McCall

by Patricia Evans Jordan

  “What are you writing?”

  She looked down, tapping the pen on her page. “Nothing.”

  “Lily,” Sam said, “Don’t think for a second I believe that. I know you’re a writer, a good one. You shouldn’t be wasting your time at Lake Patrol.”

  Lily got up and walked into the kitchen, popping the top from a Corona and handing it to Sam, who put it on the windowsill behind her and guided Lily over to the sofa beside the fire. She sat and pulled Lily onto her lap, knees on either side of Sam’s hips, facing her. Her hands followed her thighs up to her bare ass, and she wrapped it in her hands, pulling Lily’s mouth down to hers. She kissed her, drawing her tighter against her body, the warmth between her thighs pressed into Sam’s shirt. Lily pulled at Sam’s belt, then unbuttoned the top button of her uniform pants. Sam looked at her and tightened her grip on Lily’s ass.

  “Did you ask permission to do that?”

  She smiled and shook her head. Sam opened her shirt, one button at a time, then slid her hands up her back until Lily arched and Sam pulled her nipple into her mouth. She circled it with her tongue, then scraped it lightly with her teeth until Lily groaned.

  “God,” Lily said, leaning back and smoothing the hair out of her face. “You always make me so wet.”

  Sam circled her nipple with her thumb. “Show me.”

  Lily touched herself, then put her slick fingertips in Sam’s mouth. Sam stroked them with her tongue, holding Lily’s eyes as her hands slid up her legs, then into the wetness that was dripping onto Sam’s thighs. She held her still with one hand on her waist, running the thumb of her other hand over Lily’s swollen clit.

  “Are you sure you want this?”

  “Goddammit, Draper,” Lily said, breathless. “I’m going to die if you don’t make me come.”

  Sam slid three fingers inside her. Lily leaned her head back and moved her hips against Sam’s hand, her clit slick and hot under Sam’s thumb. She gripped Sam’s shoulders and circled her hips, her breath a hard whisper, begging her not to stop. Sam curved her fingers to slowly stroke the spot inside her that always sent her over the edge and Lily’s breath caught. A few seconds later, she bit down on Sam’s shoulder as her orgasm shook her, a rush of warmth soaking through Sam’s clothes to her skin.

  She stayed where she was after, her thighs against Sam’s, her bare breasts flushed and damp. Sam waited until Lily’s breath slowed, until she relaxed against her and laid her head on Sam’s shoulder, before she picked her up and laid her back down on the couch. She pulled a down throw from the couch to cover her and threw another log on the fire before she left, closing the screen door gently behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  A few days later, Sara changed into faded denim shorts and a white T-shirt and unloaded her bags from the car. She’d stopped by the farmer’s market at the park after she’d left the diner and picked out some bright red and gold heirloom tomatoes, shallots, fresh celery, and a baguette. The tomatoes were perfectly in season, still warm from the sun, and she washed the celery and set them out to dry. She heard Sam’s car come down the drive but waited until she knocked to go to the door.

  “Ready?” Sam said when she opened the door.

  She must have come from work; she was still in navy cargo shorts and a white polo embroidered with the Lake Patrol logo. Her light blue eyes looked even lighter against her tan, and even with her hands in her pockets, the muscles in her arms and broad shoulders were tight and defined.

  “Ready for what?” Sara raised an eyebrow.

  Sam silently reminded herself that Sara was straight. Clearly straight.

  Sara smiled and opened the door. “I’m just teasing; I’m ready, let me just throw on a swimsuit.”

  Sam looked around. The last time she’d been here was on a fishing trip with Mary’s husband, and there’d been bloody fish heads piled on the table and cases of beer stacked by the back door. She ran her hand across the back of the leather sofa just as Sara came back down the hall. She looked into the kitchen and paused.

  “Would you mind if I chop those tomatoes before we go? I need to toss them in the marinade before it gets too late.”

  “Not at all, take your time.”

