“Fine.” Tessa pointed to her jaw. “Hit me here. Come on.”

  “I’m not doing that.” Margaret forced herself to breathe and count. One…two…three.

  Tessa’s phone vibrated from over yonder on the floor where it had fallen during the scuffle. Margaret went to pick it up, and Tessa stayed sprawled on the bed.

  Katharine had replied: Were they physical? Want to come over, or we can come over? Left the reception 10 mins ago.

  Margaret frowned. No, she replied. Misunderstanding. Talk to you later. She turned the phone off and placed it on the nightstand. She got in bed with Tessa and placed her head on the woman’s chest.

  I have a wife, Margaret thought. Her wife apparently loved her enough to be with her when she woke from naps. To be with her every day. What if she drove Tessa away, and Tessa stopped trying, stopped caring like Katharine warned?

  Waking up to no one every day would be horrible, and waking up to her mother would be even sadder in its own way.

  Margaret forced her mind to wander. She saw things. They weren’t memories, although she and Tessa may very well have done these things.

  What Margaret saw were fantasies conjured from necessity. Her and Tessa’s bodies naked and slick, them fucking hard, Tessa on top of Margaret riding her so fucking hard and Tessa with a towel draped around her bending down to look at a book, Margaret’s focus on her butt—her shapely butt, the lower half of which became visible when Tessa bent over and

  And and

  And

  Her pussy, or a flash of it anyway through her spread legs and cheeks.

  Margaret checked for a reaction, a tingle or something. Anything. But there was nothing, damn it.

  “Come to bed with me, Tessa, please,” she said.

  “Fine,” Tessa said wearily.

  **

  In the other bedroom, Tessa helped Margaret unzip her dress and watched as she slipped out of it. In recent times, Margaret was shy about dressing and undressing in front of Tessa. Earlier that evening, she’d gone to another room to put her dress on for the reception.

  But now she stood fully naked in front of Tessa with her generous breasts and thick dark pubic hair. Tessa wanted to stare, to drink her body in, but Margaret hadn’t been hers for a while and wasn’t right now, not really.

  “Take your jammies off,” Margaret said.

  Tessa did, and they hugged like they had at the reception, plus they were skin to skin. However, this time Tessa’s eyes stayed dry, and her heart had an easier time than usual of staying emotionally detached.

  Margaret attempted a kiss on Tessa’s lips, a feeble, wobbly Jell-O kiss, and Tessa knew she was trying, she really was, but Margaret’s heart wasn’t in it. Neither was Tessa’s.

  Rather than return the kiss and force something that would be clumsy and unenjoyable, Tessa said, “Let’s try to sleep.” She returned to the bedroom she’d come from.

  **

  The next afternoon, Margaret kissed Henry’s adorable chubby cheeks and trudged into the fake NYC flat. She’d hoped to skip her afternoon nap and the subsequent memory wipeout after awakening, but her body was worn out. The gears inside her creaked and grinded. She needed rest, no way around it. It had been this way since the shootings, with an afternoon nap of at least an hour being necessary. She refrained from saying “goodbye” to Tessa because things had been awkward between them all day. Not so much awkward, really, as nonexistent. Tessa had been gone much of the time running and exercising and doing whatever it was she did when upset with Margaret.

  Margaret spent most of her hours with her mother and son, and now as she settled into bed and her eyes fluttered shut, she saw Henry’s bright little face and his shiny blue eyes. She’d wondered again and again throughout the morning: Is he truly my son? Is this baby genuinely mine to keep forever and ever?

  She was scared to let herself believe it in case someone came striding in a minute later to whisk him away. But no, he actually did seem here to stay. Amalia showed her how to change his diaper and how to feed him. Margaret, despite always wanting children, had scant experience with them, babies included.

  It should have been fun and interesting, but mostly, heartache filled Margaret. The memories she was making with Amalia and Henry would be gone yet again after her nap. She’d have to learn all over again about speed diaper changing because Henry had the tendency to foil don’t-pee-on-me measures. He’d pee through everything! So Amalia explained that it was important to have everything ready—for example, the diaper rash cream on the inside of the diaper so he could be quickly cleaned and the cream applied.

