***
By nine that evening Emma, sitting outside by the pool with a book, was feeling just a little concerned that Daina hadn’t made an appearance yet. Of course, it was entirely possible that she would sleep the whole night through, since she was still recuperating. Emma wasn’t about to mount a twenty-four-hour watch. Daina was entirely capable of taking care of herself.
At a sound behind her, she glanced back. Daina was just stepping through the patio doors. She smiled and felt herself relax.
“Hey,” Daina said. Her voice had a vaguely childish, I-just-woke-up quality to it.
Emma’s smile broadened briefly. “Hey, yourself.”
Daina’s hair was damp and a bit tousled. She’d obviously showered, despite the somewhat drowsy look to her. She wore a baggy pair of black cargos and a white tank top with the Nike swoosh emblazoned across the front. Below that was some small print that Emma couldn’t quite make out in the fading light.
Daina must have noticed her looking because she took a step closer and pulled the fabric out slightly. The small print read Just Do Me. Emma attempted to stifle her laugh and it came out as a snort.
“It’s a slogan, not a suggestion,” Daina said mildly.
Emma looked up, to see Daina grinning ever so slightly. “Ah. Thank you for pointing that out.”
Daina gave her a nod and a wink. She reached for another one of the patio chairs and dragged it over.
“So, did you think I was going to sleep all night?” she asked as she sat down.
“It wouldn’t have surprised me.”
“Well, I probably would have, if I wasn’t so hungry.” Daina grinned and looked a little embarrassed. “My stomach woke me up.”
“Right, you haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“Nope. But I need to wake up a little more first.”
She attempted to stretch then, but groaned and made a face as she dropped her arms. “I’ll be glad when I can actually stretch properly. I feel like a bloody wind-up toy that’s been wound too tight.” Abruptly, she moved to the edge of her seat. “You want to sit by the pool?” she asked, jerking her head in that direction.
“Sure.”
They both rose, and without a word, took up positions diagonal to each other, the corner of the pool between them. Both dangled their feet in the water and as the sun set, their immediate area was illuminated warmly by the lights from the pool itself. It was a flattering light, Emma observed, at least so far as Daina was concerned. She was attractive to begin with, but the watery glow lent a softness to her features that was at odds with her usual look of intensity.
“So. How are you feeling?”
“I’m all right.” Daina gave a dismissive shrug. “Still a bit tired, but that’s to be expected, I guess.” She splashed the water with her feet. “I’m looking forward to using this pool, but I can’t until I get my staples out. And that doesn’t happen until Monday.”
“Will someone be coming here?”
“As far as I know. That’s the information I was given, anyway.” Another shrug. “I guess we’ll see.”
There followed a silence, which Emma found by no means uncomfortable.
“So how long have you been a cop?” The question was put forth very politely.
Emma did the math. “Seven years, thereabouts.” She swirled her own feet lazily in the water.
“Oh, not that long.”
“Well, I’m not that old,” Emma stated mildly.
“How old are you?” Still polite, with no attempt to diffuse what could be construed as a nosy question, no if-you-don’t-mind-my-asking tacked on.
“Thirty-one.”
Daina nodded, without taking her eyes off Emma.
“You?” Emma raised her eyebrows, expressing her own polite interest.
“Twenty-eight.”
With a nod of her own, Emma looked away, at the water.
“Do you like it?”
She glanced sidelong at Daina. “What, being thirty-one?”
Daina smiled gently. “No. Being a cop.”
Emma nodded. “Yes.” She shrugged, shook her head. “I don’t have any complaints.”
“Have you always wanted to be a cop?”
Emma considered. She shook her head. “I don’t recall giving it any thought at all, up until shortly before I applied.”
“Really?” Daina cocked her head. In the light from the pool, her eyes were a little less the color of ocean water, a little more the color of glacial ice. Her pupils were tiny black islands in the center. “You seem like a natural.”
Emma frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Well…I don’t know. You just do.” Daina took a moment to ponder, frowning. “You know, like…some guys just look like firefighters.”
“So you’re saying I look like a cop.”
“No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying—” She gave Emma one of those disconcerting up-and-down looks, then continued, “You’re so comfortable in your skin, what you are just seems to naturally fit you.”
Emma regarded her for a couple of moments. “‘Comfortable in my skin,’ huh?” she asked, a bit skeptically.
Daina smiled gently. “What do you do? In your spare time, I mean.” Another one of those up-and-down looks. “Obviously you work out.”
“Well, I run,” Emma replied carefully. “I have a universal gym I work out on at home. And I practice jiu-jitsu.”
Daina smiled and nodded with obvious satisfaction. “That’s what it is. I thought it had to be something like that. That’s cool. What belt?”
“First-degree black.”
Daina raised her eyebrows briefly. “Wow. Scary. But cool.”
“Scary?”
“Well, okay, maybe not scary as in frightening,” Daina amended. “I guess maybe exciting is more what I meant.”
