For Good (4 page)

“You're living with a roommate?” Sierra asked.

“I told you I was,” Kristen said.

“But you're living with her! You should be living with me.”

Kristen sat in Marydale's dining room, her work spread out in front of her, her phone to her ear. A breeze from an open window brought in the smell of cooling earth and twilight. It stirred her papers.

“Isn't it nice to have your own place?” Kristen wanted to be kind. She wanted to say,
You know I miss you
, but she was afraid one word of encouragement would have Sierra on a bus to Tristess, or worse, in the backseat of some pansexual's Buick LeSabre.

“I want to live with you!” Sierra complained. “I don't want to live in Beaverton. I want to be with you. I could be your assistant, and we could solve cases together! Like Charlie's Angels. I don't have any friends at college.”

“What happened to the vegan hippie guy?”

“He's not you.”

“Hey, I don't solve cases. It's not that interesting. Mostly I file paperwork,” Kristen said, shuffling her files.

“How is she?” Sierra asked petulantly. “Your roommate.”

“I am not cheating on you,” Kristen said. “I can have a roommate. And she's great. Hardworking. Neat.”

As far as she could tell, Marydale owned nothing, had only one friend, and spent most of her time at work. But when they were both home, they had fun together. Marydale cooked, singing and sipping whiskey as she moved around the kitchen. Kristen told Marydale about Sierra and Frog and about her court cases. Marydale told her about the diner and how all the women in Tristess had a crush on her friend Aldean. Kristen told her about the law professor she had briefly dated. Marydale told her about being a kid and playing pirates and aliens in the junkyard where Aldean lived with his grandfather.

“I wish she was around more.”

Just then, a movement caught in the corner of her eye. She jumped, startled to see Marydale leaning in the doorway…and happy, too. She'd been disappointed when she'd come home to find the driveway empty. Now, even as she blushed a little, she hoped that Marydale had overheard her. It wasn't wrong to want a friend.

“You just get home?” Kristen asked.

“I got off early,” Marydale said.

“What?” Sierra asked.

“I was talking to Marydale.”

“Fine,” Sierra huffed.

Kristen said goodbye to Sierra. To Marydale she said, “I ordered a desk. I'll get out of your dining room soon.”

“It's
our
dining room.” Marydale wandered in and sat on the edge of the heavy wood table. “And I don't mind. But it's Friday night.”

“Are you going out?” Kristen asked.

“In Tristess?” Marydale twisted her hair up behind her head, then let it fall. “I guess I could go shoot cans or get drunk at the Lariat Lounge. You want to go get drunk at the Lariat Lounge?”

“The district attorney's not supposed to visit bars.”

“Probably a wise choice.”

“What do you do for fun?” Kristen noted the book in Marydale's hand. “Besides read?”

Marydale shrugged. “Aldean and I cook a couple of steaks on his fire pit,” she said. “We want to build a still.”

She stretched her arms over her head, exposing an inch of skin below the knotted tail of her shirt. It seemed to Kristen that Marydale had gotten taller since she'd first met her. Taller. Prettier.

Kristen set her pen down.

“I never get Friday off,” Marydale said. “Come outside with me. Have a drink. You can't work all night.”

On the porch a little while later, Marydale poured two small glasses of vanilla whiskey, then shut off the porch light.

“Bugs'll get you if you leave it on,” she said, balancing herself on the porch railing. “So what would you be doing in Portland right now?”

Kristen sat on the swing, nudging it back and forth with her foot. “Working. Studying. Trying to explain to Sierra why I can't celebrate the solstice by swimming naked on Sauvie Island.”

“You swim naked?”

“With
my
body?” Kristen leaned her head back and stared up at the roof above the porch. “Sierra can't stand that we're apart. I don't get it. It wasn't like we had this great life.”

“She got to live with you,” Marydale said. “Do you wish you'd stayed in Portland?”

“I wish I could have stayed.”

Marydale looked away, and Kristen wanted to take the words back.

