I stared at her, completely nonplused.

“I may be a nun, but I do keep my eyes open,” Sister Ann added.

“A lot of drinks. I did it for a lot of drinks,” I retorted, deciding on defiance. “And I slept around because I wanted to. And I despise church picnics,” I added angrily. “Where’s Bernie,” I muttered. “I’m starving.”

“I have an apple,” Sister Ann offered. “But…I believe it’s on my desk.”

“Well, let me run right in and get it,” I retorted sarcastically. Then by way of apology, “My head hurts. I think the heat’s getting to me.”

“Something is, isn’t it?” Sister Ann commented.

Sometimes the best defense is to be offensive. “How do you know so much about trading sexual favors?” I asked her.

“In this neighborhood, I pass it on the street,” she replied. “I’m a social worker, you know.”

“A do-gooder,” I snorted.

“It’s endemic among nuns.”

“I suppose.” Then bluntly, “Are you a virgin?”

“What do you think?” was her reply.

“I think people who’ve never had sex shouldn’t make moral judgments about those who do.”

“I wasn’t making a moral judgment.”

“Yes, you were. Catholic picnics are better than lesbian bars. You’re just so damned self-righteous you think that’s a fact and not a moral judgment.”

“Do you think hanging out at a bar at sixteen is better than going to a church picnic?”

“Didn’t you tell me you were engaged once? What happened to him? Did you do it?

“Why do you want to know?”

“You have no right to ask me about my sex life, if you won’t talk about yours.”

“All right,” Sister Ann replied. “No, we never did it, as you so delicately put it. I got engaged in high school. I was too young at the time. Of course, I didn’t know that then. He was a very persuasive young man and a few years older than me. He joined the army and served in Korea. Once he was gone, no longer influencing me, I thought about what I wanted out of life. And it wasn’t being married to him. I found God and my life’s calling.”

“Any regrets?”

“No, not really. I hurt Randall when I broke our engagement. He had been injured in the war and lost the use of his legs. He was very bitter about it and always believed I had left him because of it. I had hoped he would understand and we could be friends, but…he never believed that I could really prefer God to him.”

“Ever missed love? Physical contact?”

“Of course. I’m human. But what I’ve gained, the spiritual life, the peace within myself, has more than compensated for what I’ve given up.”

“So we should all bop off and be nuns?”

“No, of course not. I doubt you, for example, would be happy as a nun. I really believe it is a calling.”

“I doubt I would be happy as a nun. At least we agree on something.”

“Now, why don’t you tell me why you preferred bars to church socials?”

“Aunt Greta would never be caught dead in a lesbian bar,” I answered flippantly.

Bernie returned with lunch. Sister Ann didn’t pursue her questions.

My stomach was recovering. I wolfed down my yogurt and realized I was still hungry. Bernie graciously offered me half of her ham sandwich. That helped somewhat. So did half a candy bar and some of her potato chips.

“I owe you lunch, Bernie,” I said. “I think I had most of yours.”

Cordelia and Millie joined us.

“I just talked to the police,” Cordelia said. “Five places, including ours, received threats. The bomb squad checked out our building and couldn’t find anything. Should we go back in?”

We all looked at each other.

“Can you risk it?” Sister Ann asked.

“It’s terrorism. The clinic can be closed with a phone call,” Millie said.

“I’m willing,” I stated, standing up. Everyone looked at me. “They had dogs. I trust dogs,” I continued, referring to the bomb squad. Anything was better than sitting out here with Sister Ann asking questions about my sex life. “They want us scared more than they want us dead.”

I started across the street.

“No,” Cordelia said, grabbing my arm. “I’m going in first. I need to look around for myself.”

“What do you know about finding bombs?” I questioned.

“What do you know?” she countered.

“I found one already this morning.”

“Bernie,” Cordelia said, “you’re going home. And you’re taking Micky with you.”

I started to protest, but she cut me off.

“No. One bomb threat a day per person,” she said, with a slight nod of her head toward Bernie.

I grumbled, but Cordelia had won her point. Giving Bernie the task of getting rid of me was a sure way of making her leave.

Cordelia assembled the troops (Elly had reappeared) and led them back into the building.

“Actually, Bern,” I said, as she pulled out of the parking lot, “I need to go talk to my all-time favorite detective.” Bernie dropped me off at O’Connor’s precinct station.

“Miss Knight. How nice of you to remember me. So glad you could come,” he greeted me.

“Doing my duty,” I answered.

“What were you on this morning? Just so I can have some idea how to take your story. I didn’t bother with a search warrant because I’m sure the intrepid Sergeant Ranson flushed it down the toilet.”

I glared at him for a minute before I answered. “I was drunk.”

“Drunk?”

“Skunk-fucking drunk.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“No. When have you ever believed the truth?”

“Why don’t you tell me your skunk-fucking-drunk version of what happened this morning?”

