I heard Uncle Barlow talking on the phone the other day. He said they found you on the floor, blood everywhere. If they hadn’t driven you to the hospital in time, you might’ve bled to death. If it’d been me, I’d have kicked that man’s butt so hard he’d still be crying.”

LaSonda rose to her feet. “Protect me? You didn’t want me in the way while you were with Darlene Fisher. I was in your way, so don’t act like you’re a saint or nothing. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

LaSonda stormed out of the dining room. Moments later, Barbara heard the front door slam.

Mary came back in the room, bearing a mixed drink in her hand. Barbara accepted it silently and took a deep swallow.

“That went better than I thought it would,” Mary said.

“You think?” Barbara shook her head.

“Barlow will corral her and take her back home. She’s mad as hell right now, and I don’t blame her. She’s been crying out for some honest talk from you.”

“Merciful heavens, woman.” Hopkins sailed in and sat down. “Can’t you see our girl is hurting? Have a heart, or pretend you have one.”

“This is between Barbara and me.”

“You, Barbara, and your very own Dear Abby. You’ve been hell-bent on making mother and daughter do a come-to-Jesus, when what we have here is butch versus butch—and one of them is a teenager. I’m mightily surprised that the room’s still standing. In the meantime, I have a solution for Barbara’s dating dilemma.”

“A solution?” Barbara asked. “I didn’t know I needed one.”

“Really, Hopkins—” Mary tried to say more, but Hopkins cut her off.

“You need a beau. Someone people will admire for taking on the challenge of making this sinful woman accept nature’s yoke. Then there you’ll be, sitting in the pew at First Baptist, straight as Anita Bryant but not nearly as masculine as that dominatrix.”

He turned in his chair. “George,” he hollered. George Bering and Arthur Rosen came in, trailed by Estelle, all of them a bit sheepish from being caught eavesdropping.

“George is a strapping hunk who’ll knock the dyke right out of Barbara.”

George looked dubious. “Really, Hopkins—”

“That’s the same thing Mary said, so we’re agreed. The next event on the social calendar is the country club’s annual end-of-summer bash. George, you should take Barbara to the party. Dance with her, but remember, don’t be too good at it. Gaze at her manfully. And, Barbara, you act as though all you needed was for someone to explain heterosexuality to you. You know, the ins and outs?”

“I still think Artie’s nephew would be great,” Estelle said. Everyone looked at her. “Fine. George it is.”

“No.” Barbara didn’t have her daughter’s volume, but the strength of will, that was pure Wolfe. “I’m not going to preach a lie by having some man on my arm. No offense, George.”

“None taken. You’d look lovely on my arm,” he said gallantly.

“Take Darlene,” Barbara told him.

“She’s still working on getting rid of Collier,” Hopkins said. “She’s doing scenes from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, yet with all that, he hasn’t dumped her.”

“He won’t,” Mary said glumly. “That son of a bitch damn near committed murder over Darlene. She’s stamped and sealed McKenna’s property. It’d take an act of Congress to cut her loose from him.”

“I think Barbara has the right idea,” George said. “We’ve been concentrating on Barbara when it’s Darlene who needs help the most. I’ll call her when I get home and tell her what’s going on. I’ll talk to her after church tomorrow and make sure people see I’m interested. I’ll pitch that woo so hard they’ll be hearing wedding bells.”

Hopkins looked surprised. “My dear, I didn’t know you had such a Machiavellian streak in you.”

“I don’t know who Mack is, but if McKenna tries laying a hand on me, I’ll break him in half. I’ll be Darlene’s new man, and that’s that.”

He sat down and picked up his cards. “Is someone going to play Barlow’s hand, or what?”

Arthur tapped Barbara on the shoulder and pointed her to the kitchen. “I need to talk to you.”

Away from the others, he said bluntly, “You need another option, and I have it for you. Friend of mine in Lubbock owns a department store. He can start you there first of October. Girl of his is getting married. Golden opportunity.”

“You think I should run away.”

“I think you should do what you want and not feel like you got to be Colonel Custer. He didn’t make out too good in the end. I’m sure Darlene would understand.”

These people, who were already or had become her friends, wanted to fix the situation by sticking a Band-Aid on it. Give Darlene a suitor; slip Barbara a job out of town.

“I can’t. I won’t. Even if it blows up with Darlene, I’m not leaving town. I won’t let them win. Never.”

Chapter 18

Another slow, intolerably slow, Sunday afternoon. Barbara went to the back and grabbed a Dr. Pepper from the refrigerator. Not every Frigidaire stacked ampules of morphine next to soft drinks. Some Tantonans, who showed up at the drive-through window with prescriptions from softhearted doctors, would prefer the morphine to anything else Barbara had available.

Lots of needy people out there, she thought, in search of things a city like Tantona couldn’t, or wouldn’t, provide.

Ranch hands and dirt farmers, sunlit laborers from across the border—they spent their paychecks in stores around the courtyard square or in one of the handful of local clubs. She didn’t see them as hayseeds, not when she and other restless Tantonans regarded Lubbock the same way. A place to acquire baubles and booze. And to carve out a separate identity, however temporary. She wondered briefly where Lubbockites went to be other than Lubbockites. Houston? Then where did Houstonians go?

Wherever they went, she knew her destination. Back to the counter in Tantona Pharmacy.

When she came out the restroom door, it struck her how nice it would be to see Darlene waiting for her.

There was no Darlene, no one other than an elderly woman rifling through the cards on the far wall. A quartet of well-dressed young women came in then, their laughter cutting off as they came toward the register.

“Oh,” one of them said to another in the group. “I thought you said Miss Reynolds was here today.”

“Guess I was wrong. I need some things. Whoever takes my money, it ends up in the Eckerts’ pocket, so who cares?”

The speaker was Sherron Steinhall. She flounced over to an aisle.

“But we’re not supposed to come when she’s…” the redhead in the quartet started to say. “Sherron!” She took off after Sherron, while the remaining two began creeping toward the exit in a manner not so much panicked as graceless.

After a minute, the redhead walked back toward her friends, shaking her head. She made no effort to avoid being overhead.

“She said she’ll call me when she gets home. You know her. She’d jump in a bear cage if she thought there was a sale going on.”

Barbara had a brief, irrational moment of wanting to growl in the girls’ direction. The girl had said they weren’t supposed to come in. Weren’t supposed to? Who handed down the order—their families, the church, their husbands, or their boyfriends?

She thought again about Arthur Rosen’s job offer by proxy. Lubbock was a university town, big enough that she could live there without being hassled, possibly. Except it’d be in a junky apartment, which would be about all she could afford, and away from her family, away from Mutt’s big backyard, and away from her home. No, she couldn’t change her mind.

She lived with Billy in College Station when he was going to school. It wasn’t a big town, but it felt large to her at the time. She’d gotten pregnant there, weeks after their hasty wedding.

They’d talked themselves into getting married. Billy thought it’d convince his father he’d settled down enough to warrant continuing to fund Billy’s education, which had been much in doubt after family lawyers helped him narrowly avert drunken-driving charges.

Barbara possessed the sure knowledge that she was both a pervert and a criminal, even if she didn’t have the threat of a court case hovering over her the way Billy did right up to the day of the wedding.

Even then, Roberta kept calling her, setting up meetings until, in her fourth month, Barbara finally came to her senses and told Roberta to quit calling.

Right after she hung up the phone, she went down to Billy’s favorite bar and told him she wanted a divorce. He seemed almost relieved by the news. Once she became pregnant, she couldn’t go out to the clubs with him, which didn’t stop him. He had his father back paying for college and Barlow handling his homework—having a wife complicated his social life no end.

She returned home, moved back into her old bedroom, and got hired back on at the pharmacy, no questions asked by the twins’ father. The elder Eckert realized Billy wasn’t the marrying kind.

When LaSonda was born, Billy promised his support. He delivered on that promise, and with Mom’s help, Barbara quickly went back to work. She hated having to wait on Roberta when she came into the pharmacy with friends and conducting conversations about prices when both of them were speaking volumes beyond that.

In the language of twenty-percent-off and rain checks, Roberta said, “Come back to me. We’ll take trips out of town, like before.” Barbara responded, “I’m a mother now, like you, but I can’t, and won’t, be as reckless as you.”

No casual listener could translate what they were really saying, but that Roberta spent so much time talking about such a minor topic should have served as a tip-off. Or that she needed constant customer service and stood so damned close.

Finally, Roberta started coming in with a new protégée and eased off on the sales talk. Sometimes, she made a late-night call to Barbara, wanting to get back together with her, but it’d been a couple of years since the last time.

And now, it looked as though Roberta had brought in new blood. Sherron approached the register with a bottle of makeup. The elderly woman was still rifling through cards.

As Barbara rang up the purchase, she said quietly, “I don’t care what Roberta’s told you, she won’t ever leave her husband.”

Sherron attempted a matronly air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s a good friend—she’s Ryan’s aunt, for heaven’s sake—and she helped me with the wedding planning. Friendship doesn’t have to turn into something dirty, like with you.”

“What you mean is Roberta won’t let you touch her. She does all the work. I used to think that’s how it was supposed to be between women. Some still think that way, but I learned better. The only dirt I see in your situation is what Roberta will drag you through even after you think it’s over.”

Sherron gathered the change Barbara gave her and tucked it in her purse. “That part of my life is done. I’m a married woman now.”

A married girl, Barbara thought. “I hope, for your sake, that’s the case.”

“You better believe it is. I’m not going to be like Darlene.”

“What do you mean?”

“Collier shouldn’t have attacked you, but it was Darlene’s fault for leading you on the way she did. You tough girls can’t help yourselves, but we can. It’s our responsibility to keep it under control.”

Sherron flicked a long, blonde strand of hair out of her face. In contrast to her timid doe behavior at the play, she now acted immensely self-assured. Sherron had worked out who was at fault. It couldn’t be Barbara, because Barbara played the butch, the same as Roberta, who, for all her dresses and makeup, was anything but a fluff in the bedroom. Sherron was repeating Roberta’s usual excuses, almost word for word.

A Chicano couple came in with a trio of children trailing after them. In the moment before they came into hearing range, Barbara said, “It’s more involved than you think.”

“People always say that when what they’re really saying is they don’t want it to be simple, because then the answer is laid out in front of them, and they can’t wiggle out of it. They know what they have to do.”

Before Barbara could respond, Sherron swiveled on her heels and left.

Barbara helped the Chicano family find and purchase an array of skin-care products—from the looks of it, they’d fallen en masse into a patch of poison ivy. As she was walking back to the cashier’s desk, she heard two men talking near the front entrance and flicking their cigarette ashes everywhere.

They were loudly anticipating the Lions Club’s annual fundraiser. According to the pair, who’d yet to step away from the door, Tantonans could expect a rousing game of basketball played with mules, or rather, Lions perched on mules—the four-footers not being noted for their prowess on the court.

That didn’t strike Barbara as prime entertainment. Years ago, a touring basketball team of redheaded women came to town. The redheads claimed they could beat any men’s team. Mary and Barbara went, hoping somehow to worm their way into the lineup.

The redheads’ coach snorted at their high school bravado. She told them to take a seat in the stands and learn from the masters. The two girls witnessed such a display of ball-handling, shooting, and general humiliation of the local men that Mary tried joining the team after the game. Thankfully, Mr. and Mrs. Phipps knew their daughter too well to let her out of their sights. The redheads left town without gaining a Clairol convert.

Through with his part of the conversation, one of the men strolled past the cashier’s desk, openly staring all the while at Barbara’s face. She remembered the man, a portly “windshield” farmer, from when she was in bowling league. The type of man who complained about wetbacks even though illegals were doing all his work for dirt wages. Job or no job, Barbara stared right back at him, silently daring him to say one word crosswise. One stinking word. He turned away and left the store without buying anything.

After work, Barbara started her drive back home but took a right turn at Pecan Street, going south. She could’ve stopped at her parents’ place to spend the evening in Ry’s trailer, more than likely with Marquetta in attendance, but instead she kept driving a half dozen more blocks as the stucco houses and concrete drives turned into trailers and cars up on cement blocks.

Instead of a car on blocks, the trailer she stopped at had a new two-toned, blue Chevy 10 pickup parked in front of it, in marked contrast to the rickety clothesline, tufts of dried grass, and a trash barrel full of beer bottles and crumpled cans that adorned the yard.

Two black-haired kids wrestling in the front yard pulled apart when she emerged from the El Camino. As Barbara came closer, she saw they were young teens, a boy and a girl, small like all the Gabriels. The boy bore his family’s usual look of dim truculence while the girl looked puzzled.

“Whaddya want?” the boy asked.

She could talk to him about basic courtesy, not to mention hygiene, but both topics would be wasted breath with this family.

“I need to speak to your father. Tell him Barbara Wolfe is here.”

Mrs. Gabriel, her eyes squinted, came out on the front step. “My man’s done gone to town. He ain’t here.”

There was a flicker in the blinds next to the front door.

“It’s Sunday afternoon. Beer time. He’s in there, hiding behind a woman’s skirt. That’s a real nice truck you have there. Brand new. How’d you earn it, Charley? What’d you do?”

She didn’t have to say it as loud as she did. He was close enough to hear every word.

“It’s a present,” Mrs. Gabriel said stubbornly. “Charley has good friends.”

“Good’s not the word I’d use. He has plenty of friends when he does what they want him to. They’ll keep him from going back to prison. They’ll even give him a new pickup to keep him quiet. Come on out, Charley. Don’t be such a coward. Come on out.”

Next door, an elderly man carrying a box of junk stopped what he was doing to watch the show. Barbara felt all eyes concentrated on her, including the pair hiding behind the blinds.

Charley Gabriel would make his family deal with the crazy-acting woman standing in their yard. He’d do that and lose no sleep over it. Sherron Steinhall was wrong about there always being a simple answer to a difficult question.

Barbara knew that already. She’d let her anger drive her farther down the street than she needed to go. She started to turn away, but stopped.

Like a bear unable to attack its baiter, Barbara fixated on a more accessible target. “For God’s sake, make your kids take a bath. I can smell them from here.”

Barbara regretted saying that when she saw the girl’s wounded expression.

“It ain’t me. It’s my brother,” the girl said as she walked back to her El Camino.

“It ain’t me,” the girl hollered.

As Barbara drove away, the girl was still standing in the yard yelling at the top of her lungs, while her brother waved a clenched fist at the El Camino, a pair of feral kittens fiercely protecting their worthless father.

Chapter 19

Monday afternoon, Barbara went by the store to visit with Dad. When she arrived, Ry was outside installing a new set of wiper blades for a customer. Mom occupied her accustomed position behind the cash register. She found Dad in the back, listening to a jobber explain why the store needed to carry rims.

“We don’t have the space,” Dad said.

The man may have dealt with Dad before, because he pulled out another sheet from his folder and kept plugging away. Dad didn’t have Mom’s verbal toughness. An experienced salesman would gather his samples and flee upon Mom’s approach or didn’t bother trying to sneak in and talk to Dad.

Seeing Barbara, Dad told the jobber to go talk to Mom. The man left, already looking defeated.

Dad hugged Barbara and handed her a drink out of the fridge without asking. “You act like somebody stole your lunch bucket. What’s going on, Barbie?”

“My job ain’t going too good right now. Business isn’t down all that much, but people are still pushing to get me fired.”

“You know Barlow and Billy won’t do that to you.”

“I know, but I’m tired of it.”

She was tired of biddies, old and young, walking past her to ask another employee a question. The remarks, supposedly muttered under their breath, were still easy to hear. Coworkers complained to Barlow and Billy about having to work with her—the fun never stopped, if one defined fun as having a tooth pulled without anesthetic.

“I need to quit my job, the sooner, the better, so I want to talk to you about storing my stuff in the shed. Arthur told me he can find me work at a store in Lubbock—”

“No, you’re not. You’re not hiding out in Lubbock.”

“I don’t want to, either, but I don’t have a choice.”

“Then work here.”

“There’s not enough business to add me on.”

“There would be if you were here. You know how to talk to customers. You know how to talk to people, period. Ry can’t. Your momma will do it, but she don’t like it, neither. It’s about time she cut back on her hours. Shhh.”

Barbara kept quiet. Dad was about to have a brainstorm, which meant absolute quiet except for sipping their drinks.

