“Sorry, I—” Claire starts, but the moment she sees the person’s face she loses her train of thought. “Oh, my goodness.”
It isn’t Jackie. It isn’t even Theo. It’s the masculine woman whose photo on Jackie’s wall Claire has been staring at for months, as if she’s walked straight out of the frame and intoreal life. She’s just as striking as she is in the picture, short-shorn hair and all. She has a scar that bisects her right eyebrow that wasn’t there in the photo. She’s in tight pants, like Claire, and a brown suede jacket. She regains her balance with an easy confidence.
“Woah there. Something got your feathers ruffled?” The woman says, grinning and steadying Claire by the shoulder.
Claire can hardly find words. Her focus is split; for the first time in a while, Jackie isn’t the primary thing on her mind.
“You’re real,” Claire blurts.
The woman looks at her quizzically. “Do I know you?”
Claire winces. She’s probably coming off like a maniac. She points quickly to the frame on the living room wall just to their right, her face burning hot. “Sorry. Sorry, it’s only—your picture is on Jackie’s wall.”
“Is it?” The woman says. She looks delighted as she follows Claire’s finger. When she sees the photo, she grins wider and leans closer to peek. “Damn! So it is.”
A second person pops up at the woman’s elbow. She’s shorter, with long auburn hair and a bold red lip to match her daring scarlet dress. She winds her arm through the short-haired woman’s, leaning into her, and in an instant Claire recognizes her in more ways than one.
“LeAnn!” Claire says. She laughs, too full of this strange, amorphous joy to keep it in. Now that Claire can see them side by side, it’s obvious that LeAnn is the other woman from the photo—the feminine one, lighting the cigarette. It’s almost too perfect.
“Look who it is—my hero,” LeAnn says, giggling when her beau presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Darla, this is the woman I told you about. The baby butch who tackled that cop for me, remember?” LeAnne tucks her arm more securely intoDarla’s. Her lipstick is exactly the same shade as a smudged mark on Darla’s collar.
It brings to mind the pink lipstick mark on Jackie’s jaw at that first housewarming party, and where it came from. The reminder burns in Claire, hotter than her own blushing.
“You’re kidding?” Darla says, grinning wide at Claire. She holds out a hand, much like Jackie always does. Fearless. “In that case, I owe you one. I was working that night, and when I heard about the raid, I can’t tell you how happy I was to see LeAnn come home. I’m Darla.”
“Claire,” Claire says, accepting the handshake. It’s firm and spirited. Darla’s hands are calloused, like maybe she does some kind of manual labor. “Claire Fields.”
“You a friend of Jackie’s?” Darla says.
“Something like that.”
“Claire pointed out that we’re on the wall,” Darla says to LeAnn, pointing at the photo.
LeAnn gasps in delight. “Would you look at that. We look great, baby. We should talk to Jackie about buying it.”
Their easy affection with each other sings through Claire’s veins. The touches, the pet names. They couldn’t be clearer about their relationship to each other. They fit together as naturally as anything.
Claire wants that. She wants it with Jackie.
“I’m actually looking for her,” Claire says hopefully. “Have you seen her around?”
Darla claps a strong hand on Claire’s shoulder, tilting her until she’s facing the sliding back door. “She’s out by the pool.”
“In this weather?”
LeAnn shrugs. “She’s seemed out of sorts all night. I think she wanted to be alone.”
Claire’s heart pounds away in her chest. Jackie is just through those flimsy doors, after almost two months of distance. Once Claire opens them, there’s no going back.
Darla and LeAnn start to head towards the conversation pit, but after a few steps Darla stops and turns back around.
“By the way, I like the shirt. Very sharp,” Darla says, winking. “Let me know if you ever want a haircut. My barber knows the deal. She’ll do it for free, if it’s your first.”
Of all the things that have happened in the last hour, this is the one that has Claire’s eyes stinging. Darla is open and friendly with hardly a single conversation between them, offering her preferred lady barber as if she’s inviting Claire into some kind of exclusive club. A club where Claire can have short hair and wear the clothes she wants to. Where she can walk arm-in-arm with the woman she loves.
Some kind of community.
Claire surges forward, pulling Darla into an even tighter hug than she gave Martha.
