Melinda Ritter cracked the throttle then shut down her Harley out in front of Chubby's bar on Leaf Street. She shook out her long, dark hair and took a long look around. Chubby's looked about the same as before, except they'd put in a patio out where Jake's Appliances used to stand. The bookstore across the street was still open, but Osborne's barber shop was now a chain. The beauty parlor and the drugstore were both closed. Rob's Diner was still going strong though, with three cars in the lot. Melinda resisted the temptation to go look in the window. It would just remind her how long she'd been away. She swallowed and headed to the door of the bar she'd once known so well.

Once she'd have just pushed the bar open and strode inside like she owned the place. Every head would have turned, and there would have been smiles and greetings. She was a tall woman in her late thirties, buxom with blue eyes, and smooth fair skin. She was dressed in her old clothes, and they still fit, which was a product of both correctional exercise facilities and the lifeless taste of prison chow. In some ways, she was in the best shape of her life, and expected heads would turn when she walked in. She dressed much as she had before she went in: a black halter top, tight jeans with a studded leather belt, tall leather boots, and black leather studded jacket. She had the Moon and the Sun tattooed above her impressive cleavage, and the script words Dispossessed across her shoulder blades. She knew when she walked in everyone would see her as she used to be, and that both comforted and scared her. She was particularly worried that Bonnie would see her as the addict she used to be.

She pushed the door open gently. The guitars of Pearl Jam filled her ears and she saw some heads turn as she came in, mostly the guys, but a few others as well. The guys looked, but she ignored them, turned left to walk by the jukebox and the unoccupied pool tables. She took a seat at the bar at the far corner of the bar. In the old days she'd have occupied the center and lit up a smoke, but it was another thing she'd given up in the joint. Smoking was, in many ways, the hardest thing to give up.

Bartender Dallas spotted her. It was comforting to see he was still working there. When she went in his hair had been golden and his waist a bit thick. Now his hair was mostly gray and his belly poured over his belt. He smiled as he saw her, and poured a tall shot of bourbon and a brown bottle of beer, and headed her way. Just like the old days.

The old days are gone. That's what she told herself.

“Damn Melinda,” he said, his eyes, as usual, dropping down to check out her tits before getting back up where they belonged. “I hope I got your order right.”

“You did fine,” she said quietly. “And this will be the only whiskey for me.”

His eyebrows raised at her setting limits or quiet voice. Prison guards understood the best way to cure a bad attitude was to lock you up alone with it. Melinda had spent a lot of time boxed in with herself. They say prison doesn't change people, but she knew that was wrong.

“How long have you been out?” Dallas asked. It was a fair question and painful but always asked of a convict when one returned from the joint. They'd warned her what to expect when she got out before she left. The warning had been right but didn't seem to help much. She looked around and saw how much had changed. The place was the same, the people different except for Dallas. She didn't know the kids who were dancing to the music or trading jokes at the table. Once, no one at this bar had been a stranger. Once they'd all known her, many in the Biblical sense. She'd fucked a lot of people back in the day. It was a minor miracle that she didn't have HIV, but she'd been a wild child and had burned a lot of bridges. Dallas was looking straight at her, clearly surprised by her quiet.

She decided he deserved an answer. “Got paroled last Tuesday,” she said. “I'm staying at my Aunt Betty's.”

“Was that your bike I heard? Do you still have your Harley?”

Melissa smiled. Seeing her bike again was the one thing that really made her happy. “Yeah, I still have it. The Brothers kept it up for me while I was inside. Like they do for everyone who stays true. When they heard I got paroled they got it all tuned up and ready for me.”

“I'm surprised you aren't over at the Clubhouse celebrating your freedom.” He leaned close. “They're mighty happy with you.” By "they" he meant the Dispossessed.

They're glad I kept the Code, she told herself. She hadn't ratted on anyone. Keeping it had cost her. She might have gotten out after two years if she'd agreed to testify. But that would have meant betraying her friends. It meant never returning home if she wanted to remain alive. Where else could she live? Besides, she'd been in a rage then, a junkie coming down from her high, angry and stupid as they come. Melinda was thankful she'd come far enough to know that and ashamed that she'd ever been that dumb. “Well, I'm not feeling all that rowdy at the moment.”

Dallas planted his hands on the bar, leaving aside the dishwashing he normally did while talking. Bartenders are always in motion, at least the good ones are. But now his eyes were on hers. It showed he'd missed her and that counted for something. “Melinda, when most people get out they try to blow out off the steam they've built up inside.”

Melinda laughed. “That's what I thought too. It all leaked out of me on the long bus ride back home.” She picked up her whiskey and sipped it. In the old day's she'd have tossed it back and had another. “Is Bonnie about?”

“She's working tonight,” he said. “Does she know you're back?”

Melinda shrugged. “I don't know. I wasn't good about writing. She may not have heard.”

“You want me to tell her?” Dallas asked, not unkindly.

“No. I'd like to tell her myself.”

Dallas nodded and went back to work. He seemed to know she wanted to drink alone. The whiskey burned on her tongue as she watched the kids laughing and playing, a pretty young girl leaning into the arms of a tall lad with long medium brown hair and a cleft chin. He was handsome. In the old days, she might have gone up and kissed him just to slow the girl that she could take any man she wanted.

God what a bitch I was! Melinda took a sip of whiskey, then a sip of beer, and stared at the walls, the lights, and posters from the beer and alcohol companies, the buxom Warsteiner girl in her corset, the Busch spokes-models in their bikinis. Lots of beautiful women, all in revealing clothing on the stained pine wood walls. It was plain, it was run down, but it was so much better than the pale green institutional walls.

