“Coming out in your eighties is no small feat,” Amy said.
“It’s not that bad. Us old people are invisible,” Millie said. “Nobody cares what we do. As long as they don’t have to think about it.” She laughed, but there was a tinge of sadness to the laughter.
Amy had been writing up some of the stories Bernie had told her. Stories about the old days of being a lesbian. Stories about Stonewall, gay bashing, and living in the closet. Amy was increasingly proud of her lesbian foremothers.
Even in Amy’s youth being a lesbian was harder than it was now. Amy had gone to New York City where being gay was no big deal. She was one of many. Steph, Rosa, and Susan hadn’t grown up in Fenton. Their experiences had been in cities where blending in was their modus operandi. Being under the radar was the best most of them could hope for.
It was the younger generation who were changing things. The Trump years were actually helping the world coalesce around LGBT folks. They, too, were part of the revolution to save the world from the ignorant Trumpers. Bernie had told her about the 1970s feminist movement where the schism had begun between the newly feminist women and lesbians. The straight feminists didn’t want the lesbians in the groups because they didn’t want the stigma that all feminists were lesbians. Bernie said that was a hurtful period. “Always last in line,” Bernie had said.
Amy had almost finished her whole wheat pancakes when a giant of a man came over to the table. He didn’t say a word. He suddenly grabbed Amy by her arm and pulled her out of the booth. It happened so fast that it took everyone a moment to register what had happened.
“What are you doing?” Amy said. She tried to jerk her arm out of his strong grip, but he held on tightly.
“I don’t like them articles you been putting in the newspaper. We don’t need no rabble-rousing with our women. They know their place and we don’t need no uppity, city lezzy bitch giving them ideas,” the man growled.
Bernie was out of the booth and up on her feet in a flash. “Turn her loose this minute or you’ll regret it.”
The man snarled at Bernie, “You may dress like a man, but you don’t fool me. Ain’t no damn woman gonna order me around.”
Bernie’s face flamed red. She picked up a dirty dish of leftover eggs and hash browns sitting on a nearby table and dumped it over his head. In his shock, he let go of Amy.
Amy quickly kneed him hard in the groin. He grunted and cupped his privates. “I’ll write whatever the hell I see fit,” Amy yelled.
Molly quickly appeared with a wooden baseball bat in her hands. She stood in a batter’s stance, her feet shoulder-width apart and the bat raised. The look on her face said the bases were loaded and she was swinging for a home run.
“Elroy McCord, you get the hell out of my café before I knock your head out of the park. You hear me?” Molly said.
Elroy looked at the bat, still holding his balls. He backed away, stumbling. “We’re not done here. This is Trump’s America now. And you bitches are going down.”
Molly slapped the bat against her palm. “Get on out of here. Before I trump this bat upside your head.”
Elroy glared at her and hobbled toward the door of the café. He turned around, growling, “This ain’t over.”
“No, it’s not. You just became the human interest story of the day,” Amy said. She was shaking. From anger, not fright.
Molly walked toward Elroy with the bat cocked. “You still here?”
Elroy left. He tried to slam the glass door behind him, but the door closer wouldn’t allow it.
“Even the door disapproves of him,” Bernie said.
“He’s not the first one to try,” Molly said, resting the bat on her shoulder.
Millie turned toward all the farmers sitting and staring at the ruckus. “Any of you all got something to say?”
“Nope. I have a healthy respect for a woman with a bat,” an old man in overalls said. A couple of men nodded in agreement. They turned back around.
“We better call Rosa,” Millie said. “Elroy’s wife is going to take the brunt of this when he gets home.”
Molly said, “I’ll go get a rag and get this mess cleaned up.”
Millie and Bernie sat back down at their table. “You know that man’s wife?” Amy asked.
Millie nodded. “He’s put her in the hospital a few times when he’s off on a binge. She never testifies against him.”
Amy looked out the window just in time to see Elroy’s beat up Chevy pickup fishtail out of the parking lot. She grabbed her phone from her bag and hit speed dial.