“I’ve been worrying about Ry,” Dad said slowly. “How he’d be able to run the store without help. He’s a demon with inventory. He can listen to a customer’s vehicle and tell them exactly what’s wrong, but he don’t know nothing beyond that. He don’t want to know.”

“Dad, I can’t tell the difference between a carburetor and a cactus. I can change the oil, and that’s about it.”

“You’ll learn. Barbie, I’m sixty-five-years old. I ain’t going to last like Methuselah. Ry can’t run the store, but you can. I’ll show you what you need to know, and by the time I’m ready to hang it up, you’ll take over.”

“Are you sure?”

Dad used his foot to idly roll a dolly back and forth. “I remember when you were a little girl and you’d play in the store like it was Joyland without the amusement rides. ‘Daddy why, Daddy what, Daddy how.’ Folks don’t know you the way I do. If they did, they wouldn’t be so mean. They’d leave it be, what they don’t understand. They’d leave it be. You’ll be fine here. Men are easy to deal with. Show them who’s the boss, and they won’t ever give you trouble, not like women. Women think too damned much.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t tell your momma I said that.”

“I won’t. Dad?”

“What’s that, sugar lump?”

“Thanks.”

Barbara worked up a resignation letter on Mom’s typewriter. It was hard writing goodbye to the only real job she’d had her whole life. Did she really want to spend the rest of it selling spark plugs to farmers?

For work, Mom wore slacks, a blouse, and a Wolfe Auto Parts sales jacket. Steel-toed shoes, for dealing with heavy items. No dresses or pantsuits. Barbara liked that part. Maybe the rest of it would feel natural to her after a while, once she got past the novelty.

She took the letter with her to the pharmacy and went into the back room, where Barlow, seeing her on a no-work Monday afternoon, shook his head.

“I’m not accepting that letter.”

“Then I’ll give it to Billy. I know he’ll take it.”

Barlow tossed down the glasses he wore for close work. “Damn it. I don’t want them to win. That’s what they’ll think if you leave,” he said heatedly.

Seeing Barlow so emotional shocked her. She didn’t know he had it in him to be that angry.

“I’ve never been the kind to enjoy talking about makeup and dishes,” she said. “I don’t know that auto parts are my thing, either, but I do know there won’t be a bunch of snooty women getting into my business.”

“Miss Reynolds is telling me she’s ready to retire again, Billy’s being his usual ass, Mary’s in hog heaven working at the library, so she can’t help out anymore, and now this.”

“Since I’m leaving, you could hire Darlene back, get her away from the school.”

Barlow considered the proposal. “She doesn’t have to quit since she never started working there. I heard from George a little bit ago that Dale Lawrence is about to formally offer her a secretary job.”

“McKenna’s his partner. How could she—”

“Not anymore. Dale’s dumping McKenna as of tomorrow morning. George has been keeping me informed. He and Dale are good friends. Dale didn’t want to let it out of the bag until he’d found the office space, and frankly, he’ll take along some of the clients who’d been unhappy with McKenna. Dale said he knew he’d made a bad decision inviting McKenna to town pretty much the day after they put up the sign. What happened with you sealed it. Dale told me he’d offer Darlene the job but asked me to keep quiet about it until now. You don’t have to worry about her insofar as having a job. Dale’s a hard man to back off an idea once he gets it in his head. She’ll work for him until death do they part.”

Barbara remembered what Marquetta said the other day about stores needing Spanish speakers.

“I know of someone who’d do a good job for you. Gracie Munoz’s youngest sister. She went one year of college. I think she’s working at the upholstery shop, but she’s wanting a change.”

Barlow frowned. “Is she married yet?”

“Don’t think so.”

“They tend to quit after they get married. Their husbands don’t like for the esposas to work.”

It didn’t surprise Barbara that Barlow, usually a broad-minded man, took that attitude. Most Anglos in town did.

“Maybe some of the husbands put their foot down, but I see a lot of Chicanas in town working as cleaning ladies and nurse’s aides. There must not be too many husbands with a stick up their butts.”

“Tell her to come around, and we’ll talk it over.”

“I know this, if she’s anything like her sisters, she likes money too much to ever quit working.”

Barlow took Barbara’s hand and said earnestly, “Maybe you’re right. But if you find out you don’t enjoy working at the store, come back here—or we’ll help you find something else. You’re family. We look after each other.”

Chapter 20

September

“This is very uncomfortable.”

Barbara pitched her remark into Hopkins’s uncaring ear. As the wheelman, he didn’t give a flip that the back seat in his Mustang didn’t lend itself to long legs.

George’s public courting of Darlene had given McKenna a new target for his paranoia, but one he didn’t feel free to attack. Instead, he kept driving by Darlene and Hopkins’s house at odd hours and making boozy phone calls that Darlene said she couldn’t label obscene because half the time she wasn’t able to translate his slurred words into any kind of sense.

George squired Darlene to various events, ate with her in restaurants, and they visited each other’s homes, although neither stayed overnight. She stressed that point to Barbara, who had a hard time understanding why George, known for his woman-chasing ways, wouldn’t pursue someone of Darlene’s caliber.

Darlene said that when she broke up with McKenna by phone, he refused to believe her until George took over the receiver and delivered the message that Darlene was hands off from now on.

McKenna didn’t bother Darlene at her new job. Dale Lawrence would’ve drop-kicked McKenna out of his office and paid the county road grader to flatten his former partner into pothole filler. Dale didn’t mess around.

No one, however, agreed with Darlene that it was now safe for her and Barbara’s cars to be seen in each other’s company. Barbara was afraid that, given enough booze, McKenna might go after Darlene if he thought she’d been gay all along and playing him for a fool.

Hopkins took a corner too quickly, sending her to the floorboard.

“Drive slower, dang it.”

“If you won’t don a disguise and you refuse to place a blanket over your gorgeous locks, then you must crouch behind in order to someday rise above.”

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

“Don’t give me that guff. You were one of my best students. You could etch a lovely metaphor, as I recall.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Indeed, I did just say that. We’re here, my dear, the queers—one in the front, and one in the rear. Oh my, let’s make that two in the rear.”

“You wish.”

“All clear—the garage door’s closed. I don’t have to tell you twice, I see,” he said as Barbara fairly leaped from the back seat.

Coming from the garage through the laundry room, Barbara found Darlene standing in her path.

“Well now, are you going to let me by?”

“It depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“It depends on whether you can pay the toll: two lips, two hips.”

It had been much too long since the date in the park, since the kisses on the porch swing. Darlene, despite her cheerful words, wore an anxious expression. Phone calls could only do so much.

Barbara gathered Darlene into her arms and held her for a long moment. She felt Darlene begin to relax.

“We’re safe in here,” Barbara said. “As far as anyone knows, you’re in Lubbock with George. Heck, Hopkins is on his way to a party there right now. We’re all alone.”

Darlene gradually let go, but clung to Barbara’s arm. She looked up at Barbara. Her eyes were misty but determinedly happy.

“I cooked supper. I hope you like enchiladas. Hopkins made sangria before he went to pick you up that’s really good.”

“I’m sure it’s excellent.”

The food was spicy good; the sangria tasted as though Hopkins added an extra kick, but Darlene could’ve served sawdust, Barbara didn’t care. When they both worked at the pharmacy, they took turns on going to lunch, and there had been no formal dining the night of the play. So, this marked the first real occasion they’d eaten a meal together since—come to think of it, even in high school, there were always groups of kids, not Barbara and Darlene one-on-one.

Barbara and Darlene, one-on-one. She chased a bit of pepper around the plate with her fork until Darlene said, “We have more rice, if you’re hungry.”

“Oh no, I’m full. You’re a really good cook.”

“I’m an okay cook. Hopkins does most of the kitchen work. He’s let me graduate to chopping vegetables. How about you?”

“I know my way around a kitchen, mainly from self-defense. My mother’s not too creative in that department.”

“My mother was a great cook. That’s the way I remember her, anyhow.” Darlene’s brightness deserted her. “I was eleven when she—when they all—died. Old enough to remember them better than I do. I keep losing more of the details.”

“You had a younger brother, right?”

“Johnny. We never fought. It’s funny how people say they don’t get along with their brothers and sisters. We were devoted to one another. We’d split an apple if there was only one. We’d take turns riding the bicycle.”

Darlene’s voice broke. Barbara took her hand while she struggled to regain her composure.

“None of us was wearing a seatbelt. I was knocked around some, yet I walked away with only some cuts and bruises. Mom and Dad were dead on impact, but Johnny… he died the next day in the hospital.”

“I didn’t know you went through that.”

“It wasn’t talked about at the time. The Tickners believed I’d be better off if people didn’t bother me about how it felt when our car rolled over. Supposedly, I was staying overnight with a friend when it happened. I wasn’t. My friend got mad at me, and I got mad right back. I called my parents to come pick me up. We lived out by the turn to Brookeland. A pony came out on the road, Dad swerved to miss it, and that’s the story on that.”

“How horrible that must have been.”

No wonder Darlene was a church mouse back in high school. She didn’t need Old Man Tickner to press his thumb on her. She had reason enough to do it to herself.

“Time does move on. You can’t help but move with it,” Darlene said distantly.

“But still, riding in a car would’ve been hard after that.”

“For a while, but then I was fine.” Darlene gradually regained her composure. “It wasn’t until senior year when we were learning to drive that I had problems. I couldn’t get out of the driveway, even with Hopkins sitting right by me promising to take over if I needed him to.”

She paused for a moment, then continued. “Someone at church took me in hand, and I got through it. I’m a good driver now. Never had a ticket.”

“Maybe you should exceed the speed limit,” Barbara said. “You might like it.”

“Believe me, I’m not a goody two-shoes. You need to know that.”

“You keep warning me that you’re not nice, but what I see is a woman with a case of normal. You lift a glass on occasion. Now and then, you kiss me.”

Darlene’s clouds cleared away. “I like the kissing.”

“Me, too.”

Darlene rose and began clearing dishes from the table. Barbara picked up her tableware.

“Let me do it,” Darlene said. “You’re my guest.”

“As long as you know, I’m not one of those old-timey butches, who expect their fluffs to roll over and fetch.”

“Fluff? That’s what you think I am?”

“You’re not?”

“We’ll see.” An enigmatic smile. “I had Hopkins picking his clothes off the floor the first week I moved in. I’m no one’s little wifey.”

“Good.”

Barbara went into the living room. The far wall, stacked with books and albums, and both eight-track and cassette tapes, drew her attention. Since the albums were mostly classical and jazz, Barbara moved on to the tapes where she found an assortment of pop and country acts. She was studying a Freddie Fender tape when Darlene came in, bearing a carafe of sangria and a pair of glasses.

“I stacked some albums on the turntable before you came.”

Darlene started the stereo, and they sat down on the couch. The first song was something slow and soulful. When the male vocalist began singing “Walk on By,” Barbara and Darlene both said, “Isaac Hayes.”

“You’re definitely not a nice girl, Darlene.”

“That’s right.”

They sipped their wine and gradually closed the distance between them until they were entwined on the couch.

“That’s a long song,” Barbara said. “Hayes recorded something so sensual that only a couple made of stone wouldn’t end up in bed.”

“Hopkins picked that one out.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

Darlene got to her feet and extended her hand. “Come on, baby. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

She led Barbara down the hallway to her bedroom. They undressed in the semidarkness and slipped under the covers.

Darlene whispered, “Lay back, and I’ll take care of you.”

She began with a kiss and turned steadily downward until a shockwave hit Barbara. Darlene knew what she was doing, but how did she know? Darlene didn’t show an amateur’s hesitation.

Barbara stopped thinking and started feeling, her entire being concentrated on a hill that was being rounded curve by sinuous curve, steadily higher. When the rush came, she rode it until, satiated, she reached down and brought Darlene into her arms.

Barbara began working her way down Darlene’s body, only to feel Darlene’s hand on her arm.

“What are you doing?” Darlene asked.

“Making love to you. What do you think?”

The expression on Darlene’s face matched Barbara’s puzzlement.

“You… why would you… so you’d rather be the man? I’m sorry. I messed up.”

She crept up to Darlene’s side. “No one’s the man. We’re in this together.”

Darlene looked as though Barbara had decided to explain calculus to her. Not a clue. She placed Darlene’s hand on her breast.

“Touching me is good.” She did the same to Darlene. “And so’s this.”

She felt Darlene trembling beneath her. Darlene acted the same way as Sydney, the closeted teacher, and both of them reminded her, uncomfortably, of Roberta.

What was it about Tantona women that made it so that, except for rare exceptions such as Gracie Munoz, they couldn’t both give and take, share and share alike?

She stroked Darlene’s hair and gradually her hands went to other places until Darlene, as antsy as a thoroughbred, calmed down enough that she appeared to be enjoying the experience.

Darlene’s body arched underneath her in mighty rolls until a cry unleashed from her throat. Barbara held on until Darlene finished.

They lay next to one another, silent as ghosts until a bewildered Darlene said, “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“Is it always this way?”

“Sometimes it’s better. Sometimes it’s not all that great. Depends on how your day went and how you’re feeling. It’s what you put into it, like anything else.”

“No, it’s not like anything else. This was… incredible. I didn’t know it was okay to do both.”

She’d never asked about Darlene’s experience level with women. Barbara figured it to be minimal, maybe flirting with some girl when she was in college.

Barbara almost asked her about past lovers, but then thought, no. This was their first night together. It made no sense to question her about possible exes when Darlene had already opened up about that terrible accident.

Better to hold and to kiss and to make love again. Barbara could ask questions later.

Chapter 21

September

Dale Lawrence’s secretary and Wolfe Auto Parts’s newest sales clerk were sharing an afternoon break by phone. Neither lawsuits nor tires had come up yet in the discussion.

Not for the first time, Darlene stated her case. “Collier’s quit driving by my house. Only called once last week. I think he’s moved on. I should come see you, for a change.”

Barbara shook her head vigorously even though Darlene couldn’t see her. “He won’t come at you directly. He’s afraid that George will break him over his knee like a stick of kindling. He’s not near as scared of me. He catches you at my place, he’ll do his worst.”

They’d been together several more times at Hopkins’s house after devising a system where Barbara parked in the alley behind their house and entered via the back gate. Hopkins was game to drop Darlene off anytime Barbara wanted.

Her country road didn’t have much traffic at night, but it only took one person seeing Darlene coming in or out of Barbara’s house to start the rumor mill again.

Darlene said, “Hopkins’s friends at the bar told him they haven’t seen his car in the parking lot for a good while. We could go there. Collier has no reason to think I’m gay now. Heck, we could go this weekend.”

“You’re forgetting about the country club shindig. George is your date, remember?”

George worried Barbara. Darlene swore that he was a perfect gentleman, but could any man keep from courting her for real? Unlikely.

“You’re right,” Darlene said. “I can’t wait to see LaSonda dance with her sweetheart. I just wish you would. I told you Hopkins was willing to—”

“I can’t. I can’t do it.”

Be trapped on the sideline, watching someone else dance with her lover? Not no, but hell no. The pleading in Darlene’s voice got to her.

“You’re right about Lubbock. We can go to the bar, maybe the weekend after next.”

“I’ll mark it on my calendar, underline it, and you best believe I’ll hold you to it.” The sparkle returned to Darlene’s voice.

Barbara would’ve liked the conversation to continue, but just then a grease-spattered man came up to the counter, breaking her chain of thought.

“Honey, I have a customer.”

“Oh, all right. I love you.”

“Same here.”

Time to switch mental gears. The man looked familiar. Yes. He’d ordered a part. She took his money and handed over the package.

“I want to thank y’all for finding some place that had the valve covers. I knowed it’d be hard to get anything for a ’36 Chevy, but you found ’em. I don’t know how, but you did, and I appreciate it.”

The customer stuck the box under his beefy arm and left.

Dad believed Barbara would have to pee on her territory, in a manner of speaking, for customers to respect her. It turned out that all they cared about was whether she could find them parts, no matter how hard to get, and that she paid attention to their needs.

Despite Dad and Ry’s tutelage, Barbara still didn’t understand much of what the customers said about their cars, but somehow, she figured out what they wanted.

She enjoyed working at the store. Sure, she liked wearing casual clothes, she liked not overhearing coworkers and customers badmouth her, and she loved always having her Sundays off. But the part that surprised her was how comfortable she felt being around her family everyday.