Dallas is right, I'm out, I should be feeling grand. Why aren't I? Because of Bonnie. Bonnie had written, she'd hardly written back. Until Bonnie had finally stopped writing.

Out of the corner of her eye, Melinda spotted the one person she wanted to see the least. Trace Berchak, a wicked lean man in new tight-fitting jeans and a tight leather coat. Trace had money but he only showed just a little. He had a worn face and red goatee that he kept trimmed, and looked at her through brown sunken eyes. He smiled wide at Melinda because she'd kept quiet. Because he was a dealer; the man who'd helped get her hooked. He was smiling because she hadn't ratted him out. She owed him nothing. She had never liked him. Melinda had kept the faith because she was no rat.

Trace sat down next to her and signaled for refills. He slid her an envelope. “For you. Money you earned and a little something extra to help you feel good.” Trace didn't have to say what that extra was.

“I'm clean now, Trace,” she said and pushed the envelope back. “I'm on parole now, and don't want to go back.”

Trace pushed it back her way. “The cash you earned. The 'extra' use as you will.”

“I ain't working for you anymore Trace,” Melinda said but didn't push the envelope away this time.

“Of course not. See you around, Melinda.” He got up and tapped his cowboy hat while wearing a big shit-eating grin like he knew something she didn't. Because he'd passed other envelopes to parolees before. Because they came back. Trance had drugs and he had money. Lots of people needed both, including Melinda. He knew how to bide his time. No doubt he figured she'd come around once the money ran out.

Right on schedule, a little voice inside her whispered. Wouldn't it feel good, just this once?

She slid the envelope into her jacket. and stared at her face in the Jack Daniels mirror on the wall ahead of her. She contemplated ordering another whiskey then turned the glass upside down on the bar. They had warned her in rehab how easy it was to backslide. They had warned her about her little voice, the one urging her to find a needle and a spoon. She was so focused she hardly noticed the woman who approached to stand at her side. “So you're out,” she said, a quiet voice with a hint of twang.

Melinda knew that voice instantly. It was Bonnie. She turned to face her former lover. “I got paroled on Tuesday.”

Bonnie wasn't quite so tall as Melinda, but she was no pygmy, and if her ass had grown a bit, she was very shapely, with long wavy medium brown hair that hung halfway down her back. She was wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt, the perfect waitress uniform for a place like Chubby's, and in Melinda's eyes, she looked like she'd just stepped off a half-shell. “And here you are taking an envelope from Trace Berchak. I can guess what's in it.”

“It's money, Bonnie. I haven't got a job yet. I can use every penny I can get.”

“I figure he put more than a few bills in there. We both know where that leads.”

“I lived where it leads,” she said. Bonnie was so pretty her eyes so big and brown, and right now angry. “We both did.”

Bonnie looked a bit sour at her. “I don't think you need to come around me anymore.”

“Bonnie, I love you. I thought of you every day. You were my anchor.” Melinda's voice quavered.

“Then why the fuck couldn't you write? I wrote you!”

Melinda sagged onto her stool. “I know, but what was I going to write about? The line up every four hours or whenever the warden felt like one? Should I tell you how I made a dildo out of rubbers and maxi-pads? Rehab? The endless monotony of the chow line or male guards watching me shower? How about the time a girl got stabbed in the shower? Christ, you deserve better than that.”

“What about the girls you were fucking?” said Bonnie, looking stern. “You forget I know you. I know you weren't celibate for ten years.”

“No,” admitted Melinda. She thought of Stacy. They'd been tight, but Stacy wasn't ever getting out. Murder fucks up more than one life.

“And here you are again in this den of iniquity.”

Melinda felt a bit ashamed. “Where should I go? We met here.”

“We did. Back then you tipped me with drug money and half the time were three sheets to the wind. And here you are again with one shot, one beer, and a care package from Trace Berchak. Just like the old days. Why'd you come back, Melinda? You know you're gonna do it again.” Bonnie glared at her, hands on her hips, leaning over. She was mad. She had a right to be. Seeing her anger made Melinda ache.

“No, I'm not. I'm not at the clubhouse, am I? I went through rehab in the joint.”

Bonnie stiffened and leaned against the bar. “Rehab? I follow the news. I know drugs are all over prisons. Hell, I might become a junkie again myself if I were inside, out of sheer boredom.”

Melinda felt ashamed. “Yeah, I was and finally woke up to the price. I betrayed everyone who ever cared for me. I stole from my friends because the needle made me its slave. I've changed now, and I want you back.”

Bonnie shook her head. “I can't believe you, Melinda, I really can't. Ten years ago you went to prison. You wrote what, once? That's not how someone in love acts. Well, I have a life now. A life without you!” She spun on her heels and walked away to take her place behind the bar.

Melinda teared up as she watched her go. And she took another sip of beer, got up, and waived over Dallas for her tab.

“It's on the house,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said and forced a smile. She went outside, got on her bike, and rode out on Route 56, out by Holloman's hill. She knew a trail and rode up, stopping before she got to the ledges. She had a bottle of Jack in her saddlebags, a little present the Brothers had packed there as they prepped her bike. Her Harley shone and ran like a dream. It was the one nice thing she still had. She unscrewed the top from the whiskey bottle and hung her legs over the edge of the cliff. The whiskey burned as usual. It felt good because she could taste it. It tasted like freedom, with a bite. She looked down at the river, three barges with coal floated by, all pushed by a tug. Down to the right, she could see Lock 11, opening up as the barge captain urged his charges toward the gate.

She pulled the envelope out of her jacket and opened it. Three thousand dollars, all in hundreds She slid the cash into her wallet. There was also a small plastic bag of powder. It spoke to her, whispering how good she would feel if only she cooked it up. It wouldn't be hard and then she'd be flying. Melinda held it up by one corner, letting it dangle in front of her eyes. The H was still whispering when she pitched it over the cliff.

