Halls of Temptation

By

Katie P. Moore

halls of temptation

© 2005 by katie p. moore

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

ISBN 10: 1-933113-42-1

ISBN 13:  978-1-933113-42-5

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

________________________________________________________

Credits

Executive Editor: tara young

Published by

Intaglio Publications

P O Box 794

Walker, La. 70785

Visit us on the web: www.intagliopub.com

Dedication

To Kelly,

You are my everything

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To all the authors mainstream and otherwise, like Dorothy Allison, Margaret Atwood, Radclyffe, and Rita Mae Brown, whose stories not only entertain and inspire, but whose words also continue to enrich my own creativity.   

Chapter One

September 11, 1992

From the backseat, Lacey Dorshire watched honey-colored strands of sunlight shimmer atop an array of detaching leaves that sailed into the crisp New England air, raining down on the morning like flakes of fragile snow before coming to rest over the manicured lawn that sparkled of green. She thought how beautiful New Hampshire was in the fall, the coppery tint of the maple leaves and the blend of rust and burnt orange that enticed the eyes. In that moment, she envied their inanimateness, an existence that was not scrutinized by anyone, just able to be without influence.

As the vintage RollsRoyce screamed past the hugely uninviting gates of The Knolls boarding school and roared down the paved corridor toward the entrance of Wilmington Hall, Lacey bit down on her lip harshly.

The highly polished chrome outlining the headlights and running board dribbled with beads of morning dew, the dark tint of the windows fogged with condensation, and the supple leather bench seats rumbled with expression. As the road steeply inclined, the car prominently lurched before gliding into a pleasant hum. Lacey looked toward the hilltop, and as the building’s medieval-looking turrets came into view, her mind reeled with the thought of the first day of school. Her stomach gurgled, and a wave of queasiness churned inside of her until she felt like she was going to throw up.

The criticizing gawks, the devious grins, and the impolite snickers awaited her as she entered the hall for the first time. She narrowed her eyes angrily as her mother peered into the rearview mirror and gazed at her, yanking on the buttons of her knit uniform and tucking the ends tightly under her hips as the dampness of the lingering fog blew in from the nearby coast and crept through the cracks in the car’s windows, tickling her bare legs uncomfortably.

Lacey was a slender girl, with slight features and somewhat plain attributes. 

For most of her life, she had been a bit taller than the other girls her age, but as she had progressed in school, she had leveled out at around five-nine and had stayed there since her freshman year, though her body had taken on the hourglass curvatures that proudly set her apart. She had small breasts with a youthful perkiness that complemented the ugly militant garb of private schools, pushing upward and holding tightly to the V of the colored vest.  

She had strawberry blonde hair that curled neatly over her shoulders and deep set eyes of indigo that lightened or darkened like the many tones of a mood ring depending on her temperament.

This was going to be her senior year of high school, for most a content time in life when girls blossomed as they sprinted toward adulthood. Lacey couldn’t wait. She would turn eighteen the first part of January, and as she looked forward to graduation and school’s end, what she really began to savor was the detachment from her mother’s overbearing and watchful eye. 

“Remember, your father and I will be home for Thanksgiving this year. I’ll send Hawthorne to get you and your things the first day of your fall break.” Elaine Dorshire’s voice was strong and direct.

Lacey didn’t respond, instead rolling her eyes.

She found the recitation rehearsed and overperformed. Her mother had made a similar claim every year, just before she promptly extracted her daughter from the car, dumping her at the feet of the school’s strict headmistress. She would talk of having roast turkey, stuffed with trimmings, the smell of hot cross buns, and her delight at the first bite of their cook Helen’s homemade giblet gravy. But as the year progressed, as the calendar turned from Labor Day to Halloween, as the occasion neared, something unforeseen would arise, keeping her father and mother scattered somewhere across Europe or Asia.

She would be collected like her luggage by their chauffeur Hawthorne and taken back to the family’s grand mansion in Chatham, along the Nantucket Sound of Massachusetts. She would sit at the end of the oak banquet table, the bone china in a pristine tier over the lace tablecloth, the highly polished silver lined and placed in rows atop the ironed pleats of the linen napkins. Helen would serve, she would be expected to be appropriately clothed—a dress, stockings, with either court shoes or loafers. The dining room would be formal, reeking of nobility and accented to perfection. Lacey would sit alone, on the plush ladder chair, choking down her meal in silence, disturbed only occasionally by the slight murmurs that spat from the heating ducts.

It had been many years since Lacey had spent a holiday, a summer vacation, or even a scant weekend with her parents. She had grown accustomed to the disappointment, though as the reality flooded her thoughts, she was overcome with sadness.

She watched the clouds move and reshape themselves as they clustered around the tall brick walls of the student dormitory, their outline barely visible from over the grassy hillock in the distance. Lacey leaned forward, as grounded leaves parted with an almost summoning spread as the Rolls squealed its tires, coming to an abrupt stop, and a numbing silence fell over the car’s interior. With the windows up and locked into position, the only audible sound was the whispering cascade of water being released from the ivory bucket resting against the brawny muscles of the Adonis statuette at the center of a circular island near the roadway. Lacey looked at him instead of her mother. She eyed his robust peck and thought he looked as strangely awkward and out of place as she felt.

“I think it would be best if I drove you up, darling.” Her mother’s voice was elegant and sophisticated—proper English, as she had told her daughter on many occasions. The squeak of her black leather driving gloves tightened their grip over the steering wheel, breaking the uneasy stillness as she spoke.

“I said, I’d rather walk!” Lacey snapped, loudly gritting her teeth, hoping the sound would flood her mother with irritation.

“Lacey, honey, acting as if one is a precocious tot won’t alter the day’s course of events. Can’t we try for civility in our last fleeting moments together?” Her mother’s usual calm only heightened Lacey’s obvious annoyance.

“Nothing I say ever alters things, does it, Elaine?” Lacey knocked her elbows into the seat back in protest.

Lacey hated the sound of her mother’s voice, she thought her mother’s every word, every sentence toward her laced with superiority, as if addressing her concerns was trivial. Thankfully for Lacey, since the age of six, she had been exposed to her mother’s trite tones only briefly. She had spent the majority of her formative years at boarding schools around the country, being reared by a variety of teachers, professors, and dormitory housemothers.  

It had been her mother’s definition of a “proper upbringing.” Though at times it had been difficult, she could still remember how desperately she had cried the first time, clinging to her father’s pants leg and staring up at him with frightened eyes that overfilled with tears. She had tried to play her father, appeal to his sympathies, hoping he would provide some defense against her mother’s controlling nature. It never worked, but it was always worth the effort to hear her father make a last-minute bargain on her behalf.

Jonathon Dorshire was a sandy-haired man, with chalky gray eyes that dulled like stone when he was uptight, though he was kind-natured and cool-tempered. 

He was a businessman who loved to wear Armani suits and Egyptian cotton dress shirts with silk monochromatic ties. Lacey had thought of him as a knight minus the armor during her adolescent years. Her father had always been her confidant, her friend, though his many absences made him only the occasional father figure that she had desperately longed for.

She’d never had much in common with her mother. Though Lacey knew she had never really tried, she thought it would have taken far more work to understand her than to just yell in protest at her smothering expectations. In the long run, she felt she wouldn’t care much for her even if she had made an effort. 

They had butted heads more times than she had toes, fingers, or strands of hair, the most prominent over her interest in sports. Her mother thought it a useless waste of time, time one could spend indulging in more practical things. 

But Lacey was sporty by nature, she loved the thrill of competition, and though she had never been allowed to join one, the camaraderie and spirit that one must feel when she’s part of a team. She was a good student, naturally gifted with an IQ somewhere in the 150s. 

She had a slightly tarnished record of being a troublemaker, but with enough money thrown toward the school’s special programs and whimsical experiments, she had always been an acceptable candidate for academia, and aside from a few blemishes, she was a perfect scholar.

“You know I dislike you using my first name, Lacey darling,” Mrs. Dorshire firmly corrected her daughter, glaring over her shoulder and slotting her eyes at the improperness.

Elaine Dorshire was a woman of exceptional wealth, she was from new and old money and comfortably took her perch on the limbs of the aristocratic English genealogical tree with pride. She felt it was her obligation to craft her daughter, sculpturing her with the same refinement, just as her mother had done to her. It was part of the family tradition to mold young girls into suitable women, capable of handling the family fortunes with an intelligent technique of poise and grace.

Lacey huffed, then flopped her body sternly against the back of the seat to aggravate her mother. “I don’t see why the hell you ripped me out of my old school, just so you could send me to this ungodly place. When I turn eighteen, I’m gonna do what I want...for a change.”

“Darling, I dislike your use of slang. I’m going to do...is the term I think you were seeking. I believe your father and I have asserted our positions with profound clarity. We feel it’s best for your future to spend your senior year here at The Knolls. It will afford you an extensive preparatory curriculum, which in turn will help your continued education in Switzerland next year, and you should be proud. After all, I’m an—”

“An alumnus of this fine establishment. How many times are you going to repeat yourself? Really, Mother, you can be novel of repetitive thought at times,” she said snidely, cutting her mother off mid-thought and lowering her brow with exasperation. She knew that her father had only agreed because he was a weasel of a man who lacked a spine when it came to what her mother thought was best.

“May I have the keys?” Lacey asked through clenched teeth.

Mrs. Dorshire slipped the keys from the ignition, clutched the metal knob of the car door, and with a poetic slide, she swung her skinny nylon-covered legs out into the chilly air, tossing back the mahogany threads of thinning hair that had come loose around her narrow jawline.

Lacey rolled her eyes as she saw her mother exiting, anticipating another thought-provoking lecture of maturity as she got her luggage out of the trunk. She threw the door open, slamming it behind her, anxiously walking to the rear of the Rolls. Folding her arms over her chest, she put one shoe in front of the other and stamped the thick soles of her Converse high tops impatiently.

She made certain her shoes were within eye range of her mother’s approaching hazels. Her big toe was poking prominently through the canvas on both sides; the laces were frail, coated with grease with large knotted balls that held the strands together. The pleats of her kilt-style skirt were stretched and unironed, and the logo from her last school was partially tearing from its standard position over the left breast of her cardigan. Her hair was teased and blowing freely, and her powdery blue eyes and long eyelashes were noticeably without the complimentary earth tones her mother desired her to wear.

 Mrs. Dorshire took a long pausing moment as she shut the car door to tidy up, pressing out the indented wrinkles in her pink wool suit with her matching fingernails. She ran her thumb over the gold and diamond pin on the lapel of her tailored coat, down over the fitted torso and flared skirt that resembled a man’s Prince Albert, tugging on the belt until it came free and hung loosely at her side.

With a posh uprightness, she took a step forward, stumbling backward as the thin stalk of her designer pumps caught in the soggy grass, falling with a crash onto her bottom. Her legs split into the perfect Y as she slid down the grassy embankment on the tails of her overcoat, landing in the splits atop the curb.

Cupping her hand over her mouth, Lacey tried with great difficulty to hold back a roaring belly laugh, as she watched her mother stagger to her feet, stepping down and piercing her right heel deeper into the wet ground as it wedged into the center of her dangling belt. She tried feverishly to control her sway by airplaning her arms out oddly at her side, managing to get her balance before falling a second time.

“Really!” Elaine uttered with disgust, as she jerked her mud-soiled belt around her thin waistline.

Noticing a large wet stain on her mother’s coat as she turned around to open the trunk, Lacey grinned gleefully and chuckled at her clumsiness. As the trunk sprang open, she brushed past her mother, taking hold of the handle of her hard-sided suitcase and steamer trunk and heaving them out onto the pavement.

“Are you certain you don’t wish to be transported to the top of the hill by automobile, darling?” her mother asked, taking note of her daughter’s struggle with the tonnage of her bulky bags.

“I’m quite sure! Maybe if you would’ve driven me here in a normal car,” Lacey said hatefully.

“I drove you here instead of Hawthorne, does that not afford a bit of gratefulness on your part?” her mother asked, lifting her fingers and dabbing them across her lips.

“Sorry, Mother, I guess I’m being unappreciative of your daily sacrifices. How could I be so farsighted?” Lacey said sarcastically as she turned around, strolling up the hill with her luggage in hand.

Laying her nails up to her mouth, she called, “Not even an embrace for your mother, darling?”

“Goodbye, Mother,” Lacey sneered, without glancing back as she traipsed up the hill to the campus.

As her fingers began aching from their grasp around the suitcase handle, she let the bags drop onto the dirt, sliding them along behind her as she popped her head over the hilltop.

Herds of young rich girls were huddled in the commons of the courtyard. Hundreds of luxury automobiles capable of leveling the national debt were lined neatly around the cobblestone roadway.

Lacey briefly stood watching as the older girls took hold of their valuables, giving their mothers a peck on the cheek, shaking their father’s hand, and dashing into the arched stained-glass doors of the dormitory. Younger girls away from home for the first time were being held by their mother’s loving hands, crying.

Loving was an unrealistic term, Lacey thought. A loving mother wouldn’t ship a young girl off to be reared by strangers. Wealthy people bore children merely for the novelty of bragging to friends by saying, “Oh, yes, Meredith is attending Oxford, she’s a straight-A student. She’s planning on being a doctor, you know. Her father and I are so proud.”

It was either that or the carrying on the family name that added encouragement; either choice was unacceptable to Lacey. She detested the perversities of money, the way it had of altering otherwise normal people, dysfunctional boring snobs who weren’t suitable for the human race.

Paying little attention to the fact that her luggage was now coated in dirt and stained with green scuffs, she continued with a watchful stride as she made her way through the multicolored pieced glass that vaulted around the archway overhead. She stepped into the long hall, catching her eyes on an etched bronze plaque that was welded on the far wall. Hall of Orientation. Only a boarding school would have given a common hallway such a proper title, she thought.

Walking a few steps farther, Lacey tilted her head upward toward the strings of amethyst and magenta that were shining through the glass of the atrium over the three floors above, as girls peered over the carved banisters that outlined the wind of the staircase. This was the part Lacey dreaded the most, the walking of the gauntlet, as it was rightfully named. The part where a new arrival was expected to walk with her head high, bursting with confidence as the veterans lined the hallways outside their rooms, staring with baited breath for the girl to get nervous and fall onto her face or moved to tears by the gazing onlookers.

The noise from the exposed floors echoed with a deafening metallic ring. Lacey put her hand onto the varnished hand railing and raised an eyebrow to the Roman emperor who had been forever immortalized under the white stone of the marble flooring, destined to rest for eternity, slicked in floor wax, his subtle leer and regal outfit stamped with mud and other elements from the feet of careless girls as they hurried to their rooms. The ultimate in compliments, she thought cynically.

On the first floor, she could see the girls readying their facial expressions as she neared. Her room was on the third floor, and as she watched them eye her, she tried to prepare herself for what would be a long journey upward. Girls who had chickened out of the stroll down the gauntlet, or girls who were naïve to the traditions, were riddled with unrelenting criticism and given harsh treatment by the others for taking one of the elevators along the hall’s sides. A little bit of hell on earth that could last the entire year, if one weren’t careful.

Having no friends was a tough way to go; it left girls dealing with bouts of loneliness, depression, and sometimes, for the weakest, suicidal thoughts weren’t uncommon. That was about the only gratifying credit she felt her mother was due, her coaching and her words of wisdom about the unwritten rules of a boarding school collegiate.

Lacey kept her eyes fixed into a stare straight ahead, rounding the corner of the second floor, trying to remain unflappable by the chants, hoots, and hollers. Her face was without emotion, as she turned and entered the hall near her dorm room. She lugged her things behind her, stopping for the occasional foot meant to topple the inattentive novice.

With a glance at the number on the door, Lacey set her stuff down neatly, then flung it opened. She listened to the giggle of two girls who were perched over the spread of one of the twin beds that was shoved against opposite walls, stepping in as they glared at her.

“I’m Chantell,” one girl said, smiling as she smirked at her friend.

“Lacey,” she said briefly, pulling her things inside as the girls jeered.

Chantell had thick ebony hair that cascaded primly down her back. She was painfully skinny with milk chocolate skin that gave her an exotic flair though she was short and flat-chested. Lacey thought her attractive, though she had a spooky curve to her lips that curled upward into an evil sneer.

“I’m your roommate in case you’re not one of the brighter ones I’ve had over the years,” Chantell chuckled. “This is Mary,” she said, gesturing in her direction with her eyes.

Mary stood and approached her, running her stare the length of Lacey’s body as she moved closer. Mary was solidly built. Lacey ran an inspecting stare across her. She was heavy like an immovable house and one that she thought would look better torn down than lining a quiet neighborhood. 

She had fiery red hair and vacant eyes. Lacey was instantly judgmental, thinking of her as both simple and dimwitted. She had deplorable mannerisms, shuffling her feet oafishly and leaning oddly forward as she walked. 

 “Looks like you’ve got yourself an interesting one this year,” Mary laughed, stepping out the door and around the corner of the hall.

“Don’t mind her, they don’t serve breakfast on the first morning, and she’s a bit lactose-deprived,” Chantell said, turning around on the bed and eyeing Lacey. “Oh, this is your bed, near the window,” she directed, standing up. “Didn’t want to get mine messed up,” she said coldly.

Lacey lowered her attention to the pile of mauled bedding that was partially hanging onto the floor. “Thanks!” she said bitterly.

“I hope you’re not one of those religious fanatics who’s always lighting incense and burning candles.” Chantell smoothed the front of her uniform. “I’m allergic to all the scented shit, if you are, so you’ll have to perform your séances out in the commons.” She turned her back to Lacey, dismissing her as she clicked the latch on the door and tugged it open. “Oh, and if you snore, I’ll put a bag over your head until you stop,” she threatened. “Keep that in mind, Lezzy,” she finished without turning around as she left the room.

Lacey stood cold, her reaction frozen inside of her.                 

Chapter Two

September 12, 1992

Sound echoed around the oak parquet walls of the dining hall, porcelain plates loudly clanked together, and girls milled about, toting trays of breakfast cereal and orange juice. 

The muffled whispers of the hundred or so young women crowded around the collapsible tables reverberated off the paneled walls. Drinking glasses loudly pinged against one another, bouncing around the cathedral ceiling, around the cinquefoils that hung ornamentally at the mid-section of the expansive Montonege Hall, then hollowly slammed over the veneer tabletops. Old mahogany benches creaked eerily as they slid backward over the varnished notches of the antiquated hardwoods as Lacey leered across the room.

Uniform-clad girls filed past in a rapid succession of royal blue, dizzily flashing past the eyes like the nauseating sway of a swollen river. The younger girls sat at the farthest end of the hall, while the older ones dominated the tables nearest the kitchen.

Lacey wedged her hand into the crack of the large roll door, sliding it into the wall with ease as it glided along the metal track. Her stomach lurched nervously as she picked up her plastic tray and silverware. She put her palms flatly against the bottom of the tray, holding it evenly in front of her chest. 

The first few meals were the hardest for the newcomers, who made their way through the long procession in silence, then strolled aimlessly down the many rows of seating, slipping their body in where it would attract the least amount of attention.

Roaming her eyes back and forth over the room, Lacey watched as the girls eyed her. She smelled the aroma of fresh-cut flowers that poked from terracotta urns sporadically placed about the room. She curiously eyed the scarlet silk-clothed tables along the west wall where the headmistress and professors dined.

As the clock skipped toward seven thirty, the girls hurriedly scarfed the remaining food from their plates and stacked them on one of the many roll carts. Most smiled happily, wrestling elbows as they squirmed for space on the crowded benches. 

Peering across the hall, Lacey caught sight of a lonely table in the far corner. As the last girl wiped the dribble of milk from her chin and stood, Lacey walked over and sat down. She folded back the bulky cuffs of her starched white dress shirt, stretching her arms out as she spooned yogurt into her mouth. Her stomach growled, as the first bite dripped down into her empty stomach.

“Well, good morning, roomie,” Chantell called from behind, knocking into her back roughly, causing her teeth to hit the rim of the glass as she sipped from it.  “You’re new around here, so let me get you acquainted with the rules,” she said. “If you’re late to breakfast, and by late, that means after I arrive, then you don’t get to eat.” She grabbed Lacey’s tray and flung it at Mary, who turned and toppled it into the trash at her side.

Lacey turned and eyed her angrily.

“I get here at seven, not 7:01, or 6:59, but 7:00; if you arrive after me, you’ll go hungry. Get how it works?” Chantell smirked.

“Oh, I get it!” Lacey shot her a defiant glare.

“Good! You and I will get along better if you follow the rules,” Chantell finished.

Lacey crinkled her forehead indignantly and shot her a piercing stare as she walked away.

“Good morning, ladies. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Professor Rothmore,” the woman said authoritatively, as she scribbled her last name over the green slate of the chalkboard. “Most of you will be seeing me for English and biology.” Her voice was a bit hoarse and growled from her throat as she spoke, her tone was strict and to the point.

She was draped in a sable-colored polyester robe snapped squarely over the feminine rounds of her shoulders. The velvet-trimmed collar loosely accented the ends of her groomed auburn hair that was tucked up and wrapped into bun. She had deep laugh lines around the rim of her eyes and near her cheeks. As Lacey stared at her, she wondered if she had ever indulged in an expressive form of emotion; she seemed too stale and uptight. She was somewhat attractive for a woman in her mid-forties, and as Lacey looked her over once again, she thought she didn’t fit the old schoolmarm stereotype, like every other professor she had ever had.

Lacey adjusted her wool skirt underneath her over the unusually hard desk seats, looking around the modest yet archaic classroom. The only sign of modern day was the cardboard box of colored chalk lying out on Professor Rothmore’s desk. Even the schoolbooks were worn and dog-eared like they had come right out of an eighteenth century historian’s personal library. 

The continual ledge that formed a halo near the top of the opaque ceiling was jammed with glass mason jars that had a collection of suspended tree frogs, African spiny mice, and several pig fetuses, just to end up sheathed under a lid to the reek formaldehyde. 

Wide casement windows sprawled along the side of Lacey’s desk, offering a sunlit view of the myrica gale and lollipop rhododendron gardens that spotted the campus in the foreground.

Professor Rothmore sashayed around behind her desk to the front of the slate chalkboard, as the girls sat erect in their seats. Lacey listened to the shallow whispers of Chantell and Mary that reverberated from directly behind her. She looked out at the lake and across to the soccer field that was alive with tiny moving specks in the distance. She fidgeted with the binding of her text book, flapping the pages wistfully over one another as the professor jotted down the day’s lesson.

“Hey, Lacey,” Chantell said, tapping her on the back of the head. “Wanna play a trick of old Rothchild?” She laughed.

“She doesn’t look that old,” Lacey replied, frowning as she looked over her shoulder.

“It’s not the outside I’m talking about, it’s the inside. Wait until you hear her start lecturing. She possesses the babbling thought and dullness of a ninety-year-old woman,” Chantell joked.

“Just leave me alone. I don’t want any trouble,” Lacey said with a whisper.

“I told you the little bitch wouldn’t go along with it,” Chantell told Mary.

Chantell tossed her pencil into the aisle in front of Lacey’s desk. Lacey leaned to retrieve it as Chantell knocked the back of her seat with her foot, causing her to slide forward, her ribs pressing painfully into the wooden edge of her desktop.

“Oh, my, I’ve dropped my writing utensil on the floor. How am I going to pick it up?” Chantell mimicked an elderly woman puckering her cheeks and biting down on her lips as she talked, taking short baby steps forward as she moved in front of Lacey. “Oh, my, it’s a long way down there, isn’t it?” she teased.

The classroom broke into laughter at her antics; Lacey sat back and stared at her without amusement.

“Chantell!” Professor Rothmore barked. “I see we’re starting the year off with the same juvenile actions as we perform each progressing one. I would’ve thought that becoming a senior would’ve thrust you into a more mature frame of mind. I see it hasn’t.” Her eyes narrowed sternly, scolding her.

Chantell smiled deviously, as she bent down to pick up her pencil. “Sorry, Rothchild.”

The class giggled at her disobedience.

“Settle down,” she ordered.

Chantell sneered, “I mean, Professor Rothmore.”

“You know the routine; I’ll see you in my office after the afternoon session. Now take your seat!”

Chantell slowly sauntered to her seat, as the class watched.

“Okay, girls, open your English text to page three,” Professor Rothmore instructed.

The room fell quiet, as the girls flipped through books; it was the calm before the torrential downpour, Lacey thought. 

“Lacey,” Chantell called out again.

She sighed, then faced her.

“Here give this to her.” Chantell handed her a balled piece of plastic wrap with something wrapped inside. “Hand it to her,” she nodded to the girl just in front of Lacey. 

Lacey hesitated, holding it in her palm.

“I knew she wouldn’t do it,” Mary said.

“Shut up, she’ll do it,” Chantell said in her defense.

Lacey held the piece of wrap, cupping it in her hand, as she contemplated what to do. Taking a few calming breaths, as Professor Rothmore turned toward the board, Lacey popped the small paper up as the item fell onto the girl’s desk in front of her.  The naïve girl looked back, and Lacey shrugged as she unwrapped it. The shiny carcass of a fat Madagascar cockroach that had been spotted with garnet lipstick fell out of the plastic wrap and dropped onto the floor. The girl leaped from her seat, and Chantell and Mary giggled at her sudden surprise.

Lacey’s face went flush, as the girl’s eyes welled up with tears and she hurled it back at her. She quickly stuffed it into the pocket of her skirt.

“Girls!” Professor Rothmore shouted.

Chapter Three

October 26, 1992

Lacey clicked on the table lamp at the center of her writing desk, lifted the lid of the laptop, and skipped around the glossy pages of her trade cloth McGraw-Hill 3rd edition biology book. She circled her fingernail over the symbols and atomic numbers of the periodic table, sneering at a diagram of a dissected pig as she outlined the carotid artery near the neck tracing it down over the mesenteric to the umbilical cord. Blankly, she stared at the shelves above her head that were scarcely cluttered, fanning the pages of her book, and bracing her hand up to her temples as she tapped aimlessly over the keys of her computer.

“I’m restless. What do you say we sneak down to the lake?”

Chantell was lying on her back over the covers of her bedspread, her book lying flat on her raised knees. “Since when are you the defiant one? I thought you were the little princess who didn’t do anything but follow the rules,” she said with little attention.

Lacey stared at her bare legs without comment.

“I have a lot of homework to get done before tomorrow, and I’m probably going to be up half the night typing that stupid essay old Rothchild assigned me for cutting up in class today. That prehistoric old bag, I wish she’d die off like the rest of her kind.” Chantell’s voice sparked with anger and spiked with an unusual accent the harder it became.

“Where are you from anyway?” Lacey questioned with curiosity.

“Well, I’m not from Africa if that’s what you’re thinking.” She sat up and shot Lacey her brown eyes that screamed with intimidation, as if she were expecting the next few sentences to fuel an argument.

“I didn’t think you were,” Lacey said calmly.

“I was born in Rio de Janeiro, but my family travels around a lot.”

“Mine too,” Lacey chimed in.

“Did I ask?” Chantell bit snidely.

Lacey leaned back and folded one leg over the other.

“My father is a diplomat for the United Nations Foreign Affairs,” Chantell said proudly. “That’s why I get away with so much around here. These idiots wouldn’t dare cross my father.”

“A diplomat, huh? Is that why he dumped you off here, to keep you out of his affairs?”

Lacey’s tone was hard and unyielding. She knew before the last word of her sentence spilled from her mouth that it would likely aggravate Chantell and send her into a cornered fury. She hadn’t quite figured out the best way to handle her yet. She had been nothing but rude and nasty to her, but making a bitter enemy of her might only make the already tense situation between them even worse. But it wasn’t in her nature to allow someone to treat her the way Chantell had.

“And you get transferred to a school for the last two semesters of high school? Sounds to me like you’re not exactly hooked to your family by the apron strings,” Chantell said quickly. “Besides, I happen to like it here. I get my way and I do what I want…and I chose to come here.”

“I’ll bet.” Lacey twirled her hair with her fingers. “What kind of a fool would choose to come to this freakish place?”

 “I know about your track record with boarding schools, so I would watch who you call a fool.” Chantell looked up with a heavy glare, then quickly turned her attention back to her book.

“What does that mean? You don’t know anything about me.”

She had gotten Lacey’s attention. She turned her chair wildly around on the floor facing the wall.

“Oh, don’t I? I know your family is loaded, that your father owns an importing and exporting company called Matton, and that he is very well-connected in China. I know your mother graduated cum laude, which by the way you have very little chance of achieving.” Chantell went on, “And I know your mother has put a lot of money into this school for its adopt-an-orphan program, which is why they allowed you to come here.”

She continued, “I know that you would’ve been kicked out of your last three schools if it hadn’t been for dear old doting mother.” She moved her eyes exaggeratingly fluttering them, putting her right hand over her heart.

Over the years, Chantell had spent an abundant amount of time rifling through the records and files of her fellow classmates and professors alike. She’d volunteered her freshman year for that very reason—to spy and absorb every ounce of damaging knowledge she could. She knew all about Lacey. She also knew all about Professor Rothmore.  

She knew she had graduated summa cum laude from Dartmouth in 1974 with a master’s in history, but more importantly, she knew she had been implicated in several illegal betting schemes revolving around the school’s softball team. It was a tasty little morsel of information that made her salivate with delight every time she stood before her, her stern rules and lectures about ethics that had made Chantell despise her even more.

“And just how the hell do you know all this?” Lacey asked.

“I make it my business to know who I’m being roomed with. I don’t like surprises.”

“Well, mind your own business and stay out of mine.” If there had been any chance of Lacey making amends with Chantell, her nosiness had just smothered it.

“My pleasure! I know what I need to...” Chantell slammed her book shut, threw it onto the bed, stood up, and went toward the door. “Oh, and by the way, you screw with me and you might wake up and find yourself a bit lopsided on the top portion of your body.” She opened the room’s door, then closed it after she stepped into the hall.

Don’t screw with me? Lacey laughed to herself, smirking at the odd statement. She lifted the screen of the laptop and clicked until the computer came on, typed in her password, and listened to the clicking tones as it dialed. “I don’t know who she thinks she is,” she scoffed, and clicked the icon until her email popped up.

She was trying to be tough, though deep down Chantell’s obvious hatred toward her had her feeling dejected. She scrolled the list of new e-mail, skipping her mother’s, then deleting it. It always amazed her that her mother found no time for her but found more than enough hours in the day to write long boring directives.

Over the years, she had opened only a few, and once she had gotten beyond the first paragraph, she’d erased them without reading more. 

She closed the top, took a glance about the dingy dorm room—to Chantell’s clothes that were piled on the floor in the corner, the lonely dresser against the far wall, and the two twin beds situated kitty-corner from each other—and thought the room cold and unfeeling.

Lacey pulled on her running sneakers, grabbed a windbreaker from the closet, then opened the door to her room, silently peeking out. The lights were drawn halfway to signal the fifteen-minute lights-out call, and the hallway was quiet and empty. 

She could hear the faint giggle of some girls who were gathered around the communal television down the hall. Lacey turned in their direction and gently tugged on the door, holding the knob, let it go without a sound, then crept toward the front stairs, peering over the banister into the foyer below before creeping down the stairs and out the door of Wilmington Hall.  

She looked back only once as she skirted across the grass in darkness and strolled down to the edge of LakeMassabesic. She pulled her skirt down tightly around her goose-pricked legs and sat over a fallen stump near the shore. She gazed toward the speckles of light from the city of Derry and looked out over the moonlit water. 

She kept vigil, her eyes moving from side to side, knowing that if she were to get caught, she would surely be awarded several demerits, then what free time she did have would be spent in the office of Mrs. Cranston, the headmistress, on the receiving end of a lengthy lecture.

 She could hear the gentle trickle of water, a splash, and a few concealed chuckles. She got up and moved closer, hiding behind a large sycamore tree as she looked toward the water’s edge. 

Two girls were kicking and splashing each other several feet from shore. They were nude and excited in a way she had never seen two girls, in a way she had thought two girls should never act. She found the sight of them odd, yet appealing. 

She watched from a distance, their bodies melting and molding together as one girl pushed the other to the ground. They smiled, then kissed. 

They held each other tightly, then rolled onto their backs across the damp ground, pointing and staring at the stars. Lacey crouched down, stepping back until the gravel below her crackled. She looked up, and the girls were looking in her direction. She stepped back, to an even louder crunch, then eyeing them, turned and ran toward the dorm.

That night, Lacey couldn’t sleep; she tossed and turned, finally snapping on the light and reading. What had those girls been doing? She knew but asked herself the question anyway. For some reason, her mind had been inattentive to everything except the girls by the lake. Her thoughts turned to their naked bodies, persistently held firmly to each other, their hair wet, dripping over the other’s face, their arms braced up under the other, their hands moving and exploring. 

As the visions stalked her mind, her body heated from the inside, starting at her toes and moving up into her pelvis. She knew the sensation well; she had since she was nine and she had seen the other girls, the ones slightly more developed than her taking showers in the gymnasium. She had found them sexy and alluring. She looked toward Chantell for any sign of a wandering eye, then slid her palm into her underpants, moving her fingers, tickling her clitoris, and sighing to the rush of relaxation as it overcame her.

Chapter Four

November 1, 1992

“Where are you off to so early?” Chantell rolled onto her side and stared at Lacey as she pulled on a pair of warm-up pants, a ripped thermal, and a hooded Boston Celtics sweatshirt.

“I’m going down to the lake for a jog.”

“A jog? Well, how physical of you. You look like one of those athletic types.” Chantell propped herself up higher, taking a surmising look at Lacey and her attire. “Has anyone ever told you that your style of dress is a bit butch?” She smirked. “You know, this school doesn’t tolerate that kind of behavior.”

“What kind of behavior?” Lacey asked coolly.