  She chopped the tomatoes and celery at what seemed to Sam like lightning speed, then dumped the pile into a glass bowl. She added balsamic and oil, and rubbed some fresh herbs between her hands before she added them to the mix.

  “What did you just put in?” Sam walked over and peered into the bowl.

  “It’s just basil. I need it to be pretty strong to balance the tomatoes this late in the season, so I rub it to release the oils before I mix it in.”

  She washed her hands and they headed down to the dock, Sara pulling the door shut behind her. The sun warmed the back of her neck, and the water shimmered in a broken reflection of the green spruce trees that lined the edges of the water. Sam took off her shoes as they walked down the dock.

  “Okay,” she said, settling into the passenger’s seat. “Let’s see what you remember.”

  Sara started the boat, the rumble of the engine vibrating under her bare feet, and put her hand on the throttle.

  “Close your eyes,” Sam said.

  Sara was confused. Why was she telling her to close her eyes while she drove a boat?

  “You can’t rely on your eyes. Feel what the water’s doing around you, then you can open them once you start moving.”

  Sara closed her eyes and touched the knob with her fingertips, pulling backward slightly with the current. Then she looked behind her and instantly overcorrected, sending the rear of the boat almost into the dock.

  Sam grabbed the edge just in time. “That was great,” she said, “It’s a hell of a lot harder when you’re not in open water.”

  Once she got safely out of the slip, Sara accelerated in the direction of the cove. When they got there, she tried to turn the wheel parallel to the shore like she’d seen Sam do yesterday, but ended up spinning the boat into a slow circle.

  Sam leaned over Sara and cut the engine.

  “Okay,” she said, her hand still on the keys, “Think of the wheel like it’s your boyfriend’s face. Don’t touch it any harder than you would a person.”

  Sara tried not to smile.

  “What?” Sam shaded her eyes with her hand and wondered where the hell she’d put her sunglasses.

  “You’re assuming I’m straight.”

  She finally spotted them behind Sara on the seat and leaned over her to grab them and slide them onto her face. “Well, you don’t exactly look—”

  Sara rolled her eyes. “I swear to God, if one more person tells me I don’t ‘look gay’, I’m going to lose my mind.”

  “You don’t look gay.” Sam couldn’t resist. It was too easy.

  “Okay, Draper,” she said, pulling her hair into a quick ponytail, “You’re going in for that.”

  Sara’s plan was to push her over the side of the boat into the water, but Sam easily grabbed her wrists and held them together at the small of her back. She waited a second, holding Sara’s body against hers, then loosened her hold slowly. Sara looked up at her, then stood on tiptoe and slid her hands over Sam’s shoulders, brushing her lips with her tongue, so lightly Sam wasn’t sure she’d felt it. Then she kissed her, melting into the hard lines of Sam’s body, until Sam let out a low growl and pulled her hips closer.

  “You can’t rely on your eyes,” Sara whispered as she drew away, her breath warm against Sam’s ear.

  “Jesus Christ.” Sam looked up to the sky. “Point taken.”

  ****

  The sun was setting when they finally got back to the dock; Sam had insisted Sara stay on her side of the boat for the rest of the lesson, only half-joking, until they pulled into the slip and she offered her hand to help Sara onto the dock. As they walked toward the cabin, Sara turned to Sam.

  “Feel like grilling some bread for me?”

  Sam stopped on the steps of the back deck and looked at Sara.
Her blonde hair was wild and tangled from the wind in the boat, and she was starting to get a little tan on the tops of her cheeks.

  “I guess I owe you that much,” Sam said, opening the door for her.

  “Good,” she said, “I’m going to take a quick shower and try to untangle this hair. The charcoal and lighter are on the deck.”

  “How do you not have a gas grill?”

  “What can I say,” Sara said over her shoulder, pulling her shirt over her head as she disappeared through the door, “I’m an old school lesbian.”

  Sam shook her head and poured the charcoal into the grill. That little stunt was impressive; even she had to admit the girl had some game.