“If I'm going to die, I'm gonna die free,” she yelled loud enough that some nearby finches took off and flew away from her. She took another sip and dangled her legs across the rocks to look down. But the birds still flew away.

“Even the fucking birds flee me. The only person who wants me around is Trace-fucking Berchak!” Melinda slammed her hand on the ground and in doing so smashed a small plant.

She could see the road beneath her, the guardrails, twisted leafy tree branches, and the river. It was a long way down. A semi rolled around the corner and down the road. And she took stock. Bonnie was gone, done with her, and why not? Stacy had Life Without Parole. The brothers wanted her back, mostly because they remembered the days she put a pillow under her knees and accepted all comers. She had memories of those days. Some good times for sure, but the bad? The scars were still there, the pull of heroin still there. Melinda figured she was still a mess. “Well, if Trace Berchak is the only person in the world who's glad to see me, I'm pretty messed up. I must have messed up real bad.”

Not that she blamed them. Melinda had stolen from everyone during her junkie days. She started helping Trace deal junk when blowjobs were no longer enough. She'd done a lot of people wrong. She had stolen from friends and family, sucked cocks, and worked as a mule. Her own parents had told her to say away. Even her favorite old Aunt Betty had told her she had two weeks to find a place of her own.

Well, she had some money in her purse. Trace had, at least, seen to that. But why?

And that was the question another voice took up in her said, “Why? He wants you to become his whore again. His courier. And you'll fuck it up again! Hell, you can't even get high. You tossed the package away.” She sat on the ledge and sipped more whiskey. As she moved small rocks slipped to clang along the rock ledge as they fell to strike along the edge of the road. She looked down. It was a long way down. It could work. If the fall didn't kill her traffic would. People flew down Route 56, despite the curves. One leap and everyone would be rid of her.

For a while, Melinda sat there thinking about it. She could take off her boots and jacket, they were nice and could go to her sister. The bike would bring some money. She had three grand in her wallet. Then she closed up the whiskey bottle, got up, and headed back to her bike. A little inebriated, she headed for Aunt Betty's and her bed.

First thing in the morning she had to see her parole officer, and she knew him. He was Jim Hitcher, a guy she'd known from her sophomore year, her last year in high school before dropping out. He had sandy hair, a thin mustache, and glasses. He'd gained a little weight since school, but lots of folks had. She couldn't afford to look down on him like she had in school. He could send her back in a heartbeat. “Melinda Ritter,” he said. “So you're back. I heard that you went over to the Dispossessed clubhouse yesterday.”

“Had to get my bike back. Can't go anywhere without it.”

“Understandable,” he said, leaning back in his chair and writing something on a legal pad. His computer screen glowed behind him, colors spinning around in the screen saver. When he turned to look at her his eyes were on her tits. “But the thing is, the Dispossessed and the people around them are the last thing you need. I heard you were sitting at the bar with Trace Berchak.”

Melinda nodded. She'd heard this talk before. But that didn't make it wrong. “I got rid of the SOB. It just seems like the Brothers are the only people who actually want me around.”

Jim nodded, his eyes were blue and kind of soft, and finally on hers. “You burned a lot of bridges during your junkie years, Melinda. Things may be forgiven, but they won't be forgotten. It's a sad fact that when a new prisoner is finally released a lot of the time the only friends they have are the same friends that helped them find trouble in the first place. Like it or not, the numbers say that if you hang with your old crew, you'll go back to prison. And back on the junk.”

She nodded. She'd heard that before. She'd seen the numbers and she could understand them now that she had her GED.

“I've set up a couple of job interviews for you. Your problem is that you have no demonstrable skills beyond hell-raising, and you're a felon. Not the worst felon, but a felon nonetheless. And River County is not exactly a job-rich environment.” He handed over a few sheets of paper. “These are real jobs and they'll help you earn the money you need to live on. You got a place to stay?“

“My Aunt Betty's, but only for a while.”

He nodded. “I had to talk her into that, but without a place to stay you'd be sunk before you started.”

Melinda bowed her head to stare at the floor. It felt shameful now, to look back.

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“I'll have one by the end of the day.”

He handed her his card. “Okay, the moment you do, and I mean that moment, you call me with your number and email. If you fuck someone, and I know you will, I need their name, address, and phone number. The same day.”

“But that's . . . “

“You gave up the right to privacy when you carried those drugs. I get to know everything about your life. Hell, if you get your pussy pierced I get pictures. When you move out of Betty's house I get the new address, in advance. You also need to come in for a drug test at least once a week, and also whenever we want. I can work around your schedule a bit, but you're coming in every week. And I see you once a week too. I'll try to accommodate you, but you're aren't my only client.”

Melinda thought "client" was an interesting word for what she was. “What if I can't get a job?”

Jim grunted. “Find a way. I mean it, Melinda. You have no choice in this, at least for a while. And don't lie about your background. People will hold lying against you. Now go find yourself some honest work.”

She turned and watched out. And when she looked back to close the door, Jim's eyes were on her ass.

A dark voice in her said she might be able to leverage that. He'd been hot for her in school. But trading her ass lacked appeal these days.

She did her rounds, knocking on doors, filling out applications. She went to a course at City Hall where a thin dyspeptic man told her a Harley and leathers was maybe not the best presentation for a girl seeking honest work. She even dropped by the Diamond. She'd worked there when she was young.

Burt Isbell ran The Diamond. He was short, dark, and had a good personality, and kept reasonably well-dressed in a jacket and tie. His jewelry was gold and his tan was artificial. The Diamond was where the local executives went for attentive female companionship. And Burt was all about the money.

