by Mima
Lauren’s sandals skidded on the dirt, and Sorrel caught her arm, then wound their hands together. “Hold onto me. Pick your feet up high.”
Lauren got the hang of walking in nothingness. Her eyes adjusted, making out general shapes of trees and fences. The sound of rushing water came from their left.
Sorrel stopped at the river’s edge and breathed deeply. “This is better. Don’t people get to you sometimes in the city?”
Lauren could barely hear the water over her thundering heart. This was surreal. Sorrel held her hand while the old fury and hurt wrestled in Lauren’s ribs. “I get irritated by the rude or obnoxious all the time. But I like being around people. I love the city. It makes me feel human.”
“Look up.”
Lauren tipped her head back and gasped. She simply had no experience with what she saw. It wasn’t like any sky she’d ever seen. It was velvet black, impossibly far, and lit with waves of delicate light.
“It’s—Sorrel . . .”
She didn’t have words to describe it. She reached up her free hand, stunned by the density of stars and the soft glowing path of white that lay across the center like a scarf. The Milky Way, but magical.
The next group started in the barn. This one had a big-band sound, with sweet brass and an old style, much more to Lauren’s taste than the classic western rock of the first band or even the compelling folk band. A saxophone picked out the melody from the opening flourishes.
Lauren squeezed Sorrel’s hand. “Wonderful Tonight. Clapton as big band. Sounds good.” She looked down from the sky reluctantly. It was mesmerizing.
Sorrel turned to her. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw your name on the registration list.” Her finger swept over Lauren’s knuckles. “You came to Cloud Canyon. I’m so glad.”
I didn’t know you’d be here. Lauren had never considered that Sorrel would believe Lauren had come knowing she’d be here, that Lauren might actually be seeking her out. Before she could clarify the nature of this reunion, Sorrel spoke.
“Will you dance with me?” Her voice was low and husky, her face a pale gray shadow in the pitch.
“Here?”
“Yes.” There was some strange, deep emotion in her word.
This was a slow-dance song. Lauren was confused. Sorrel tugged on Lauren’s hand, drawing her in, and Lauren didn’t resist. Sorrel lifted their clasped palms, and slid her arm around Lauren’s waist. Lauren rested her hand on Sorrel’s shoulder, which was higher than her own. Their bellies pressed together and they swayed, stepping side to side with the whisked drums. After a few heartbeats, Lauren relaxed, although it still seemed strange. Could she really control her anger? Just be civil and let the past go?
“You’re not gay.” Sorrel spoke with great exhaustion. “You don’t have a single gay bone in your body.”
“Excuse me?”
Sorrel ducked her head down, dipping under Lauren’s hat brim, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. Lauren pulled her head back, surprised. Sorrel stayed close, hovering, but when Lauren stopped swaying, she stepped away. Without Sorrel’s touch, Lauren once again felt lost in the dense dark.
“I seduced Tom because you were so fucking clueless and I was about to lose you. I was going home to my horses and mountains, and you were going to marry Tom and sink all your energy into babies.”
Lauren’s heart stopped, then started with a wrenching lurch. “You’re . . . gay?”
“I guess so. I hear the term ‘gay-for-you’ tossed around with a sneer. They tell me I’m bi, because aside from you, I’m into guys.” A touch feathered out of the night and coasted from shoulder to wrist. “You’re just so fucking beautiful, like a pixie. You’re vibrant and alive. You get me, and being with you was always so easy. I’ve missed you so much. So much.”
Lauren didn’t plan her words. Her brain was frozen. “You broke my heart. I loved you. I loved him. Deeply. You threw that all away.”
“You don’t know what it was like. To be so close to you—and still be so invisible in that most important way. I loved you so much it hurt. But it was my lust that ruined it all.”
Lauren heard her breath coming too hard. The river seemed to rush faster. “You are so stupid.”
Sorrel laughed bitterly. “I know. I knew as soon as I kissed him.”
They stood there, silent. The freezing air burned in her throat and Lauren hugged herself tightly. She swallowed against her anger, her stomach tight with knives.