“You know why I really moved out here? I failed the bar twice.”

Marydale's face did not register shock.

“Failing is a big deal. I'd gotten a job at a big firm right after I graduated, but they don't keep you on after something like that.”

“Well, they're assholes, then,” Marydale said. “They should have waited for you.”

Somewhere an owl issued its muffled cry.

Kristen took a sip of the vanilla whiskey. “They fired me the day after the results came in. No. My position had been
reprioritized due to a changing fiscal climate
.”

“The day after your results?”

“Yep. I told people I didn't want to spend my career guessing what kind of lattes the partners wanted. I said I wanted to practice real law. But the only job I could get was teaching part-time at the law school. I think they hired me because they were embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed. Why?”

“I'd been on all sorts of scholarships. It looked bad to the alums. They'd given all this money to help ‘nontraditional students' succeed, and then there I was. But working at the college was like living in the dorms after you graduate. It wasn't a big honor.”

“Nontraditional?” Marydale asked.

“My mom didn't just want to be a singer. She was pretty fucked up.” Kristen hesitated. “I was emancipated when I was seventeen, and I got custody of Sierra. I was supposed to be this big success. Child of drug addict makes good. Goes to law school. Changes the world.” Kristen exhaled heavily. “It's all a long, sad story. You don't want to hear it.”

 “Of course I do,” Marydale urged.

Kristen thought back. “My mom didn't beat us, but she never paid for stuff either. Food. School stuff. Pads when I got my period. We never stayed in an apartment more than a month or two. I got a work permit when I was fifteen. I was just sick of it. But my mom thought it meant she'd be able to buy
outfits
for her
performances
. She told the manager at the taco place where I worked that she had to collect my money because I'd spend it on drugs. She was the one using.”

“That's awful.”

“Finally my manager called my high school, and my guidance counselor helped me find a lawyer who would take my case pro bono. I think that's when I decided I wanted to be a lawyer. I remember going into the courthouse. My mom was there, and she kept talking about how she was just about to get her big break, and I couldn't do this to her because I was
her girl
. And I almost said no. I almost said I wanted to stay with her, but Sierra was ten, and I saw what was going to happen to her if she stayed with our mom. I think my mom was on meth at that point. Then it was all over, and Sierra and I were on our own.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It was easier without my mom.”

“You're tough.”

“I just did what I had to do.”

“I know that story,” Marydale said.

Kristen waited for her to say more, but when Marydale spoke again, she asked, “Did you leave anyone else in Portland besides Sierra?”

“My friend Donna. We grew up a mile or two away from each other on Eighty-Second Avenue. Her parents are dishwashers at this dim sum place called Golden Lucky Fortune. They used to save food for me and Sierra. Donna and I used to see each other every day, but I don't think she misses me much. She's dating this career military guy. Special ops. They'll make a movie out of him. He's a jerk, but somehow she likes it. He's got an amazing jawline. And before that, there was the opera singer, the police chief, and I think there were at least two CrossFit teachers. Poor Donna.”

“And you? Did you have a boyfriend in Portland?” Marydale leaned back, perfectly balanced on the railing. “Someone you miss?”

“In college, I think I was still looking for ‘the One,'” Kristen said slowly. She had cried when the bottom-shelf philosopher dumped her, but after that her dates had faded into the landscape of adult responsibility: specific prearranged meetings at restaurants both parties had researched independently. Sex after an appropriate period of time and using all the modern precautions. “After college I dated, but I never really had the time to…care.”

“Were they all nice guys?”

“You mean were they abusive? No.”

Marydale looked away, and Kristen had the impression that she had misunderstood Marydale's question.

“It's not like guys notice me much,” Kristen added.

Marydale slid off the railing and sat next to her. “I find that hard to believe.”

Kristen took in the sweep of Marydale's body, from the scuffed turquois boots to her rhinestone belt buckle to her hair.

“You don't have that problem,” Kristen said.

Marydale tilted her head to one side, revealing a faux-diamond earring.