“Shit, Melinda what are you doing here?” His eyes swept up and down her body. It was an appraisal, but in the stripper business, natural. And she was thinking of stripping because most of the leads Jim found for her paid minimum wage. Not enough to live on, even in River County.

“Looking for work, Burt.”

“I think I fired you twelve years ago.” His eyes were narrow, but he did hand her a beer.

“I was a junkie then,” she said, taking the cool bottle and arching her back to show off her still impressive chest.

“You were twelve years younger then too,” he said. “Melinda, you look really good for your age, but stripping is a young woman's game. I can't afford to hire anything less than the finest or risk losing my clientele. So I can't use you. But they're always hiring over at Shaker's and they aren't so picky.”

“They'd expect me to turn tricks,” Melinda said. Shakers served working-class men and their customers expected something more than shaking and peeking if they dropped a couple hundred on you.

“Didn't bother you much back in the day,” he said. “That's the real reason I fired you.”

Melinda glared at him and shoved the beer away. She spun on her heels and headed out the door. She got on her bike and rode, hard and fast out Route 56, in tears the whole way. She left her bike near the road and climbed on foot up near the cliff that overlooked Lock 11. Life in prison sucked, life out sucked, and she wondered what was the point of living at all in a world where everyone either hated or wanted to use her. She took out some of the paper Jim Hitcher had given her and started writing a letter of explanation. She apologized to everyone, especially Bonnie. “Bonnie, I love you and I know I fucked this up. I'm leaving now because all I ever bring anyone is trouble.” And she took off her boots and jacket because they were nice and it might help pay her sister back for some of the grief she'd shared. She still had almost all of Trace's money, and that would do some good too. Plus her bike was cherry. It wasn't much, but it was something. She figured her stuff was worth more than she was. She walked up to the edge and looked down. Then looked up for a last look at the blue sky and sun.

A roaring engine passed just yards away. It was a bright red biplane, with a blond woman at the controls flying on its side, just above the cliff. It had to be Cropduster Cindy. She grinned at Melinda, then banked right and flew right over the river, her throttle on full and pulled straight up, the plane turning like a corkscrew, climbing straight upward, hanging on its propeller until the prop bit no more and it fell off, tumbling toward the river. The plane's engine roared and the tail flicked and it came around diving straight toward the river. Melinda got scared when Cindy pulled out so close to the water it seemed she must crash only she didn't and climbed back up high again as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Her wings flicked ninety degrees, then ninety more until the plane was hanging on its side, then over again as it crested its climb upside down and dove toward the river again, throttle mashed.

Stunned, Melinda sat down on the side of the cliff and watched in awe. Cropduster Cindy put on one helluva show. She flew loops and rolls, more stalls, more of whatever-the-fuck she-wanted-to with that little red plane. Cindy was free, without the lies and the theft and without the big crash. She'd never seen anything so perfect. Then Melinda finally got it, the county fair was coming in two weeks. Aunt Betty had told her that Cindy always put on an airshow. It was the highlight of the whole thing, she remembered Bonnie writing to tell her about it. She understood, it wasn't for her. Cindy was just out practicing. Watching that old biplane soar, spiral, dive, and bank, Melinda had to smile. She pulled on her boots and stood up, back from the ledge, and cheered like a little girl, jumping up and down with her fists in the air shouting. And for the first time in a very long time, Melinda Ritter experienced joy.

At the County Fair, Melinda made her rounds on a four-wheeler, armed with a rake, a dolly, and stock of bungee cords because people make trash, and trash must be emptied. She wore a loose jumpsuit that protected her from much of the filth and a wide-brimmed hat that kept the sun off her head. It wasn't glamorous, but it paid a buck and a half above minimum. Plus while the Fair was on they gave her all the hours she wanted. So she spent all day emptying trash barrels and getting her hands greasy, sweaty, and sore despite her gloves. She saw Bonnie and gave her ex a wide berth, trying to stay out of sight so Bonnie would have no reason to complain. They hadn't spoken since that day in the bar, and given what she'd done, Melissa figured the kindest thing to do was to stay away.

Plus, it was Saturday, the last day of the fair. The livestock had been judged and while the tractor pull engines were still screaming people were heading for the stands, for Cropduster Cindy was the highlight of the fair. It hadn't started that way, but the fair's chiefs had seen how popular her air show was so they scheduled it for prime time so long as the weather cooperated. And that Saturday the weather was cooperating. There were a few clouds, but they were thin and high and the sky was a brilliant blue. And the fair was full, with people of all ages. Aunt Betty even brought her a diet coke and a pretzel, clearly pleased to see Melinda working diligently. The pressure to get her own place was coming down too because Melinda was different.

The Brothers of the Dispossessed were less pleased because she had quit coming around. Kit, Brad, Lily, and a few others said hi, but some ignored her and wandered about with the new, younger mamas they had in tow, all trying to look like badasses. She stayed out of sight as much as she could and just kept emptying barrels and dumping the trash. As menial labor in coveralls, not many noticed her.

Then she saw Theresa whom she'd known from the club, walking with some other girls, all in leather motorcycle garb. There was a tall blonde and a short buxom brunette with a deep tan and a buzzcut. A pretty freckled redhead and a slim girl with brown hair in a ponytail. It had been a long time since she'd seen Theresa, so she stopped her four-wheeler and got out to say “Hi.”

“Hey Baby," she said. Theresa had been one of the girls she'd "initiated" into the Dispossessed.

Theresa's eyes lit up when she saw her, and she went for a hug. “Hey baby yourself. When did you get out?”

“A couple weeks ago,” Melinda said, eyes shifting to the other women. A couple of the women were clearly Dispossessed though she was pretty certain the youngest was not.

