Page 12 of Suncatcher

“You’re only five years older than me, so don’t say things like that. I’ve actually got another favor to ask.”

Molly pouted. “That doesn’t sound like it’s gonna be as fun as my idea.”

“Sadly, you’re right. You got any big shirts or trousers lying around? Maybe Big John’s size?”

Molly dragged on the cigarette as she thought before crushing it on the stone slab beside her. “I might. Lemme check.”

Molly levered herself from the rocking chair into the wheeled one that rested beside it, and Pearl followed her back inside. The back room where Molly lived was simple and tidy, the pink wallpaper faded and carefully patched. But in the front shop, an explosion of fabric had gone off. It was chaos to Pearl, but Molly knew what she was looking for. She produced a simple cream shirt with wooden buttons.

Pearl held it out, sizing it up. “Any way you could make it a bit more…feminine?”

Molly raised her eyebrows. “You got a big lady friend, Pearl?”

“Something like that.”

Molly watched her intently. “I don’t know of any ladies that size in this town. And trust me, I’d know.”

“I’ve no doubt you would. She’s not from around here.”

Pearl kept her expression bland as Molly continued to watch her. “I’ll put in a few darts. But it won’t be anything special without any idea of her measurements.”

“Thanks. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to the sheriff.”

Molly snorted. “You worried your mama gonna find out you enjoy mare instead of stallion?”

Pearl rolled her eyes. “We’re at least fifteen years late for that.”

Molly wheeled past her to another pile, sorting through several pairs of trousers. “Wanna give me any more hints to your large friend’s size? Build?”

“Strong,” Pearl replied immediately. “And tall.”

Molly sighed, mostly in annoyance and perhaps with a hint of envy. “I saw you dancing with Rosie a lot at Wallace and Clara’s wedding. You aren’t playing with her too, are you? You know how she is.”

“I’m not playing with nobody. And Rosie’s too sweet for me.”

“She is,” Molly agreed easily.

Pearl refused to let that hurt.

Molly sighed again, and then she grinned and held out a pair of trousers. “I hope this big lady of yours knows what she’s getting too.”

“She certainly isn’t sweet,” Pearl muttered.

Pearl didn’t know what Driz was. Yet, for some reason, Driz had helped, even after Pearl left.

It consumed her thoughts, distracting her for the rest of the day, making her careless. She nearly dropped her forkful of mash when her mother kicked her beneath the table as they sat and ate in the back of Spencer’s Saloon. It was a quiet evening, most people tired from two days of partying for Mayor Wallace’s wedding.

“Wanna talk about it?” Sheriff Oak asked, her eyes keen on Pearl’s face.

As usual, her mother read Pearl with ease. She’d never been able to hide things from her well. She thought of Molly’s comment earlier and the corner of her mouth lifted.

Her mother had been the first person to know about Pearl’s preference for women, when Pearl was only twelve years old. Sheriff Oak had shrugged and told her it didn’t matter who she wanted between her legs, so long as she was careful about it.

Molly had been her first, when Pearl was sixteen. From the way people talked, they thought Pearl slept in a different bed each night. Pearl didn’t bother correcting them. But in truth, she’d only been with a handful of women in her life, and most of them were travelers or outsiders. It was less complicated that way.

She’d enjoyed two sweaty summer nights in a room above where they sat now, with a leggy prospector on a sanctioned mission from the empire to locate fresh pockets of blight in the wilds, who got weathered in town on her way through. And an evening with a voluptuous baker in Plainsburgh when Pearl had accompanied a salt shipment there last autumn. A few of her lovers had written to her afterward. Pearl never responded.

Pearl didn’t do attachments. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be cared for. When people cared, they got nosy. Like mothers.