“Lesbian behavior. Are you a lesbian, Lezzy?” Chantell questioned. “I bet you’re a muff diver, you look like the type. I knew I was right about you.” Chantell lay back and turned away.

“I’m not a lesbian!” Lacey stood up sharply in protest. “Shut the hell up,” she said, moving closer to Chantell.

Chantell turned quickly, sensing her approach. “Oh, is the big bull dyke gonna slap me around?” She widened her eyes and shook her head as if she were frightened. “C’mon butchy, let’s see it,” she coaxed.

Lacey put her hands to her side, clenching her fists as the anger rose inside of her. She lowered her stare sharply into Chantell’s, then shook her head and went out the door.

“Yeah, I figured as much. Stone dyke on the outside, nylon puss on the inside,” Chantell called out loudly, laughing as Lacey slammed the door behind her.

The morning was cold, the sky was overcast with sheets of slate that held to the surface of the water, giving it a gothic feel.  The air was tingly to the skin and smelled faintly of pine. Lacey stopped to knot the laces of her Adidas track shoes as they flopped freely at her ankles, her mind still reeling from her altercation with Chantell.

A lesbian, she thought. She couldn’t get over the word, though it was more its meaning that balled up in her throat. She’d never known a lesbian, let alone thought of herself as one. What a bitch, she thought further. She picked up her pace in hopes of relieving some of her tension with exertion, stepping her stride up a notch as she came around to the edge of the shore. 

She jogged in place as she watched the scullers out on the water, the smooth glide of their oars as they cut the water into perfect lines. She shook out her arms, then stopped, listening to the call of the captain, her voice springing through the surrounding greenbelt, then back out over the lake. The girls cheered to their victory as one boat pulled ahead of the other. 

“Do you scull?” a soft voice asked from behind.

Lacey turned, her hands fisted in the front pocket of her sweat jacket.  “No, I find it interesting, though.”

“You should give it a shot, you have the shoulders for it.” The girl smiled.

Lacey returned her grin.

“It’s not that tough, I can teach you if you’d like.”

Lacey glanced back to the girls in the distance. “Is the one in the front giving the orders the coach?”

“Coxswain, and it’s sort of like a coach. They watch the oars and the skim of the boat, then call out certain maneuvers like, adjust the ratio or back it down to the oarsmen. They’re an intricate part of competitive sculling. Right now they’re practicing the Head of the Hosmer Race against the clock.

Lacey ran her attention down the girl’s figure, over her slender yet buff arms, up around her sandy blonde hair that was cropped into tight spikes around the top. She was somewhat masculine but not too much so. She had persuading celadon eyes that flecked with dots of red near the iris, spangling like the sweet green pulp of a kiwi as a beam of light dipped across her forehead and off her cheek. She had long dark eyelashes and thick eyebrows that were about as near to being a unibrow as one could get without actually being one. 

She stretched as Lacey watched, whirling her arms out above her, stiffening her elbows at ten and two into the perfect posture of the Venetian Man, then reaching down and gripping the handle of a long paddle pitching upright, and dug into the soft grass, as she spoke. “I’m Shepard.” She raised her other hand and extended it, catching Lacey’s glimpse at her.

“Lacey...Lacey Dorshire,” she said, moving her eyes to Shepard’s. “Shepard,” she repeated. “That’s a different name.”

“It’s a nickname. Kinda biblical, huh?” she teased.

“It’s different.”

“You’re Chantell’s roommate, right?”

“Yeah.”  Lacey’s voice was low and distant.

Shepard smiled a broad grin that extended from one ear to the other as she sensed Lacey’s discomfort. “I can see you aren’t too excited about that,” she laughed.

Lacey arched her eyebrows.

“Don’t let her get to you, she’s not just bitchy toward you, she’s just a bitch. I was roomed with her two years ago; it lasted all of two months and I asked for a rematch. She can be hard to handle.” Shepard softened her expression, easing Lacey’s.

Lacey moved her eyes to the side toward the water. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer. I’d like to learn.” She had changed the subject smoothly, coasting it into a more pleasant one.

“Tomorrow morning, 5:00, be here,” Shepard directed, raising the oar over her head, then using it as she stretched, whirling her hips, then bending at the waist and walking her palms out over the lawn. “Don’t be late, we’ll have to warm up first, and I have a history class at eight.”  

“I’ll be here. Nice meeting you, Shepard.” Lacey took one last observing look at her, then spun around, jogging up the knoll toward the cafeteria.

Shepard lifted the sides of her mouth with a slight smirk, then promptly turned her head to watch Lacey sprint up the hill from behind. 

Snatching a fruit punch from under the glass partition, Lacey cut in line and looked at the clock along the tile wall near the kitchen, 7:05, it read as she collected a plate of eggs and a few sausage links and sat down near the door of the hall.

“So the dyke is loading up on the protein after her strenuous run, eh?” Chantell dropped her tray harshly to the table as she sat. “I thought I said you only eat at 7:00?” She leaned in sternly.

“She’s muscular,” Mary said, quickly pinching her upper arm.

“Knock it off!” Lacey jumped, pulling her arm out of Mary’s reach. Lacey was well-built, strong and agile but not overly so, and she didn’t like the implication. She was lean, solid, yet unassuming. “I take care of myself if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh, now, Mary, you’ve riled up the seething man inside of her. Be careful, she’s liable to sock you one. That is how you dykes handle conflict, isn’t it? You fight?” Chantell moved her fists back and forth as if she were boxing.

“I don’t fight.”

“Well, you’re not gonna tell me you’re a lover instead of a fighter now, are you?” Mary laughed.

“No,” Lacey said, looking up at her. “Just leave me alone.”

“I know you’re not gonna cry, that would go against the lesbian code, wouldn’t it?” Chantell mocked.

Mary chuckled.

“Just leave me the hell alone, I haven’t done anything to you.” Lacey’s tone was low but firm.

“Just to inform you in case it isn’t obvious, I’m straight, and if you try anything,” Chantell moved close to Lacey and leaned into her, “I’ll have Mary hold you down while I pull every one of your pubic hairs out one by one. Make no mistake about it.” She stood and grabbed her tray. “Keep that in mind, dyke.”

Chapter Five

November 2, 1992

As the next morning dawned, Lacey was uptight, even more so than usual. It was hard for her to discover the exact cause; she’d been a massive ball of jumbled nerves ever since her feet had touched the steps of the school’s main entrance. Whatever it was that had evoked her restlessness, unsettled feelings were clogging her every thought.

She had spent the night mulling over the possibility of going to Mrs. Shreveport, the dorm mother, and asking for another roommate. She also had thought about jumping right into it with Chantell and giving her a healthy punch in the nose. But somehow she knew Chantell would flourish with great satisfaction at such an act. As the night wound on and she combed the situation more intently in her mind, neither seemed a reasonable solution to the problem. Switching roommates would likely add more kindling to the fire, and knocking Chantell around would only stoke the doubts that seemed to be lingering about her sexuality. To think, someone thinks I’m a lesbian, she thought. The mere idea made her steam with resentment.

The red digits of her alarm clock flipped to four fifty-five. She would have to make a dash for her clothing, wipe her eyes, comb her mussed hair or tie it down with clips or a ball cap, and race to the lake to make it in time for her sculling lesson with Shepard. If she were to go, that was. Without thinking further, she hastily yanked on her pants, tugged on the nearest outfit, and bolted from the dormitory and down the landing across the grass. The last few steps she jogged, with just enough effort for Shepard to notice her as she came down the hill and just out of breath enough to make it appear as if she were busily committed to making it on time.

The wind swished into a gust around her, as she caught sight of Shepard kicking her legs over the end of the small pier that jetted out from the strands of pampas grass at the lake’s edge near a cluster of parted cypress trees. Dilapidated boards creaked under her feet, and the pylons jerked as Lacey walked out near her. The noise cut through the fog, disrupting the still of morning, as Shepard turned, noticing her. 

A brilliant glow of amber peeked from behind the treetops in the distance and rose along the azimuth, highlighting Shepard’s outline with a heavenly golden aura.

Shepard looked at Lacey, their eyes locking, as she turned to stare out into the haze of the bog. Lacey thought she looked peaceful, a grand difference from the girl she had met the day before, jumping in place and moving constantly as they spoke, twisting and contorting her body with each word. 

As Lacey looked at her again, she noticed how athletic and toned she was in places most girls still hadn’t even discovered.  She was shaped and firm, with biceps that were chiseled like a painstakingly intricate monument. As she sat quietly by the water’s side, Lacey watched her as if she were waiting, anticipating something.

“Morning,” Shepard said, without turning again to face her.

“Sorry I’m a bit late. I know you said promptly at five, so I apologize for being a few minutes beyond that.” Lacey peered into the dark murk below, out into the distance, then sat next to her.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry you got up and came all the way down here. I don’t feel much like oaring this morning after all.”

A hint of light illuminated Shepard’s face, and Lacey noticed how attractive she was in an almost masculine way that made her feel safe, though she was still clearly a woman.

“That’s okay, maybe tomorrow,” Lacey said, tearing her mind from the vivid thoughts pouring over her.

“Do you ever wonder if it’s worth all the shit?” Shepard talked without moving, keeping her attention on the water.

“What?”

“Life.”

Lacey pondered the subject, then answered. “I think sometimes it’s hard. You have to put up with a lot, but I know someday it’ll all pay off.” Lacey looked down, swaying her legs at the knee. She thought of a painting she had once seen of the little girl cuddling her dog under one arm and clutching her fishing pole in the other and wondered if she had a similar twinkle to her eyes and if she looked as innocent.

“I used to believe that. I used to think that no matter what happened I was tough as nails and able to handle it. But I feel so vacant right now, like I’m tired of fighting and tired of trying to keep up with everything. I’m tired of the pressure, I just want to be free of it once and for all.” Shepard’s voice was melancholy, though her façade was stout and resolute.

Lacey threw her a discerning gaze but didn’t speak.

“I can’t stand all the crap that I have to go through. I can handle the teasing—that much I’m used to. I can even handle my parents sending me anywhere they can that keeps me as far away from them as possible. I can handle that I’ll never be accepted for a sculling scholarship to Princeton.” She swallowed. “But I can’t deal with...” She stopped, lowering her head.  “Never mind!”

“What?”

“Nothing, go back to the dorm,” Shepard directed, as she stood. “It’s not a big deal; I’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of what, Shepard?” Lacey’s voice heightened with concern. “What is it?” She put her hand over Shepard’s shoulder, caressing it.

Shepard moved away, bracing one hand over the splinters of the round post. “Go back to the dorm.”

“I’m not leaving, not until you tell me what’s going on.” Lacey’s anxiety caused the air to surge from her lungs.

Shepard bent down, loosening her shoes and slipping them off at the heel. “Mind your own business.”

“What are you doing? The water’s too cold.” Lacey grabbed hold of her elbow as Shepard lowered her body into the water.

Shepard pulled free, sinking her body lower.

“Shepard, come back up here and let’s talk. You can tell me whatever it is that’s bothering you. I’ll listen. I’m a good listener...really!” Lacey leaned down as Shepard pushed from the dock.

Shepard rolled onto her stomach and with a strong breaststroke, headed to the center of the lake.

“Shepard!” Lacey called out. “Shepard!”

When she was a few hundred yards or so from the shore, she stopped, treading water as she spun around, looking at Lacey. She was still, her eyes barely open and level with the water’s surface.

Lacey’s heart sped inside her chest and she took a labored breath. “Shepard!” she yelled out as her head disappeared below the surface.

“Shit!” Kicking off her shoes, Lacey dove into the chilly water. Her teeth chattered and her body seized at the cold. She frantically swam toward the shadows where she had last seen Shepard; her body shook furiously as she took a deep breath, holding it, her cheeks puffed with air as she dove down. Her eyes open and burning from the sludge, she moved her head radically from side to side in the darkness, waving her hands for even the slightest touch, a hand, a leg, or a strand of hair. She held her breath until her lungs were about to explode from within her. She went deeper, until she felt an arm latch onto her from around her waist and hoist her to the surface.

She gasped for air, panting. Her eyes narrowed, then closed.

“Lacey! Lacey!”

Lacey took a gulp, coughed, then hurled the contents of her stomach onto the ground at her side as she sat up.

Shepard took a deep clearing breath, her body fell limp, and she collapsed back onto the grass. “Are you nuts?” she shouted, catching her breath, then bending to face Lacey. “Are you trying to kill yourself or something? What the hell is wrong with you? You’re lucky you didn’t drown, pulling a stunt like that,” Shepard scolded.

“Me? I went out there to get you,” Lacey snapped, glaring at Shepard as she scooted her body into a sitting position. “You’re the one who’s trying to kill herself, not me!”

“I’m not trying to kill myself. Where did you get a lame-brained idea like that?”

“What was all that ‘woe is me’ shit? Then you jump into the damned water and speed off. What was I supposed to think?” Lacey’s forehead wrinkled with fury.

“You’re supposed to think I’m going for a swim. That would be a normal reaction,” Shepard fired.

“A normal reaction? Why were you under the water then? What was all that?”

Shepard sighed, her voice calming. “That’s what I do to clear my mind—I go out into the middle of the lake, then let my body loosen and submerse myself underwater. Then I float there with no sound, no noise, and it helps me clear my mind.”

“Well that’s fucking ridiculous.” Lacey tried to stand and fell back. “You’re a lunatic! Are you aware of that? You’re a lunatic!” she repeated.

“I’m sorry.” Shepard gave a faint chuckle. “I do it all the time. I didn’t even think about it, I guess. Why would you think I was trying to kill myself?” Shepard used her hands to flip onto her side and stand.

“I...” Lacey stammered, struggling to get to her feet.

Shepard put her hand under her as Lacey steadied herself. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lacey jerked away. “I wasn’t scared!”

“Yes, you were,” Shepard grinned.

“I wasn’t, I said. I just thought...forget it!” Lacey ran her hand through her hair, leaning back into the trunk of an aging oak tree. She wrapped her hands over her chest as she shook from the chill. “Jesus, I’m freezing, thanks to you and your insane rituals.”

Shepard unzipped her Nike duffle bag, unfolding a sweater. “Here, put this on.” She pulled it down over Lacey’s head, threading her arms through the sleeves and fitting it around her waist with her hands.

Lacey’s head fell forward, her cheek brushing Shepard.

Shepard’s eyes drew into Lacey’s. “I’m sorry. I guess I never thought...” She put her hand gently to Lacey’s flushed cheeks, wiping drops of water from around her chin gingerly with her fingertip.

Lacey gulped sharply. “It’s okay...don’t do that crap again!”  The pound of her heart began to overtake the shudder of her numb body. She blinked, unable to release her eyes from Shepard’s.

 The moment froze, a gentle breeze swept over them, as Shepard put her thumb to Lacey’s lips, softly stroking them. She moved forward, her body over Lacey’s, their breasts pressing firmly to one another. Lacey’s lumbering breath caused a gush of warmth to roll over her. Shepard’s lips parted slightly, she touched her tongue to Lacey’s, kissing her ever so lightly as she traced a path around the inside of her mouth. 

Heat moved across Lacey’s thighs and up to her ribcage. “I can’t!” she said quickly, turning her head and slipping from Shepard’s grip. “I’m not like that...I’m not a...” She couldn’t use the word. She stared at Shepard, stood, moved away from her, and darted up the hill.

“Wait!” Shepard called after her, her command falling to the motionless elements that overtook the moment.

Chapter Six

November 15, 1992

The next few days merged together seamlessly like the yellow lines of an endless highway. For Lacey, the days had been uneventful, almost forlorn and without reason. She’d fallen asleep in Professor Whitman’s history class and been punished with three days of cleanup work in Headmistress Cranston’s office, emptying trash cans, sweeping the floors, and scraping gum from under the railings of the staircase. 

Her relationship with Chantell had gone from abusive to aphonic, and since she had failed miserably at making friends so far, she wasn’t sure which was worse. At least with insults being thrown at her, she was being recognized, her presence acknowledged by someone. It made her feel whole, not like pieces that were forever searching to be combined.

The first months of a new school year had always been the most difficult for Lacey. It was tiring to cultivate new relationships and to nurture them until they could mature into the deep meaningful ones. 

When she did bond with someone, by school’s end, it had already been decided by her mother that her next year would be spent somewhere else. 

But she had one good friend, Katrina, her best friend, the friend she told everything to. They had known each other since they were five; they had been neighbors for years back in Chatham. Kat was a senior at a military academy in California, but through emails and phone conversations, they kept up to date on who the other was dating and what plans had been arranged for them both upon graduation by their respective families. Lacey flipped the mop down the last step and plopped it back into the bucket of dirty water.

“Well...well, it’s nice to see the wealthy girls getting a taste of their maid’s ever-so-humble lives.” Chantell shifted her weight from one leg, looking down at Lacey, her feet streaking blotches where the floor had been freshly mopped. “Oh, dear.” She put her hand over her mouth. “Look what I’ve done. Oh, how clumsy of me. Here you’ve done such a splendid job with your domestic duties and now I’ve made a mess. Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sneered, lifting the edge of her mouth in satisfaction.

Lacey put her hand over the mop handle with a glare, closing her eyes until they were narrow slits. She thought of taking it out and flapping the cotton yarn of the mop head over Chantell’s face, like the offensive slap of white gloves that she had watched a British man do in an old movie.

“You know you really should use more wax, maybe some Murphy’s oil to give the surface a more slick shine,” Chantell conveyed in an acid tone.

“I’m sure you would know. You’ve probably done a lot of cleaning up in your life. I mean, they go to the bathroom in the street where you’re from, right? I imagine that leaves quite a mess on one’s shoes and so forth.” Lacey smirked, pulling the mop from the pail and flipping it back onto the floor.

“You know you really should wear something on your hands, all those calluses that you’re getting only make your butchy hands look manlier,” Chantell smiled. “Oh, wait, that’s probably how you like it.”

“I’m not a dyke! And I’m not a lesbian!”

“Really?” Chantell said sarcastically.

“Really!”

“Well, you know, there is a way of proving that once and for all.”

“How?” Lacey asked with restricted interest.

“Meet me down at the boat shed tomorrow tonight at eight p.m., and we’ll see exactly what you’re made of…feminine wile, or butchy bull dyke venom.” Bowing into Lacey, Chantell said, “Bring your balls, figuratively, I mean.” She chuckled, walking back and marring the rest of the floor as she headed out the archivolt.

As she thought about Chantell and what might be waiting for her if she were to participate in her dare, Lacey rubbed the scuffs out with the mop.

She hadn’t seen Chantell the last few nights; she’d been given a pass to be part of a study circle that spent the night talking and cramming for an upcoming exam. In that amount of time, she thought, Chantell could have come up with any number of ways to torture her.  

Most of the girls in the group she didn’t know, except for Mary, and the two of them had so far proved to be a toxic combination. Maybe the pair had conspired with all the girls. Her mind roamed over the numerous possibilities. She wouldn’t go. She wouldn’t give in to whatever satisfaction she knew her appearance would render from Chantell and the other girls. 

It was nearing three p.m., and the sun was warm over her face as Lacey headed to the boathouse just after her afternoon class. The building was a tall metal edifice that sat in a secluded cove near the west side of campus. Lacey took a back trail that cut through overgrown timber fragrant of maple. She kept her eyes peeled toward the lake as it came into her sight. She eyed the ground and the tree guarding the entrance for some hint of what Chantell and her friends might have planned for her as the night fell. If she waited, she thought, maybe she would catch them in preparation. 

The area was quiet, most of the girls had retired to their dorm rooms after a grueling day of class, some mingled in the library, and some sat high on the hill near the campus below the many trees that scattered the grounds, reading and gabbing with friends. Since she had strolled the mile to the inlet where the boathouse sat, she hadn’t seen a soul; the only perceptible sound was the chirp of the occasional bird and the pant of her own breath. 

When she reached the side of the building, she peered through the tiny square window in the middle of the door and into the eerily empty boathouse, then gently pulled open the door. The smell of aged wood, paint, and resin hit her squarely in the face as she surveyed the room.

Wooden sculling shells were stacked high into rafters toward the expansive roof in neat lines. The many oars of every height were caged in a tall closet that encompassed the entire wall to Lacey’s left. 

She stopped near the back of the building where the side met the water’s edge, staring out at the shifting current, then up to the rafters that were cluttered with storage boxes, nets, and equipment. Lacey stepped farther until she came to the large retractable doors near the dock, each side was fully parted and tucked back into the meager wall’s aluminum frame. She stumbled, then steadied her feet, adjusting to the slick traction of the deck’s sway.

“Hi there.”

Startled, Lacey put a hand over her chest. “Hi,” she responded, recognizing Shepard.

“What are you doing all the way down here?” Shepard asked, bumping to Lacey’s side, moving past and hoisting her boat from the water and straddling it up over her head. “Excuse me,” she said politely, sidestepping Lacey as she placed the boat evenly over the pegs of an extending support, then yanking open the Plexiglas doors and vertically aligning her oar tidily inside. “Were you looking for me?”

“No....I…” Lacey didn’t know how to reply, she didn’t really know why she had come to the boathouse. She had told herself it was because of Chantell, though she had already decided not to show. Maybe she had come in hopes of encountering Shepard. “I was just curious what it was like down here, that’s all.”

“Well, what do you think?” Shepard approached Lacey and stood next to her, the fabric of their shirts slightly grazing the other as they glanced out over the heliotrope sky in the distance.

“It’s beautiful here, so serene.” She also thought it seemed abnormally isolated, though something stopped her short of expressing it.

“I think it’s the best place on campus...and off, for that matter. Sometimes in the afternoon when the library and the dorm hall get too noisy, I come down here to study.” Shepard pulled several padded stadium cushions with the school’s logo silk screened across them from the cupboard, then laid them out over the wooden landing, patting the top of one, instructing Lacey to sit.

“It’s a great little escape, that’s for sure.” Lacey put her hand to the back of her gaping skirt, smoothing behind her thighs as she maneuvered herself down onto the mat.

“I think it’s more coming toward something rather than escaping something else. That’s the way I see it anyway.  But given what happened a few weeks ago, you probably think I’m a bit off in my thinking.” Shepard smiled.

“No, you just caught me off-guard.” Lacey stopped, wondering if she was referring to the incident in the water or even more unsettling the one on shore—their kiss. Had she even remembered? Maybe the moment had faded from her recollection as swiftly as the kiss. Maybe Shepard hadn’t thought about it at all since that day. Maybe she hadn’t thought of her or even cared one way or another.

“I’m sorry about that. I don’t think I got a chance to really tell you that. I meant to, but you ran off so quickly,” Shepard said, bracing for her reaction.

With her attention on Shepard, Lacey found her words dry and more cordially prepared than genuine, as if their sudden embrace had been as routine as her daily rigorous exercise. Perhaps she made her suave moves toward all the unsuspecting girls. Lacey adjusted her stare, projecting the sense of misgiving that was overtaking her. Get a piece where she could, Lacey fumed. 

“I was freezing, I...just wanted to get back to my room and into some dry clothes. I still have your sweatshirt by the way. I’ll have to remember to give it to you the next time we meet.” If they were to see each other again, Lacey pondered. Did she want to see Shepard again? She hadn’t planned to see her this time, it had merely been a fateful meeting, and perhaps like their kiss, it would pass, fade away, and they would never cross paths again.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure to you it’s not!” Lacey blurted out, her teeth clenching in response.

“Okay! Go back and get it now then, I’ll wait.” Shepard grinned.

“What are you talking about?” Lacey squinted angrily.

“My sweatshirt. If you’re troubled by having it in your room, go and get it...I’ll wait,” Shepard said, delighting in Lacey’s obvious discomfort.

Her skin paled to ivory; Lacey’s eyes fell and she suddenly felt foolish.

Shepard widened her smirk, raising the corners of her mouth as Lacey’s words captured her mind.

Lacey laughed. “Oh!” she said reluctantly as her thought molded to Shepard’s words. Lacey rolled her eyes. “Now I really feel stupid. First the morning at the lake...now—”

Shepard interrupted, “I don’t think you’re stupid, not today and certainly not that morning. I’m the one who should feel like the complete dunce. I shouldn’t have frightened you that way, I just wasn’t thinking. Then to take it even further....and kiss you. That was a mistake, too, and again deserves an apology. I hope you don’t think I was trying to—”

“No...I don’t!” Lacey jumped in, though she had no idea where Shepard’s train of thought was actually taking her. Whatever her confession, Lacey interrupted the sentence before her words could be cast into the air.

“Good,” she said quietly, moving her attention toward the sway of the water and off Lacey. “So what brings you down here?”

“I was just out for a walk and thought I’d explore.” Lacey could only hope her face hadn’t transformed to the maroon of a liar.

“You know, I’d still like to teach you to scull. If you’re interested, that is.”

“Yes,” she agreed without forethought, without the customary consideration period of such a decision. Being around Shepard could be—she searched for the proper term then clung to—tempting. She threw Shepard an oblique look, as sunlight dripped from the rosy tint of her cheeks, across her brow, and up to the threads of yellow hair as they illuminated like silver dollars at the bottom of a shallow pool. They sparkled with a flicker of gold as the light held tightly to her crown. 

Lacey found her attractively rugged. She had captivating eyes that were a mix both tranquil yet foretelling. It was almost as if she could look into her and see all that was just beyond. She had a small round mole just above her left eyelash that bounced up and down as she lit with expression.

Momentarily, Lacey allowed herself to be trapped by Shepard, to the sight of her clinging Lycra rowing pants, to the way they embraced her firm butt, the way they hugged her brawny calves. There was something sexy and alluring about her, something undeniably arresting. Lacey tried unsuccessfully to think of something else, anything else...anyone else. It was inappropriate to think such things, to be haunted by such images of another woman.

“How about tomorrow morning?” Shepard asked, failing to pull Lacey from her reverie.

Lacey thought her lips were delightful as she spoke, the way they were only partially wet, the way her teeth poked in for an appearance in the middle, the way her tongue, bright pink, inserted between them. As she thought, something rose inside of her. Her stomach cinched, then curdled.

“Lacey?”

When Shepard said her name, it sounded warming. It was cozy, as if familiar. Lacey’s chest cramped with pain as a layer of heat cast across her skin. .

“Lacey? Tomorrow morning?” Shepard repeated, staring at her distant eyes.

The heat inside Lacey became more intense. She held her breath down into the base of her lungs, the fire plunged through her pores and overtook her. Her eyes closed, and the day went silent. She leaned in and put her lips firmly over Shepard’s. She held herself to the moment, then parted.

“Are you sure about this?” Shepard pulled back, looking at her.

“I...” Lacey couldn’t find an answer, the pounding over her breast worsened, and she put her lips onto Shepard’s again, tracing their outline, then plunging her tongue inward, tasting her.

Shepard put her hand cautiously to Lacey’s back, then lowered her comfortably over the cushions. She slid one hand over her waist, then down to her bare legs, brushing the rim of Lacey’s panties. Lacey put her palms tightly over Shepard’s hips, pulling them into her. Shepard arched backward, stripping off her Tshirt and tossing it into the water.

“Ahh....” Lacey moaned, her body becoming stiff and rigid as Shepard moved her hands across her chest. “Ohh. I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

Shepard pressed her tongue tighter to Lacey, taking her hand and putting it atop her breast. “Touch them,” she moaned.

Lacey fondled her nipples, circling them with her thumb and index finger.

“Yesss....”

Hearing her response, Lacey pressed harder.

For Lacey, it was as if the day had fallen to night, as if the stars had risen and overtaken the sun, as if their lust for each other was taking place under the cloak of darkness, as if they were the only two people in the universe, as if nothing else mattered at that moment but the two of them loving each other and making love.

“I can’t do this, not again!” Shepard sat up, pulling Lacey’s lips from her.

“Why? Have I done something wrong?” Lacey asked, her tone sad.

“It’s not you.” Shepard realized how dramatic and redundant that phrase was. She knew it well, having been on the receiving end of it more times than she could recall.

Lacey stared up at her, her eyes welling up with tears.

“I can’t keep allowing myself to do this. It isn’t fair to you or to me for that matter.” It was more about the latter for Shepard. She had been taken advantage of too many times. She’d been a reasonable substitution for the girls around campus, but in the end, she was never a replacement for the handsome boys they inevitably wanted. “I just need to take it slow; we don’t even really know each other. I don’t want to play it loose this time around.”

“I understand. I think maybe I got caught up in the moment, too,” Lacey confessed.

Shepard took Lacey’s hand, cradling it in hers.

Chapter Seven

November 16, 1992

Below the cover of the enormous trees that protected The Knolls at every angle, Lacey and Shepard strolled through the grove and up to the edge of campus. The day before, they had come close to being lovers, and today as Lacey relished in the possibilities, she was almost consumed by giddiness at the idea. 

They headed across the worn path that trailed its way through the woods and made their way near the commons, where the trees separated and the landscape sloped as it became an ocean of thick St. Augustine. Lacey moved from Shepard’s near touch as she listened to the hush of voices while girls wandered the sidewalks just in front of them.

“Are you okay?”

Lacey stared in their direction. “What do we do now?”

“What do you mean?” Shepard asked, facing her.

“What did we do....? What are we doing?” Lacey searched her own mind for an answer. “I’m going to be later for my study group...they’ll think,” she hesitated.

“Think what?”

“I’m just gonna be later, and they’ll wonder why.” Lacey fidgeted with the lace collar of her blouse, straightening it as if she had indulged in something that would have caused it to become noticeably mussed.

“Just tell them you got held up.”

Lacey looked at her, then moved away, taking a few large strides up the lawn.

“Tomorrow morning...” Shepard balled her hands over her mouth. “Five a.m., at the lake.”

With a walk of intention, Lacey didn’t look back or acknowledge Shepard as she retreated. She jogged up the hummock swinging the dormitory door open and propelled herself up the stairs and down the hall toward her room. So many thoughts and ideas were fighting a battle inside of her that as she opened her dorm room door, her head splintered with pain, until she doubled over at the waist.

“Where have you been? You look like shit! Like something ran your ass over and kept on going.” Chantell smirked.

“None of your business.” Lacey cleaned her bed of her school books, sweeping her hand across them, and flopping down onto the floor. Propping her hands up behind her head, she crossed one leg over the other at the ankle.

“Well, I’ve got study group. Remember, eight o’clock tonight down at the boathouse. That is, if you’re still interested in proving that you’re not a dyke.” Chantell put her hand on the doorknob waiting for Lacey’s response.

“Oh, don’t worry...I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

Taking off her reading glasses and throwing them onto the desktop, Lacey juggled the small alarm clock in her hand, fumbling with the buttons. Seven thirty. 

She had thirty minutes to wait; she had waited the entire afternoon and most of the night, trying to detract her thoughts with her term paper on Magellan. She had started her research and written a few words, but after an hour and only two lines, she had given up. 

She had sent an email to Kat, then stared at the icons on the screen for another hour, hoping it would pop up with a response. When it didn’t, she lay on her bed and tried to sleep, rearranged her clothes in the drawers and in the closet, and even straightened up Chantell’s side of the room. 

As the time neared seven forty-five, Lacey pulled down on the spring arm of the table lamp, snapping off the light. It was well after curfew as she scanned the hall, the stairs, and the yard before sneaking from her room.

The forest trail was dark, and the limbs of the trees were silhouetted black, spookily shaping overhead like long grappling fingers. Lacey tilted her head back and forth to the crunch of dried leaves and branches below her feet, looking for a glimpse of the spotlight over the rear of the boathouse.

She heard the sounds of other footsteps that seemed to near and stop; she looked back into the darkness, and with no trace of anyone, she continued on. When she finally saw the boathouse in front of her, she stood at the edge of the path, not stepping from the cover of the underbrush as she eyed the door. 

The sides of the door frame lit around the pane. She took a breath and moved forward, tugging on the door until it flew open, calmly walking inside.

“Well...it’s about time. I was starting to think you chickened out like a big puss,” Chantell called out, her hands impatiently bent over her waist.

“I’m surprised you came,” Mary said, jeering to her side.

“I told you I would be here...and I am.” Lacey stared around the room. Three other girls she didn’t recognize had their eyes focused on her, and sitting on a bail of rope to her right was a young boy of around fifteen, his hair chestnut and cut short to his head and shaved around his ears military style. He wore combat boots that were partially unlaced, the long ends dangling over the concrete as he marched in hopeful steps toward her. He put his hand between the opening of his letterman coat, unsnapping it with one jerk and handing it to Mary as she stared at Lacey.

“What’s going on?” Lacey shifted her weight from one foot to the other nervously.

“This is Warner. He’s from the MorehouseMilitaryAcademy up the road. Say hello to Lacey, Warner,” Chantell directed, waving her hand in her direction.

“Hi.” His words almost called to her a growl. “You were right, Chantell, she’s hot.” He moved up to her, putting his hand over her hair, caressing it and fanning his fingers over a few softly conditioned straggles of hair.

Lacey glared at him, pulling away. “What the hell is this?”

“This is how it’s gonna work. Either you have sex with Warner while we watch, or you turn around and walk out of here the big bull diesel dyke we know you are.” Chantell moved forward until she was right in front of Lacey. “So what’s it going to be?”

“You’re a sick fuck, Chantell.”

“Don’t be a drama queen, or should I say king?” She turned, laughing, catching Mary and the other girls’ attention as they giggled from behind her. “We’re not talking about anything sick, just some nice consensual sex between a boy and a girl.” She put her hand into her pocket. “We even have these.” She pulled out a wad of wrapped foil condoms and held them in her palm, passing one to Warner. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. It’s totally up to you. We’re not here to force you. You have to want it, if you don’t...well, we can all leave with it confirmed that you’re a lesbian. Either way is fine with us.”

“I’m not a fucking lesbian!” Lacey shouted. “I think that’s disgusting. But I’m not going to give myself to this jerk, either.”

Warner grunted as he reached down and unzipped his uniform pants, unbuckling his belt and lowering his pants to the floor.