They’d never been the nosy kind—the complete opposite, in fact—which made the current situation ideal. Mom was quietly insular, Ry even more so, while Dad, blessed with the most people skills, used them with buddies who’d come by the store to drink coffee with him at the end of the counter.

It gave her room to breathe and plenty of space to learn a job that involved mechanical, rather than human, illnesses. She discovered unexpected similarities between her old job and the new.

The patient’s family in this case might be a drag racer or a teacher, but always they wanted their car to get well. The drag racer knew what he wanted, but he enjoyed discussing his car’s symptoms, while the teacher, less knowledgeable, needed to talk through his car’s problem until they came up with a plan of action. An oil change, perhaps, or new spark plugs.

Barbara listened—what else could she do until she knew something useful?

At the pharmacy, what tired her out was hearing the same customer repeat the same symptoms time after time, when the doctor had already given a solution. Lay off the salt, don’t get so stressed out, or nothing can be done, so live with it.

A car engine, on the other hand, held the possibility of lasting change, even if only to turn into scrap metal.

“Shoo,” Dad said as he came up to the counter. “It’s five on the fly.”

Another good thing about the job. Not only did they take turns on who worked Saturdays, they also rotated on who worked until six on weekdays. One Saturday out of the month spent at the store, and the other Saturdays were dedicated to Darlene.

A woman came through the door, bearing a glass jar with a photograph taped to it.

“I need y’all to put this by y’all’s register.” She was a countrified dirty blonde with a fierce edge.

Barbara read the handwritten note underneath the photograph, which was of a young boy. He had leukemia. The family couldn’t expect him to recover from that, but any money raised would help pay for the funeral.

“Sure. We can do that for you.”

“I’ll be by to pick up the money ever day or two. Our church is fixing to have a cake sale. I expect you’ll get a flyer on that.”

“I can put it up.”

The woman gave Barbara a once-over that turned into an inspection. “They was wrong. I’ve seen more mannish gals than you slicing a wedding cake. Well, I got some rat killing to do. You tend to your bidness, and I’ll tend to mine.”

*  *  *

Barbara tooled over to the library to pick up Mary, whose Cadillac was still in the shop.

Mary hopped into the passenger seat. “Take me by the DQ first. I need an iced tea pronto.”

“Coming right up. You still liking the job?”

“I’m head over heels for it. Tina’s too quiet for my taste, but I’m working on her. Oh, I want to pass on something Barlow Eckert said. He loves the new girl. He’s so glad you recommended her.”

“She’s a Munoz. I knew she’d be good. All those sisters are smart, and they’re tough. They work like demons, then go chasing after men at night—except for Gracie, of course.”

“Is there any chance little sister’s gay?”

“None whatsoever. Are you worried about Barlow?”

“Hell, no. It’s Billy. I thought he was about to do us all a favor by quitting and moving to Lubbock, but ever since she started, you can’t keep him away from the pharmacy.”

“You don’t want him in town?” Barbara asked.

“I don’t want him in town being a drunk and a complete laughingstock. If he’s going to ruin his life, I’d prefer he do it elsewhere and not put that burden on his brother and LaSonda.”

“Do you want me to move, too?”

“Barbie, no. I wasn’t talking about you. You’re fine the way you are. It’s the rest of the world that’s screwy.”

“Thanks, I guess. This is off the subject, but I want to ask you about George. Darlene says I shouldn’t worry about him making a move on her. Should I? He is the town’s number one lady-killer.”

Mary waited to answer until they’d pulled into the drive-through and placed their orders. Drinks delivered, Barbara put the El Camino into gear.

“Okay, here’s the story,” Mary said.

“Finally.”

Mary took a sip of tea. “Ah, sweet blissful heaven. What do you know about George?”

“He was a super jock in high school, but nice. He’s still nice. Didn’t you go out with him?”

“My senior year, before Barlow Eckert finally drew my attention. George is… George is… What has Darlene told you about him?”

“That he’s a gentleman. He hasn’t made a pass at her.”

“He’s not going to.” Mary sucked on her tea through one stoplight and two yields. Barbara was ready to choke her. “This is the biggest secret I’ve ever kept, even bigger than your affair with Roberta. Lots bigger. It’s like D-Day.”

“What on earth are you talking about? Is he gay?” Mary’s face told her she was on target. “What’s the big deal about that? Why didn’t Darlene tell me?”

“Because George doesn’t want anyone to know. I’m guessing he hasn’t given her permission to tell you.”

For years, she’d seen him around town squiring various women on his arm. If there were any clues to his orientation, she’d missed them all. She couldn’t think of any man in town she’d seen him with who might fit the definition of a boyfriend, except for—

“Bridge night. Hopkins Tickner. Right in front of me. I must be blind or something.”

“Must be. I figured it out right after we graduated when I saw him and Hopkins eating together at Underwood’s Barbecue in Lubbock. George looked so guilty.”

“That early on? Hopkins was his teacher, for Chrissake.”

“Hopkins is only about six years older than us. He was pretty young when he started teaching. Don’t forget that.”

Barbara parked the car a few yards up from Mary’s house.

“George and Hopkins. Have they been together all this time?”

“Mostly. I think George messed around for a while, but he came back to Hopkins eventually. They have a friend in Lubbock they stay with on weekends or at George’s brother’s house when he’s out of town. They also own a cabin in Ruidoso, New Mexico, for vacations and getaways. Hopkins would probably let you and Darlene use it. I’m surprised you haven’t seen them together at the bar in Lubbock. Hopkins says he’s seen you.”

Hopkins sometimes performed in drag. There was always a huge table of male friends gathered around him, but she didn’t remember seeing George. Barbara flashed on the recent memory of Hopkins, the king of Tantona community theater, offering her a wig.

“I haven’t seen George, but he could’ve been wearing a disguise.”

“That sounds like Hopkins. He does like the big strokes. I wish George was more like Burt Reynolds.”

“Huh?”

Mary had a well-known passion for the man and his mustache. “Burt Reynolds has a bunch of gay friends, and no one thinks twice about it.”

“Burt’s in Hollywood, and he’s straight, I think. George is stuck here. If he’s so worried about folks finding out, then why don’t they move?”

“I’ve talked to him about that. Hopkins would leave in a heartbeat. He loves the area around Ruidoso. The mountains, the trees, going skiing. George doesn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“You know his parents owned a lot of property around here. He manages it, plus he has his insurance business. He could sell insurance anywhere. I’ve already told him I could handle anything locally for him, but George won’t do it. I think what it is, once he and Hopkins leave town, once they move in together, then the people there’ll know he’s gay. They won’t see our George. All they’ll see is the faggot.”

“Like with me.”

Mary turned her head to Barbara. “I see you. You’re my friend, and I love you. There are people in town who care about you and not about the other thing. I know you don’t want to pretend anymore, but maybe for Darlene’s sake, you might think about—”

“No, Mary. I am thinking of Darlene. It’s better for her if she knows what she’s getting into. The hiding, the sneaking around. I’ll lie for her sake, but I won’t for mine. Not anymore.”

Chapter 22

Saturday night tube watching, from All in the Family to The Carol Burnett Show, with a break in the middle for her to romp in the backyard with Mutt.

He’d recovered quickly from battering the screen door, but he still worried over visitors’ intentions, even Jackie, who he knew well and appreciated, if mainly for her meaty snacks.

Barbara understood Mutt’s insecurity. Dad’s rifle had yet to leave its handy position behind the couch.

She ordinarily would’ve gone to the movies, or dropped by Jackie’s Place, or maybe hit the bar in Lubbock, but Darlene promised to call her after the country club party. Even though Mary had defanged George as a potential suitor, it didn’t make Barbara feel much better about the situation.

She should be the one dancing with Darlene tonight. That was an unrealistic thought all around, given that Barbara wasn’t the country club type in the first place. And no lesbian would dance with her date in Tantona, Texas, and expect to see a set of unslashed tires once she made it out to the parking lot.

Mary said the Kindred boy overcame last-minute nerves and would be escorting LaSonda to the dance for her first official date.

If not for Mary’s reports, Barbara would be completely shut out of her daughter’s life. She expected LaSonda to be angry over no one telling her about her mother’s orientation, but LaSonda veered over into a homophobia deeply upsetting to Mary, who said she’d never used that kind of language.

Barbara believed her. However, that kind of language was a normal part of LaSonda’s school life and social circle. The sermons at church, while more polite, would bear the same message. Mary might say gay or homosexual, but LaSonda heard queer and faggot, heard that her mother was one of those freaks.

LaSonda’s anger probably had to do with the fact that people other than her parents had largely been responsible for her upbringing. In time, the hurt would fade, or at least that’s what Barbara said to reassure herself.

She needed to be patient, patient about a lot of things, but she wanted to see LaSonda waltzing with her tugboat beau, and she preferred to have Darlene as her own dance partner.

She turned off the TV and opened a book she’d been reading by an author she’d never heard of named Stephen King. The book was about a girl named Carrie who had special powers but was cursed with a strange mother and mean classmates. There weren’t any gay people in the book, which was par for the course in most novels she read, yet tonight it ticked her off.

No wonder LaSonda went with her friends’ opinions over those of her Aunt Mary. Nobody wanted to be Carrie, anymore than they wanted to be a too-tall girl with a pervert for a mother. LaSonda chose fitting in with her friends.

Mutt lifted his head off the pallet and rumbled. That usually meant a car was about to pull into the drive. Moments later, she heard it, too.

She got up and looked through the curtain. Collier McKenna’s car and Collier McKenna himself, but this time with no flunky along for the ride.

Barbara turned toward the couch and almost fell over Mutt in the process. She pulled out the rifle, thought for a moment, then snapped the leash on Mutt.

She stepped out onto the porch. McKenna was standing in the middle of her yard. He was weaving back and forth, visibly drunk.

“Greetings,” he called out. His face looked wet and flushed, as if he’d been crying.

“What are you doing here?”

He noticed the gun and the dog. “Don’t worry about me. I’m dickless these days.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Why don’t you head on home?”

Mutt punctuated her words with a growl.

“You and me, we got something in common now. We got dumped by the same bitch.”

“You got dumped. I didn’t even get started.”

“Bullshit. She used you up and threw you aside, like she did me. She lied to me about you, but I let her get away with it, ’cause that’s what you do for someone you love. You let ’em get away with shit. I bought her the ring she wanted, and then she went and mailed it back to me. Mailed the damned thing back to me.”

He took a couple of steps forward, which turned Mutt’s growl into a bark and a near-lunge. Barbara brought Mutt to heel with difficulty.

McKenna went to his knees, and the tears started falling. “You know where she’s at right now?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Barbara said shortly.

“She’s with the almighty George Bering, which means she’s fucking her way up the ladder. I wasn’t rich enough for her. He’ll learn, won’t he? She won’t be satisfied. She’ll use him up and then be on to the next man, or half-man like you.”

Barbara didn’t need a gun or Mutt to deal with the sobbing drunk in her yard. If she gave in to what she felt, he would soon be a bloody carcass.

But she wouldn’t give in and not because the law wouldn’t let her get away with retaliating. She wanted an end to the ugliness inside her and in what she was seeing. To get rid of both, she needed to turn away.

McKenna didn’t need to be behind the wheel. The sheriff’s department wouldn’t listen to her, but maybe they’d believe the Rosens. Barbara made a mental note of his license plate number and started back inside.

“I’m not done yet.”

“I am. You go on home now.”

He didn’t move. Barbara fired the rifle above his head. A wet spot appeared in his trousers. Other than that, the man was a statue.

Considering that a suitable farewell, Barbara took Mutt back inside and locked the door. She unloaded the rifle and placed it in the utility room. She’d return it to Dad tomorrow.

As she took the receiver in hand, she heard McKenna’s car pull out of the driveway. She gave McKenna’s license plate number to Estelle and recapped what happened.

“You’ll call me if he comes back, okay?” Estelle said worriedly.

“I will, but he won’t.”

She poured a glass of tea from the fridge and sat back in her recliner. She jumped when the phone rang. She wasn’t as cool and collected as she’d thought.

Darlene was on the other end of the line. “I miss you.”

“Me, too,” Barbara said.

“George wants me to ride with him to see Tech play, but I told him no.”

“Tech’s supposed to be good this year.”

“I want to go with you,” Darlene said. “I want to be with you. I’m tired of worrying and fretting over what people might say.”

“Hang in there. Remember, we’re going to the bar next weekend.”

“Heck, I’d go with you right now if it weren’t so late.”

“I wish we could. Next week, though. Count on it.”

By the time they got off the phone, Barbara learned more than she wanted to know about the party, but she did enjoy hearing that LaSonda acquitted herself well on the dance floor, despite the Kindred boy’s timidity.

Barbara said nothing about McKenna’s appearance on her lawn. She didn’t want him to feature at all in their conversation or to be a part of Darlene’s thoughts.

The sooner he faded into the past, the better.

Chapter 23

September

Barbara glanced up at the clock. “It’s your turn today, Ry.”

Ry came from the back of the store, his lunch bucket in hand. “It’s five oh one.”

“Off by one minute. You’ll get it right next time.”

“Undoubtedly.” Ry stopped at the door and soberly flashed the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper.”

Ry remained a staunch Star Trek man and loved to watch it in syndication. As far as she knew, Marquetta was the only other person worthy of the Vulcan blessing. That’s how Barbara discovered the depth of Ry’s feelings for his girlfriend. Those words and the salute meant that Marquetta succeeded in tunneling into Ry’s world.

She still felt a bit guilty for quizzing Marquetta over her intentions, guilty enough that she’d decided to invite her and Ry over for supper. She’d already made the meatloaf, which would only need a stint in the oven when she got home. Still, she needed to pick up a bag of ice, and did she have enough strawberries on hand? The bell over the door jangled, which interrupted her list making.

Jackie came up to the counter with an imperious look on her face. “You have to wait on me, and don’t give me any lip about it.”

“Yes, ma’am. What does your highness need today?”

Jackie couldn’t keep the act going for long. “I need a break in this heat wave we’re having. Can you do something about that?”

“Ain’t a thing I can do. Say, I’m having Ry and his girlfriend over for supper tomorrow. Do you want to come?”

Jackie turned curiously evasive. “It might not be a good idea.”

“Yeah, I forgot. Friday’s a big night for you. Lots of customers.”

“I got someone who can cover for me. That’s not the problem. Where your folks at?”

“Mom’s home, and Dad’s in back trying to figure out the new typewriter. I’m waiting for him to let me show him how it works.”

Jackie gestured for Barbara to come with her outside. Standing by Jackie’s battered Buick, Barbara thought, not for the first time, of how it would surprise locals to learn how well Jackie profited off their undercover drinking needs. Jackie drove a junker and lived in a house that looked like a shack, but inside, it could put Mary Eckert’s neighbors to shame.

“I don’t get into your business, you don’t get into mine—I like that about you. It’s why we get along,” Jackie said.

She felt free to discuss Barbara’s personal life in detail, but rarely opened up about her own. Instead of arguing the point, Barbara nodded to move the conversation along.

“Ry’s a good man, but if Marquetta talks him into getting married, it’d be one hell of a mistake. Marquetta’s a chippy on the side.”

“She’s a sleep-arounder, you mean.”

“A chippy, and you know what I mean. Marquetta won’t cheat on their wedding night, but I know she’ll do it. Guaranteed.”

Barbara wondered how Jackie knew anything about Marquetta’s habits. Marquetta happened to be half black, but Barbara doubted that the Kindreds had encouraged her to have any local connections to that side. A grown-up Marquetta, however, might not feel so tied down.

“Are you saying Marquetta’s messing with a brother?”

“Oh, now you’re talking street, like that’ll impress me.” Despite her intensity, Jackie still managed a harsh chuckle. “Marquetta’s not messing with the Flatville men. She’s messing with me.”

Barbara leaned back on the Buick, stunned. “She’s the girlfriend you’ve been talking about all these years? Marquetta?”

“One and the same. She came over one time with a cousin to buy some beer. Next time, she came by herself. Time after that, we hung out at my place. She keeps her own apartment, but she spends most nights with me—or she did until lately.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?”

“I kept thinking she’d curb him, like the other men. Ry doesn’t need to get with her. Marquetta’s a good woman, the best, but she ain’t the marrying kind.”

