Sapphic Voices Romance

A Fate Of Fire

Part Three

eight

Felice felt a little guilty about her decision to move into her new studio, she had a show coming up that winter and needed some new work to sell. That meant more time at Bailey’s, time that she had long put off.

She moved her old works into the far corner of the studio, and set up her work area close to the windows. She bought an old kiln to bake clay and heat glazed objects until they shinned. All the while brainstorming about a theme for her next project.

She brought other things, her hair care system, and lined her shampoo, and conditioners along Bailey’s sink. She brought her favorite quilt, and spread it on the bed. She hung a copy she’d made of Frida Kahlo’s Thinking of Death, in the hallway.

She hoped these things would not make Bailey feel overwhelmed, Felice hoped she would be pleased.

The air conditioning window unit in her studio began to clunk and sputter before going out totally. She called Bailey and told her the news, a welcome distraction from brainstorming, she even tried to lure her love home for lunch, but she was too busy.

Felice went outside and surveyed the land from the porch pulling her hair into a ponytail to keep it off her neck. She was to call a number Bailey had given her. Repairmen to fix the unit. Felice would get around to it eventually. For now there was exploring to do. On the road a couple of kids shouted at each other as they pedaled their bikes.

Felice wondered if cousin Jonnie played with those kids or if she just hid out in the woods all the time, killing things. That was no life for a girl or any child they needed to interact to cultivate their talents. She walked across Williamson field looking out for the girl. Felice paused to touch the oak trees she liked the texture of the bark and peeled away a few scales of it.

In the grass that grew around the trees she found a wooden arrow with fletching made of synthetic feathers, not like the fiberglass and sponge Bailey used. The woods cast their shade on the ground, it looked cool and inviting so she entered.

The sun spilled through the gaps in the leaves and the branches, but was not as strong and though she found she had not escaped the humidity, Felice felt cooler. She tried to convince herself that though she was in the woods she was not in the middle of nowhere. That eliminated the chances of getting desperately lost or coming upon bears, or wolves.

Felice wished she had brought her camera along or either her sketchbook, the floor of the woods were littered with leaves and pine needles; rows of round fungus grew up the side of a tree one beneath the other like uneven steps.

She walked on and found a clearing spotted and speckled with sunlight, she wished Bailey was there, Felice at that instant thought of all the fun they could have in such a beautiful spot, out in the open air yet secluded from the world.

Yawning in the humid air she stretched out her arms and walked to the middle of the clearing.

There was a woman squatting on the ground, half of her body darkened by the thick shade. A faint, acrid, burning smell wafted from the woman’s direction as the dry wind shifted. Her shoulders shifted, her hands in front of her busy doing so task Felice could not see.

Felice meant to back out of the clearing silently. Her heel caught on a root that had surfaced above ground. She flailed her arms to keep her balance, but she was pulled to the ground as if the gravity beneath the trees was stronger than any place else in Arcola.

She noticed the woman turn as she fell, the glass tubing, and the glint of a scrap of foil in the sunlight clutched between brown hands like talons.

Felice landed on her ass and gave a startled yelp.

“Who’re you?” the woman asked her sharp face crumpled into a frown, hiding the crack pipe behind her back.

“I’m Felice,” she asked from the ground, “I’m so clumsy. I’m sorry to bother you.”

Usually she did not run from people unseen, especially little squatting women, but there was something about the shade and the dancing light that seeped through the bunches of leaves and branches overhead that made Felice flee.

“No bother to me,” the woman answered squinting and stooping a bit, “These woods belong to you now.”

“I don’t own these woods,” Felice stood carefully, she did not know if the little woman could become volatile, “My friend Bailey Williamson owns the land that way,” she said pointing the way she had come.

“The woods they belong to her, and she belongs to you,” the woman said.

Felice laughed nervously, she was sure the story of the crack head in the woods would be funnier later, once she was safe at Bailey’s.

“Stella you fuckin’ crackhead.”

They both looked up to see Jonnie leaning against the tree. Felice edged towards the girl, glancing to see if the little black woman would follow.

Stella had her head bowed, her eyes rolling like a panicked rabbit’s and she shuffled her feet in a sidle hop as if she could take flight suddenly like a startled bird.

“Just mindin’ my own business Jonnie Boy,” she said, “Like I’m always doin’.”

“Well, this ain’t no goddamned back-alley,” Jonnie narrowed her eyes.

“I’m leavin,” Stella said, she turned and walked away slowly, looking over her shoulder as she went.

“Thank you,” Felice said, “I’m sure she’s harmless. I just got spooked.”

Jonnie gathered her quiver of arrows from under a tree hanging them over her shoulder. She also had a rusted birdcage filled with tiny brown sparrows.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked Felice.

“I took a walk,” she answered.

“This ain’t a damned nature trail,” Jonnie said gruffly, “You alright?”

“I’m ok,” Felice reassured herself and Jonnie.

She looked up at the girl, Jonnie favored Bailey; the same brow, and mouth, the same eyes but colorless almost, a transparent gray like smoked glass.

“Are you sure?” Jonnie asked.

“Yeah,” Felice nodded dusting herself off.

Jonnie pointed the way out of the woods. They walked in silence, the sparrows fluttered about the cage in fits, settling then storming again.

“Where’d you get the birds?” Felice asked once they reached the porch.

“Caught ‘em,” Jonnie opened the cage and stuck in her hand.

“No way,” Felice marveled, “They’re so tiny.”

“Yeah,” Jonnie grunted and showed one of the sparrows trapped in her fist she held it out to Felice.

“Here you hold ‘im,” she smiled.

“I don’t know,” she edged closer, “It is a wild bird.”

Jonnie stood cupping a hand over her fist.

Felice opened her hands and felt the little, warm, weight of the bird she peered down at it, the bright beady eyes the white markings around the black beak.

Her fingers were folded across the bird’s back, but she unfolded it and held her two open palms over her head. Jonnie’s mouth fell open and she reached out her own hands as if to catch the bird, but the weight in Felice’s hand disappeared and the whisper of tiny wings it flew away.

She stood back with her hands on her hips. “Now why’d you go and do that?”

Felice looked over at the cage.

“What are you going to do with them?” she asked.

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” Jonnie was amused, “Probably make good snake food, like those little white mice-”

“How about…” Felice interrupted, she laughed nervously, “Anything but that.”

Jonnie opened the cage reached in grabbed one of the tiny birds and tossed it off the side of the porch. The sparrow gave a little chirp and flew away. Felice went to the cage sneaked two hands in and dragged out two birds they hopped around on the porch then they too flew away.

They laughed and freed birds until the cage was empty.

“That was just as fun as catching them,” Jonnie admitted and seeing three still sitting on the porch railing she shooed them.

“I’d imagine,” Felice grinned, “Better than seeing them swallowed up by snakes.”

“Just as amazing,” Jonnie looked at her and nodded.

“I don’t see what’s so amazing about poor little birds getting eaten whole,” Felice said.

Jonnie hopped on the porch railing and perched there. “Snakes have to eat, and there’s a reason they don’t make snake chow. Some snakes won’t eat anything you kill for them, they have to be able to perform that act of half crushing something to death with their jaws and holding it trapped, half alive to be smothered inside their bodies.”

She adroitly bent a let and produced a smooshed pack of cigarettes from the cuff in her jeans leg.

“Your parents let you smoke?” Felice challenged.

“My mom’s a whore, she died awhile back, and my old man never gave a fuck,” Jonnie sneered, striking a match.

“And Bailey?” Felice asked.

Jonnie laughed and gave no other reply except for a jerk of her head towards the woods. “Bailey likes those little black cigars,” Felice folded her arms and walked around to the porch door thinking she heard the phone ring. I think smoking is disgusting.”

“That you do,” Jonnie flicked her smoke over the porch railing, “How you like my little town so far?”

“S’quaint,” Felice said, copying Jonnie and Bailey’s abrupt, half-mumble, speech.

“Liar,” Jonnie narrowed her eyes, then laughed, “We got crackheads just like the big city, and much anticipated exhibits like that big Fuck You, in green graffiti on the side of City Hall.”

“I get the feeling you’re poking fun of me,” Felice said, “City living isn’t all that. For now I want to be close to Bailey.”

“Just asking,” Jonnie said her voice took on a defensive edge, then her shoulders slouched a bit and straightened, “She really likes you a lot.”

“Yeah,” Felice said.

“You know what?” Jonnie gathered her bow and cage, “Bailey said you were pretty but I should have known better to believe her she’s such a scrooge with words. You’re more of a knockout than anything.”

Jonnie grinned then bounded off the porch shouting a hasty good-bye. Felice watched her sprint toward the woods she ran in big strides her arms stretched out to her sides, the cage and bow flying with her as she cut through the high grass.

Felice went inside and began to sketch a cage crammed with tiny sparrows.

After a few hours she dragged out a box of clay, and lifted the red-brown, plastic wrapped mass inside on to her table, and began to cut and shave off chunks. Her cutting and shaping became more precise and the chunks turned to bits.

She did not stop working until the back door banged shut. Felice grinned and stood to stretch flexing her hands dry, and flaky from red clay.

“Who’s in here?” Bailey announced.

“Me,” Felice laughed, studying the bust she had made of Jonnie Boy. In the kitchen the fridge opened and beer bottles rattled.

“Hmm,” Bailey said as if she doubted anyone was at home at all. She appeared smiling at Felice, starting when she saw the head of her cousin.

“Hey,” she said opening her beer.

“Hey,” Felice answered and pointed at the sculpture with a carving tool, “You like it?”

Bailey shrugged and took a sip of her beer. The head bothered her, Felice noticed that her mouth had flattened into a straight line, and she had that hard, haunted look in her eyes.

Bailey took a sip of beer. “Have you called those guys?”

Felice returned to her sculpting, she had the nose and the brow carved out perfectly, and the hair resembled the tousled locks of Jonnie. The day was gone and the unit was still out. Felice had forgotten to call the repairmen.

“Did you call those guys?” Bailey asked again taking another drink, she went around to the wooden frame where the wall once was making the studio into the parlor and the guest room. As she had predicted the one room was naturally bright, especially with the shade on the back door window pulled up.

“What guys, honey?” Felice asked, it was always to easy to play the absentminded artist.

“The ones who are supposed to fix that a/c unit?” Bailey asked.