“Glad to see you. Even helping to clean up after the rest of us.”

“Yeah, well I needed a job.”

“Gwen, Paulie . . this is Melinda Ritter. She helped initiate me into the club.

“Up or down,” asked the short, buxom brunette with the buzz cut. Melinda was already trying to place her name.

“Up riding my face,” said Theresa. “Just like I did for you, Paulie. Melinda, the tall blonde with the ponytail is Gwen, and the college girl next to her is Donna. Paulie and Julie were also club members.”

“Paulie initiated me,” said redheaded Julie with the sweetest smile. “Of course she was down.”

“And I've been down on you ever since,” said Paulie with a grin, and a squeeze to her freckle-faced girlfriend's bottom.

“I noticed you said 'were'.” Melinda looked at her. “What's going on?”

The striking blonde Gwen answered. “We just decided to open up our own little branch, strictly for girls. We call ourselves Lesbirados.”

“I came up with the name,” said Donna, with a shy smile but her hip was rubbing on Gwen's. And Gwen had her hand on the small of the younger woman's back.

“How are the brothers taking it?”

“Not happy but okay so far,” said Theresa. “It doesn't hurt that I'm a Fed now.”

“A Fed? You?” Melinda could scarcely believe that. She'd seen first hand just how wild Theresa could get.

Theresa gave Melinda a grin that even a Cheshire Cat might envy. “Yep, After you got popped, I took a good look at my life. I went back to school, got my degree, and came home with a badge and a gun. I even got married.”

Melinda felt shocked. “No shit. Who's the lucky guy?”

“Lucky girl, you mean,” answered Theresa. “You of all people ought to know how much I love pussy. I hooked up with Cropduster Cindy. That's why we're here, to see my baby fly.”

Melinda understood. “She's the one in that red biplane. I saw her flying over the river not long ago. Your wife is nuts!”

Theresa chuckled. “I've heard that before, but actually she's really precise. Every move is carefully planned and rehearsed. You probably just saw her practicing.”

“It was still quite a show.”

“Yeah,” she took me with her once,” said Donna. “I was scared to death but it was the time of my life. Roller coasters don't mean a thing now.” On that, there was general agreement.

“Have you seen Bonnie?” Theresa asked?

Melinda stopped cold, and Theresa saw instantly the question had been a mistake. “I try to give Bonnie her space. I kinda fucked her over you know, in more than one way. I figured she's moved on by now.”

“Not that I know of,” said Theresa. “Cindy and I see her a lot at the bar and she's not seeing anyone. Plus you were kinda fucked up yourself at the time.”

“I was,” admitted Melinda. “And I still might be. This straight-and-narrow thing is pretty hard to do.”

“It sure is,” said Theresa. “But don't you quit on anything, especially yourself.” Filthy as Melinda was, she hugged her for a long time and gave her a little kiss. And so did the other girls, even young Donna, who didn't have a single tat, at least that she could see. Which meant she hadn't joined the Dispossessed. They talked for a bit more before Melinda had to go back to collecting garbage, and they went to take their seats up in the grandstand for the show.

She was behind Barker's row when she heard the announcer mention Cindy's name. And then the red biplane came in low on its side, then dove low toward the earth, then pitched the other way, engine roaring and gathering speed, and then Cindy pulled straight up, climbing and spinning heading high into the sky until the engine could pull no more and the plane tumbled backward and with a kick of the rudder, fell over, rolled and dived toward the ground, spinning like a corkscrew.

The crowd screamed in joy. Melinda stopped her rounds to watch. She realized this was the same show she'd seen over the river not so long ago, the same moves, but that time the show had been for her and the people at Lock 11. This was for everyone. Cindy flew a little lower, a little faster and the crowd screamed as the plane rolled over and flew upside-down along the grandstand. The flight was a thing of glory, way more than she might hope to describe. Watching Cindy fly she forgot the stains on her coveralls and the smell of the garbage because nothing else mattered but the gravity-defying ballet up in the sky. And the crowd was yelling and screaming as Cindy took her last pass overhead before flying home.

“I know why you married her,” Melinda said, thinking of Theresa. No one should get a woman like that get away. No one. And then she thought of Bonnie and teared up a bit. “I'm so sorry,” she said, ignoring the people coming her way. “I'm such a fuck-up!” But then the people were heading her way and she needed to finish Barker's Row before anyone bitched her out.

Turned out Theresa knew her Aunt Betty's phone number. She called and left the address to her place and an invitation to come out on Sunday for a pool party. Fortunately, the Sanitation department in Parson, Indiana generally took Sundays off. So she bought a twelve-pack and made up a nice macaroni salad the night before. Betty was getting friendlier too because Melinda wasn't going out and raising hell. Aunt Betty even told her she could stay with her until she found a nice place. But really Melinda hadn't felt much like going out. Where would she go? The Clubhouse? Or Chubby's? She knew they'd never let her in the Pine Club, where the nice people hung out. So she stayed home and read or watched TV with Aunt Betty. She dug into a couple of Betty's bodice rippers, and they were okay if repetitive. That Sunday Melina packed beer and the Tupperware full of homemade macaroni salad in her saddlebags and set off for Theresa's.

She found their house at the big bend on County 19, right where Theresa had said. There was no mistaking it, not with the grass runway, the hanger, and the pool. It was a pool party after all. She rode down the long driveway and parked with the other bikes by the side of the pool. There were about a dozen other people around the pool, most in bathing suits. Melinda was glad she'd packed her old bikini, even if it was out of style. Theresa wore a black one-piece that hid little of her cleavage while Cindy wore a flowered blue bikini. Gwen had an orange bikini on that made Melinda's jaw drop for a moment at the woman's lean, fit body. Donna was at her side in a striped one-piece. There were some other people she didn't know, and the two former Dispossessed she'd met at the Fair. Then she saw Bonnie rising out of the pool.