“Then why’d she decide to chase after Ry?”

“Hell if I know,” Jackie said bleakly. “She won’t say why. She’ll never go with any other woman except me—she’s loyal that way—but something happened about a year ago. She went on a couple of dates with men. Said it didn’t mean nothing. Now she’s with your brother. She won’t talk to me about it. I could deal with her lying. Tell her, my way or the highway. She’s not about leaving, and she’s not about sneaking. She wants me, but she also wants whatever the hell it is she’s getting from your brother. I don’t know what to do, Barbara.”

Jackie the strong, Jackie the wise, Jackie was in tears. Barbara started to give her a hug, but Jackie held her off. “You don’t need any more gossip spread on you right now.”

“Do I look worried?”

This time, Jackie allowed the hug, then stepped away.

Barbara considered the problem. “I’ll talk to Marquetta tonight after supper. I’ll get her away from Ry for a bit.”

“Do you have to? Why don’t you talk to your brother?”

“Ry ain’t that good at keeping secrets. I’ll give it a go with Marquetta, and then I’ll call you tomorrow night—unless you want to come over for supper.”

“When is it?”

“Seven, seven-thirty.”

“If I come, I come. Don’t save a plate, but don’t shut the door.”

That night’s usual phone marathon with Darlene went even longer when Darlene heard about Marquetta.

“You’re kidding,” she said in a higher than usual pitch.

“From Jackie’s mouth to my ear.”

Darlene harrumphed. “Now I know I don’t have to worry about Jackie snatching you up one day. She has Marquetta.”

“I didn’t know you were worried about Jackie.”

“I’ve scouted all the opposition. Coach Landry has nothing on me.”

“Jackie’s a butch, and so am I,” Barbara protested.

“You just think you are,” Darlene said, unperturbed. “Contrary to appearances, I wear the pants in the family.”

Hearing Darlene use the word family put a catch in Barbara’s throat. For all of Gracie’s warmth and caring, she put her relatives first and foremost over any of her plans with Barbara. But didn’t Barbara do the same by evicting Gracie whenever LaSonda came to visit?

As she’d done so many times before, Barbara consoled herself with the hope that LaSonda would move beyond her anger someday, and when she did, Barbara would be waiting. Could she imagine Darlene in that scene, or was that a case of wishful thinking?

It was hard to get off the phone, even though she knew they’d be together Saturday. Hopkins told her of a hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant in Lubbock where they could meet. Afterward, they’d head over to the bar.

Darlene wanted—no, demanded—that she and Barbara ride into Lubbock together. Barbara couldn’t do it. She refused to risk it, even though McKenna had receded from being a threat. She thought her warning shot over his head might have clarified his thinking, but he could still make a comeback.

Best to still be careful.

Chapter 24

Ry’s rules regarding salad were simple—one large lettuce leaf, three slices of tomato, and five of whatever else Barbara wanted to add to the ensemble. Tonight, she went with five thin slices of radish. Over the years, Ry had grown accustomed to her own salad plate, although she felt sure he found her mixture numerically unsound, not to mention messy.

They worked through the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and corn-on-the-cob, then into the strawberry shortcake. Marquetta shouldered most of the conversational burden, as Ry didn’t usually start a thread without a prompt, and Barbara felt flummoxed by the question of what she’d say if she found herself alone with Marquetta.

Something else preyed on her mind. Marquetta had been so friendly, so present, when they’d lunch together, and yet rarely did she mention her boyfriend, Barbara’s brother.

She reluctantly admitted to herself that Marquetta acted like a potential date. The way her gaze lingered. The care she gave to Barbara’s needs. Absent Darlene in her life, she would gladly pursue the voluptuous Marquetta, who halfway seemed to be already pursuing her. She wasn’t certain all of Marquetta’s attention wasn’t simply to gain the favor of Ry’s sister.

Eating in public with Barbara had been a gutsy move by Marquetta, now that Barbara knew, a la Paul Harvey, the rest of the story.

She didn’t believe in bisexuality if it meant stepping out on a husband. Based on Mom’s elliptical comments the other day, Marquetta stayed overnight on occasion with Ry. Roberta didn’t see her husband and two college-aged sons as a hindrance to her secret social life. Marquetta wouldn’t drop Jackie, even if she married Ry.

The meal ended with no knock at the door from Jackie.

They sat on the back porch, enjoying a cooling breeze and the sight of Mutt thrilled by the chance to perform.

Ry methodically directed the ball to the left corner, where Mutt ran it down and brought it back, then Ry threw the ball to the right corner. Right to left, front and back, Mutt and Ry.

It was time to talk to Marquetta.

“Ry? Marquetta and I are going inside for a little girl talk. We’ll be back out in a little while.”

“Okay.”

After pulling a couple of drinks from the fridge, she took Marquetta out to the front porch. Barbara sat on the swing. After some hesitation, Marquetta joined her there. They each took a swig from their bottle.

“What’s this about? Are you still worried about Ry and me?”

“Marquetta, you’ve become a really good friend, and Ry’s definitely attached to you.”

“But what? Is it because my father was black?”

“No, not at all. My parents have never said word one about that. Hell, Ry’s darker than you.”

“Your father’s Indian. Nobody cared which water fountain he drank from at the county courthouse.”

Marquetta spoke with a bitterness unfamiliar to Barbara.

“You’re right. My friend, Jackie, remembers getting in so much trouble from her mother for drinking from the white fountain. She was so afraid they’d arrest them for taking a drink. Even when they tore down the Whites Only sign, it took awhile for people not to stick to the rule. Dad’s no pioneer, but he always made a point of drinking from what had been the Colored fountain, and he told us to do the same. He thought it was stupid, making water black or white, when it’s clear as can be.”

Marquetta looked nonplussed by the mention of Jackie. “Water may be clear, but people still care about color.”

“That’s right. People do, but they care a whole lot more about whether you’re gay. If you’re black, but not rowdy, they’ll call you a good Negro. Cut you a little bit of slack. Not much, but some. There’s no such thing as the Good Gay. Everyone in town knows Hopkins Tickner’s gay, but no one will talk about it openly to where people have to take a stand—unless he messes up somehow. Like, he gets drunk and makes a pass at a straight man or tells the truth at a Rotary meeting.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Folks will be blind as long as they can, but if he comes out, they’ll squash him flat and make sure he never teaches again. He’ll have to work at something that doesn’t involve kids. He’ll have to show he’s sorry. He’ll have to eat dirt and sing to Jesus before they finally let it slide, but no one in this town would ever love him again. Because he forced people to admit he’s gay. And that’s unforgivable.”

She could see from Marquetta’s expression how uncomfortable she felt.

“Homosexuals do have it hard,” Marquetta agreed. “Ry and me, we don’t have it nearly as tough as you do.”

Nice try. Barbara decided to put Marquetta out of her misery. At that moment, she saw Jackie’s Buick coming up the highway.

“You know what I’m talking about. I’m simply laying out the truth.”

Marquetta saw Jackie’s car. Her face went slack. “I’m not dating him to make them think I’m straight. I don’t want people in town to know the way I am, but that’s not the same as lying. I’m not like Darlene, who dated men and pretended she wanted to get married someday. I’m as honest as I can be, Barbara.”

“Then, why my brother?”

Jackie’s car rolled into the driveway. She could hear Mutt’s usual hello bark. Ry would be on the porch shortly.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

Marquetta rose to her feet and churned over to Jackie’s car. Barbara followed, catching up to her as Jackie stepped out of her car.

“Why wouldn’t I understand?” Barbara asked.

Jackie listened silently. Marquetta’s eyes were on her lover, but she spoke to both of them.

“Because I’m thirty-one years old, and I’ve wanted a baby for ages. Both of you have kids. Y’all got it done early. Your men are out of the picture. I’m a Kindred. I didn’t think I could marry a man and then dump him, or have him hovering somewhere, but not really official. Back when I was younger, I didn’t think I could do that, not when my family fought so hard for me to be accepted.”

Jackie closed her car door. “’Quetta, you’re with me. I’m your family, too. You can’t be deciding on babies and whatnot and leaving me out of it.”

“Then, what you’re wanting from Ry is to have a father for your baby. You don’t need him for a husband,” Barbara said.

“No, I don’t.” Marquetta’s voice quavered. “I do care for him. I didn’t pick his name out of a hat.”

“I know. But, why him?”

“He’s kind. I’d see him in the park feeding the birds, and he’d be so serious about making sure they all had a piece. People say crap about him, but when I saw him in the store with you, he talked about the ingredients and where they came from—he’s not stupid.”

“You know, any child of his is going to be tall, dark, and handsome like me,” Jackie said.

Although Jackie didn’t look thrilled by Marquetta’s admission, she didn’t act as upset as she had at the store. It was hard to argue with a woman’s desire to have a child. Barbara knew in her bones that if Marquetta planned to bear Ry’s child, it would happen eventually, regardless of what Barbara and her parents did.

About all she could do, given the situation, was make sure Marquetta didn’t dump Ry too hastily, and that, if any child resulted, the Wolfes weren’t treated as poor relations by the Kindreds. Knowing that Barbara was in on the secret, Marquetta had a strong motivation to play nice.

The screen door opened and then closed. She turned to see her brother and Mutt on the porch. Mutt flung himself toward the car, his tongue hanging out.

Ry hung back. He knew when serious talks were happening. Like Marquetta said, he wasn’t stupid.

“Ry,” Jackie called out. “I brought some beer, if you’ll give me a hand.”

He lugged the case into the house, the bottles clinking as he walked by.

“Wow,” Barbara said. “You came prepared.”

“I didn’t know how much it would take to loosen our girl’s tongue here.”

Marquetta still looked tremulous, but she brightened at that remark. “It’ll take more than a case to shut me up now.”

Judging Ry to be a safe distance away, Barbara said, “Don’t tell him about you being gay. He’s not big on secrets.”

Marquetta cocked her head at them both, puzzled. “He already knows. I told him when we first started dating. He promised not to tell.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Barbara said, incredulously.

Jackie laughed at the both of them. “I should’ve talked to him from the get-go. We’d have avoided all this drama-mama shit. Come on, girls, let’s have ourselves a party.”

Chapter 25

Hopkins couldn’t remember the name of the Lubbock restaurant when he wrote down the directions, which made finding it down on East 50th Street something of a puzzle. Finally, Barbara saw the faded yellow walls of the restaurant. Squeezed between a pawnshop and a bodega, El Guapito was the epitome of obscure.

When Barbara walked in, she went past the little girl at the cash register to join Darlene and Hopkins at their corner booth.

“Lord a’mercy,” Hopkins said. “I wondered when you planned on gracing our humble gathering with your presence.”

“I couldn’t find it.” Barbara’s eyes were on Darlene, who had on a red, low-cut blouse and crisp, western-cut jeans.

“Hi there, baby,” Darlene said, inviting Barbara to sit beside her.

“No, no, no,” Hopkins said. “Take my spot. I need to scoot.”

“Stay awhile, why don’t you? I don’t bite,” Barbara said.

“That’s not what I heard, missy. Darlings, I need to head over to a friend’s house to get ready.”

“Hopkins is doing a show tonight.” Darlene fairly gleamed with excitement.

“I haven’t seen you do that in years,” Barbara said.

“And you won’t ever again. This is my swan song.”

“Why? You’re good at it.”

“It’s time to set aside such foolish things,” Hopkins said with a deceptive lightness. His eyes, however, said the opposite.

After he left, and Barbara moved to his seat, she asked why Hopkins was quitting.

“He doesn’t want to, but his lover’s demanding it. Hopkins is a local legend—in gay circles, I should say—for his drag act. I’ve never been to the club, but I’ve seen him practice at home. He said the last show even brought in some straight people.”

“That’s why George wants him to stop. He’s afraid of the straights.”

Darlene’s eyes widened in surprise. “Dang it. That was going to be my big surprise. How’d you find out about George?”

“Mary told me a few days ago.”

“Why didn’t you say you knew?”

“No sense in getting Mary in hot water. I’d appreciate you not telling Hopkins I’m in on the secret.”

“It’s okay now. While we were waiting on you to show up, he said it was okay to tell you—as long as you don’t talk directly to George about it. He gets nervous.”

“I can see why. He has a lot to lose.”

Darlene gave her a searching expression. “You’ve been so scared lately. Being so protective. I’m not afraid, not the way I used to be.”

“Why?”

“Because I know we’re right.”

Barbara could only make one response to that statement. “I love you. Even though you’re not at all sensible.”

“Then we both must be out of our heads, ’cause I love you, too.”

After dinner, they headed over to the club, which was located near the downtown area. A little too exposed for Barbara, but as long as she remained alert in the danger zone from car to bar and back again, chances were they’d be safe. The club needed better lighting in the parking lot, but that might have been a deliberate choice. More likely, the owners were being cheap.

The bouncer, a robust black man, stood next to the woman taking the gate. “You’re in luck. There’s a show tonight. Don’t forget to tip the ladies. Aqua Net don’t come free.”

Barbara headed over to the bar to order their drinks, only to realize she’d lost Darlene. Turning around, she saw Darlene staring in wide-eyed wonder at the scene around her. A few old-time dykes and fluffs sitting by the pool tables, Texas Tech kids, a cowboy Barbara recognized from previous visits, blue-jean hicks and polyester slickers, a couple of drag queens, whites, blacks, and Chicanos—the usual crowd.

She moved up next to Darlene. “What do you think?”

Darlene eventually found her tongue. “There’re some women here.”

“And?”

“What I mean is they look like us, more or less.”

“We’re not all stereotypes, not anymore. Did you think that’s how it was?”

“She…” Darlene shook her head. “I thought there’d be nothing but sad-looking women, dressed like men. All of them miserable. Tacky clothes. Outcasts of society.”

Outcasts of society? Darlene must have absorbed that phrase from a TV show. There was a degree of sadness in the club, Barbara thought. It existed in any club, gay or straight. All that pent-up longing could come out in ugly ways. Sometimes, longing met with joy.

“Come on,” Barbara said. “Let’s buy our drinks and get situated.”

Beers in hand, they located the table reserved for them and sat down. A song started playing that Darlene wanted to dance to: “Feelings,” by Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn.

Barbara led her around the floor again and again, slow and sensuous, as the smoke-flickered lights changed from red to blue and back again. Darlene’s head rested easy on Barbara’s shoulder. After a while, they drifted to the middle and barely moved in step, listening to the song until it faded into a soulful woman singing the words to “Reach Out (I’ll Be There).”

“Do you want to sit?” Barbara yelled into Darlene’s ear.

She shook her head.

They broke apart a few inches and danced as the floor filled with other clubgoers. Noticing a familiar face dancing nearby, Barbara asked the man, “Who’s the singer?”

“Gloria Gaynor. She’s divine.”

Darlene flowed back in her arms. They kissed. In the crowd, in the cocoon, they kissed.

Sweaty and dry-mouthed after several more songs, they ordered pina coladas and sat together at the table, joined by several of Hopkins’s friends. Time passed in that fashion, of drinks and dances, laughter, and waiting for the show. As the music began to fade, along with the lights, a single spotlight came up on the dance floor.

A stylish black drag queen strolled out with microphone in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a wonderful show lined up for you tonight. Back by popular demand, Miss Lucky Strike will grace our stage tonight, along with Diva Rogerette, and, in her last performance, for one night only, the fabulous Dusty Big Spring!”

“Too bad George is missing out on this,” Barbara said to Darlene after the emcee finished.

“He’s here. Don’t be too obvious checking him out, but George is the blond surfer over by the women’s restroom.”

Barbara casually turned in her chair and waved as if to a friend at the bar. She saw a muscled young man with longish hair and longer bangs, wearing white shorts and a navy jumper. Young at a distance, Barbara realized. Maybe she should ask Hopkins to do something about her scar. It had already faded somewhat, but if Hopkins could turn George into a Beach Boy, what could he do with her face?

Miss Lucky Strike, a busty queen who used to specialize in Judy Garland, had moved on to Bette Midler. He wore a slinky tropical-print dress and platform heels, topped off by a head of loose red curls and blue eye shadow.

Barbara knew that in his closeted life, Lucky worked at a jewelry store in some town north of Lubbock, but in his drag life, he worked the tippers, gave out kisses, and never stopped moving from start to finish.