“Oh,” she looked over her shoulder, at the offending appliance “Yeah, I called them and they’ll be by tomorrow.”

“Good. I swear its getting hotter everyday,” Bailey sighed.

Felice stood, walked over and kissed her. “I finally got to talk to Jonnie today.”

“Really?” she returned the kiss, spotting the sketch of the caged sparrows, “She must have really inspired you.”

“Yeah, she’s so cute, with that red hair and those eyes-” Felice took her hand and led her to the kitchen, “She reminded me of a little Amazon, and I came up with the perfect idea for the show. Urban Artemis.”

“Don’t bother with her,” Bailey told her, “She’s not right in the head.”

“She seemed pretty smart to me,” Felice said, “She had a cage full of little sparrows I wonder how she caught them all. Do you know?”

“Naw,” Bailey sat at the table “I bet they’re all dead by now.”

Felice was in the refrigerator pulling out fixings for a sandwich. “No we let them all go, she was showing me one and it got away and I was so delighted that Jonnie let them all go.”

Bailey frowned. “The little psycho.”

Felice made a face tilting her head. “She looks a lot like you, and she carried around her little bow and arrows, I think she admires you.”

“What?” Bailey asked in disbelief.

Felice laughed. “Well, you have the same tastes in women.”

“What disgusting things did she say?” Bailey gasped.

“Nothing,” Felice sliced a bit of tomato, “ I don’t think I’ve ever had a girl that young check me out before.”

“Not funny,” Bailey declared walking across the kitchen to Felice, “Jonnie is almost a little too fond of women, she’s been in trouble at school for harassing girls.”

“Oh,” Felice said, “But she’s so cute Bailey, kind of a wise-ass but cute.”

“Which is very unlike her,” she pointed at the sandwich ingredients, “Dinner?”

“Yes,” Felice hissed struggling with a jar of pickles until Bailey took it from her, “It’s too hot to be slaving over a hot stove.”

“True,” Bailey opened the jar, “I do like to watch you sweat though.”

“Flirt,” Felice accused.

“It runs in the family,” Bailey said grimly.

“I went for a walk today. In the woods. There was a woman, ” she said.

“Who?” Bailey asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Felice said, “The woman was out there smoking crack. Jonnie called her Stella.”

“Shit,” Bailey said and held her close for a few minutes, “Stay out of those woods ok…it’s easy to get lost, and its kind of a no-man’s land.”

“You’ll have to take me out there and show me around one day,” Felice said.

Bailey finished her sandwich, then got up and left to feed the cows. Felice followed behind silently. Getting words out of the woman were like pulling teeth, and Felice would not have bothered with her at all if there were no proof of the tenderness within her, evidence showered on Felice when she and Bailey made love. Bailey could say so much with her hands, and her lips, her arms and her flat stomach brushing against Felice.

As she turned and locked the gate Bailey realized she was being followed. She swung it wide open to let Felice in behind her.

The cows came to greet them, Jackie-O allowed her head to be cradled in Felice’s arms.

“She’s so fat,” she shrieked and grinned.

Bailey nodded, “Be careful, she’s moody as hell.”

Lady Bird waited anxiously for supper, flipping her tail and lulling.

Felice laughed at her as she walked over to help Bailey, “Don’t you ever get attached to them?” she asked of the cows.

“They’re cows not dogs,” Bailey answered.

Felice shrugged. “How long have you been doing this?”

Bailey whistled. “A long time, since before I got burned, but it was certainly after Mother died. She never liked me playing farm hand, but I still watched. When she died this place nearly went to shit until I got off my ass.”

The two cows came and began to tear into their feed.

“Would you ever leave?” Felice asked.

“You mean sell the land and the house?” Bailey asked, “No I couldn’t, it’s all that’s left of the Williamson ranch,” she grinned, “Anyway no one would pay me what I think the land’s worth.”

“It won’t stay like this forever,” Felice told her, “The county’s got subdivision fever and it’s coming this way from either side.”

Bailey laughed. “They’re just gonna have to build around Arcola, with the ghetto up the highway and all them damn crack heads.”

“All the more reason to get them out and redevelop,” Felice said wishing she had not skirted so far away from the topic of her being home more often.

Bailey shook her head happily distracted. “They wouldn’t do that. Its one of the places where Texas began. It’s history.”

“If you insist,” Felice sighed she watched Jackie-O leave the trough and go inside the barn.

“Guess what?” Bailey asked.

“What?” Felice gave an amused frown.

Bailey said nothing just motioned towards the barn as she walked, beckoning Felice to follow.

Jackie had found herself a nice patch of hay Bailey went and petted her head then moved down the cow’s flank pressing tenderly with the tips of her fingers.

“Easy girl,” she said to Jackie as moved behind the cow whose tail lay limply to the side.

“What are you doing?” Felice whispered.

“Just checking her out,” Bailey said, “She’s gonna calve tonight.”

“You mean give birth?” Felice asked, “What do we have to do?”

Bailey laughed as she petting the cow’s flanks. “We’re just gonna make sure things go good, other than that we don’t have to do much at all.”

Felice came closer. “I’ve never watched a cow be born before.”

. Bailey smiled. “It’s gonna be a big night.”

Felice watched her close that night, she had always found it hard to believe that the hands that made love to her also killed and skinned animals, but those hands guiding something new into the world made a lot more sense.

Later that evening when the head of the calf emerged from it’s mother Bailey with a pen light clutched between her teeth used a little blue instrument the same used on new born human babies to suck the fluids from the nostrils, she held on to the calf with gloved hands as the rest of the body emerged slicked with wine-red fluids.
Bailey pried the mouth open and gently slipped in what looked like a large medicine dropper or a turkey baster and pulled out more air restricting fluid.

“Alright,” she said when the calf was set on the hay covered barn floor, she quickly gathered her tools and left the new mother.

Before the placenta could drop the new calf was attempting its first steps.

Bailey lit a cigar like a proud papa.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Felice asked.

“I’ll have get Mr. Waters over to look but I’m hoping it’s a bull,” Bailey watched the little calf pull at Jackie O’s swollen pink udders, she lulled gently and shifted her feet.

“Look at that,” Felice said watching the calf have its first milk, she turned to Bailey who had a wistful look on her face she was dreaming of Williamson ranch, what it used to be and what it could be again, “You’re amazing you know,” she said to Bailey.

“Jackie did all the work,” she stubbed out her cigar and took water and food to the cow.

“You done real good girl,” she said softly to Jackie-O, “We got us a handsome calf.”

She cleaned up the soiled hay.

“Really, I mean what you did tonight was amazing,” Felice insisted as they walked to the house, “I can tell it was not a big deal, like you were cut out to do that kind of thing, your mother would have seen that eventually.”

Bailey beamed in the darkness.

“And, I’d kiss you if I weren’t so germy,” Felice smiled and put a hand to her back, Bailey’s shirt was damp with sweat.

“I know,” she answered.

“You know what else that crackhead said,” Felice said.

Bailey rolled her eyes. “What she say?”

“That you were mine,” she giggled, “Its getting out that you’re not a bachelorette any more.”

“Oh shit,” Bailey said, “There goes my reputation.”

nine

There was more to Williamson place. Just up Morningside road there was another gravel drive, like Bailey’s home place but more dust than anything. No one had rebuilt the drive with fresh rock, and there were no tall pines in a neat row, only a rough mass of growth. The plot of land was smaller, the house was smaller, once it had been unkempt but now it was run into the ground, the foundation leaned over, and the house was cracked down the side, splitting in two.

Bailey was surprised to see the little tree that blossomed tiny pink flowers still standing. The tree had always been the most beautiful thing on her uncle’s land, not even six feet tall, it was so slender and delicate Bailey feared for it, awaiting the day when it would fall by the hand of its residents or just be choked out by all the weedy foliage.

The chick plum tree still leaned too close to the house and dropped its fruit on the roof. Bailey was not sure if that was the proper name of the fruit, she had always heard the hard, yellowish-orange bittersweet fruit called by that name because they were so dry and sour that only chickens bothered to eat them.

It did not take long for Jonnie to appear. The Dodge was still rumbling, Bailey turned off the engine and got out.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods?” Jonnie asked knowing damned well what.

Bailey sighed. “I came to tell you not to come around my place anymore messing with Felice.”

Jonnie had her bow in her hand she used it to poke at the dusty drive, to drill at the soft surface.

“Why?” she asked raising her eyebrows.

“You know exactly-” Bailey began.

“Why?” she insisted, “Bailey you fucking coward. Tell me why.”

“Cause you’re dead,” she cried, a sudden sob made her chest hitch, “That’s why.”

“Because of Felice,” Jonnie narrowed her eyes and stabbed at the ground.

“She’s not supposed to be seeing you,” Bailey reasoned.

“And what’s she going to say when I stop showing up?” Jonnie asked, “What are you going to tell her?”

“Maybe she’ll forget,” Bailey said, “Since you’re not supposed to exist.”

“Maybe she won’t,” Jonnie dropped her bow on the ground and walked closer, “I don’t like this one bit, I knew that bitch-”

Bailey stepped away, the tears she tried to hold back caught the sunlight and smarted her eyes.

“The truth,” Bailey said, “I’ll tell Felice everything.”

“She wouldn’t understand,” Jonnie said, “She’d leave you.”

“What she won’t understand is why you’ll never grow older,” Bailey argued, “Why you don’t go to school like other kids, how you can catch a fucking cage full of sparrows.”

“I’m not just going to disappear cause I’m an inconvenience to you,” Jonnie shouted.

“You hurt Olivia,” Bailey roared through a sob, “You killed that girl. Jonnie you’re a goddamned murderer.”

Jonnie’s face was scrunched up, the way in life she did on those rare occasions she cried, the occasions Bailey broke her heart, like now. “You. Were the one who hurt Olivia, Bailey-”

“Don’t,” Bailey told her, “Its time for you to move on. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry or else you wouldn’t ask,” Jonnie said, “You die Bailey. You leave Felice behind, and think if you had a chance to see her, even if it was just to talk to her, or smell her hair,” Jonnie closed her eyes as if she were savoring the air, she opened them again, a hard stare at Bailey. “You see if you wouldn’t take a chance like that.”

“I am sorry,” Bailey insisted feeling tears on her face, the sensation was just as strange as when she had cried for Felice, but she was not ashamed.