“I knew she was a lesbian,” Mary called out.

“Fuck you! Fuck all of you!” Lacey spun around on her heels and walked toward the door. “I think having sex with another woman is repulsive, but you can believe what you want. I’m out of here.”

Lacey stormed out, shoving the door open and turning back and noticing Warner. His pants were crumpled and wadded over his leather boots at his ankles, he was without briefs or boxer shorts, and his tiny penis was at a well-defined left tilt as it rose from limp to stiff as she eyed it.

“Pussy!” Warner yelled, and the girls roared with laughter.

Lacey stood without expression staring at it. Chantell and Mary turned to eye Warner’s penis, too. “It looks like someone pulled on the end and bent it for their amusement, then it stayed like that.” Lacey chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood. She had been near leaving; she had the opportunity, but something inside had made her stay—curiosity, she thought. She had never seen a boy’s penis, aside from the unrealistic sketches of the ones between the pages of her sexual education book. It was pink and puffy, with little hairs prickling from the skin. Lacey walked over to him, staring at it.

“So are we going to do this?” Warner looked at Lacey, then leaned forward, moving in and kissing her.

Lacey’s body went taut as she noticed the other girls from the corner of her eye, her heart throbbing wildly. Reluctantly, she responded to his touch, pushing her lips tighter to his, moving closer until his penis contorted upward and tickled her navel. To the sudden feel, Lacey flushed, and her head ached uncomfortably. 

She had wanted to pull away, to run, and to yell out. But she didn’t. She stood as he fondled her breasts between his thumb and index finger, kneading it roughly like a hunk of bread dough being molded into shade. The sensation repulsed her, but something inside of her allowed him to continue. 

The other girls faded from her sight and back into the shadows, though their giggles rang out, surrounding her as they looked on, until a sudden crackling like the splinter of wood broke the moment as it echoed from the rafters above. 

Lacey broke free of his embrace, staring at the ceiling for a moment of needed relief. In that second of time, she could have turned away, but again she stayed pressed to him. The girls looked up, then back to Lacey and Warner as he put one hand tentatively to her waist.

When Lacey had thought she had heard footsteps from behind her in the woods, she had been right. Shepard had broken curfew, too. She had slipped into a broom closet at the base of her hall until her dorm mother Ms. Watkins flipped out the lights and retired to her room for the night. She had gone to Lacey’s dorm, watched her sneak away into the darkness, and followed.

When Lacey had gone through the door at the back of the shed, Shepard had ducked through an open window at the side of the aluminum warehouse wall and went up the stairs to the equipment loft. She had heard the girls talking, a male voice interweaving the female ones, then Lacey’s as she entered.  Shepard crouched behind a crate of life jackets, peering down into the light as she watched Lacey and the others.

Warner took Lacey’s hand, gently opening it and touching it to the head of his penis.

It was warm and hard. The feel sent a chill down Lacey’s spine; she shivered, then struggled to keep the contents of her stomach from shooting out all over him.

“You like that?” he whispered.

Lacey swallowed abruptly, as he moved her hand up and down the shaft of his erection. It was bumpy; she gripped it tightly in her palm until she heaved from the sensation.

Shepard moved backward, pulling her eyes from below. She sat back, her heart racing until a single tear leaked from the corner of her eyes. She sat up, collected herself, and climbed down from the loft, flopping out the window on her back and sprinting across the lawn toward the lake.

“No!” Lacey shouted, backing away. She took a few steps back, eyeing Chantell and the others, then turned suddenly and ran out the door of the boathouse. Halfway toward the hall, Lacey’s legs went weak and gave out. She dropped down onto a fallen tree trunk and pulled her knees into her chest. Tears formed in eyes, then poured across her cheeks until they dripped from her chin.

When the alarm rang, Lacey jumped from under the covers, eyeing Chantell’s bed that was still made and minus her. She snatched a rubber band from her nightstand, tying her hair back into a messy ponytail and pulling on a cap, She rotated her neck to the tip of her shoulders in hopes of dispelling the tension that had collected around her from the prior night’s events.

Down at the lake’s edge, she glanced at the numeric notches on her watch, putting her cold hands into her pockets as she waited for Shepard. She had been more excited about seeing her than actually getting into a heatless boat out in the freezing water and rowing. 

It had been a pretense, but a good one, that kept up appearances for whomever might be watching them and wondering. It would allow them to spend lots of time together and be close to each other without arousing suspicion. Sculling lessons were the perfect cover, Lacey thought, looking back down at her watch as the hand neared six a.m. 

Maybe Shepard had overslept. Maybe she had the time wrong. After all, there had been other more pressing things on her mind the day before.

Lacey wiped her hand over the wet puddles on the long metal bench erected near a garden of newly planted daisies and pansies, then swiped it dry before sitting down. Why wasn’t Shepard here? She had been early, she’d been eager to see her, and had hoped Shepard had felt the same. She was sure she had, until now. It was nearing six thirty; Lacey remembered when they had first met and Shepard had told her that on Wednesday she had a seven a.m. class so they had to start her lessons early. 

It was Wednesday, and it was now approaching seven, there would be no time for her lesson today. But she had a yearning to see Shepard anyway, even if for only a moment, even if she could only subtly brush her hand without anyone seeing. She would take what affection she could get, she was pining for it. When the time marked seven thirty, Lacey stood, soulfully making her way back to the hall. 

Chapter Eight

November 18, 1992

The seams of Lacey’s nylon bag bulged as she tossed it onto the clay tile that bordered the partially paved drive in front of Wilmington Hall. With a look of reverie, she scanned the brick that was chipping and marred as it towered behind her. 

She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to free it of tangles, then plopped herself down over the raised zipper of her bag, as she watched for Hawthorne to squeal up the hill. She checked her watch, shook her wrist, then put it up to her ear to make sure it was working. With her legs stretched out in front of her and nothing to do, Lacey sat alone with her thoughts. It was an overrated and unfulfilling pastime that had recently begun to suffocate her. 

She thought of her mother and their strained relationship, her father and their distant relationship, and of Shepard who she could only classify as anything but. They were friends, new friends but really more than that. She wasn’t sure why it was important to her that Shepard fit neatly into a certain category, but it was. In her mind, it made things more solidified and purposeful than dangling and muddled.

A silver Mercedes coupe peeled up the courtyard, pulled around, and stopped just short of Lacey as she stood atop the curb.

“Hello, Ms. Lacey.” Hawthorne took hold of her bags, filing them into the backseat as Lacey piled into the front. She adjusted the radio and played with the swivel lights over the retracting sunroof.

“When did my parents get this thing?” 

Hawthorne strapped his seat belt over the concave of his chest and put the car into gear. “Last month. She’s a real gem to drive. Not quite as thrilling as the Rolls and not as bumpy as your father’s MG.”

“Does he still have that little toy car? What a ridiculous car for a sixty-year-old man to have. A tiny convertible that flings what few hairs he has left up over his eyes, blocking his view of the road,” she joked.

“I think it makes him feel youthful.”

“I think it makes him look like a fool and more like an old dinosaur trying to recapture his youth.” 

“Now, Ms. Lacey, that’s no way to speak of your father,” he corrected.

“I don’t feel like being very tolerable right now, especially where my parents are concerned.” She paused, looking sourly out the passenger window. “So where are they this Thanksgiving?  China? Portugal, maybe?”

“I think you might be pleasingly surprised.”

Lacey’s eyes turned into the back of her head in disbelief. “It’s a charitable holiday for their only daughter, I see.”

“Don’t be smug,” Hawthorne directed.

As the odometer turned and the time swept past, Lacey slept. She dreamed of Shepard and the day they had spent at the boathouse. She had been stood up two weeks ago for her lesson, and since that time, she had gone to the boathouse several times, asked around, but still hadn’t seen her.

Her heart was cracked and close to broken at the mere thought of not seeing her again. But as the days passed into weeks and as her fall break twisted into a month, she knew she might have to face the fact that she had been only a tryst, that her lust for Shepard had been only evident inside of her. Shepard was experienced; she had clearly been with other girls...many, Lacey thought. Maybe she had been just another conquest and nothing more. It was a painful concept for her to choke down, though she knew it perhaps was a realistic one.

The air was stalled and humid as Hawthorne drove south into Boston, then along swelling coastline that smelled of sea salt, out over the arm of Nantucket to Chatham that sat squarely on the elbow of Cape Cod. 

Rubbing her eyes of the haze as the car came to rest in front of the huge windows that decorated the enormous colonial at every angle, Lacey straightened in her seat, then flung the car door open and got out. “Hello, Mother,” Lacey said briskly, brushing past her as she stood in the doorway to greet her.

“Lacey!” Mrs. Dorshire put her hand to her hip and glared at her daughter.

Lacey turned, bending her neck into her mother in a halfhearted attempt at affection and blowing her a kiss into the wind.

“That’s better.”

“Where’s Dad?” Lacey asked excitedly, scanning the rooms along the bottom floor for some hint of him.

“Your father is in South America. He said he’d try to get home before you have to head back to school.”

Lacey’s shoulders slouched forward, and without looking at her mother, she dragged her bag up the stairs behind her. The straps caught between the carved alabaster post, and she tugged on it until it broke free, then scrambled up the stairs to her room.

“Lacey!” her mother called out again.

“What?” she shouted. “I didn’t break anything...in your precious house,” she huffed under her breath so her mother could not hear it.

“When you get changed, can you please come down to the great room?” Her mother stepped close to the stairs and looked up for her daughter’s response.

Lacey slammed her bedroom door behind her, throwing her stuff haphazardly over the floor, then kneeled down. “Chaney, my little baby!” She swept the long-haired tabby from his cozy position on the plush of the armchair in the corner of her room and cradled him to her. “I missed you.” Lacey stroked her hand around his ears and down his jowls until he shut his eyes and let out a rhythmic purr to the sudden affection. “I wish I could take you to school and have you with me all the time.” She tweaked his ear as he nudged her with his rotund head, pressing against her fingers as if he wanted more. She sat at the foot of her bed and lay back, pulling Chaney until he sat flatly over her chest.

Pulling back the sliding doors of the den, Lacey flung her body wildly over the colonial jackwood settee, kicking off her tennis shoes and staring toward her mother for a reflex tone she knew would be headed in her direction.

“Lacey, please sit as if one is a proper lady.” Mrs. Dorshire looked over the rim of the paperwork, pulling her glasses down over the bridge of her nose. She placed her manila folder and ballpoint pen inside the open drawer of the cherry wood file cabinet and turned to her daughter.

“Maybe I don’t consider myself a lady, Elaine. Have you considered that?” She stretched out farther, clicking on the television that dominated the far wall and raising the volume until it blared.

“Please turn that off, you know I don’t approve of television watching during the daylight hours. Besides, I have something I need to discuss with you, and it needs your undivided attention.” Her mother stood up, moved over, and sat in the wing chair to Lacey’s left.

Lacey motioned with eyes of irritation. She had no idea what her mother was getting ready to say, but having her labor so furiously over her attention, wanting to speak without any sort of distraction could only mean it was bad news, she thought.

“There are some things we need to talk about. I came home specifically for this reason, so I would appreciate it if you would sit up and show me some respect.” Her voice was strong with its directive.

“I’m sure you would!” Lacey fired, sitting up, folding her arms over her chest, and staring toward the wall in front of her.

“This is something that affects us all.” Her mother touched her fingertip over the crystal face of her Bolivia wristwatch, polishing it. “You’re almost eighteen. Next year, you’ll be studying out of the country and you’ll be starting your own life, so your father and I believe it’s time for us to separate.”

Whatever Lacey had been expecting her mother to say, that wasn’t it. Her mouth fell onto her neck, and she jumped up. “What?” Lacey said sharply. “Separate?  Why?”

“Your father and I have decided it’s what’s best for us and for you.”

“How the hell could that be what’s best for me?”

“Lacey! We don’t use swear words to express ourselves. Please refrain from any further outbursts,” her mother ordered, crinkling her forehead in disapproval. 

Lacey sat numb.

“Your father and I have really only been together in the most casual of ways for years now, and in lieu of Jeffrey, we think it’s best to part.”

“Who’s Jeffrey?” Lacey turned with a surprised glance toward her mother, arching her eyebrows with a barbed stare. She hopped to her feet, putting her hand firmly over her left hip, like the stone carved statue of Durga that was facing her.

“Jeffrey and I have been seeing each other for over two years now. He’s a lovely, welleducated Italian man, and recently, we’ve decided to become engaged.”

“You’re engaged while you’re still married? Well that’s an interesting arrangement you’ve set up for yourself, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be crude, Lacey. Your father has been seeing someone also, so this is a mutual thing between us. You have to understand that.”

“I understand you’re both a couple of liars. I understand that!”

Mrs. Dorshire squirmed, letting out a controlled scoff at her daughter’s reaction. “Lacey, I dislike your tone.” She moved forward, readjusting her cream-colored suit below her. “Your father is coming home at the end of the week to collect his stuff; he has decided to make France his home base from now on. I’ll be traveling a lot, but Jeffrey will be moving in here and will join our family. He’ll be here in a few days, and you’ll have the opportunity to meet him,” she concluded, turning her attention back toward her writing desk.

“Why did you wait so long to tell me? Were you planning on shipping me off to Switzerland, then opening the doors of the house for your orgy party?” Lacey stood. “I can’t believe this crap.” She stormed into the foyer.

“That is quite enough of that, young lady! I won’t allow you to speak to me that way.”

“If you think for one minute that your little man slave is going to move in here and take over the place without my say-so, you’re nuts!” Lacey kicked the rectangular hooked rug at her feet.

“Lacey!”

She went up the carpeted stairs, her stomp getting harder with each advancing step. She threw open her bedroom door, slammed it, then locked it behind her.

“I don’t like cranberries, Mother, so I would appreciate if you wouldn’t pass them to me.” Lacey’s words crushed between her teeth, taking the crystal serving dish from her mother, then shifting her eyes and shooting a hostile stare at Jeffrey, as he spooned peas into his mouth, returning her gaze. 

Over the past week, he had moved his stuff in and taken over the upstairs closets with his polo shirts, his canvas deck shoes, and his Callaway golf bags with Big Bertha irons. 

The elongated ornate hallway outside her bedroom was a nursery for his Australian boomerang collection, and now he sat just to her front with that slippery ebony wave to his hair and piercing beady eyes. A snail-like repugnance drizzled over her. He looks like a criminal, Lacey thought, hardening her glance. 

She watched him endlessly shovel food from his plate, as he raised the fork and swept it in and out of his treacherous lips, lips her mother kissed. The idea sickened Lacey. He picked up the small brass dinner bell near her mother’s hand and rang it vigorously until Helen appeared from the kitchen.

“We could use some more gravy,” he said rudely. “Oh, and some more rolls,” he called again as she disappeared from the room.

“How about a trowel and a bucket while you’re at it, Helen? That way, you won’t have to make as many trips. He’s obviously trying to empty every wrapper and condiment in the house,” Lacey snapped.

“Lacey! That is just about enough!” Her mother slammed her hand over the edge of the tablecloth.

Making long railroad tracks in her mashed potatoes, Lacey grinned boldly as a clump of smashed yams highlighted the starch white of his dress shirt near the lapel.

“So, Lacey, how do you like your new school? Your mother tells me you attend The Knolls, her old alma mater. It has a very competitive curriculum from what I hear.” Jeffrey spoke with food and crumbs escaping his mouth.

Eyeing the chomped food in his mouth, Lacey gagged theatrically.

“Are you all right, darling?” Her mother bent forward, touching her daughter’s shoulder.

“Fine,” she glared at Jeffrey. “I just got a sudden taste of something rank.”

“Lacey!” her mother scolded. “Not at the table, use your manners.”

“Can I be excused? I have some things to get ready for tomorrow.” Lacey stood, slamming her cloth napkin over her plate that was still piled with food.

“You hardly ate.”

“I’m not hungry.” Lacey pushed the casters of her chair back until they squeaked across the tongue and groove of the hickory flooring, angrily tightening her lips into a frown toward Jeffrey as she turned and left the room.

ChapterNine

November 25, 1992

Tiny raindrops spotted the car windshield, and Lacey stared at the wipers as they skipped into a tune across the outside. She had been home for a week and had missed seeing her father. He had once again disappointed her by canceling his visit. He’d ditched her for the Baroque Opera at Drottningholm Slottseater in Stockholm, an attempt to impress his mistress, Clarice, with his cultural whimsy, she had deduced. Last year, it had been for the sake of gemutlichkeit beer steins and folkloric parades at Oktoberfest in Germany. It was always something.

She had acted like a spoiled brat, objected vehemently without any sort of recognition from her mother, and vacated the house without even a word. She’d been crushingly appalled by Jeffrey and her mother’s coddling of him, like an adored child held to one’s bosom. 

Though as much as things had propelled wildly out of order where her family was concerned, she had spent the majority of the week consumed by her feelings for Shepard. She had tried at first to deny them, then had thought of suppressing them, but as tediously as she made the attempts, Shepard clung to her mind like the red dots of an irritating rash. She couldn’t extract any sense of her no matter how arduously she had wanted to.

Hawthorne took her luggage from the truck and set it tidily on the ground. “Be good, Ms. Lacey,” he said softly, stepping back into the car.

“I will.”

She hauled her things up the two flights of stairs and stopped…listening to the silence that was resonating through the abandoned dorm, then swung open the door of her room as the musty stench rushed her and flew outward. Wilmington Hall was all but a ghost town. She had returned a few days early to avoid the situations at home; she had escaped, to be more precise. She threw her stuff onto the bed, then sat on the cushions lining the dorm window and gazed out at the lake. Its sudden sight made her rush with thoughts of Shepard. How could she have stood me up? What had I said? she wondered. 

Lacey contemplated what words had been exchanged between the two of them, what tone she could have used that might hint toward the ultimate conclusion.

They had parted the afternoon friends, shared a passionate kiss, spoke of moving slowly in getting to know each other. 

As every minute of that humid afternoon flooded over her, she felt her vagina become warm and tingly. 

She thought of lying down and relieving the pressure that was building inside, but she wanted Shepard to be the one touching her. 

Lacey didn’t know love, not the love shared between a man and a woman, or as she thought further, two women. She didn’t know what it was like to be with a boy, except for her time with Warner, and aside from the obvious, how it would be different from being with a girl. Whatever the logistics of it, the mere idea of having a boy touch her, having his penis come in contact with any portion of her skin, made her ill. 

But more than anything, she had wanted to know what it would be like to have Shepard’s fingers inside of her, exploring, probing. She had wanted to pursue love, allow it to overcome her and take her into its grasp and mold her as she knew it would. She had wanted to be tempted and know what it was like to give in and let it scream from her every pore.

Lacey leaned back against the window sill, her breath clouding in front of her. She moved her fingers atop her thigh, bracing one leg against the glass and allowing the other to hang freely. She pushed her hand up under her skirt, brushing her pubic hair and fondling it with her finger. Her index finger glided down until she could feel herself leak with wetness. She stared out the window to the sway of the trees and brush, to the slither of water as it moved to the gentle breeze. She moved her shoulders forward, pushing her finger up, exploring.

The knob around the door turned, the tumblers of the lock clicked, and the door swung open. Lacey ripped her fingers from inside of her, adjusting her skirt to cover her exposed skin. The door shut, and she was interrupted.

“What are you doing here?” Chantell asked brashly. “Shouldn’t you be up at your parents’ chalet in Austria still?” She grinned.

“I went home to Massachusetts, and I decided to come back early.” Lacey turned, letting the pleats of her wool striped skirt fall over her bare knees as she stood.

“Well, lucky me!” Chantell threw her stuff into a stack in the corner of the room, then unpacked her school books, tossing them on her desk.

Lacey pressed her knees together, as the burn inside her vagina throbbed. She had been thinking of Shepard, envisioning her sculpted figure and alluring features, just as she had been about to surge into a climax. Now as the fire flared between her legs, she was face-to-face with this sea hag. It was like throwing a lit match into Niagara Falls. And as Chantell looked toward her, she hoped the sight of her had shriveled her clitoris into submission.  

After dinner, Lacey took her windbreaker from the closet, tying and knotting it around her stomach. With her flashlight and chemistry book in hand, she went out to the courtyard. While most of the girls preferred to study under the fluorescent light of the library or beneath the dim light of their desk lamps, Lacey liked to read among the shadows out in the brisk air, her thoughts merged into the somber night sky.

She opened her book, pulled out the lined notepad that she had stuffed in the middle, and sat on the metal patio chairs. She thought of the thrums and chemical compounds, of the ratios and derivatives, but as much as she tried, she couldn’t get her mind to cooperate. It wandered, her eyes wandered, always pulling toward the water’s edge. As the hour spun rapidly toward curfew, Lacey gave in and went down to the shore.

As the sky of dusk drew down into night, Lacey’s anticipation called from within her as she listened to the soft hint of voices by the cove. She had hoped it would be Shepard. She walked, hopscotching the patches of shadows until she was near the bay, a small circular inlet to the right of the sporadic sprinkle of docks that lined the lake’s skirt. She set her books onto the wet grass and went closer, the voices becoming louder as she neared. Several girls were gathered and kneeling by a rock garden of large boulders. 

One girl stood with her back to the others, shifting her attention in each direction like a lookout. Lacey walked toward them, quietly protecting each step. She watched as three of the girls wrapped something and placed it into a trench, then scooped the dirt into a mound over it. 

Lacey took a few steps back, and as her movement echoed into the night, the girls turned.

“Get her!” she heard one of the girls shout.

Lacey’s eyes widened, and she sprinted toward the coverage of the grove. She could hear the girls talking as they ran after her. She ducked into a line of thorn bushes, holding in the pain as her bare legs stung and dripped of blood.

“Where the hell is she?” one girl asked.

Lacey leaned down, as the girl’s tennis shoes blurred past.

“Forget it! If we aren’t back by lights out, we’re busted.”

Lacey listened as the girls retreated from the woods. She sat silent, clutching her scrapes and cuts as they bled into her hand.  She bent up and crawled on her knees out from under the brush, standing as an arm grabbed hers.

“Shh! It’s okay! It’s Shepard.” She took hold of Lacey’s elbow, supporting her weight as she limped across the dirt.

They walked for what seemed to be a mile, until a small cottage illuminated by a strobe light at its face came into view. Puffs of smoke billowed from a cobblestone chimney at its top, and Lacey thought of the warmth of a roaring firing, as her bones ached to the chill.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s okay, trust me.”

“I don’t know if I can go any farther, my legs are killing me.” Lacey stopped and leaned over.

“Here.” Shepard put one arm around the nape of her neck, then the other behind her knees and swept her up into her grip.

Lacey let her body dissolve into Shepard’s, putting her head to her collarbone until she could hear the faint beat of her heart below her. Shepard ascended the steps and hoisted her onto the raised landing, then set her down on the stoop as she rang the bell.

A distinguished woman in her mid-forties opened the door; she stood clutching a writing journal across the open flap of her satin robe that was only partially covering her breasts. As the porch light overhead lit the silver threads of her black hair, she cordially smiled. Lacey lifted her head from Shepard’s shoulder, staring up into her eyes, and listened to the tender resonation of her voice that lifted sharply with concern as she swung open the screen door for Shepard to carry her in.

“Set her on the sofa. I’ll get something to take care of those wounds.”

“It’s okay,” Shepard said to comfort her.

The woman returned from the davenport, her hands filled with cotton balls, Qtips, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“This is Professor Lytle,” Shepard said in introduction, “and this is Lacey.”

“Please call me Joan when we aren’t in school.” She placed a hand to Lacey’s shoulder, gently squeezing it.

“Some girls chased her into the woods, she’s pretty banged up,” Shepard said, moving up next to her on the sofa.

“Band of hoodlums!” Joan placed her reading glasses onto the crown of her head and looked down at Lacey’s legs. “It’s not too bad.” She touched the cotton to the lip of the bottle, then to Lacey’s cuts.

“Sheesh!” Lacey let out a gasp to the sudden sting.

“Sorry about that, I don’t have any other type of antiseptic.”

“It’s okay,” Lacey groaned through her teeth.

“What were you doing out so late?” Joan asked.

“I was studying, and I went down toward the lake for a few minutes before heading back inside,” Lacey said.

“I know it was Chantell and those other girls,” Shepard jumped in.

“Yes, I would stay away from that group if you have the opportunity.” Joan blotted Lacey’s cuts and touched her finger over top.

“Unfortunately, Chantell is my dorm mate, so that’s easier said than done.” Lacey cringed.

“I remember when Shepard was her roommate a few years ago,” Joan shook her head, “that girl put her through sheer hell for being different.”

Lacey knew immediately what Joan was referring to, and for some reason, she suddenly felt uneasy. 

She had never thought of the words, never placed the label on Shepard or compared her with the stereotypes. 

She had conveniently blocked that portion out of her mind, though it had been noticeable since their first meeting that Shepard was unlike the other girls—the primped aristocratic types who seemed to wander the hallways of all the schools she had attended over the years. Lacey pushed the hints back and gazed at the wooden cases of books that were stacked and alphabetized in every direction.

 Joan was clearly an avid literary scholar, her taste veered toward T.S. Eliot and Hemingway; though as Lacey looked closer, she caught a glimpse of self-help books stacked in one corner and a group of paperback Harlequin romances in the other.

“I like to blend the deep and thought-provoking with the simple and passionate.” Joan laughed, eyeing Lacey as she eyed the vast differences in her reading material of choice.

Lacey grinned in amusement.

She found solace in the fact that this woman, a professor, was less stiff and rigid than the ones she had always known, the ones who had accompanied her academic pursuits up until now. She was relaxed and casual in conversation, her expression showed as much disquiet as her voice emphasizing her sincerity.

“I had Joan for English literature three semesters ago. She was tough, but I learned a lot about the power of the written word. That was the semester I wrote a term paper on feminists and the women’s movement. At the time, it had no relation to me at all. It was just based on the theory of it. I remember I got a C and I was so mad.” Shepard looked toward Joan who was smiling. “The next day, she called me into her office and told me the reason I got such a low grade was...” Shepard moved in and whispered, “to use a more polite term.”

Joan smirked, scraping one finger over top the other in a tsktsk fashion.

“Well, basically, she told me I had no clue what I was talking about when it came to women’s rights and the movement itself. And over the next two hours, she filled in every gap that my paper had created. By the time she was finished, I had come out to her. She was the first person I had ever told. I was so scared once I had said the words; everything you could imagine might happen to you after you make such an admission just completely washed over me until I broke into tears.”

Joan sat back, putting her hand up to the corners of her eyes as if her own tears were about to overcome her. She looked proudly at Shepard as she continued.

“She put her arm around me and gave me a hug like I have never felt, even from my own parents. Joan was the first person who ever really understood me and accepted me for who I was. It was great. It has been great.” She looked at Joan, catching her gaze. “She had been a good friend to me, and I’ll never forget that.”

Joan laid her hand over Shepard’s, petting it.

“Who would have thought a straight woman could be so hip?” Shepard joked and they both laughed.

“You two should get some sleep, it’s getting late.” Joan stood. “You can both stay here tonight, and I’ll smooth over your absence from the dorms tomorrow,” she continued, reaching to a carved armoire and pulling some pillows and blankets from the bottom drawer. “If I don’t see you in the morning, Lacey, it was nice meeting you.”

“You too.”

“Have a good night, girls.” 

Shepard stood and went toward her. “Thank you,” she said in a barely audible tone, as she put her arms around Joan, embracing her. After a long minute, they parted and Joan moved down the hallway into her bedroom, pushing the door shut behind her.

“You don’t find many people like her in this world.” Shepard threw a blanket onto the floor and lay down on it. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” Lacey unfolded the knit afghan that had been tossed over her legs and stretched it over her.

The living room of the tiny cottage was cozy and dark, the only remaining light was the orange flame that had been all but doused. Lacey listened to Shepard breathe, the way the air sounded as she drew it into her lungs and the way it lightly blew outward from her nostrils.

“Did you know when you were young that you were a lesbian?” Lacey asked, breaking the silence.

“I think I probably did,” Shepard said without much thought. “I think I knew that I was different from the other girls, but I just didn’t realize in what way.” She paused. “I’ve been at boarding schools since I was four. So the only girls I ever saw were the ones in uniform, the skirts, and the collared blouses. Everyone looks the same on the outside, but on the inside, I knew I was different.”

Lacey listened intently. “I think I may be a lesbian, too,” she suddenly blurted.

“You know you don’t have to say that because you feel sorry for me. Just because we shared a kiss, that doesn’t necessarily make you a lesbian.” Shepard’s tone was cold.

“I know that!” Lacey said in her own defense. “Do you think you’re the first?”

Shepard’s mouth dropped open, but she didn’t respond.

“Well, you’re not,” Lacey lied. “Last year, I was expelled from BriarGirlsSchool in Washington because one of the groundskeepers caught me in his tool shed kissing another girl.  He went straight to the dean. The next day, my mother had sent our chauffeur Hawthorne to get me, and it was off to the next school.” 

“What did your mother say?” Shepard asked, clearly shocked.

“She said girls don’t act that way, it’s not proper. You believe that shit? I’m caught with my tongue down another girl’s throat, and she says my behavior is improper. But that’s my mother for you. I think if my life mattered as much to her as hers does to herself, she would have flipped out. But as long as my escapades don’t interfere with her plans and her vacations, she couldn’t care less.” The words caught painfully at the back of Lacey’s tongue. She didn’t know why she had just told such a fabricated story; it had all been a bold lie that had popped into her mind and out of her lips.

“Sounds like your parents aren’t any more suited for child rearing than mine.”

Lacey was silent.

“You asleep?” Shepard asked, touching her hand to Lacey’s arm.

“No, just thinking.” Lacey was quiet. “Why didn’t you come to the lake that morning?”

She tried to prepare herself the best she could for her answer, whatever it was.

“I...” Shepard thought of telling her she had been at the boathouse and had witnessed her excitement toward the boy she had been fondling. She had been hurt by what she had seen. She had thought Lacey was different from the other girls she had always met, the ones who were starving for attention from anyone who would give it to them. They were hungry for relief from their sexual frustrations, and without any ties, she had obliged them. It had been one time or two at the most with all of them. It had happened without the attachment of feelings, without words of explanation, but when Lacey had kissed her that day at the boat dock, a warmth rose in her unlike any other. Shepard had thought her different, but she wasn’t. Lacey had been more skilled at the game, that was it. “I had other things I had to do,” she said flatly.

Lacey felt hurt by her comment, but she pushed the sorrow down without reaction, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

Chapter Ten

November 26, 1992

“Here.” Shepard tapped on Lacey’s arms, jarring her from sleep. “Put these on.” She handed her a pair of navy parachute pants and hooded sweatshirt bearing the school’s oval decal on its front. “Just leave your uniform here, we can come and pick it up later.”

“It’s hardly light out.” Lacey wiped her eyes open. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost six.” Shepard moved around the room, putting stuff away and picking up. “Come on, sleepyhead, get up.”

“It’s too early.” Lacey flopped back down onto the cushions of the sofa, curling her blanket around her as she rolled onto her side.

“Come on, I want to take you somewhere.” Shepard pulled on her arms until she sat up. 

“Man, what is it with you and having to get up at the crack of dawn?” Lacey begrudgingly took off her torn, dirt-spattered skirt and tugged on the sweats.

“Here, I brought you a pair of gloves, too.”

Lacey could hear Shepard as she closed cupboard doors from the back of the house, the crinkle of plastic wrap, and the rumble of recycled paper. “What are you doing?”

 “Just packing some sandwiches that Joan made for us.” Shepard appeared in the doorway with a bag. “You ready?” She pulled open the front door, and a gust of wind sailed into the room.

“It’s freezing, Shepard.” Lacey pulled the hood of her windbreaker up over her head.

“I thought it was too late in the season for sculling,” Lacey said, as she watched Shepard lift a long red boat hull off its pegs and drop it into the water. “If we fall in, we’re gonna be instant ice cubes, I hope you realize that.” Lacey took one of her gloves off and dipped her hand in.

“Then I would suggest you don’t fall in.” Shepard lifted the corners of her mouth in a half smile.

“Cute!”

“Here, we’re gonna need this.” Shepard handed her a roll of white tape and two pairs of what looked liked woven mittens.

“I don’t know what you have in mind, but if it requires us to bind and gag each other, I’m not into it,” Lacey chuckled, her eyes fixed on Shepard as she fiddled with the equipment. She couldn’t help but notice her ivory skin, like the unmarred surface of white chocolate that had just been stripped of its wrapping. She looked down at the dock as it jiggled below her feet; it brought a broad smile to her face as she thought of the two of them, their stolen afternoon mangled across the planked boards, the way her body felt as it yelled with passion at Shepard’s touch.

Shepard smirked. “The tape is for your fingers so they don’t get rubbed raw, and these…” she lifted up a pair of knit hand warmers, “these are called Poagies. They go over your hands and around the oar to keep you from getting cold.”

Lacey found Shepard particular sexy when she spoke of sculling, the way her eyes brightened as she discussed it, the way her cheeks rushed of crimson, it was as much a passion for her as the troths of any sexual experience “What kind of boat is this?” Lacey asked curiously, taking note of its odd long shape.

Shepard stood back, taking notice of Lacey as she spoke. “This particular one is a Vespoli double, they’re made in Connecticut. Though some like that one,” she pointed to the top of the racking, “the Empacher is made in Germany.”

“What’s this little card deal on the back?” Lacey ran her finger over the top edge of a plastic placard affixed to the boat’s hull.

“That’s a bow clip to help identify the boat,” Shepard said, bending down to adjust it and gazing into Lacey’s expressive hips. They were solid and formed, rounded at the base of her spine. 