“I think you've got that sexy-librarian thing.” Marydale draped one arm over the back of the porch swing. “Any girl can blow out her hair and put on some false eyelashes and a pair of Peel-n-Stick Push-Ups—”

“Do I even want to know?”

Marydale cupped her own breast with one hand.

“In case the Good Lord didn't provide, but you don't need all that.”

Judging by the swell of her breast rising from the low-cut V of her shirt, Marydale didn't need them either.

“But you…you're different.” Marydale rubbed the tips of her fingers into Kristen's shoulder. “You remind me of the range.”

“The range?” she asked.

Marydale ran her fingers beneath the coil of Kristen's French twist, into her hair, along her scalp, sending a shiver of pleasure down her spine. Kristen remembered that Sierra had always had a flock of girlfriends who cuddled one another. Kristen had suspected they would soon trade those affections for teen pregnancy, but maybe she was wrong and this was just something women did when they were friends and not as prickly as Donna Li. Kristen tried to form some polite refusal.
No thank you. I don't…

 “It's always beautiful, but it doesn't come at you. You know? And you don't need to put a bunch of fake diamonds on it. I bet men notice you,” Marydale said. “I think they're probably just afraid to mess it up.”

Kristen felt the glow of the compliment touch her cheeks. “I work all the time,” she said. “I'm not really…fun.”

“I think you're fun.”

Marydale continued to massage her neck. Kristen didn't move. She knew she should pull away, but it had been a long time since anyone had touched her, and Marydale's fingertips felt deliciously good against her skin. It wasn't so odd for two lonely women to do this—whatever this was. Wasn't that the plot of every soft-core porn movie? Two horny cowgirls start making out in a field and are joined by some well-hung men in chaps? But of course they weren't going to do that, and that wasn't going to happen, even if Marydale did have the hair of a porn star.

“I should probably just date one of the accountants Donna's mother is always finding for her,” Kristen murmured. “They're boring as hell, but they're very respectable…men.”

Marydale drew back, her hand still resting on Kristen's back, her blue eyes dark in the shadow of the porch.

“Not that it matters,” Kristen added. Marydale had not moved, but it seemed like they were sitting very close, and “horny” didn't capture the star-speckled electricity that suddenly ran through Kristen's body.

“I think you want more than a respectable accountant,” Marydale purred, her tone seductive and self-effacing at the same time, as though she was quietly mocking her own flirtation.

“How about you? Do you have a respectable accountant?” Kristen's voice came out rough and hushed.

“No,” Marydale said. “People 'round here don't really approve of…me.”

“Approve?”

Marydale leaned in.

“Approve of what?” Kristen whispered.

Then Marydale's lips were on hers, her fingers in Kristen's hair. Marydale's breath tasted of clean water and a hint of berry-flavored ChapStick. Kristen waited for Marydale's tongue to touch hers, but it didn't. In the back of her mind, warnings flashed in concepts more than words.
Roommate. Small town. Bisexual.
But she wanted to feel Marydale's tongue with a desire that was curious and eager and shy all at the same time. She leaned in closer and touched the tip of her tongue to Marydale's, feeling its slight roughness and the heat of Marydale's breath. Then they were kissing the kind of deep kiss that had always left Kristen feeling vaguely strangled; it didn't now. She clutched Marydale's back. Marydale moaned so quietly it was barely an exhale, but the sound was all lonely, sensuous yearning, and it sent a jolt of desire through Kristen's body so intense she pulled away as though something had stung her.

“Oh.” Kristen pushed her glasses back on her nose. The bobby pins that held up her French twist had come undone and hung in the tangle of her hair.

Marydale's eyes were wide. “I shouldn't have done that, should I?”

“I…” Kristen could still feel Marydale's lips on hers, like a flash of light imprinted on the retina. “Um.” She laughed. “I'm not…We're roommates. I didn't…”

But she had. She had felt the air tighten around them like static before a storm.

She touched her lips. “I'm not gay or anything like that. I don't want you to get the wrong impression.”