Part 2 (1/2)

”So what's the deal, Trombone?” Marian sc.r.a.ped the last of the cat upchuck out of the heel of her favorite clogs. ”Is it something I said?”

The tip of Trombone's tail moved just enough to agree.

”You smell Amani's on me, and I didn't bring you any, and then I ignored you to write in my journal, is that it? Hill, breathe someplace else.” Marian pushed Professor Hill's snout the other direction.

”Between your breath and Trombone's puke, it's aromatic enough in here.”

Hill good-naturedly rolled over, covering the remainder of the small kitchen floor with his body and long collie tail.

”You're jealous of Hill's tail, aren't you, Trombone?” Sighing, Marian finished mucking out her shoe and poured her last gla.s.s of water for the day. She ought to have exercised.

Looking out the kitchen window into the backyard, she saw the sweep of headlights as Hemma and Amy pulled into the alley access behind their house.

”Make you a deal, body. You start bleeding and I'll start exercis-ing.” She snapped off the kitchen light on her way through to the tiny dining room she rarely used. Hill scurried out to the screened porch while Marian checked that the outer door was locked.

Satisfied there were no intruders, Hill scampered past her knees to chase Trombone upstairs.

11.

”Hill, you're just going to end up with a scratched nose!” Hill had yet to learn the politics of living with a cat. Marian locked the front door behind her and successfully avoided confronting the clutter in the living room by turning out the light. She'd clean next year, maybe.

Trombone, perched on the highest shelf of the tall bookcase at the top of the stairs, watched Marian thump her way up and ignored Hill's antic attempts to reach her. ”You brought that creature into my house,” the Russian Blue seemed to say, her tail wrapped tightly around her.

Marian paused as she did every night to touch her mother's quilt, which hung on the high wall of the stairwell. ”When you pay the mortgage, my dear Trombone, you can decide who lives here. Hill won't be a puppy forever. He's only two. Another couple of years.”

Trombone looked at the wall.

”Someday, Hill, you're going to bring that bookcase down on your head. Sit! Stay!” Marian held her finger inches from Hill's nose until he settled. ”Oh, good boy! Good boy!”

Trombone's sigh was audible.

Marian paused a moment to regard the empty shelves. Their barren state was something she'd ignored successfully for some time.

Well, it would be a place to put her textbooks. It felt weird to think of herself as a student again.

She brushed her teeth to the accompaniment of Hill's happy, going-to-bed panting. She knew that when she was nearly asleep Trombone would join them, taking, as usual, the center of the bed. It was genetically impossible for a cat to sleep anywhere else, especially if other beings wanted the bed as well.

Ordinary pajamas, she told herself. Some boxer shorts and a cotton tank-that's all that was called for on a warm summer night.

It wasn't as if there was anyone to impress. No one had seen her in pajamas since Robyn, and Robyn hadn't liked her in pajamas. Robyn had preferred her-no, stop right there, she scolded herself. Robyn was a lying, cheating b.i.t.c.h of a destructive thief.

12.

Cotton boxers and an equally soft tank was what the night called for, and that was all. Inner s.l.u.t pouted and whispered outrageous fantasies. I'm in control here, Marian thought weakly. I won't give in.

But her hand pa.s.sed over the comfortable cotton in the drawer, and reached instead for the sensuous silk of the nights.h.i.+rt and boxer set that had never been designed for sleep.

She smoothed the thin black silk over her hips and couldn't quite look at herself in the mirror as she washed her face. She ignored the tingle down her spine that the cool fabric always triggered. With the lights out, moonlight spilled dimly through the open blinds of the spare room.

Close the blinds, she told herself. Close them, go to your room and get over it.

She sat down in the chair at the window. Count to twenty. If it's still dark in twenty, leave. Get over it.

The night was warm and heavy. Her body ached to be touched.

Hormones, she told herself. You were even thinking about Ellie at dinner. It's just those stupid hormones making you this way.

She counted to a hundred twice, then soft light blossomed in the bedroom opposite where she sat.

Amy came to the window and pushed it half closed, then lowered the shade to match. There was a flash of aqua behind her, then the shade pressed against the gla.s.s. Two bodies, backlit by the bank of candles on their dresser, merged into one.

Don't do this, Marian told herself, even as she peered through the night. This is pathetic.

The aqua s.h.i.+rt floated to the floor. Two bare midriffs were visible as slacks were unzipped. It was easy to tell the slightly darker tone of Hemma's Middle Eastern skin from Amy's Irish paleness. Amy's hands on Hemma's waist.

Not Marian, but Amy lowering Hemma to the bed. Amy, stroking Hemma's back. Amy easing Hemma's bra from her shoulders. It was Amy's fingertips gently rousing Hemma's nipples to hard points of dusty rose and Amy's tongue teasing them further.

13.

Amy and Hemma had a rhythm, a natural pace that spoke of ease and long practice, but it was never the same way twice. Some nights they were hurried, others languid. It could take minutes, or it could take hours.

Hemma had her hands in Amy's hair, pus.h.i.+ng her down toward her hips. Amy resisted for a moment, said something. Hemma responded by opening her legs farther and tipping her hips up. Then it was Amy tasting Hemma. Marian swallowed hard and ached to feel the hot silk of Hemma's desire on her tongue. Hemma was frantic tonight, arching against Amy, exposing every inch of herself to Amy's seeking mouth.

Pathetic. Marian dashed away tears. How much of her life had she wasted wanting what she couldn't have?

Across the distance separating the two houses Marian could hear Hemma's moan. She had to close her eyes as she imagined that sound being one she had wrought. Her hands swept to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, teasing her nipples through the thin fabric. Hormones . . . G.o.d, she wanted to be touched tonight. She imagined Hemma caressing her, whispering in her ear whatever magic she whispered to Amy, whatever promises that made Amy gasp for breath.