“I loved you Bailey,” she said “And you loved me, and now you just want me to wink out like a light, well that’s not how it is, when you’re dead, especially around these parts, you know it, and I’ll be damned if I let it take me,” Jonnie darted towards the woods.

Bailey watched the woods swallow her up. She followed like she had fourteen years before when Jonnie had run so deep that the cops could not find her. Like that January afternoon, the woods were gray and cold.

Bailey paused to see her own breath drifting out of her mouth like smoke before cooling crisp and disappearing.

“Jonnie,” she muttered and happened to touch her face.

The skin there was smooth and clammy and hot. Bailey groaned and cupped her hands over her ears, she felt the shells of cartilage, covered in thin skin that had been lost in the fire.

She turned to leave the way she came, to return to the humid day, her scarred skin. If the woods had taken her back to that afternoon, she knew what she would see next, and she had worked too hard to forget about Janet Carson, Jonnie’s victim to see her again.

Running she saw the bundle of clothes out of the corner of her eye. She urged herself not to stop, she urged her head not to turn to look. As she passed the dead girl’s body, she glanced over, and a glance was all the memories needed.

Bailey returned to the gravel drive and her truck. She did not like the sight of the Cabriolet parked under the chinaberry tree. From the drive she could see the light on in the studio, Bailey went straight to the metal barn. Her stomach revolted as she stabbed at the lock with the key, she was seeing Janet Carson’s dead face, brown leaves stuck to her cheeks, her eyes wide open her swollen tongue protruding from blue cold lips.

Bailey dropped her keys and whimpered climbing right over the gate, landing on her knees and sobbing like a lost girl.

Bailey stood and stumbled to the barn, the cows followed mooing concern, the new calf trotting uncertainly. She gave them a growling groan but they didn’t listen. She sat on an old tackle box and cried, restraining herself from puking when she recalled the smell of her own burning flesh, seeing Jonnie crumpled, over dead.

“Bailey?” Felice asked from the barn entrance, Lady Bird nuzzling her back it seemed to try and push her inside.

She was reluctant not knowing how to handle seeing Bailey sobbing so hard her body shook.

Felice gave a little gasp and kneeled in front of her. “Bailey are you ok?” she asked, “What happened?”

“Nothin’,” she answered wiping at her cheeks with swift palms, “I’m alright.”

“No you’re not,” Felice said she darted her head trying to catch Bailey’s gaze, but she could not make eye contact, “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” she said abruptly, she finally looked into Felice’s eyes, “Don’t worry, I just get sad sometimes.”

“Everyone does,” Felice said, “But they don’t jump over gates and hide out in the barn to cry.”

“No they do other things,” she said, “This is my thing.”

Felice sighed. “How’d you get burned?”

“Not now,” Bailey damn near moaned then whispered, “Please.”

She straightened as if she meant to stand and Felice moved too, but instead of retreating she opened her arms hesitantly as if she were not sure.

“Oh Bailey,” Felice scolded her, “Don’t ever think twice about reaching out to me.”

“I’m not done crying,” she said warned.

“S’ok,” Felice gathered her in her arms.

Bailey clung to her like she never had before, and she cried. She thought of those first Williamson wives on the Arcola place, how they probably had to do a lot of consoling, salvage any stray pride, do arm busting, back breaking work, keep a bunch of secrets, and just generally put up with a lot of shit.

She hoped they would approve of Felice, because she almost told her every thing, but she held off, crying into her breast was one thing, but baring her soul was another.

..........

They went to Felice’s the next day Bailey was going to take a shot at laying down some new carpet. Felice had picked some soft light brown colored from the samples at Home Depot, and the Dodge had been loaded up with a roll of carpet called cappuccino foam.

“Stop off here,” Felice said as they turned off Windfern road, “Socorro wants you to come say hello, she thought you were a rude gringa and there’s nothing worse than that.”

“Oh,” Bailey said.

Socorro was there on the porch, waiting for them it seemed.

“Well,” she said as Bailey came around the porch, and she said something in Spanish. A lot of her flowers were wilting in the heat, Bailey wondered if she had predicted their little deaths.

Felice replied.

“How’re you.” Bailey gave a slow nod of her head, and extended her hand.

“I’m fine, and you?” Socorro asked.

She glanced at Felice, though she did not mean to.

“I’m fine Señora Preciado,” Bailey said.

Socorro smiled.

“Bailey’s gonna redo the carpet,” Felice told her.

Bailey nodded as if to verify the statement.

“Do something with your hands besides beat people up,” the fortune teller said, “That’s good. That negrita will get what’s coming to her.”

Bailey grinned. “Seems to me she’s long over due.”

“Don’t start,” Felice warned, her and hissed something in Spanish.

“I saw it,” Socorro went on, “Last time she was here raisin’ hell, I saw. that temper of hers is gonna send her to the grave, five years at the most, she’ll be dead.”

“Ignore her,” Felice said to Bailey.

“That’s some talent you have,” she just could not help herself, “What about ghosts? Can you scare em’ off?”

“Why?” Felice laughed, “Your house haunted?”

She blushed. “I’m just asking. Heard a lot of ghost stories growing up.”

The old woman frowned at her niece. “This one,” she said to Bailey, “Never lets nobody talk.”

Then she realized that Socorro had to know about them, she was shocked suddenly. Shy. She made herself shut down and listened to them chat in Spanish. The old tia was gruff but she did not seem to disapprove of their relationship.

“Mother would not have liked me seeing you,” Bailey said when they said good-bye and got back into the truck.

“She would have gotten used to it,” Felice touched the side of her girlfriend’s face.

“She was a racist,” Bailey said quietly.

“Everyone likes me though,” Felice grinned, “I’m like the Latina Julia Roberts.”

Bailey laughed.

..........

Bailey came home the next day ready to go do some more work on the carpet at Felice’s place. They were halfway through, and the little house was looking good again. Felice was in her studio. She had on a pair of drugstore off-the-rack reading glasses, an over head lamp bathed her in a white glow, she had an arrow across her desk it had a gaudy fletching, and was tied with beer bottle caps, she was tying them through drilled holes with raw leather twine.

“Eyes going bad?” Bailey asked.

She looked up and sighed. “Yes.”

Bailey came and hugged her, clinging to her. “Be glad it’s not your hair.”

“Ha-ha,” Felice picked up a chick plum from the floor and bit into it.

Bailey stood straight a wave of revulsion passed through her. “Where’d you get those?” she asked.

“Jonnie brought me a basket,” she lifted a tiny crate full of the yellow fruit, “They’re really good.”

Bailey made a face. “They’re all sour, Honey, you don’t want to eat those.”

“No really, I like them,” Felice took another bite.

“You’ll get the scawls,” she said.

“The What?” Felice asked.

Bailey backed away to the door frame and stood there watching her eat the fruit gathered for her lover by the dead. Her face went red with anger, but she smiled.

“I’m going to work on your unit,” she said to Felice.

The men had taken so long to come and fix it, Bailey decided to look at it her self.

“Ok,” Felice went back to her work.

Bailey went out to check on the cows, the little calf was a week old now, a little bull according to Waters. Felice had named him Dick to keep up with the presidential naming of the cows, and also because he was going to be a stud.

She gave the cows their evening feed and picked up some tools. She was sure Jonnie was not going to give up until something drastic was done. It was bad enough that Felice had decided to make the dead girl the focus of her next project.

Back in the studio Felice worked quietly as Bailey tinkered with the unit, the whole scene was sort of peaceful she thought, catching her gaze and smiling.

“You look sexy there working,” she grinned down at Bailey, “Like the day we met.”

“Yeah, give me one minute, Honey, and I’ll tell you all about how nervous I was and how many times I looked down your shirt,” Bailey screwed the cover back on the unit.

Felice laughed. “You could not see down my shirt.”

“Yes I could,” Bailey lugged the unit back on the windowsill and lowered the frame onto the top.

Felice laughed and walked out of the room.

Bailey plugged in the unit it jolted to life sucking all the power from the studio and the entire house.

“Shiiit,” Felice sang out and whined, “Bailey.”

She laughed and went to their bedroom where she sat on the bed laughing she lay back, and Bailey joined her.

“Just blew a fuse,” she said, kissing Felice, “I can fix it, but not now.”

Felice grinned. “I wasn’t planning on taking too long of a break.”

“Work later,” Bailey kissed her, “You owe me.”

She looked doubtful. “For what?”

“For not saying nothing about that Jonnie project,” Bailey put her hand under Felice’s t-shirt.

“Fine,” she agreed, and sighed, “How I suffer for my art.”

“Yeah right,” Bailey grumbled and kissed her neck.

..........

By the time she got to the fuse box the day had darkened to night. Bailey shinned a flashlight on the fuse box behind the house by the gas meter.

“Nice show,” Jonnie said.

Bailey turned. “I’m going to ignore that.”

“Hey,” Jonnie grinned, “I only took a tiny peep.”

“I’m busy,” she announced determined to ignore her cousin.

Jonnie went on. “Don’t tell Felice, I wouldn’t want her to think that I was a pervert.”

Bailey gave up on her work. “Goddamnit it Jonnie, I told you to get the fuck outta here, to leave us alone.”

Jonnie took a step back, grinning. “Pissy, pissy.”

“You’re dead,” Bailey growled returning to the fuse box, “When I tell Felice she won’t want anything to do with you.”

“I saw Strange Clan,” Jonnie remarked, “Just outside the pasture fence.”

“They don’t come any further,” Bailey said.

“They will,” Jonnie said, “They’re just making up their minds.”

Bailey ignored her cousin and fussed with the fuse box.

“Asshole,” she barked before taking off running.

“Loser,” Bailey grumbled.

She heard Felice walking around the side of the house Bailey watched waiting for her love to appear and caught a glimpse of a star close to the border between night and day.

“Everything alright out here?” Felice asked.

“Yep,” she flipped one of the switches.

“Hey go see if the lights are on,” Bailey said. She left and finally yelled that they were on.

Felice was waiting for her on the porch she wrapped her arms around her and looked into the dark house.

“I thought you said they were on,” Bailey said.

“I turned them off,” Felice grinned.

“Meow,” Bailey kissed her and led her back into the house.

..........

She rolled back and forth and back and forth past the little house on Windfern. Some Sugar Land thugs took note and came out seeing her shiny truck, thinking she wanted to buy drugs. It was that time of year when fire cracker stands popped up like wild metal flowers on wheels, their gun powder nectar attracting wild life of all sorts. Kids ran the rural streets clutching brown paper bags and lighter sticks touching the burning ends to fuses, and making shit go boom.

