Some of them Witches

Chapter 23

Marfa was like a salve. It was the aloe they needed for their burnt layers, peeling off to reveal smooth new golden skin. They could walk the entire town in a day, which they did often, or ride their new old bikes into the desert.

Marianne fell in love with some new part of it every day. One day it was mixed media canvases depicting abstract trains. Another it was a vintage Native American rug handwoven in the 1920s with an asymmetrical pattern in natural tones. The next it was savory pastries from a bakery with a patio their pink firehouse could be seen from and which she visited twice on the same day and nearly every day thereafter during their stay. But every day, it was Virginia.

Every corner of their life there revealed some secret of hers. Her recently worn clothes heaped on a chair in their room, which Marianne breathed in while Virginia showered. The pattern with which she brushed her teeth, section by section, always in the same order. How she shampooed and conditioned her hair first thing when she showered, leaving in the conditioner while she lathered and rinsed the rest of her, saving it for last so her smooth blonde hair always felt soft in Marianne's hands and smelled of citrus and cream.

She mentally cataloged it all for later further contemplative admiration should she ever be alone again. Because in all the cramped foster homes, schools, and surrogate families, that is what she had been. Her life always returning to this singularity.

"I feel like I belong here," she said, leaving out the with you that held it all together.

Virginia kissed the hand she was holding. They were always touching. In and out of bed, whether it was their hands that always found each other or their legs always in contact under every table and at every bench they sat at. "Me too," fingers tracing Marianne's knuckles where the warmth from her kiss lingered.

They had passed a realtor's office with pictures of houses and empty lots for sale and joked about buying one, staying forever. Marianne knew Virginia would return to Austin and while they made veiled allusions to their rose-colored dream life coming to an end, they had made no concrete plans or decisions in regard to it. Marianne wanted to live in this dream as long as possible, regardless of how bitterly she knew she might wake from it. The unknown future intensified rather than tempered their intimacy. Hands determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from every shared glance, word, and touch.

Over time, Virginia's phone calls with Violet lengthened. She took them outside or inside, wherever Marianne wasn't, as though she were trying to keep the peace between her wife and her mistress. She wondered which one that made her.

"There's something I need to take care of today. Think you can entertain yourself a little while?" Virginia's question was spoken casually, but the statement that preceded it was definite in its exclusion of Marianne.

"I'll manage," she replied with equal practiced nonchalance. She even helped Virginia find the car keys and her sunglasses. Before she left, she glanced around the room as though she were making sure she didn't leave anything essential behind.

Marianne could have wept when she heard the tires on the gravel. She resolved not to. This was just a precursor to the real thing, she told herself. There would be no need for a practice run or a safety drill. Her grief, not even fully realized, felt like a solid presence growing in her womb and there would be no quelling it once it was born.

When Virginia returned later that day, she wanted to fall at her feet in worship to express the profound relief she felt. "You're home," would do for now.

"I need to tell you something."

Her grief kicked in her womb. "Okay."

"I've been thinking a lot about..." she raised her shoulders and dropped them with a sigh, "us."