“It’s no good between us.” Sorrel’s voice throbbed with hurt. “I’m not going to have what we used to have, let alone what I’ve dreamed of. I’m so sorry, Lauren. I so deeply regret what I did. It was vicious and I’ll never forgive myself. But whatever small forgiveness you can manage after all this time, I ask for it. Please.”
Sorrel. Tom’s hands full of Sorrel’s dark red curls. Their open jaws straining against each other as their lips sealed tight. The muscles of his bare back flexing beneath her widespread hands. Sorrel’s black bra lying on the ugly blue carpeting. Sorrel.
Lauren’s breath was like ice in her throat, coming in jagged pieces from a source of furious bitterness. Pain split her in two. She wanted to punch Sorrel in the nose, and she wanted to hurl herself around the woman, clasping her close. She wanted to rant and scream, and she wanted to make it all go away.
Rigid, she stood alone. And that hurt most of all. “I want to go up to the barn.”
“Lauren . . .” Sorrel touched her arm again but Lauren jerked away.
“I can’t think. I can’t talk to you right now.” She wanted forgiveness? Lauren had never even thought about that.
“All right. I know this is all news to you. Thank you for listening.”
The words “thank you” hung in the air between them, a faint recrimination Lauren rejected. She turned and stagger-walked back to the harsh lights of the hoedown, Sorrel behind her. The band was blaring out some cheerful foxtrot.
As they came up around the alley of hay seating leading into the barn, Sorrel cleared her throat. She raised her voice over the booming band. “I have something else to tell you.”
Lauren’s guts twisted. More? ”What is it?”
“Tom’s here.”
She couldn’t have heard that right. Lauren shook her head, exasperated at how loud the brass was. “What?”
The crowd seemed chaotic, laughing, dancing, stumbling around them. But then a gap opened, and leaning against the frame of the sliding barn door was a tall, familiar form.
He wore jeans and a plain Henley pullover in navy. His hair was shorter, more professional, and his face had matured into handsome masculinity. A beer was in one hand as he idly watched the dancers. He tipped it up, his throat working as he took a deep swallow.
“Tommy?” Lauren whispered in total confusion.
“I wanted to settle things. You wouldn’t talk to either of us after that night. It’s not healthy. I thought if you were ready to see me, you’d do well to clear up everything with him, too. When I saw your name on the guest list I invited him.”
People passed between them, and with that odd sixth sense people get, he looked over and caught her staring at him. She couldn’t look away. His face registered surprise. There was a flash of interest, and then a cool, neutral mask slipped over him. That was a new trick that college-age Tommy had never had. He pushed up off the door and moved toward them.
Sorrel stood at her shoulder, stiff, arms crossed.
Lauren had a passing thought it was like they were facing a firing squad. Her hands and feet turned to ice while her cheeks flamed lava hot. Too fast, he was there, an arm length away. She smelled dust and hay. The dark loomed behind him, half his face in stark shadows from the coach shining off to her right.
“Hello, Lauren.” His voice was different than she remembered. Deeper. And calm. Too calm.
One of his eyes s
hone a brilliant jade. The color was starkly unique and triggered an old memory of laughter. Fury erupted, but terror chased after it. The emotions raced through her blood, tangling her muscles into stone. She hated him. How dare he cheat on her? And with Sorrel! Her body leaned toward him and then shifted ever so slightly away. Her hands balled in fists down by her hips. With great control, she held her place.
Then he moved forward another step. His gaze shifted to Sorrel. Lauren studied him, but his mask stayed secure. No interest or connection passed between them, but questions erupted in Lauren’s mind. What had their relationship been these last years? How had Sorrel gotten him here? What had she told him?
Her body trembled. She fought with herself. He moved up again, close enough that she could see his eyelashes—close enough to see the muscles clench in his jaw. His heat washed over her. Emotion stormed through her, with him in her personal space. She backed away, rejecting him. There was too much anger to stand so close.