Bailey decided to go on into the drive way and talk to Socorro Preciado.

She smiled when she opened the door and saw Bailey.

“What you want?” she asked briskly.

“I want to talk to you,” Bailey said, “I’m having some problems…with…ghosts.”

She backed away from the door and she followed her in.

Blood red heavy curtains darkened the house, sunlight barely strained in at the borders. A sofa-sized black velvet painting of Jesus dying on the cross his mother at his feet, and the thick navy carpet darkened the house.

The kitchen though was sunny, and that’s where Socorro saw her clients, she sat and made Bailey sit.

“What kind of problems you having?” she asked.

“A family member who died a while back, she still comes around. I don’t need her anymore,” Bailey explained.

Outside in the street there was the machine gun firing of a pack of Black Cats lit at once.

Socorro grunted, amused. “Just like that, huh?”

Bailey shrugged. “Felice has seen her I already have to tell her that Jonnie’s dead.”

nodded, “It won’t be so easy, takes time. You have to make peace with them, then ignore them, even then-.”

Bailey shook her head. “Is that all?”

“No,” Socorro stood and went to one of her cupboards she began to mix things together on a plate, powders from recycled coffee jars re-labeled in Spanish.

She grunted and turned, bringing a tiny purple velvet bag with a pink drawstring.

“What do I do with this?” Bailey asked taking the bag.

“You’ll know when the time comes,” Socorro grinned, “Don’t worry.”

Bailey almost rolled her eyes at the cryptic answer, but smiled back, she saw Felice deep down inside of the old woman.

“Thank you,” she said graciously.

“No thanks,” Socorro frowned holding out her hand in a quick gesture, “Eighty dollars.”

..........

Jonnie had a young Strange Clan in a trap. In high summer there was little to eat. The berries had dried up, the sun had sucked the moisture from the tender plants.

There was little fat game. Jonnie used a small, strangled, rabbit as bait, leaving the dead animal as a gift. Any Strange Clan would devour the treat without taking it to share like they did most food. The creatures had a habit of exhausting their hunting grounds, moving on to others when the game cleared out, and returning once their scent had worn away.

Sure enough when the young doe who happened to find the first rabbit returned to that spot, Jonnie was waiting, and when without fear the doe stopped to take the meat a rusted metal trap popped and closed around her front, right leg.

“Fucker,” Jonnie threw a rock at the hissing doe, “Shut your fucking mouth.”

Bailey leaned against a tree, her stomach churning. She had come to the twilight searching out Jonnie Boy, and come upon the grisly scene.

The young Strange Clan looked like a girl in her early teens, with filthy brown hair at her shoulders, and pert, golden breasts with bronze nipples. Blood flowed from her temples, and down her neck. Jonnie had beaten her with a large stick that had broken in half and was now discarded.

She turned to Bailey, brow sweating from the work out. The doe crumpled to the ground and covered her very human arms over her head, and whimpered.

“You stay the hell away from Felice,” Bailey rasped not able to pry her eyes from the tortured creature.

“How does Felice feel about this?” she raised her eyebrows and added, “We’re friends you know.”

“She knows how dangerous you are now,” Bailey told her, she noticed that Jonnie’s shirt said “Urban Artemis” and felt a hot flash of anger creep up her neck.

“No she won’t,” Jonnie left the doe and sauntered towards Bailey, “She’s not the type of woman to follow orders, that’s what I like about her.”

“You don’t know shit, Jonnie Boy,” Bailey grabbed her cousin by her shirt, “She’s not to talk to you anymore.”

The girl grinned. “You’re making a big mistake Bailey, trying to control her like that.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bailey asked.

“You want to keep her locked away on Williamson place,” Jonnie answered, “Telling her not to talk to me is the first step, you hate when she goes to Houston, you think she’s out fucking her little art buddies or the Slasher.”

Bailey shoved her to the ground and ran for the doe, she stooped and quickly, pried open the trap. There was another pop as it cranked open.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jonnie asked.

Bailey activated the trap again with a piece of the bloody, broken branch. She turned, at the same time she reached into her pocket and pulled out the little velvet bag pulling it open with her teeth she emptied the contents on Jonnie’s face.

Her dead cousin was covered in a fine gray powder she clutched her eyes and screamed bucking on the ground.

Bailey stood slowly and backed away, finally she turned and ran. She could not watch Jonnie die. Not again.

ten

A sharp stream of water arched up into the air then down into the grass, a rainbow formed around the spray and Felice smiled. She continued to rinse paint off her plastic palettes, she could not stand them to be caked with days of paint.

She squeezed the handle of the hose strengthening the force of the spray she felt a pleasant ache in her shoulder that had restricted her all day. The night before she had spent hours straddling Bailey the flow of pleasure had come easier and longer than usual and they both took full advantage.

Felice smiled to herself and could not wait to see her again, of course without a replay of the past night’s activities. Then again it would not be hard to convince Bailey to exhaust herself into a second night of lovemaking.

She looked up and saw Jonnie approaching with another little scrap-wood crate of chick plums.

“Hey,” Felice said, “You brought me more fruit.”

“Yeah,” Jonnie gave a grin, but it did not seem as enthusiastic as usual.

“You wanna come in for a minute?” Felice asked, “I’m about to have lunch.”

Jonnie shook her head slowly. “I better not it might piss Bailey off.”

Felice began to gather her wet things. “Why would the two of us having lunch together piss Bailey off?”

Jonnie shrugged. “She’s told me to stay away from here, so I guess it does.”

Felice sighed.

“Yeah,” Jonnie agreed, “She’s a lot like her dad in that way, she doesn’t even know how much.”

Felice dumped her supplies on a towel laid out on the porch she sat on the floor and began to dry them vigorously.

“He had a wife a lot like you, Bailey’s mother, cultured, real high society, she came from old Virginia money, ran away with him when he was with some traveling rodeo,” Jonnie paused and Felice looked up at her, the girl was staring out past the drive, at Morningside road.

“She came to this dump town and kind of wilted, then she got cancer and died. You can’t take a pretty woman and make her into a country wife, its impractical, and poor Bailey I don’t think she never got over losing her mother, and now she’s got her own wifey to try and mold just like old dad did.”

Felice laughed in her face. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or what, you’ve just said I’m too pretty and too sophisticated to be a proper partner for Bailey.”

Jonnie shrugged. “Yeah.”

“She can’t handle me is that it?” Felice asked, “Hmm… you are a little wise-ass aren’t you?”

“You’re dodging the subject now,” Jonnie observed.

Felice got up and sat on the porch swing. “I’m warming up to the idea of sharing a home with someone, being in love forever- I think every girl no matter how pretty or sophisticated or butch wants that for themselves.”

Jonnie laughed. “It just doesn’t work out that way.”

Felice gave a wise smile. “Oh, poor Jonnie you’ve had your heart broken already?”

“Yeah you could say that,” she sighed she stood up, “I’m gonna go now.”

“Teenage drama,” Felice said to herself when the girl was gone, she gathered her supplies and went inside.

..........

Bailey came home agitated, she went straight for her beer after grumbling a hello, and went to her chair.

“Why did you banish Jonnie?” Felice asked.

Her love rolled her eyes sucking in her cheeks to savor a mouthful of beer, she swallowed with a pained grunt. “Did she come here today?”

Bailey could be such a pig sometimes, sucking beer, and killing things.

Felice nodded. “She’s a nice kid, smart too.”

Bailey stood. “Just don’t fucking deal with her.”

“Are you jealous, Bailey?” she asked.

“No,” she growled, “Is that what she told you? The little shit.”

Felice stood and walked into the studio cursing in Spanish.

“I’m going out to feed the cows,” Bailey announced and went out to the porch to put her shoes back on, as she bent to tie the laces she looked up and saw Felice standing in the doorway.

“No one pays any attention to her,” she said through the screen, “Positive attention anyway. She’s only a girl, she does not have a mother. How could you just tell her to stay away?” she asked sure Bailey could not be that much of a hick.

“She’s not my responsibility or yours, she’s not a girl either,” Bailey opened the door, “Jonnie just hasn’t gotten on your nerves yet, when she does you’ll see why it’s best to stay downwind of her.” She let the handle go, and the screen door slammed shut.

Felice shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. She did not know why she was so upset. Jonnie was a difficult child, she was sure, but she could not just leave her to wander Arcola.

“I can’t believe you’d speak of your own blood that way,” Felice called opening the door, “She acts out because she’s neglected by her mother, her father and by you too.”

Bailey stopped her trek across the yard, and turned. “That’s not fair of you to say,” she growled. She looked nearly as mad as she did the night she opened her truck on the Slasher.

“She still needs you,” Felice insisted, “You treat those goddamned cows better, I swear.”

She stalked out to her studio. Bailey was being stubborn. The only remedy Felice figured was a good dose of the cold shoulder.

Their arguing pushed dinner back by an hour. There was cooled baked chicken, rice, and green salad. All of Bailey’s attempts to start conversation were successfully thwarted.

“That was real good baby,” Bailey said when she was done eating. She leaned over the table and planted a kiss planted on the side of Felice’s face.

Felice received it frigidly then stood. Bailey sat for a minute peering out the kitchen window at the dark night beyond.

The rest of the evening seemed to be a contest between Felice and Bailey over who would go to bed first. She never stayed up to late with her art, enjoying sitting and they watched T.V. together before bedtime. Bailey lost the dare turning in around midnight. Felice joined her shortly without a sound, laying it seemed miles away on the far edge of the bed.

..........

Felice watched the red digital numbers change on the clock as Bailey snuggled close, half-way beneath her. Outside the cows were making a racket, calling for their morning feed.

“Go feed the cows,” she murmured half asleep, but Bailey was already up, making noise in the bathroom.

Felice groaned, between Bailey and the cows she could not sleep in. She detested waking up early. She rolled out of bed and saw Bailey leave the bathroom, dressed for work.

“Have a nice day,” Felice grumbled groggily as Bailey walked out.

“You too,” she gave a little wave and disappeared around the end of the hall.

Felice padded to the bathroom, peed, washed her face and brushed her teeth. She heard the kitchen door bang shut.

“You decided to grab some breakfast at home?” Felice called, “Some coffee?”