The sight evoked its own set of images of them that day. She remembered how Lacey had made the first move and kissed her, though she had wanted it as much, if not more. She hadn’t quite figured her out fully, where their lives merged and intersected, and where ultimately the bumpy path would take them. It was too soon to think of such things, but she had. 

She remembered her first girlfriend, her first experience more correctly, and how her heart and every artery leading from it had clotted when the girl had left her. It had been painful, and as much as she liked Lacey, she didn’t—she couldn’t—allow herself to be exposed to that again by getting involved with a wealthy prep school girl. Nothing had ever been certain; she realized that, but somehow she kept getting mixed up with girls from an all girls school, girls who were aching for their first sexual partners, yearning for that sense of pleasure. 

Shepard was a lesbian, clearly and unequivocally, but the others had been straight, clinging to her only long enough to quench that ravenous thirst toward sex that was bustling inside of them. She had obliged, most times leaving her emotion rolled between her clothes as she tore them off and discarded them beside her, but once, she had fallen and landed hard. As she looked at Lacey, her insides tightened, and she knew the potential had reared its repulsive head again.

Thoughts of the previous night combed over Shepard. Lacey had made claim to being attracted to women, she had used the term lesbian, or had she? Her mind searched for the word frantically, that one word, three syllables that when released over one’s lips in reference changed everything about life, past and present. Had Lacey called herself a lesbian? Had the word emerged from her without hesitation or disdain? She couldn’t remember. She had inadvertently dozed off at the tail end of their conversation, and now she was desperate to recall the words cast toward her under the shelter of darkness.

Lacey eyed the rigging. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this, it looks complicated. It’s so narrow. I’m afraid it’s gonna tip and we’re gonna be screwed.”

“Well, we are gonna try not to let that happen.” Shepard took two oars from the closet, then put them into the metal groove and hooked the gate over, locking them down. “Okay, first for the basics of how to get in the boat. Grab hold of the oar with your right hand, make sure those tiny circles—they’re called buttons—are facing the locks, that’s this.” She ran her hand over it. “Put your other hand on the edge of the boat, then step in carefully, putting your foot onto that rubber-looking surface between the tracks so you don’t slip. Then step in and sit down.” Shepard did it first, then held the boat steady for Lacey.

“Oh...” Lacey moved forward as the boat rocked.

“It’s okay, I’ve got it! Now put your oars flatly into the water, then roll them. That’s called feathering. Now glide your seat forward and take a long even stroke back.”

Lacey swung her oar wildly until it clanked loudly, slapping over top of Shepard’s.

Shepard laughed. “You have to use a bit more finesse, we’re not fencing here. Look to your left and follow my stroke.” 

Lacey looked to each side, pulling her oar back until they propelled even backward.

“Good, you’re a natural.”

“I think you’re being way too kind, but thanks for the encouragement.”

The boat cut across the water, leaving parallel lines of sapphire over the bow. The sun peeked through dotted holes in the clouds, shining down until the lake’s surface sporadically tinted of sienna. 

Tall maple and oak trees along the bank were bare of leaves, and the brilliant emeralds of fall had transformed into a dull olive. 

The water below was deep and murky, reflecting the mass of gloomy clouds rapidly forming above. 

Over the next hour as the morning rolled forward, Lacey and Shepard laughed and joked as they rowed. They had a lot in common and enjoyed each other’s company. They kept up a strong backward stroke, as Lacey’s arms became stiff and tired.

“Maybe we should turn back, the sky is starting to look pretty ominous,” Lacey said, lightening her grip on the oars. “We wouldn’t want to get caught in a storm.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I hadn’t noticed.” Shepard stared at the huge pewter-colored nimbus moving overhead. “I think we’re about to get wet.” Just as the words left her mouth, raindrops began to bead up over the gunwale of the boat’s glossy surface.

Lacey swung her paddle unevenly, and it popped from the gate. “Shit!” As she swung her paddle around trying to get it back into the metal casing, the clouds burst open, and the rain poured over them.

“Here, I’ll get it.” Shepard leaned up to reattach it. She slapped it down with her hand, moving up into Lacey. 

Lacey took hold of her soaking hair, pushing the tangled strands from around her face and tucking them back behind her ears. She looked into Shepard’s glowing eyes, took a quick lung full of air, closed her eyes, reached out, and took Shepard’s face into her readied hands, gently drawing her in and kissing her. Shepard obliged, allowing her lips to softly meet Lacey’s.  Passionately, their tongues met, pushing into each other as the rain spilled over them. Soaked, they leaned into each other, Lacey allowing herself to be cuddled under the safe brawn of Shepard’s strong embrace.

Chapter Eleven

January 26, 1993

Christmas came quickly and departed, leaving behind layers of bleached white powder that coated the landscape and hung from the brick top of the school’s roof. The calendar switched from 1992 to 1993 as winter bounced without constraint throughout New England.

Shepard had spent her winter break with her family in California. Lacey had gone home for several days and had to live with her mother’s new husband, Jeffrey. She’d had no advance warning that they were now married, but as she entered the living room and eyed the wedding picture of the two of them on a yacht somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic, sipping champagne, she knew they had made it official.

She’d spent five long and exhausting days with him while her mother had kept herself busy with business in Zurich. When the first weekend neared, she had called her father at his office in France, and as dinner was being placed on the table, her ticket to Paris was served along with it. She spent her final week of break neatly between the walls of her father’s Rue la Fayette apartment with Clarice, her two misbehaving brats Chester and Margaret, and their very snobbish Himalayan, Princess Alberta. She saw little of her father that week—one brief lunch and a rapidly choked down breakfast had been the most he had entitled her to.

Lacey thought of Shepard daily during those two weeks. No matter what she had been doing, she had wondered what Shepard had been doing at that very minute. Would she be thinking of her? Would Shepard miss her as much as she missed Shepard? She didn’t know for sure, but she could only hope.

When Lacey arrived back at school the Monday before her classes started up again, she couldn’t form a thought without her feelings for Shepard racing in. She was comforted by the thoughts, though at times they overwhelmed her with their distraction.

The next week dragged on, the hours, the minutes clicking past slower and slower as Friday neared. She and Shepard would spend their first weekend alone at her parents’ log cabin at the base of the snowcapped slopes of DiamondPeak in North Lake Tahoe. She had gotten the keys from her father, purchased the tickets, and surprised Shepard by placing them under the foil wrapping of her Christmas gift. They had both been excited about being away and spending time together. 

“This is beautiful,” Shepard said. She inspected the exterior before moving onto the landing and setting her bags and Lacey’s on the wax floor. She couldn’t help but think that for a log cabin, it looked a bit out of place below the enormous walls of sierra junipers and lodgepole pine trees. The shimmering white that clothed the outer timbers made it appear more opulent than she thought the backdrop permitted. The coarse grained rock was tied to its sides like oddly placed bookends, sparkled with the salt and pepper of the iron and magnesium. The ground was covered in a thick layer of slushy snow, sprinkled with sporadic dots of duff from fallen pine needles.

“Yeah, I’ve only been here a few times myself. My parents don’t come up here much. Well, now...” she stopped, searching for the proper term, “now that they’re divorced, they don’t come here at all.”

The cabin had been closed up and battened down for years without visitors, white sheets were covering the furniture, and a thick coat of dust covered them. The windows were dirty and smeared, and the faint scent of Lysol bit through the strong mildew odor that permeated throughout.

“What do your parents do?” Shepard asked, taking an end of the linens as Lacey pulled them from the tabletops.

“My dad does something with importing and exporting, I’m not sure exactly what. Guess I never took the time to ask, and my mother travels around and spends money.” She smirked with a sneer of resentment. “They both come from old money, so needless to say, I’ve never been forced to do without, though if I would’ve been able to have a more stable home life and a real relationship with my parents, living out of a paper sack could’ve had its appeal.”

Shepard smirked.

“What about your parents?” Lacey asked, spinning the stack of sheets into a ball and tossing them onto the back deck.

“My dad is a plastic surgeon, and my mother is his nurse, literally,” she joked. “She follows around after him as if he were getting ready to fall right in front of her and drop dead or something. I don’t know if she is more afraid of being alone or living without the big silver ladle stuffed in her mouth, but she dotes over his ever whim, agrees with his every thought, and always forgives his many excuses.” Shepard’s mood became somber. “I think more than anything, I pity her. She’s a weak woman who allows herself to be controlled by the overbearing demands of my father.”

“The cardboard box is starting to grow on you, I can see it,” Lacey teased, and they both giggled. “I’d better find the thermostat and get the heat on or we’re going to get frostbit.”

“I’ll go see if I can find some wood to get a fire going,” Shepard volunteered, brushing past Lacey and heading outside.

“There’s a pile of chopped wedges under a tarp at the back of the house and the matches and some kindling in that wicker basket near the fireplace.”

“Okay,” Shepard said.

A minute later, Shepard appeared in the doorway, her arms cradling a tier of chipped spruce. She carried it in and placed it neatly on the grill to the base of the chimney. 

She thought momentarily that perhaps coming this weekend had been a mistake. She hadn’t given herself to Lacey and their relationship, whatever it was. They had explored and shared a few intimate moments, but being here now made her think of it as much more, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for more. She cared for Lacey, though she did not know in what capacity. 

She had hoped that by agreeing to the weekend away that she hadn’t led her on and that her presence wasn’t implying more than what existed. As the fire blazed upward, Shepard sat back and stared at it. She had made the error, and now her only course of action was to ride it out and deal with the issues as they arose. 

The acid in the pit of her stomach started to bubble at the thought of the discussion she knew was ahead. She didn’t relish it, but she knew it was inevitable.

      “How about we drive down to Incline Village and have dinner?” Lacey asked as she approached.

      “Sure, sounds good,” Shepard said.

      Lacey didn’t know how Shepard felt, but she was nervous. This was their first real evening together—their first date—and she wanted it to be perfect. Their courtship, as she had labeled it in her own mind, had transpired a bit out of sequence until this point.

They met briefly, she’d been scared out of her wits at the lake, ran away from Shepard at her initial touch, and then returned. They kissed, then Lacey had been stood up again at the lake. And they were drawn back together that night so many months ago in the woods. 

It had been a strange course of events that had united them, Lacey thought. She had been reluctant, but as she gave herself to Shepard, to her soft caring touch, her feelings had overwhelmed her with their intensity. They hadn’t had the discussion, they hadn’t spoken of the future, but Lacey couldn’t picture one that existed without Shepard.

      “Maybe we can go snowboarding tomorrow.” Shepard turned, facing Lacey. She watched her eyes as they screamed at her heart with their azure coloring.

      Lacey didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t thought of their weekend as anything other than the two of them snuggling below the hearth or cuddling and talking as the hours moved on without them. The sex, she thought. “If you want to,” she said. She didn’t, but she had agreed.

      “Then maybe Sunday, we can drive into Carson or Virginia City,” Shepard went on. “I’ve always wanted to explore a real goldmine.” She recognized that her words were chalky and she was babbling. But she wanted to pack the days with activity, get them set up, and appoint well in advance. The less idle time the better, she thought.

      “If that’s what you want to do...sure.” Lacey’s reaction was insincere; it hadn’t been at all what she had hoped for. She looked at Shepard, who had sat on the sofa in front of the fire and was thumbing through an old magazine she had taken from the rack at her side. Shepard glowed as the firelight traced her in silhouette. “I guess I’ll go change, then we can go eat. I’m getting hungry.”

      “Me too.” 

      “I’ll put your stuff up with mine in the loft,” Lacey said.

      “Actually, I think I’ll sleep down in the bedroom off the kitchen if that’s okay with you,” Shepard said without redirecting her attention.

Lacey paused. “Fine,” she said soulfully, disappearing up the steps to the loft.

Noticing Lacey leave, she set the magazine down on her lap, let her head fall against the back of the couch, and sighed. “You’re an idiot!” she scolded herself, realizing her request had hurt Lacey.

Dinner had been an exercise in the exchange of food from the plate to their mouths and little else. It had been an agonizing two hours spent polishing the table’s utensils, readjusting their napkins over their laps, and mostly silence, aside from a few bouts of inane banter over the various restaurant customers. 

Whatever had happened between them, it had sneaked up and blindsided Lacey. Maybe it had been their winter break, perhaps Shepard had met someone, or upon arriving home had rekindled something that had once existed. She didn’t know what it was, but it had driven a crater between them. Lacey wanted to ask, but she didn’t know how. What would she say?

Shepard sat erect, her hand clenched over her seat belt, as Lacey drove up the winding ice-framed road to the cabin.

“I can’t do this.” Lacey pulled the car to the side of the road, and the tires slid forward over the slick surface as she applied the brakes.

Shepard put her hand onto the dash and swallowed hard. “What?” she said quickly.

“If there’s someone else, if you’ve decided you don’t want to be with me, tell me,” Lacey pleaded. “I can handle it, I just need to know.”

“I...” Shepard stammered for the wording. “I don’t know what to say.”

Lacey jumped out of the car and ran toward the retaining wall near the lookout.

Shepard raced after her, grabbing hold of her arm as she came within reach. “Lacey.”

“Leave me alone!” Lacey pulled away, putting her hands up to the metal of the guard rail. “What did I do?” she questioned, her eyes filled with tears.

“You didn’t do anything...it’s...” Shepard moved close to her and touched her arm.

“Don’t you dare say, ‘It’s me not you.’ Don’t you fucking dare.” Warm tears streamed down Lacey’s cheeks. “At least respect me enough to be honest.” She hoisted herself up on the rail, swung one leg over, and straddled it. “Being a teenager sucks, being in this body...” she stopped. “Being me sucks,” she finished.

“Come off of there and we can talk, you’re scaring me.” Shepard put her hand firmly around Lacey’s waist.

“I spend my whole fucking pathetic life being scared. You were the first person I ever felt cared about me. My parents sure as hell never did,” she choked, her emotion brimming inside of her.

“Lacey, please.” Shepard held her tighter. “Please come off the wall. I do care about you.” She looked out over the edge and gasped as she took note of the height. “You don’t understand. It’s hard for me.” Her heart was pounding. 

Lacey shook with anger and resentment, pushing herself closer to the edge.

“God, don’t do this, Lacey!” Shepard begged.

“Don’t do what? End your responsibility toward me...Huh? Is that what you mean?” Lacey shouted. 

“No, that’s not what I mean. I want us to talk about it.”

Lacey brushed Shepard’s hand from atop her shoulder and moved away from her.

Shepard stepped back, her breathing stopped, and she held what air remained in her lungs.

With one hand, Lacey turned, slipping her body from the rail until her feet planted firmly on the ice.

Shepard panted tensely, her shoulders slumped, her eyes closed. She took a deep breath. She looked up, out into the dark pitch of night and to the stars. She took another cathartic breath, then followed Lacey back to the car.

Lacey stopped short of getting in; she sat on a large boulder that had fallen from the cliffs above near the highway. She drew her legs into her chest, wrapped her arms around her knees, and cried.

Walking a few steps beyond, stopping and turning back, Shepard put her arms around Lacey, cuddling her. 

“I’m sorry,” Lacey whispered.

“I’m sorry, too.” Shepard stroked Lacey’s hair as she held her close.

Chapter Twelve

January 27, 1993

      The ski lift jerked along the cable toward the top of the slope, sierra junipers and ponderosa trees blurred into the scatter of brown and pearl. The overhead shone of a sparkling blue that blanketed the cloudless sky, subtle lemon-colored beams fluttered over the day, raising the temperature to the mid-fifties. The morning had gone by without a word about what had occurred the night before.

Lacey swung her snowboard over her one unconfined boot. There were so many things she had wanted to say to Shepard. So many feelings she wanted to profess. She wanted to beg in protest, but she knew such an action would leave her emotions exposed and vulnerable. 

Her anger swelled toward her mother, she would blame her, for lack of anyone else. She had never shown affection or allowed feelings to be discussed freely; she had cringed at such things, and now Lacey was paying the price. 

She couldn’t find the words to tell Shepard she cared about her. The night before, she had wanted to, but instead it had stirred only emptiness within her, an emptiness she had come close to releasing forever at the lookout.

It had not been her plan. She didn’t have a plan or a plot or an ulterior motive, but having Shepard reject her had hurt so badly that at that moment she only wanted it to stop. But she couldn’t make Shepard want her if she didn’t, and as the light came off the Sierra Nevadas, it was clear she didn’t. They hadn’t talked about what happened and Lacey knew they never would.

      “Intermediate or diamond?” Shepard asked, pulling her from her thoughts as the lift neared the top.

      “Diamond,” Lacey said.

      They swished from the chair; both came up on the side of their boards until they stopped next to each other. They bent down and clipped their free leg into the binding, pulled down their goggles, zipped their thermal jackets high to their necks, and sliced down the steep incline. 

Shepard nudged ahead as if in competition, and Lacey watched without reacting. She was tired and drained, so she allowed Shepard the glory of beating her down the hill. The middle portion of the course was rough and pitted with deep trenches in the center, and Lacey bumped up and down, falling back on her bottom and stopping. 

She looked farther down the hill for Shepard but didn’t catch sight of her. She leaned up, bending her knees until her board came free below her. She jumped up and pivoted back and forth until she was back on course. As she came over the last ridge, she saw a clump of red from Shepard’s jacket and slowed as she approached. Shepard was crouched down, her board was unhooked at her side, and her left leg was tweaked behind her.

      “I think I sprained it,” Shepard moaned, trying to straighten her leg. I came around the corner too fast, it dipped me into a hole, and my foot popped out of the board awkwardly. I tried to put my weight on it and stand up, but I can’t.”

      Lacey reached down, undid the clasps of her boot, and slid it off.

      “Ah, shit!” Shepard exclaimed.

      A patch of skin over her shin was purple and rose into a large hump, and a small piece of bone was poking through the skin on the back side. “It’s definitely twisted up, that’s for sure. I’ll have to ski down to the ranger station so they can take you down on a stretcher.” Lacey stood. “Try not to move it, I know it’s in an awkward position and it hurts, but try to leave it like that.” Lacey was worried, but she tried not to show it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

      Shepard leaned back into the gigantic trunk of an aspen tree that was sprouting from her backside.

      Lacey sped down the hill to the square hut with a large red cross marked on the top. She knocked on the door, and a tall man clothed in a one-piece ski suit swung open the door. “My friend is hurt up the hill, she hurt her ankle pretty bad and she can’t get up.” Her tone had become more rushed and excited than she had allowed herself to show to Shepard.

      He snatched a bag from the shelf near the door, then jumped on the snowmobile that was at the ready nearby. “Hop on,” he directed.

      Lacey put her hands around his hips, lacing them tightly as they stormed up the hill. “Over there, just to the right of that log.” She pointed to the trunk of a fallen fir tree to guide him. 

      He turned around the bend and Shepard came into sight. She looked so frail and breakable curled next to the enormous forest of trees that surrounded her. It almost brought tears to Lacey’s eyes to see her so helpless.

      They pulled up and Lacey jumped off before the snowmobile came to a stop.

      “You okay?” Lacey asked suddenly.

      “I’m okay, it hurts like shit, though,” Shepard admitted, putting her arm around the man’s neck as he lifted her up, placing her between the rubber handles of the stretcher that was attached to the rear of the snowmobile. Shepard cringed at the pain. Lacey cringed with her.                      

      “Is there anything I can get you?” Lacey asked, propping a few throw pillows underneath Shepard.

      “Nope...I’m feelin’ fine.” She smiled.

      I think you’re hopped up on painkillers,” Lacey smirked.

      “Nope...I’m feelin’ fine,” Shepard repeated, slurring her words.

      “I had my father call the headmistress and explain why we won’t be back for another day, so everything is squared away in that department.” Lacey took the poker from beside her and stoked the fire, ashes flew into the room, and it lit with heat. She sat on the makeshift bed that she had prepared for her and Shepard on the floor near the hearth, stacking the plush cushions from the sofa higher under her and fluffing them.

      “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable on the sofa?” Lacey asked with concern.

      “Nope,” Shepard responded, staring blankly into the fire.

      It took every ounce of control for Lacey not to reach down and kiss her, to put her hand over her skin and touch it, to nuzzle her breasts. The urge boiled inside of her, but what passion they had once shared had cooled on the peak of a snowcapped mountain. It had gone from the char of brown to the cold white of winter. Lacey licked her lips nervously as she watched her. She ran her index finger over them as if re-creating the touch of Shepard’s that on more than one occasion enveloped them. 

      “How about I read to you from one of the books my dad has in his collection? Be right back.” Lacey jumped up, flinging the comforter from atop them.

      “Okay, sounds good.”

      Lacey went into the back room and pulled a hardbound George Orwell novel from the shelves. She closed her eyes and fell back into the doorjamb, letting out a gasp. She took a few deep breaths, as she felt her body fuel with desire. 

Her legs became limp and she couldn’t move, her temperature surged like the brick inside a kiln. She wanted Shepard to touch her so badly it was killing her inside, her clitoris swelled between her legs. She closed her eyes tighter, holding her breath, hoping the moment would pass. 

She would have to read to occupy herself. She looked at the book in her hand, then lifted it and put it back, searching for a thicker one. Her insides were raging, the novel would have to be the size of War and Peace to overcome what was at war inside of her. She put her hand over the broad intersection of seams that kept her fingers at bay. She swiped her hand across her brow as if wet beads were forming; her skin became colored with a pink hue with each passing moment that she thought of Shepard in the next room. She would have to sleep next to her, have her flesh brushing Shepard’s, yet like a forbidden calorie-filled desert, not be able to partake. 

Lacey was obsessed with Shepard; the urges were powerful and unhealthy.

      She grabbed a book quickly and stumbled back toward the living room. “Agatha Christie,” Lacey read, looking down, unaware of what she had even chosen. She swallowed and lay down, pulling the covers up over them.

      “I love Agatha Christie. Which one is it?” Shepard asked.

      Lacey read the jacket cover. “Cards on the Table.”

      Shepard said in her best Poirot impression, “A game of bridge?” She twisted her fingers over her upper lip as if she were curling the edges of a handlebar mustache.

      Lacey smiled.

      “Good choice, that’s one of my favorites.” Shepard sat back in anticipation of Lacey’s narrative.

      “If you think I’m gonna do the accents for effect, you’re nuts.” Lacey smirked, snuggling down into the pillows as she began the first chapter. She tried to allow her mind to turn and tangle to the writer’s word, but her insides felt like a furnace ready to combust. She read a half page and stopped.

      Shepard turned to look at her.

      “I’m gonna regret this in the morning,” Lacey said to herself. She stealthily moved toward Shepard, taking her injured frame into her arms.

      Shepard stared into her eyes but put up little resistance to Lacey’s sudden touch.

      Lacey laid her head over Shepard’s chest, moving upward and kissing the hole over her trachea. Moving up the side of her neck, she kissed it lightly, until Shepard arched to the sensation. She licked her tongue around her ear, then blew on it until she felt Shepard tingle. She slid her hand down her belly until it was just above Shepard’s crotch. Lacey became wetter with each movement downward, when her fingertip grazed the ridge of Shepard’s pubic hair, she swallowed hard and leaked with moisture.

      I can’t.” Shepard put her hand to Lacey’s, moving it away. “I want to...but it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

      Lacey went numb, the words hurt like the smack of a sledgehammer into her gut. She choked and sat back.

      “I don’t want to lead you on, Lacey, that’s why I stopped you,” Shepard said.

      Lacey sat silent for a moment, then said, “It’s okay.” She didn’t mean it. It burned inside of her like nothing she had ever experienced to want someone so desperately, to want to be seduced by their yearning. It was indescribable and felt like shit.

      “Please don’t be upset. Our friendship is important to me. I care about you.” Shepard fired one incomprehensible sentence after another, each one stung more than the preceding.

      Lacey didn’t react.

      “I really do care about you.”

      “It won’t matter after the summer anyway. I’m leaving for school in Switzerland in August.” Lacey wasn’t sure why she had blurted that out, but she was hurting, and at whatever cost, she wanted a rise out of Shepard. She hadn’t thought that such a statement would be unfair given her current condition. She had thought of only herself and the agony within her. It was a spot of revenge, and she couldn’t confine the urge to indulge herself. She deserved it, she thought.

      “Why Switzerland?” The news hit Shepard hard, but she held the emotion.

      “I’m going to school at the University in Bern. I wasn’t sure if I was gonna go, but now I’ve decided it’s what’s best for me.”

      “Well, I hear it’s beautiful over there. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.” Shepard adjusted her mood to fit the comment she had made. It was artificial, but she had mustered it.

“Yes, it is beautiful!” Lacey’s tone turned chilly. “Well, anyway, good night.”

She forced her eyes shut; she wanted to burst into tears.

      “Good night,” Shepard finished.

Chapter Thirteen

January 30, 1993

      It was late Tuesday when Lacey and Shepard arrived back at The Knolls, and as the cab neared the entrance at the top of the expansive drive, few words were exchanged between them. Lacey got out first, then pulled Shepard’s crutches from the floorboard and held them up so she could slide her arms easily over the rubber pads along the top to brace herself. 

Lacey had given in to pampering Shepard, she had toted their luggage through the airport, carried all the paperwork and identification for more convenient access, and had gotten up and down several times throughout the night to help Shepard to the bathroom and to fetch water and her medication from the kitchen. 

She had done it without even the slightest hint of complaint, and she had been glad to help anyway she could. She kept her mannerisms and attitude upbeat, though inside, Shepard’s rejection burned. 

She would have to let it out, explode with anger, cry, or throw something at some point or her organs were going to implode. 

      Lacey took her Yves St. Laurent suitcase from the trunk first, then pulled out Shepard’s sturdy North Face backpack and flung it over her shoulder. She turned to walk ahead of Shepard as she struggled with the cracks that lined the tile drive. Lacey looked back, then set the bags down to help her.

      “I’ll help you up to your room, then I’ll come back down and get the bags,” Lacey said, as Shepard leaned her weight into her for balance.

      “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the last few days.” Shepard paused. “And I know our weekend away wasn’t quite what you expected, but I had a great time.” She looked down at the cast on her leg, “considering.”

      “It was your Christmas present, and I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Lacey said with mixed feelings.

      Shepard kept her eyes on the increasingly rocky ground as Lacey held her up. They walked the half mile to Kingsley Hall on the west side of campus. 

After helping her up the stairs to the third floor, Lacey returned to the grounds, retrieved Shepard’s knapsack, carried it up, helped her into bed, and returned to the quad where she had abandoned her bag. In the pitch black of night, she hauled her tired frame across the atrium of Wilmington Hall, down the long corridor, and up the two flights of stairs to her room. She would strip off her clothes, throw on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, and hopefully fall asleep undisturbed. 

Back in her dorm room, Lacey yanked on the tucked corner of her sheets, pulling it from under the mattress as she wrestled with the pounding agony that was bouncing around her insides. 

The school year was half over, and she would graduate in June—those two things were certain. But where would Shepard fit into her life after that? Would their friendship maintain itself after all they had been through or would time and distance cause it to be snuffed out? 

It was as if the curtain had dropped and she was taking her final bow. In her mind, everything felt over, but in her heart, she couldn’t allow it to be.

The afternoon was bitter cold; Lacey pulled on a pair of gloves and put on a fuzzy pair of muffs to make the quarter of a mile hike to the library at the center of campus. She crammed her algebra and American history books into her bag. 

      When the heat poured from the push doors to the other side of the library entrance, Lacey began peeling off her excess clothing, and took a bookmark from the counter as she passed. She sat near the back of the rows of literary text and periodicals and unpacked her stuff. 

She glanced about the room that was sparse with tables, a cozy couch and a few wing chairs, and several uniformed coeds. It was quiet and relaxing. Lacey leaned back in the chair and opened her textbook to read from it.

      Minutes later, she looked up as several girls sat down around the rectangular conference table, noisily giggling and whispering.

      “Well...well, I see my roomie is back from her little weekend excursion with the school lesbo. And how was that? Invigorating, I hope.” Chantell laughed, glaring at her.

      “It was fine.”

      “Just fine? Well, either you’re not as experienced as you appear to be or your lover is a disgrace in the sack. Which is it?” Mary jumped in.

“Well, it couldn’t be her lack of experience.” Chantell sized Lacey up with her eyes. “I mean, look at you.”

      “I’m not a lesbian! I told you that before.” Lacey sat erect, snarling.

      “Yes, so you did. Problem is, it’s all talk. They are the pleas of a guilty dyke who wants to remain in the shadows with her indiscretions.” Chantell bowed her eyes, fluttering them.

      Mary laughed.

      “And look who it is.” Chantell turned toward the librarians’ desk, eyeing Shepard as she put one crutch next to the counter. “How did she break her leg—wild lovemaking? What did you two do, try to use your toes rather than your fingers?” she joked.

      “I’m getting sick and tired of you bullying me!” Lacey barked. “I told you I’m not a lesbian, damn it!”

      “Well, we’ll see about that.” Chantell stood and walked toward Shepard.

      Mary and Lacey watched her approach and put her hand to Shepard’s back as she leaned in to whisper into her ear. They looked back toward the table, and Lacey moved her eyes down to the book resting in her lap.

      “Hi, Lacey,” Shepard said quickly.

      “Hi.” Lacey kept her eyes down as she spoke, something inside of her refusing to allow her eyes to meet Shepard’s.

      “I was telling Shepard here that Mary and I were jealous of your weekend vacation. I asked her if she would come over and fill in some of the details that perhaps you overlooked.” Chantell stared at Lacey. “I’ve never been to Lake Tahoe, and I was wondering something. I asked Lacey, and she said she didn’t know.” She put her hand to her mouth pronouncing each phrase, “She’s not very good with specifics.”

      Shepard stared blankly at Chantell, eyeing Lacey, then Mary as she wondered what was about to transpire. She and Chantell had known each other for three excruciating years now, and Shepard knew exactly how devious and scheming she could be. During the few months they had been roommates, Chantell had exhibited more than a healthy share of animosity toward her and her sexuality. 

      “What the hell are you up to, Chantell?” Shepard demanded, glaring at her.

      “Me? Why nothing. Mary and I just wanted to know a bit more about your sexual escapades, and Lacey isn’t exactly being forthright.” Chantell sat down, leaving Shepard hunched over her crutches.

      Lacey’s insides began to shrivel, and she swallowed hard. Her mind raced, then she blurted, “I’m not a lesbian! Are you blind? Can’t you see the difference between a bull dyke and someone who’s straight?” She stood next to Shepard, with just enough space between the sides of their elbows so the cloth didn’t touch. Lacey looked smugly at Shepard and sat back down.

      Shepard’s heart was in her stomach, as disbelief wet her eyes. Why was she doing this? Had she hurt her so badly that her only recourse was to lash out?

      “She tried, but I wouldn’t have any part of it. I told her I wasn’t interested in her stank pussy,” Lacey shot back.

      Mary and Chantell broke into laughter.

      “And I bet that shit is pretty ripe, from being dragged around the block so many times,” Chantell poked.

      Mary and Lacey chuckled, looking at each other.

      Shepard struggled with her balance as her eyes began to fill. “I can’t...” she started. “Never mind!” She spun around, adjusting her crutches below her as she swung her way toward the exit.

      Lacey kept her eyes on Shepard’s gray uniform jacket from behind. She couldn’t believe what she had done, what she had said. In a split second of anger, she had turned on Shepard. The fury that had bottled itself inside her had spilled out without thought, and as she sat watching her leave, she suddenly felt nauseated.

      “Well, it’s nice to see that you’ve come over to our way of thinking,” Chantell said. “I was beginning to really wonder about you, roomie. But I think I’m starting to like you.”

      “You did a good job running that butch off,” Mary concluded.

      “How would you like to come to our Grail meeting tonight?” Chantell asked.

      “Grail meeting?”

      “Yeah, just a few girls from the various dorms. We get together and talk, discuss issues that affect us all, then we conclude with a ceremony that bonds us. It’s nothing heavy or weird, we’re just a bunch of girls with common viewpoints, and we enjoy hanging out and tossing the fucking Honor Code for the night.” Chantell looked at Mary.

“That night you saw us down by the lake, we were each just planting one piece of a variety of leaves and petals from one of the bushes from around the campus. That night, it was a scavenger hunt of sorts, each girl was given a name of a tree or shrub and she had to find it in the dark, pull off a stem or leaf, and bring it back to the lake. It was nothing bizarre, and I hope we didn’t scare you when we chased you. We just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to say anything.”

      “I thought that was you.” Lacey smiled.

      “Maybe it was my long luxurious hair glistening in the moonlight, it’s a curse.” Chantell swung her hair back and smirked.

      Mary grinned, and Lacey smirked.

      “So what do you think? It’ll give you a chance to make quite a few new friends,” Mary went on.

      Lacey couldn’t help but look at Mary as the trundle car that was attached to the side of a motorcycle. She was a sidekick whose every morsel of thought was caught up in a spinning wheel just waiting for Chantell. Mary was tall and heavy, somewhat awkwardly proportioned, short legs and a long midsection. She wore glasses that formatively competed for a place on the bridge of her narrow buggy nose. She was matronly, and Lacey knew if she hadn’t spent her time riding on Chantell’s shoulders, she would surely be categorized as a nerd.

      “Sure, I’m up for it,” Lacey said, her voice a bit rough and lacking commitment.

      “Cool, we meet in the reference library on the first floor of Brayden Hall, next to the rectory.

“You’ll have to go to Ms. Franklin and tell her you need to join the Wednesday night study session. She’ll add you to the list and give you a pass to allow you to travel between the dorms after curfew. Then she’ll recite a few lines from the Honor Code and a few passages from the Student Expectations Handbook. It’s boring stuff so try and look interested.” Chantell arched the sides of her mouth.

      “It’s not a big deal; she’s the easy dorm parent on campus, so it won’t be a problem,” Mary said.

      “Do I need to bring anything?” Lacey asked.

      “Just your school books; after all, it is supposed to be a study hall of sorts.” Chantell stood and pushed in her chair. “See you then.”

