by Elena Graf
“No.”
“Is there something I should be doing?” asked Lucy.
“Nothing I can think of…except pray.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in prayer.”
“If this develops as Liz envisions, we’ll all need to believe in prayer.”
After that, they sat in moody silence until Lucy switched on the television to watch the ten o’clock news. There was brief mention of the virus in China. Clearly, it was still something “over there.”
Erika nudged a sleepy Lucy awake after the weather report. “Come, love. Time for bed.” They supported one another up the stairs. Lucy put on her nightgown, less fancy now that they were married, and seduction happened more naturally. Erika put on her lounge pants and Tee. They brushed their teeth side-by-side in the refurbished bathroom. The familiarity of the evening ritual was comforting.
Lucy was asleep before Erika switched off her bedside lamp. Or so it seemed. Erika leaned over to kiss her temple. “Good night, love,” she said.
Lucy turned her face up for a kiss, which quickly became more than a good night gesture. She raised her nightgown and moved Erika’s hand between her legs, where it was hot and wet.
“I thought you were asleep,” Erika murmured into Lucy’s ear.
“Almost. I always sleep better after we make love”
“Oh, my Lucy…” Erika moved closer. “I adore you,” she whispered as she gently slipped her fingers inside her.
Chapter Six
Maggie Fitzgerald awoke in the pitch dark and realized she was alone in bed. Even though the king-sized bed was enormous, and the super-firm memory foam never transmitted any movement, she always instantly knew when Liz wasn’t there. It was the quality of the air in the room and the sound. It was different when Liz was gone.
Maggie glanced at the clock. The white digital letters read 3:35. That was the usual time when Liz’s sleep was interrupted, and she got up to roam the house. It was so precise, almost as if she set an alarm. Sometimes, she went into Maggie’s office to read, but tonight, the office was dark.
Maggie put up her long hair with a claw clip and grabbed her robe from the chair. As she pulled her arms into the sleeves, she called down the stairs, “Liz!”
No answer.
Maggie went downstairs to the second floor. Occasionally, Liz slept in one of the guestrooms if the snoring was really loud, but all the rooms were empty. There were two other possibilities. Liz could be watching a movie in the media room or working in her office. The media room was dark, so Maggie headed down the hall to the office. She could hear Liz’s voice as she approached. She knocked on the office door and poked her head in. “Liz! What in God’s name are you doing?”
“I’m talking to Erika’s father.” Liz turned the laptop in Maggie’s direction. “Maggie just came in.”
Maggie stared at the smiling, ancient face of Erika’s father. “Good evening, Maggie,” said Stefan Bultmann with a courtly nod. “That’s a very nice nightgown.”
Maggie modestly clutched her robe closer.
“Hey, watch it, Stefan. That’s my wife you’re talking to,” Liz warned in a playful voice.
“Don’t worry, Elizabeth, she’s much too young for me.”
“I don’t know, Stefan. You’re such a ladies’ man. Is anyone off limits?”
The sound of a rich baritone laugh filled the room.
Maggie sat down in the chair next to Liz’s desk. “What are you two doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Let’s see,” said Stefan, glancing up to see the time on the corner of his screen. “It is 3:47 to be exact.”
“We are modeling potential covid-19 infection rates in Hobbs,” explained Liz, pointing to a spread sheet. “We’re extrapolating from the Chinese and European data. Of course, it depends on the point of origin and the virulence of the strain. And projecting for a population of less than ten thousand people is highly speculative.”
Maggie gave Liz a hard look. “And you’re doing this in the middle of the night? How are you going to get up for work tomorrow?”
Liz shrugged. “I always do, don’t I?”
“It’s my fault, Maggie,” said Stefan, his German accent still strong after years of living in America. “I saw Liz on Facebook, and I messaged her.” Stefan’s pale blue eyes looked contrite.
Liz came to his defense. “We were chatting about the data, and I figured I have a math professor at my disposal, so why not try to model it?”