Bonnie wore a green one-piece and pushed herself out of the water in a way that stopped Melinda cold. Water dripped from her figure in long lines, and if she'd gained a couple of pounds to Melinda's eyes Bonnie seemed even more beautiful than she'd been ten years ago. Her bottom was fuller, no, riper, round, and swayed back and forth as she rose with hypnotic grace. Melinda found herself stopped in her tracks, holding the beer and macaroni salad, just watching her former lover walk away and gather a towel. Yet it felt like someone had shoved a fist into her belly and launched a death-grip on her heart.

“Hey Melinda,” said Theresa. “Come on inside I want you to meet everyone. “I'll take you somewhere to lose those leathers and get into a suit. Did you bring one? If you not you can borrow one of mine. “

“I brought my old bikini,” Melinda said.

“Giving everyone a show, eh?” said Theresa gently elbowing her in the upper arm. She must have remembered Melinda's old taste in bathing suits.

Melinda laughed. “I'm not the show. Gwen is.”

“Yeah,” said Theresa. “She's gorgeous. Stick around and she may show you just how delicious she is-- if you can pry her off Donna's face.”

“They a thing?”

“For now. Donna's new to this whole thing. She's sexploring.” Theresa slipped her arm around Melinda and hugged her tight.

“I remember when we did that.”

“Yeah, we pulled a couple of trains. C'mon, let's get this stuff stored and you ready to swim.” Theresa led her into a guest bedroom which already had a bunch of clothes folded up. Melinda slowly undressed, taking off her boots, carefully folding her jacket, and folding her t-shirt and jeans. She reached behind to release her heavy peach bra to lay it out and slide down her panties. And then the door opened and Donna popped in.

The girl was young and slim, but she had a pretty figure and a sweet face under the glasses, with long, brown hair that hung over her shoulders. Her eyes got really big when she saw Melinda buck naked. “I'm sorry,” she said and backed out quickly with a red face and a small smile.

Melinda laughed. Naked meant nothing to her. It was kind of polite of the girl and she had enjoyed giving that cute baby dyke an eyeful.

Then she thought again. Donna was about half her age. And she was Gwen's, who was super pretty. In the old days, she wouldn't have cared, but that was then. Melinda pulled on the blue striped bikini she'd bought many years ago, and if it didn't look as good on her now as it did then, she could wear it and figured It would stay on if she didn't get too exuberant. She was kind of amazed Aunt Betty had stored it for her, and she teared up for a moment. People still actually cared about her, and that felt good.

Out at the pool, she waved off the hi-test punch Theresa was pushing and got a beer. Melinda took her by the arm and started introducing her, first of all to Cropduster Cindy, whom she'd only heard of at that point in her life. She slim blonde woman hopped to her feet to hug her, pressing her body tight and planting a kiss on her lips.

“I watched you practicing the other day,” Melinda said. “it brought me back when I was feeling low,” she admitted because telling the truth was supposed to make things better.

“Thank you,” said Cindy, her fingers laced with Melinda's “I really love flying and showing what I can really do when it's not work. Heck, I love flying even when it is for work!”

“I can tell,” Melinda said. No one could be that good who didn't love what they were doing.

Next, she met Gwen and Donna, who both hugged her tight. “Been a long time,” Melinda told her. “You were just coming into the club when I was popped.”

“It was the talk of the town for a while,” Gwen said. “But you kept the faith and you're back.”

“I don't see any of the brothers around.”

“I don't spend much time there anymore,” she said, squeezing Donna's hand, which made the girl blush. “We sort of have our own club. You remember Paulie and Julie,” she pointed at a short voluptuous utterly butch brunette with a buzz cut wearing a stars'n'stripes one piece. And her girlfriend wore three blue pieces of cloth and some strings. Julie was red-headed, freckled, skinny, and cute as a button, and it was pretty clear they too were a couple. She shook their hands too, but caught a look at Bonnie, sitting in the pool giving her a cool stare. It hurt too, but Bonnie deserved her space. There was a couple of other couples, dressed in more conservative bathing apparel, straight married couples. And then there was one last couple. The man was tall, fairly handsome, with a firm, slender body and a marvelous thatch of chest hair. That was the good part but was clear he was ogling everyone else besides his wife. Melinda thought she deserved better. Her name was Alicia. Like him, she was about thirty, with straight, dark blonde hair that hung to her shoulder blades. She had a heart-shaped face, with a wide mouth and pretty brown eyes, a smattering of freckles, and a nice figure with a full, round bottom. She was wearing a plain blue one-piece and Melinda greeted her.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking Melinda's hand and looking into her eyes. Her eyes were pretty, and her posture friendly.

And Bonnie was still sitting in the water with a cross look on her face.

Melinda thought of fleeing, but part of her wanted to confront Bonnie. Melinda chose otherwise, helped when Alicia took a chair that might shield Melinda from Bonnie's view. She kept her head down and quiet, but that was easy because Cindy was describing her air show routine, pantomiming the moves with her hands. Cindy stood and spun, using her body to say what her hands could not. It was quite a demonstration. And when it was done Melinda leaned over to softly say to Theresa. “I totally get why you married that woman.”

Theresa's smile could have melted an iceberg. “Every day she reminds me why. Cindy's the best possible reason to leave the past behind. What about you? Spent much time at the Clubhouse?”

“Nope. I don't want to go back to jail and I'm kinda afraid that if I spend much time there I will. Kicking heroin was the hardest thing I ever did. And the first day in town I got a care package with some in it to encourage my old ways.”

Theresa got serious and close. “Who did that?”

