Page 29 of Suncatcher

“What’s put you in such a foul mood today?” Molly asked, rolling out onto the front porch of her shop, where Pearl was hurling white paint onto the peeling sun-chapped boards of the wall with more violence than was called for.

“Nothing.” Pearl ran the brush vigorously along the trim around the window.

“Yeah, sure. And I’m engaged to the empress.”

Pearl threw her a glare. “Fine, it’s not nothing. Just none of your business.”

“Here.” Molly thrust a smoldering cigarette toward her.

Pearl reluctantly leaned down and accepted it, wrapping her lips around the end jutting from between Molly’s fingers. “Thanks,” she mumbled and returned her attention to attacking the other side of the window.

She couldn’t stop thinking about a goyle in a ravine and how sad she’d looked the other night. And Pearl was angry that she even cared. She didn’t owe Driz anymore. Except she knew that wasn’t actually true. A shirt and some pie were hardly an exchange for several lives, including her own, which Driz had helped keep from harm.

Pearl was afraid if she spent more time with Driz, she might like her. Might care. And Pearl wouldn’t do that, especially not for a creature of another species, who could easily kill her if she got upset. So instead of caring, Pearl got angry and took her frustration out on the wall of Molly’s shop, wishing the paint could cover the ugly parts of her mind too.

“Take a break and come in back for a drink.”

“I don’t need a break or a drink,” Pearl grumbled.

“I’ve got lemonade.”

Pearl glared at her again. “You don’t play fair.”

Molly grinned and disappeared inside. Damn her, but Pearl loved Molly’s thistle lemonade nearly as much as her pie, especially in the heat of late afternoon. She glanced at the sky, where the puffy clouds had been doing nothing to shield them from the anger of the sun. A tumbleweed rolled down the road, a gust bumping it up onto the porch. Pearl kicked it away before it stuck in her fresh paint.

She finished the wall and then succumbed to temptation. She capped the drying can of paint and slipped the oversized apron over her head.

Molly had a glass already waiting for her. Pearl threw herself down into the chair at the kitchen table and gratefully chugged. The tart, sweet drink made of stewed thistles and a few precious jarred lemons soothed her throat and calmed her agitation.

“Did she break your heart, or did you break hers?” Molly asked.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Your large lady friend. And don’t try to tell me it’s not about her.”

Pearl groaned and slumped lower in her chair. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then tell me.”

“She wanted more, I guess. A promise I couldn’t give her.”

“And so you ran away.”

Pearl shrugged. It was sort of true.

Someone from the main street was calling Pearl’s name.

“In here,” Pearl hollered through the open doors.

Molly rolled her eyes, and a moment later, Sheriff Oak appeared in her kitchen.

“Sheriff,” Molly greeted her with a nod. “Lemonade?”

“Thanks, doll.”

“What d’you need?” Pearl asked, handing over her glass for Molly to refill for her mother.

“I just noticed a lack of painting happening and an absence of a painter. But now I see why. This is delicious as always, Molly.”