Detective Bellefleur watched Tara as she followed the handcuffed suspect escorted by a cop disappear into a room for holding. He was young, an addict, and the combination didn't make him too smart. After she was released from the suspect pool she went back to her life. She still hadn't cried for her mother and Pam still assured her it was ok. Tara tried to place him. But, she couldn't say she recognized him when the detective asked if she'd seen him before. The dark haired woman steered clear of her mother's life as much as possible. She wanted to recognize him. It might help make more sense, but this kid she had never seen before.

They found his dna under her nail. Her mother was a fighter—a sorry excuse for a human being, but a fighter nonetheless. He was in the system and they brought him in with a warrant. He wasn't hard to find. The desire for a fixe succeeded his instincts to run.

The detective looked trite. To redeem his first mistake he scoured the streets until he found him. Scoured sounded like more work than he actually did, but it was the word he used to describe his efforts in anyone was interested and asked. He called Tara in to talk abut the progress of the case. It was solid and there were no apologies from their first meeting. He justified his actions because he was doing a job, it didn't make him the most popular man, but he liked to think of himself as a decent cop. On the hierarchy of suspects the family came first. Then the search branched out to friends and acquaintances. Someone who knew her killed her.

"Why?" Tara croaked and the response didn't surprise her.

"Drugs," he answered like she should have known. "She didn't have any. He did. He wasn't giving it up." Animals were better to fight over food, at least sustenance was necessary. His voice was level with definitive details he saw no need in softening or bringing the scene to life. Tara saw the pictures. She lived with an addict all her life. Her mother picked a fight she couldn't win and the boy responsible would pay.

"I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sure she was a good woman."

Comfort wasn't his strong suit, but he saw a need for it. Tara wasn't particularly moved when she realized he was trying to make her feel better. Tara knew the detective meant well by ignoring the file. Though, she didn't need to be placated to have closure about the woman. Tara nodded her head in thanks disbelieving her mother was anything more than what met the eye. Controlled by her needs, Tara attempted to help her break, she was irresponsible and desperate. Tara had killed her indirectly. If she hadn't starved her for three days maybe she wouldn't have been desperate for the drugs she tried to take.

In the retelling with Pam in the car the blond didn't answer until she stopped the car in the driveway. Neither woman got out. They sat in silence for a few minutes. She didn't know if it was the weight of tension eroding off her shoulders. She looked at Pam's home it was beautiful and her yard. It was perfect. Pam told her growing up here was great, but her childhood was the only great memories about the place. She thought of selling it back to her father, who she rarely if ever talked to, but then her mother would turn over in her grave if she did sell it back to him. Taking the house had been her mother's strategic move giving her security—the house made her think of that gesture and evolve it over the years until the house became beautiful to her again and her mother with it.

Tara opened the door to the car. Pam followed her lead still not saying anything. She took one step and then she grabbed for something to hold her up. She was falling and Pam came around the car to catch her as she trembled and cried. Her nose ran with tears and snot merging, but Pam didn't think twice pressing Tara comforting against her breast. Neither woman knew how long they sat there. Pam rocked back and forth like her mother use to do her; she recalled how comforting it was. Inexperienced with this physical comfort, she rocked having memorized the rhythmic pattern, wanting to share it with Tara.

Her crying subsided to a few stubborn falling tears. The gamer turned her face away to hide the mess she knew she looked like.

Pam didn't let her go too far and pulled her hand in hers. "Let's go."

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Tara wasn't hungry. Pam didn't do anything fancy. She made sandwiches and put them in the fridge for later when Tara was hungry. When she entered the room Tara was on the bed with her eyes closed, but Pam could tell by the rise and fall of her chest she wasn't sleep. She was remembering and letting it go, or that's what she hoped. She did the same thing with her mother. Letting images of past far and present, at that time, fill her up and she kept the ones that made her think any less, of the woman that gave birth to her.

The only acknowledgement, the gamer gave her to show that she knew Pam was there, was the shift of her body to grab hold of the nearest limb and cuddle it. That happened to be her leg. Not entirely rendered immobile Pam reached her book and glasses from her side table. The blond began to read, catching up with the characters she'd been neglecting.

They enjoyed the silence until Pam became enthralled in her novel and Tara drifted asleep. An hour of peace, she should have been expecting his call she hadn't talked to him for days.

"I'm not doing your vows," Pam answered the phone when she saw Eric's name.

"Yes yes I know," Eric smiled into the phone, "how is she?"

Pam was watching over Tara as she slept drawn away from her book to muse. The dark skinned woman was exhausted still wrapped around her right leg sleeping. "She's getting better."

"Have you two…" He drew it out, "because you know it helps."

"Why did you call Eric?" she asked slightly irritated by her juvenile best friend.

"I want you to listen to something. My vows."

Closing her book, "you have my full attention."