“Fenton Police department, what is your emergency?” Rosa answered.
“Rosa, this is Amy. I think you better send a car out to Elroy McCord’s house,” Amy said. “I don’t know the address.”
“I know it. What happened?” Rosa asked.
“He attacked me at Molly’s. He’s mad about…uppity women, I guess,” Amy said.
“Did he hurt you?” Rosa asked.
“My pride mostly,” Amy said. She looked down at her arm. Bruises were beginning to darken where he had gripped her. “I got him a good shot in the balls.”
“We’re shorthanded right now. Don’t worry, I’ll get somebody out there, pronto,” Rosa said. “Is Rascal with you?”
“He’s with Parker.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to keep him at your side for a while.”
“Okay. I’ll do that, thanks,” Amy said. She punched the end call button and settled back into her seat. What the hell was this world coming to, she thought. Had it always been this way and she was just now noticing? Or was the hostility and violence getting worse?
***
“Babe,” Steph said when she answered her cell phone. She had been passing the time by playing gin rummy with Ruth.
“We’re shorthanded here. I need you as my backup. Can you and Ruth meet me out at Elroy McCord’s place?” Rosa said.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Elroy got into an altercation at Molly’s with Amy. She busted him in the balls and you know what he does when he’s hopping mad.”
“Yeah, beats on his wife, the bastard,” Steph said.
Ruth perked up and put down her cards.
“Did you say you were going out there?” Steph asked.
“I’ll put Clifford on the switchboard. He can relay calls to me. I’ll have you and Ruth as backup.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Steph, we don’t have time for this. I’ll be careful and you’ll be there to protect me,” Rosa said, knowing that Steph’s inner knight-in-shining-armor would get the best of her. And it was the best of her they needed right now.
“Okay, I’m on it. Don’t do anything until I get there.”
***
Rosa got out of the police cruiser. The McCord house was little more than a shack. It’d been painted white once. The shingles on the roof were curling. The porch, held up by cement blocks, listed to the left. The lopsided screen door hung on by one rusty hinge. The yard was nothing but dirt where even weeds didn’t grow. Three old broken-down cars were parked on the side of the dusty yard, windows gone, hoods raised, and tires flat.
Steph parked her truck behind Rosa’s police cruiser. Steph and Ruth stepped out of the truck and walked up to Rosa. Rosa had left her cane in the cruiser. It was hard to look threatening when you walked with a cane. All three women stood at the edge of the yard and looked toward the house.
Before the women could exchange so much as a single word, Elroy McCord kicked open the screen door and strode out on the porch. He was holding a sawed-off shotgun. He spat a wad of brown tobacco off the side of the porch and said, “What the fuck is this? The pussy patrol?” He grinned, showing small, yellow teeth.
“Elroy, we’re just here to talk. It’s best you put down that weapon you’re holding,” Rosa said.
“Fuck off,” Elroy said.
“We don’t want any trouble,” Steph said.
Alma McCord, Elroy’s wife, came o
ut the front door and onto the porch. She was wearing a baggy dress that may have fit her at one time, but now hung loosely on her shrunken frame. It had been washed so many times the pattern of the fabric had faded to barely recognizable. Her dishwater blond hair hung limp and stringy over her shoulders. Her lip was bloody and she had a cut above her eye that was bleeding and swelling into a large, bruised knot.
“Alma, you don’t have to take this anymore. We can help,” Rosa called out. She inched forward.
“Rosa, get back here,” Steph hissed at her.
Rosa didn’t listen, she kept creeping forward. “Elroy, why don’t you let Alma go so we can get her fixed up?”
“She’s my woman. She ain’t going nowhere,” Elroy said. He racked the sawed-off shotgun and aimed it at Rosa. “You want another taste? This time it won’t be a smack in the back. I’ll blow your damn head off.”
“Like hell you will,” Steph said. She stepped in front of Rosa. “You’ll have to go through me first.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Elroy said, grinning.
“Elroy, put the gun down. They ain’t here to hurt no one,” Alma said in a timid voice.