“Welcome to the group,” Mary said, standing and following Chantell’s retreat.

      “Thanks.”

Chapter Fourteen

January 31, 1993

      “Everybody, this is Lacey, my roommate, and she’ll be joining our group,” Chantell said, clearing some papers that were scattered over an easy chair at her side, then motioning for Lacy to sit.

      “Hi, Lacey,” the seven or eight girls about the room said in unison.

      The research library was small but comfy, the walls and ceiling were dark of walnut-grained wood. Opposite the door, there was an iron-spun staircase that spiraled upward to a matching landing that expanded from the side walls and the back. It was an open loft with top to bottom swollen bookcases filled with frail hardbacks and rare and hard-to-find out-of-prints. 

The area below was clustered with two tan leather bead sofas and several well-cushioned easy chairs that were arranged in a circle. One of the girls to Chantell’s right took a glass bottle of clear liquid from her knapsack and passed it around.

       Chantell grabbed it, took a drink, and passed it to Lacey. “Here.”

      Lacey put out her hand, hesitantly taking it by the peeling label of its neck.

      “Don’t worry, it’s Grey Goose vodka…you can’t smell it on your breath, and besides, this group has been a tradition for over thirty years. The dorm parents rarely come in here to check on the study session for fear of disturbing our intense train of thought,” one of the girls said.

      Lacey put the cool rim to her lips and tipped it back until a flood of alcohol ran down into her, clearing her throat. “Aww!” She gasped. “It tastes terrible.”

      “I compared it to rubbing alcohol the first time I tried it,” Mary said. “You’ll get used to it.”

      Putting it down and resting it on her knee, Lacey gulped, then lifted it to take another drink.

She shook and cringed from the taste, closing her eyes disgustedly as she passed it to the girl on her left. “Where did you get that stuff?”

Chantell looked at her. “I help the headmistress set up when she’s entertaining alumni and hosting dinners and things. There’s a full liquor cabinet in her office. When she wants me to get things ready for her, she gives me the key and I make sure there’s a full assortment of all the favorites. I pour half the vodka into a container that I bring, then fill it back up with water. Most times, you serve it as a cocktail or over ice; anyone who drank it would just think it was overly watered down, simple. Then after the party when I’m clearing up, I’ll dump a good portion of the vodka out and some of the others, too. I let her know what’s running low, and she sends someone on a booze run into Derry, usually the janitor or Ms. McClurg, the cafeteria lady.”

      “Yeah, and she thinks all of her guests are big Vodka Collins drinkers,” one of the girls snickered.

      Access to alcohol and drugs were pretty hard to come by.  Off-campus passes were monitored closely and were by special permission only, and the dorm mother was usually responsible for checking the bags of girls who had been on holiday or on weekends away. There were always a select few who Lacey had known over the years who had the outside connections and could get them, but she had never been one of them. She had always been new, and trust in such matters—things that violated the Honor Code and could get girls expelled from the academy—weren’t things she was privy to.

      “Chantell was just telling us how you stood up to that dyke bitch Shepard. Good for you!” one girl said.

      “That’s one thing I won’t miss when I graduate, all those lesbians living among us, trying to take advantage of us,” another girl said.

      “I was on the same soccer team with Shepard last year. She tried to come on to me in the girls’ locker room after practice one day. Man, I about freaked,” Mary recalled. “And have you seen her upper arms? Her biceps and thighs are like a guy’s, like big tree trunks...gross!”

      “It’s disgusting, I think she wants to be a man, like this woman I saw on the Discovery Channel a few years ago. She was a police officer in Arizona or somewhere, and she was born a female but walked around with a balled-up sock in her crotch and strapped her boobs down with duct tape or whatever. Then all of a sudden, she decided she wanted to have a sex change. It was very weird,” one girl recounted.

      “She used duct tape? Ouch!” a few of the girls said together, curling their arms around their breasts.

Lacey sat back and listened to the girls go around about Shepard. She wanted to fit in and join like she had with the alcohol and like she had in the library earlier that day, but something inside of her was numb and kept her from participating. She watched the girls as they spoke, the way their eyes widened and their eyebrows arched with disagreeable bends as they spoke of Shepard.

They disliked a girl they didn’t even really know, purely because she was different. Most of the girls, with the exception of Chantell, were white and bred from proper families. They were comfortable with the familiar and more popular ways of believing, not unlike Lacey, who had been raised with similar understandings. 

Lacey’s mother had never used the word homosexual, and she doubted if she had the ability to round her lips in the fashion it would require to actually say it. She also knew that if she were to ever tell her of her feelings that her mother would surely fly into a rage and consider a way to have her committed.

      “What about Michelle Withers? She wants everyone to call her Mike. I mean, how masculine can you get?” Mary said.

      “Michelle is another dyke,” Chantell jumped into the conversation. 

      “Yesss...” several of the girls moaned.

      “You know, what if we taught all these butches a lesson once and for all?” Chantell said. “What if we made an example out of them, something that would let the whole school know they were a couple of lesbian lovers?”

      “Two butches? They don’t do that, do they?” The girl next to Lacey turned toward the group in question.

      “Who cares? We can make it seem like they’re lovers. Once it’s obvious, no one will be caught up in the probability.”

      The girls sat up in their chairs, anxiously tracing around the possibilities and discussing them.

Lacey didn’t join, though she knew if she didn’t say something that they would turn on her any second and add her name to their list of suspects. “I think they deserve whatever they get,” she said suddenly.

      “Lacey’s right,” one girl said.

      “How about we blindfold them and take them down and push them in the lake?” another offered.

      “Nah, that wouldn’t get across the point that they’re lovers,” Mary said.

      “Besides, we don’t want to kill them; the lake is about frozen over right now. We just want to scare them....right?” the girl to Lacey’s right asked.

      “Right, but yes, it needs to be something that will give the appearance that they’re a couple. We have to get them caught in a compromising position.” Chantell grinned.

“How about we take them out into the woods, way out, then strip them naked? By the time they walk back to campus, they’ll be cold and probably need to spend a few hours at the nurse’s station. That’ll get around campus so fast that the two of them won’t know what to do.” The girl chuckled.

      Lacey eyed her amusement.

      “I like that,” Mary said.

      “It works,” Chantell said. “And it’ll be legendary for years to come around here, then maybe the budding homosexual will be too afraid to come out.”

      “Better yet, maybe they won’t come at all.”

      A few of the girls scribbled on their notepads, another drew a diagram, while the one on Lacey’s side drew two naked girls in caricature form, lying across the ice.

Lacey had had so many sips of vodka, indulging herself each time it was passed her way. The alcohol had tasted bitter and scraped the top of her tongue raw the first few sips. But Lacey helped herself to more, taking bigger gulps, allowing it to burn as it went down her esophagus. She liked the way it made her feel, the way it made her not care about things, the way it anesthetized her pain. 

All her cares seemed to just disappear, how she felt and how Shepard had felt about her had all but been evaporated from her. For the first time in months, her mind was clear of conflict, and it felt nice.

      She was in a daze as the girls talked over details, their voices bending and distorting into incomprehensible tones. 

Closing her eyes, she slid down in the chair, kicking her feet out on the table in front of her. The alcohol pulsed through her, and the giggles and laughter began to heat her insides, making her horny. 

She listened harder, her eyes swiveling in their sockets and their faces blurring, as her clitoris rose warmly. She moved her hips back and forth over the seat, tightening her pelvis and squeezing. She couldn’t touch herself; she couldn’t put her finger over the wetness and relieve the burning. She rocked back and forth, brushing the labia around her vagina vigorously to the inside of her panties, lifting her hips and pushing it down into the rough cloth of the cushion below. 

Her mouth parted and her breath panted, rising from her feet and lurching through her lips, the warmth tickled her ankles and feathered its way up her shin to her thighs. She put her tongue to the back of her throat as the laboring air moved out of her. She wanted to reach down and touch herself to be released from the fury of wetness that was soaking her pubic hair. It was painful; she pushed harder over the seat below her in hopes of letting the fire spill from between her legs. The sensation spun into her head, turning everything a violent red, and she passed out.

      Chantell stood and moved to her side.

      “What’s wrong with her?” Mary asked, rising and standing next to Chantell.

      “She’s plastered.” Two others giggled.

      “She’ll come around.” Chantell sat back down and continued.

“If you puke, you’re cleaning it up,” Chantell said, as Lacey stirred under the covers of her bed, rolling over and dry heaving.

      “What time is it?” Lacey asked without taking her head from the pillow.

      “It’s almost seven. You missed all the details of our little coup,” Chantell said.

“How did I get back here?”

      “You walked,” Chantell said. “Well, with a little help from Mary and me. Anyway, you didn’t hear all the specifics on what the girls and I decided. I have an offcampus field trip today with my biology class, but when I get back tonight, I’ll tell you all the juicy details.” She grabbed her stuff, holding it over her forearms as she opened the door. “Remember what I said about puking—you do it, you clean it.” She smiled, closing the door behind her.

Lacey flopped back, and when her head hit the pillow, it felt like a grenade had exploded. She couldn’t remember any of what had happened at the Grail meeting. She recalled the girls ganging up on Shepard and some girl named Michelle, and more importantly, she had heard their plan. They had called it a prank and had said they were not intending to hurt them. But if Shepard and Michelle struggled, if things somehow got out of control, Lacey didn’t even want to think of what might happen.

She thought of where she could locate Shepard to warn her. She didn’t know anyone named Michelle, or Mike as she called herself, and going around probing would only draw attention. But she could warn Shepard, if she would listen. 

Lacey thought back to the library and questioned whether Shepard would listen. But she would have to try, if nothing else.

      The landscape was bright with a thick dusting of white; LakeMassabesic was gray with a thin layer of frost and ice. The trees were caked with patches of snow that blew into a thin mist as the breeze swept upward. The many gardens and flower bushes had all but dropped any color and were dark brown. 

      Shepard sat by the window, hoisting the tonnage of her leg up over the top of her mattress. She looked out to the lake and thought it lonely—no boats, no swimmers, nothing to make it thrive and feel alive. She stared at its dismal hue and thought of her own mood. It had been difficult for her to hear Lacey attack her at the library. She had been angry at first, but as the day had passed on, she thought that perhaps she had meant her unkind words. The flash of light from the boathouse that night so many months ago waved over her mind. 

It had been unfair on that occasion. She had listened from the hollows of the loft, she had witnessed what was not to have been witnessed. When the time had come for her to admit to Lacey that she had followed her, it had been hurtful, but she had held it in.

She cared about Lacey, more than she thought she should and more than she felt she was capable of. Lacey was different from the other girls, different from the girls she had discreet sessions of grab-ass with, different from the girls who had wanted her for their own momentary pleasure. 

But as her feeling had changed, she thought of Lacey as just like the rest, a naïve girl who was without the outlet of experimentation with the opposite sex, so in desperation had accepted her.

      From the top of the atrium inside the door of the main hall, Lacey peered into the cluster of classrooms whose windows were wide and telling to all who passed. She looked at each girl’s face, searching for Shepard. It was Thursday morning, would she have class? Would she be studying in the library? She would be limited and unable to participate in physical education, so a trip to the gymnasium and the athletic pavilion at the east side of campus seemed unnecessary.

Lacey put her hand over her head as it throbbed. She ran down the long corridor of Wilmington Hall and out into the cold air, the slush of show crunching and slipping below her feet as she ran toward the closed doors of the dormitory. She flung them open and ran up the vacant stairs. When she hit room 303, she fell into the door, pounding on it.

      “Shepard!” Lacey called out, knocking harder.

      “Lacey?” Shepard said, peering from around the corner of the commons room at the end of the long hall. “What the hell are you doing here?” She lowered her eyes, dismissing Lacey’s unwanted presence.

      Lacey coughed and panted to catch her breath, running toward Shepard “It’s Chantell...” She paused, drawing the air into her lungs.

      “What about her? Oh, let me see if I can take a stab at it. Chantell would like me to hurry off somewhere with you in some grand matter of importance. You lead me there and the rest of them attack me...right? Well, forget it. I learned my lesson yesterday in the library, so, no thanks!” Shepard sat back down.

      “No...” Lacey panted. “They’re planning to do something to you and someone named Michelle.”

      “Michelle Withers?” Shepard asked curiously. “What about her?”

      “I think that was her name, but I’m not sure. I had a little too much to drink, and I don’t recall all that much about the conversation.  What I do—”

      Shepard interrupted. “So now you and your little friends are drinkers, eh?  How very mainstream.”

      “Listen to me, damn it!” Lacey moved toward Shepard, as she turned and sat on the sofa. “Last night, I went to a study session with Chantell, Mary, and some other girls. They started going on about lesbians and all that shit.” She stopped, then continued. “They came up with some sort of plan to take you and Michelle out in the woods, strip off your clothes, and leave you two.”

      Shepard narrowed her eyes. “What is this ridiculous shit, Lacey? Is this some crap you and your hoodlum friends conjured up to get a rise out of me or what?”

      “It’s true, Shepard. I’m telling you the truth.”

      “And just how are you all planning on implementing this little ploy? If you think you can lure me out into the cold with that loser of a group, you’re nuts! So I hope their outrageous plan includes brute force or something because I won’t go freely.”

      “Maybe the fact that you’re already hurt gives them an advantage, have you thought about that?” Lacey questioned.

“I’m sure that’s what you’re hoping, isn’t it, Lacey?” Shepard snarled. “And I doubt you’ll have any better luck with Mike, she hates Chantell and that group more than I do. 

      “Shepard...” Lacey sat next to her. “I just want you to be careful; I don’t know what these girls are capable of.”

      “Oh...you are uncertain what your friends are capable of?  Interesting!” Shepard said sarcastically.

      “They aren’t my friends!” Lacey snapped.

      “Uh-huh! I think that performance you put on yesterday sort of disputes that. But then...who knows what or who you are, Lacey, you seem to have a knack for the fabricated.”

Lacey sighed as she thought of how insensitive and inexcusable her words had been. And it had all been to impress Chantell and to get her approval. For what?

“How is your leg doing?” She changed the subject momentarily.

      “It’s fine!” Shepard’s tone was short.

      “I’m sorry about yesterday.” Lacey looked to the floor with embarrassment as she spoke. “I panicked. I got caught up in the moment like my back was to the wall, and I didn’t know what to do,” Lacey defended.

      Shepard stared directly into her. “Let’s get this straight. I don’t give a shit what you do and who you choose to spend your time with.” She stopped, the words catching roughly inside her throat. “And I don’t give a shit about you. Now leave me the hell alone, I have to study.” She turned toward the book on her lap.

      Tears came to Lacey’s eyes; she looked at Shepard with a disheartened gaze, then stood. “I really am sorry.”

Leaning back into the sofa, Shepard sighed, then blinked her eyelids with saddened loathing. She hadn’t meant to say that, but it had slipped out before she could catch it. It had been captured by her sorrow, it had blended with her bitterness and came seeping from her.

Chapter Fifteen

February 22, 1993  

      Over the next month, whatever Chantell and the other girls had planned to do to Shepard and Michelle had all but been abandoned. Lacey had threatened to go to Headmistress Cranston, and though she hadn’t, Chantell had again become a bitter enemy.

      Since Lacey and Shepard had returned from Lake Tahoe at the end of January, they had seen each other briefly and only by accident down by the lake. As time passed, the pain Lacey felt should have naturally been reduced, but the more the days went by, the harder it became for Lacey to forget.

      The only way Lacey knew to release the hurt was to mask it. She’d smuggled a bottle of vodka from one of the girls at the last Grail meeting and had taken it back to her room in an attempt at diffusing it. She had gotten falling-down drunk and screamed to the heavens, but as the next morning came and her head throbbed, her feelings hadn’t changed.

      She would be going home for Easter break, then returning for the week to pack up her things and complete finals. The following week, she would be off to Paris to spend the summer with her father.

      That night, Lacey tossed and turned. She’d close her eyes, and the dreams of Shepard coated her every thought.     

She took the half-empty bottle of vodka that she had stashed in her dresser drawer and took a swig. It dripped down her chin, and she shivered as the alcohol hit her empty stomach. 

She stared without emotion to the ceiling, to the ground, and out the window, before stripping off her sweatshirt and khaki pants, grabbed hold of the bottle and sneaked from the dorm. She now hated the lake. She had found some sense of serenity and peace walking near its shore, but now she despised it. It had been the focal point of her relationship with Shepard—they had met there, she’d learned to scull, she’d had learned to love, and now she hated how the sight of it made her feel.

      She took another drink. “Son of a bitch,” she called out loudly as the moon lit the water’s surface. 

“You dumb bitch,” she yelled, approaching the thick grass near the edge. She polished off the remainder of alcohol and threw the bottle into the lake. “Fuck you!” she screamed.

The lights along the dorm and the campus clicked on one by one. Girls collected in their room windows. “What the fuck are you all looking at?” Lacey screamed, waving her middle finger and peeling off her panties and bra and flinging them into the air. “Kiss it, prep school bitches,” Lacey yelled, turning and bearing her ass in their direction.

      Mrs. Johnson walked down the lawn in her housecoat and approached Lacey. “Lacey, let’s go inside and talk about whatever is bothering you. You’re waking up the whole campus.”

      “Like I give a shit!” Lacey exclaimed.

      Mrs. Johnson moved closer. “Lacey, we can talk about it inside. You don’t even have a top on, you’re going to freeze to death, dear.” She took her robe from around her and placed it over Lacey’s shoulders.

“There, isn’t that better?”

      “Yes,” Lacey said without emotion.

      “Now come inside.” Mrs. Johnson balanced her as Lacey’s unsteadied legs buckled below her.

      “Well, that was quite the stunt you pulled last night, young lady. I would like to know what you have to say for yourself.” Mrs. Dorshire stood over her daughter as she cowered under the sheets of her bed. “Hawthorne was dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn to drive across two states to get you, and I was forced to drop everything and come to my daughter’s aid. You are eighteen, little missy, and you have no business drinking. If this is becoming a habit, then perhaps we need to seek counseling. Do we need to do that?” She tapped her foot loudly.

      “No, kids drink these days, Mother. Get over it,” Lacey bit.

      “I will not get over it, to recite your poor grammar, and I don’t care what the other kids do, you will not drink. Do you understand me?”

      Lacey looked coldly at her.

      “I want an answer. This is the last time we’ll have this issue or one similar...correct?” Mrs. Dorshire didn’t take her eyes from Lacey’s.

      “Elaine, is everything okay?” Jeffrey appeared in the doorway of Lacey’s room.

      “Get out!” Lacey shouted, picking up her pillow and throwing it toward him.

      “Lacey!” Mrs. Dorshire scowled. “We won’t have any of that in this house, is that clear?

“You will not traipse around as if one is a hungry animal in search of prey. You will act like a proper lady and we won’t have any more of this.” She moved near the door to make her exit.

“I’m not going to school in Switzerland,” Lacey called out.

      Her mother turned. “Excuse me?” She put her hands squarely to her waist.

      “I said, I’m not going to Switzerland. The schools here in the United States are just good as the ones in Europe. And, Mother, you don’t need to bother trying to persuade me. I’ve made my decision. You’ll have to learn to live with it; from now on, I do as I chose to.”

      “You’re going to regret your decision later in life,” Mrs. Dorshire said, bowing down to her daughter’s sudden statement.

      “Well, if I do, I’ll only have myself to blame, and since it’s my life, I’ll live it as I see fit from now on.”

      Mrs. Dorshire lowered her eyes in disapproval. “Is that what you call that episode of yours last night? Doing as you see fit?” she questioned.

      “I don’t know what I was doing, trying to get rid of painful memories, I think.” Lacey’s tone lowered as she confided.

“Well...” Mrs. Dorshire’s expression softened. “I’ll have to trust that you know what’s best. I don’t like it, but I’ll trust your decision.” She turned, slowly closing the door behind her.

      “Thank you,” Lacey said nicely.

      For the first time in a long time, Lacey felt good about herself. It was as if a spirit she had never seen before resonated from within her. She had stood up to her mother, and it was empowering. She had been confident in expressing her desires and hadn’t allowed her mother to derail her opinion. She would remember this day for a long time—she had become a woman. In that split second, she had turned from the girlish ingénue who had gotten drunk the night before to a woman who had emerged with the dawn.

Chapter Sixteen

March 7, 1993

      To the squeak of chalk across the blackboard, Lacey’s eyes lowered into a tired flutter toward the marred top of her desk.

      “What’s the matter with you the last couple of days?” As Professor Rothmore turned her attention to the lesson plan scratching it out over the board in long hand, Chantell kicked the back of Lacey’s seat, whispering to her.

      “Nothing.” Lacey didn’t turn to address her.

      “No talking, girls!” Professor Rothmore ordered, tilting her head and peering over the large rim of her bifocals.      

      “You know I haven’t forgotten what a traitor you are.” Chantell kicked her foot over the back of Lacey’s seat.

      Lacey didn’t respond.

Chantell deviously squinted her eyes and rubbed her shoe over the back of Lacey’s skirt as the pleats overhung near the floor.

Lacey pulled from the side pulling free, then recoiled her leg up under the desk.

Chantell scoffed, stood up from her desk, eyed Professor Rothmore, then drew her leg back and kicked the hard toe of her sneaker straight into Lacey’s spine.

A stab of pain thrust into her hip and ran down her left leg, then up, and lodged in the base of her skull. “Shit!” Lacey exclaimed as the pain overcame her.

“What was that, Lacey?” Professor Rothmore turned, glaring at her, tapping the rounded nub of the chalk against the tabletop.

      The girls snickered.

      “That’s enough, class!” Professor Rothmore scolded. “What is the problem, Ms. Dorshire?”

      “Nothing...” Lacey stopped. “I had a sudden cramp in my back.” She clenched her teeth against the unbearable pain.

“Well, perhaps you need to go to the nurse’s office. Would I be accurate in assuming that?” Professor Rothmore said with irritation.

      Lacey sat quietly. Near tears, she nodded in agreement.

      “Very well.” She took a script pad from the desk, wrote a few notes, tore it off, and held it out for Lacey. “Well,” Professor Rothmore continued.

      Lacey folded her book shut and put it into her backpack. Sweat poured over her brow, and she took a gasping breath, then lifted her body from her seat and stepped forward to take the note from Professor Rothmore.

She tried to walk upright to conceal the pain, but it was almost more than she could handle. Closing the door behind her, she stood stalwart in the empty hallway, tears pouring down her cheeks. She took a step, and her right leg almost collapsed under her weight. She made it as far as the end of the corridor and fell back into a trundle bench near the hall’s entrance. She took a few deep breaths, squirming as the pain overcame her.

      “Morning, Miss Dorshire,” the headmistress said, appearing from the doorway of her office, then moving to the phone on the credenza just outside.

      “Good morning,” Lacey responded politely.

      The headmistress smiled, as she spoke into the phone. “Clara, will you please tell Chantell that I bought the drinks for the dinner at the end of the month? They’re in my office and need to be put into the cabinet and organized. Thank you,” she finished, setting the receiver down and approaching Lacey.

      “How are things going, dear?” she asked nicely.

      “Fine, Headmistress, thanks.” Lacey held the pain tight inside of her.

      “Excellent.”

      Lacey watched as she walked down the hall. She could hear the click of her heels as they advanced along the raised flooring and the swoosh of her wool skirt as it moved between her hearty thighs. When the sound dulled a few minutes later, Lacey got up and struggled to walk, grinding her teeth with each step. She looked around, then went into the headmistress’s office. She had left the door partially ajar; Lacey put her hand into the crack and gently pulled it open. There was a brown paper sack with the words Liquor Haven scrolled in big red lettering over it. Lacey reached down without bending, grabbing a bottle by the lid, and pulling it up to her. Smirnoff vodka, the label read. Lacey tucked it under her coat; dragging her left leg along the ground limply, she went out the hall doors and into the sunlight.

      She tossed her backpack in the planter near the edge of the doorway to hide it, and pulling her leg along the cobblestone behind her, she headed down the hill toward the front gates.

She stopped near the fountain that was icicles of frosted water, twisted the cap from the bottle, and took a long drink. Lacey’s back was hurting so badly, she took another. She took two more quick gulps until the pain in her leg deadened. 

Stumbling, she fell onto a thick pile of frozen snow, bracing the bottle between her legs. She then leaned back and flapped her arms to make a snow angel. She lifted her head to peer down the lane, as the vibration of a car’s engine echoed up the incline and around the still of the cold winter day.

      From the passenger seat of Mrs. Crenshaw, the school nurse’s, car, Shepard stared out at the sheet of white that extended for as far as the eye could see. 

      “Is the leg feeling okay?” Mrs. Crenshaw asked as they proceeded up the long winding drive.

      “It’s a bit stiff, but it doesn’t hurt,” Shepard said.

      “Well, stay off the ski slopes for a while anyway,” she joked.

      “I will,” Shepard smirked. Gazing across the slopes of the lawn, a dark spot to the top caught her eye. She looked back over her shoulder, recognizing Lacey as the car slowed near the hall. “Thank you for taking me into town to the doctor, Mrs. Crenshaw,” Shepard said, hurriedly swinging her legs out of the car.

      “You’re very welcome, my dear. Remember what I said about the skiing.” She shook her finger in a teasing manner as she opened the door to the hall and went in, holding it open for Shepard.

      “I think I’ll walk the long way to the dorm, it’ll give me a chance to work out the tightness of my muscles from being in that sweaty coffin for six weeks.” Shepard smiled, turning her eyes to stare down the hill and moving her body to one side in hopes of keeping Mrs. Crenshaw’s attention from the lawn in front of her.

      “Don’t do too much,” she directed.

      “Don’t worry.” Shepard watched her disappear inside, then turned and walked across the snow toward Lacey.

      Shepard’s sneakers loudly crunched like seashells being smashed over the coarse sand of a beach. Lacey heard the sound and tried to lean up, but her back had become so tight and painful that she almost felt paralyzed on the cold ground. Instead she cringed and turned her head into a kinked position as she noticed Shepard approaching.

      “Well, sheep herder, how’s it going?” Lacey laughed into a slurred voice. “What brings you down to join Adonis and me?” She waved her arm toward the naked statue next to her.

      “Lacey, what are you doing? You know if you get caught drinking, you’re out of here.” Shepard moved closer, looked back toward the campus to see if anyone had noticed her, and sat on the circular brick around the fountain just to the side of Lacey.

      “I don’t really care! This fucking school and all the God damned ones like it, they can kiss my ass.” Lacey hit her hand to her hip and cried out in pain.

      “Lacey!” Shepard jumped up and put her bare knees into the snow. “What is it?” She touched her hand to Lacey’s leg.

      Lacey avoided the question and went on. “You know what I hate about these damned schools? Everyone is so uptight. Don’t you get sick of that shit?” Lacey took the bottle from beside her and put it to her lips.

      With her hand near the glass bottom, Shepard snatched it away and tossed it down on the lawn.

      Lacey bent up quickly, and the anguish overcame her. “What the hell did you do that for? That was a good bottle of vodka.” She could barely get the words out through her clenched jaw that had all but cemented together from the pain.

      Shepard became even more concerned as she watched Lacey clutch her hip. “What happened? Did you fall?” She put her hand to Lacey’s back and lifted her upward.

      “You’re cute.” Lacey put her arm around Shepard’s neck.

      Shepard rolled her eyes and turned away as the rush of alcohol from Lacey’s breath enveloped her nostrils. “God, you smell like a distillery. Let’s see if we can get you to your feet.” She put one hand gently over Lacey’s back and the other under her arm to help her up.

      “Aww!” Lacey screamed out.

      “Shh, you’re going to get us both in trouble if you keep that up.”

      “I don’t think I can walk,” Lacey admitted.

      Shepard bent down and swept Lacey into her arms, cradling her, and began walking up the incline.

      “You can’t carry me. What about your leg?” Lacey said, looking down, not realizing through her clouded eyes that Shepard’s cast was gone. She put her arms around Shepard’s neck and leaned in to smell her familiar scent.

      “Now what are we going to do with you...that’s the question. I can’t take you back to the dorm. You need to go to the nurse’s office, but you’re too drunk and I can’t take you there, either. Damn it, Lacey, what the fuck were you thinking with all this drinking bullshit? Has Chantell made you into some sort of boozer or what?”

      “Fuck Chantell and her fucking, fucked up old nagging horse her ass trotted up on,” Lacey blurted.

      Shepard stumbled and caught herself. Lacey’s body involuntarily tightened in pain at the sudden movement.  “You’ve really done it this time, get sloppy drunk, then fall and hurt yourself, really cute.” Shepard glared at her. 

      When she came to the edge of grass, Shepard ducked behind a sycamore as a straggling coed headed from the hall toward the dorms.

      “I like the way you smell,” Lacey growled. “It’s so sexy.”

      “Not now.” Shepard dismissed her with a hint of aggravation. “Besides, I like my women sober.” She stepped from behind the cover of the tree as the grounds cleared. She looked each way and wondered where to take her.

      “Oh, it hurts so badly!” Lacey cringed, trying to catch her breath.

      Shepard looked down as tears formed at the corner of Lacey’s eyes, and her heart thumped. She put Lacey down in the snow near the corner of Kensington Hall. “I’m sorry, Lacey.” She ran toward the hall and into the nurse’s station.

      She ran into the nurse’s office and peered around the glass cases that were filled with bandages and gauze. Mrs. Crenshaw stood stuffing cotton balls into a canister and turned, noticing Shepard as she rushed in. “What is it?”

      “It’s Lacey Dorshire. She’s fallen and she’s hurt pretty bad.”

      “I’ll get my bag.” Mrs. Crenshaw opened a file drawer behind the counter and pulled out a blue plastic first aid kit, then followed behind Shepard.

      “I think she fell, I don’t know.”

They ran to her side. Lacey was stretched out over the ground near the curb of the driveway where Shepard had placed her. Her eyes were rolled back into her head as they bent down.

      “Where are you hurt?” Mrs. Crenshaw asked anxiously.

      “It’s my left leg...I can’t move it,” Lacey said, barely conscious.

      Mrs. Crenshaw put her hand to the back of Lacey’s shin, gently moving it upward. Lacey arched her back, screaming out in pain. “Shepard, stay with her!” She got up and darted back into the building.

      With her hand on Lacey’s thigh, Shepard leaned down into her. She was almost without air as she watched Lacey struggle.

      The hospital room was unusually sterile. Hypodermic needles sat wrapped on a tray to one end, and it smelled of chemicals. The gadgets around the room were shiny steel and adorned with buttons, knobs, and more cords and outlets than Shepard had ever seen. 

Lacey had a private room on the fifth floor, and as she slept atop the starched linens, Shepard gazed at how peaceful she looked. Her bangs were pressed back to her head with perspiration that glistened around her flushed cheeks and full lips. Shepard thought her attractive, even more so than she had remembered. 

She watched Lacey until her eyes drew shut, and she slumped down into the armchair that was perched to the side of the hospital bed.

      Lacey smiled as she woke the next morning and saw Shepard curled into a ball beside her.

“Morning,” Lacey said, arousing her.

      “Morning? Already? What time is it?” Shepard asked groggily.

      “Don’t know, around eight maybe,” Lacey said, looking around for a clock for confirmation.

      “How are you feeling this morning?” Shepard asked, sitting up and wiping the sleep from her eyes.

      “It still hurts like a mother, but the painkillers are helping a bit. I guess I’m in a lot of trouble now, huh?” Lacey asked.

      Shepard looked at her. “I told the headmistress and Mrs. Crenshaw that we were outside talking and you slipped. You were too out of it from the pain yesterday, and they were both a little shook up, so I think they bought it. I’m still pretty pissed that you were drinking, though. If this is a regular part of your life, it’ll be difficult for us to remain friends.”

      “It’s not...I’ve learned my lesson, believe me.” Lacey crossed two fingers over her heart and hoped that Shepard hadn’t heard of her drunken fit a month earlier. “I can’t believe that fucking Chantell, I’m gonna kill her,” Lacey fumed.

      “Why?” Shepard asked to the sudden tone of Lacey’s voice.

      “This is all her fault! I didn’t fall; Chantell kicked me really hard in the back in class yesterday.”

      “Chantell did this?” Shepard asked, shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me that yesterday?”

      “I don’t know.” Lacey looked down. “I guess I felt stupid.”

      “Why? You didn’t do anything. That damned Chantell did, and I’ll make her pay for this, you can be sure.” Shepard fueled with anger.

      “That won’t solve anything.” Lacey tried to calm Shepard and herself.

      “Good morning, Lacey. How are you this morning?” a rough male voice asked, pulling back the curtains and revealing himself. “Do you remember me? I’m Dr. Nathaniel.” He laughed raspily. “No, probably not, we had you pretty loaded with medication yesterday.” He perused the chart in his hand, then reached down and pulled back the covers. He lifted up the side of Lacey’s hospital gown.

      “God!” Shepard exclaimed, as she looked at the huge swollen area that was purple and black and encompassed almost the entire left side of Lacey’s hip and wrapped around to her back.

      “Yes, it’s quite an injury,” the doctor said, noticing her astonishment. “It’s a pretty traumatic injury, and it’s centralized into this pocket between your spine and hip.” He outlined it just above the surface without touching it. “That was quite a fall you took. The school has called your mother, she should be here tomorrow,” he said, inspecting her hip.

      “Great!” Lacey said sorely.

      “You have what is called superior migration of the femoral neck,” he explained.

      Lacey heightened her awareness.

      “It’s a hip fracture, in more laymen’s terms.” He made a fist with one hand then cupped the other over top as if to show the bone and the socket. “You’ll have to have what’s called internal fixation, which is a metal screw or screws that are put into the bone to stabilize the fracture so it can heal. After that, you’ll need extensive physical therapy, and the pain will more than likely be recurring throughout your life. You’ll be on crutches for several months, and after that, you’ll need the help of a cane. But you’re young and very capable of overcoming such a deficit. Hang in there.” He patted her on the knee. “I’ll be back later to check on you.”