“Not saying. If I didn't rat in jail, I'm not going to rat now. I'm just going to stay away.”

Theresa nodded and reached over to squeeze her forearm. “Good for you. I see you and Bonnie aren't talking.”

Melinda shook her head, she leaned close so only Theresa could hear her say. “Nope, she figures I fucked her over pretty bad and I figure she's right. If she wants space, I'll give it.”

“Sometimes that's the only thing you can do,” Theresa said, with a sad look on her face.

“I have a whole list” Melinda admitted. “Theresa, I have a lot to make up for. I fucked up pretty royally.”

Theresa raised her glass to tap it to Melinda's beer. “Stop that negative talk. This is a party! You have a fair amount of lost time to make up for. Drink up, girl. You're welcome to spend the night. Haven't got anything wicked around here, unless you count us Lesibirados.”

“You really calling yourselves that?”

“Yeah, we are. We kinda stopped going around the clubhouse too because honestly, we have more fun with each other.”

Melinda's eyes popped up as she looked around. “I can see that.” There were some very interesting women in the group. “Kit Toller isn't going to be very happy about that.”

“Kit Toller can go fuck himself! He has all he needs and we have all we need.”

“They talked about you all the time,” Paulie said to Melinda. “Wanted us to be more like you.”

Melinda laughed. “That's because I was a total slut.”

“And loyal,” Paulie said. “You kept the code.”

“What code?” asked Donna.

Well, Melinda saw no point in denying what she was. “I went to prison for trafficking, because I was an addict and needed the money to pay for my habit. But I kept my mouth shut and didn't rat on the guy who got me hooked. That's the code. You do your time and you don't talk. That's why my bike was all polished up and ready when I got out.”

Donna's eyes got really big, but she nodded. “Got it.” She looked kinda confused like she was still processing that, but she leaned into Gwen who was gently stroking the girl's spine. And that was okay, it took a while to process prison. “Well, I'm glad you're out now and here with us,” she said, and there were other nods and a toast.

Alicia was the one who was looking at her the hardest. “You were really in prison?”

“For ten fucking years.”

“What was it like?”

Melinda had been warned to expect that, that it wasn't a mean thing, but there would be people who are genuinely curious. And Alicia seemed curious. Donna too, from the way she leaned in.

“Well, you strip naked for a cavity search then they put you in an orange jumpsuit. And from that point on you do what they say, when they say or they stuff you in a six by eight-foot room all by yourself with nothing but a bunk, a sink, and a toilet. You stay there for as long as they want. You can't be naked outside the shower or risk the SHU. You can't get caught touching yourself or anyone else. You got the lineups every few hours, but you are never alone unless you're in solitary, and trust me you don't want to be in the SHU unless you're interested in going nuts. People watch you constantly and it's boring as fuck. The people around you are all prisoners. Some are okay, but a bunch are psychos you can't trust with a burned-out match. Lots of girls play the angles because that's the same shit that put them inside.”

“Are there relationships?”

Melinda laughed. “Not like in the movies. I had a girlfriend the last couple of years I was in. Name was Stacy, and she was one of the kindest and sanest people I've met.”

“When is she getting out?” asked Donna.

“Never. She and her boyfriend got really fucked up then robbed and killed some people. No way she'll see the outside again, and she knows it. And that's the thing, she feels guilty. You want to know who feels like a criminal in prison? It's the murderers because they feel that stain on their soul.”

“Are you writing her?” asked Donna. “I mean to keep up . . .”

Melinda's shoulders sagged. “I'm not so good at writing. Ask Bonnie . . . she wrote me and I didn't write back. And it might have cost me the best thing I ever had.”

And then she noticed Bonnie standing over them wrapped in her towel, long hair wet and shining. Her eyes were sad and soft and her mouth had a small scowl. “You can change, you know, make new ways if you want to.”

“I'm trying, Bonnie, I really am.”

“Well good,” she said and turned to walk into the house.

The outside fell silent for a moment. Then Cindy got up, “I think it's time I start the grill,” she said.

“I can help you get ready,” volunteered Donna. “I prep a lot at Rob's Diner.”

Cindy gave the girl a look that was a little more than friendly. “Let's go baby dyke.”

They got up and the others sat there talking about small things. Theresa and Gwen started talking. Paulie and Julie cuddled and teased each other and everyone else. It was plain to see where they'd end up after sundown. Melinda took a sip of her beer and it was delicious. No beer in prison, just pruno, and that stuff tasted like piss. This was real beer. Melinda reminded herself that she ought to be happy.

Then she noticed Alicia standing over her with a cocktail. “Sorry if I brought up an unpleasant subject,” she said. Her eyes were sad, but she was pretty and her suit a little tight, tight enough to maybe show more of her body than the woman intended. Her gender certainly wasn't in doubt.

“That's okay,” Melinda said. “They warned me this would happen. How do you know Theresa?”

“I work with the Federal Marshall's office. I'm a paralegal, which really means I'm a researcher. We lunch together and became friends.”

“And your husband there?”

She smiled. “Jake doesn't like Theresa much, except maybe for her boobs. Can't keep his eyes off them. Or yours.”

Melinda chuckled. “Lots of guys like that. At least he knows well enough to keep his mouth shut.”

“Most of the time,” Alicia said. “And he really isn't that bad. He's good around the house, he works hard but he's got this thing about lesbians.”

“What thing?”

“He thinks you're totally hot.”

Melinda grinned at her. “Lots of guys like that too. Is that why he's here, hoping you'll hook up and bring home some strange pussy?”

Alica kinda turned red, which only darkened her freckles. “Well, we've talked about it.”

Melinda set down her beer and looked the blonde woman in the eyes. “And how do you feel about that? Honestly. You know he's going to want you to do a lot more than play kissy-face with another woman.”