  Sara was back just as the coals were ready, and she let the screen door slap shut behind her as she handed Sam a beer. She wore a simple white T-shirt dress, with only a touch of makeup and bare feet.

  “Basic Sam Adams?” Sam said, holding up the bottle. “I half expected some kind of fruity craft beer with a pineapple slice hanging out of it.”

  Sara raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Well, if you need another lesson on faulty expectations, we can go right back down to the boat.”

  Inside, Sara cut thick slices of halloumi cheese and baguette, placing them on a large platter with onion wedges and deseeded Serrano peppers. She drizzled everything with olive oil then seasoned it with salt and pepper, and tucked a beer for herself under her arm so she had a hand free to open the door.

  “What goes on first?” Sam said, looking at her with her spatula already raised.

  “The bread, probably, then the onions and peppers. Cheese last.”

  “You’re doing the cheese, Chef,” Sam said. “Bread and vegetables I can handle, but I have no idea what that even is, much less how to cook it.”

  “Deal.” Sara smiled, leaning back in her chair and propping her feet up on the porch rail. “Damn.” She looked back toward the door. “I forgot a bottle opener.”

  She started to get up but Sam took the bottle, pried the top off with her hand, and handed it back to Sara.

  “Why the shocked look?” Sam said with a wink. “I do have skills outside a boat, you know.”

  Sara’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away. That’s not hard to imagine, she thought.

  ****

  Later, as the sun set over the lake and the emerging bats wove an invisible pattern above their heads, they sat down to eat, listening to the wind move through the trees. Sara took a split clove of raw garlic and rubbed it across the rough surface of the grilled bread, then piled it high with the marinated tomatoes, basil, and raw mozzarella.

  Sara laughed when Sam ate the first slice in three bites.

  “That’s seriously good,” Sam said, obviously surprised, as Sara handed her another slice.

  “What’s in it?”

  “Nothing fancy, just the tomatoes, balsamic, herbs, and olive oil,” she said. “What do you usually eat at home?”

  Sam thought, then slid the serving platter closer to her. “Nothing I don’t have to unwrap.”

  “Hey,” Sara said, sliding a slice of grilled haloumi onto her plate, “I was at Camp Montauk for several summers as a kid. Did you ever go to camp there?

  Sam opened another beer for both of them.

  “I was a camper there for years, then worked there after graduation until I was twenty-one.”

  “That’s how long ago?” Sara asked. “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty years ago, I’m forty-one.”

  “Why did you quit?” Sara said, rubbing another slice of bread with garlic, then loading it up with the tomatoes and herbs. “Is that when you decided to join the police force?”

  “I did join the force right after that,” said Sam, “But I didn’t want to leave Montauk; I was thinking about a career as a camp director. I loved it.”

  Sara paused and looked over at Sam. “They let you go? For some reason I have a hard time picturing that.”

  Sam paused. “I was fucking the director’s daughter.”

  “Yep,” Sara said, “That’ll do it.”

  “Unfortunately,” Sam said. “That was the year they’d installed a new security system with literally hundreds of cameras all over the grounds.” Sam looked out over the trees, the tops swaying in the evening breeze coming off the lake. “We were the same age, it shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it was. It was huge.”

  “What happened?” Sara pushed her plate away and sat back in her chair.

  “The director called me into his office and started the video. No warning.”

  “Jesus.”

  “It was clearly me and Kiera, his daughter. We’d been putting lifejackets away in the boathouse, and it started outside where the cameras were. Thankfully we still had most of our clothes on in the video, or at least we did at that point.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Well,” Sam said, “Then I took her inside and unbuttoned her—”

  Sara smacked her arm. “I meant what happened with the director, you perv.”

  “He fired me and told me he’d already sent a copy to my dad at the station. I hadn’t even come out to him yet.”

  Sara shook her head, her eyes wide. “What did he say?”

  “I didn’t know how to talk to him about it.” She peeled the label from her beer then downed the rest of it and set it back down on the table. “We were eating dinner that night and I just told him I’d gotten fired that day. I remember being so scared that I couldn’t eat; I was worried he’d be so angry he’d disown me, or just never want to see me again.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he and Mom had always known I was gay, and he asked if he could have the rest of my ravioli.”

