To Light and Guard

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lana had survived more things than she cared to review. She knew, better than anyone else, how to grit her teeth and endure whatever lemons life decided to throw at her, and when life stopped throwing lemons and started throwing boulders instead, she still found a way to make stone soup. She prided herself in having a great understanding of chaos and human nature and the patterns of the world. But in spite of all her experience in surviving the world's storms, absolutely nothing had prepared Lana for Sister Mary Eunice on the morning of Thanksgiving.

More food scents floated from the kitchen in steam and smoke and spices than Lana could count. In the back corner of the living room, the box holding the Christmas tree was propped against the wall, surrounded by boxes of ornaments. Fast-paced, high-pitched humming accompanied the sounds of boiling and sizzling and timers buzzing, the best indication of Mary Eunice's nervousness; more than once, Lana heard her praying aloud, the rhythm of her rosary granting her some unknown grace. She dared to steal a glance into the kitchen once, spying Mary Eunice with her hair frizzed above her head and wide eyes crazed. I better wait until tonight to eat anything. I'll drink out of the garden hose if I must.

Lana passed the day writing in her office, not brave enough to disturb the kitchen, and only when her thirst got the better of her did she rise to find Mary Eunice working on setting the table. "You added the leif," Lana observed with a small smile. "C'mon. You've got fifteen minutes before the company arrives. You've been up since dawn. You need to sit down for a minute." She took the ceramic dishes from Mary Eunice's hands and placed them on the table in a stack. "You don't have anyone to impress, you know. It doesn't have to be perfect." She wrapped one of Mary Eunice's hands in her own; the fingers were chilly to the touch. "Come here. Sit with me."

Guiding her by the hand, Lana eased both of them onto the couch. "I don't have time—I haven't gotten dressed yet—there's still pots to wash—glasses to set out—"

Lana leaned forward as if to kiss her, lips puckered, and Mary Eunice silenced her own rambling, mouth buffering in tiny, inaudible syllables. "I'm glad you want this to be special, alright? But you don't have to break your back for this." She rubbed the hand in her grasp, trying to warm the frigid fingers. Anxiety makes her cold . Mary Eunice's palms had a generous layer of sweat. Lana took the hem of the sleeve of her sweater, but before she could roll up the fabric to reveal the skin underneath, Mary Eunice snatched her arm back to her body, folding it across her chest. Lana flinched from the sudden movement; she lifted her hands in reflex to protect her face from any blows. But Mary Eunice didn't threaten her; she sucked her lower lip as she met Lana's gaze, apprehension laying in the crinkles around her eyes and mouth. Lana cleared her throat. "Let me see your arm," she said. Mary Eunice tensed. What's gotten into her? Lana wondered. "Please," she amended, softening her approach. "I want to see that you're okay."

Hesitation crossed her face like a shadow, but she unfolded her arm from her chest, allowing Lana to take her by the hand. She rolled up the sleeve of the sweater. Each inch of fabric removed betrayed an inch of flesh carved by anxious fingernails. Fresh, bloody scabs lined her pale skin, marring the faint freckles there. Red lines drew patterns from wound to wound. "It's not as bad as it looks." Mary Eunice's words leapt too quickly to her defense. "I just—I didn't realize—I was nervous, I wasn't thinking—" She cut herself off, gulping and drumming her feet on the carpet, every bit of her fidgeting and shifting beside Lana. "I was about to go clean it up, I swear." Lana's gaze darted to her other hand, where blood clotted under her fingernails. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize to me." Lana turned her hand over in her grasp, but the underside of Mary Eunice's pale arm had gone untouched. Blue veins moved under her skin like winter brooks, undercurrents shifting below the ice. Wow. Lana caressed the inside of her wrist with the pad of her thumb, trailing up the arm, following up to the crook of her elbow. She's so beautiful. Her body is beautiful. Mary Eunice flexed her fingers, and the muscles and tendons under Lana's dexterous touch shifted as well, moving better than any well-oiled machinery. Marveling at the movement, the pulse in Mary Eunice's wrist fluttered at her, much higher than its usual pace. The rapid firing of her heart sent her hot blood blooming through all of her extremities, oxygen rushing to every cell in her body through the heaving of her chest, sweat making her palms slick, all evidence of the sheer life inside Mary Eunice's skull and chest. Lana leaned forward, and this time, she made their lips touch in a gentle kiss, mouth on mouth. Her tongue brushed the outside of Mary Eunice's lower lip. No. Don't do that. She refused to allow herself anything more.