Shattered Bonds (continued)

Son of a bitch . . .

Wendy stared at the contents of the empty room, in only slightly less disarray than her own, and wondered whether she more upset that he had probably spent the night with Rachel or because his arrival the night before had subverted her chance with David.

She turned away from the room, her lips stretched into a tight frown. David had wanted her—she could tell, judging the solid bulge in his pants. That, at least, made her feel better about the whole—a little. It did, however, nothing to quell her stomach’s discontent. It had settled down now, leaving her ravenously hungry. Not eager to once again revisit whatever she ate, she considered her breakfast options carefully—with a preference toward what might also be prepared quickly.

Toast? That would be easy and stay down.

She knew there was bread in the cabinet. Entering the kitchen, she found it quickly. While waiting for two slices to heat, she began searching the refrigerator. She found a jar of preserves and opened it: still fresh. Unable to identify it from the dark orange color, she lifted it and sniffed at it cautiously. That gave her no more of a clue as to its flavor.

Fruit. She decided. Fruit is good. I’ll need some protein soon, though.

She grabbed a plate from another cabinet just as the toast was ready. Plucking them carefully with her fingers, she dropped them onto it and then slathered some of the preserves across each slice.

Before she realized it, she had downed four slices of toast and a liter of water—and she was still running late. Cursing unintelligibly through the last crumbs of the fourth slice, she hurried back for the bathroom.

She showered quickly, judging that her hair could wait until later. Tucking it up into a knot to avoid getting it wet, she understood now why pregnant women and new mothers tended to wear theirs short. She was not quite ready to do that though, if ever, as she had considered it one of her best features. Her breasts were normally adequate, but nothing that gained attention for her by themselves—although daily becoming more so—but she knew that a lot of men out there liked long hair on a woman. So, she had no intention of cutting it short, not at least until David had a chance to run his hands through it . . .

Wendy! Just . . . stop it.

It took her a moment that her hands had been slowly caressing her wet skin, moving along the curves of her breasts, her belly, and heading down between her legs. Had she not been running incredibly late, she might have surrendered to it. There was, after all, nothing wrong with a little harmless fantasizing while in the shower. Although, if David were in there with her . . .

WENDY!

Breathing a heavy sigh, she rinsed off one more time and turned off the water. Reaching for the towel, she discovered that it was missing, probably still in her bedroom from the day before. Feeling a twinge of guilt, she grabbed Greg’s and wiped herself down with it. When she was done, she hung it back up, hoping that he would not notice, while also making a mental promise to add it to the pile of laundry that she planned to do later.

Grateful to find a clean set of pants and a tunic whose colors did not clash too badly together, she tried to remember if she had any extra coveralls at the clinic.

I must, she decided with only moderate confidence. I hope.

With that, she headed for the front door. She paused as she reached for the handle. With the kind of morning she had experienced so far, there was every chance that Greg was standing right on the other side. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she pulled open the door.

No one was there. Nor was there anyone coming along the path.

Okay, Wendy decided. I just might survive this day after all.

Almost wearing a smile now, Wendy set off for the clinic.

When she arrived at clinic, she felt palpable relief at not having encountered Greg or David on her way there. Well, running into David might not have been so bad, but she suspected that it might have added to her already distracted mind.

You really just need to let that one go. It was just one of those things . . . and now it’s over. Probably.

She found Garnet Jones waiting for here just outside the main door. That was a welcome intrusion into her thoughts, as it forced her to focus on her work and more important medical matters.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Jones,” she apologized, slightly breathlessly from hurrying. “Got a late start this morning and . . . well.”

The older woman, her tightly curled hair streaked with white and gray, stared at her mock indignation.

Wendy looked startled, wondering if she had managed to offend the elderly woman after all, and then returned a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry for being late, Agate . . .” she shook her head fiercely, correcting herself quickly, “Garnet.”

Wendy’s eyes rolled skyward as she felt her cheek flush with embarrassment. Garnet responded only with a genial chuckle.

“That’s quite all right, Wendy,” she said with a devious twinkle in her eye. “I’m the prettier one.”

