Part 22 (2/2)

”But was that why she did it? She pulled the trigger four times-that's going to be a sticky point. I can't help...was it that, or was it a kind of atonement?”

”What do you mean?”

”She must have known. On some level she must have known, or at least suspected he had murdered Tamara and Melanie, as well as Candy. Was shooting him her way of making up for that?”

”She wanted to stop him!” Stacy said. ”And I, for one, will never forget that.”

”That makes two of us.” Alison fell silent.

Stacy nodded down the field. The foursome had split up and Seven Yellow Moons was leading Pam away by the hand, gently, as if she had been sick. Alison remembered the photograph at Pam's house, the four women and the little boy caught in that magic moment on a picnic.

”Hi there, Tiger.” Mich.e.l.le jogged to catch them. ”I hear you're going on to the Gay Games.”

”And I hear you're going to the doctor finally,” said Janka from the other side. ”Do you want me to take you?” Alison wondered how much Seven Yellow Moons had told her after their long discussion on holistic healing the week before.

”No,” she said, ”Stacy's going to go.” And then, ”Yeah, I do. You too, Mich.e.l.le.” Because she was loving dating Stacy, but Janka and Mich.e.l.le were her family.

”Me, too,” said Mich.e.l.le, pressing close to her.

She thought then that they would go into one of those long silences that had become so common since that night they had divided between the police station and the hospital. More than the blood splattered on the walls, on the bolts of muslin that had to be thrown away, the silences had come to represent her nightmares. Long periods of time when they stood without talking, each wondering, reproaching herself for clues they had not recognized, things they had not done.

Then Janka, linking her arm through Stacy's, began to sing one of the songs they had heard at Pam's concert the week before. ”High on the mountain, my Lord spoke, out of his mouth came fire and smoke.” Her high, clear voice drifted across the field and Alison could hear two other soccer players, who also sang in the chorus, answering with the alto part.

”You'll never guess who I saw in the bookstore.” Mich.e.l.le leaned across Alison to talk to Stacy.

”Dominique?” Stacy said. ”Doing a booksigning! Dominatrix in Prison.”

”She does have an article in this month's Out Front,” said Alison, ”but it's on cat adoption. She and Beth are going to open a kennel.”

”Who then?” Stacy pressed Mich.e.l.le.

”That woman whose husband they painted blue and orange.”

”Sharon?”

”No, the other one. The one you were lovers with.”

”Nina?”

”Yeah. Buying a copy of Lesbian Connection.”

”Huh.”

”More hara.s.sment?” suggested Alison.

”Maybe. But we can always hope that it's something better.”

From all over the field voices had joined in with Janka's, floating thin on the wind. Alison bent to unlock the door of the car.

Kate Allen grew up in Idaho and New Mexico, but had to escape to the big city when she realized she was a d.y.k.e. She currently lives in Denver with five cats all of whom were rescues or throwaways, and is supported by a loving and loyal lesbian extended family. When she is not vacuuming or writing, she makes quilts and goes two-stepping at the Country/Western bar. She is writing another book about Alison-Stacy and Mich.e.l.le just got into a fight at a wake. Tomorrow they'll be going to the flea market to consult with the lesbian phone psychic.

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