Maggie glared at Liz, trying to look as disapproving as possible. Liz quickly turned the laptop around, so the camera lens was out of Stefan’s view.
“I think my wife would like me to go back to bed,” she explained to the screen.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Stefan’s voice replied. “Good night, Elizabeth. Or should I say, Good morning?”
“Technically, yes.”
“Then go to bed. I will talk to you later. Sleep well, my dear.”
Liz closed her laptop and smiled at Maggie.
“Don’t give me that innocent look, Liz Stolz. You’re crazy. Messaging with a man in his nineties at four in the morning? That poor, old man needs his sleep.”
“That poor, old man has insomnia just like I do. Better to chat with someone than stare at the ceiling for hours. He’s lonely. He’s a brilliant man. I don’t think he gets enough stimulation in that senior residence. He misses his old friends from Yale.”
“Then he should message with them in the middle of the night and let you sleep.” Maggie got up and tugged at Liz’s arm. “Come on, you. Back to bed. Now!”
Liz got up. “You’re so bossy. Why did I ever think marrying you was a good idea?”
“Because you love me.”
“Yes, unfortunately, I do.”
They decided to take the elevator. Maggie continued to give Liz dirty looks as they rode up to the third floor. Liz conspicuously ignored her.
“Liz, you’re obsessed with this virus thing. You need to stop thinking about it so much.”
“I can’t.”
“You need sleep. Did I wake you? Was I snoring again? I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I didn’t have the heart. You’ve been so stressed waiting for your tumor markers to come back.”
The elevator door opened, and they headed for bed. With a sigh, Liz got under the covers.
Maggie moved closer to Liz and stroked her thigh. “Remember when I was first diagnosed, and you held me every night? That helped us both get to sleep.”
“That helped you get to sleep,” Liz mumbled. “I don’t like people touching me when I sleep.”
“I guess we’re old married people now.”
Liz leaned up on her elbow. “Maggie, would you like me to hold you?” she asked impatiently.
“No, it’s all right,” said Maggie in her martyr’s voice.
“All right. Come here.” Liz put her arm around her. Maggie nestled against her breast. “Is that better?”
Maggie snuggled closer. “Yes. I can hear your heartbeat. It’s very comforting.”
“Yes, it means I’m still alive.”
Maggie pinched her lightly. “That’s not what I mean.” Maggie reached under Liz’s T-shirt and laid her hand in the flat between her breasts. “I can’t feel it beating,” she observed, “but I can hear it.”
“Do you want me to explain why you can hear it but not feel it?”
“No, Dr. Stolz. Go to sleep.”
Maggie’s hand found Liz’s breast. She wasn’t especially aroused. It was meant as a friendly gesture, a way to claim her territory. She gently kneaded the nipple between her fingers, enjoying the familiar feel of it, the way it instantly rose to her touch.
“Keep doing that and you’re going to have to make good on your tease,” said Liz in a sleepy voice
.
“You’re not serious. You’re half asleep.” To make sure, Maggie slid her hand into Liz’s pants. Between her legs, she found abundant, slick confirmation that Liz was serious. “We’ll just have to take care of that,” said Maggie, teasing gently. Liz liked strong, active lovemaking but she could be brought to her knees by the lightest touch.
“I never imagined anyone could drive me crazy with something so subtle,” said Liz, opening her legs wider to get more of Maggie’s touch.
“I’ve always known. You’re sensitive to small gestures. It’s one of the things I love most about you.” Maggie repositioned herself so that she could reach her mouth to kiss her and found an enthusiastic response. A moment later, Liz had an orgasm. Maggie leaned her cheek against Liz’s. “That was quick.”
“Everything’s quick when you know how,” said Liz lifting Maggie’s nightgown. There was no more talking after Liz began to stroke her and then enter her body with her fingers.