Elroy spat another stream of tobacco, aiming it at Alma’s feet. “You go back inside woman, ‘fore I blow your head off after I beat you bloody.”
Alma flinched. She obeyed him and went back into the house.
Rosa held her hands out in front of her to show she wasn’t holding a gun. She took two steps around Steph and toward Elroy. “Elroy, put down the gun. Let her come with us, okay?”
Elroy raised his shotgun and aimed it right at Rosa. Steph saw his intention and grabbed Rosa by the shoulders. They tumbled to the ground just as a loud explosion filled the air. They scrambled to the cruiser, opened the door, and hid behind it.
Rosa peeked over the door. She breathed a sigh of relief. No one was hurt. Ruth hadn’t moved a muscle. She still stood staring at the house.
Where was Elroy? For a moment, Rosa thought he had shot and run. Then she saw Alma, standing on the porch with a 12 gauge shotgun. Elroy was laying face first in the dirt in front of the steps.
Rosa limped out from behind the cruiser’s door. “Alma…,” she said gently as if coaxing a skittish cat. “Now Alma, put the gun down, okay?”
Alma dropped the shotgun and crumpled into a weeping pile on the front porch.
Steph and Ruth ran to Elroy. “Christ…Deader than dead,” Steph said, looking down at Elroy. Just to be sure, she pressed two fingers against Elroy’s neck. After a moment, she shook her head and looked at Ruth.
“I’ll call it in,” Ruth said simply.
Rosa limped her way up the porch steps. She crouched next to Alma and put her hand on her back. “It’s all right, honey.”
“I couldn’t let him hurt you all. You didn’t deserve it,” Alma said, sobbing. She rocked back and forth. “I had to do it. I had to do it.”
“I know, honey, I know,” Rosa said, gently stroking her back.
Steph knelt before Alma. “Let’s take a look at you, honey,” Steph said. She gently lifted Alma’s face. “A couple of stitches and you’ll be good as new.”
Alma looked up into Steph’s face. Fresh tears mixed with the dried blood on her face, causing pinkish wet trails to drip down her cheeks. It looked as if she were crying blood. She said in a shaky voice, “He’s dead, ain’t he? I killed him? I don’t care about going to jail. I wasn’t going to let him hurt no one else. I had to stop him.”
Steph nodded. “You saved us. Elroy was going to shoot us for sure.”
Alma swallowed her sobs and climbed to her feet with Rosa’s help. “You need to handcuff me?” she asked.
“No, honey,” Rosa said.
“I’m ready then,” Alma said. She brushed off her dress and straightened her back. With head held high, she walked to the cruiser, carefully stepping over the pool of blood surrounding her dead husband.
***
Parker walked into the newspaper office where Amy was typing on her keyboard at her desk. Rascal was lying on his back, legs in the air, snoring.
“Amy?” Parker said.
Amy looked up, her fingers stopped flying over the keyboard, and she smiled. “What a nice surprise. You bring me lunch?” She stood and took a step toward Parker. Then she stopped. There was strange look on Parker’s face—one she had never seen before. “What’s wrong?”
“Alma McCord shot her husband,” Parker said.
Jeb stepped out of his office. “Is he all right?”
“No. He’s missing most of his internal organs,” Parker said.
“He’s dead?” Amy asked in a small voice.
“Shotgun?” Jeb asked at the same time. He was already jotting down notes on his yellow legal pad.
“Yes to both questions. He was getting ready to take out Rosa and Steph with his own shotgun when Alma stopped him.”
Amy collapsed into her chair and put her head in her hands. “This is all because of me. I shouldn’t have written that article. None of this would’ve happened.”
Rascal went over to Amy, nosing her leg. She instinctually reached down and stroked his head.
Parker came over, squatted down, and wrapped Amy in a strong embrace. “None of this is your fault.”
“It sure the hell isn’t,” Jeb said. “That bastard should’ve been brought down a long time ago. Not one person in this town is going miss that scumbag. That’ll be the last beating Alma has to take. That woman’s been beaten down for the last ten years. I’m glad he’s gone,” Jeb said.