  Margaret hadn’t gotten peed on, luckily. A miracle, for she changed slowly and clumsily. Amalia was much more practiced.

  “Did you change our diapers, Mum?” Margaret asked.

  “No. It was a different time, not as much of this hands-on parenting.” Amalia smiled a small smile, more obligatory than wistful, and Margaret realized that she must’ve asked the same question every day.

  Margaret wanted to say over again and again, “I have a baby, Mum, can you believe it!” but she kept quiet because Amalia had no doubt heard it too many times.

  Amalia was good about leaving her alone with Henry, though. Sometimes it was for five minutes, sometimes for thirty minutes. Whenever Amalia left, Margaret would pick Henry up and stare at him, take him in, this incredible baby who was her son.

  In any case, she blinked back a few tears as she fought sleep. She concentrated on Henry’s face as she breathed and as her body relaxed, but her last thoughts before falling asleep were of Diego—his olive-colored skin, sparkling dark eyes and then Tessa’s distressed face and the confusion in Margaret’s own heart.

  **

  Margaret awoke needing to wee, and her tongue felt nasty. She rose from the bed, and Tessa came to the doorway.

  Tessa!

  Margaret remembered Tessa. Only from the past day but still. That was good.

  “I remember you!” Margaret said. “You’re Tessa. You’re my wife. We have a baby son, Henry. I didn’t forget!”

  Excitement surged on Tessa’s face. “Do you remember everything?”

  Margaret almost said no, almost told the truth, but Tessa looked so happy. “Everything!” Margaret cried.

  Tessa threw her arms around Margaret. She held Margaret tight and snug before trying to move in for a kiss.

  “No, wait,” Margaret said. “I want to brush my teeth.”

  Tessa grinned. “Naturally.”

  It was a habit Margaret had since girlhood. She liked to brush her teeth three or four times a day. In the bathroom, she squeezed toothpaste on the brush and scrubbed vigorously, readying herself for her first kiss with a woman.

  Okay, so not her first kiss, technically. She and Tessa kissed the night before, a little thing that went nowhere and that didn’t count. And, of course, they were married and had been together for a while. They’d kissed countless times, but as far as Margaret could remember, this would be their first kiss.

  She’d never expected to kiss a girl, a woman. She did think about it from time to time, a natural outcome of having a gay sister (and later, two gay sisters). Whenever she imagined herself kissing a woman, getting naked with one, yeah, it did sometimes turn her on because it was sex, and sex was sexy.

  It was men who really did it for her, though.

  Margaret rinsed her mouth and replaced the toothbrush.

  “We can kiss now,” she said. She brought her lips to Tessa’s and used her minimal kissing skills to find Tessa’s tongue and tease it. She had no idea if she was doing it well. Maybe she was because Tessa seemed totally into the kiss, deepening it and making little moaning noises.

  “Margaret,” Tessa said after a few moments. She drew back. “Margaret.” Her eyes had a glassy, turned-on sheen. Her lips had become even fuller with the pressure of vigorous kissing. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine! I’m good. Let’s go in the bedroom.”

  “Do you really remember?” Tessa wondered.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “You seem off. Stiff and tense.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “How did we get my ring?” Tessa asked.

  Indignation rose inside Margaret even though she was lying. “You’re trying to trap me. You don’t believe me.”

  “I want to make sure, that’s all. You can be good at bluffing your way through. How did we get my ring?” Tessa held up her hand, displaying the emerald.

  “I refuse to answer that question. It’s debasing. I wish you’d trust me.”

  “You don’t remember,” Tessa concluded. “If you did, you’d answer. You wouldn’t put me through guessing games.”

  Margaret crossed her arms. “Whatever.”

  “Why, Margaret?” Tessa whispered. “Why lie? What do you remember?”

  “The past twenty-four hours. You looked so happy.”

  Tessa gave Margaret a black layered look. “How about now?”