There was no answer.

She left the bathroom and headed down the hallway calling for Bailey. She found her at the kitchen table wearing her Comet’s cap, drinking a beer at seven in the morning, covered in blood and crying.

“Bailey?” she stepped lightly, “Honey what happened?”

“Jonnie killed Dick,” she sobbed she put her bottle down and rested her head on the table.

Felice came and stroked her hair. “Baby, are you sure?”

“Who the fuck around here bow hunts?” Bailey sat up pushing her chair out abruptly, “Who the fuck around here would shoot with arrows that say property of Fort Bend Independent School District nineteen-sixty-fucking nine?”

“Shit,” Felice hugged her, “I’m so sorry.”

“She fucking played target practice with him,” Bailey went on trying to get Felice to understand what Jonnie was capable of, “She wounded him until there was no place else to shoot, then she started really hitting him.”

Bailey stood wiping her eyes with the backs of her bloody hands.

Felice went outside barefoot, Outside the day was a bright and early pink, the sky, the bottoms of the clouds they seemed to soak up the color like fluffy white sponges.

Lady Bird and Jackie O were out standing in the field their heads tilted wet muzzles up, eyes wide with the astonishment of grief.

“Oh fuck,” Felice gasped when she got closer and saw the limp, bloody, mass, a pin- cushion of flesh stuck with arrows.

Dick lay at his mother’s hooves dead his jaws twisted into a road-kill-grin that blind expression of terror of an animal taken by surprise and killed. Lady Bird skittered to the mulberry tree and pawed anxiously at the ground as Bailey came out and retrieved the body, an arrow stuck out of her left hock, but the pain was forgotten.

Jackie O watched her put the calf into a wheelbarrow, Bailey turned to see her watching her take it behind the barn. The tears she could not shed Bailey cried for her. Felice felt her own astonished tears sliding down her face.

Felice tried to comfort Bailey, who shrugged her off and headed towards the house.

“Let me go and call the vet,” she went to the phone and started dialing, “She ain’t allowed on my place again. You hear me Felice? I don’t give a fuck if she’s on fire.”

Felice shook her head. “Is that really-?”

Bailey slammed the phone onto the hook. “I’ve seen Jonnie impale squirrels with her arrows.”

“She’s just a girl,” Felice insisted.

Bailey shook her head and picked up the phone.

“No,” she said dialing, “No she’s not.

..........

Felice had never paid much attention to the little fruit stand across the road from the mouth of Morningside. The watermelons caught her eye as she passed and she remembered as a girl in Mexico how refreshing a chilled sandía could be on a day in late July.

She pulled in and parked the Cabriolet, when she got out of her car a scarecrow of a woman asked for any spare change.

“I don’t have any right now,” Felice said, “On my way out.”

“Alright,” the old woman grinned.

A dingy-skinned came from the stand. “Stella, I thought I told you to get.”

“I’m getting’,” the woman grumbled and began to walk up the road.

Felice gave Stella a small smile.

The old woman’s grin quickly turned into a deep frown.

“Them Williamson girls can to trouble,” Stella said, “Keep yo eyes on ‘em.”

Felice grinned nervously. “I will.”

“Damned crackhead,” the proprietress of the fruit stand spat her words hateful, she was white once upon a time Felice guessed, her skin had a dirty unhealthy pallor as if the woman didn’t bathe or spend too much time out in the elements selling fruit. “You come for the watermelons?” she asked.

“Yes,” Felice said following her to the stand.

“Good old Hempstead melons, going fast today,” the woman pointed out the large cardboard boxes splitting with the big green striped fruit.

Felice picked out a good one and paid for it.

“I’m Patsy Karnes by the way,” the woman said, “Since we’re neighbors and all now.”

“Oh yes,” Felice smiled, “Word travels fast.”

“Here. Yes it sure does,” Patsy gave a dull chuckle.

“I’m Felice,” she said paying for her watermelon.

“Nice to meet ya,” she said, “You know that Olivia Taylor came through asking about Bailey. I told her about you.”

Felice raised her eyebrows. “Oh yeah.”

“Yeah,” Patsy nodded, “Not to gossip, but ‘cause she always asks and I never have no news.”

Felice was curious, but she did not want to seem uninformed. “If she wants to she should come by and see about Bailey,” Felice smiled, “You tell her that next time.”

“I will,” Patsy beamed, happy to be the go-between for Arcola’s lesbian triangle.

Felice lugged the sandía to her car.

At Bailey’s she unloaded the melon and the supplies she had brought, huffing made her way to the house. The cows mooed at her recognizing what she toted, wanting a share.

“Hey,” Jonnie said.

“Hey,” Felice said, she stood on the porch and watched the girl climb the steps.

She set the melon on the porch floor. “We have to talk.”

Jonnie bowed her head. “Listen, I want to apologize for what I did I just get so mad sometimes I don’t know what to do. I know Bailey hates me, but I don’t think she will so much if she sees that you still like me.”

Felice sighed. “So you’re saying you really killed that little calf.”

The girl did not answer.

“Why Jonnie?” she asked.

The girl shrugged. “I’m sorry, ok.”

Bailey’s young cousin turned to leave.

Felice stopped her with another question.

“Could you tell me?” she asked, “How Bailey got burned.”

“She hasn’t told you,” Jonnie said, “Sounds like her.”

Felice nodded and laughed bitterly. “I almost hate to ask, to know, it hurts her so much still.”

“Yeah,” Jonnie said, “S’no way I know all the details, I just know that she loved a girl and that girl didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Olivia?” Felice asked.

“Nope another, she was in high school when it happened you know,” Jonnie said, “She got hurt real bad, and her ma was dead, and her Dad was a drunk. There was a car accident, she was running because she hurt that girl.”

“Hurt?” Felice asked, “What do you mean?”

Jonnie shook her head. “Her name was Janet Carson. Bailey hurt her.”

Felice was not sure if she should believe the girl, she had some kind of personality disorder, maybe worse than that.

“You can’t tell her I told you,” Jonnie said, “She’s already pissed at me.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell me?” Felice asked.

“She’s ashamed,” she said, “Doesn’t want you to think she’d ever hurt you. Maybe she thinks she’s still capable of doing something like that.”

Felice reached out and softly touched her cheek. The girl’s face was cold.

“Jonnie, did Bailey ever hurt Olivia?” she asked.

“She left,” Jonnie shrugged.

Felice sighed, thinking of how angry Bailey could get. “I’ll talk to her,” she said to Jonnie, “Tell her you’re sorry, that you want to apologize to her.”

“Don’t knock yourself out. I told you. She hates me,” Jonnie said and left.

She watched her go then carried her things inside, she was still angry with Bailey, the last thing her cousin needed was to be cast away, secluded the way she was.

In the kitchen she split the melon down the sides and stuck it in the fridge then went to work in the studio.

A few hours later when Bailey arrived with a melon under her arm, Felice could not help but smile.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Bailey said. She was doing her best to seem like she was just fine, but Felice knew she was mourning the little bull.

She looked puzzled and went to the kitchen. Felice could hear her splitting the new watermelon down the middle and opening the fridge.

“Oh boy,” Bailey said she took out a cold slice and replaced it with the two she’d cut.

She came into the studio and gave Felice a cool fruity kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for the melon dear,” Bailey said and saw that Felice was making wax chick-plums. Painting then red, then orange, then yellow trying to get her replicas to look like the real thing. She melded them into pyramids when she was done, there must have been over a thousand of the wax plums.

“You’re welcome,” Felice answered.

Bailey sat on a little stool. “How’d it go today?”

She paused from her work. “You mean did Jonnie come by?”

Bailey nodded.

Felice sighed. “She did. We talked.”

She stood nearly knocking over the stool. “I thought I told you Felice-”

She shook her head leaving her work for the day, she was tired and she wanted to get away from Arcola.

“I’m not going to let this girl be abandoned, You should call social services-”

Bailey stalked out to the kitchen. “You want to fix Jonnie Boy,” she scoffed, “It ain’t possible.”

“With love and patience any one can be fixed,” Felice said.

“It’s too late for Jonnie,” she said cutting at the melon, her back turned.

“It wasn’t too late for you,” Felice said softly, “ I asked her and she told me what happened with you. How you got burned. And about the Carson girl. About Olivia.”

Bailey turned and stood there staring at her, chest heaving as if it were hard for her to breathe. “She told you what?”

“Don’t be mad-” Felice said, she was testing the waters, throwing a brick at a wasp’s nest, but she had to know if she should be afraid to live with this strange, scared woman, whom she was beginning to care for more and more everyday.

“You asked?” Bailey bellowed, “You actually believed any thing that came out of her mouth?”

“You don’t give me anything to go on,” Felice yelled, “I had to ask.”

“She doesn’t know shit about what happened,” Bailey grumbled.

“Then tell me,” Felice pleaded.

“I can’t,” Bailey shook her head, “Not now.”

“I don’t understand,” Felice began to cry, “Why won’t you just tell me? Was it so horrible?”

“Goddamnit Felice,” Bailey growled, “It was real horrible. What the hell do you think?”

She pushed past her and left out the door.

Felice went to follow her but heard the truck start up, she went to the window and watched the Dodge reverse out of the long drive.

..........

There were a handful of sunflowers on the porch the next morning. Felice picked them up and showed Bailey at the breakfast table.

Bailey groaned, putting down her newspaper. “Next, my tires’ll be slashed.”

Felice sighed. “She needs someone Bailey, the poor thing must be lonely.”

“She’s playing head games,” Bailey flattened the paper and folded it.

Felice put the flowers down and wrapped her arms around Bailey’s neck. “I was thinking maybe I could go talk with her.”

She could not stop thinking about Jonnie, she wanted to talk to her, patch things up between the cousins.

Bailey stood. “No way. She’s crazy.”

“I don’t think she would hurt me, Bailey,” Felice tilted her head to catch her love’s down- cast eyes. “Are you thinking that she would?”

Bailey shook her head. “She’s crazy and I’m not taking any chances. I’ll get off early and come home and talk to her.”

Felice hugged Bailey, burying her face and her neck for a second then looking up. “I feel so sorry for her.”

Bailey kissed her.

Felice stroked her hair and told her that she was sorry, that she wanted them to go make love and forget about the troubles with her cousin.

