The touch was nice, but it made Bette’s heart ache. She missed Tina terribly and when the tears slipped from her eyes, wetting Sidney’s pants, she just let them fall. Sidney was sitting at the end of the sofa, her feet resting on the coffee table.

“What happened in New York, Bette?” asked Sidney.

Bette didn’t reply. She had no idea what had happened with this Bette in this reality in New York.

Sidney’s voice cracked when she spoke. “Did you sleep with her?”

Sleep with her? Sleep with whom? What happened in New York?

Feeling Bette tense, Sidney spoke again. “Wait, don’t answer that. I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter. We’re separated. I get it.”

Bette sat up, her eyes staring into Sidney’s. “Do I….do I always set the rules between us? You keep backtracking. Like you’re afraid to say something wrong.”

Dark blue eyes watched her closely. “I don’t know how to answer that. We’ve both made mistakes with each other. These last few years, I’ve been a bit reckless. I guess maybe…maybe you do set the rules. But maybe that’s been to protect us. Protect you from me and us from us.”

“Sidney, I don’t know what to say.”

Sidney held up a hand, a soft smile on her face. “Please, don’t say anything. It’s been a long while since we’ve been able to be in the same room without fighting. This is nice. I don’t want to ruin it.” She gestured for her wife and Bette lay back down, resting her head in Sidney’s lap once more.

They watched the rest of the movie quietly. As the credits rolled, Bette sat up saw Sidney’s eyes closed. She was sleeping. Bette found a pillow and blanket and settled Sidney on the couch. She grabbed a laptop and went outside, sitting down on one of the loungers by the pool. Being with Sidney had felt comfortable yet had stoked the fire in her to find Tina.

Her Google searches for Tina Kennard and Christina Kennard yielded nothing she could use. But that didn’t stop her. She searched for Tina’s parents and sister, continually coming up empty. A search of her own name returned dozens of results and images. She saw a few photos of her, and Sidney together and even found the website for The Porter Gallery. She flipped through images of prior exhibitions and artist biographies. Her natural eye couldn’t help but study the artwork she saw, particularly Sidney’s installations. They were large-scale, charcoal drawings. “Prism of Sorrow” was 12 feet by 10 feet, the scene filled with a woman, mostly nude, who wore a robe that dipped, exposing her flesh but covering her pelvis and breasts. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Water stood in her light eyes, spilling down her face and into a half-filled whiskey glass. There were ice cubes in the glass, the cubes reflected scenes of the woman’s life which appeared as panels projected from the cubes onto the wall. In one panel the woman watched her female lover walk out the door. In another, the woman stood on the sidewalk, watching her lover and another woman eating a meal at a restaurant. In the last panel, the woman had smashed a picture of herself and her lover to the ground, shards of glass and wood had scattered.