Tom’s face darkened. “Goddamn it. You’re still running away.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice was so tight it screeched.
“Four beautiful years and you shut me out like I was poison. Not one mature chance at conversation, not a single offer of discussion. You shook me off like I was dirt. I had no idea you had that kind of cold cruelty in you.”
His attack blew her metaphorical coffin apart like dynamite. The mental construct that had helped her box up her emotional mess was gone to splinters and there was no controlling herself. The years faded away. “You son-of-a-bitch!” She roared at him, leaning in from the waist. “You cheating piece of shit.”
People turned to look. A woman hustled a young teen away.
“Don’t you dare criticize me when you were in bed with Sorrel!” She shook so hard it felt like her bones were rattling. Sorrel reached for her and Lauren jerked away, stepping back farther and to one side. Now Tommy and Sorrel stood side-by-side, looking at her. Like before.
“Maybe we could take this back to the lodge,” Sorrel suggested sarcastically.
“Shutthefuckup!” Lauren screamed. “You’re the one who wanted this little reunion. So deal.”
She pointed at Tommy. “You wanted a second chance? There is no undoing what you did. How many times were you guys together? Were her lips warmer than mine? Are bigger breasts better than a best friend? Did she offer kink you couldn’t ask me for? What the fuck were you thinking?”
His mask completely vanished, his face crushing into a snarl. “Of course that was the first time. She came onto me. She stripped in front of me and started talking about daydreams of a threesome. She went on and on about your body and how to touch it. She’s hot, and when she reached out, I got stupid. It was that one time. It didn’t mean anything. And even that was about you!”
Lauren stood with her mouth gaping open. She looked between his angry glare and Sorrel, who stared at the dirt. She closed her teeth with a snap. “I hate you both.”
Sorrel looked up, misery etched in her gaze. “No, you don’t. You love us. That’s why it still hurts so bad. I was wrong. I was a bitch, and I was hurting, and Tommy was an idiot. You have to let him apologize, Lauren. It’s time to listen.”
People were openly standing around now, staring. The band’s cheerful swing tune faded in the air. An announcer called for volunteers to come up and sing, and there was a big swell of laughter and applause.
“Walk with me, Lauren.” Tommy held out his hand. “I want to talk to you.”
Time stood still. Strangely, her temper tantrum had given her strength. Sorrel had asked for her touch, and it had been so hard to let go of the hate and dance with her. Now Tommy wanted her to reach out, too.
With a sob, she shook her head. “It’s too late.”
She dove into the heat of the crowd, the swing band’s sound washing over her numb form. Her gut churned with the pain of facing Sorrel, then having her explain it had all been done in jealousy. The injustice of it ate at her.
The drummer and bass were keeping a steady rhythm to fill the silence.
“C’mon now, we all love audience participation,” the announcer crooned over the beat. “This here’s your chance at western karaoke. Come on, you cowpokes. Get up here and warble with Ted’s Serenading Pioneers while Ted gets a drink. Only if you got the pipes, though. We don’t want to scare the horses.”
The crowd whistled and there was some jostling as people shoved their friends toward the stage. Lauren’s feet unlocked. Almost as if she watched herself from above, she saw her hands reaching forward to thread her body through the crowd. She got to the stage before a young man’s posse could push him there.
“I’ll sing,” she called grimly up at the announcer.
He was wearing a western bolo tie and the silver-tipped ends swung down as he bent toward her. The dome of his white Stetson was huge. “What’s yer name, missy?”
“Lauren Smythe.”
“You have a song you’d like?”
Her mind spun like a slot machine. “Something Patsy Cline.”
He beamed. “Get on up here, little ’un.”
Awkwardly, she jumped to sit on the stage, then scrambled around to stand from her knees, attempting not to flash the crowd.
“We have a live one, folks! This here is Lauren, and she’s gonna dish us some classic Patsy.”
The drummer and bassist were laying down a great line. Many couples were still clinched on the dance floor, idling, swaying, waiting for the song to kick in. Lauren scanned the room, shocked at how many people were in the big space. She spotted Eunice waving like crazy from the middle of the floor.