“I want to make things better, I know I can’t bring your little bull back or make it so anyone or anything killed him but Jonnie”

“It’s ok,” Bailey said dully, she left Felice and headed to the door, “I’ll see you in a while.”

“Don’t forget your lunch,” Felice said distracted, looking at the sun flowers on the counter as Bailey’s truck rumbled into motion and rolled down the gravel drive.

Felice watched her go.

She went inside and tried to work, but found herself wanting go looking for Jonnie. Several times in the late morning she went out and stood before the trees, the day was hot, and still. There was no sign of Jonnie. In the late after noon when the day was hotter and even more unmoving she went out.

“You lookin’ for me?” Jonnie asked.

Felice started as Bailey’s cousin stepped from the trees, her bow on her shoulder.

“I suppose,” she sighed.

Jonnie grinned. “I suppose Bailey didn’t send you.”

“No.” she answered.

“She’s really serious about me not coming around,” Jonnie said, “You should listen to her.”

“You believe you’re a bad person,” Felice said, “I don’t.”

“Bailey does,” the girl answered.

“Bailey’s wrong,” Felice told her, “She doesn’t believe in herself. How can she believe in some one else?”

Jonnie chuckled despite Felice’s sobriety.

“Has anyone ever bothered to give a damn?” Felice asked, frustrated.

The sound of a car on the road took her attentions for a second, she thought perhaps it was Bailey.

“No one ever gives a damn for long,” Jonnie said.

“You never told me who broke your heart,” Felice said.

Jonnie smiled a little. “A nice sweet girl, an angel.”

“That intense huh?” Felice asked.

“For me it’s intense or nothing at all,” Jonnie said her old wise-ass self again.

Felice shifted her weight and folded her arms, a breeze stirred and she caught the girl’s scent as rich as tobacco like some musky vegetation and moist dirt.

“What happened with your angel?” she asked.

“She kind of died,” Jonnie said bent her head then tossed it upright.

“Kind of?” she laughed a little, “Did she really die?”

“For me,” Jonnie answered she walked closer, “I mean she may as well not exist for me anyway.”

She had such sadness in her eyes, as if she would cry, but no tears came.

“You’re a strange girl Jonnie,” she said.

Felice found her eyelids suddenly too heavy to keep open when she blinked. Bailey’s cousin Jonnie leaned in towards her so close their lips touched, and suddenly Felice wanted more of her. Their faces tilted, their tongues greeted each other zealously.

Jonnie stepped away first, she took Felice’s hand.

“You wanna walk with me?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Felice said.

She followed her into the trees, past a pond where the air hung thickly over the marshy water, over grown by tall stalks of hardy grass. A bunch of gray-brown doves pecked the edges and cooed uncertainly at the arrival of people. A surprisingly malignant dry breeze blew up, taking her breath away.

“I never bring my sketchbook,” Felice shook her head, “This is beautiful.”

“You’ll remember,” Jonnie told her and cut a path through a thick patch of skinny vines covered in angry red thorns, prickly, green weeds, and drying, brown stalks.
Felice did not hesitate, though she would have normally been afraid of ants, bees, wasps, snakes, ticks, and dogs gone wild.

Jonnie did not seem to worry as she cleared the way she let the vines tangle around her legs, claw at her jeans legs.

Felice noticed the woods darken slowly, until the sky that showed through the trees no longer looked like the high glare of late afternoon, but twilight. The trees reached higher and were thicker out here.

The sudden slaps of a multitude of wings started her and she grabbed Jonnie’s shoulder gasping.

Dozens of Cardinals flew fast through the branches above them. Blood red-red brown, blurs, they chattered, fluttering from green tree, to green tree, landing among the leaves for a second before storming to the next.

“I’ve never seen so many,” Felice whispered.

“There’s more,” Jonnie Boy said taking her hand, “There’s a place way out here, the Williamsons have know about it for a long time. My family figured that it was a church for slaves.”

“Where?” Felice asked.

“Look,” Jonnie pointed out a white wall overgrown by more vines, these covered with tender, round leaves like ivy.

“We call it the praise house,” Jonnie said.

Felice let go her hand and went to touch the wall, she saw another that met it and made a corner beyond was crumbled and had fallen.

She saw the low mud stone bench worn to nothing almost, and the middle aisle. Jonnie followed silently.

“When I was five I was playing outside,” she began, “I saw some kids, I wanted to play with them so I wandered off. They said we was going to play in the woods.
They took me out into the woods. Far. They did things to me.”

Felice gasped and turned, Jonnie gave a small, grim smile. “I was stupid to go with them, I should have known, they were older kids. What they did…you can’t imagine how scared I was.”

Felice stood next to her. “I can imagine, Jonnie. I can.”

“They left me. I didn’t know how to get home. I was lost for a time, out here in the woods before I found my way back,” she said, “Then I kept returning. Out here in these trees it’s another world. With secrets.”

She wiped her hands on her jeans, she walked on and Felice followed.

Jonnie turned suddenly. “I want to kiss you again.” She tangled her hands in Felice’s hair bringing her lips to her own, crushing their noses together until she felt she could not breathe.

She pulled Felice’s t-shirt off, then her own. Her body was dark, lean and strong.

Felice reached behind her back, unclasped her bra, she slid the straps off her shoulders, letting the garment fall to the ground. Her hands went to the fly of her shorts, and they fell.

Jonnie devoured her body with her hands, Felice shivered in awe of their strength. The girl kissed a hot line down her chest to her belly, lower to her sex still covered by cotton underwear, her breath and Felice’s desire moistening the fabric. She returned to her lips giving a ragged sigh, moving into her grinding their hips together.

Felice brought them to the ground, she wanted this girl, here in this strange, ancient church. They stood on their knees facing each other, she fumbled with the button and zipper of Jonnie’s fly, reaching her hand inside, feeling past the fleshy folds and feeling something a little thicker, and hardier than she was used to, the length of her middle finger.

She looked up at Jonnie, her confusion quickly replaced by more awe for the gray eyed girl.

“I can go inside you,” she explained.

Felice nodded dumbly, that was what she wanted, she caught the strange member in her hand it quivered like a sluggish fish.
Jonnie hissed again.

Felice bent her head her quickening breath reaching out caressing Jonnie’s clit before her lips could close around it.

Jonnie grabbed her shoulders, guiding them to the leaf, littered, stony dirt floor, of the praise house ruins. Their thighs pressed together and she spread Felice’s legs apart with her own, whispering harshly, desperately, maneuvering her hips until her lover gasped because she was suddenly inside her.

Jonnie trembled and her hips began to rock violently, and Felice welcomed her fury.

“I dreamed you died,” she told her, “And I made you into a bow with your back bone, and sights with your finger bones, I strung it with your veins.”

Above them the trees burst with cardinals, Felice saw them over Jonnie’s shoulder, falling and flying as if the sky was raining blood.

eleven

Bailey sang along with Tom Petty as she rolled down Morningside drenched in twilight. Her headlights caught Jonnie Boy standing at the end of the drive, pale as milk, in that filthy tee with the green sleeves, unblinking in the harsh light.

Bailey got out of the truck, her nerves burned like the night of the fiery wreck. She looked past her cousin to the windows of the studio.

The entire house was dark.

“Hey,” Jonnie shouted.

Something was wrong. Bailey felt her limbs tingle, her lips tremble.

“What?” she asked grabbing Jonnie’s forearm, “I thought I fucking told you to stay away from her.”

“Got one of them cigars?” she asked, looking away, avoiding Bailey’s gaze.

Bailey shook her. “Goddamn you, where’s Felice?”

Jonnie shrugged, batting her eyes, looking up at Bailey, there was a smear of blood at the corner of her mouth.

“You little bastard,” Bailey shoved her against the house, “Where is she? Where’s Felice?”

“Fuck you. Think some old bitch can mix up some voodoo to get rid of me?” Jonnie shouted barreling into her nearly knocking Bailey off her feet. She stumbled back and pointed at Jonnie.

“If she’s hurt-” Bailey took a breath, anxiety weighed her chest, stiffened her lungs, “Get fucking ready for a war, you goddamned little turd.”

“Fuck you,” Jonnie said simply and took off across the yard.

Bailey got back in the truck and drove up the road to her uncle’s place. The drive was over grown with weeds, pale in the bright light, unusually tall as though they were stretching themselves like old ghosts rising from the ground. Felice stood among them holding her tattered shirt over her breasts with the other hand she covered her eyes.

Bailey spilled out of the truck, forgetting to put it in park. She jumped back into the cab and stopped the truck watching Felice standing dazed.

“Felice,” she moaned running to her love instinctively scooping her into her arms, and carrying her back to the truck. She sat Felice who was as compliant as a Barbie doll, in the driver’s seat inspecting her hurts in the interior lights.

“Bailey?” she whispered as if not realizing that Bailey was there, that she was safe until that moment, she began to cry.

“Let me get you out of here,” Bailey scooted inside the truck, “Honey, I am so sorry,” she held Felice’s hand as they drove home.

“Did Jonnie do this to you?” she asked, “Did Jonnie hurt you?”

Felice crumpled over sobbing. Bailey pulled her close, took her home, half carried her through the dark house to their bedroom. She turned on the lamp as Felice clung to the bed crying.

“Mi Amor,” Bailey whispered, “You have to tell me what happened.”

“She-” Felice began, “She’s not alive is she?”

“No,” Bailey said touching her back, in the soft glow of the lamp she could see the bruises on Felice’s back. Bailey owed her the truth.

“She died the night I was burned,” she began, “Back then me and Jonnie were close. A couple of bad-asses. We stole stuff. Smoked weed. We drank,” she laughed, “We chased girls.”

Felice turned over to face her.

“One girl,” Bailey winced, “Janet Carson. She was a well-off girl who wanted to run with us. Jonnie’s girlfriend. She and Jonnie had a scam where they were bleeding money out of Mr. Carson’s bank account. Jonnie tried to double cross her but Janet figured it out and they fought. Jonnie beat her to death and took her to the woods. Left her to die.”

“And you Bailey?” Felice asked, “Were you involved?”

“I knew about it,” she answered.

“No.” Felice said. “There’s more. Jonnie took the entire blame. Made it look like you weren’t there at all when she killed Janet.”

“But I was,” Bailey said raising her hands, the offending members, “I held her down, I called her names.”

“Why?” Felice asked.

“I hated Janet,” Bailey said, “So when I saw Jonnie going too far—I deserved every thing that happened to me after that.”