“Fuck me,” said Maggie because it excited her to say the forbidden words. It excited Liz too. Maggie moved her pelvis in the same rhythm to Liz’s fingers inside her. Maggie loved the strength of Liz’s lovemaking, her powerful arm and shoulder flexing under the effort. It was all part of the pleasure, the feeling of abandoning herself to that strength, opening herself completely.
“Yes, like that.” Maggie’s breaths came faster. She was gripping Liz’s fingers with all her might. During sex with a man, Maggie had seldom come on the inside, but with Liz the occasional surprise was wonderful. This was one of those times. Liz withdrew slowly and Maggie silently thanked her for the consideration.
Liz gave Maggie a sweet, deep kiss before rolling on to her back. “There. Now can you go to sleep?”
“As long as you stay close.”
Liz sighed but she curled her body around Maggie’s. “Sleep well.”
A few moments later, Maggie heard the sound of Liz’s breathing change and the very faint snore. It was sweet and comforting, a sound that could put Maggie to sleep rather than keep her awake. She wondered if Liz even knew she snored. She scoffed whenever Maggie told her.
***
When Maggie awoke, Liz was gone, headed to Hobbs Family Practice for morning hours. Maggie was glad that Liz had mostly given up surgery except when called in to consult on a difficult breast cancer case or to help out at the urgent care. Maggie never complained when Liz chose to spend some of her new-found leisure time with her. They had been planning a month’s long jaunt through Tuscany in the fall. Maggie looked forward to a time when she could have Liz all to herself.
Maggie had a quick cup of coffee before she showered and dressed. She hurried through her makeup because the kids would be arriving shortly. School was on winter break and closed for the week. When she was finished dressing, she surveyed herself in the full-length mirror. Not bad for almost sixty-seven. She always tried to give herself compliments. She’d found it a good way to keep up her self-esteem when she was going through the divorce from her husband.
Alina came in with the girls, bringing the fresh scent of February air in on their clothes.
“Chilly this morning,” said Alina, stepping out of her boots before kissing her mother. The girls were bundled up from head to toe in parkas, snow pants, scarves and mittens. Their miniature galoshes were brightly colored and featured animal faces—smiling frogs for Nicki, cats and dogs for Katrina. Maggie helped Alina undress them.
“You could leave the girls here instead of driving all the way up and down from Scarborough,” suggested Maggie as she poured hot chocolate into mugs for the children.
Alina glanced at the girls happily devouring blueberry muffins. “If you don’t mind keeping them for a few days, I could use the break. I’m exhausted.”
Maggie gave her daughter a critical look. Alina had been adopted by Maggie and her husband along with her older sister, so there was little resemblance between mother and daughter. Maggie wasn’t exactly tall, but Alina was tiny. As fair as Maggie was, Alina was dark. Her hair was nearly black. When she was tired, obvious dark circles formed around her eyes.
“You look exhausted, sweetheart. I think you’re working too hard.”
“Maybe, but if I get this promotion, that will make a big difference. Money’s still tight.”
Maggie knew that Liz was secretly giving Alina money to help out, and she’d reduced the interest rate on the mortgage note she was holding from a ridiculously low percentage to zero. Only Liz thought her generosity was a secret. Of course, Maggie knew all about it since she’d mistakenly taken Liz’s checkbook, thinking it was her own. She had never said anything. She’d allow her wife to maintain the illusion of privacy.
“Does it look like you’ll get the job?” Maggie asked.
“My boss says my chances are good. They really liked the programming I’ve done about this Wuhan virus.”
Maggie stared at her daughter. Now, she was talking about this virus too. “Liz is really worried. Should she be?”
Alina looked grave. “It’s pretty scary. It could come here and be a big problem. With the way people travel nowadays, there’s no containing it.”
Maggie sighed. Great. Another thing to worry about. As if my tumor markers weren’t enough.
“The coverage is so politicized,” continued Alina. “Fox is saying it’s a Democratic hoax. That’s just irresponsible.”
Maggie kissed her daughter. “Thank God, for ethical journalists like you. I’m proud of you for sticking to your guns.”
