the first cold fingers of alarm. Kneeling, so she could see into Frank's face, she said her name, sharply and loudly.
Frank's eyes flickered toward hers, and Kennedy reflexively checked their reaction time. The pupils were normal and bright, but Frank stared at her like she was a stranger.
'Frank, what's the matter? Are you sick?'
Frank didn't answer. Kennedy was beginning to wonder if she'd had a stroke, maybe some sort of seizure. She grabbed Frank's shoulders and shook her.
'Frank, say something or I'm calling a fuckin' ambulance!'
Slack-jawed, Frank struggled to focus on the face in front of her. She saw Kennedy's fear and heard it, but she felt too far away to respond. She'd found a place inside her that was deep and dark and quiet, and she didn't know if she wanted to leave it. When Kennedy rattled her, snapping her head back, Frank tentatively reached for her. Her fingers found Kenndy's face. They landed lightly, but Frank was too far away to feel the soft skin beneath them.
She heard someone asking, 'Did you have a bad dream? Is that it?'
Frank struggled to understand the question. She whispered, 'I dream all the time. I can't stop dreaming.'
Kennedy opened her palm against Frank's face, and Frank felt like she was falling, falling, falling. Kennedy pulled Frank against her. Frank gave in easily, without resistance. She felt an arm around her back and another on her head. Then she was rocking back and forth, back and forth, and someone just kept saying, 'Shhh, shhh,' even though Frank hadn't made a sound. Frank pressed her face tighter into Kennedy's neck.
'I can't sleep,' she whispered, the words warm and damp and secret. 'I'm so tired and I can't sleep. There's so much blood. Every time I close my eyes there's so much blood.'
'Shhh, you're okay. There's no blood here. It's all gone. It's all gone.'
And then the arms were tighter around her, and Frank felt her own arms come up, grabbing at Kennedy, clutching her shirt in her fingers, kneading it in hard bunches, and the still rational part of Frank's brain wondered if she could burrow any deeper into Kennedy's shoulder without breaking bone. But Kennedy just rocked and shushed, rocked and shushed.
Frank held on while Pavarotti cried for her, while she tried breathing around the chasm in her lungs where the nightman stalked with all his demons and henchmen. She squeezed Kennedy to her, wondering how she couldn't be crushing her, but not caring, knowing this was her last hope. That this tender young woman was all there was to keep her from falling into the hole where death and dying swirled redly, hungrily.
She gulped air jaggedly and unevenly, praying, Please God, don't let me fall in there, please don't let me fall in. There was no light in that hole. In it whirled sucking chest wounds and spattered brain matter. Dead green babies with gonorrhea sores in their gaping mouths clawed at her, and twelve-year olds giving high-fives over the bodies of friends they'd just shot. And always blood flowing, dripping down the walls of the chasm, pooling on the floor, streaking hands and faces. Lucifer's own blood.
When she stopped breathing, her body forced her to open and swallow, and she concentrated on the ridge of bone mashing against her cheek and the nuzzle of Kennedy's hair on her nose, the soft skin against her lips, the arms hard and secure around her, the sweet smell of woman filling her brain. She just held on, and Kennedy whispered assurances until finally Frank's fingers unclenched and her breathing evened out. When her arms relaxed, Kennedy let go and pulled back slowly.
'Come on,' she said gently, helping Frank stand. She led her into the master bedroom, asking where her pajamas were. Frank was confused but managed to mumble they were on the back of the bathroom door. Kennedy got them and gently tugged Frank's turtleneck over her head. She slipped Frank into the pajama top, then helped her take off her shoes and socks and slacks. Frank held onto Kennedy's shoulder while she silently stepped into the pj's. Then Kennedy led Frank into the guest bed.
'Come here,' she whispered, and guided Frank back into the haven of her arms. 'I want you to sleep, okay? Just sleep, and if any dreams come we'll chase them away together, okay? You're safe right now. Nothing's gonna get you. I won't let anything happen to you.'
Somewhere in the back of her brain Frank knew that couldn't possibly be true, but she wanted to believe Kennedy's soft words, wanted the warm arms to wrap around her, and, gradually, she slept.
When her lips found Kennedy's, Frank was still asleep, dreaming that she was making love to Maggie. It felt so good to have her back again. Frank didn't know how that could be possible after all this time, but she didn't question it, just kept responding to the mouth against hers, and the heat starting between her legs and rising through her. She pressed Maggie's body against her, and they started slowly moving against each other in a dance as old and as sweet as air.
As the kisses became hungrier and the dance more urgent, Frank realized she wasn't dreaming anymore. She thought, I'm sorry, Mag. The radiant image she always had of Maggie laughing and turning to say something flashed in her mind, the sky blue behind her, the wind curling her hair around her face. Maggie laughing and Frank knowing it was okay to let go, seeing Maggie speak but not hearing the words the wind carried away.
She said good-bye and tasted the lips heavy on hers, pulling the slight body tighter against her own, rocking together for a different reason now, the breathing labored for a better reason, arms clenched in pleasure and not panic. They moved rhythmically together, like one body, and when Kennedy's breathing faltered, Frank's did too, until neither one of them was breathing anymore, and when Kennedy gasped and cried out, Frank breathed again and fell with her, and the dance slowed as gently as it had begun.
They lay entwined in silence, learning to breathe again, gently finding each other's lips. This time they searched and explored, palming hollows and ridges, tracing bumps and scars, seeking and finding, and after, they slept deeply and unafraid.
35
Frank woke gently and saw gray light out the window. She didn't know if it was still early morning, or if the day was overcast. She pressed the length of herself against the back of Kennedy and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her reward was Kennedy pushing even more firmly into her and caressing her arm before they both fell asleep again.
The next time Frank woke up, Kennedy was gone and sunlight poured into the room. Frank groped at the clock and thought it must be wrong when she saw 12:11. She located her pajamas and stretched, sore in places she'd forgotten existed.
Following the faint clunk of metal against metal, she found Kennedy on the Soloflex.
'Hey.'
'Hey, yourself, sleepyhead,' she grunted.
Frank left her, wondering if there was coffee and what was in the house for breakfast. She was starving. She sniffed the coffee Kennedy had made and poured a cup. Kennedy appeared behind her, and Frank raised the pot.
'Want some?'
'Girl, I've been up for hours already. I done coffee'd myself out.'
'Is it really noon?'
'Noon and then some,' she teased. 'How ya doin'?' Kennedy asked gingerly.
Frank looked at the woman she'd made love to last night, the woman who'd held her while she whispered her terrors and then lulled her to sleep. Unsure where to start answering, she set the pot down slowly and deliberately.
Placing her hands lightly on Kennedy's waist, she said simply, 'I'm good. How are you?'
'Very good.'
Frank kissed Kennedy's forehead and they held on to each other, neither knowing what to say, wondering if anything needed to be said. Frank felt only relief and gratitude, like the night had brought a deadly storm, yet here in the bright light of the next day she knew she had miraculously survived it.
She pushed away enough so that she could see Kennedy's face and said, quietly, 'We should talk.'
'Oh, now you want to talk. Uh-uh.'
Kennedy's hand flew up and landed on Frank's mouth. She kissed Frank into silence while her coffee grew cold. In Kennedy's bed, after the sweat had dried and their hearts had slowed, Kennedy generously offered, 'Now you can talk.'