      “You need to talk to the headmistress, Lacey, and tell her about Chantell,” Shepard said, as she absorbed the news.

      “Yes,” Lacey concluded.

Chapter Seventeen

March 8, 1993

      Lacey left the hospital just in time for Easter break; she had endured two weeks of grueling physical therapy and one surgery. A good portion of the pain had subsided, but it still hurt to walk and apply pressure to her left hip. Shepard had brought her school books, and between therapy and other stages of recuperation, she had managed to keep her grades up and knew she would be ready to graduate with honors in June. 

Shepard had visited almost every day; they had talked about Chantell and her expulsion from school and about the permanent mark that would tarnish her record. When Lacey had first told the headmistress of her involvement in her injury, it appeared that Chantell was going to squirm out of it. But as word of Lacey’s injury spread over campus, two other girls from her class had come forward and admitted that they had seen Chantell draw her foot back harshly, kicking Lacey in the back.

      Shepard had agreed to spend her spring break at Lacey’s home in Massachusetts since her father and mother were away at a medical conference for the entire month of March anyway. 

      “I’ll get the bags, Ms. Lacey, don’t worry,” Hawthorne said, noticing Lacey’s irritation as she tried to grapple with the straps of her bag and balance her weight with the cane.

      “Thank you, Hawthorne.” Lacey kissed him on the cheek.  “You can set your bags down and we can get them later,” she said to Shepard as they stepped inside.

      The gargantuan bay windows along the back side of the house offered a view of Nahant and Massachusetts bays from each of its four sides. The house stood tall to the raised platform of land just above the beach, and architecturally, it was the most extravagant home on the inlet of Nahant. The town was small and eclectic, with tiny shops with visually appealing storefronts that attracted the herds of summer travelers. 

For most of the locals, bicycles were the preferred vehicle of choice to cruise the island and browse the shops, though Mrs. Dorshire had found the mere idea of two-wheeled travel far too taxing to ever indulge. Instead they uncovered the small two seats of their MG to dine on the local fare.

      “I think I love the views the most,” Lacey said, as Shepard looked out at the blue of the Atlantic.

      “Great view!” she said, turning to Lacey. “My parents have a home in Pacific Palisades; it’s nice but nothing like this,” Shepard said. “Have you lived here all your life?”

      “If you can call it that,” Lacey said sarcastically. “I haven’t been here much, but my parents have always lived here, as far back as I can remember anyway.” Lacey reached down with one hand and scooped her cat from the floor. “This is Chaney.”

      Shepard put a steadying hand to Lacey’s back as she swayed on one leg. “He’s a cutie,” she said, tickling him under his chin, until he purred loudly. “I love animals. I’ve never had any, but I love them.”

      “What do you say we change and go down to the beach?” Lacey asked, setting Chaney down on the ottoman at her side.

      “Sounds good,” Shepard said.

      From behind the wall of the downstairs den, Shepard emerged in a black sports bra and a pair of Hawaiian print swim shorts that tied at the waist. She stood at the base of the stairs as Lacey put her sunglasses on and approached. As Lacey’s shapely figure revealed itself from below her terrycloth beach throw that was strategically flung over her forearm, Shepard was sure her mouth was visibly hanging open and her eyes bulging from their sockets. She had never seen her striking figure until now. It made her swell inside at the sight of her.

      “I thought we’d take the bikes down,” Lacey said, passing her.

      “Huh?” Shepard said, preoccupied.

      Lacey smiled, realizing that the skimpy bikini with the floss-like strings that she had chosen to evoke a response from Shepard had worked. “The bikes? I figured we’d ride down to the beach.”

      Shepard looked at her with distracted eyes. “Oh...bikes...yes!” she stuttered. “What about your leg? Will you be able...?” She looked her over again.

      “I had forgotten all about that. It feels so good most of the time I forget that I’m still somewhat limited,” Lacey said, opening the front door and easing her way into the afternoon light. She clicked the garage door opener on her key chain until the smaller of the four aluminum doors opened.

      “I’ve got an idea.” Shepard took one of the bikes that was hanging from a claw hook just inside, lowered it, and ran an inspecting hand over the patted handlebars. “How about you ride up here?” She smiled.

      Lacey eyed the unstable metal bars curiously.

      “I used to ride my sister, Beth, around the Redondo Beach pier on the handlebars all the time when we were younger. I’m good at it...really!” Shepard straddled the seat, Lacey swung her good leg over the front tire, and Shepard tenderly hoisted her up by the waist onto the bar, resting a portion of her thigh over the plastic edge of the red reflector.

      The cool metal bit through Lacey’s pullover, as she put her cane over her lap to hold it.

 “I don’t know about this,” Lacey said, as Shepard steadied the bike and peddled forward.

      “Don’t worry, I’ll go slowly and I won’t let you fall.”

       The road down the hill was paved and narrowed at the cul-de-sac bars that led to the beach. The sand was warm and the breeze cool as they tossed a large beach towel down. “I think I’m a little stiff, I don’t know if I can bend down,” Lacey said, trying to use her cane to lower herself onto her towel.

      Shepard stood back up and helped her down.

      “Thanks,” Lacey said, smiling gleefully at Shepard.

      They sat with their backs toward the rotund sand dune that was just behind them, keeping the gusting wind at bay, as they looked out at the ocean.

      “I’m glad you decided to come up here for the week. It gets a little lonely being in the house by myself. I mean, Hawthorne and Helen are always there,” Lacey stopped. “But it isn’t quite the same.”

      “Are your parents always gone?”

      “Usually. If I’m lucky, I might get one of them for a day or so during Christmas or Thanksgiving every few years. But mostly, it’s just Hawthorne, Helen, and me. You get used to it, I guess.”  Lacey knew she had never gotten used to it, but she had made the statement hoping maybe she would believe it.

      Shepard looked at her but didn’t speak.

      “I guess it would just be nice for once to feel like a family, instead of a bunch of strangers who share a house,” Lacey confided. “Though now that my mother is remarried to that idiot Jeffrey, I’m not sure I want her around.”

      “It’s tough sometimes, that’s for sure. My parents are usually around but really only in the physical form. They always have their minds on other things, none of which ever concern me.” Shepard gazed out at the tide as it rolled in and out as she spoke.

      “What about your sister? How does she handle things?” Lacey asked.

      Shepard looked away. “My sister was killed in a car accident when I was fifteen,” she choked.

      Lacey looked down somberly at the granules of sand as she ran her fingertips through it. She had brought up a painful subject, and now she didn’t know how to respond.

      “She was in the backseat of a friend’s car, coming home from a Girl Scout meeting. She was so excited about earning her merit badge that she couldn’t even wait to get home to tell me about it. She called from her friend Gail’s house. That was the last time I ever spoke to her. Sometimes I can still hear the giddy happiness in her voice that day.” Shepard paused. “The car was hit head-on by a drunk driver. He’d fallen asleep, lost control, and veered into their lane.” Shepard paused again, inhaling. “Everyone was killed, including my sister.” She lay back on the blanket, propping her head up with her hands.

      Lacey adjusted herself to look at Shepard.

      “It’s weird the way things happen. I thought the one person I would always have around me no matter what was my sister. There was a four-year gap between us in age, but she was my best friend, and when she died so did a lot of the hope I once had for my own life.”

      Lacey lay next to her, turning onto her elbow and facing her. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I never had any siblings, so I guess I really don’t know what that’s like. I imagine it’s very difficult, though.”

      “It’s lonely without her. I think of her every day and wonder what she would be like...what her hair would look like and what type of person she would have become. I’ll probably always wonder that.” Shepard stopped. “What do you say we go for a swim?” she asked suddenly, jumping upward.

      Lacey sat up, startled by her swift change in mood. “Shepard.” She had wanted to say more, to sit back, and comfort her.

      “Come on!” Shepard ran toward the water.

      Lacey slid forward, watching her. She had covered her pain by avoiding it. Just like their relationship, however it was defined at this point, she had avoided it. Lacey had felt something between them, and she knew Shepard had, too, but every time she had attempted to get close to her, Shepard seemed to push her away.

      “Come on, Lacey, the water’s great!” Shepard shouted, waving for her to join.

       As Lacey shook her head, Shepard balled up a clump of wet sand and hurled it toward her. “The water isn’t that cold.” She neared, fanning her fingers through her short hair, frizzing it into upward spikes.

      “It’s not that,” Lacey paused, looking a bit embarrassed. “I just...” she looked down at her leg stretched out in front of her as a hint of pain shot up her hip.

      Shepard turned toward the ocean and bent over. “Hop on!” she directed.

      Smiling boldly, Lacey put both hands on Shepard’s shoulders.

      Shepard put one hand around Lacey’s back and held the back of her knees, pulling her slender frame up onto her.

“I weigh too much, you’re going to hurt your back,” Lacey said, as Shepard buckled her knees with exaggeration. “Very funny!”

Shepard let out a giggle.

Shepard bounced up and down with the spirit of a stretched bungee cord as she piggybacked Lacey to the approaching tide. 

      “Oh, God! It’s freezing,” Lacey said as a wave crashed, spraying her legs.

      Hopping out farther, Shepard let go of her legs and slid her down. Lacey eased from around her and into the chill of the saltwater. “What is it with you and cold water?” Lacey asked with a grin.

      “There’s nothing like it...it’s so invigorating.” Shepard rolled onto her back as the current popped her like a cork to Lacey’s side. “It’s like everything that’s going wrong or affecting me can be released into the water, as if it can be carried from me.” Shepard bent the side of her mouth slightly. “Corny, huh?”

      “No...I guess I just never thought of it that way,” Lacey conceded, eyeing Shepard as her skin gleamed from the sunlight on her wet skin. 

      Shepard looked at Lacey, catching her glance. “Thanks for inviting me up here,” she said quickly, trying to divert her thoughts. She was being drawn to Lacey, and she didn’t want to allow herself to be. She had thought it was the incident in the boathouse and Lacey’s hesitation toward her when she had first tried to kiss her. It had sent her fleeing like a spooked horse. But it was more than that. She thought perhaps she was incapable of allowing someone to get close to her—she was afraid, as she thought more. 

      “It does feel good once you get in,” Lacey said. “I do love the water. Have you ever been river rafting?” she asked, turning her head toward Shepard.

“Oh, I love it!” Shepard said with excitement. “I remember the first time I went.” She paused. “I think I was around ten. We took a family trip down the south fork of the AmericanRiver in California. It was the most exhilarating summer I had ever spent. It was better than Disneyland,” Shepard joked. “Have you been?”

      “I’ve only been once, it was pretty exciting,” Lacey said. “Maybe we can go...” she stopped. “This summer?” she concluded, thinking Shepard would be busy or that she hadn’t thought of them spending time together past graduation. Lacey’s heart thumped harder, as she pondered the idea.

      “I’d like that.”

      Lacey sighed with relief, smiling. “Maybe we should head back to the house. I’m getting hungry.”

      “Me too. We got so caught up in our first afternoon together we overlooked breakfast.” Shepard waded in toward the shore. “Put your legs around me, and I’ll pull you up out of the water.”

      Lacey complied, her hands advancing along the cold lumps of Shepard’s firm stomach. Lacey prominently swallowed as she ran her hand down it as if struggling to get the proper grip.

      “Okay?” Shepard asked.

      “Yup.” Lacey leaned in, putting her head on Shepard’s back. She closed her eyes contently as Shepard walked.

      Lacey hopped on one leg down the stairs from her bedroom and onto the speckled marble of the foyer with more joyfulness than she had ever experienced in her parents’ home. It was Shepard—her presence had awakened her every sense. She had spent the night dreaming, wondering what she looked like as her eyes coasted into slumber. Would she be thinking of her? Would she be overcome with rich images of the two of them making love in some exotic location, as she had?

She had dressed for the day in tight denim shorts that hugged the firmness of her rear. Her white T-shirt was covered with a longsleeved button up with long ribs that flared at her waistline. Her T-shirt was chopped at the mid-section, raising high to the base of her breasts by the most minute arm lift. She made her way down to greet Shepard, not realizing she had left her cane perched next to her nightstand.

      “Did you sleep okay?” Lacey asked, beaming as she approached Shepard who was seated on the wicker cube chairs of the patio, reading the current issue of Star that her mother claimed she only purchased for the crossword. 

      “Probably the best night of sleep I’ve had in a year. I’ve never slept on a sixteenth century four poster bed. I kept picturing all the old hairy men who must’ve once slept on it,” Shepard teased.

      Lacey sat in the identical chair, scooting it closer to Shepard and looking out over the Massachusetts Bay and to the fog-coated skyline of downtown Boston in the distance.

      “There’s nothing like being snuggled by a feather bed and sprawling out over the percale of a queen-size bed, that’s for sure.” Shepard grinned.

      Lacey didn’t comment, she knew exactly how uncomfortable the tiny twin-size dorm beds were and how discouraging it was to never feel like there was enough covering to keep the cold of a winter morning from seeping underneath. Though, as Lacey thought about it, nothing beat having a warm body to cuddle up to. Her eyes widened as she imagined Shepard’s toned, naked physique curled and twisted around hers.

      “Helen was nice enough to bring me out some breakfast.” Shepard lifted a hexagon-shaped sterling tray from the table that was crammed with fresh strawberries, kiwi, and honeydew melon, placing it on Lacey’s lap as she eyed it. Shepard peeled back the cotton napkin inside a square wicker basket to reveal a streusel crumb blueberry muffin that piped with steam. “I complimented Helen on these, they’re the best muffins I’ve ever had. It’s like they disintegrate when they touch your tongue.” She took a slow bite in demonstration.

      Lacey’s lips parted as if envisioning Shepard’s tongue outlining hers, her spit tasting sweet from the blueberries as it laid over the inside of her mouth.

      “See,” Shepard said as her mouth emptied.

      Turning her head pronouncedly, Lacey looked toward the shore of Revere Beach, around Winthrop, and halted her gaze at the base of DeerIsland.

She thought that perhaps inviting Shepard to spend her spring break in Chatham had been a miserable mistake. She loved being around her, having her near, listening to her talk about her life and to her infectious giggles that devoured Lacey’s insides. But that was the problem—she loved being around Shepard too much, and if she let it continue, Shepard would become as needed as the teakwood cane she’d become attached to. She wanted Shepard; her heart constantly yearned for her. As her mind twisted into a deformed wad of vessels, she remembered again how Shepard’s rejection of her had plunged through her skin like the sharpest of knives, and each time she looked into her eyes, Lacey’s body relived it. 

      Soon it would be June and she and Shepard would graduate, walk across the auditorium stage of Naples Hall, take their rolled parchment scroll from Headmistress Cranston’s offering hand, and move the tassels from one side of their caps to the other. As suddenly as they had thrown them on, their satin robes would be removed and discarded, along with whatever means of affection they had shared.

Lacey would leave for Switzerland in mid-August. Shepard would return home to California, passing her years of academia among the historic Trojan halls of the University of Southern California. Their friendship would become an unvisited memory of their tempting youth. They would grow older and wiser about life and its expectation of them and from opposite shores, recall only scant memories of their relationship.

      Scrunching her body down into the chair, Shepard crossed one leg neatly over the other, as she remembered how desirable Lacey had looked the day before gliding into the atrium in her almost nonexistent bikini. She had been tan even though spring had just arrived, and as the soft filter of sunlight illuminated her from behind, what convictions Shepard had been firmly clinging to began to erode. She was definitely falling for her, she was being seduced by her kind nature and inviting personality, but she was resistant to giving in and exposing herself to the hurt she knew would accompany such a relationship. But the more she was around Lacey, the more difficult pulling away from her was becoming.

      Like a heated branding iron melts solder, the afternoon sun stretched across the sky, burning off the thickets of pewter clouds and clearing the sky into a breathtaking turquoise.

Lacey pulled off the tan car cover that was protecting  her father’s miniature MG and stuffed it behind the driver’s seat. She put the uniquely formed key into the ignition, and she and Shepard cruised the quaint floral-lined streets in the nearby town of Brewster. The convertible top was tucked into its casing, allowing the gusts to take their hair into its forceful grasp. 

Lacey pulled onto Thad Ellis Road and parked and took her cane from its storage behind the bucket seats, and they strolled toward Peddler’s Café and Grill. The line to get in twisted from the entrance, wrapping the building’s side with locals and tourists. “They’ve got some of the best burgers around.”

They sat in a booth below an elaborate trompe l’oeil mural, studying it as they dined on hamburgers and clam chowder and chatted over a basket of French fries.

      “Are you looking forward to graduating?” Lacey asked.

      “I don’t know, I’ll miss certain things, but I’m nineteen, and it’s time for me to move on and start a different chapter of my life.” Shepard pulled back the wrapping of her burger, taking a few chomps as she spoke. “Are you looking forward to it?”

      “I don’t know, either. In a way, I am...in another, it’s sort of scary.” Lacey dipped a fry in ketchup and stuffed it into her already full mouth.

      “Why is it scary?”

      “I suppose because boarding school is all I’ve ever known. My decisions have always been made for me under supervision. Now I’ll have to make my choices, and I won’t have anyone to blame for my mistakes except me...and that’s scary.” 

      “About drinking?” Shepard asked, bracing for her answer.

      “I’m done with that for good. I experimented, got caught, and never really enjoyed the taste to begin with.” Lacey took a slurp of soda from her straw and looked at Shepard. She thought of all the things, all the emotions that the alcohol suppressed inside of her. “I guess I was trying to find something in the midst of intoxication that wasn’t there.”

If anything, it had been worse, Lacey thought. It kept her feeling tied down, but it unleashed her sexual desires into an almost unrestrained fury. It made her even more frustrated in that department than being in Shepard’s presence.

      “I’ve only lived at boarding schools, too, and I don’t look forward to being under my parents’ reign again.” Shepard fiddled with her tomato as it peeked from the inside of the bun. “They’ve been so weird since Beth died, it’s like they don’t care about anything anymore, almost like they live each day as clones that have a mission with no emotion. It’s freaky.”

      “I’m sorry,” Lacey said sympathetically.

      “Thanks. Hopefully, I can live on campus, then maybe it won’t be as bad.”

      “Isn’t it strange to think that we’ll be in college next year?” Lacey asked, trying not to allow the certainty of their ultimate separation faze her.

      “Yeah. But it’s exciting, too, in a way...new people, a different place.”

      A different place without me, Lacey thought.

      “I’m eager to start life and let the stupid juvenile antics erase from my memory,” Shepard said.

      And me along with them, Lacey thought more intensely.

      Shepard set the remnants of her burger onto her plate and looked down. “I’ll miss you, though,” she admitted softly.

      “You will?” Lacey questioned with surprise.

      “Of course! We’ve had some good times together, and I cherish the friendship we have.”

      “I do, too,” Lacey said. She wanted to tell Shepard she would miss her, too, but the sentence caught hard inside of her and she thought hearing herself say the words would cause a flood of tears. Instead she leaned back, letting the humidity of the afternoon drip over her.

Chapter Eighteen

March 14, 1993

      Helen served roast duck smothered with garlic and dill mashed potatoes, asparagus tips garnished with béarnaise, and herb bread with whipped cream butter. She set the platters to the center of the appliqué knit doily and crystal stem glasses. Lacey sat across from Shepard while Elaine Dorshire sat near the far end by the fireplace.

Mrs. Dorshire had arrived home earlier in the day without her arm candy, as Lacey had labeled Jeffrey. She had been carted from the airport by Hawthorne and strolled into the house with little fanfare or fuss from Lacey. She’d flown over the international dateline late in the night, and much to Lacey’s expectations, she’d be leaving just as abruptly as the dawn rose the following morning.

      “So, Shepard,” Mrs. Dorshire said, breaking the glare her daughter was shooting her. “Where’s your family from?”

      “I’m from California, Newport Beach.”

      “I’ve never been much for California; my ex-husband, Edward, has his main office in San Pedro. I’ve never cared for the smog.” Mrs. Dorshire took a small bite of meat, surveying the spiked tips of Shepard’s hair as she spoke.

      “You get used to it, five or six years of living there and you won’t even feel the burning in your lungs anymore,” Shepard chuckled.

      Lacey laughed, glaring at her mother.

      “I suppose that’s probably true,” Mrs. Dorshire finished.

      There was something about Shepard’s voice, something soothing that sparked an unnatural flirtation inside of Lacey. 

She looked over at her mother, taking a sip of water from the glass in front of her and lowering her eyes with an arresting leer toward Shepard. She slipped off her tennis shoes, lifted her loosely hanging socks to the base of Shepard’s chair, then began to circle her ankle around Shepard’s knee.

      “Oh!” Shepard blurted out.

      “What was that, dear?” Mrs. Dorshire asked curiously.

      “Oh, I was just about to thank you for allowing me to stay with Lacey for our Easter break,” Shepard choked, as Lacey moved her big toe up along Shepard’s nude thigh.

      “Well, you are quite welcome. It’s comforting to know that after her ordeal that she isn’t spending the holiday by herself,” Mrs. Dorshire said.

      Lacey grinned deviously as she moved her toes up and down over Shepard’s crotch.

      Shepard’s face turned crimson as Lacey pushed her foot harder into her.

      “Oh, my God!” Shepard said, jumping from her seat.

“What is it?” Mrs. Dorshire asked, dropping her fork with a clank to her plate at Shepard’s unexpected outburst.

      “I...” Shepard looked at Lacey, who sat back licking her lips and running her tongue over the front of her teeth seductively.

“I just remembered that I told my mother I would give her a call this evening. There was something important she needed to tell me.” Shepard took a labored breath as her insides seized from Lacey’s touch. 

      “Well, please feel free to call her.” Mrs. Dorshire eyed her daughter suspiciously. “Lacey can show you where the phone in the den is.”

      “Oh, I’m sure I can find it. I don’t want to interrupt dinner.” Shepard moved from behind the table.

      Lacey chuckled into her napkin.

      “Nonsense. Lacey can show you where it is and the two of you can finish dinner afterward. I’m about done, and I need to get upstairs and confirm some travel arrangements for the morning.” Mrs. Dorshire motioned at Lacey.

      “Sure, be glad to show you, Shepard.” Lacey stood, pulling back the doors of the dining room, then shutting them behind her.

      “Are you nuts?  That was just—” Shepard searched for the proper term.

Lacey giggled. “Just? 

      “With your mother right there? I can’t believe you did that.” Shepard’s stern look broke into a soft expression. “Man, the things you come up with.”

      “I was just playing around,” Lacey said quickly as they walked into the den.

      “So I felt.”

      “You’re not mad, are you?” Lacey asked, closing the big wooden door of the study behind them. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just...” She didn’t know what to say.

      “It’s okay.” Shepard sat on the foot stool at the front of the swing chair. “Maybe give me a bit of warning next time you start feeling playful,” she said, sliding back into the chair. 

      Lacey moved stealthily toward her, putting her hands over Shepard’s broad biceps. 

      “I’m not sure we should be doing this,” Shepard responded timidly. “Your mother is only a few hundred feet away. What if she—”

      Before she could finish, Lacey swung her legs over Shepard’s lap, straddling her, and took her face between her palms and sampled the taste of her lips with her tongue. Shepard’s body rose tensely. As Lacey pushed into her, she put her hands up under Lacey’s top, flinging it over her head with one movement. Shepard unclasped her bra and urgently took Lacey’s nipple into her mouth, biting it.

      Lacey moaned, arching her back to the sudden pain, then rocking her pelvis over the firm bone in Shepard’s thighs until she felt her panties moisten. “I like that!” Lacey moaned louder, as Shepard traced her tongue around the outside of her round breasts, falling into her. “I want to feel your nipples in my mouth, too.”

      Shepard pulled her hands free from under Lacey and ripped her T-shirt off with one stroke.

Lacey bent down, licking the top of her breast and running it over Shepard’s abdomen. 

Grabbing her hips firmly, Shepard pulled her onto her lap. “I don’t know if we should be doing this,” Shepard said hesitantly.

      Lacey tried to catch her breath. “I won’t let you stop, I want you too badly.” Her breath became more halting. “I have to have you inside of me...please!” she begged, rocking her clitoris even more feverishly against Shepard. “Don’t stop, go inside of me.” Lacey began to bear down heavily, pulling the yearning deep into her vagina, until it stung. “Go inside of me!” Lacey urged.  

      “Lacey...I’m not sure if I can. I’m not ready.” She held Lacey to her as the heat lifted inside of her, contradicting her words. She wanted Lacey just as badly; her body was convulsing for her touch.

      “Oh, yes, massage me,” Lacey instructed.

      Shepard put her fingers around the labia of Lacey’s clitoris, teasing her as she ran the tip of her tongue over the nape of Lacey’s neck with the same motion.

      Lacey pushed down onto her. “If you don’t go inside of me soon, I’m gonna die.” She grabbed what air she could from her contracting lungs.

      “Like this,” Shepard teased further, circling her vagina but not entering.

      “Goood!” Lacey called out, as Shepard suddenly plunged her fingers inside of her. The sensation instantly made her surge into a climax, and she collapsed over Shepard.

      “Like that?” Shepard smirked.

      Lacey pulled her head back, looking at Shepard. “I want to touch you, I want you to feel as great as I do. But...” Lacey stopped.

“It’s okay.” Shepard’s tones went low as she anticipated Lacey’s words.

      “No, it’s not that. I want to more than anything. I just...” Lacey didn’t know how to explain. “I’ve never...I’m not sure I know...how,” she finished.

      Shepard took a deep cleansing breath. “Oh, well, I’ll help you with that.” She smirked, gently taking Lacey’s palm and moving under her panties. “Slow and gentle at first. I don’t like to be penetrated, but I love to be massaged. I’m pretty wet, so it’s not gonna take much.” Shepard grinned boldly.

      “Like this?” Lacey smiled deviously as Shepard let out a gasp to her quick touch.

      “Ahh,” Shepard winced. “Yesss.” The word caught in Shepard’s throat, as Lacey circled her fingers faster and faster until she suddenly spilled with emotion. “Oh, God,” she said as she went limp. “I thought I said slowly,” she joked.

      “You felt pretty ready to me so I just went for it.” Lacey smiled, lying over Shepard and wrapping her arms around her.

Chapter Nineteen

June 18, 1993

Heat seeped from the asphalt in long plumes that seemed to rise to the heavens. The air was thick with the first hint of summer, and the flowers of spring had shriveled and began dying away. Lacey was excited about spending the summer with Shepard in Europe. She had been there many times, thanks to her parents, but Shepard had never visited, so she looked forward to seeing the sights again through the eyes of a novice.

She also looked forward to exploring the tourist traps and the back country alike. But more than anything else, more than any attraction, she looked forward to exploring her relationship with Shepard. So far, it had been a union that had taken place under the watchful guidelines of academia, where open affection between them had to be left to only those stolen moments. Now they were both adults—eighteen years old—and for the first time, they would be able to take advantage of everything they chose to.

Shepard was more open and out than Lacey was, perhaps in that way more worldly and well-traveled than she could ever hope to be, but she relished with an inner jubilation the possibility. They would have a month and a half—late June through early August—until Lacey would have to leave for school. At vacation’s end, it would be difficult parting from Shepard, though she never spoke of it. It would cast a rotten shadow over the summer they were about to spend together, and Lacey wasn’t going to let anything spoil that.

She had planned the vacation for her and Shepard, invited her, and with her father’s blessing, paid for the trip from a credit card he had set up for her upon graduation. Shepard had been a bit apprehensive at first, resisting until her parents had agreed to pay for her portion.

They would backpack through England and France, staying in youth hostels along the way to absorb as much as they could of the local customs. 

They would dine along the roadside in cute little cafés and sample exotic fare, laugh together, and for the first time since they began their relationship, hold hands and be able to gaze at each other with loving eyes. 

Lacey’s stomach lurched at the vast potential of such a vacation. When she thought of Shepard, her stomach knotted in a way she had never known, a way that made her feel part of something, part of someone else—Shepard.

From atop the cool percale sheets of her bed, Shepard stared blankly into the sea of cottage cheese that was swimming across the ceiling of her room. Her thoughts of Lacey and of her parents seemed to melt together in a confusing haze that clouded her mind. Over the last few weeks, she had been without her mother and father. They had spent most of their time as always engulfed in work and away from the house. 

If she had had a welcome home embrace from her mother, she couldn’t recall it, and as she thought, she hadn’t seen her father at all. He would come home late, crawl into bed, then out again before she had ever risen to the day. 

Her mother had left notes that were more instructional than anything else scattered throughout the house to remind her of things and to apologize for not seeing her. She’d sign them with the customary, “love you,” at the bottom.

Shepard had spent most of her time at the beach, lying on the hot sand and tanning her chestnut skin into the perfect California hue, listening to the surf and talking with her friends, including Jo Marcum. Jo had been her first girlfriend, if at age eight that was what one had called them. Actually, she had been eight, and Jo ten, they had been neighbors; Jo had been the younger sister of her weekend baby-sitter Sharon.

They had played together as girls do and had shared a few sleepovers that had entailed far more then sleeping. They had touched each other in ways younger girls weren’t supposed to; they had kissed, and when they had gotten a bit older, had become each other’s first sexual experience. Shepard had gone away to boarding school and lost touch with her until she had come home. Jo had been outside on the lawn of her house talking to Martin, their shared gardener, when her cab had pulled in front of her family’s sprawling two-story Mediterranean on upscale Lido Isle. They had caught sight of each other, and like the childhood thrill of that first touch that sends your body into an almost convulsive state, Shepard had felt that lurch once again when she saw Jo.

She had developed from the tiny-framed girl with the long crimson-colored locks into a woman. She had blossomed in the same way a seed sprouts into a magnificent flower. She had gone from skinny and awkward to lean and pretty. Her hair was cut shorter, the ends faintly touching the collar of her shirt. It was less vibrant of color than it had been and sparkled radiantly as the sunlight cast down on it. Her eyes were bright green, and she had a unique frame that was gallantly feminine. Shepard watched as she smiled and gestured toward her with a wave.

“Hi, Shepard!” Jo said, walking across the street as Shepard stepped from the cab.

“Hi.”

“Your mother said you were coming home today. I thought I’d come over and say hello,” Jo said, with a cheerful grin.

“It’s been a long time. You look really different.” That sounded stupid, and she knew it before she had said the words.

“You look different than I remember, too. But then it has been nine years or so.” Jo chuckled.

“Yeah, I guess it has been a while. What have you been up to?” Shepard took her bag from beside her on the seat, handed the driver a fifty-dollar bill, and slammed the car door.

“Here...I’ll take some of that.” Jo filled her arms with what she could as the two walked up the path and into the house. “Not too much. I just finished my second year of college at Cal State Long Beach. Man, it was hell, but I got through it.” She smiled. “What about you?”

“Done with boarding school finally. I thought the day would never come, or at least I thought I would never live to see it,” Shepard teased. “I was sure I would kill someone or someone would kill me before it was all said and done.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re home.” Jo stopped, looking around the room, and continued. “I’ve missed seeing you.”

Shepard turned to look at her with a hint of puzzlement. She hadn’t thought of her once. They had been childhood friends, but as adults, they were relative strangers. What connection they had once had had been shed with the passing of adolescence.

“Do you want something to drink? I have no idea what we have, but I’m sure there’s something in here.” Shepard pulled open the refrigerator door and peered inside. “Looks like the choices are milk or tea or some strange yellow-looking juice.”

“Tea would be great,” Jo said, pulling out a bar stool and sitting at the counter under the tiled cooking island. “So what do you have planned for the summer?”

Shepard thought for a moment before she answered. “Actually, I’m spending the summer in Europe, backpacking...that sort of thing.”  She took two iced mugs from the freezer, poured Jo and herself a glass of tea, then set them on the counter in front of her as she leaned her lengthy torso over the cool ridges of the countertop.

“That sounds like fun. I’ve never been there, though I’ve always wanted to go. Who are you going with?” Jo asked, taking a sip of tea.

“My friend Lacey...” she paused. “From school.” They had been far more than friends, but for some unknown reason, she had been uneasy about revealing that. “It was sort of a last-minute decision to go, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“My parents would love for me to spend the summer out of their hair in Europe or someplace else, I’m sure,” Jo joked. “Maybe I’ll see you over there.”

Shepard looked at Jo as a bead of water spilled from her glass and cascaded down her chin. She swallowed abruptly as her long pierced tongue moved over it, swiping it into her mouth before it dropped from the rim of her jawbone. Suddenly, she was feeling abnormally sweaty and jittery as she sat in front of Jo, her blue eyes arrested by Jo’s.  “How about a swim?” she said sharply.

“Sounds good, I’ll run and get my bikini. Be right back.” Jo jumped from her seat with almost a sprint toward the door.

Shepard closed her eyes and slumped forward onto her hands as she heard the door click shut. “What are you doing?” she questioned. “What the hell are you doing?” Shepard took a relaxing breath to collect her senses as she headed into her bedroom to change. She took a spandex one-piece swimsuit from the drawer of her armoire, looked at it, then stuffed it back between her clothes, and shut the drawer. Shorts and sports bra, safe! she thought, taking them from her bag and throwing them on. A bikini, she thought to herself, not safe “This isn’t going to be good,” she said aloud.

If she and Lacey were to have a real relationship with each other, if their feelings were genuine, it would be best to know that now, before things between them got too complicated or intense. But as she thought further, maybe they already had. She cared about Lacey, but on what level, she didn’t know. 

Shepard took the glasses from the kitchen and set them onto the rectangular marble top of the ledge that stuck out from the wall under the patio. She pulled the Barcelona chaise longues from under the awning and put them side by side near the pool edge.

“I hope it’s not cold,” Jo said as she stepped from the house and plucked her foot daintily into the water. “Nope, feels good.” She pulled off her long cotton shirt and flung it over Shepard’s head.

Oh, God, Shepard thought to herself, as Jo’s firm body was exposed.