And right behind Eunice’s skinny form were Sorrel and Tommy, his arms around her slim body, and her arms draped around his neck. It was an embrace that screamed of comfort and care. Lauren choked, coughing, staring. It felt like the image would be branded on her heart forever, layered over the first time. They were deep in discussion, frowning at each other. Cozy. Again. Her gaze crawled over him. He looked fit and delicious, but sturdier and more mature than his lanky young frame. Mostly, he looked way too much like the picture she kept under her desk blotter for when she started to forget his face.
“Which song will it be?” called a trumpet player sitting next to the mic stand.
Lauren began to shake. Which song would it be? I’ve got your picture, she’s got you . . . the depressed but lovely whine of Patsy’s pure voice crooning the refrain in She’s Got You pierced her brain. She didn’t want to show them any of the regret in those lyrics.
“Miss? How about Strange?” The trombone player suggested. “That’s a good one.”
Strange, you’re still in all my dreams . . . “No. Not that one.”
“Come on, Billy, it’s after midnight. I wanna get on home.” A matronly woman called from the sides to a young man up front.
I’m lonesome as I can be . . . The determined hope Patsy offered was very different in that song. It was still too romantic but she was a much stronger woman in that song.
She’d sing Walkin’ After Midnight. She’d sing it angry, because that was all she could process right now. They’d notice her. They’d see that she’d caught them. This was her chance to show them how they’d hurt her, again. Sorrel was gay? Tommy was mad at her? They’d planned to confront her here together? None of it made sense and all of it hurt.
“Walkin’ After Midnight,” she called out to the band.
“Got it.” The drummer whisked across his snare for a moment, and the bassist picked up the clippy-cloppy hoofbeats of the opening.
There was a smattering of applause as the crowd recognized the song. To her surprise, the brass kicked in at a faster tempo than the perky song usually had. Staring out at two people who seemed incapable of being honest with her, Lauren drew in a breath, stoking her anger.
She roared out the opening line with a bluesy rasp to
compete with the horns, her eyes lasering through first Sorrel, then Tommy. They turned to stare at her. Content with their shock, she powered through the leading refrain and then closed her eyes.
Just hopin’. That’s right. Here she was in Montana, a dupe again to Sorrel and her own desires. Cute little Lauren, once again shocked clueless as to how and why Sorrel was in Tommy’s arms.
When she’d fled her apartment that day, it had been easy to hide in New York City. But now she was stuck here on Sorrel’s ranch, with no way out. Sucking in a deeper breath, she stared into the rafters, crying out to the world how stupid she was to keep thinking about these people, still walking . . . after midnight . . .
When the song ended, she was exhausted. The wave of power the brass had given her faded. Then she jumped when the crowd’s applause poured over her. The dance floor of the barn was packed shoulder to shoulder with faces staring up at her, shouting and cheering. Eunice put two fingers in her mouth and blew a whistle Lauren could hear above the roar. Shocked, she looked over at the band, and they were all beaming, putting down their instruments to clap for her, too.
“Do another one,” the announcer begged, coming up to her side to shout in her ear.
They were still applauding! She shook her head no. Sweat trickled down her neck and back, and her heart shuddered with emotion, swinging from the anger of her song to the excitement of people’s continued response. One person was waving a phone. She caught the dot of purple on the screen and realized the person had recorded her. People flocked to the edge of the stage, banging on the floor until she felt the vibrations up her legs.
She motioned for quiet with her hands. It took a long time, but the applause died out in anticipation of more. Over a few continuing catcalls and whistles, she laughed nervously into the mic. “Well, now. I do thank you for the warm reception.”
Everyone laughed. Their avid faces shone up at her.
Adrenaline was like moonshine in her blood. Her gaze swept the crowd and found them. Near the back of the barn, beyond the packed crowd near her, the gap in open floorspace presented them as if on their own stage, Sorrel and Tommy still stood together.