As soon as she uttered the words, the look on her face indicated she regretted saying them at once. She cleared her throat before continuing, “It’s just that you’re a very attractive woman and who you are, what you are, you wear it so well, without any kind of arrogance.” She shrugged, then added quietly, “You just don’t see that every day.” She lowered her gaze to the water.
The magnitude of the compliment was completely unexpected. “Thank you,” Emma finally managed to say, trying to lend the words enough weight to convey more than just mere appreciation or acknowledgment.
She could see that Daina was somewhat discomfited, and it occurred to her that her worry about whether or not Daina continued to view her as a cop and nothing more was largely unnecessary. Attempting to get past the awkwardness of the moment, she ventured, in an easy, conversational tone, “So, how long have you been doing what you do?”
Daina raised her head. “What, performing? Ten years, or so.”
“Ah. Not that long then,” Emma observed.
Daina rewarded her with a small, amused smile. “Well, I’m not that old,” she returned smoothly.
Emma mirrored the smile, and the moment was past. She was pleased. “I’m really not that familiar with your music,” she admitted, “but what you were playing earlier was very…compelling.”
“What I was playing earlier is not what I usually play,” Daina quietly informed her. “I’ve been…experimenting.”
“Oh. Well, I was thinking it didn’t really sound…country. Not entirely.”
“Yeah. Well.” Daina glanced at her once, swiftly, then away. “I don’t like to be pigeonholed.”
Emma took in Daina’s profile, tracing it against the backdrop of the house, committing it to memory. “Well, I’m no expert in these things,” she said thoughtfully, “but I don’t think you have to worry about that.”
“Well then you should’ve been my manager,” Daina said, her voice and expression suddenly weary, “because she thought what I was trying to do bordered on blasphemy.”
“Oh, I didn’t say it wasn’t blasphemous,” was Emma’s bland response. “I just said you wouldn’t have to worry about being
pigeonholed.”
Daina grinned. “Smart-ass,” she muttered.
Emma gave her a quick, disarming smile. “I thought what you were playing was beautiful. What was it that your, uh, manager didn’t like?”
With a sigh, Daina said, “Kendra is rather…hard-core country I guess you could say. She didn’t like it when I strayed from the formula.” Daina raised her eyebrows, and made quotation marks in the air around the last two words. “She said it could only cause confusion and divided opinions. Which I’m sure is exactly what will happen.” She shrugged dismissively. “But like I said, I don’t like to be pigeonholed.”
“Well,” Emma said quietly, “I think you’ve got the right of it. You’re the artist, you have creative license.”
Daina contemplated her, then said softly, “Thank you. For understanding. And for actually saying that.” She paused. “No one has ever said that, just come right out and said ‘Hey, it’s your music, you can do whatever you like.’ I mean, I understand their concerns, my record label, Kendra, all of that, I do understand. I’m under contract, I’m supposed to be promoting this album; I’m the new kid on the block, don’t fuck with the formula.” She frowned, seeming troubled. “The thing is, I’ve played that other music before, when I lived here. I had a couple songs I’d throw out and they were always well received. I guess, though, they were just considered fancies of mine, nothing directional, so they weren’t taken seriously.”
She stared out at the length of the pool. “And now I want them to be taken seriously,” she said, her voice soft but intense. She looked at Emma. “Because that is the direction I want to go in.”
Emma said in a lowered voice as softly intense as Daina’s had been, “Then go for it. It’s your life. It’s your music. Go for it.”
Daina looked out across the pool once more. Then she met Emma’s eyes with a wink and a smile. “I think I’m awake enough now to eat a sandwich or two.”
Emma grinned and rose smoothly to her feet. “Come on then, hungry girl,” she said, putting her hand out. “Let’s get you fed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Daina was surprised at how easily she and Emma slipped into a comfortable routine over the next few days.
Emma was always up first, Daina never more than an hour behind her. But while Emma’s first stop in the morning was either the pool or the exercise room, Daina’s was the coffeepot. She would sit at the dining room table drinking her coffee and reading the newspaper which was delivered every morning. Emma retrieved it from the driveway and left it on the table for her.
Finished with her workout, Emma would come into the kitchen, greet Daina with a smile that seemed almost shy, and a soft “Good morning.” She would fix a cup of coffee the way she liked it, take one swallow, then head off to the shower. By the time she returned, Daina was sufficiently rejuvenated by her own coffee and ready for her shower. Afterward, Emma would make them both breakfast, Daina did the dishes, and Emma read the paper. The morning routine never varied.
Afternoons were generally spent apart, each doing her own thing. Evenings they would come together again and either combine their talents or attempt singly to fix dinner. Later, they would watch TV or play pool or involve themselves in some other activity. But the end of the day always found them together.
A week ago she would hardly have credited that they could tolerate each other’s company for longer than two minutes. But it was now Wednesday, their fifth day together, and the camaraderie that had sprung up between them was holding and growing. They were different, to be sure, but apparently not so vastly different as perhaps either had at first believed.
Prior to the attempt on her life, Daina would not have been open to any level of introspection. But now, with nothing but time on her hands and little if any distraction, she found herself doing what she very rarely did: looking inside herself. She came to see that the bombing was one of those life-altering events she’d always heard about but had never experienced or even credited much. It had certainly made her sit up and pay attention, take stock of her life and herself, and realize that she was far from happy, that it was time to make some changes. She had already made some of those changes. Likely others would follow.
