to light and guard

chapter twenty

Thursday passed in peace and quiet; Mary Eunice tended her chores and spent the evening knitting, finishing the scarf Wendy had begun (Lana explained that Wendy had liked to make gloves, hats, and scarves for her low-income students) with care in every stitch, while Lana delivered her column to the newspaper office and finished another chapter of her book. They retired late after Lana found Singin' in the Rain on the television, and they each fell asleep with ease.

The bright ringing of the telephone stirred Mary Eunice from her sleep; sunlight had not yet begun to stream through the bedroom. She squinted at the clock, which read only a few minutes after five. Maybe it's for one of the neighbors. She dropped her head back onto the pillow and ignored it. Beside her, Lana sprawled out on her stomach, a bit of drool dribbling out of the corner of her mouth. The bell hadn't disturbed her. Tugging up the covers, Mary Eunice shielded herself from the chill permeating the rest of the house.

With eyes closed tight, she floated in the thickness of a sleepy haze. Lana's breath wafted in a cool breeze across her face; it smelled like morning breath, and she smiled at the notion. Wonder what it tastes like. Mary Eunice licked her lips and yawned. Sleep tinged her mind and threatened to reclaim her. She awaited the embrace expectantly.

The telephone bell interrupted her thoughts once more. She groaned, and she drew her hands up from under the blankets, taking Lana by the shoulder. I don't want to bother her. She doesn't sleep well. And she's so cute when she sleeps. At the final thought, Lana's stomach gargled aloud, and she passed gas. The sound made Gus lift his head from where he lay at the foot of the bed, perking his ears. Mary Eunice covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the giggles shaking through her chest.

Once she trusted her voice to hold steady, she tugged on Lana's shoulder. "Lana?" she whispered, nudging her. "Hey, Lana. Wake up, cupcake." Cupcake? Mary Eunice's face burned when she realized she had said the word aloud; she had called Molly that term of endearment, often to irritate her, many years ago. "Lana."

Lana drawled a long snore and drew under the covers, a turtle retreating into her shell. She moaned. Her face screwed up in protest, and her eyes didn't open. Mary Eunice repeated her name, this time more softly, until Lana mumbled, "What do you want?" She squinted up at her. "Hell, what time—" The bell shrilled again, and her lips drew downward at the corners. "Is that the phone? It's the middle of the night!"

"It's the second time they've called." Mary Eunice rubbed her eyes with her fists as the bell died again. "It might be something important."

"Maybe they won't call back." Lana rolled onto her back and glared up at the ceiling. "It's too early for this." She lifted one arm, grabbing Mary Eunice by the wrist. "Come here. It's freezing. Why is it so cold?" Mary Eunice slithered down beside her, obedient, and Lana wrapped an arm around her middle. "I hope the furnace didn't go out."

"I turned it down before we went to bed."

Lana blinked up at Mary Eunice's silhouette in the darkness. The gray light from the window caught in her messy golden hair, giving her an ethereal glow. She's so beautiful. The crinkles beside her eyes, the upward curl of her lips, granted her a soft look. Hours before, Lana had woken to find her quivering in a nightmare, and she managed to calm her without waking her by stroking her hair; now, the temptation rose to ask if she remembered the dream. Has she dreamed of me again? She knew Mary Eunice would approach her if she wanted to talk about her dreams, but she was probed by insatiable curiosity. Another dream of Eden, perhaps?

All those things considered, she nestled into the pillows, warmed by the innate heat of another body beside her. "Did you sleep well?" Mary Eunice hummed in agreement; her smile didn't ebb, so Lana trusted it. "Good." She smoothed her hand over the squishy part of Mary Eunice's stomach. Through the fabric, the muscles tensed against her palm. She's ticklish, you fool. "Sorry." The telephone rang through the home again. "Shit."