“That's not the problem,” she said. “I've kissed a couple of girls before. I spent the night with one when I was an exchange student. I liked it.”

“So what is the problem?”

“Not sure I want him to watch.”

Melinda laughed. “Now that's the best answer ever. Because I'm not sure I'd want him around either.” But her eyes saw Bonnie, sitting behind some rose bushes, eyes on her. “Think hard on that, because going outside can change everything. We can talk later if you want, but right now I need a word with someone.”

Alicia didn't seem disappointed when Melinda got up and moved over to stand beside Bonnie's chaise lounge. “Mind if I have a seat?”

“It's a free country,” she said, looking away.

Melinda sat anyway. “Look Bonnie, I know I fucked everything up. That's on me, I own it. But if we're going to be in the same town, and my PO has made it very plain that I have no choice in that matter, I'd like us to at least get along. We have a lot of the same friends.”

“We do,” Bonnie admitted, looking at her for the first time. “Why the hell couldn't you have met me halfway?”

“Because I was still recovering when I first got there. Wasn't really clean for a year or so. Because I had an attitude. By the time I got straight, I figured there was no coming back. I figured I didn't deserve you.”

“You sorta made that true,” Bonnie said. She took a long drink, eyes locked on Melinda. “Yet here you are.”

Melinda leaned forward and looked Bonnie straight in the eye. “You're a big reason I want to change that.”

Bonnie looked down, then away, not wanting to say anything for the moment. Melinda let her and leaned back waiting. “'Lin,” she began. “You can't move backward. There's only forward.”

Melinda nodded softly and started to rise when Bonnie's fingertips grasped her hand to tug her back down.

“It can't be what it was,” she said. “That was a moment in time, and I was kinda fucked up myself. I OD'd six months after you went away. Woke up in a detox center. I wasn't much different from you. Only I didn't get popped. What I'm saying is, I can't go back.”

Melinda slipped her fingers between Bonnie's “What about forward? I've kicked that shit. I'm not climbing on the H-train again.”

“Neither am I, but things are different. I got a kid now.”

A child? Bonnie had a baby? How did she not know that? “How the fuck did that happen?”

“How do you think?“

Melinda laughed. “I guess that was a stupid question. By all rights, I ought to have a brood with all the chances I took.”

“Well, I have just one. I hooked up for a while with Kit's brother Chris. We even got married for two years. Worst mistake I ever made, but little Brendan makes it all worthwhile.” Bonnie started looking for her phone. “I'll show you a picture.” She pulled up a picture of her and a cute boy in a striped shirt with short brown hair and a really big grin.

“So where's he now?”

“With Chris's parents. He's in the joint now and will be for four more years.”

“The Tollers aren't exactly model citizens. Kit Toller's Dad had helped found the Dispossessed.”

“You think I can keep the Tollers from their Grandbaby?”

Melinda immediately understood how impossible that was. “I guess not.”

“They are getting older. So they aren't as bad as you think. They watch him when I'm at work and give me some time to myself.”

That had to be handy. And to be honest, Melinda's folks had their problems too. Her Mom was heavy into the booze for one, and she hadn't kicked that habit. “I guess I have no right to complain.”

“None,” Bonnie said. “Because you weren't here.”

Melinda broke. The tears poured down her cheeks and she sobbed openly, head buried in her hands. She figured people were looking but she didn't care what they thought.

Bonnie's gentle fingers brought her back, gliding gently across the back of her neck. She felt the press of Bonnie's head on her shoulder. And arms wrapped around her. And Melinda felt Bonnie's salty tears drop on her own shoulder. And her face against her shoulder. But most of all her soft fingers were on her hands, intertwining like they once did. She softly stroked Melinda's palms and the back of her hand. Melinda gathered herself and turned to face Bonnie, whose eyes were a bit moist herself.

“You really ought to go fuck that Alicia woman,” Bonnie said, forcing a grin. “She's dying for it.”

Melinda laughed and ran her fingertips down the back of Bonnie's soft brown hair. “Maybe. But she's not the one I'm dying for.” She leaned in and kissed Bonnie, slowly, lip to lip, nose touching and their mouths open. And Bonnie kissed her back with a gentle hunger. And then Bonnie broke it off.

“Too soon for that,” she said. “Too many straights around. And I'm not ready to play house again. Nor am I promising I ever will be.”

Melinda nodded. She got that actually, even if the kiss had some heat behind it. “Bonnie, I have no place to go.”

She laughed. “Liar, that housewife there is staring at your butt.”

Melinda looked back. Alicia was standing there, turning her body to best show off her curves, which were real enough. Clearly, she was hoping for something. “The old me would have hopped right on that, and tried to turn her.”

“You turned me,” Bonnie said.

“Then how did you end up with Chris's baby?”

Bonnie chuckled. You turned me, but you didn't flip me. Besides, you weren't exactly man-shy yourself.”

“No, I was not,” Melinda admitted. Alicia was now in between the rest of the girls. “But that me may not be dead, but she isn't in charge.”

“It's okay,” Bonnie said. “I have to go pick up Brendon anyhow, and I'm not bringing anyone home to him I'm not really serious about. I'm not doing that to my boy.”

“I can adapt,” Melinda said with a small smile. Bonnie too had grown up a bit. Maybe it was possible. Alicia was clearly willing. In the old days . . .

But these were the new days. Alicia was cute and clearly interested but chasing her would mean moving backward. Melinda decided she wanted to move forward. “Can I walk you to your car?”

Bonnie smiled lightly at her. “It's a free country.”

And if their hands touched briefly at the car, that too was a sign of progress. Or maybe maturity. Melinda didn't know, but she could live with it.