“What happened?” Felice asked.

“A week later me and Jonnie were arguing about it. She had hidden in the woods for days. She came out crazier than ever. We were drinking and I ran us off the road, right into the Water’s gas tank. That’s how Jonnie died. I killed her.”

“You were just a teenager,” Felice said.

“I was a monster, just like Jonnie,” Bailey said, “Now you’re hurt.”

Felice sat up. “I’m fine Bailey. Just hold me.”

Bailey opened her arms. “You should leave. Get out of Arcola.”

“I could never leave you,” Felice said, “I love you Bailey.”

..........

Bailey slowed at the flashing yellow lights, yielding for another pick up that turned into the entrance of the big chemical plant. She drove on to the run down trailer parks of Old Sugar Land and Windfern. The sun began to rise out the corner of her eye. Bailey reached over to the passenger side for a rough rolled cigar laying on the seat.

She kept her eyes on the road, avoiding the bright orange that flooded through the window, avoiding the arrow next to the cigar.

Down on Windfern it was too early for children to be out playing, too early for the drug dealers and their trunk rattling music. The place looked more run down without them.

Soccoro was on her porch as usual, a client, an elderly woman who made the sign of the cross. They both turned to watch Bailey pull into the drive. She watched them talk, lit her cigar, and took a few puffs. The old woman hobbled off the porch. Bailey nodded to her as she climbed out of the truck.

“Bueno,” Socorro said gruffly.

“Morning,” Bailey said holding up the arrow, “Your little pouch didn’t work.”

“I told you to make peace,” Socorro shook her head, “They gotta want to leave first.”

“She’s hurt Felice,” Bailey said.

The old woman nodded gravely. “This ghost hurt you before? Any one else?”

“Not me. Someone else,” Bailey said, “I should have told you. She can carry on like she’s still alive.”

Socorro nodded and stepped towards the door.

“Come on inside.”

..........

“Where’ve you been?” Felice asked as Bailey walked through the kitchen door.

“I went by the job,” she told her as they embraced, “Tied up some loose ends. I’m taking the day.”

“You don’t have to,” Felice sighed into Bailey’s shoulder.

“I do,” Bailey said, “Have you eaten?”

“I can’t,” Felice answered, “Bailey, where did they put Jonnie when she died?”

She shook her head and stepped away. “A place I want to forget.”

“Don’t do this,” Felice said she pulled at the collar of her t-shirt to reveal a broken crescent on the ball of her shoulder, Jonnie’s bite, “You owe me all the answers I want.”

Bailey sighed. “Stafford. A lot of the Williamsons are in the Arcola cemetery, but around the time my mother died there we’re any more lots. Every one else is there in Stafford.”

“Take me.” Felice said, “I want to see her.”

Bailey nodded dumbly. “Now is as good a time as any.”

“I’ll go get dressed,” Felice went to the back of the house.

Bailey turned and watched the morning outside the window. She had gone looking for Jonnie. She had always known where to run once her crimes were committed.
Bailey had felt unsure of herself in the woods that morning.

“I don’t want to go back,” she said to Felice once they were settled in the cab of the truck, “I’m supposed to get rid of Jonnie—Socorro showed me—I don’t think I can do it.”

Felice snorted. “What does Socorro know about getting rid of ghosts?”

“She told me how to hurt Jonnie before,” Bailey said, “I know I hurt her.”

“Maybe you’re not supposed to get rid of her,” Felice said.

“What do you mean?” Bailey asked, “Of course I’m supposed to get rid of her. She hurt you.”

“What if none of Socorro’s tricks work?” Felice asked.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, or else Jonnie could get me first,” Bailey said.

Felice reached over and touched her forearm. “I don’t want to risk that. We should leave. We could stay at my house.”

Bailey quickly wiped at her eyes with her sleeves, the tears welled up fast.

“You’re afraid,” Felice said, “You’ve never lived any place else.”

Bailey sniffed. “I’ll have to sell the cows.”

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Felice asked.

“If Jonnie gets hold of you again-” Bailey said, “If anything bad happens to you-”

She did not finish her sentence as they entered Stafford. Like Sugar Land there were poor areas, and nicer areas. There were not as many strip malls. The Fifth street cemetery was located off Farm road 1092, further up the road was a Texas Instruments center, and a community college.

Fifth street was a long narrow road in a gang ridden area. The cemetery was constantly vandalized with the purple graffiti; one of the gang’s trademarks.

Bailey saw her mother’s plaque first, beneath a purple spray painted devil were the dates of her birth and death. Daddy was next to her, he had been gone for eight years. Uncle Chet Jonnie’s father had followed. Jonnie’s grave had never been marked properly. Bailey knew the spot.

“This is it,” she announced to Felice who had watched Bailey revisit her family from afar.

Felice came and stood next to her, putting an arm around her.

“It was so cold that winter,” Bailey said, “One of the last chills before spring, I watched them lower her into the ground. I was sure that Jonnie was not going out of this world in a cheap coffin without a few more fire works,” she looked over at Felice who put a cool hand to Bailey’s neck.

“I stood there thinking how Jonnie just played the biggest prank ever,” she laughed a little, “Like when Tom Sawyer faked like he was dead. I thought that maybe she was alive somewhere.”

Bailey bent to touch the dried unkempt grass. “Then when I was alone, drinking all the time she came back. Just like that. One morning with her bow slung over her shoulder.”

Bailey shook her head as if shaking away the memory. “I’ve got to get you away.”

Felice took her hand, she shivered. “What do you mean?”

“We’re leaving Arcola,” Bailey said, “I don’t want you poisoned by that town.”

“Bailey-” Felice began.

“It took my mother,” she shouted, “Felice. Look at me. Arcola is burned beneath my skin. Jonnie’s dead. I won’t let the same thing happen to you.”

..........

The sun was high and hot as she walked across the pasture, past Jackie O and her bandaged leg. Bailey shouldered her bow as she faced the woods. In her hand she clutched the arrow Socorro had given her.

That morning Bailey had sold her cows to Mr. Waters, cheap. Felice had watched her from the kitchen window as she bargained. When Bailey came to the house, they packed a few things, and she had convinced Felice to go ahead of her to Sugar Land.

The kisses they had shared as they parted still burned on Bailey’s mouth, Felice was especially passionate as if like those Williamson wives, her intuition told the secret war her love was off to fight.

Bailey walked deeper into the woods, to the twilight part. For the occasion the woods were dead, the trees rotten away in buzzing holes, and the leaves fell, brown and gray littering the soggy, cold ground.

When she came to the praise house, Bailey smelled cigar smoke, and readied her bow.

“Jonnie,” she whispered.

Among the leaves and crumbling white stone she found a smoldering stub of cigar. Bailey stooped, picked it up, and sucked on it until the tip glowed red. She savored the taste of tobacco, lavished in the smoke, stubbed out the butt.

“That you Ann Bailey?”

Bailey turned and walked past the praise house.

Jonnie stood in a small clearing she was painted up for war, like the day she came out of the woods. She saw Bailey coming, bow drawn.

“What the fuck you gonna do?” she asked extending her arms out to her sides, “You gonna kill me?”

“Shut up, Jonnie,” Bailey aimed at her heart.

“It’s not like I killed her or something,” Jonnie walked closer, “Your pussy is still alive. I was just having a little fun.”

“Your fun is over,” Bailey yelled, “For good.”

She walked closer, speaking between her clenched teeth. “Do it then, Bailey, you retard. Fucker,” she reached into her back pocket and pulled out her trusty, switchblade.

“Don’t you move.” Bailey told her.

Jonnie came closer. “I bet” she turned the knife in her hand, “I bet, I could slice your nose right down the middle before you had the guts-”

“I don’t know what happened Jonnie Boy, what secrets you learned but it’s time I put you away for good,” Bailey said calmly, “You hurt Felice, could have killed her like you did Janet Carson.”

“I don’t know why you bother with these bitches,” Jonnie hissed, “First Olivia Taylor and now Felice, she’ll leave you too in the end, cause she’s a weak whore.”

Bailey released the arrow.

Jonnie took a step back, she stumbled wrapping her hands around the arrow that had, as quick as magic-embedded itself in her stomach.

Bailey stood breathing heavily her empty bow in hand. The sun found it’s way through the trees and landed on her face.

“I won’t fucking forget this,” Jonnie said, a stream of blood ran from the corner of her mouth, down her chin, staining her t-shirt just above her breast.

“You killed me once because you couldn’t handle what we did to Janet Carson, you ran us into that tank.”

Bailey dropped her bow. “That was an accident.”

“I guess this is too,” Jonnie rasped clutching the arrow, “You’re a fucking murderer. I fucking made you that way, just like me to the core. And Arcola is gonna catch up with your ass.”

The day turned furious, the humid late summer air churned furiously rousing the oak trees to shake their limbs and loose their leaves. They showered Jonnie in brown and green, and dust until she vanished.

Bailey ran, the brush swirled and tripped her and ran in a crouch her arms over her head. She found Williamson field and kept running until she reached the barn and saw that the day was once again placidly sultry. She heard the Cabriolet and staggered to the house. Felice ran to her, calling her name.

“Are you ok, Baby?”

“I went and killed Jonnie Boy,” Bailey turned sobbing, “I shot-”

“Honey, no,” Felice held her, “You didn’t kill Jonnie.”

Bailey backed away, and grabbed the front of her shirt. “I killed her.”

“You couldn’t have killed Jonnie” Felice told her, “She’s dead.”

Bailey shook her head. “I know, I know.”

“I’m ready if you are,” Felice whispered, “If you’re sure-”

“I’m sure,” Bailey said taking her shoulder and guiding her to the truck.

“I locked up,” Felice said once they were settled in the cab, she handed Bailey the keys.

Bailey nodded dumbly and started the truck.

“I’m afraid for you,” Felice told her.

“I’ll be fine,” Bailey told her, “We’ll be fine.”

twelve

The summer burned on through September, when the world grinded to a halt. Felice sat in front of the T.V. for days, riveted, fighting the urge to paint people falling through smoke, because every sensitive, artist-type was probably already, hard at work.

That week the towers fell, Felice had her period and bled so heavily it scared Bailey. Felice was too busy watching twenty-four hour news coverage on every single channel to be bothered with an unusually heavy period.