He warned her it was in the beginning stages, but she told him to continue. Northman began in a softer tone than he would normally use to convey the emotion of the words:

We are resolved into the supreme air,
We are made one with what we touch and see,
With our heart's blood each crimson sun is fair,
With our young lives each spring-impassioned tree
Flames into green, the wildest beasts that range
The moor our kinsmen are, all life is one, and all is change.

Pam stared down at Tara as he said the words. Rubbing her brow with a caring nail that lined the hair of her brow back in place, this had become a habit of hers. She wanted an unobstructed view of Tara when she was at her most vulnerable. The gamer was beautiful when she smiled, but asleep she had an innocent quality imparting a vision of Tara, if Lettie Mae hadn't been such a disappointment.

"That's all I've got so far," he interrupted her vigil. "What do you think?"

"It's wonderful," she whispered distractedly as Tara began to stretch awake. "But then for me Oscar Wilde can do no wrong," she smiled.

"Oscar who?" Eric claimed ignorance.

Pam shook her head with an indulgent smile that Tara kissed. When Tara pulled away she continued, "If you plagiarize your vows your wife won't be your wife for long," she stated. Tara took the phone hanging it up for her.

She didn't question Tara's onslaught. Tara's hands were everywhere all at once, burning the skin they grazed with lips, teeth, and tongue. Throwing her head back she let the dark skinned woman have her way with her neck as Tara straddled her. They were reconnecting after the word reared its head distracting them from what was truly important.

Tara's stomach growled. The gamer fully intended to ignore it, but it caused an interesting sound to bubble from Pam's mouth. The dark haired woman pulled away to inspect it. She saw the full teeth and the sound was unmistakable. She was laughing.

"I like that sound."

"I like making it." She kissed Tara again sucking in her lip then letting it go. "But I think the sound your stomach is making is more pertinent. I made you some sandwiches." She patted Tara's thighs as a gesture to rise.

Hand in hand they walked to the kitchen. Tara claimed seat by the window with a view of Pam's backyard.

The sandwich was ham, lettuce, mayo and pickles with pepper sprinkled on the top. She never cared for tomato, "where's the tomato?" the gamer asked. She hadn't told her that detail yet.

"You don't like tomato."

"How do you know?"

"Pineapple Café," the perceptive woman answered. "You ordered every wrap on the menu except the ones with tomato. And you don't like to seem picky so you never order them because you'll have to say no tomato." Tara shared the short list of jobs she had before becoming a professional gamer. Her stint in fast food influenced her dining experience.

"You got all that in two weeks?"

"And then some."

Tara saw the path the older woman mentioned the day of the office gathering. Pam read her thoughts when she placed the plate in front of Tara. The gamer bit into her sandwich.

"I haven't forgotten."

Chewing, she finally answered, "You've been keeping me in suspense woman. I'm starting to think you're stalling just to keep me around."

The blond shook her head, "I'm keeping you around for other reasons," she smiled mischievously. When she recovered, "you see that tree house back there."

Swallowing her bite Tara tilted her head to the side and up. She could see it. It was faded and Tara had never noticed it until now. "Yea, you played in that?"

It was huge. How the hell did she miss that? She had to blame the beauty of her yard before the tree house. It was dull in comparison. The rest of the backyard was impressive and the vibrant colors kept her focused on the flowers and the small stream circled by a walk paved with white stones. The garden was well kept, but the tree house was in need of the same care.

"I want you to work on that."

Tara stopped chewing. The wonder falling from her face, "you know how long that's going to take?" The structure wasn't a regular sized tree house; it looked like a small cottage from the front. It was two stories as it extend from the ground as well.

"A long time."

"There are better ways you can punish me," the dark skinned woman drawled.

"But you'll like those ways too much." The blond finished with intention, "I could've worn my favorite pumps today, if they weren't ruined."

Tara looked from the house to her lover and then back again. "You just want to see me sweaty and dirty," her eyes narrowed.

Pam rested her chin in her hand as her elbow sat on the table top, "I won't deny I might find a measure of pleasure," she held her other hand up illustrating how much, with a diminutive distance between her fingers.

Tara frowned unconvinced finishing the last bite of her first sandwich.

"You are lucky I love you."

Pam laughed.

Her laughs, her wit, her smile, were a few on a list of pleasures Tara looked forward to with Pam in her life. For a moment she could entertain this was only temporary. In her experience relationships lasted for a short time. She wanted forever and if Pam didn't say she showed it assuring Tara they were on the same page.

Pam's actions were the best compliment and more assuring than promises, which were ruined for her as child. The small things she loved, because for as long as she remembered they were denied to her. Pam wouldn't deny her anything. Tara might give her a hard time, but she wouldn't deny the blond either. Pam saved her whereas Tara's only mission had been to make her smile.

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This has been fun. Hope you enjoyed the story. For those of you that I know have enjoyed it I'm glad I could entertain you for a couples of your day.