Garnet and Agate were twins. There were not identical, as anyone who bothered to look close enough could tell—and as Wendy had verified during their basic genetic scans—but close enough to confuse some people at first glance. They were from a family of five daughters; their mother had taken to naming them all after precious stones from Earth: Ruby, Garnet, Agate, Sapphire, and Amethyst (who went by “Amy”).

Wendy laughed softly as she unlocked the front door.

The clinic was one of the few buildings in the entire colony that was locked when not occupied. The other two were the armory and the electronics storage. The first was for obvious reasons. The latter one had been a more recent decree. As more and more of the electronic devices salvaged from the original landing began to fail, replacement and substitution parts had begun to disappear from the storage lockers. As they were also needed to keep systems such as those that ran the colony’s comm and surveillance networks, the colony council had decided to secure them. Debate over the decision, as Wendy recalled, had been surprisingly subdued and dwindled away quickly.

After unlatching the door, she reached inside and activated the lights, and then held the door open for Garnet. The older woman smiled at her graciously and stepped inside.

“How’s Sapphire’s doing?” Wendy asked, as she opened the curtains and activated the rest of the lights. “She hasn’t come by lately.”

“I think she’s seeing Dr. Greg,” Garnet replied. Wendy felt a small knot form in her stomach, but fought to keep her expression composed. “She’s about four months along, she says. She and Pauline could not be happier.”

Wendy nodded, filing that information away. Pauline was one of the few female members of the security force. No one rather knew how the relationship between her and Sapphire began. Sapphire’s disposition toward female partners had been well-known throughout the colony. It had become apparent at a young age, chiefly because Sapphire had done very little to hide it. At an age when young boys were trying to sneak looks underneath girls’ tunics, Sapphire had been doing the same. While it had troubled a few of the colony’s parents, Sapphire’s own mother ignored their concerns and allowed her daughter to follow her own path. She meted out discipline when it was necessary (e.g., when Sapphire got caught at it), but otherwise welcome friends of any gender into her home without question or fanfare.

Some of the more mean-spirited among her age group at the time (and Wendy knew a few of them) referred to her as “Sapphy the Sappho”. Many of the colonists thought, but few said out loud, that her mother must have sensed something was different about her daughter when she was born, given that fitting alliterative appellation. Unfortunately, for those colonists anyway, this derision-intended epithet prompted the young girl to research the historical origin of the name, leading her to even more fully embrace the practice.

Wendy remembered that Sapphire, as a younger child, was a highly talented poet and songwriter. She expanded into visual media, creating strikingly colorful abstract paintings. Wendy had one of these hanging in her waiting area. It never failed to provoke a positive response when people first encountered it. She had paid a high price for it in trade, but it had been well worth it for the appreciation that it received as well as the support it showed for the young and controversial artist.

Sapphire’s real passion was taken by sculpture, though. The colony lacked the facilities for any kind of art museum, although there was a perpetual desire for one, so the few pieces that Wendy had seen had been in Sapphire’s own home and at those of the lucky few who had managed to somehow acquire a piece. Those sculptures, in Wendy’s opinion, had been breathtaking. Greg had been unimpressed, so she had not tried to pursue trying to either acquire or commission one. There had been one piece, that Sapphire claimed had been inspired by her first sight of Pauline, titled “”. It was a relatively simple piece, depicting two women in an embrace. There was nothing particularly erotic about it, yet everything about it had grabbed Wendy’s awareness, seizing it to the point where she remembered having dreams of being made love to by another woman.

The dreams had unsettled her. Not because she was disturbed by the very notion, but simply because she had never really considered the option before. She preferred men in her bed. She was biologically wired that way, just as Sapphire was to prefer women. That was just the way it was. Yet, after seeing that sculpture, she found herself with a lingering, persistent desire: she wanted to experience the emotions she saw displayed there in those two entwined female bodies. She had, of course, never done anything about it. A hint to Sapphire would probably have sufficed, but the occasion had never arisen when it would have been practical. Also, Wendy admitted to herself, she was concerned about the implications if word got out.