  “Not so much happy now.”

  Tessa sighed.

  “It’s progress, though, right? Remembering after my nap.”

  “Yes,” Tessa admitted. “It is.”

  “We can kiss again. I liked it.” An exaggeration more than anything. Margaret had been paranoid about being caught out due to bad kissing skills or a different kissing style. She hadn’t been able to let go and enjoy the kiss.

  Tessa shook her head. “You’re lying about that too. There’s a reason I pulled back to ask if you were okay.”

  **

  Later that evening, Margaret and Tessa made the short trip to Buckingham for a couple of hours with Veronica and Katharine. Pictionary, cards, games, whatever. Margaret’s sister had invited them over.

  “I want to see Alexander,” Margaret said after Veronica and Katharine hugged her. The only mental images she had of the boy were as the doll baby and as a smiling tyke in Henry’s christening photo.

  “Of course,” Katharine said. “He’s with Bruce.”

  Margaret smiled and pretended to know who Bruce was.

  “Alexander’s nanny, or manny as the male ones are called sometimes. Veronica and I mostly have men looking after him.” Katharine chuckled. “Too much estrogen in his life otherwise.” She tugged Margaret along. “I’ll take you. They’re in the playroom winding down before he goes to bed.”

  The door stood open, and Katharine stepped in, saying in a sing-song voice, “Alex, Aunt Margaret is here!”

  The face of her five-year-old nephew, rosy-cheeked like baby Henry’s face, greeted her. “Aunt Margaret!” Alex said. “Hi.”

  “Building with blocks?”

  Alex nodded. He and Bruce were constructing a complicated-looking, tottering tower, and Margaret had to fight to keep her eyes off Bruce. He was the opposite of Diego in many ways, older, maybe in his fifties with graying hair, and white-skinned through and through. However, his spectacles added an air of accessible refinement to him, and his eyes crinkled with friendliness. He looked exactly like a hot professor type.

  Not looking.

  Margaret lowered herself to the floor with the cane. “Do you like blocks, Alex?”

  He nodded and laid a block down for another tower.

  “What about cars and trucks?”

  “Them too.”

  Margaret remembered her aunt taking her to the beach. “One day, I’ll take you to the beach, Alex. We’ll eat candyfloss and go on rides. My own aunt took me when I was ten, and it was one of the best days of my life. We can go, just the two of us, or we can take Henry too.”

  Alex scrunched his face. “You say that every time.”

  “Alex!” Katharine and Bruce cried simultaneously.

  He shrunk back. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  Margaret clenched her mouth tight. “It’s fine. He’s five years old.” Then she remembered how she hated when people talked about her like she wasn’t there. “You’re five years old, Alex. Kids and adults forget things sometimes.”

  He nodded uncertainly. He piled on a few more blocks, and Margaret studied him, this crown prince poised to become king one day. The boy whose existence meant she didn’t have to stress about leading the country at some point.

  “I should get back,” Margaret said.

  “Hug your aunt goodbye, Alex,” Katharine directed.

  Alex gave her the requisite hug, and Katharine helped her up.

  “Have a good evening,” Margaret told Bruce. She slipped and let herself gaze a second too long into his green eyes, but he pretended not to notice.

  “You too, ma’am,” he said.

  Back in the hallway, Margaret murmured, “Was it like this for you when you were a teenager? Having to pretend you didn’t notice women you wanted to look at for days and days?”

  “I suppose,” Katharine said uncomfortably. “Now that you mention it, I actually…” She stopped in between Alex’s playroom and the drawing room she and Margaret were heading toward. “What happened with Diego last night?”

  Margaret groaned.

  “Fine,” Katharine said. “I can take a hint.”

  They resumed walking. Margaret asked, “What’s the name of Emma and Cheryl’s son?”

  “Oh,” Katharine said. “Augustus.”

  “Augustus? Wow. That’s unique for us.”

  Katharine grinned. “Remember, my name’s spelled differently.”

  “True.”