Alina gave her mother a broad smile. “Can you keep them until Thursday night? I can really use the time to catch up on some work things and clean the house.”
“Sure.”
“And Liz won’t mind?”
“You have to ask?”
Alina shook her head. “No. The world might be a crazy place right now, but fortunately, there are some things we can still count on.”
Chapter Seven
Cherie looked through her closet to find something to wear to dinner with Brenda. She had a few western-style shirts from when she lived in Shreveport. Dallas was literally just down the road. All the gay bars had western nights. When she was in school in Houston, she’d even bought a cowboy hat, but she’d left that with a friend when she’d moved. The western attire didn’t mean she liked country music. In fact, she found it monotonous. To her ear, one song sounded just like another.
She had been tempted to suggest they choose another place for dinner, but Brenda had sounded so excited about this place, and Cherie didn’t want to burst her bubble. It wasn’t like Cherie to hold back her opinions, especially not from a potential girlfriend. Her counseling training had taught her that being clear and direct was the best policy, especially in a relationship. Hold on there, Cherie. Isn’t it too early to be thinking about the R-word?
She pushed aside the western shirts she’d laid out on the bed and sat down. How had she gone from not being able to stand the woman to thinking about her romantically? The uniform. Mother Lucy was right about that. Without the uniform Brenda was funny, kind, and interesting. If she weren’t a cop, Cherie would have been attracted to her from the start.
But being the Hobbs chief of police was an essential part of Brenda’s life. And there was the gun. Most cops carried an off-duty weapon. Brenda would probably be wearing it during their dinner. The thought unnerved Cherie. She took some deep breaths and ordered herself to calm down. She decided that as long as she didn’t have to see the gun, she’d be fine.
She chose a turquoise satin shirt with silver embroidery because it made her eyes seem even bluer. Her mother had always told her that her eyes were her best feature. The color of her mother’s eyes had been amber, almost like those of a fox. As a child, Cherie thought the color was exotic and wished she could have fox eyes too.
Cherie went into the bathroom to refresh her makeup, then decided to start
from scratch. It had been a long day and there wasn’t much to salvage. Given the choice, she probably would have picked another night for this dinner, but this was the first weekend night Brenda had available.
When Cherie finished dressing, she went out to the living room where Jean-Paul was watching The Five. He looked up when she came in and whistled appreciatively.
“You look beautiful, honey. Just like your mama.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
“Who’s your lucky date?”
Cherie considered withholding information because she knew telling the truth would trigger a lot of questions. She finally decided in favor of honesty. “The police chief.”
Jean-Paul’s face took on an expression of exaggerated puzzlement. “I thought you hated cops.”
“I do, but this one’s different…at least, I think she is.”
“Will you bring her in to say hello?”
“Maybe,” replied Cherie with a sly smile.
“Of course, you will. You’ll want Daddy to look her over, same as when you went out with the boys in high school.”
“Nah, it’s not the same. Not at all. Besides, how can you get a better reference than being the police chief?”
“What’s her name?”
“Brenda…Brenda Harrison.”
Jean-Paul looked thoughtful. “Yes, I think I knew that. I see the articles in the Sentinel. She’s always doing a charity thing or giving some talk or another. I guess the police up here don’t have much to do.”
“Oh, I think you’d be surprised, Daddy. It just looks like a sleepy place.” Cherie sighed at the thought of the mental health referrals she’d taken on to relieve pressure on Lucy. The booming restaurants and motels on Route 1 were just a veneer. The real town below the surface had its share of drug addiction, juvenile mischief, depression, alcoholism, and domestic violence.
The doorbell rang. “That will be your lady cop, I guess,” said Jean-Paul.
Cherie opened the door and found Brenda smiling like a fool. Cherie was relieved to see that she had dressed for a country night too. She was wearing a western-style leather vest over a buffalo plaid flannel shirt. Her blond hair was up, and she had that fresh-faced, rosy English look.