She turned, moving the chairs apart and back together.

Jo moved toward her, taking hold of her arm. “You ready?” she said, pulling her by the elbow until the two of them were propelled into an odd flop into the water.

“Aww, that wasn’t fair,” Shepard teased, raking her wet strands of hair back tightly to her head.

Jo smirked deviously, flipping onto her stomach and treading water.

Shepard dove down underneath the water until she was just under Jo, leaping upward until she tossed her out of the water and into the air. “Now that was fair.” She smiled as Jo splashed her. They laughed as water sprayed in every direction. “Okay, truce!” she called out, raising her hands in surrender.

“Truce.” Jo sat back onto the step. “Did you miss me?” she asked, looking at Shepard.

Shepard looked at her, moving up and sitting on the step near her.

“I know it’s been a long time,” Jo said with slight disappointment. “You don’t have to say anything, it’s cool. I just wanted you to know that I’ve thought about you, that’s all.” Jo stroked her hair until a few threads fell loose around her face.

With her palm, Shepard reached over and tucked them neatly behind her ear. “It was a long time ago,” she said softly, letting her hands trace down Jo’s cheek. Her skin was smooth and radiant through the reflection of the water as it sparkled from under her. “We were kids...doing what kids do, I guess.” She held her hand around Jo’s face, cupping it until she felt her move into her grasp, she let it fall free.

“I suppose things don’t stay the same, right?” Jo asked.

“I don’t think they’re meant to, are they?”

“This is gonna sound really stupid, but I have gone over in my mind a thousand times what it would be like to touch you as a woman and not as a little girl. I’ve thought about the day the two of us would meet up again. Kinda silly, huh?” Jo looked down, running her hand over the surface of the water.

“It’s not silly. I just never thought of you that way. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t,” Shepard said. “Maybe I’m the one who should feel stupid for not.” She took her wrinkled hand from the water and touched it to Jo’s face. 

“What the hell, sometimes you have to go after what you want in life.” Jo put her hand around Shepard’s neck and pulled her into her. She felt the tingle of Shepard’s lips as they hesitated. 

Shepard wanted to protest Jo’s grip on her, she wanted to pull away and be released from what she knew was about to happen. Her heart spun wildly inside her chest, until any clear thought drowned with her desire. 

The water below her seemed to heighten the pulsation of her clitoris, and it began to slowly twitch to Jo’s manipulation. Jo put her hand gently to the curve of Shepard’s spine, sliding her hand from her neck and letting it glide down around her hips. 

She took Shepard’s head and sandwiched it between her bosom, then slowly moved her pelvis, circling her waist over Shepard’s leg, grinding her movement until Shepard moaned, her hesitation depleted.

Shepard took her arm and braced it over the concrete of the pool’s step, lowering Jo gingerly into it as she held her. Their lips moved over one another, and she teased Jo’s tongue as she bit toward her, wanting more. Shepard moved inward, tempting Jo’s tongue with hers, pulling back slightly, then pushing in as she rocked her hips upward onto Jo’s. 

Jo arched her back prominently, as Shepard pushed farther into her. Her eyes shut and she thought of Lacey; she opened them quickly, pulling back. “I...”

With both hands around her, Jo yanked Shepard back into her touch. “I want you inside of me…I need you inside of me,” Jo whispered, tugging on her ear with her teeth, the ball of her pierced tongue raising Shepard’s enthusiasm.

“Ahh...” Shepard gasped, as Jo moved her fingers under her shorts and stroked her vagina.

“Jo…” she pleaded.

“I won’t do it unless you tell me you want me to.” She moved her fingers around, exploring Shepard’s wetness, as she thrust her pelvis up and down atop Shepard.

“Ohh...” Shepard let her body rock to the sensation, then rushed her hips back and forth, pinching her nails into Jo’s waistline as she moved quicker into her. “Yes....yes...” she begged. “I want it. I want you inside, go inside!” she demanded.

“Like this?” Jo put two fingers into Shepard’s vagina, moving them in and out, tempting her to come as she kneaded her finger over the wall above her G-spot.

“Oh, yeah, just like that,” Shepard said, out of breath, as she pulled back the elastic on Jo’s bikini and began stimulating her clitoris.

“That feels great!” Jo said softly, pushing her weight into Shepard.

They kissed quickly, their tongues petting with the same motion as their fingers.

“I’m gonna come so hard and so fast, I can barely contain it,” Jo blurted. “But I want us to come together. Can you come? Are you ready?”

“Yes...Are you kidding, yes,” Shepard said though grinding teeth. “Oh, yeah.”

“Yes, baby...Go!” Jo called out.

As they came, they collapsed into each other and splashed down under the water breathless.

“Oh, man, that was sensational,” Jo said, catching her breath. “That was sure different from the first time.” Jo chuckled.

Shepard leaned upward, eyeing her and smiling.

Lacey rolled a stack of white Tshirts and crammed them tightly into her canvas backpack, tossed in a few pairs of denim shorts and sandals, and tightened the straps until they were secure around the metal frame that held the bag upright over the floor. She looped her fingers around the top portion of the binding and dragged it down the steps toward the front door until it landed with a thud in the entry hall.

“Mother, I’m leaving,” she called out, without turning her attention from the door as she pulled it opened.

Hawthorne stood just outside, moving toward her and taking the bag from her grip as she struggled with it.

“How you’re going to haul that on your shoulders is beyond me,” Mrs. Dorshire said from behind her.

“I’m perfectly capable, Mother!”

“Are you sure about doing all this walking with your leg? Is it hurting?”

“Nope, it’s been feeling pretty good. Besides, the exercise will be very therapeutic.” She climbed into the front seat of the car. She put her hand along the post of the door handle and began to close it, when her mother pulled it open as Lacey looked up at her. “What is it, Mother? Have I forgotten something?”

“No...” her mother stammered. “I...I just wanted to tell you to have a nice trip…and that…” She paused. “That...I love you, darling.”

Lacey wrinkled her brow peculiarly at her mother’s abrupt attention.  “I...love you, too.”

The uncharacteristic sentiment caught Lacey off-guard, and the words gagged from her throat in a way she thought almost sounded dismissive, though a larger part of her sensed that she meant them. The words had come out hard and choppy, and she almost broke into tears. 

Quickly, she pulled the door shut and looked the other way, breaking her mother’s attention toward her. With a simple wave, Hawthorne drove down the driveway and headed toward HeathrowInternationalAirport where she would meet Shepard, who was flying in from Los Angeles. 

She and Shepard had only been apart for a few weeks, but Lacey missed her terribly, and her insides were about to explode from the heartache. She flashed again on summer’s end. If she couldn’t go two weeks without seeing Shepard, how would she be able to last being away from her for months until her winter break from college? Lacey became quiet and solemn at the thought, turning her head and staring out into the light of morning until the ache relieved itself and her mind turned to something more pleasant.

With her bags next to the trellis by the front stoop, Shepard sat and waited for her ride to the airport. She looked out across the mild flow of traffic that frequented the meager street and across to the two-story Tudor where Jo lived. She almost expected her to come running out to see her off or at the very least to wave from an upstairs window, but she didn’t. Her house was quiet, the window dressings drawn down, and the window shutters drawn tight to the inside pane to keep out the sunlight. As she stared at its vacant appearance, she thought of Lacey and of Jo. She thought of her mistakes and perhaps her misguidedness.

She had been offered a scholarship for the rowing team at both Purdue and Princeton and a few others for her academic achievement at the University of Southern California and Vassar. As she thought about everything now, she wondered how some parts of her life had fallen neatly into place, while other parts were messed up and askew.

She had spent her life being the oddity, the lesbian, and to most her own age, the dyke. She had heard all the names, she was familiar with the slurs and the innuendoes. She had the casual flings with lonely girls looking for new experiences, but for whatever reason until now, their hold on her had been superficial at best. 

Now she was embroiled in a tryst, that was the only term she could call it. She had fallen for not just one woman, but for two. She had expected to go the majority of her life unscathed, meeting that special woman in the middle echelon of life, if at all, and now she had fallen victim to the attractions of two women. With her hands clenched, she raised them over her head in disbelief. What have I done? she thought.

Chapter Twenty

June 18, 1993

Rows of plastic chairs were hooked together near a set of large sprawling windows that faced the oily skid of the tarmac near Gate 4 in the international terminal. Lacey sat down, crossed her legs at the shin, and looked out at the crowd of airplanes that waited in line to take off. She glanced at her watch, looking back at the swirl of people winding their way around the metal detectors for some sign of Shepard. She had been quite early, their flight into Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris wasn’t set to leave for several hours, but she was anxious—anxious to see Shepard, anxious to touch her. 

She hoped more than anything that Shepard had been as miserable without her as she had been over the last few weeks. They had blocked the phone lines several times as night passed into morning, they had chatted on the computer and exchanged emails, but she missed Shepard terribly. 

As the echo of indecipherable voices squealed over the intercom, harried passengers rushed to make their connections, and parents tugged their kids along like the straps of their rolling luggage. Lacey sat back and tried to relax. Flying always made her nervous, but waiting for Shepard had outweighed any sort of edginess that would normally creep about her stomach. 

Lacey combed her hair back with her fingers, then rifled through the many bulging pockets of her shorts for some change as she eyed the snacks at the vending machine. She took a few quarters and fed them into the slot, pressing the lit buttons until the brown M&M’s bag dropped with a bang into the bin. She fished it out and sat back down, looking once again to the uniformed personnel near the baggage check station. 

Catching a glimpse of the blonde on Shepard’s head through the throngs of people, she smiled, stood, and waited for her to approach. Lacey couldn’t help but notice how handsome she looked hauling her backpack coolly over one shoulder, her tan skin contrasting and accenting her narrow jawline as her starched white Tshirt highlighted it. Her khaki shorts were pressed neatly around the cuff of her thigh, and Lacey’s insides hesitated as she scanned down to her muscular legs protruding from below.

“Hi!” Lacey said quickly as she walked insistently toward her. “I’ve missed you.” She swung her arms around Shepard’s neck and pulled her into an embrace. She wanted to kiss her, to put her lips tightly to Shepard’s until she could taste her, but she didn’t.

Shepard flinched and halfheartedly leaned into her. “Hi,” she said simply.

“Are you okay?” Lacey asked, noticing her distant demeanor.

“Nothing...sorry,” Shepard apologized, though she didn’t know why. “I’m just a bit fidgety from the flight, I guess. All this traveling has started to wear me down a bit.” She moved away, stacking her bag on the carpet next to Lacey’s and collapsing into the seat just behind.

“It has been a bit much for you, going home to California, then back out here.”

“It’s okay,” Shepard said, leaning farther into her seat.

“I’ve missed you so much, I almost went nuts sitting here waiting for you,” Lacey said, placing a hand on Shepard’s knee.

With a slight breath, Shepard said, “I missed you, too.”

It had been only a short time since they had been together, and she had missed Lacey, but as much as she tried to play it off, something was different between them. 

Maybe it was the stress of the travel, her relationship with Lacey, and as much as she tried to block her out, Jo. She and Jo had spent a lot of time together while she and Lacey had been apart; they had tanned at the beach, taken in a few movies, dined to candle light a few evenings along the Santa Monica boardwalk, and had made love, like the afternoon at the pool.

Shepard didn’t know how she was going to tell Lacey about Jo or if she should tell her at all. It was too soon in both of their cases to make snap decisions that could affect the rest of their lives. But not telling her—the deceit and dishonesty of it—was already starting to cause the acid in the pit of her stomach to bubble. She would have to explain when the time was right.

“I’ve been looking forward to this summer, ever since you agreed to come,” Lacey said.

Shepard blinked in agreement without speaking.

“You sure you’re all right?” Lacey repeated.

“Uh-huh,” Shepard confirmed again. “Is your dad okay with us staying with him?” she asked after a moment.

“Yeah, I don’t expect him to be there much, if at all. He and his new wife and stepdaughters are spending the majority of the summer on the French Riviera. My father has some business there, and I’m sure Clarice will be attempting to put the retail industry out of business with her exorbitant buying habits,” Lacey joked.

“Do you get along with your stepmom?” Shepard asked with curiosity at Lacey’s expression as she spoke of her.

“I’ve never thought of her as my stepmom, but I guess she is. She’s okay. I’ve only met her once. She’s a bit of a nut about cleanliness, and she keeps the house a few steps from the sterile environment of an operating room, but she’s all right. She stays out of my way, and I stay out of hers. So far, it’s worked out fine.” Lacey sat back next to Shepard and stared out onto the runway. “How were things at home with your parents?”

“Hardly saw either one of them, but it was quiet. I had the house to myself, and that was nice. Sometimes it’s easier to be ignored when they aren’t around and I don’t realize I’m actually being ignored.” Shepard smirked. 

“I used to wish my mother would ignore me instead of the domineering suffocation she used to be so famous for…always telling me what to do with my life, dictating and trying to make all my decisions. I got so sick of it that I think for a time I actually hated her.” Lacey looked out the window solemnly. “I feel bad for saying that, but it’s how I felt. I think we’re doing better now, though. I think she’s starting to see me as a woman and not the little pig-tailed girl who used to chase the cat under the table at dinner.” Lacey laughed. “She’s started to ease up a little, and she’s more sentimental and affectionate than I’ve ever seen her. She came out to the car when I was leaving and told me she loved me. I don’t think I’ve heard that since I was a toddler.”

Shepard looked at her affectionately as she talked.

“I almost didn’t know what to do. I turned around and shut the car door, almost catching her fingers in the jamb, because I thought I might cry.”

“I’m glad for you, Lacey. I think that’s really cool.” Shepard raised the right side of her lips into an honest grin.

“Thanks. I hope you have the same luck with your parents someday.”

“Maybe someday, who knows.” Shepard glanced down sadly.

The flight had been long and draining, and when it finally touched down in Paris, Lacey’s hip had stiffened and was paining from lack of movement.  

Shepard’s eyes were baggy and half-drawn as she attempted to blink in the cabin’s lights. She wiped her eyes with the warm hand towel that the flight attendant had dropped on her tray table with prongs, then unhooked her belt and stood. Her legs were numb, and she pivoted oddly on one leg until the needles poked the muscles to attention.

With her hands braced on the headrest in front of her, Lacey used her biceps to hoist herself up into an erect position. Her legs buckled underneath her, and she fell back hard into her seat.

“Are you okay?” Shepard asked with concern.

“Fine, legs just got a little tight, that’s all,” Lacey said, repeating the same action until she was standing.

“Is your leg hurting?” Shepard put her hand to Lacey’s waist, touching gently.

“Nope, doing fine!” She wasn’t. It hurt like hell, but she refused to acknowledge the pain.

“Here, I’ll take your carry-on, that way you can work out the joints on the way to baggage claim,” Shepard said.

Before Lacey could argue, Shepard pulled her bag from under the seat and heaved it around her back.

As they stepped from the ramp and into the airport, the smell of disinfectant filled the air. 

Lacey walked slowly and cautiously at Shepard’s side, hoping her slight limp wasn’t noticeable and moreover that the pain wrenching its way up and down the back of her leg wasn’t distorting her face into a noticeable grimace.

They reached the glass doors of the apartment building as the afternoon clicked into evening. The heat seemed to bake like oil over an open grill over their skin as they stepped from the town car and deposited their stuff along the sidewalk’s edge. Shepard pulled their things from the trunk, dragging a few of the pieces along the sidewalk as she headed inside. Lacey took the key her father had mailed to her from a zipper pouch on the side of her duffle bag and unlocked the door and swung it wildly open. 

The apartment reeked of a blend of fresh paint and moth balls, both of which signified that Lacey’s father had spent little time there. There were no signs of dishes or even the out-of-place towel thrown haphazardly over the arm of a chair, and the many oriental throw rugs that littered the pine floors in every direction were perfectly centered and without a trace of dirt.

“Wow, this place is great,” Shepard said, dropping the handles of their luggage, then spinning around to take it all in.

“Yeah, my father puts a lot of emphasis on the opulent, that’s for sure,” Lacey scoffed, as if embarrassed by the untouched and elegant surroundings.

“Man! I hope years down the line when I’m a successful lawyer that I can afford some digs like this. This place is outrageous.”  Shepard grinned, rubbing her feet cautiously over the unevenness of the hand-knotted Iranian Kashan rug that lined the floor of the loft. She scanned the many wine cabinets, curiously halting her stare at the gigantic baluster Qing dynasty jar that sat on a pedestal in the entryway. “This is beautiful, the flowers and the Birds of Paradise make it almost look like Eden.” 

“I didn’t know you wanted to be a lawyer.” Lacey looked at her puzzled by how little she actually knew about Shepard.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure until lately, though. I thought about it when I was younger, then never gave it much thought until I was trying to decide which college to attend.” Shepard sat on a plush leather armchair and sank into it. “I could get used to this,” she teased, wrapping her arms around the back of her head and looking out the slated jalousie windows that revealed the top of the EiffelTower. “And this view, it’s completely awesome.”

“I think it’s a bit over the top, but that’s my dad for you.” Lacey sat on the sofa next to her and put her feet up over Shepard’s knees. She let out a relaxing moan as the cushions conformed to the roundness of her slight hips and relieved the throbbing, then she turned and looked at Shepard. “We’re finally alone,” she said coyly.

“Yeah,” Shepard said with apprehension. She had thought about how she was going to feel when she was finally faced with being alone with Lacey. She had looked forward to their vacation, but until now, she hadn’t thought of the affectionate moments that she knew would be woven into it. It should have been a reality, but it hadn’t been until now.

With her arms outstretched, Lacey waved her hands for Shepard to climb on top of her.

Shepard’s eyebrows arched, and she gazed toward Lacey’s wanting eyes.

“We’re alone,” Lacey said again. “We can do whatever we want, and I want you.”

Shepard didn’t move, as she reluctantly looked toward Lacey.

“You want to, don’t you?” Lacey asked with a tinge of sorrow.

“Yes...it’s just…” Shepard paused. “I’m just feeling the jet lag, I guess, it’s not...” She didn’t know what to follow with. What was it not, she wondered.

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired, too, and we have six weeks, so that’s plenty of time to get down and dirty,” she joked.

Shepard smiled warily at the comment, letting out a relieving sigh that she had been let off the hook for the moment.

“How about we just cuddle?” Lacey patted the puff of the raised cloth of the sofa cushion for Shepard to join her.

With her hands calmly at her side, Shepard stood and scooted in next to Lacey. Lacey put her head over Shepard’s chest, tucking one arm around her ribs, and she lay back, resting her head on the tassels of an accent pillow. Shepard looked to the ceiling, her eyes wide and searching, as she let out a breath.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Lacey said, snuggling into Shepard’s chest.

“Me too,” Shepard said, putting her arms up around Lacey, holding her.

Lacey had woken early, gotten dressed, and sat at the oval table just to the nook of the kitchen with the local newspaper and waited for Shepard to get ready. The morning was already a warm one. As a few beads of sweat collected over her forehead, Lacey got up and turned the dial on the air conditioning, fanning her shirt with her fingers as it blew throughout the loft.

“Morning,” Shepard said, toweling her wet hair as she approached Lacey. 

She had dressed while her body had been still slightly damp. Her shorts were clinging to her crotch around the inseam, and her gray Tshirt was spotted around her breasts from where her wet nipples had touched the cotton as it rested above them. Lacey eyed the thin cloth that only modestly protected their outline. 

Her body reheated at the sight of them, she had wanted to touch them, run her tongue around them firmly, biting gently as she circled them. She fanned herself as the images cluttered her mind. Lacey watched Shepard shake her hair with the bath towel and ring it of moisture as she folded it into a turban on top. She swallowed hard as the heat inside her made its way up her torso.

“I...” she stuttered, taking a breath. “I thought we’d go sightseeing, maybe have lunch at some sidewalk café somewhere. Does that sound okay?” she asked, not moving her eyes from Shepard’s body as she pulled the towel down and ran it over her legs as they glistened with water.

“Sure, sounds good to me.” She wiped the towel up her calf and along the inside of her thigh, using her fingers to rub the remaining wetness from the area just around her panties.

 “We...” Lacey had no idea what she was about to say. It had been over a month since she and Shepard had made love or touched each other with the passion that was now brimming inside. She wanted Shepard inside of her, and the intensity seemed to build with each passing day. She had been okay when they had been apart; she had taken matters into her own hands and relieved the pressure that her wanting possessed in her. 

But the last few nights she had gone without, and the night before, it had been almost too much sleeping next to Shepard, her lustrous body only inches from her in bed, its warmth billowing around her from under the sheet that separated them. She had wanted to touch herself, more correctly, she had wanted Shepard to touch her. 

She stood in front of her, tightening her butt and pulling her hips into a slow rock that she hoped wasn’t viewable to anyone but her.

“We what?” Shepard said, as Lacey’s long pause lingered.

“We...should get going, I’m starving.”

The traffic outside as they walked the streets of Paris was crammed with tiny foreign cars, cabs, buses, and people. The sun had risen high overhead and was beating down on them.  

Lacey had forgotten to bring a baseball cap like the navy Eddie Bauer that Shepard had pulled down over her eyes, and the heat was causing a burn to form along the strands of hair that made up her part. She pulled a rubber band from her pocket and tied it back into a sloppy ponytail in hopes of warding off some of the scorch. 

They strolled under the Arc de Triomphe and toured the many monuments around Montparnasse, finally stopping at a tiny French café called Smoke along Rue Delambre, taking a table at the front of the restaurant. The place was crowded with people and unusually swollen with Parisians sampling the many types of whiskeys it was famous for.

“I don’t know much about French food,” Shepard said as she scanned the menu.

“Most things are good, it’s not hot dogs and hamburgers, and if you can stay away from anything that has too much sauce on it, you’ll be all right.”

“I’m having a great time, Lacey. Paris is tremendous!” Shepard said, sipping from her goblet of iced tea.

“Yeah, there are so many things to see.”

“I hope you’re not bored having to do the touristy thing with someone who has never been here,” Shepard said, rolling the cubes of ice around her mouth with her tongue.

“No, I love it! I’ve never really done all the tourist stuff, and the things I have done are more interesting this time around because I’m seeing them for the first time with you.”

Shepard smiled. She enjoyed being with Lacey. She was fun, she rarely complained, she was easy-going and pleasurable to be around. Whatever she had expected to happen between them on this trip, she was finding it hard to resist Lacey. Every time she flashed her comforting smile or touched her hand to hers, it sent energy through her like electricity. 

But the more she was drawn to Lacey, the more she backed away and the more complicated things became for her. She was still engulfed in a whirlwind of confusion toward her feelings for Jo and for Lacey.  

They ate lunch leisurely, laughing and talking about the obstacles they had faced over the last year of school. They looked out at the locals and the tourists taking pictures, giggled at the unique fashions as they watched people, and like school girls, tossed pieces of food back and forth playfully.

Chapter TwentyOne

July 21, 1993

A month had passed, and Lacey and Shepard had toured The Louvre and Notre Dame Cathedral, walked the many floors at the National Art Museum in the Georges Pompidou Center, sat near the monument of Fontainebleau, taken a tour bus to the Basilica of SaintDenis just north of Paris, and walked many of the small Old World streets absorbing the local ambiance.

They only had two weeks left on their vacation, and as much as it had been fun, Lacey was unsure of where she stood with Shepard. They had spent every night sleeping next to each other in the same bed, they had giggled over stupid things, had a few tickle fights between the covers, held hands as they toured the many attractions, and exchanged a few brief pecks on the cheek and one on the lips. But for the most part, romance of any sort had been nonexistent. And it hadn’t been for lack of trying on Lacey’s part. She had made a few gestures and propositions toward Shepard, and she had refused. They had been polite refusals, but no matter how Lacey looked at it, she had been rejected by Shepard again.

Lacey wished she were better at expressing herself or that she had the courage to ask Shepard what was going on. She had matured over the last year, but not to the point that she had the nerve to blurt out such questions. She had hoped that Shepard would tell her, but she hadn’t. For the most part, whatever was going on between them was concealed.

Today they would be taking the train south of Paris to Orleans, where they were going to rent mountain bikes and take a weeklong trek across the back roads of France into the LoireValley. Lacey had planned the trip and thought it would be pleasurable and interesting, though her ulterior motive was to spark something in Shepard that would finally bring the two of them together. 

She didn’t know how her hip would hold up to the peddling, but she would have to endure whatever pain it caused if it were to bring Shepard and her closer together. She had gone without her cane the entire trip; she had needed it on a few occasions but pressed the pain down inside of her until it subsided. 

“We have to catch the train at 11:00, if you still want to go, that is.” Lacey’s tone was low and detached.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be cool,” Shepard said as they sat around the coffee table snacking on cantaloupe and grapefruit. 

Lacey looked down and stared at her spoon as she fiddled with her bowl.

“Are you okay? The last week or so you’ve seemed kinda sad.”

“No....just” This was Lacey’s opportunity to say what was on her mind. She opened her mouth gently and took a breath. “I...” she started, just as the phone rang from the other room. “Be right back,” she said, quickly getting up. “Hello?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Shepard,” the female voice on the other end replied.

Lacey stood frozen, then said, “Hold on a sec and I’ll get her.” She stopped, then walked into the other room.

“Who was it? Your father?” Shepard asked as Lacey sat.

“No...It’s for you,” she said, not letting her eyes reach Shepard’s.

Shepard’s heart lurched as she stood. Before she picked up the receiver, she knew exactly who was on the other end. She had forgotten that she had given Jo the telephone number in hopes of her calling, but now that she had, she regretted it. “Hello?” she said reluctantly.

“Hi, Shepard, it’s Jo. How are you?” Jo said over the slight hum reverberating across the line.

“Good.”

“I was missing you, so I thought I’d call and see how things have been. Europe must be great. I know that’s why you haven’t called, and you must be having a good time, taking in everything,” Jo went on without taking a break. “You’ll have to tell me all about it next week when you get home. I can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah, me too.” Shepard said softly.

“Have you been thinking of me?” Jo coaxed.

“Yes, I have,” Shepard said distantly.

“Are you and Lisa having a good time?”

“Yes.” The words were halting awkwardly in Shepard’s throat and she couldn’t speak. She thought of Lacey and her overhearing her comments. More importantly, she thought of what Lacey would say when she ended her conversation and went back into the living room.

“You’re not very talkative. Is everything okay?” Jo asked with concern.

“Everything is...” Shepard searched her mind for the right term, one that would remain neutral to Jo and to Lacey, who she knew could hear every word that was being said.

“Well, anyway, I was thinking when you come home next week that we could take out my parents’ sailboat and maybe cruise to Catalina Island or something for a few days, just the two of us.”

Shepard stopped, thinking, then answered. “I’m not sure, let’s play it by ear and see how it goes.”

“Okay, I understand if you’re too tired from traveling. We can hang out at the beach and lounge by the pool. That would be fine, too. I can’t wait to go swimming again,” Jo huffed affectionately.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Shepard’s mind was shifting rapidly until her thoughts were mangled and confusing.

“All right, well, you’re obviously busy, so I’ll let you go. But I’ll be thinking about you, and I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too, bye,” Shepard finished.

“Bye, hon.” Jo clicked the receiver, and Shepard stood with the phone to her ear listening to the silence, then put the earpiece up to her forehead and closed her eyes. With her fingers outstretched, Shepard ran them over her dry lips in anticipation of the confrontation that was about to occur with Lacey.

“We had better get ready if we’re gonna make the train.”  Lacey stood abruptly as Shepard entered the room.

“Lacey,” Shepard called, noticing her irritation.

“It’s okay, I understand.” She didn’t. She didn’t know what to think, but whatever it was, she didn’t want anything confirmed in words.

“Lacey, I want to talk about this,” Shepard called out again, as Lacey disappeared into the bedroom.

“I don’t want to miss the train; there will be plenty of time to talk about this later,” Lacey said, dismissing her. She swung her knapsack around her back and threaded her arms through the padded shoulder straps, then pulled open the front door of the loft and looked out into the hall as she waited for Shepard. Tears formed deep in their ducts.

With a pronounced huff, Shepard grabbed her bag and filed past Lacey into the elevator.

The Rail Europe train tickets were a minimal cost at the Austerlitz station. Lacey paid for hers, had it punched, and   leaned against one of the many pillars of the depot as she waited for Shepard.  She was so angry she wanted to explode. 

As she thought of it, her eyes began to fill with tears. You’re not going to cry. You’re not going to cry, she repeated to herself. When the train doors pulled open, Lacey stepped in, walked toward the front, and sat. She didn’t look back for Shepard, though she knew she would be right behind her. Lacey turned and looked out the window, resting her arm on the ledge, as Shepard sat next to her.

“Thanks for walking off and leaving me,” Shepard said snidely.

“You’re welcome,” Lacey snapped.

“Are you gonna be upset with me for the next nine days?” Shepard asked, adjusting herself in her seat.

“Maybe.”

“It’s gonna be a long trip,” Shepard said coldly as she sat back.

They rode the seventyfive miles to Orleans in silence. Lacey glanced down at her watch anxiously every twenty minutes or so, then fumbled with the ties of her backpack until the train coasted to a squeaking halt. Hurriedly, Lacey stood and pushed past Shepard until she was out into the aisle pushing through people, eager to disembark. Shepard stood, ducking and squishing her body between everyone until she made her way directly behind Lacey.

“This is ridiculous. How long are you going to ignore me?” Shepard whispered from behind.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Lacey responded without turning around.

“I want to explain. If you’ll let me.”

“Not now!” Lacey barked sharply.

“Man, you can be difficult.” Shepard rolled her eyes brashly.

“Oh, is that what you don’t like about me? I’m difficult?” Lacey turned.

Shepard huffed under her breath. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

The line freed up in front of them, and they marched off toward the bike rental hut at the side of the main rail station.  

“Lacey!” Shepard yelled out, running up to her and taking her shoulder.

Lacey spun around until her leg gave out. Her knees buckled and she bent down.

“Shit!” Shepard exclaimed as she watched Lacey lose her balance. “Here, get on.” She walked in front of Lacey and bent down. Lacey put her knee into her cupped hand and Shepard hoisted her up, piggybacking. Bikes of every color were lined in squiggly rows in front of the shop. “Are you sure you’re gonna be able to handle this…it’s a long way, after all.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s more the pressure on my hip than movement.” Lacey was still clearly upset, but her words softened slightly as she noticed Shepard’s concern.

They collected their bikes, helmets, and a rubber pouch that had a patch kit, glue, and extra spokes tucked sparsely inside.  Lacey pulled out the map from her bag and unfolded it. She inspected the topography as she took out her compass and pointed in the direction of their first stop—the house of Joan of Arc. Lacey peddled ahead of Shepard. When they came to the brick framing the house, Lacey got off and walked alongside her bike.

“Stop for a second, will you?” Shepard said, out of breath.  “Are you trying to kill me? What’s the rush? Joan of Arc is dead; she’s not exactly standing at the drawbridge waiting for us.” She leaned her bike down to the ground and sat on the grass next to it.

Lacey got off her bike and walked back toward Shepard, dumped her bike down by the handlebars, and sat on a dilapidated granite wall nearby. “I’m eager to get this trip over with, that’s what the rush is.” She crossed her arms in front of her and looked around at the ornamental gardens and open fields, to the barns in the distance, and to the huge bails of yellow hay that were rolled in the clearing.

“Lacey, we need to talk about this,” Shepard pleaded.

“I’m too angry to talk right now. I’d wind up saying things I don’t mean.”

Shepard looked at her, wondering what those words would be, wondering how she had managed to spoil what had been between them. She thought of pressing the point, then thought that would only lead to an ending she wasn’t ready to face.

As Lacey stood and walked toward the castle, Shepard let her. She watched her gaze up in amazement at its grandeur; she watched her flip her hair from her face as the breeze blew over her high cheek bones and into her eyes. She cared about Lacey, maybe more than she wanted to and maybe more than she would ever be able to allow herself to commit to. Maybe that’s why she had made love with Jo. She watched Lacey’s silhouette disappear behind the enormous castle walls, then fell back onto the freshly clipped lawn, putting her forearms over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

Cobblestone walkways bumped rigidly against the bikes’ treadless tires as they rode toward ChambordCastle, the first stop on their second afternoon. Shepard yawned widely as her eyes drew downward warily. She’d stayed up most of the night in the noisy hotel that was packed with drunken tourists and watched Lacey sleep. Without her knowing, she had kissed her gingerly on the neck several times throughout the night. They still hadn’t talked about what had happened. Shepard had all but given up trying, and Lacey had all but given up talking to her. She hated the way it made her stomach curdle when Lacey looked at her, the way her eyes went blank and vacant when they stared at her. The way they seemed to slant downward in a disapproving scowl when they looked up and caught sight of hers.

Shepard had spent the majority of the summer warding off Lacey’s advances, taking every opportunity to draw away from her when the moments became too sexually intense. 

Now all she could think about was holding Lacey and having Lacey want her. She felt like shit, and she only had herself to blame. Why have I always done that? she wondered. Why is it when things are good, I can’t just let them be good?  Why have I spent so much time trying to push people away who cared about me? 

She knew exactly why. When Beth had died so suddenly, she had gone empty inside, the hurt had been too much. She had spent years blaming her parents for distancing themselves from her, and now she realized she was doing the same thing. She had never analyzed it until now.

They rode over several stone bridges and through the tree-lined back roads that were besieged with farmlands in every direction. Pulling off the path, Lacey got off her bike, and they strolled through the courtyards that led to ChambordCastle.  Shepard stopped and sat on a tree trunk that had fallen next to the lane that encompassed a portion of the large lawn.

“What?” Lacey said, turning back toward Shepard.

“I’ve really made a mess of things between us, haven’t I?” Shepard said, staring at the ground in front of her and nervously pulling on her shoelaces.

Lacey looked at her but didn’t speak.

