Page 20 of Brewbies
“After how humiliated those spineless, brown-nosing Mayor Stewart city council simps were after what happened with her and her Roy-toy, I’d have bet they’d think twice about targeting Darby,” Myrtle continued. “No offense,” she added, sending a little salute Gemma’s way.
“None taken,” Gemma said, lifting her glass to Myrtle and draining the last of her wine.
Despite her own difficulties, Darby’s curiosity snuffled ahead like an eager beagle. “What exactly did happen with her and Roy?”
Cady, Gemma, and Myrtle all exchanged a look.
“I’m going to need something a little stronger if we’re going to go digging in that,” Cady said, looking wilted.
“Now you’re talking.” Gemma was already halfway out of her chair when Darby popped out of hers to retrieve the pitcher of higher-octane pink liquid Myrtle had brought.
After having observed their group dynamic for less than an hour, Darby had already identified the cardigan-wearing knitting virtuoso as the self-appointed caretaker of her less physically able friends.
When all their glasses were filled, Darby settled back into her chair while the three women stripped the scandal bare piece by titillating piece.
The affair between the late aunt and Ethan’s (also late) father, the former mayor. The tenuous ownership of the building that housed Nevermore Bookstore and Cady’s home. Cady’s aunt’s passing and probate. Cady’s founding of a romance-genre specific rowdy book club in her aunt’s honor. Caryn Townsend and Roy’s concerted effort to drive Cady out of business and out of town.
All at once, Cady’s lightning-fast decision to rally her friends behind Darby made perfect sense. Not only had both their lives been ravaged by the hideous beast that was cancer, because of her beloved Aunt’s death, they’d both made the grave mistake of attempting to incorporate celebrations of female-centric sexuality into their healing process.
Darby felt a fresh wave of righteous anger wash over her. While she’d been hunting tiny scraps of petition from the corners of her camper this morning, she’d entertained the thought of pulling up stakes and hitting the road more than once.
BC—before cancer—she’d have been more than happy to fight just on principle alone, an excess ofyou can’t tell me what to doand a stubborn streak a mile wide more than sufficient to arm her for battle. IRL—in remission life—she’d learned to count the energetic cost of such clashes.
But seeing how women like Cady and Gemma had learned to live with and even accept a certain proportion of this misogynistic bullshit?
Not just no, but hell no.
She cleared her throat, choosing her next words carefully. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you’re doing, but I want you to know that your fight is my fight. Whatever that fight may be.”
“Just say you’ll keep making great coffee,” Cady said with a grin. “As long as I have my C Cup Vanilla Pump ‘n Dump, I can fight the entire patriarchy, and read you my favorite gothic romance when I get there, bad back and all.”
“Amen to that,” Gemma echoed. “Give me a B Cup Thick Shaft, and I’ll fight the entire patriarchy and knit you a goddamn cardigan when I’m finished, ADHD be damned.”
Myrtle, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the last part of the discussion, lifted her rheumy eyes to them. “With my Double D Dirty Screw, I can fight the entire patriarchy, turn seventy years of their bullshit into compost, and grow you a goddamn garden of divine feminine rage watered by king baby tears.”
Her words vibrated with a quiet power that turned their half-teasing boast into a vow.
Though Darby had at least a few years on Gemma and Cady both, whatever outrages and injustices the three of them had endured, a woman Myrtle’s age had survived far worse.
Darby stood and topped off their glasses before lifting hers in a toast. “To dukes, double-pointed needles, and divine feminine rage.”
They went around the circle, clicking plastic cups and sipping Myrtle’s contribution, which proved to be as powerful as her part of the toast.
Remembering the rain and her long ride home, Darby nursed hers slowly, making it last through the arrival of additional BNBC members and a local population of Townsend Harbor’s un-homed regulars, with whom Darby’s brownies garnered praise bordering on worship.
The discussion ofVenus in Furswas lively, the conversation colorful, and the company so pleasant, Darby actually forgot to be worried about her predicament. Until, armed with a box of Gemma’s THC cupcakes, she floated down the sidewalk toward her bike.
And ran tits-first into Sheriff Ethan Townsend.
FOUR
Mouth Feel
A SENSATION OF THE CONSISTENCY OF VISCOSITY OF A BEER.
Patrol wasn’t exactlyin Ethan’s purview as sheriff, but he’d loved it since his first starched-shirted day out of the academy. Though a creature of routine, he’d take different routes home from work every day. Sometimes whimsy led him along suburban streets so crowded with trees one would think he was in a national forest if not for the laneways.
Other days, he drove along the jagged coast, mentally challenging battleships, yachts, crab boats, or pleasure crafts to a race.