I did. O’Connor wouldn’t let up with questions. Every time I couldn’t remember or wasn’t sure, he’d say, “Too drunk, huh?”

“What the hell do you want?” I finally exploded.

“Just the facts, ma’am, just the facts,” he answered. He’d probably waited his whole life to use that line.

“Fact yourself,” I retorted, getting up to leave.

“So, I hear you like girls,” he commented casually.

So that was it.

“You heard wrong,” I answered.

“I got good sources.”

“You might like girls, but I only sleep with adults,” I countered.

“Are they?”

I glared at him.

“Dr. James and Sergeant Ranson?” he finished his question.

“You cheap bastard,” I retorted, leaning across his desk. “You like your victories petty, don’t you? You’re so sure Cordelia is your murderer that it pisses you she got off. But if she’s queer…Ranson’s got you beat to hell and back as a cop, but label her a dyke and it’ll make you feel better.”

“Just curious,” he commented blandly.

“How do you and your wife fuck? Always missionary position? Ever gone down on her? Does she give good head?”

O’Connor sat up angrily.

“Just curious, Tim, old buddy,” I cut off his response, then spun away from him, stalking across the room.

“Miss Knight,” he called. “Next time someone tries to kill you, call me.”

I turned back to face him.

“What’s one less dyke matter?” I retorted bitterly and walked out.

At the first pay phone I came to, I called Joanne.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just find excuses to talk about my ex-husband in the next few days. Where are you?”

I told her.

“I’ll pick you up. I have to go to court and get a search warrant. It probably won’t be ready for an hour or so. You interested in a late lunch/early dinner?”

I agreed, rationalizing that lunch with Bernie, being my first meal of the day, was actually breakfast. We hit a po-boy place near the courthouse. I settled for a plain roast beef, remembering too well the color of oysters on the upchuck.

“Sorry about O’Connor,” I said, as we settled at a table in back.

“Not your fault. You did have enough sense not to say, ‘Oh, Joanne, one of the hottest women I’ve ever slept with.’”

“I couldn’t lie,” I replied with exaggerated innocence.

Joanne shook her head. “I gather you’ve recovered from this morning?”

“Physically, at least,” I replied. “Sometimes…I feel like such an idiot.”

“You’re not,” Joanne told me. “Though, frankly, when I first met you, I did peg you for a fucked-up smartass.”

“That’s nice to know,” I commented.

“You proved me wrong. Particularly in the past several months. And I hate being proven wrong, so the evidence was overwhelming.”

I wasn’t used to compliments, so I took a bite out of my po-boy. “What is this? Be kind to Micky Knight day?” I said between mouthfuls.

“Still a smartass,” Joanne said, shaking her head. But she was smiling.

“Good. Glad to know I’ve still got a fault left.”

“You have a number of faults. But the good outweighs the bad. And I’m glad we’re friends,” Joanne said seriously.

I thought to make another smart comment, but stopped myself. “So am I, Joanne,” I replied. “If…if someone like you, whom I respect as much as I do you…likes me, well, maybe I’m not so bad after all.”

“That’s why I’m telling you. Also, it’s true.”

“Thanks.”

“Someone did it for me once. Looked directly at me and told me I was a good person. It made…such a difference.”

“Thanks,” I said again. “It does.”

She reached over and touched my hand, then said, “I have to get a warrant. I’m probably going to be working late tonight. Why don’t I drop you off at my place? Alex will be home soon.”

“You’re leaving me alone with Alex?” I kidded.

“Sure, I trust both of you. Besides, Alex knows better than to cheat on a woman who carries a gun.”

“Actually, Joanne, there’s a very risky and dangerous task I need to take care of.”

“Yes?” she questioned, giving me a hard look.

“Apologize to Danny.”

“You should both probably apologize to each other.”

“Why?”

“She called you a whore.”

“After—”

“Not according to Cordelia,” Joanne interrupted.

“I don’t really remember. Besides, you don’t know what I said to Danny.”

“You implied you faked orgasms with her.”

“Oh,” was all I could think to reply, then, “Still, it wasn’t a pretty thing to say.”

“No, it wasn’t. I never said you were perfect. But neither is Danny. Maybe the two of you should yell at each other and get it over with.”

“At least let Danny yell at me.”

“Should I drop you off there?” Joanne asked.

“No, I’ll manage on my own. I need to figure out what I’m going to say.”

“Okay. Call me if you need rescue. Should I expect you to show up later at my place?”

“Probably. I doubt Danny and Elly are going to invite me to spend the night.”

“Good luck,” Joanne said.

“Thanks, I’ll need it.” I waved as she headed up the courthouse stairs.

I finally found a bus that would take me within walking distance of Danny’s. I still had no idea what I was going to say. And I really wanted to be comfortably chatting with Alex rather than doing what I was doing. I didn’t know how Danny might react. I’ve done some pretty rotten things to her; maybe this was the final one.