  “Augustus Patrick Nicholas Philip. Eh, I’ve come around to it. He’s three, and he’s the sweetest child.”

  “Alexander isn’t?”

  “Him too. Henry also.”

  “I want to see Augustus.”

  “I’m sure you can set something up.”

  “Does it bother you that I named my baby Henry after Dad?” Margaret asked.

  Katharine hesitated. “No. You weren’t exactly in a right state of mind when it came time to name him. Even if you had been, our father wasn’t an entirely bad man. There are many good things to remember about him.”

  “The lawyer gave a baby to me,” Margaret murmured. “Is it fair to Henry?”

  Katharine placed her hand on Margaret’s lower arm, and her expression took on a mother-bear quality. “He’s a blessed boy, Margaret, I promise. You love him, and that’s more than many children get to say about their parents. He has Tessa too, and she’s wonderful. He has all of us.”

  In the drawing room, a whiteboard-type easel stood in front of a pair of loveseats. Markers and erasers sat on a table next to the easel.

  “Game time!” Katharine proclaimed.

  Apprehension flared inside Margaret as she surveyed the markers. They were the regular kind and she’d need to concentrate on keeping them in her hands and drawing well. She’d prefer thicker markers that were easy to grip.

  Katharine picked up a purple marker and gave it to Margaret. “I know what you’re thinking,” her sister said. “Draw a cat.”

  “Cats aren’t purple.”

  Katharine rolled her eyes. “This one will be. Draw.”

  Margaret turned to the whiteboard and gripped the marker. She bit down on her lip and focused, but the drawing came easily. She was able to make a circle, pointy ears, eyes, nose, whiskers and mouth with no trouble at all.

  “Write your name,” Katharine suggested, and Margaret did.

  “I have pretty handwriting again!” she cried.

  Katharine grinned. “Now let’s play. I’ll go first.” She and Veronica were on a team, with Tessa and Margaret on the other team. Katharine picked a card from a stack on the table and laughed as she read her word. “This should be interesting.”

  She proceeded to whip out a finely wrought bridge in orange, which Veronica guessed was the Golden Gate bridge. Katharine, Margaret and Emma had taken drawing, painting and art lessons when younger as part of their royal training. They possessed above-average abilities in these areas. Margaret might still—might not. Her cat had looked like a little kid drew it, but she put little effort into it.

  Tessa went to the canvas next. She chose a card and began to draw a bunch of circles. A large black circle, three brown ones that she colored in and, finally, a small square of yellow on the top brown circle.

  Plate. Brown circle food. Butter.

  Tessa made an arrow pointing to the brown circles. Drat. The one Margaret couldn’t remember. Then she did.

  “Pancakes,” Margaret said.

  **

  It was hard for Tessa to be around Katharine and Veronica. They were very much in sync with each other, touching and kissing without having to think about it. Hand on knee. Hand on thigh. Easy. Natural.

  Margaret and Tessa, on the other hand, were like strangers. When Margaret drew, Tessa would gaze at the lips and ears and neck that she’d spent hours loving on, knowing that the person behind them had changed in a fundamental way and might never be back.

  They played Go Fish after Pictionary and then it was time to leave.

  “Did you have fun?” Tessa asked as security drove them back.

  “Yes,” Margaret said. She obviously had—she’d laughed a lot—but she kept her guard up around Tessa the whole time. Or maybe that was Tessa herself. After last night, after Diego again, she wasn’t sure she could fully let down her defenses again. It was only a matter of time until Margaret jumped in bed with a man, and it wasn’t really her fault. An extraordinary set of circumstances had brought her and Tessa together, bonded them.

  Lightning didn’t strike twice in this case.

  Margaret liked looking at men—Diego, Bruce, scores of others, and Tessa would have to figure out a way to deal.

  They looked in on Henry. Margaret asked, “Are we going to bed together tonight?”

  Tessa shook her head, remembering Margaret’s fingers on Diego’s, the way she leaned into him. Pain gnawed in Tessa’s heart. She refused to let herself become angry with Margaret, but she didn’t need to be with her tonight.