The imminent change of her musical direction was enormous and the possible repercussions were almost frightening to contemplate. But it was Emma who somehow reduced that fear with her calm analysis and unquestioning and unexpected support of her ideas, her clear understanding, and her genuine interest in and enjoyment of Daina’s music. It was Emma who calmed her when she felt herself becoming fractious and tense, something no one else had ever been able to do. She had never met anyone like her. She couldn’t help but be drawn to her. And couldn’t help but be aware of the fact that she really knew very little about her. She wanted that to change. But it was a change she didn’t know how to implement. And of all the changes she wanted to see happen, it was the one that truly unsettled her the most. And she had no idea why.
***
Wednesday evening found them both in the kitchen, preparing dinner in a companionable silence. Emma was fixing a salad, Daina a pasta dish of her mother’s she was fervently hoping she could re-create perfectly. They were both startled to hear a loud thump from the living room. Their respective reactions were wholly different.
While the first words out of Daina’s mouth were a tightly muttered “What the fuck was that?” not a word escaped Emma. She became as taut as a coiled spring. With one index finger, she motioned Daina to silence and patience.
Daina shushed and went as still as Emma, though she doubted her transformation into alertness was as beautiful or as deadly-seeming.
They stood that way for a full ten-second count before Emma turned to look at Daina. She made a single motion with her right hand: Stay put. She then turned, stepped into the hall, and was gone. A handful of seconds later she reappeared, gun in hand.
Daina immediately stiffened. The gun drove home the gravity of the situation in a way nothing else could have. Emma shot her a look as hard as flint, then turned and headed straight for the back door. Daina blinked, but stayed put. She heard Emma lock the door behind her.
After an interminable length of time there was a knock on the front door. Daina didn’t move until she heard Emma call out, “It’s all right, it’s me.”
She threw open the door to see Emma standing there, holding the screen door open with her left hand, the gun in her right lowered to her side.
It turned out that the thump was a robin flying full tilt into the living room window. It now lay in a little feathered heap in the planter running the length of that outside wall.
“Aw, poor thing,” Daina commiserated. “Is it okay?”
Emma pushed her lower lip out thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know a lot about birds,” she said slowly, “but that one doesn’t look okay to me.”
“What should we do with it?” Daina asked, still looking down at the stricken bird.
“‘Do with it’? What do you mean do with it?”
Daina gave her a hard look. “What if it’s still alive, just knocked out cold?” she asked of her, none too gently.
“Then I guess at some point, it’ll wake up and…fly away. No?” Emma tacked on a hopeful note to the question.
“No, smart-ass,” Daina admonished her with a light one-handed shove. “What if it can’t fly?”
Emma seemed to consider this. She blinked. “Well, then I guess it could take the bus everywhere,” she offered.
In spite of herself, Daina giggled. She was trying to be serious, but Emma’s dry humor was hard to ignore. She fixed her with a scowl as she took a step down. “You’re bad. Come on, I want to bring it in the house.”
“What?”
The shock in Emma’s voice stopped Daina in her tracks. “Well, yeah, it could be—”
“Oh, no,” Emma cut her off firmly. “I’m sorry, but I have to insist, you are not bringing that bird into the house.”
“What? Why not?” Dai
na was completely mystified by Emma’s reaction. “It might still be alive, it might just be hurt.”
“Yes, and then it’ll wake up and probably start flying around the house. No. No way. I’m sorry.” And Emma actually shuddered. She crossed her arms and assumed a no-nonsense look.
Daina looked at her with something like open-mouthed wonder but asked, with genuine concern, “Are you afraid of birds?”
“No,” was Emma’s firm response. “But I never developed an affinity for them. They freak me out.”
“Well, but—”
“No, Daina, please? I’m serious. If this one’s still alive and it freaks out in the house and starts flapping round, I’ll have a heart attack or something, okay? I’m serious.”
This was said with such sincerity and the plea, small though it was, was so obvious in Emma’s eyes that Daina relented. Still, she couldn’t keep the tiny grin off her face as she said, “Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” She paused. “A big, strong girl like you, who would’ve thought?”
Emma blushed. “Yes, well, now you know,” was all she said.
“I’ll just take it around back to the garage, okay?” Daina moved toward the crumpled little body and retrieved it from the flowerbed. Its head lolled back against her fingers as she lifted it.
“I don’t think it’s alive anyway.” She said this sadly, looking back up at Emma.
“Ya think?” Emma responded dryly.
Daina gave her what she hoped was a dirty look and then headed off for the garbage cans lined up beside the garage. She lifted one of the lids. She didn’t know for sure if the bird was dead and she didn’t know how to check, but if it wasn’t, she didn’t want to just dump it in one of the garbage cans and close the lid on it. She opted for laying it on top of a garbage bag and setting the lid off to one side. If it was still alive, it would hopefully be able to fly away once it came to.
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