He lip-synched to a medley that ended with “Da Doo Ron Ron.” The last time she had seen him perform, the younger members of the audience applauded, but they hadn’t liked his Garland as much as another queen’s impression of Diana Ross. When tastes changed, Lucky changed, too.

Diva Rogerette was another longtime favorite. A roundish black queen, he stormed out onto the floor with his boyfriend to duet on “Soul Shake.” Barbara looked around at one point and saw that a dance party had broken out over by the pool tables.

“She’s a ball of fire, isn’t she,” Darlene said in her ear.

“It’s a good thing she’s going on before Hopkins. Nobody can follow him.”

“God, yes. He cracks me up with some of the moves he makes.”

Barbara smiled at her. “You only saw the living room show. That’s like kissing on the first date. It gets better.”

“I’m offended.” Darlene’s twirling of a lock of Barbara’s hair demonstrated how unoffended she really felt. “I gave you everything I had with our first kiss.”

“That’s a lie. Turns out, you had a lot more to give after that. A lot more.”

That earned Barbara a chuck on the arm. Her neighbor to the left aimed an elbow that cut off Barbara’s laughter.

The stage went dark. Three spotlights came up, arranged from back to front, with Dusty Big Spring in the one furthest back. She—Barbara instinctively changed the gender to she for this performer—launched into “I Close My Eyes and Count to Ten.” She wore a gold satin gown and an upswept blonde wig, the makeup impeccable.

For the first verse, she stopped and posed in each spot before moving to the next, then, during her chorus, the lighting returned to its normal level. Dusty floated over to the sides to emote into the faces of her waiting fans, stopping every now and then to flawlessly execute one of her idol’s elegant, never histrionic, gestures.

Barbara wasn’t the only lesbian waiting to deposit a dollar into the hands of Dusty, and once she did so and received an air kiss, she returned to her table to watch the rest of the performance.

Darlene bore a flabbergasted expression, and in her hand was clutched a dollar bill.

“Well, go up there and pay the lady,” Barbara said.

“Ah… she’s… ah, she’s beautiful.” Darlene stirred herself to join the throng.

For the space of a song, everyone, man and woman, fell for the illusion. Everyone absorbed a dose of glitter. Some of the butchest lesbians could be the most ardent drag queen fans. The appearance might have been a fake, but the performance, the passion behind it, was anything but.

When George tipped Dusty, he received a real kiss and a hug. George didn’t linger. He scuttled back to the dimly lit wall by the restrooms.

Not everyone back in Tantona knew about Barbara being a lesbian, to judge from the comfort some churchgoing acquaintances continued to display in her presence. But enough other Tantonans radiated their disapproval so strongly that she understood why George wore a disguise tonight. The code forbade outing gays, but people did talk—witness Mary about George and Jackie about Marquetta.

In a way, Barbara didn’t want to know about anybody else. She had enough to deal with in the woman next to her. Darlene didn’t seem to understand she wouldn’t serve the penalty for only a few months, after which everyone would move on to the next scandal.

Once people knew Darlene was a lesbian, her church would disown her, and most of her friends would do the same. Given that situation, she might agitate for leaving town, the way Hopkins did with George, which meant starting over in a new place and facing who knew what kind of situation wherever they landed.

Strange how George and Barbara were taking the same attitude, yet he remained closeted, and she didn’t. They each had partners to protect: Hopkins, with his last shred of deniability, and Darlene, with her hopeful nature.

The show rolled on with more numbers from the featured trio, as Dusty had fun kicking around in a miniskirt with “Brand New Me,” and later tore the house down with “I Don’t Know What to Do With Myself.”

On that song, Dusty emoted through tears matched by some in the audience, Barbara included. Drag wasn’t about faking being a woman; it was about being stronger than the troubles trying to drag a woman down. Hopkins’s Dusty was a beautiful wreck, a volatile survivor of everything except her lover’s insistence that she retire from the stage. She put her all into the last notes of her last song, then the spotlight faded. Despite fervent cries for an encore, Dusty Big Spring had left the stage.

Show over, dancers returned to the floor, but Darlene’s hand on Barbara’s arm let her know they needed to get going. According to Darlene, George’s brother and his family were out of town and had graciously offered their home to the visiting quartet.

Driving south on Quaker Avenue, Barbara asked, “Are you sure it’s okay with them? Does George mind me being there?”

“Positive. Hopkins talked to George about you. It’s okay now. About the house, George and Hopkins always stay there when Doak’s out of town. Otherwise, they go to a friend’s house. Hopkins thought it’d be fun for us to have a bigger place to play in, for a change.”

Barbara didn’t care if they spent the night in a shotgun shack, as long as they were together, with no need to sneak out the back alley at dawn or have Hopkins smuggle her in his car.

She paid little attention to the surroundings as Darlene led her down the hallway. The place did seem a trifle large, even to Barbara’s Mary-jaded perspective, but Darlene’s perfume, and Darlene herself, made it hard to focus on anything but the moment.

Darlene stopped at the door to the bedroom. She took Barbara’s bag and tossed it inside the room along with her case, then said, without elaboration, “There’s a swimming pool.”

Clothes flew off in various directions as they went from the patio door to a sparkling swimming pool. It was a warm night, but Barbara still shuddered when she dropped into the shallow end.

“Give it time. You’ll warm up,” Darlene said.

“You plan to help it along?”

Darlene floated over and hooked a leg around Barbara’s knee. They both went under. When Barbara came back up, she looked around for Darlene. She was treading water closer to the deep end.

Barbara swam down toward her, catching up at the ladder.

Darlene turned and curled her arms around the rails on either side. “You could kiss me, if you’ve a mind to,” she said.

Barbara had a mind. They kissed with the water creating a subtle motion that made them cling to one another, but they would have done that anyway. Barbara reached down and found a place that made Darlene gasp. She stayed inside Darlene as the water, at first so cool, turned as warm as the air.

Darlene clenched the rails tighter, rocking harder until she let go and her head leaned back. With her free hand, Barbara kept Darlene’s head above water. Darlene legs, which she’d wrapped about Barbara, came loose, and she cried out.

In the afterglow, they floated together aimlessly like a living raft upon the surface.

Later, back in the shallow water, Barbara beached them on the steps. They sat together, feet entangled, under a sky that, this far into the outer stretches of Lubbock, wasn’t obscured by streetlights.

Barbara started to name the star above her, but stopped in mid-thought. No words, no plans, no decisions. Only Darlene, the water, and the night.

Chapter 26

A lazy Sunday morning was spent in Darlene’s arms until hunger forced Barbara into action. She dragged on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and went into the kitchen. Good Lord. The Berings liked everything large, including their kitchen, which was tiled, painted, and enameled in nothing but avocado and cream.

A stove was still a stove, no matter how outsized; ditto the refrigerator. After some exploration, Barbara assembled the makings for French toast and began dipping the bread in the egg-milk mixture.

She pinged a drop of water off the griddle to confirm its hotness. She was about to drop a slice when Sherron Steinhall walked into the kitchen.

“Where’d you come from?” Barbara asked, startled.

“The front door. Didn’t you hear me?”

“In this house? The front door needs its own zip code.”

Sherron looked as though she’d been crying, but now she looked angry.

“I know you’re not one of Uncle George’s girlfriends. Don’t try pulling a fast one on me.”

“Oh please. You think I drove up from Tantona to steal breakfast?”

“Then why are you here?”

“It’s none of your business, but if you and your husband already booked this hotel, I can be packed and gone in two minutes.”

At the word husband, Sherron’s fire dissipated. “He’s not with me. I left him at his brother’s house here in town. I told him I needed to pick something up.”

“Did you?”

“Maybe there’s something in my old room I can get my hands on—oh, shoot. Do you know who called me? Roberta. At Ryan’s brother’s house. She called me. I’m so lucky my sister-in-law answered the phone. She handed the receiver over to me. She doesn’t know what’s going on. I told Ryan it was one of my friends in town. I couldn’t be in the same room with him, not knowing what I know. I couldn’t look at him.”

Sherron slumped onto a stool and pressed her face into her hands.

Hopkins sauntered into the kitchen. When he saw Sherron, he moved not one step farther. Barbara hurriedly gave a master class in sign language for “go away, I’ll get rid of her, and don’t make a sound.”

Hopkins scurried down the hall. Barbara turned off the stove and pulled up a stool next to Sherron. Directly, Sherron lifted her head and wiped her eyes.

“She won’t stop calling. She even wrote me a letter. She wants us to get back together. I… I messed up the other day. I went and saw her. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

“Now she thinks that’s how it’s going to be,” Barbara told her. “You’ll have sex with her occasionally—when your schedules align, when she’s not at her club meetings, or vacationing with her family.”

“Or watching her son play at Tech.”

“I remember when the boys were little. She’d pack them and the nanny off to the park.”

“She says she loves me,” Sherron said wistfully.

Barbara saw Darlene standing in the kitchen entrance, wearing a loosely buttoned blouse Barbara had worn last night. She couldn’t warn her off without alerting Sherron, yet Darlene stubbornly stayed in place.

“Do you love her?” Barbara asked.

Sherron hesitated.

“Don’t think. Say it.”

“Yes. I do. She says she’ll leave her husband soon.”

“She won’t.” This came from a sober-sounding Darlene.

Sherron and Barbara both stared at her.

Darlene continued. “Roberta’s the trail boss. You ride when she rides. You break for camp when she says to. You live according to Roberta’s rules. She bats those eyes at you, treats you like a princess, and she tells you stories any mature person would know are lies, but you’re young, and you’re gay. The gay part won’t ever change, no matter what you do, but you’ll grow older. You’ll go through life thinking that your first lover’s so painful, you don’t ever want to find your second.”

Roberta slept with Darlene. When? A confusing pile of emotions jumped on Barbara. Why the hell didn’t Darlene tell her she’d been with someone else, particularly Roberta?

“I don’t want a second lover,” Sherron said. “I sure as heck don’t want the first. I’m married now. I’m not going to mess around. I have too much respect for Ryan to treat him like that.”

“Do you love him?” Barbara tried to stay focused on Sherron and not on Darlene’s bombshell.

A single tear slipped down Sherron’s cheek. No more drops followed.

“I’m his wife.” Sherron gathered her purse. “When I get back to town, I’ll call her. I’ll tell her if she keeps bothering me, I’ll let my friends know she made a pass at me. Her husband won’t beat her up like Collier McKenna did you, but she’d have a hard time getting out of that one.”

“She’ll claim no one will believe you.” Darlene spoke gently.

“Roberta can’t play poor pitiful me anymore, ’cause I know about ya’ll. I can sink her boat, and she knows it.”

Sherron hurtled out of the room without another word, not looking at Darlene as she passed.

Darlene made for Barbara’s arms, but Barbara had them folded, and her face intensified the warning.

“Why didn’t you tell me about you and Roberta?”

“I didn’t think it’d help us. You knowing I’d been with her. I didn’t see how you’d ever come to accept that.”

“Have I ever come down hard on you?” Barbara asked. “Have I ever pushed you around?”

Darlene shook her head, speechless.

“Then you should have trusted me.”

“You never asked about my past. I kept thinking you would, but you didn’t. I thought we were both starting fresh.” Although Darlene’s hands trembled, her voice had regained a measure of calm.

“No one starts fresh. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Really? What about you and Roberta? You didn’t share much with me, either.”

Shaken, Barbara landed on the stool. Darlene shifted toward the other stool, but didn’t do the same.

“Tell me how y’all got together,” Barbara said. “I don’t remember you being in her circle.”

“I wasn’t. Not really. I was around her on social occasions, sometimes.” Darlene finally sat down, but one foot tapped the floor nervously. “I did see her at church. Since she taught a different Sunday school class, I wasn’t around her much.”

Barbara quit attending church in high school, already tied up in knots over what God felt about the thoughts she had yet to act on—except for a fooling-around session with Mary that disintegrated into laughter. Mary always said there might be a woman somewhere who could capture her heart, but it wouldn’t be Barbara. They were too much alike.

Barbara felt as though she were looking at a stranger. All this time, Darlene had been hiding her connection to Roberta.

“Something changed,” Barbara said. “She wouldn’t have picked you off the street.”

“Actually, she sort of did. She saw me practicing driving Hopkins’s car in the parking lot of the church. This was after church one afternoon. Hopkins went off with a friend and said my mission was to get home in one piece. He’d been working with me on driving, but I claimed he made me nervous. Everybody made me nervous driving. You know why.”

“The accident.”

Darlene nodded and went on. “I thought Roberta was beautiful. She always wore the latest fashions. So perfect. I had a crush on her then, but I didn’t really understand it until she got in the car and helped me change gears.” She acted chagrined. “I blushed every time she came close to me. She knew the effect she had on me.”

“This would’ve been, what, our senior year?”

Darlene’s voice took on a cautious note. “That sounds right.”

“About the same time Roberta kept visiting the pharmacy when she knew I was working.”

“I suppose so.”

“I’m guessing that Roberta volunteered to be your personal driving instructor.”

“She was good at it, too.” Darlene’s face colored. “You know what I mean.”

“The tack she used on me was to say she needed help learning how to throw and catch a ball. One of her social clubs had in the works a coed softball game for charity. I came over to Roberta’s house with a bat and glove. Didn’t get to use them.”

“We went driving in the country one morning,” Darlene said. “We ended up at her parents’ house. I guess they were out of town. When she kissed me, I thought, how lucky am I? Roberta was kissing me. You said once you thought I was a little church mouse. That’s what I thought, too. I was thrilled Roberta picked me, Darlene Fisher. A nobody.”

Barbara didn’t need to keep raking the coals, yet if Roberta had been seeing both her and Darlene at roughly the same time, then Barbara had one more question.

“When did you break it off with her?”

“I’m not sure of the date.”

Make that another question. “When you went off to college?”

Darlene rose from her stool and walked to a picture window that overlooked the backyard.

She spoke in the general direction of the swimming pool. “I told you from the beginning, I’m not a nice person. I married that soldier to try to get Roberta out of my system. You know how well that went.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad woman, Darlene. I’m no saint, either.”

“I didn’t know she was having an affair with you.” Darlene stopped for a moment, then continued. “I didn’t know about it at first.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I came home from college and divorced that soldier, I went by the rental house she liked to use for dates. I saw the car you had back then. Everyone knew your car from that crazy purple paint job. I thought, maybe you’re staying there. But I drove around and saw Roberta’s car in the alley, the way it usually was on dates. She was doing the same old-same old, but with you, this time.” Darlene shook her head slightly. “I thought you’d moved in on my turf while I was away. I was so mad at you, when I should’ve been mad at Roberta.”

Barbara rose from her stool and joined Darlene at the window. As she got up, she caught a glimpse of Hopkins in the hallway. She decided to ignore the eavesdropper. It would save Darlene from having to repeat quite so much to him later.

Darlene continued. “I was mad at you, so I called Roberta that night and told her how I wanted her and only her in my life. That’s how it had to be, I said. She couldn’t have any other woman. She didn’t admit she’d been seeing you, but she said she felt the same way. You married Billy not long after that, so I know I broke ya’ll up. That was a mean thing I did.”

“But, you didn’t. You didn’t break us up. I kept going to her, Darlene. I didn’t leave her until I was married and pregnant.”

Roberta did develop a curious distance toward the end, those unexplained times when she acted cold toward Barbara, alternating with her demands that Barbara set aside her whole life for Roberta’s convenience.

Darlene admitted to actively sabotaging Barbara’s relationship with Roberta, yet could Barbara call that a shooting offense when all along Roberta didn’t intend to ever leave her husband?

“I don’t care what you did back then,” Barbara said. “My problem is with you not telling me until now. That’s what upsets me. You still haven’t answered my question. When did you quit seeing her?”

“Two years ago.”

Barbara felt physically ill, looking at Darlene’s tear-streaked face. “You kept seeing her? All that time?”

Darlene let out a deep breath. “Off and on. Yes.”

Darlene hadn’t been a naïve girl that whole time. She grew up and became a full-fledged partner in deception. All Darlene’s talk of openness and honesty, what did that really mean?

“You stopped seeing her when?”

“Two years ago, like I said.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not lying to you.”

“How would I know, Darlene? How the hell would I know?”

