Even through the phone line, Bette could hear the disappointment in Tina’s voice. She imagined the woman’s luscious lips curling down to a frown. “I know.” Bette tried to convey through tone how disappointed she truly was. “I’ve been home all day, resting, hoping to shake this bug.”

“Who ran the gallery?”

Bette couldn’t tell if the tone was skepticism or sympathy, or a little of both. The very practical Tina Kennard was what she expected now that she was getting to know this woman better. “I called in a favor from Alice.”

“Poor baby.” Sympathy, most definitely sympathy.

Their relationship was still quite new, but by this point they’d had enough long talks that Bette was sure that Tina had come to understand just how attached Bette was to her work. Along with that came an understanding of just how sick Bette would have to be to leave someone else, even her friend Alice, in charge.

“You tuck yourself in bed, and get lots of rest and fluids.”

Bette smiled at the homey instructions. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Now came the pause.

Most nights, one or the other of them broke the pause. Even though it would appear that the conversation was over, there was always one last little thing that one of the women would say to the other. Generally a pause meant another half hour, minimum, added the conversation.

The pause only happened over the phone, of course. When the two were together, they quite quickly found other ways to communicate. Talking came afterwards.

“I really should let you go,” Tina said, finally, her voice wavering a little. “Take care,” she whispered.”

The connection clicked closed. Bette cradled the phone and rolled over onto her side. She pulled the extra pillow closer, and tried shutting her eyes.

The last thing Bette wanted to do at this point was have to spend time with Tina when she was looking and feeling less than her best. Things felt solid between them, but there were so many factors that could undo the nascent relationship.

Bette felt she was drifting somewhere between asleep and awake, no doubt a place fueled by the fever, when she heard a light knocking at the back French door.