“I guess maybe I’m doomed to spend my life alone. Nobody should have to put up with me,” she said, feeling sorry for herself.

“What are you talking about?” Lacey’s cold exterior started to melt as she stared at Shepard.

“I think I’m a lot of work for very little reward. That’s what I’m talking about,” Shepard went on. “Have you ever felt like you just didn’t know who you were? I mean, you have this image of yourself that’s been created in your mind and you go around thinking that’s exactly the person you are, then you suddenly find out that maybe it’s not.” Shepard’s words began to choke in her throat.

Lacey walked over and knelt next to Shepard.

“I’m sorry about everything, Lacey. I wish I could put it into other words that would help you to understand, but I can’t. I just want you to believe me when I tell you that I never meant to hurt you. You’re one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, but I’m not ready for a relationship—with anyone. I need to figure out who I am first.” She put her head into her hands and sobbed. Lacey put her arm around her back until Shepard fell into her lap.

“It’s okay,” Lacey said softly, stroking her hair as she cried.

They ended their trip early, took the mainline back to Paris, and booked a flight to the States the next afternoon. They had said little to each other. Since the day at ChambordCastle, they had had a new understanding of each other, but it had made things different and more forced between them. The lighthearted conversations had all but disappeared, instead being replaced by the polite banter one shares with a stranger.

They had talked about remaining friends, though they both knew that what had transpired between them had now placed an uncomfortable chasm between them, and as much as they would try, they both knew the effort would be futile.

When the plane finally touched down in Boston, Lacey felt the sorrow of never seeing Shepard again creep up into her neck. She coughed slightly and knew the goodbyes they were about to exchange would likely be their last.

“I...” Shepard stopped just inside the doors of the airport, somberly gazing at Lacey.

Lacey fought to keep back the tears that were about to rush over her. “I wish...” She didn’t know how to finish the statement; she’d had so many wishes for the two of them, and now with only moments separating them, she didn’t know which one she had wished for the most.

“I hope things work out for you,” Shepard said as her cheeks flushed with color.

“I hope that for you also.” Lacey couldn’t pull her eyes from Shepard. She wanted to hug her, to touch her one last time, though she knew if she had, she wouldn’t be able to let her go.

“Best of luck with your studies.” Shepard moved into Lacey, her heart pulsating inside her chest. She bent her shoulders forward, swallowing hard and holding her stare at Lacey.

Lacey agonizingly grinned and leaned in, but just as their bodies were about to touch, she stepped backed, and her stomach lifted into her throat.

Tears trailed down Shepard’s warm face. She backed away, went a few steps, then turned, buckled her backpack around her waist, and walked down the United Airlines terminal.

Lacey’s body shook; she put her hands behind her and clenched her fists harshly, holding back the emotion as she watched Shepard blend into the crowd and vanish around the corner.  She coughed, her heart throbbing wildly, falling against the wall. Criss-crossing her arms around her midsection, she sobbed.

Chapter Twentytwo

February 8, 1999

Frantically, Lacey scrambled around her bedroom, searching the mounds of clothes stacked in her closet for her missing black espadrille. It never failed—if a meeting was on her agenda for the morning, she was inevitably running late. If it wasn’t an item of clothing that had gone AWOL, it was a curling iron that failed to heat or the nub of her eyeliner that managed to break off, leaving her with lopsided lines. But on the day her calendar was clear, she made it to the office before the janitorial staff had finished sweeping the bathroom stalls.

She took her keys from the pewter bowl that sat atop the oak phone table at the base of the downstairs foyer, snatching her burgundy briefcase from the shelf where she had tossed it the night before. She darted into the garage, pressed the door’s automatic opener, and hurriedly put her Mercedes coupe into reverse before the door had fully inverted into the ceiling. She pulled out and headed onto Narcissa Drive and down the curved street toward the access gate at the bottom of the hill of her subdivision, clicked it opened, and turned out onto Palos Verdes.  She sipped coffee from a beaker, tapping her fingertips over the dashboard impatiently as the bumper-to-bumper traffic crept along the coastline, turning the fifteen-mile drive to her office in San Pedro into a forty-minute commute.

It had been only six months since her father had passed away and she had taken over Matton Import’s West Coast office. She had been thrown into the position of CEO and chairwoman in what seemed like days of her graduation from college and her return to the States. It had been his final directive, set aside and unknown to her until the day Morton Williamson, her father’s longtime attorney, had delivered the letter outlining the many requests that his last will and testament had detailed.

Matton Imports occupied an entire building near the Vincent Thomas Bridge just north of the Pacific Ocean in San Pedro  by the pier of commercial fleets that drifted in and out of the canal through Long Beach and out to sea. Her office was on the top floor, near the main boardroom and executive exercise room, and every window offered views of CabrilloBeach, Point Fermin Lighthouse, and the many cargo transport containers that peppered the ground of the Port of Los Angeles shipyard. 

As she swiped the metallic strip of her parking card into the lock until the red and white stripped arm rose, Lacey sped around the cones of the underground garage and parked in her marked stall near the elevators.  

As the hand of her watch clicked to half past eight, she unstowed her cell phone from the cigarette lighter and tossed it into her briefcase. “Hold the elevator!” she yelled out, jogging as the heel of her pumps clomped against the pavement. “Oh, thank you!” She jumped between the doors and they shut.

“Good morning, Ms. Dorshire,” the tall slender woman said. “Late for a meeting or something?”

She grinned. “That’s always the way it works.” She took a few collecting breaths, ironed the edges along the hem of her designer skirt, flattening the label of the blazer and adjusting the ivory silk blouse that was mussed underneath. “Have a good day,” she said, exiting the elevator.

“Morning, Ms. Dorshire. Dan went ahead and started the consulting meeting with Conrad & Witherspoon. He wasn’t sure if you were planning on sitting in or not,” her secretary said from behind the tall octagon counter. Lacey leaned over, taking her phone messages from the slotted box just below.

“How long have they been at it, Stacy?” she asked, unlocking the door of her office and throwing her case onto the leather lounger against one wall and twisting her gold hoop earrings anxiously.

“Not too long, a few minutes, I think,” Stacy said, tailing behind her with a steno pad as Lacey shuffled through the handwritten notes in her hand and scattered them freely where they fell over the massive polished Bubinga top of her desk.

“Great!” she said, rushing toward the conference room, Stacy close behind her. She quietly opened the door and sneaked through the tiny space, sitting toward the back of the room so as to not interrupt the discussion in progress. She listened as her assistant Dan went over the details of what they were looking for in retaining staff counsel for the company.

They had interviewed fifty or so law firms over the last few months; she had sat in and listened but contributed little to the conversation. For the most part, they were boring inquisitions where the representing partners pitched their best attributes to Dan and the panel of executives she had chosen to make the most concise choice. 

From her position behind Dan, Lacey couldn’t see around the sea of balding heads that were blocking her view of the attorneys at the far end of the conference table. Everyone sat straightly nestled into the goose-armed swivel chairs that were in close lines around the boat shape of the Queen Anne-legged New Bella.

Lacey listened for a few short moments. Stacy sat to her right with her pad and pencil braced over her stocking-covered legs. She listened to the mostly male voices, as they pitched their attributes, commencing the last round of their official ass-kissing session as she looked on.

Lacey sat back in her chair, whispering a few key points to Stacy that she had wanted her to take note of.

At the end of the hours-long meeting, Lacey stood, threw Dan a quick thumbs-up for his concise conducting of the interview, and moved about the room, introducing herself to the prospective counsel. They milled about, chatting over details and devouring the tray of assorted pastries and bagels at the center of the table.

“Good morning, Lacey. I hope you don’t mind that I went ahead with the interview in your absence,” Dan said as he approached.

“No, not at all,” she said with a smile. “I think you did a fabulous job.”

“I’d like to introduce you to Mitchell Conrad, senior partner at Conrad & Witherspoon.”

Dan fanned his hand out, taking hold of her elbow, cordially guiding her in his direction.

“Mitchell, this is our CEO, Lacey Dorshire.”

She extended her hand, gripping his. 

“I look forward to the possibility of working with your company,” he said boldly, cupping his other hand over top and squeezing. 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Lacey said, as her attention caught on a young woman who was bent down stuffing a handful of papers into a black attaché.

“Dan, I’d like to talk over a few things with you as we walk out. Do you have the time?” he questioned, stepping toward him.

“My next appointment isn’t until ten, so I have a few moments,” Dan replied, guiding him out into the hall.

Lacey stepped past them and heard Mitchell address her again with a cordial goodbye. She didn’t look back at him, her full attention was directed at the slender woman in a cream-colored Ann Taylor linen viscose suit, as she wrote a few lines of information on the legal pad. 

Her skin was glowing with a radiant tan that smoothly highlighted her delicate features. Her black scoop-neck top hit boldly against the shine of her suit coat and gave her striking eyes an ever more piercing stare. Her short blonde hair was permed, parted to one side and combed back in orderly strands over the top of her ears. She looked up at Lacey and smiled. Lacey’s heart throttled wildly inside her chest as she inhaled.

“Lacey?” the woman said calmly, setting her stuff back on the tabletop as she noticed her.

Lacey’s mouth went dry, and the hue of her face went from blush to white. “Shepard?”

“I can’t believe it’s you,” she said quickly.

“You look great,” Lacey said, her eyes riveted toward Shepard’s. Every emotion she had had so many years ago washed over her with the fury of a tidal wave.  

She rolled her shoulders back and propped her neck up sharply in an attempt to gain her composure.

“How have you been?” Shepard asked.

“I’ve been well...you?” Lacey bit the inner portion of her lip uncomfortably as she spoke.

“Good. I’m working as a clerk for Mr. Conrad. I just finished law school this past summer and now I’m clerking while I study for the bar exam.” Shepard arched forward, exaggerating the stress of such a thing.

Lacey smiled brightly, as her mind raced. She didn’t speak.

“What are you doing here? Is this your father’s company?” Shepard asked inquisitively.

“My father passed away last August. I guess you could say it’s my company now.” Lacey tried to downplay her appointment to such a high-level position, as if some sense of her was embarrassed to admit such a thing. As she looked into Shepard’s eyes and held her gaze, she suddenly felt eighteen again. Everything she had ever felt for Shepard spat at her unrestrained.

“I’m sorry to hear that. How are you handling things?” Shepard moved closer to Lacey, taking in her every word.

“It has been hard, female in a male-oriented business, that kind of thing. But I’ve tried to do my best to make the employees’ transition a smooth one. It’s been very stressful at times, but things are working their way through.” Lacey’s words fell off, and she ran her eyes cravingly over Shepard. 

She couldn’t believe the woman she had spent so many nights thinking of, dreaming of, was now right in front of her. She had matured into a remarkable woman.  

She had filled out some, her breasts seemed to have more of a perk to them than she had remembered, and her arms were even more chiseled and formed than they had been. She clearly still worked out, her calves were well-formed and taut from what Lacey thought had to have been grueling hours of weight training. Lacey glanced down at them inconspicuously as they bulged through her opaque nylons.

“Well, I know you, and if anyone can take control of things, you can.” Shepard grinned. “I’d better try and catch up with my boss before he thinks I’m goofing off on the job,” she teased. “It was nice seeing you again, Lacey.” She walked past, putting her hand on the door and twisting the handle until the tumblers clicked open.

Lacey’s insides began to smother her. Shepard slid past, her arm gingerly scraping hers, her hand sweeping the side of her suit coat, her scent lingering across the room as she cascaded through it. She had spent so many hours thinking of Shepard, wondering if she would ever see her again, and as she turned back to face her, the thought of her leaving once again ran across her mind.  “Dinner?” Lacey blurted out.

“Sorry?” Shepard turned back around.

“Dinner...” Her voice was raspy and the words barely audible. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to dinner. Talk over old times, that sort of thing.” Lacey’s palms were almost dripping of sweat as she waited the agonizing seconds for Shepard to answer. If she were to decline the offer, Lacey didn’t know what she would do.

Shepard looked at her, blinked, then responded. “Sure, dinner sounds nice.”

Lacey took a cleansing breath but didn’t allow her body to give way noticeably. “Good, tonight? Around seven?” she asked, wanting to move next to Shepard but fearing her legs would go slushy below her. She stood in one position, putting her hand on the back of the chair to keep her balance.

“Seven would be fine. Shall I meet you here? I don’t live too far away.” Shepard tucked a few loose papers under her armpit, and they fell out of her grip.

“Here will work just fine for me,” Lacey said, attempting to control her enthusiasm.

“See you then.” Shepard smiled and let the door push shut behind her.

As the afternoon rolled on, Lacey’s mood became increasingly irritated. She had become short-tempered with Stacy, barking at her over trivial issues, then apologizing moments later. It hadn’t been like her to let someone get under her skin, but Shepard’s appearance and the thought of their dinner date later had spun her emotions into a tangled ball. 

She sat behind the computer most of the day, refusing to take her calls, rescheduling what appointments she had made. As the California humidity became more thick, she had left for home to prepare for her date—if that’s what it was. She wasn’t sure what it would lead to, the only thing she was currently trying to shoulder was hope. 

Lacey left her car in the driveway, opened the stained-glass door at the entrance of her twostory contemporary as the Santa Ana winds skipped across her and into the house as she unlocked the deadbolt. She flipped off her shoes and left them where they fell on the tile near the cornice of the living room. In her stocking feet, she darted upstairs to tear through her closet for the perfect outfit, pulling out dress after dress, holding them up to her, then flipping them onto the bed until it was piled high with rejects.

“Shit, I can’t believe I’m doing this!” she huffed, removing the items in her closet one by one and discarding them.

Momentarily, she thought of wearing perhaps slacks instead of a sleeveless summer dress. A skirt would be too dressy; shorts and a T-shirt, which would have normally been her choice for any occasion away from work, were too casual. Whatever she chose had to be the perfect outfit—not too over the top, not too bright, a solid color, not too revealing, but not something that signaled she was uptight and rigid. 

They were going to a nice restaurant on the water, perhaps The Reef in Long Beach, so dress sandals were the only choice to adorn her feet. But what to wear, she pondered.

She pulled out an informal black rayon skirt, held it up, looking down at her white legs and knobby knees, then flung it onto her dresser. It would have to do. It was too late to buy something new, something that would make her feel fresh and upbeat. She took a peach cotton shirt from one of the many wood hangers and folded it on top of the skirt. She stripped off her satin slip, yanked her bra over her head without unclasping it, and jumped into the shower.

The gigantic dial of the maritime clock Lacey had hung over the wall of the entry clicked to six p.m., as she bolted from the house and drove back to her office building. The drive from Rancho Palos Verdes would take only minutes, but she wanted to be early. The truth was, she couldn’t stay pacing back and forth across her living room another minute. She had to be out and at least on her way. 

She’d be sitting in her car near the parking garage for a good fortyfive minutes in case Shepard was a bit early, which she hoped she would be. Over the course of the day, things had happened so abruptly, Lacey hadn’t had time to get over the shock of seeing Shepard, and her mind hadn’t had time to process all the emotions spiraling inside of her.

Traffic was light for a Monday evening commute along the Coast Highway. Lacey turned off and headed down the ramp to the sliding security doors of the garage and parked just outside in the only shaded spot she had noticed. She took a few relaxing breaths, fanning herself with her hand to ward off the rush of heat that had surged from the car’s engine once she had turned the car off.

She checked her watch every few minutes, until Shepard parked alongside her and got out, opening her door and climbing in.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Shepard said with a welcoming grin.

“Nope, just got here actually,” Lacey lied, but it had seemed more acceptable than admitting she arrived an hour early.

Lacey smiled at Shepard as their eyes met. She couldn’t help but notice how sexy she looked in her tailored gray slacks and white blouse. Shepard seemed taller and more pronounced than before, she walked with more assuredness and spirit in her step. She had transformed from the butch tomboy into a comely yet slightly androgynous woman. As Lacey looked at her, she was taken aback by her appearance, until she blushed to the admiring grin of this woman who now sat next to her.

“I thought we’d go to The Reef in Long Beach or maybe the Newport Landing in Newport Beach. Do you have a preference?” Lacey asked, starting the car and twisting the knob on the console until the air conditioner kicked on. If she wasn’t sweating on the outside, on the inside, she was an inferno.

“I love seafood, so either one is perfect,” Shepard said with delight.

Lacey looked admiringly at Shepard, as her consciousness caught on the word perfect. She could only hope it would be. She had no clear idea what she wanted from the evening with Shepard or what she expected. She wondered briefly if the conversation over dinner would be cheerful with spikes of laughter like they had once had together or if it would be a collage of uncomfortable ups and downs, where the chatter fell to a minimum and the night would drag on endlessly as they stared at each other across French dinner rolls and half-eaten heaps of mashed potatoes.  

They had once enjoyed each other’s company, though at the end when they had left Paris, they had been become virtual strangers. 

The nip of the night’s salty wind bit at Lacey’s naked legs as the valet pulled open her car door and she swung them out into the air of the parking lot. Shepard followed close behind as they walked from the deck into the restaurant’s crowded lobby.

“Dorshire for two,” Lacey said as she neared the podium and the hostess perched behind it. She had made reservations at both restaurants to be on the safe side.

“Right this way,” she directed, holding the menus out to lead them to their table.

“I thought the America’s Cup dining room would be nice and cozy,” Lacey said, as they neared the slotted doors that looked out over the marina and the docked sailboats whose protruding masts shot into the night sky like fireworks at a Fourth of July picnic. Shepard walked behind Lacey, taking the seat back from the hostess and nudging it up gently behind Lacey’s calves as she pressed her skirt up, tucking down around her at she sat. She looked adoringly at Shepard for the kind gesture.

Thickets of people powdered the cramped quarters of the dining room, and waiters and waitresses carted the customary serving trays high to their palms, as Shepard put her hands into her lap and glanced down at the lines of blurring font that sprinkled the menu.

“I thought we’d start with a bottle of Merlot to toast the occasion. I know you’re not much of a drinker…” As the words came out, Lacey looked down with uncertainty. The truth was, she didn’t know if Shepard was or not, she hadn’t been during their high school years. She had been the one who had chewed her out several times for her indulgence. Maybe she had changed. Lacey looked toward her unsure. “At least you weren’t much of a drinker.” The statement had been more of a question than anything else, but as the sentence spilled from her mouth, she thought it sounded condescending. “What I mean is...” She fidgeted uneasily with her napkin.

“I know what you mean,” Shepard said with a smirk. “A bottle of wine is fine.” She patted Lacey’s hand with hers. “It’s okay, Lacey, relax, we’re just two old friends having dinner together.”

“I’m relaxed! What would make you think I wasn’t?” If she had had any doubt before, this time she was certain her tone was more firm than the situation warranted. “I’m...” Whatever she had wanted to say had been lost between her brain and the auditory skills it took to present it.

As Shepard looked down, Lacey tried urgently to collect herself. Everything inside of her felt like it was being pureed on the high setting of a blender. Her mind felt like flour once it had been sifted through a strainer until it was the consistency of dust, and she struggled to form a concise thought as she glanced at Shepard and thought of the past.

“You just seem a bit...out of sorts, I guess you would say.” Shepard sipped from the beaker of water in front of her, as she tried to cool her own rising emotions. She hadn’t realized until they sat down how much she had missed Lacey. How many times she had thought of her over the years. How many times she had picked up the phone and dialed her mother’s number, hanging up just as someone had answered.

 She’d spent her years focused on her studies. She’d tested the waters with Jo and found they were better suited as friends than lovers. But as much as she had yearned for Lacey, even now it seemed unfair to expect her forgiveness. She had been young, they had both been, and for a time, that excuse had allowed her to suppress the memories. She convinced herself that Lacey had to have been better off without her, without her unsettled psychosis toward commitment and to one woman in general. As she eyed Lacey’s attractive profile and thought of her success, she knew she had been right.

“I guess it’s just that I’m still in shock over running into you the way I did. It’s so coincidental, don’t you think?”

“It was pretty jolting, that’s for sure.” Shepard smiled. 

When the bottle of vintage wine was uncorked and placed on the tablecloth, Lacey raised her glass by the stem and toasted, “To old friends!” She clanked the rim of the crystal to Shepard’s.

With the remains of her broiled swordfish at the corner of her dinner plate, Lacey set it to one side. Shepard scooped the last few bites of her king salmon into her mouth, just as the waiter cleared the dishes. The evening had wound on smoothly. They reminisced about their senior year, talked of college life, and laughed over the silly situations that had ruled their final year of adolescence. 

They had stayed clear of any references to their prior relationship, almost as if it were taboo and poison to speak of. But as much as they had tried to deny it, as much as they had attempted skipping around it, that portion of their past sat before them at the center of the table like the Greek statue of Sappho draped in Durastone. They had cleverly moved their heads and peeked around it, but it was still there and they both knew it.

“Thank you, ladies,” the towering waiter said as he laid the bill to the center of them.

Lacey reached out to grab it, meeting Shepard’s hand on the small tip tray as she put her hand on the edge of the receipt.

“I’ll get it,” Shepard said quickly, scrambling for the money that was loosely bundled in the front pocket of her slacks.

“Let me. I invited you, remember.” Lacey took the tab and pulled out a credit card from the wallet of her clutch purse.

“I didn’t expect you to pay,” Shepard argued.

“I know, but I’d like to.” Lacey held her stare into Shepard’s. “Please,” she pleaded, until Shepard folded her money and placed it back down to her side.

“Okay, thank you,” Shepard said humbly.

As the seams of the small dining room began to bulge with people and the mumbles and hushed whispers roared into intoxicated laughs, they stood and squished their way to the front door and out onto the awning patio around the planked marina. The sun had set and the horizon lit with an amber glow that streaked across into a line of sapphire. The tall metal masts of the boats clanked and the hulls pushed into a sway near the edges of the many slits. 

The evening was cool enough for a windbreaker or sweater, and Lacey’s legs prickled to the sudden surge of wind as they walked toward a small inlet that jetted out from the concrete breaker wall.

Lacey held back the urge that was raging over her to take Shepard’s hand. She wanted to hold it, have it wedged against hers until she could feel the heat of her palm. It seemed the evening had only begun, and now as the moon dipped high into the sky, it was over. Whatever she had wanted to happen didn’t. She had wanted Shepard to be absorbed by her, so much so that the thought of ever letting her go wrinkled into deep lines across her face, but she hadn’t. They stopped near the railing that lined the edge in front of them and looked out over the canal.

“Thanks again for dinner, Lacey. I had a good time,” Shepard said, breaking the silence.

“I’m glad,” Lacey paused. “It’s comforting to know that you’re doing okay with your life.” She paused again and sighed. “I’ve wondered about you over the years, how you’re doing, that is.” She had wanted to tell her she had thought of her every day, every time she saw couples walking hand in hand and indulging in all the activities bestowed on lovers.

“I’ve thought of you, too,” Shepard said, turning and catching her attention.

You have? Lacey thought. What have you thought about me? Have you missed me? The questions began to stalk Lacey with a livid potency, as she gazed blankly toward her.

“I wished things had turned out different between us,” Shepard said, taking Lacey’s hand into hers. 

Lacey’s heart lurched at the sudden touch. So many times in their youth, Shepard’s touch had caused her clitoris to seep with wetness, and this time so many years later had been no exception. When the inside of Shepard’s palm delicately clung to hers, as her fingers wrapped and traced the back of her hand, she shivered and her toes dug into the padding of her sandals.

“If I were a different person back then, more of the person I’ve become over the years,” Shepard swallowed. “Maybe I would’ve realized how special you were and how much allowing you to get away had been a mistake.”

Lacey held her breath in her chest until it screamed inside of her. She gently stroked her thumb over Shepard’s wrist, petting it. She wanted to tell Shepard how much she had yearned for her, how much she ached to hear her voice or smell her scent, but she was held to the moment and couldn’t speak.

“I guess those are the lessons we are meant to learn when we’re young, huh?” Shepard smirked uncomfortably at her honesty.

“Maybe it’s fate,” Lacey said, lowering her eyes until they were endearingly molded to Shepard’s.

“I think I just regret not being the woman with you that I am now with Samantha.”

Every ounce of hue sank from Lacey’s face and spilled onto the dock below her. She looked down at Shepard’s left hand that was intertwined into hers and noticed the thin gold band adorning her ring finger. Suddenly, that mustard seed of hope that she had been clinging to dissolved right before her eyes. Shepard was with someone, in a relationship, committed enough that she wore a ring to symbolize it. 

“I...”  Lacey had wanted to tell Shepard that she loved her, that she always had, and that their years apart had never cooled the passion she felt for her. But she was spoken for, a partner, a lover, and not hers but someone else’s. Perhaps the same woman who had come between them that summer in France, perhaps a college friend or coworker. Whoever she was, she had Shepard’s heart and she didn’t.

“I hope my being here, my agreeing to dinner didn’t lead you on in any way,” Shepard said, turning toward her and taking her other hand.

Lacey wanted to sink into the ocean and never be seen again. The pain that was taking over her every muscle was almost paralyzing. She took another deep breath. “You haven’t led me on at all. I don’t know what I was hoping for. To be very honest, I wish you were single…maybe it would make the words I need to say to you easier to speak and to hear. And I want you to know I’m not saying any of this to try and change anything. It’s really more out of my own selfish need to tell you what I wanted to so many years ago.”

Shepard moved closer, tilting her head inquiringly.

“When we parted in the airport that day, when you moved to hug me, and I backed away…that was partially because I was hurt and partially because I wanted to say so many things to you and knew I wouldn’t be able to.”

“There were things I wanted to say also.” 

 “I just wanted you to know how I felt about you…that I cared about you.” She had wanted to say that she had loved her, but now…at this moment, the word seemed inappropriate. “And…” she wanted to say the word. “And…I wish things had turned out differently between us, too,” she finished.

Shepard let Lacey’s hand fall, then cupped her face between her opened hands. Lacey couldn’t catch her breath; everything spun around, and she felt as if she were going to faint. Shepard leaned toward her, as Lacey’s body went limp in her grasp. Her vagina surged with emotion as she put her lips softly to Lacey’s. A single tear slid down her cheek as Shepard’s lips touched hers and parted. It took everything Lacey could muster to let her go, to let her other hand drop, and their breath warm and pining moved from each other. Lacey held her eyes to Shepard’s until they stung, and like her touch, she had to allow them to pull away.

Chapter Twentythree

August 14, 2004

Mariah picked up the receiver, saying politely, “Matton Imports, Lacey Dorshire’s office. How may I help you?”

“Lacey please, Brad Northrup calling,” the voice on the other end of the line said.

“I’m sorry; Ms. Dorshire is out of the office. Can I take a message for her?” She picked up a pencil and readied it over the notepad.

“When will she be returning?”

“She won’t be back in the office until the week of the twentyseventh,” she conveyed without shifting her tone.

“Well, there are problems with a shipping manifest we received over here at Long Beach Freight. Is there someone else I can speak with?” he asked.

“One moment, I’ll transfer you to Maxwell Rafter, he is Ms. Dorshire’s assistant, and I’m sure he’ll be able to help you.” 

 “Honey, are you about ready? If we don’t get on the road, we’ll never make it to Placerville by tomorrow.” Lacey put her backpack and camping gear into a tidy pile by the door.

“I can’t find my other pair of Tevas. The only pair in the closet is the one Laser ate through when he was a puppy,” Stephanie called out from above the banister.

“I bought you a brand new pair, they’re in a box in that sack on the top shelf of the closet,” Lacey directed.

“Thanks, I found them.” Stephanie stuffed them into the side pocket of her duffle bag.

“Be good girls, you two, no fighting!” Lacey ran her palm over the mane of Laser, a tall black Labrador that towered over Cashmere, a short-hair Pomeranian, as she wagged her tail in agreement. “And don’t tear anything up,” she teased, smiling as Laser barked.

Lacey took the bags from the foyer and stacked them into the back of the Land Cruiser. She coiled the garden hose into a circle near the planter of marigolds, looking around at the house, then got into the passenger seat.

Stephanie’s cell phone rang as she put the keys into the ignition, starting it. “Hello?” she said.

“Stephanie? This is Roger,” the male voice said in a low tone.

“Hi, Roger. What’s going on?”

“I just wanted to let you know we found the Williamson deposition.”

Stephanie sighed with relief. “That’s great. I was getting stressed that I had left it out and someone picked it up. That’s all I need.” She smiled. “Caulfield would love that.”

“Nope, we found it under a stack of briefs in the law library. So it’s back on your desk.”

“Thanks, Roger, you covered my ass on this one.”

“We also wanted to tell you to have a nice vacation, and you two try not to get too burned.” He chuckled.

“Thanks again.”

“Are you gonna turn that thing off now?” Lacey nuzzled close to her, and Stephanie put her arm to Lacey’s neck, kissing her gently on the forehead.

“I’m turning it off.” Stephanie clicked the raised button until the LCD went dim. She folded it and placed it into the glove box.

They drove north along the Pacific Ocean, merging from the Harbor Freeway and up the coast to 101. The summer was seething with a humid sticky air, which hugged the coastline, below the dwarf of the rising cliffs of the Santa Ynez Mountains.

Lacey put her hand under the gap in Stephanie’s shorts.

Stephanie grinned. “Honey, I’m driving.” Her protest was halfhearted.

“Well, we could pull over when we get to MorroBay, walk down to the beach, and fool around under our beach towels.” Lacey leaned in, taking a nip of Stephanie’s ear, as her cell rang from the pocket behind the seat. She huffed at the disturbance.

“Uh-huh!” Stephanie said, grinning at her.

“I thought I turned it off, honey, really I did.” Lacey smirked, reaching behind the seat and pulling it out. She looked at the caller ID and flipped open the cover. “Hello? Hi there, sweet puss, how is mom’s little girl?” Lacey asked, beaming proudly.

“I’m fine, Mommy; Grandma said I could call you one time and tell you I love you. I lub you,” she said sweetly.

“Well, I love you, too, my little angel. Are you and Grandma having fun?” Lacey asked.

“Yes, she’s teaching me how to take pictures,” she said excitedly. 

“Pictures huh? Well, that sounds fun. I love you, Brittany, I hope you enjoy your week with Grandma, and I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

Lacey held the phone to Stephanie’s ear as she drove. “Hi, sweat pea, how’s my girl?” Stephanie asked.

“Good, Mom, I lub you,” she said quickly.

“I love you, too, my baby, and I miss you already. Be good for your grandma, and I’ll see you at the end of the week....okay, Britt?” Her voice brought tears to Stephanie’s eyes.

“Okay...bye bye.” Brittany dropped the phone.

Stephanie smiled broadly.

“Lacey? Are you still there?” a voice on the other end said.

“Yes, Mom, I’m here.”

“I was thinking of taking Brittany to the mall and buying her some new shoes. She saw some dress shoes on display yesterday when we were window shopping. She really wanted them, but I figured I better check with you first.”

Lacey laughed. “She loves those dress shoes. I think it would be okay, the pair she has is getting a bit worn anyway. Try not to give her too much candy, though, okay?”

“I won’t, darling. Have fun on your rafting trip,” Mrs. Dorshire concluded. “I love you, give Stephanie a hug.”

“I will and I love you, too, Mom.” Lacey turned the phone off and threw it into the backseat. “Now...where was I?” She put her fingers over Stephanie’s thigh, stroking it.

“Stop that! You know that drives me crazy.”

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Lacey teased.

“I don’t know if I can wait until we get to MorroBay, it’s getting pretty warm in here.” Stephanie unbuttoned the top of her polo shirt.

Lacey laughed at her discomfort.

“It’s not funny. I think I’m gonna explode here.” Stephanie raised the edges of her mouth, adjusting the knob of the radio, then the air conditioner until it snapped into high.

Lacey feathered her fingers back and forth down her leg.

“I’m serious, Lacey, I can’t stand it.” Stephanie grinned. “Oh,” she moaned as Lacey fingers moved upward. “Oh, yeah.” Her body rocked toward the steering wheel. “Ah.”

Lacey moved her finger under Stephanie’s panties, tugging on her pubic hair.

“Oh, honey...God! You’re making me so wet I can’t....” The words clotted in her throat.

“Can’t what, baby?” Lacey joked, massaging her finger over the top of her panties.

“Oh, yes, baby.” The fire rose from her toes into her belly.  “Oh, I can’t wait. Touch me, baby...touch me.” She swallowed as her cheeks turned red.

“I love it when you beg for it.” Lacey smiled a deceitful grin, moving her fingers underneath and tickling Stephanie’s clitoris.

“Ahh....” Stephanie surged with passion. “Yeah, right there. Harder, baby...harder. Oh, you’re gonna make me come...yes.”  Her body convulsed as she spurted with wetness. 

“Oh, my God. That wasn’t funny.” She giggled. “But I know you’re wet now, so I can’t wait to torture you for the next hundred miles.” 

“You have to pull over,” Lacey pleaded.

“Nope, you’ll have to wait.” Stephanie sneered.

“Oh, that is just cruel, Shepard, and you know it,” Lacey smiled, putting her head on her shoulder.

About the author

A Southern California native, Katie grew up at the base of the San Gabriel Mountains, where the bleak brown hills ultimately fostered her colorful imagination for storytelling.

Katie began writing short stories and poetry as a teenager.  In her mid-twenties, she picked up her first lesbian romance— Curious Wine by Katherine V. Forrest—and instantly realized her passion for the genre.

In 1993, she began her first attempt as a novelist with a completed, yet still unpublished manuscript An Unexpected Turn. Even though the novel may never see publication, she credits the process of writing it and the experience itself for inspiring her to begin formulating Southern Heart.

In December 2003, she received the Editor’s Choice Award for her poem My Path, and in February 2005, she won the same award for another poem Over My Shoulder.

Currently, she is putting the final touches on her third novel The Scent of Spring. Katie lives in Seattle, Washington, with the love of her life, Kelly.

For more information on Katie and her works, visit her Web site at www.katiepmoore.com.