Chapter Twenty-One

A BELLY-DEEP groan erupted from Ellie as the rain showerhead wrapped her in delicious, drenching heat. Side jets pummeled her hips, stiff from hours in a cramped airplane seat. She pressed her palms to the cool tile and let Olivia’s shower blast away the day’s sweaty tackiness. It didn’t quite match her steaming tub, but the invitation to spend the night had been irresistible. After two weeks in the tight quarters of her uncle’s home, weeping relatives crammed into every spare corner, she was desperate for the quiet peace of Olivia’s arms.

“Mind if I join you?” Olivia stepped halfway in, naked. “I’ll give you a tour of the shower, so you can adjust the jets.”

“Whatever they’re doing now is amazing.”

“That’s the massage setting. I changed it earlier.”

She grabbed Olivia by the wrist and pulled her under the stream. “You’re a very thoughtful woman.”

A shoulder lifted in the deferential shrug Olivia always gave to compliments. Water soaked her hair to burnt honey, misted her eyelashes, strung beads along her upper lip. The town where Ellie had been was locked in a drought. Showers were rationed. A real bath, unthinkable. Most nights, she fell asleep with the heat of the day stuck to her skin. Standing in this column of water with Olivia, she felt like a pale Chalchiuhtlicue had summoned the rain, reviving her.

Olivia furrowed her fingers through Ellie’s curls, drawing them off her face, then reached past her for the shampoo. Fingertips massaged delicious paths along her scalp, then soapy hands caressed her body, sloughing off the fatigue with their gentle attention. When she finished, Olivia enclosed her from behind and let the water rain down. The warm circle of those arms brought her fully back from the arid village and the sharp grief of the funeral, and she inhaled. Steam poured into her lungs. When she released the breath, a sob broke through, surprising her.

Soft lips hovered by her ear. “It’s all right. Let go. I’ve got you.”

With Olivia’s tender words, she did let go, crying harder than she had all the days in Mexico, crying for the small but fierce woman who had taught her what it meant to love and be loved. And who had cherished her exactly as she was. Olivia kept a strong grip, holding her upright through the wave of emotion. When it finally washed through her, Ellie pivoted in Olivia’s arms. Gentle kisses brushed across her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

“Time for bed.” Olivia kissed her forehead again.

Ellie let herself be dried off and led to the bedroom. New pajamas lay on the right side of the bed. Sophia’s side. Now her side. Her thoughts tangled like so many threads, her brain too weary to pick them apart. So she smiled her thanks and dressed quietly before crawling under the covers. Sleep tugged at her as she settled in Olivia’s shoulder. They should talk, check in about this change, but when Olivia’s hand sifted through her hair in a slow rhythm, fatigue clutched her, and she sank into darkness.

 

OLIVIA HAD WATCHED Ellie dress—her height and size filling the small bedroom with an unfamiliar, disquieting dimension—while the space whispered memories of Sophia. But when Ellie stumbled getting one leg in her pajamas, her exhaustion obvious, Olivia stomped on her own discomfort and slid under the blankets to offer an open shoulder.

Full breasts pressed against her side, a round thigh settled over her leg, the damp weight of curls—these recently familiar sensations crackled in this old setting. Sophia had fallen asleep in this exact spot so many times, light but active, her fingers, a shoulder, a cheek twitching as if she kept part of herself alight, even in slumber.

Ellie was the opposite, a heavy, still stone undisturbed by the river of sleep rushing past. Olivia kept up her even strokes. She wouldn’t let her unease disrupt the woman in her arms. Ellie’s presence was comforting in the abstract, but a prickling tension grew as her form warred with Sophia’s memory. Olivia glanced around the room, half expecting to find someone else in the shadows.