Barbara bolted down the hallway, passing by a startled Hopkins.

“She’s telling the truth—”

“You don’t want in on this, Hopkins.” Barbara stormed into the bedroom and threw her things into the bag.

Darlene was waiting for her in the living room. “Please. Give me a chance to explain.”

“Not today.” Barbara headed for the door.

“When?”

Barbara kept walking.

Chapter 27

“Miss, I need help over here.”

A familiar voice fluted from the third row. Hopkins. She couldn’t walk away from a customer the way she’d hung up on Darlene the past few days. Barbara caught Dad’s eye, so he’d pitch in at the counter.

She found Hopkins pretending to examine a can of lubricant. “How much of this do you think I need?”

“We can order it for you by the case.”

“A trollop I am not.” Hopkins pretended to be indignant, then switched gears. “I’ll have you know I’m on a mission of mercy. It’s about they.” He drew the word to an absurd length, to remind her of their previous conversation. “They are sorry they didn’t tell you about their previous entanglement.”

“Sixteen years. That’s a hell of a lot of string.”

Hopkins wound up as if to deliver a major rebuke. He closed his mouth, and his shoulders slumped.

Finally, he spoke. “Most people would’ve left town already after what you’ve been through. Our friend has a scar, too. You can’t see it, but it’s there, left by the same person who damaged you. Like you, I have a person of interest. We’ve had our quarrels. We’ve always made up. We both know what not to talk about. We… deal with it.”

“How can I know if it’s over between them?”

Hopkins leaned in close. “You never will know. Not for sure. Can you deal with it?”

*  *  *

That evening, Barbara joined the Eckerts for supper, as previously arranged. Jim, who kept sneaking peeks at his comic book, was the only one who seemed oblivious to the brewing tension.

LaSonda sullenly sat across from her and passed the peas without participating in any of the conversations Mary tried to start.

Barbara knew if she tried to talk out of turn, LaSonda would rise up and leave—which her daughter did anyway, missing out on the lemon pound cake and Mary’s blow-by-blow account of First Baptist Church’s congregational meeting, which had gone better than expected.

Five families declared they’d transfer their letter of membership to another church—or as Mary said, “They stamped their feet, they snatched their marbles, and they went crying home.”

Mary added extra zest to the story, which Barbara suspected was her way of lifting spirits. Even Barlow, intensely devoted to pound cake, laughed at the end.

Barlow settled in the den to watch a public TV program about stars. No surprise there. Jim sat down next to him, still absorbed in his comic book.

Mary took Barbara out to the patio, where they sat in their lawn chairs and sipped bourbon. A bug-zapper and citronella smoke kept night fliers at bay while somewhere in the distance two coyotes carried on a long-distance romance, or maybe each was trying to have the last howl in an ongoing argument.

Speaking of fights, LaSonda’s Olivia Newton-John record rattled the windows of her room, which faced the backyard. Luckily, the windows were closed. Unluckily, so was LaSonda’s bedroom door.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do with her,” Mary said.

“Wait for her to grow up?”

“You kidding me? We don’t have the ceiling room for that.”

She couldn’t make progress with LaSonda tonight. Maybe in a couple of months she could speak to her daughter and hope she’d listen. Meanwhile, time to move on to another recent revelation.

“I found out something about Darlene,” Barbara said. “This better not be yet another story you’ve been hiding from me. I want to know the truth about her and Roberta. I want to know how long they were together.”

“Are you serious? Darlene and Roberta?”

“Ask Hopkins. I wish I was lying.”

Mary looked bug-eyed. “I can’t believe Hopkins kept that to himself all these years. I have heard every last detail about him and George—”

“You took your time telling me.”

“Sugar, I was forbidden, absolutely under lock and chain, on that secret. George is extremely paranoid. I don’t blame him. It’s a tough situation for both of them. Be that as it may—you’ll soon be facing the same problem. Darlene has dumped George.”

“What?”

“Hopkins told me today. Darlene called George with the news. Hopkins wouldn’t tell me the reason, but George was plenty upset over it.”

“I can see why. Darlene was his ticket to never having to date another woman. She might be my reason to never try it again.”

“Oh, come on. You put up with worse from Roberta, didn’t you? She used you like a doormat. Yet when Gracie came along, you said pretty please thank you for the porridge every time she cheated on you.”

The remark about Gracie stung, there being more than a kernel of truth involved. Maybe that’s why Barbara became so angry with Darlene. She couldn’t face the prospect of dealing with another lover being unfaithful, with being dumped again. She had reached her limit. No more.

“Didn’t you take Gracie back at least once I know of?” Mary reloaded her drink and topped off Barbara’s.

“Twice.”

“That’s twice more than I would if Barlow Eckert tried wandering on me. I’d divorce him so quick it’d make his telescope spin.” Mary jiggled the ice in her glass.

“That’s so you’d have a clear field to Burt Reynolds.”

“Nah. I’m not old enough for him. I mean, really, Dinah Shore? I decided a long time ago I don’t want to ever have to break in a new man. It’ll be you, toots.”

“What?”

Mary sounded half serious and a quarter tipsy. Then a familiar grin returned. “Oh yeah. I have some stipulations, though.”

“Shoot.”

“I lead when we dance.”

“I’m a good dancer, I’ll have you know.”

“Get down from your high horse, woman. I know you are. Ever since high school, Barlow Eckert has displayed all the grace of a broke-down jalopy on the dance floor. Someday, I’d like to be the one in charge.”

“Okay.” This was getting good. Mary provided more entertainment than a drive-in double feature.

“Second. You can’t ever, not even once, pretend to like my cooking if you don’t. I hate lying. Barlow Eckert’s the world’s worst at doing that. I know you’ll tell the truth.”

“I can do that. However, I’m not a man.”

“Like that matters.” Mary’s face turned serious. “You need to take Darlene back.”

“Why?”

“You told me Roberta lost her grip on the Steinhall girl. If Roberta finds out Darlene’s free, she’ll snatch her up. Roberta doesn’t like being alone.”

“If Darlene goes back to her that easy, then it proves my point. I couldn’t depend on her, after all.”

“If not for the fact that I’m a doddering matron of thirty-six, I’d whack you so hard it’d make you long for Collier’s loving touch. Darlene’s human. Human. Maybe she’s weak when it comes to Roberta—you were, too, Wonder Woman, you were, too—but she’s held up with you through some hard times. Sneaking around, worrying about getting jumped—I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t survive the way you do.”

“You’re saying I should pretend her sixteen years with Roberta didn’t happen?”

“Sixteen years, more or less, you said. There might have been some downtime along the way. Talk to Darlene. I’d try that first. You don’t like her answers, move on.”

Mary wiped her hands dismissively.

Chapter 28

Sunday morning, far down the Chaco Draw.

Since the air-clearing with Jackie and Barbara, Marquetta spent more time with Jackie, but she hadn’t left Ry in the lurch. She came by occasionally and watched television with him or brought him lunch so they could eat together at the store.

Hiking in the Draw would never be on Marquetta’s to-do list, not since her blisters healed from that one painful march with Ry.

Barbara couldn’t help contrasting Marquetta with Darlene, in that Marquetta at first withheld from Ry her desire to have a baby, but she told him from the beginning that she was gay. Only when Sherron was bleeding her heart out on the floor did Darlene reveal her past with Roberta.

Ry hadn’t caught up from his last wander. Barbara turned around and saw him well back by the last curve, bent over and staring at a rock. He was still in that position when she joined him.

The object of attention, a horned lizard, blinked back at them. Unless Ry made a move, it planned on sticking to its spot of sunshine. The coolness of that morning’s rising served as a reminder that September was on its way out, and while Ry avoided his beloved Draw only in the coldest months, Barbara didn’t match his devotion.

Ry finished his inspection of the lizard and vice versa. “I’m ready to turn around, are you?” he asked.

“Uh-huh.”

That was odd. Ry usually kept going until Barbara pled exhaustion. Maybe Marquetta had instilled within him a sense of other people’s frailties.

They turned around and headed back. Barbara chugged and Ry strode another mile. She hoped for another lizard or a fossilized piece of wood to prompt Ry’s interest. Her calves had completely clamped down.

Finally, he stopped. “You’re slow. You need to rest.”

They sat down on adjoining outcroppings and shared drinks from his canteen. A pleasant aspect of having Ry as a walking companion was that he switched off his explaining mode on hikes.

Barbara wondered why people talked as though nature was quiet. The wind made a lot of noise when it took advantage of cuts in the Draw to bellow down wayward drafts. Distant coyotes howled, cattle lowed in places where the Four Crosses Ranch fences were closest, and the birds yakked nonstop. Despite all that, she felt calmer than she had in weeks.

“Ry, you know that Marquetta wants a baby. Do you want to be a part of its life, to be a father the way Dad is with us?”

“Marquetta and I talked it over. It’s okay if I babysit when she’s tired, but we agreed that I should have you or Mom with me when the baby visits. That’s an excellent idea, because you and Mom are experienced, and I’m not.”

When the baby visits, he’d said. “Is Marquetta already pregnant?”

“Not at this time, but soon, she said. If the baby’s a boy, I want to show him how to do useful things, like working on cars. A boy needs to know that. I’m not sure what I can show a girl.”

“Music. You love music.”

He considered the suggestion. “You’re right. I recently discovered Electric Light Orchestra. A girl would like that.”

“Yep, she would.”

Although Barbara would need to hide heavy metal records for baby visits, Ry seemed to be at peace with Marquetta’s plans. She needed to quit worrying about him. Ry would be okay, as long as his family provided backup.

Barbara considered the prospect of becoming an aunt. She might be better at it than she was at motherhood, at least as it had worked out thus far.

Ry interrupted Barbara’s reverie by standing up.

“Are you ready? We need to get back home. I promised Marquetta I’d work on Jackie’s car. It doesn’t sound right to me.”

How typical of Ry. Some men would worry if their girlfriend had another lover, particularly a female one. Ry’s weren’t the usual male priorities, but he had them in the order he preferred.

Speaking of girlfriends and lovers, whatever she did, she needed to do it soon, if Mary was right about Roberta. What mattered to Barbara—having a lover who lugged around a past as big as a whale or being alone with her pride?

Maybe she needed to have Ry’s attitude. Start with fixing what’s broken and go from there.

Chapter 29

During her post-hike shower, Barbara thought about what to do next as the hot water worked out the cramps in her body from top to bottom.

She came to a decision while toweling dry. Start with what to wear.

A few days after she quit at the pharmacy, she picked up the gray pantsuit Gracie’s mother had tailored for her to a more flattering silhouette. The suit still hung in her closet, unworn until now. Barbara remembered she owned a red silk scarf to go with it.

She picked out silver earrings and necklace to wear with her black blouse. Silver dress shoes. Her makeup never went further than a dab of lipstick, and it’d be the same today.

Standing in front of the mirror, Barbara considered the scar on her cheek. It now rested closer to the skin around it. But the bulge bothered her, the blurry shape she saw when she looked down. She didn’t notice it anymore except in the mirror—and in other people’s eyes. George said it made her look distinguished. Barbara didn’t see that. She looked serious, almost deadly now, even when she assayed a hesitant smile.

She didn’t plan on using that smile where she was headed.

Twenty minutes later, she knocked on the door of a block-long house that boasted a triple-car garage and a boat flanking it.

Roberta’s husband opened the door, looked her over, and said evenly, “I suppose you’re here to see my wife.”

“Yes, sir. I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

He called out his wife’s name and fished a set of keys from a dish on the little table in the alcove. As he walked out, he said, “Take all the time you need, Barbara. I’ll be at the country club.”

Roberta approached as he spoke and watched her husband leave. Neither of them said goodbye. Barbara closed the door behind her.

Roberta was wearing a green-patterned silk sundress with beaded slippers and matching jewelry. Roberta’s idea of casual cost more than Barbara’s El Camino.

“I hope you’re thirsty,” she said to Barbara. “I don’t usually drink this early, but since you’re here, I’ll break out the cocktail glasses. I have the makings for a sidecar.”

“That sounds good.”

Barbara followed her into the den, and Roberta assembled the drinks. She noticed a mini-fridge installed next to the bar. Roberta had upgraded certain amenities since Barbara’s last visit, which had been not long before they broke up.

Roberta handed over the drink. “A suit like that requires the proper setting, like a gentleman’s club. A real one, not those stripper bars in Lubbock.”

Roberta spoke with a cultured alto that sounded straight from the plantation South, even though she was born and raised in Tantona. She blamed her stint in an academy for girls back East for the accent, but Barbara suspected it had more to do with wanting to sound different from the other society ladies.

“Women wear suits like this.”

“They wish they did. They don’t have your lines.”

Roberta ran her eyes up and down Barbara’s frame with a look more appraising than lascivious.

“What brings you here, Barbara? I’m pleased you’ve decided to visit after all this time, but I know you. This isn’t a courtesy call.”

“No, it isn’t.” Barbara unbuttoned her jacket and sat in a leather-covered chair. “This is nice.”

“It’s an Art Deco club chair. I have a set of four.” Roberta sat in a divan next to her. “You may remember that I enjoyed visiting estate sales.”

“I do, actually.”

She recalled one drive in particular. Roberta drove to College Station and whisked Barbara away for a trip down to Austin, where they went through several antique stores looking for a desk from, what was it, the Arts & Crafts movement? If she’d stayed with Roberta, Barbara might have become an expert by default.

In all their conversations, in person and on the phone, Darlene never mentioned a word about furniture, or fashion, or mixed drinks—nothing that might make Barbara remember their mutual ex. Had that been a deliberate evasion? Or did Darlene simply want to avoid her own thoughts of Roberta?

“Do you still collect furniture?” Barbara asked.

“Not the way I used to. Perhaps when I see an item that completes a set or to replace a piece that’s broken. I’ve moved on to other interests. You look as though you’re holding court. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable over here? You can stay in your corner, and I’ll stay in mine. I’ll even keep my feet on the floor.”

If Barbara declined the invitation, she’d appear a coward. She moved to her designated corner and took a sip of her sidecar. Excellent, of course.

“Something’s come up that I need to discuss with you.”

“My door’s always open to you, Barbara, you know that.”

Barbara calculated how much damage she could do to Roberta’s dress with what was left of her drink. Not enough, unfortunately.

“Roberta, I’m tired of you.”

“Pardon? Other than my occasional purchases when you were employed at the pharmacy, you’ve had no occasion to become exhausted by my company.”

Roberta would deny or play off the phone calls she’d made. Barbara kept on topic. “Ever since we split up, I’ve used you as an example of how not to live. I wouldn’t pretend to have a husband, and I wouldn’t mess around with women in my hometown where my child might find out.”

Barbara studied the large studio portrait framed on the wall opposite her. It showed Roberta, her husband, and their two sons, pictured while still in their early teens. Both were in college now, and if they didn’t know about their mother’s proclivities, their father certainly did.

“I had Barlow and Mary take my daughter because I was ashamed of how I’d acted with you. Calling you when I was pregnant, wanting to be with you—a good mother wouldn’t have done that. If I had to be a homosexual, at least my daughter would have protection in case there was trouble. I got over feeling ashamed, but by then, I couldn’t see dragging my little girl away from Mary—leastways, not full time.”

Barbara took another sip of her drink before finishing what she’d come to say. “Anyhow, I knew I was better than you, because I’d put my child first, and I’d kept my business out of town. Problem is, I did get caught out, and it did ruin things with my daughter. I let people think I went out with men. I lied, like you. I got reckless, like you. I wasn’t any better than you, after all.”

“Let me correct you on one assumption. I am not the Whore of Babylon,” Roberta said with asperity. “I have always considered my family’s well-being in everything I do. You’re certainly entitled to feel otherwise. I treasured your friendship. That’s what I miss, most of all. That it ended so badly.”

“It ended, true enough. Are you through with Darlene?”

Roberta looked genuinely hurt.

“Am I through with Darlene? In Sherman’s March through Georgia, I am most assuredly Atlanta, the one left devastated. I am no threat to Darlene or to the wearer of that gorgeous suit. For the sake of loving kindness, have another drink with me. Tell me how you’ve been.”

Barbara looked into her sidecar. “I wouldn’t mind that.” She tried to be tactful. “But some other time. What I wanted to say is that I’m no different from you. I thought I was, but it turned out I had my own set of excuses. You’re not in my way. You’re not any kind of problem. I’m in a whole other place from you now. I’m so out, I’m radioactive, but I’m not dead from it.”