  “And that was it?”

  “That was it. We talked about it again a few years ago and he said he was so angry with the camp director for invading my privacy that he never spoke to him again. They’d been friends since college.”

  “Wow,” Sara said, looking out at the lake. ”I wish I could have gotten your dad to talk to my mom when I came out.” She flashed Sam a tense smile. “It wasn’t that bad, though. I lived.”

  Sara gathered the plates and took them to the kitchen. She’d put everything away as she prepped dinner so the kitchen was clean except for the dishes, and Sam stepped up to the sink and started the hot water.

  “No way!” Sara said. “I can’t let you do the dishes.”

  “Too late,” Sam said, passing her the first plate to dry and put away. “Now tell me what happened when you came out.”

  “There’s no story, really,” Sara said. “I was twenty-one and had just finished culinary school. My sister, Jennifer, was still in high school, so I wanted to come out to my mom first.”

  Sam passed her the serving platter. “So how did you do it?”

  “I didn’t have a plan. I just walked into her room and said it. She didn’t say anything, just slapped me across the face and refused to come out of her room for three days. Later, Jennifer said she’d told her she was ashamed to have me as a daughter.”

  “I can’t imagine what that was like,” Sam said, turning to face her.

  “It’s okay,” Sara said. “I moved to Savannah after that and my parents bought me the building where I started my restaurant. I didn’t understand until later that it was their way of paying me off to stay out of Memphis.” She twisted the damp dishtowel around her hand. “I haven’t been home since.”

  Sara put away the last dish and Sam pulled her into her arms. Sara felt fragile, more delicate than she expected. She didn’t want to let her go, but if she didn’t leave now she wouldn’t leave.

  “Same time tomorrow?”

  Sara smiled. “Only if you’re not carrying lifejackets.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next night Sam got called out on an emergency, so by the time she got to Sara’s dock, they only had about an hour of daylight left. It was enough to work with, though, so Sam went through the technical name
s for the individual parts of the boat and the minor mechanical repairs she knew would be on the test. They pulled back into the slip with just enough daylight to be able to cover the boat and tie it off without a flashlight.

  “Let’s be real here,” Sara said, starting up the dock. “I think I’ve already demonstrated my boating prowess when it comes to the mechanics the first time we met, so we both know if something goes wrong, I’m not exactly going to flip up the engine cover and start tinkering with the engine. I’m going to call you.”

  Sam laughed, picturing Sara’s blond head leaning over the whirring engine parts, picking parts at random to remove and toss into the lake.

  “Actually, maybe you should just call me,” she said, “But the parts of the boat will be on the test, so as much as I’d like to be your beck-and-call butch, you may want to look over the diagram I drew for you before you take it.”

  Sara climbed the deck stairs and looked over at Sam. “Beck-and-call butch,” she said, tilting her head and considering the words. “If I get you a shirt with that on it, will you wear it next time you have to come rescue me?”

  “Not a chance!” Sam snapped her with a towel as she opened the back door to the cabin for Sara, then stopped short.

  A blonde woman sat at Sara’s table with an almost empty glass of chardonnay in front of her. Perfect makeup, matching cigarette pants and polo shirt, with her blonde hair pulled into a bun. She looked like she’d walked right out of a magazine. She also looked like she needed a sandwich.

  “Thank Christ you’re here,” she said, in a soft southern drawl that exactly matched Sara’s. “I was starting the think I was in someone else’s house.”

  “Jennifer!” Sara rushed over and pulled her into a hug. “How the hell did you find me? I haven’t even had a chance to give you my address yet!”

  The two women hugged tight and long, then Sara stepped back.

  “Wait,” she said, holding Jennifer at arm’s length by her shoulders, “Why are you here?”

  Jennifer looked past Sara to Sam and extended her hand. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Jennifer, Sara’s sister.”