Bailey hovered thinking it was something she could repair. If there was a washer she could have run out to Home Depot and purchase to plug, or divert the little river of blood she would have.

She had become the handy woman of Windfern road. It did not take long for her to bring Felice’s boxy, manufactured home up to code. Felice watched her one morning staring out the kitchen window, catching a view of Socorro’s dilapidating house and actually smiling.

“Looks like your aunt could use some new siding,” she smiled at Felice.

The bleeding brought a halt to all the fix-ups.

“You should rest for a few days,” Bailey told her as she bathed one night, “Just put your feet up, watch some movies instead of the pile of rubble up North.”

“Don’t be so callous,” Felice told her, “Anyway, I’m fine.”

“If you’re not in front of the T.V., you’re on the toilet or in the tub,” Bailey shook her head and leaned on the door frame, “I’m a woman too. I know what’s right and wrong about bleeding.”

Felice rolled her eyes. “No estes chingando.”

Bailey frowned. “Felice, I know what that means.”

Insulted, she left the bathroom.

Felice laughed in spite of herself. “You’ve been hanging around Socorro too long.”

She finished her bath and quickly mounted a Kotex, she dressed in a big t-shirt, and still damp padded out in search of Bailey.

She found her in the kitchen staring into the darkness out of the window that faced Socorro’s.

“I went by the house today,” Bailey said sensing Felice behind her, “It was quiet. Still. Messed around out by the barn.”

Felice wrapped her arms around Bailey and kissed the back of her neck. “I miss the place too.”

Bailey turned. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” Felice said, “We could go back you know. Sell this place.”

“You mean…?” Bailey bowed her head and took Felice’s hands, “Live together?”

As a reply, Felice kissed her softly below the mouth.

“I’ll think about it,” Bailey said and sighed, “I’m going to have my bath now.”

Felice watched her walk out of the kitchen, then she walked out to the living room and the front door where Bailey left her dirty boots every evening after work. She bent and with her thumbnail scraped at the wave of dried mud. Tiny flakes of Arcola trickled into her palm. Felice sniffed them and when she could detect no smell, she licked her hand and with her tongue rubbed the grit into the roof of her mouth.

..........

Shaking violently, Felice woke. Bailey had a rough grip on her shoulder.

“Goddamnit, you’re bleeding,” she said.

Felice sat up blanket and sheet gone from her, there was only her oversized, white, t-shirt with a drying red spot the size of a desert plate.

“Oh shit,” Bailey exclaimed, “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Felice carefully got out of bed, between her thighs was sticky and stiff. “Chingau,” she exclaimed.

“How can you feel fine?” Bailey was circling around the bed in a frenzy of concern, “You’re hemorrhaging.”

Felice went to the bathroom ignoring her, steadily growing annoyed at Bailey’s behavior.

She turned on the shower and stepped in aiming the stream of water at her belly, she watched the water run rust colored from the blood, down the drain.

Bailey poked her head in and gasped, throwing the shower curtain back.

“Do you feel light headed?” she asked.

“No Bailey, I’m just tired,” Felice said, “What time is it?”

“Six a.m.” Bailey said she was dressed for work, coveralls and cap, she had probably looked under the covers inspecting for more blood, this made Felice furious since she had spent a late night working on her project.

“I am fine,” she said, “Will you just go to work?”

“No,” Bailey yelped, “I’m taking you to the doctor’s myself.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Felice insisted, she hated Bailey’s devoted concern, the circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, and worry, the way she cooed inquiries every waking hour, calling from work, coming home from lunch even when she called and said she was too swamped at work to leave.

Bailey shook her head. “We’ll get you a lady doctor, you know...” she struggled trying to recall the name.

“A fucking gynecologist, Bailey, studies women’s bodies. Are you that backwards?” Felice stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel she wanted Bailey out of there. If it meant hurting her, fine. She would be back by lunchtime asking Felice how she felt.

She dried watching all the color drain from Bailey’s face, the scars retaining their color.

Felice replaced her towel on the bar and though it was a navy blue one, there were violet streaks on it.

“Aw fuck,” she sat on the toilet and looked up at Bailey, “Can you hand me a pad please? And there are some emergency underwear in the drawer there.”

She handed her the things, and stayed on, persistent, Felice wondered if she would get pissed off and hit her like the night she attached the Slasher.

“I just want to make sure you’re ok.” Bailey said and asked, “Why are you being like this?”

“Will you leave me alone?” Felice yelled “Can I have a little peace?”

Bailey stooped in front of her. “Honey, please-.”

“Goddamnit, I’m still half-way asleep, stop being an idiot and leave me the hell alone while I do this?” She roared at Bailey, and it felt good, it stopped her nagging and badgering cold, she backed out of the bathroom as if Felice had slapped her.

Felice emerged a few minutes later and called for her. Bailey’s reply was the engine of her truck turning over and the sound of her tires on the drive.

She wished that the coverage would stop and regular shows would come on like usual. Felice usually hated television spending so much time in front of it, and not painting seemed to sap her of her energy, grace, and wit.

Bailey came home late that evening.

“They found a policeman trapped in the rubble,” Felice announced.

“More late breaking news from Ground Zero,” Bailey grumbled kissing her neck, something smelled good and it had nothing to do with the cheese sandwich browning in the skillet.

Felice frowned. “I don’t see how you can be so callous about what’s going on.”

Bailey sighed and went to the fridge for a beer.

“I have bigger fish to fry, like your health.”

She flipped the sandwich on to a plate and handed it to Bailey. “Here, eat this, I know you’ll never make it till dinner.”

“Thanks,” Bailey kissed her forehead.

She ate her sandwich and watched Felice move around the kitchen, chopping up onion, and garlic. She was making a thick spicy tomato soup with shrimp, chopped sausage and chicken.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” Felice said as she stirred the pot, “I was frustrated. You understand.”

Bailey did not answer only devoured her sandwich.

“Its nothing I’m just bleeding a little longer than usual,” Felice assured her.

Bailey had discarded the crusts of her bread to the edge of her plate, she noticed that cheese clung to them and decided to eat that crusts.

“I was scared,” she said around nibbles, “And I got the feeling that you were too” Bailey said finishing off her beer, she opened her mouth to say something else but her words clung in her throat.

Felice saw the pain on Bailey’s face and came over to hug her.

“Bailey, you worry too much about me.”

..........

Socorro adjusted her glasses her breathing heavy because she was so damned fat. Felice would have rather not have been there, but she had to know. Her aunt placed the palms of her hands at Felice’s middle pressing slightly.

“Do I have cancer or something?” she asked impatiently and Socorro yelled at her for being impatient.

“Give me a minute,” her aunt took her glasses off and placed them near the white candle in a painted glass depicting some female saint.

Felice sighed and closed her eyes praying that there was nothing malignant inside her, burning black waiting to bring her down, eat her alive. She thought about Bailey smiling wanting so bad to love her, and be loved in return.

Socorro stood up and put her glasses back on.

“No Mija, there’s no death in you,” she said, snapping the lamp on, “Something else.”

Felice almost sneered at her.

“What do you know, old Woman?”

“Plenty,” Socorro sat back in her chair, they were in her cluttered kitchen on a little black-and-white T.V there was yet more continuing terrorist attack coverage.
Felice turned to leave. “I should have gone to the goddamned gynecologist.”

Socorro cleared her throat Felice turned again, thinking she wanted money.

“She came here twice when she thought you were in danger,” The old fortune-teller said as she fixed herself a cup of coffee, “You never could be still long enough for someone to take care of you.”

“I’m trying,” Felice said, she felt sorrow on her face, “I’m trying with Bailey, but it’s gonna be hard.”

Socorro snorted. “As hard as you make it.”

Felice watched her sip coffee and sighed. “I’m leaving.”

Socorro had turned her eyes to the tiny set as an anchorwoman recounted the death toll.

“See you.”

..........

Another week of blood.

Bailey finally convinced her to go see a doctor. She took a day away from Grab-A-Part, and they went together one rainy afternoon.

Felice barely said much at all to the doctor who saw them or to Bailey who did most of the talking. They could not find a lady doctor after-all, and Bailey was on the verge of insisting. She only kept asking, for someone else.

No. There was no pain at all, Felice told the doctor.

It was only the fucking white that hurt, his white hair, the white walls, the florescent lighting above her making the dull pain in her head deafening. Bailey’s hand was on hers constantly trying to be comforting.

The only thing that could soothe her these days was something beautifully violent.

She began to paint bruises, and swollen stitches threatening to burst, and sometimes she just streaked her canvases with obscene, red, streaks. Since the blood began she only painted with the richest colors, thick oils and bright acrylics piled on with hardly any water at all. She painted textures, things meant to be touched, and she had no patience for anything else.

A scarlet tide lived within her that raged over the sterile flood plains of the winged pads she started using, it changed with the moon and entered the world in drips and drops, a pinpoint on the driver’s seat of the Cabriolet, or a dried red-brown ghost on the sheets.

Why did people feel that a woman’s blood was a curse? Felice secretly cherished every rivulet, every fat oblong bead.

No matter what the doctor said, or how many tests they took that came up negative, Bailey hovered always asking how she was, insisting that she not knock herself out cooking or be on her feet too long. The blood waned then stopped, and things got relaxed again, they made love, they drank wine and they cuddled.

The blood was replaced though with a dull throb at her core that radiated out below her navel. Pain she discovered was much more holy, it rang out and took her breath and kept her awake at night watching Bailey sleep peacefully, occasionally, murmuring for her mother.

The day the bleeding stopped, Felice went to Jonnie’s grave in Stafford. Her show was coming up and she needed more work. She stood by the little marker and cried that afternoon, relived, but empty. The scarlet tide had gone from her.

That night she went home and told Bailey that she needed her studio back.

“To work Bailey,” she pleaded, “Socorro said that the body can show symptoms of the soul’s sadness. I need to work Bailey or I don’t know what will happen to me.”

“I understand,” her scarred goddess said, “We’ll go back. But you’ll have to be careful. No wandering the woods…”

“Ok,” Felice smiled through her tears, grabbed Bailey and planted kisses of thanksgiving all over her face.

“I just want you to be happy,” Bailey said and kissed her passionately.

“You make me happy,” Felice said, “You’ve given me a home.”

If you have enjoyed Cornwel's "A Fate Of Fire - Part Three", then please be certain to e-mail her at  cornwel[at]hotmail.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

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