“Is Alma all right?” Amy asked, sniffling.
“He beat her pretty bad before Rosa got there. She’s at the hospital right now. Rosa will have to take her in and wait for the arraignment, but I’m pretty sure she’ll get out on bond.”
“She won’t have that kind of money,” Jeb said.
“I know a whole bunch of women who will chip in,” Parker said. “One call to Millie and it’ll be taken care of.”
Amy knew Parker was right. Once Millie’s Militia heard about Alma, there’d be an outpouring of love and money.
Because that’s what women did. They helped each other.
Chapter Ten
Lying in bed, Susan gazed over at Tess as she lay sleeping. The light from the street filtered through the window sheers and danced across Tess’s body. Her skin seemed almost translucent in the dim light. Her freckles—Susan had always meant to count them—were sprinkled across her shoulders. Tess’s strong shoulders, the curve of her breasts, the smooth lines of her hips were all things that made Susan’s breath hitch in her throat. Her eyes followed the length of Tess’s graceful neck, and stopped at the hollow at the base where she loved to press her lips, feeling the pulse of her desire.
She thought back to the first time she’d met Tess—the electricity that seemed to pass through both of them. It had been the year anniversary of Susan’s being jilted at the altar. She’d been sitting by the lake with Steph and Rosa, trying to keep her mind from wandering back to her wedding day, the shame she felt at standing there in front of family and friends waiting on a bride that didn’t show, and then Tess had appeared.
Tess had been playing disc golf with Parker. Susan remembered how Tess had taken her ball cap off and her long auburn hair had fallen to her shoulders. Freckles dotted her nose and she had dazzling green eyes. Susan’s heart was smitten at once. It had taken her mind a while longer to catch up, but Tess had been patient. Tess was always patient—always waiting for Susan to catch up. And Susan had caught up, taking Tess’s hand in hers and walking toward that elusive happily ever after. And she might have gotten there had Carrie not arrived on the scene.
Was the universe testing her?
Did she really want Carrie gone? Didn’t it seem better to not have to wonder where she was and what she was doing? Had a day gone by, especially in the beginning, that Susan hadn’t thought about Carrie? She had hated herself for doing it, but at the same time she’d started recalling th
eir relationship from the beginning, like she was logging it and filing her memories of Carrie away so she wouldn’t forget them. Now, each time she ran into Carrie another memory stuck its head up to remind her of the past. Even that day when she’d met Carrie for a talk in the park, Susan remembered another day when they were madly in love and they’d had a picnic under the large oak on the edge of the lake. It had been “their” tree forever after that.
Carrie had prepared Susan’s favorite sandwich, triple layers of sourdough bread with meat, cheese, pickles, tomatoes, and lettuce. She’d brought plastic flutes so they could drink sparkling cider. Carrie had found a wicker picnic basket in a thrift store. From then on, they used the picnic basket whenever they had any kind of outdoor date. Susan loved the delight Carrie had in unpacking the basket filled with Susan’s favorite foods.
They’d had plenty of excursions, each one an adventure that Carrie had orchestrated. She’d found little out-of-the-way places in Fenton. Once she’d hauled a wrought iron table and chairs up to the top of the Marshall building so they could see the whole town as they ate a French bistro lunch. Sometimes they’d go to the lookouts in the hills when the leaves were changing. Carrie had displayed a sense of romance that Susan had never experienced before. She’d been delighted with these adventures and, in return, her happiness made Carrie glow.
All these special moments had increased the amount of love Susan had for Carrie. That was why it was so confusing when Carrie had run off. Would they have lasted if Susan hadn’t asked Carrie to marry her? Would Tess do the same thing? Was that why Parker and Amy were having such a problem orchestrating their wedding? Did that kind of commitment ruin a love affair? There were so many questions and she didn’t have the answers to any of them.
Susan had been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed that Tess was awake. Her long auburn hair was messed up in that way that sex gave to those with long hair—a sensual, mussed look. “What’s wrong? You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Tess whispered.
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