Men could be strange about that sort of thing, she had observed. Some men seemed to take as a personal challenge to prove to the woman that a man—a forceful and assertive man—was what they really needed. Except in a few cases, most of these men, she noticed, tended to end up as long-term bachelors until they encountered a woman who straightened them out.

Other men—a significant majority, it seemed—found it incredibly arousing, which Wendy had never understood. The thought of Greg, for example, with another man held no appeal for her at all. She found no satisfaction in merely observing. Having two men both share her was something she had never experienced. Even if she had been tempted—and, yes, in some small part of her mind she was—she knew that Greg would never allow it. Or, if he did, he would like behave like a pig about the whole thing, diminishing her enjoyment of it.

Just what you need, she considered sourly, a reputation like Lorelei Ling’s. The two of us could open the colony’s first official brothel.

Wendy shuddered slightly, forcing her thoughts back to the present.

“Are you okay, dear?”

Wendy turned toward Garnet and smiled, nodding.

“Fine,” she told the elder woman. “Just remembering something I hadn’t done.”

“Nothing serious I hope?”

Wendy chuckled, guiding the woman toward one of the examination booths.

“Hardly.” She laughed.

“That’s good,” Garnet replied. “All your attention needs to be on that baby right now.”

Wendy stopped in mid-stride. She knew that was staring in shock, but could not stop it. She had told no one—no one­­—about her pregnancy, even to the point of securing her own medical files from Greg’s access. He had apparently not yet noticed; the implications of which she had not yet decided.

“How,” Wendy choked and tried again. “How did you know?”

Garnet smiled knowingly. “Young woman,” she said, “when you’ve been around for eighty-four—no eight-five now—years, you learn to notice a lot of things, particularly,” she raised a neatly manicured finger, “when you have young daughters of your own.” Her expression sank slightly.

Wendy knew what she must be thinking about. Garnet’s daughter, Noel (named for having been conceived on Christmas, to who Garnet often referred to as “Santa’s greatest gift” to her), had managed to get pregnant shortly before her fifteen birthday. She had miscarried during her fourth month. It had been messy, painful, and even touch-and-go for a while with Noel. It had been several months before she had recovered fully.

The father had never been identified, although Wendy suspected that Noel and Garnet both knew—well, certainly Noel did at least, unless she was a great deal more promiscuous than she let on. There had been rumors, somewhat unpleasant ones, about the possible paternity, but they had never been proven. Wendy had taken samples from the fetus, per her usual procedures, but, at Garnet’s request, never processed them. The data was still stored in Wendy’s medical records, but locked under a secure code. Wendy suspected what the data would show, so was very careful to resist temptation to ever look at it. However, should she ever hear another such rumor involving another young woman in the colony, she intended to violate Garnet’s request and see that justice was done.

“You are, aren’t you?” Garnet asked, although it felt to Wendy like more of a statement for her to confirm.

“Yeah,” Wendy nodded, smiling in spite of herself. “Almost three months now.”

“That’s very good,” Garnet replied, patting Wendy’s hand lightly. The elderly woman’s smile was sincerely happy.

Wendy found herself relaxing. She still had not run the full suite of tests on herself yet, but she found Garnet’s affirmation reassuring. Garnet had known that Noel had been pregnant before Noel had—or at least before Noel had been willing to admit it—and brought her in to be examined by Wendy. She had seemed uncharacteristically on edge then and until the end. Wendy had originally regarded it as general uneasiness, given that it was Garnet’s daughter. Later, though, Garnet had told Wendy that she had known from the start that the pregnancy that it would end badly. At the time, Wendy had dismissed it as perfect hindsight. Now, she was not so certain.

“Does your young man know yet?” Garnet studied her with subtle intensity.

Wendy shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Hmm.”

Wendy could not bring herself to meet Garnet’s eyes.

Please . . . PLEASE don’t ask.

Wendy picked up her tablet, activated it, and then waited for Garnet’s medical profile to be displayed. It, at least, gave her eyes something to do other than meet the old woman’s careful gaze.