Chapter 22

When I got to Danny’s and Elly’s, I went around back to the kitchen door, because I knew that’s where they’d probably be this time of evening. Both cars were parked in the driveway. I had been vaguely hoping they were eating out tonight, giving me a reprieve and Danny a little more time to cool down. Danny had a long fuse on her temper, but once she was angry… I hesitated for a moment in the driveway, wondering if it might be prudent to give her time to get over it. But I knew that was a rationalization. A week from now my apology might be meaningless, the hurt left too long to be atoned for.

Giving myself no more time to think, I knocked on the door. Beowulf barked at the sound. Elly opened the door, regarding me warily. Danny was at the stove. She didn’t even turn around. Beowulf, at least, was happy to see me, greeting me with a wagging tail and some friendly hand licking.

“I’m here to apologize,” I said, taking a step into the kitchen.

Elly moved away from the door, watching me, but saying nothing. Danny had yet to glance in my direction.

“I’m very sorry for what I said last night. I didn’t mean it. And it’s not true.”

Still Danny said nothing.

“Danny? I’m sorry. What can I say?”

“El, do we have any parsley?” Danny asked Elly, completely ignoring me.

“Danny? Can we talk?…at least tell me to fuck off,” I finished as she remained resolutely silent.

“I think this needs more tarragon,” she said to Elly.

“Danny?”

Still no response. Don’t ignore me as if I’m not here, I thought angrily. I grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around to face me. “Danny…”

She slapped me. Not hard, but enough to back me away from her. I tensed, ready to fight. Elly stepped forward, preparing to jump between us.

No, I told myself, you’re not going to hit Danny. Turn tail out of here before you do that.

“I guess I deserved that,” I said, relaxing my fists. “I’m sorry for last night.”

“Don’t bother,” Danny replied coldly. “You think your behavior can always be excused with an apology. I should have done this a long time ago. Please leave.”

“No,” I said. “Let me—”

“What?” Danny snapped, glaring at me, her arms crossed tightly.

I looked at her. Open, honest Danny, my friend because she easily let me know her, her strengths and sorrows displayed in shadowless light. She had offered me such solid ground for friendship, and even love. I had returned smoke and mirrors.

I had to tell the truth, I realized, finally return what Danny had offered those dozen years ago when we first met. And whatever remained of our friendship would be real, because I wouldn’t mislead Danny anymore.

“Look, I lied.”

“I know,” she said. “I knew that.”

“Not just…last night. Everything. Between us,” I stammered out, remembering how necessary I felt the lies, half-truths, I told in our early years together. Necessity had solidified into habit, a wall of lies I hadn’t the courage to break. “In college. When we met. I lied…I told you my parents died in a car wreck. But they didn’t. My mother abandoned…me. And I couldn’t stop my father’s…murder.”

“I know that, too, remember?” Danny replied. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”

“And all the things I told you I said to my aunt? I lied about those. Maybe I thought them…a week later. She went after me with a belt a few times and I learned to shut up. I learned real well. I didn’t rebel against her the way I said I had…I was afraid.” How easy it had been to rewrite my history, to claim I was as I wanted to be, brave and defiant, not cowering at Aunt Greta’s reprimands.

Danny stared coolly at me, no change in her expression.

“Remember me telling you how much fun I had in bars? Picking up women? How easy it was for me? I lied about that. I snuck into bars because…I couldn’t bear to go back to that ugly house on that ugly street. And I went home with women because, if they bought me a few drinks, I couldn’t think of a way to say no. I wasn’t very good at picking up women. I usually sat in a corner until someone finally approached me. Being drunk in a strange bed was better than going home sober.

“And I always snuck around so Aunt Greta wouldn’t suspect. I had to get home in time to do the dishes before she woke up. If they were done, she thought I was in at night. So every night, sometimes at three or four in the morning, I would come groveling home to do the dishes. I was terrified she would find out and…put me away or something.”

Danny hadn’t moved, still standing in the middle of the kitchen with her arms crossed. Elly was distractedly stroking Beowulf. I wondered what they thought of my…confession, there was no other word for it.

“I put shit in Bayard’s bed exactly once. I never did it again. Not after…after I got punished. All the tricks I told you I pulled on him? I lied about them. Not lied…just reversed who did what to whom.” More than anything, this was the past that I wished obliterated. I had used Danny, and my lies to her, as a way to escape it, to deny that it—incest—a word I still flinched to use, had happened to me.

“And…and…” I faltered, afraid to finally let out my most humiliating secrets. I stared at the floor, unable to look at Danny anymore. “I told you he got Uncle Claude’s gun and demanded I give him a blow job…remember I said I refused, daring him to pull the trigger? I lied…I…did it. I was too chicken-shit to say no. Only once did he play with the gun…and it wasn’t loaded. I’d said yes…too often to bother saying no. I just couldn’t…”