“You will be if Collier McKenna comes after you again.”

“He won’t. I put a bullet over his head last time he came by my house. He knows I’ll aim lower next time.”

Roberta wore an amused expression. “Good for you. Darlene’s a lucky lady to have you.”

“I hope she’ll have me now.”

“I can’t help you answer that question. She…” Roberta’s emotions rose in her face, and she quashed them matter-of-factly. “She didn’t seem to mind our keeping it private. You may find yourself disappointed on that score.”

“I need to get going.” Barbara rose to her feet.

“Don’t be a stranger. Anymore than you already are.”

Chapter 30

Barbara rang the bell. She hadn’t called ahead, afraid of what the answer would be. Hopkins answered the door.

“How debonair you look. Have you come to kiss and make up?” Arms akimbo, he blocked the entrance.

“You were right. I was wrong.”

Mollified, Hopkins let her in.

“I like a woman with a firm grasp of the obvious. Of course, you were wrong, but dear heart, so was Darlene. I told her no good would come of it. Did she listen? No, and now all she’s listening to is Linda Ronstadt. Constantly. I love La Ronstadt as much as anyone, but if I hear her sing ‘It Doesn’t Matter Anymore’ one more time, I will walk in there and break that record in half.”

Hopkins knocked on the door. “Darlie, you have a gentleman caller. Oh, excuse me, Barbara. You understand my confusion.”

He darted away as a listless Darlene opened the door. Her eyes lit up when she saw Barbara, and just as quickly, the light faded.

“I’m not here to yell at you,” Barbara said.

“You should. I need it, bad.”

“No. I want us to talk, and I want to apologize.”

Darlene’s face showed her confusion. Barbara slipped past her into the room and noted the album playing at a low volume.

A nearby album cover revealed that it was, indeed, Linda Ronstadt’s Heart Like a Wheel. Most of the songs were down-in-the-mouth—a good choice for Darlene’s current mood. But playing them nonstop would be wearisome for someone like Hopkins, who appeared to be in a happier, albeit closeted, relationship.

“I like how Hopkins calls you Darlie. That’s pretty.”

She sat on the side of the bed. The first time in Darlene’s room, she’d been surprised by the lack of frills in the bedcovers and curtains. Darlene favored clean lines and earth tones. A sunny window brought some needed light into the area, if not a smile to Darlene’s face.

Darlene gazed at Barbara’s appearance with wonderment.

“I was going to ask if you’d been to church, but no place in town would’ve allowed you to wear that. As for Hopkins and his nicknames, he calls me a lot of things, some of them uncomplimentary these days. You don’t have anything to apologize for. I do.”

“No, you don’t. Sit with me.”

Darlene joined her on the bed, acting as though there were imminent danger of fire.

“You said I never asked you about your past, because I didn’t want to know,” Barbara said. “You’re right. I didn’t want to hear the answer. You came into my life like a wildflower growing in my yard. Who knows where it came from, but it’s so beautiful I don’t want to uproot it.

“Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew you’d been with someone else. You had a life before me. You have a life right now that’s not all about me. I should’ve made you feel comfortable talking about it by talking about my exes—not dwelling on it ’til we were both sick of the subject, but being honest. Roberta trained us well in keeping our mouths shut.”

“I should’ve told you.” Darlene studied her hands.

“Yes, but I don’t know when would’ve been the best time. Roberta’s my blind spot. I always got so upset thinking about her. That’s why I went to see her today.”

Darlene looked startled. “You did? What’d you do?”

“Talked to her. I wasn’t sure going over there what I’d do,” Barbara admitted. “We talked about us, not so much about you, for some reason. I saw her. That’s when I knew I didn’t have to worry anymore.”

“You don’t. I swear. When I told her I couldn’t see her anymore, I meant it.”

“You’d stopped before, hadn’t you?”

Darlene looked grim. “We were in Dallas one weekend. She happened to see a friend of hers while we were shopping at Neiman-Marcus. She sent me off to the restaurant there. You know, the Zodiac? I waited a good hour for her to come pick me up. Roberta claimed she needed to wait for her friend to leave the store, even though the friend had no reason to think we were lovers. We were in Neiman-Marcus, for heaven’s sake. I quit seeing her for about three years. That wasn’t the only time we broke up, but that was the longest, by far.”

“Roberta’s careful in some ways, not so much in others.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. One time, the younger of her two boys came back from camp early. Didn’t I make a fast exit out the back door.”

Darlene became more animated. “When I was doing it, when I was her lover, it felt exciting coming up with plans and schemes. I don’t know why I thought it was so fun lying through my teeth. Playing the role she wanted me to play. That’s why I wanted so badly to make love to you, to be the one on top. I was so tired of holding back. It blew my mind, that first night with you, knowing everything we did was fine, that there weren’t any rules. And now, I hate hiding. I hate pretending you’re not in my life.”

“If people find out about us, it won’t ever be okay again,” Barbara said. “Some of them will be nice to you, more of them will act ugly, but the rest, they won’t see you. They won’t recognize you anymore. It’s strange, Darlene. I’m invisible to them.”

“Us. You said us.” Darlene reached out her hand tentatively. Barbara clasped it in her own. “You’ve forgiven me?”

“I don’t think that’s the word to use here. I ran out on you when you tried to talk to me. I hung up on you. Whatever you said or did back then to make Roberta act different toward me was a blessing. Believe me, that was a blessing. I needed to get away from her. I want to thank you for that.”

“You’re flat-out crazy, you know that?” Darlene said affectionately. “Thanking me for messing with your girlfriend. If there’s a mean bone in your body, I haven’t found it yet.”

Barbara thought about how she shot the gun over McKenna’s head. “Oh, there’s a rough side. Particularly if I think someone’s out to harm my family.”

“There better be. I’d walk through walls for you.”

Barbara kissed her lightly. “All you need to do is walk over and close that door, darlin’.”

Chapter 31

October

“You playing, or gathering moss?” Mary said.

Estelle gave Barbara a meaningful look. Barbara preferred her as a partner on mahjong, theorizing Estelle had a natural advantage over everyone else, having played most of her life, supposedly. In addition, she was more patient than Mary, currently teamed with Darlene.

Ah, Darlene. They gazed at each other fondly only to have Mary burst out, “Oh, give it a rest. We know already. You’re back in baby’s arms again, Miss Cline. Play.”

Barbara played. Darlene threw up her hands, while Mary leaped to her feet. “I need a refill.”

Estelle giggled. “She doesn’t handle losing very well, does she.”

“That’s a shame, ’cause she’s having to do so much of it tonight.” Normally, Barbara would have to pitch her remarks toward either Estelle’s or Mary’s kitchen. Since they happened to be in her house, and they were in the kitchen/dining room already, she saw no reason to yell.

The menfolk were already taking a break in the backyard. From the sound of it, George and Mutt were playing catch, while Hopkins was telling his usual riveting tales, helped or hindered by Arthur Rosen and Barlow.

This marked Barbara’s first turn at hosting bridge/mahjong night. When Barbara was at her friends’ house, she went through the necessary pain of catching glimpses of LaSonda, whose fury still seemed palpable. Part adolescence, part bullheadedness, and part Barbara’s fault for lying all those years. LaSonda felt justified in rebelling, regardless of what the adults around her said. She had no current interest in walking through Barbara’s door.

In time, Mary had reassured Barbara, LaSonda would grow up and see things differently. Maybe it wouldn’t take a lifetime.

Courtesy of Jackie, Barbara offered a full range of drinking choices, plus she’d made trays of canapés. Overkill, perhaps, but she had Darlene and many of their friends under the same roof. It was hard not to make a special effort.

Speaking of. Barbara remembered a tray she’d left in the refrigerator and retrieved it.

“I still had this one tucked away.” She placed the tray on the card table she’d set up in the corner, already laden with food.

The others came over to investigate.

“Ooh,” Mary said. “I love your pimiento cheese, the way you add peppers to it. And—oh no, you made that again. I told you I like my liver fried—and in another country, far, far away.”

Estelle was already sticking a toast point into the chopped liver. She chewed thoughtfully. “I need to get Artie.” Estelle trooped off.

“Maybe he’s allergic?” Darlene asked.

“I have no idea, but Barlow loves it,” Barbara said. “He asked me specifically to make it for him.”

Mary shook her head. “Knowing him, he’d eat it for breakfast.”

Arthur came in, followed by the other men. “I can smell it from here,” he said. “I don’t have to taste it to know, but I will, anyhow.”

He shoveled a toast point into the dip and adopted the same expression as Estelle while chewing.

By this point, everyone was mystified, and Mary received a severe shushing from Barlow.

Arthur sighed. “Fine. You can talk to her now.”

“I’ve been waiting to ask ever since I saw the knishes. Barbara, what do you know about your mom’s parents?” Estelle asked.

“They came over from Germany. I asked Mom since you and I spoke last, and she said they were from a place called Poison.”

“Poison?” Arthur repeated.

“It’s spelled P-o-z-n-a-n. Mom says it’s in Poland now. My grandparents were already getting up in age when they had Mom and her sister. Both grandparents died when I was a kid, but I remember Grandpa Stein being real nice. He always had a stick of candy and a quarter for me.”

“My kind of man,” Mary said. “What’s this about, Artie?”

“Estelle’s had it in her head for the longest time that Barbara’s mother is Jewish. I would’ve said no until now, but if your grandparents weren’t Jewish, they spent an awful lot of time around us. Your chopped liver wouldn’t be out of place at a Hadassah meeting, and that’s saying something.”

Barbara had to take him at his word on the meeting part.

“I’m okay with it either way, Jewish or not, but aren’t you reading too much into the food?”

Arthur tapped his cigarette into an ashtray. “Ordinarily, I’d say yes. Chopped brisket doesn’t automatically make you a Texan. Chicago-style pizza doesn’t make you a Chicagoan. This is something else altogether.” He turned his attention to Estelle. “You’re right, and you’re wrong.”

“What do you mean, Artie?”

“Tilde Wolfe might come from Jewish parents, but that’s it. You asked her about it before, and she didn’t know nothing. People are what they are, not what you want them to be. I wouldn’t go bugging her anymore, other than maybe for some recipes.”

He took another bite. “This is perfection. Barbara, if you ever want to dig into your heritage, come to me. We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, we need to get the goods on Collier McKenna. That son of a bitch is getting on my nerves.”

Darlene got the jump on Barbara by a half-second. “What’d he do?”

“Came to my store and bought some shirts.”

“He is a son of a bitch,” Hopkins said. “Imagine him spending money in your store.”

“Sweet cakes, you and me, down the road for a little butt-kicking.”

Hopkins looked at him mockingly. “Is that all you have in mind?”

Ignoring him, Arthur grabbed a toast point and smeared on some more chopped liver. “I’m taking this home with me.”

“Thank the good Lord.” Mary knocked down her shot of tequila.

“As I was saying, McKenna came in my store, spending his money, yeah, but he was there with a buddy to talk crap about our girls here. He knows I’m friends with you. The rattlesnake bragged how he was going after Darlene again, now that she’s quote-unquote free.”

George addressed Darlene. “I told you this might happen.”

“I don’t care,” she said.

This time, Hopkins interrupted. “We could use the damsel in distress gambit at the Pioneer Ball. We’ll all be there this Saturday in the spacious, or as I see it—drafty—confines of the VFW party barn.”

Met with silence, Hopkins groused. “Oh, please. You’ve seen my summer plays for years. Damsel in distress. A rogue hits on her, our hero—George here—saves the day, and Darlene goes off with him in a cloud of perfume and testosterone. I’ll have a friend egg on McKenna. It’ll be spectacular.”

“If I’m lucky, McKenna will take a swing at me.” George flexed his fist meaningfully.

“I don’t need this.” Darlene sounded more and more frustrated.

“She’s right,” Barbara said. “Darlene will be with you. I can’t imagine him trying to take on all of you.”

Darlene took off in a rush for the backyard.

“Honey, you shouldn’t have reminded her,” Estelle said.

“I’ll be nearby, with my family. I don’t want her to have to skip going on my account. Excuse me.” She hurried after Darlene.

Mutt sat at, or more precisely, on, Darlene’s feet as she contemplated the cherry tree.

“How about this,” Barbara said as she came nearer. “There’s no rule saying we can’t all stand together, one big Wolfe-Fisher-Tickner-Bering-Eckert-Rosen family gathering.”

“Add Kindred to your list. We might even get to add Dimmels. Marquetta’s coming, and she says she’s trying to talk Jackie into going with her. She’s having a hard time of it.”

“Does Jackie like Waylon Jennings?”

Country singer Waylon Jennings and his wife, Jessi Colter, were the featured performers at the ball.

“I don’t know. I think she’s worried there won’t be any black people, but I told Marquetta this is a big event. Everyone in town goes. Not everyone there’s going to be white.”

“Right. There’re the kitchen ladies and the clean-up crew—not exactly included in the festivities. I do know there’ll be a number of Chicanos. Gracie said her whole family’s going, and there’s some others planning on it, she said. It’s about time they made more of a showing. By the way, I didn’t know you and Marquetta were buddies now.”

“I’ve known her for ages.”

Darlene carefully dislodged a foot from under Mutt’s loving bulk. Mutt carefully moved his butt over her foot again.

Darlene continued. “I didn’t know what we had in common. I figure we can have double dates. We might even get Ry to come along.”

“I’m not sure about that, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. He’s been surprising me lately.”

Barbara stood beside her and watched the tree, which still hadn’t gone anywhere. The same could be said for Mutt. She gently moved Mutt and then turned Darlene toward her.

“Okay, here’s the deal. We enter separately, but we leave together. Maybe with our friends in tow, but we leave together. Okay?”

Darlene nodded. “You’ve got a deal.”

Chapter 32

Barbara parked her El Camino and walked across the already jammed parking lot toward the VFW’s party barn entrance.

She heard her name called out. She waited on Mom and Dad to catch up. Mom had on a floral-print dress, while Dad wore a forest green Western suit, which he trotted out for public occasions. Barbara had thought about wearing her gray suit, but decided on her brown slacks and a tan satin top instead.

Dad was in a burbling mood as usual. “I’m hoping the food’s better this year. I heard they hired Gardner’s Steak House to cater.”

“Then we’re in good hands,” Barbara told him.

“Better be. I’m paying good money for this—oh, tickets.” Dad sorted out the contents of varied pockets as they waited in line to get in.

“You’re looking real nice tonight,” Mom said.

“So are you.”

“I saw Marquetta’s car. I imagine everyone’s there already.”

“Mom, how do you feel about Marquetta and Ry—what they’re up to on having a baby?”

Mom pursed her lips, then relaxed. “I don’t like them not getting married. It worries me about the baby. People saying things. But that wouldn’t be the first time the Wolfe name came up in conversation in this town.”

“I hope I haven’t made things too hard on ya’ll.”

Mom took Barbara’s hand and squeezed it.

“You don’t worry about it. Business is better than ever, especially since you’re doing the books. We’re fine. Ry will be fine. No, it’s not my idea on how to have a grandbaby, but I never thought Ry would find someone in the first place. Marquetta Kindred’s a good woman. She’ll do right by him. She’ll do right by us. I want you to be happy, too.”

Having located the tickets, Dad handed them over to the VFW man at the gate and they walked in.

“Mom, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

There, already sitting with their crowd at the rack of tables west of the dance floor, Darlene was working on a plate of food.

Mom followed Barbara’s eyes, and her expression changed. “I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

“I won’t. And if I do, it’ll be worth it.”

“Hey,” Marquetta called out from farther up in the food line. Ry and Jackie stood on either side of her. She walked over to Barbara.

“Don’t worry about where to sit. Mary’s saving us the table next to them.”

“Good for you on dragging Jackie here. That couldn’t have been easy.”

“Tell me about it. There’s some black people here who aren’t even working, but Jackie’s not impressed,” Marquetta said.

“Why not?”

“They’re teachers and nurses and such. Jackie says if they never talked to her in church before, they won’t talk to her now.”

“Church? I had no idea she ever went,” Barbara said.

“She goes sometimes. Just not with me, until now. We’re attending tomorrow with Ry. I doubt we’ll make a habit of it, but since I can’t take her to my church, we’ll have to piss off some other hoity-toities. Oops.” Marquetta’s face showed her embarrassment. “Sorry about my language, Tilde.”

Mom nodded her head gravely. “Call me Mom. Piss them off, my dear. Whenever you can, piss ’em off.”

Marquetta grinned at them and went back to her spot in line.

Finally. Their turn at the food. Faced with chicken-fried steak or sausage links, Barbara went with both, knowing Dad would take care of leftovers. A choice of cherry or peach cobbler? That was easy enough. She had enough cherries to contend with at home.

She noticed a table was reserved on the other side of Mary and Darlene’s group, draped with a gold cloth. A bucket of ice already sat in the middle with glasses arrayed around it. Being that the Pioneer Ball was annually staged at the VFW party barn, imbibing locals enjoyed their one chance at drinking alcohol in public without being crammed next to a jukebox.

The beer and soft drinks counter, which took up a section of the west wall, was doing heavy business. Barbara unloaded her tray and, gathering the others, headed back to the line to dump them off. She’d be eating five feet away from Darlene’s table.

Darlene was wearing a denim skirt and a short-sleeved peasant blouse. She had the knack of making simple look sensational, but maybe Barbara was biased in the matter.

They’d kept glancing at each other since she arrived, but now, so close together, Barbara felt a spotlight blazing down on her, warning her to behave or face the consequences. She didn’t care. She’d be sort-of with Darlene, and that’s all that mattered.

When she came back, Dad had arrived with their drinks. Someone shifted her plate and silverware to the end of the table, and Darlene had switched with Estelle Rosen to take up the opposing end.

They now could look at each other through the entire meal, though at an angle. Darlene beamed at her. Barbara found it easy to smile back.

Roberta arrived with her entourage and sat at the reserved table. She glided past Barbara without a glance. They set out their bottles of liquor and sent a member to the drinks table, probably to buy mixers.

“I see they’re too good to eat like the rest of us,” Mom said.

If Roberta still had the same cook that prepared her meals years ago, why eat chicken-fried steak when filet mignon and Cherries Jubilee were available at home? Barbara decided not to make that point to Mom.

She heard Sherron squeal behind her. She turned and saw Sherron and her husband moving toward a table of friends far from Roberta. Sherron and spouse displayed no interest in spending time near Roberta, which struck Barbara as being solid thinking on their part.

Roberta, who had to be considering other dating options now, stood up for a moment to hug a male acquaintance. She still looked attractive, still decked herself out in the latest fashions, still with powers to charm, but she wasn’t young anymore. How old was she? Barbara calculated. Forty-four? No, forty-five.

Roberta went with youth because youth hadn’t mastered lying, hadn’t quit blushing. A young woman hadn’t yet learned to cover her responses to an artfully staged moment of closeness. How would Roberta pursue women closer to her own age? Barbara didn’t envy her prospects, but then she didn’t envy Roberta for anything except having Darlene to herself all those years.

Barbara noticed Darlene was still studying Roberta. Darlene turned her gaze to Barbara. They both shrugged.

Roadies had been prowling around on the bandstand for some minutes, checking on the equipment. Now and then, a little feedback or a “test-test-test” came over the PA system.

“I’m looking forward to hearing Waylon Jennings perform,” Ry said.

“I didn’t know you liked him,” Barbara said.

“Marquetta has his records. He’s an excellent performer, and his wife is also talented.”

Divorcees Sonny and Cher now had a pair of rivals for Ry’s affection.

At the entrance, a large contingent of newcomers made their way toward some empty tables. Barbara recognized Gracie and her sisters among the faces. The Chicanos had come in force, although, this being the VFW, they already had some representation. She didn’t imagine there’d be trouble over it inside. Maybe later in the parking lot. She examined some of the Anglo faces at tables near her. Some had no reaction, while others seemed surprised.

“Do you see Billy Eckert?” Mary’s voice boomed in her ear.

“No.”

“Damn him. He asked the Munoz girl to the dance, and he doesn’t show. Typical.”

Gracie’s sister, well settled in her job at the pharmacy, had apparently conquered the bachelor half of her employers.

“I didn’t know they were dating.”

“It’s on the sly. Billy doesn’t want his drinking buddies to know he’s dating a Mexican. That’s a no-no in his crowd.”

“They prefer the word Chicano,” Barbara said.

“I tried using that, but my lawn man laughed at me and said he’s a Mexican. He wouldn’t even compromise with Mexican-American. What do Gracie and her sisters prefer?” Mary asked.

“Gracie uses Chicano in Lubbock and Mexican-American here, but Latino with her folks, as I recall.”

“That’s too complicated. I hope we can get it sorted it out before the wedding.”

“I didn’t know they were that serious.”

“Neither does Billy. It serves him right. She’ll have him clean and sober and a responsible citizen in no time.”

The lights over the tables dimmed, and the stage lights came up. Jennings’s band, the Waylors, came out to a round of applause and began playing a chugging, up-tempo rhythm.

Jennings, a wiry, bearded man, hailed from the small town of Littlefield, which lay northwest of Lubbock. He strode onto the stage with an electric guitar strapped to him.

“Hello. I’m gonna play y’all a song I wrote recently,” Jennings said. He kicked off a tune even more turbocharged than the intro the band played.

“Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way?” played as couples crowded onto the floor and began two-stepping in a path that snaked around the entire dance floor.

Some fans stood in front of the bandstand, while others lined the edges of the square, joined by Barbara, Darlene, and their friends.

Mary and Barlow took off for the dance floor, followed by Marquetta and Ry. Hopkins approached Darlene and chirped, “I’d be ever so grateful if you’d dance with me, Darlie.”

Darlene looked over at Barbara, who gave her the thumbs up. Off Darlene went with Hopkins. George issued his own invitation to Estelle, who seemed ecstatic. Arthur had a cigar going and a conversation percolating with some buddies.

Mom and Dad were almost visibly bouncing in their shoes. She told Mom, “Ya’ll go ahead and dance. I’ll be fine.”

Jackie stood beside her as they watched the action. “You cannot ever tell Marquetta this, but I like some of this hillbilly shit.”

“Come on. You mean, after all these years of me telling you about Dolly Parton, you finally decided to get on board on account of some woman you’re hot for.”

“Child, if Darlene told you to go hang the moon in the morning, you’d do it. You’d borrow my ladder.”

“That’s true.”

Collier McKenna and District Attorney Souther walked by, both of them smirking.

“Good evening, ladies,” Souther said. “I see your dance cards have been left empty. How sad.”

Jackie had a go-to-hell look on her face that she couldn’t afford to buttress with any remarks. Souther could shut her operation down and in a hurry.

Barbara, on the other hand, was no bootlegger. “What’s sad is seeing you jump through McKenna’s hoops whenever he needs the entertainment. Your momma must be so proud of her little buttboy.”

That hit the target and then some. Souther wheeled on her and started a round of cursing that drew attention from bystanders.

Roberta, of all people, showed up.

She plucked on Souther’s sleeve. “Would you come over to my table? We’re discussing a little business, a little pleasure. You’d add immeasurably to both.”

Souther and McKenna, both of them discontented, allowed Roberta to draw them away.

George and a breathless Estelle wheeled into view at that moment. Estelle peeled away, and George crooked his finger at Barbara. Now it was her turn.

George bellowed into her ear. “Be careful with Souther. He’s about to be appointed district judge. He can cause you problems if he pulls the wrong strings.”

“Thanks, but I’m not worried about him. This is my home, as much as his. He can’t run me off if I won’t go.” She stopped mid-rant at what she was seeing. “Well, I’ll be.”

Billy Eckert walked onto the dance floor with Gracie’s sister on his arm. Barbara knew from personal experience that Billy danced better than his brother, but that probably wasn’t saying much. She saw Gracie standing by the dance floor with her sisters. Barbara thought about the partner in her arms and the partner she once had.

“George,” she said. “I have an idea for who you can go out with.”

Jennings was now singing a ballad called “Amanda,” which was easier on the older dancers. Mom and Dad stepped back onto the floor.

“I’m listening.”

“Gracie Munoz.”

“Your Gracie?”

“Was my Gracie. She could be yours.”

On the next pass, they both studied Gracie.

“You know, even after word got around about you, nobody suspected her. It never crossed their mind that she’s gay. Lord, can she move that ass, and she’s not even dancing.”

“I know.”

They both gave it rapt attention until they couldn’t crane their necks anymore. George might be gay, but most humans couldn’t resist staring at that work of art.

“Hmm,” George thought aloud. “This’d work out for both of us. She’s Catholic, right?”

“Went to Friday mass couple times a month when I was with her.”

“What would Hopkins call it, I wonder. Romeo and Juliet? Two lovers unable to marry, because I won’t convert.”

“Y’all could stretch that out for years.”

“Exactly. Thanks. I’ll ask her to dance in a bit. Oh wait, I’ll need to rescue Darlene sometime tonight.”

“I thought Hopkins promised not to set that up.”

“He didn’t have to. That bastard McKenna is drunk as a skunk. He’ll try something, but don’t worry. We have plenty of reinforcements. McKenna won’t get near her. What you said earlier—you don’t ever plan on moving?”

“No. Hell, no. I don’t want them to think they got rid of me. Out of sight, out of mind, my foot. I’m here to stay, scar ’n all.”

“I wish Hopkins felt the same way. He wants to move so badly.”

“Maybe you should.”

“You’re being rather inconsistent.” George’s voice rose as Jennings rocked “The Taker.”

She heard Jessi Colter singing harmony on the song. Colter was a darkly beautiful woman who Barbara wanted to watch for a while. Once more around, and she’d pass George onto Gracie.

“No, I’m not being inconsistent. Your man wants to leave. You have the means and the opportunity to make that happen. Nobody knows about you.”

“They would if we moved somewhere together. It’d be pretty damned obvious.”

“So? It’s not as bad as you think, people knowing. It’s hard. It’s strange as hell when someone looks right through me like I got a window in my chest. But, you know what? They don’t own me anymore. Lately, I even smile at some of them. They get so confused.”

“It’s different for you.”

Barbara stopped in midstep and walked away from him. She joined Barlow, who stood on the sideline enjoying the view.

“Did you get your fill of dancing?” he asked.

“With George, yeah.”

“Not everyone’s cut out to be Galileo,” Barlow said, displaying his usual talent for reading her mind and confusing it at the same time.

“Huh?”

“You’re the trailblazer type, but think of all the people like me who stare through their backyard telescope and yet never discover a star. I’ve tracked a comet, and I’ve followed satellites, but I’ll never walk on the moon.”

“It could still happen.”

“No, it won’t,” he said gently. “George and I, we’re not built that way. You and Hopkins and Mary, you dream big enough for the rest of us. Do you know we’re planning on visiting New York City next year?”

“No way. Really?”

“She finally talked me into it. Maybe someday Hopkins will succeed with George.”

Mary careened into view with Hopkins. As the song tailed out, the pair left the floor.

“I hope you’re right, but I don’t think so.”

Another ballad started up, this one with Jessi Colter singing lead on “If You Asked Me To.”

The song talked about the trade-offs and sacrifices two lovers made, even to the point of being willing to leave, if that were the request. She hoped Darlene never asked her to do that.

Mary jabbed Barbara in the arm. “Look at that.”

Entwined on the dance floor, Gracie and George danced even slower than the beat required. All eyes were on them, including Barbara’s, which was why she didn’t notice that Darlene had moved in front of her.

“Let’s go.” Darlene took her hand and pulled her onto the floor.

“No, we can’t.” Barbara started to step away, then stopped.

Darlene’s face, her entire body, pleaded with Barbara. Darlene stood resolute. Nothing was going to move her, except Barbara.

“Just this once,” Barbara said.

“Once should do it.”

Darlene eased into her arms, and away they went. She felt, rather than saw, the reaction around them. They weren’t dancing as though they were two girls killing time. They danced like the couple they happened to be.

When they passed the bandstand, she saw Jessi Colter’s reaction. Surprised, but steadfastly singing. Barbara figured the band had seen all kinds of things, from fights to same-sex lovebirds.

“How’re you doing?” Barbara asked.

“Fine and dandy, sweet as candy.” Darlene rested her head on Barbara’s shoulder.

They heard the ruckus at the same time. Over to the side, Souther had both arms around a red-faced McKenna. Let go of him, Barbara thought. I’ll win this round.

Ry, standing nearby with Marquetta, calmly walked over to McKenna, cocked his fist, and punched him into a nearby table.

As though he’d done nothing more challenging than change a windshield wiper, Ry returned to Marquetta to receive congratulations from Mom and Dad, among others.

A sheriff’s deputy and a pair of VFW members converged on the scene and helped drag McKenna to his feet. No one in the crowd of witnesses made a move toward Ry as McKenna stumbled to the exit.

The song ended. Immediately, Colter began singing “I’m Not Lisa,” her hit song, to thunderous applause.

Mary and Barlow appeared in front of them on the dance floor. When Barbara spun Darlene, she saw George and Gracie behind them, as well as Jackie and Hopkins dancing in the vicinity. Jackie had him well in hand.

Mary steered Barlow close and hollered, “Y’all don’t worry about a thing. We’ll get you home.”

“Much obliged,” Darlene yelled back.

“You know, Mutt is quite taken with you,” Barbara said.

“You should trust his opinion.”

“He hasn’t steered me wrong yet. One more spin. What do you say?”

“Let’s give ’em a good show.”

Barbara spun Darlene around and then let her go.

They walked off the floor hand in hand and headed toward the exit. Although their hands gradually broke apart, they remained locked in step.

Mary and Barlow tucked close to one side of them, while Ry, Marquetta, and Jackie guarded the other flank. Mom and Dad walked a step behind.

“You ready for this?” Barbara asked.

“I’ll give you twenty years, then we’ll talk.” Darlene’s smile matched the spirit of the words, but the tension in her face was palpable.

“Stick with me, Darlie,” Barbara said. “We’ll be just fine.”

Author Kelly Sinclair    Photo Credit: Amy Spencer

About the Author

Kelly Sinclair lives in Temple, Texas, but is a transplant from the South Plains. She has been a reporter, a rock singer-songwriter, and is currently a librarian. One of her poems appeared in the Texas Observer political magazine, and her computer-derived prints are featured in art galleries.

Sinclair has worked with an experimental art-rock ensemble, written country songs for such Texas acts as the Maines Brothers, and sung backup for funk bands and bluegrass performers. In her writing, she follows a similar path of exploring her creative boundaries, writing scripts, plays, and musical song-cycles.

Coming Soon from Blue Feather Books:

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Life is sweet for star athlete, Amy Perry, who is the only woman playing professional baseball. But not everyone is accepting of an open lesbian on a men’s ball team, and Amy finds the harassment hard to take. Thank goodness she’s found a fulfilling relationship with Stacy McCrady, and still has the friendship and support of sportswriter Lisa Collins.

When personal tragedy strikes, Amy goes into a tailspin, and both her game and her union with Stacy suffer brutal blows. It takes a true team effort to get her back on track in both parts of her life.

In Two for the Show, readers are reunited with characters they met in Paynter’s Playing for First, and they’ll be introduced to several new players who demonstrate why baseball is really just a metaphor for the game of life.

Confined Spaces, by Renee MacKenzie

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Kara Travis likewise anticipates nothing more than a brief fling upon meeting Andi, especially given her reputation as both a personal ice princess and a corporate hatchet wielder for Royal Environmental. What luck to find a hot lesbian bartender in nowhere rural Georgia.

Andie and Kara spend a passionate weekend together and find that their notions of no strings attached are far from accurate. Their supposed short-term ideal diversion of a commitment-free romp hits a major complication when they come face to face with one another at Royal Environmental’s offices Monday morning. While carrying out her duties, Kara discovers crimes being committed by and against Royal Environmental employees.

Will Kara be forced to shut down the Georgia Division of the company? If she does, Andie will lose her job. Worse yet, Kara may lose Andie before she’s really even sure she’s got her.

Corporate politics, complicated romance, and long distances conspire to keep Andie and Kara all boxed in. Can love triumph despite the Confined Spaces?

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Table of Contents

ALSO WRITTEN BY KELLY SINCLAIR

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

About the Author

Coming Soon from Blue Feather Books: