Chapter Text
Karen moved to Wyoming after Martha died. Nothing in particular drew her to the state; she had chosen it on a whim.
She moved to a small town where their case was an afterthought in the newspapers. She started teaching again. This time in a preschool—it was fulfilling, she had to admit. Then she met a man named George, and married him after a year. He was a kind man who didn't ask for much. The rough looking type who'd fit right into a western. Charming. Everyone always said they were a nice looking pair. She moved into his ranch that wasn't too far from the city. It might as well have been nothing but dust all around. But she made sure their house was presentable. Pretty. Floral, always smelling of lavender despite their surroundings. A rancher's wife—who would've thought?
She kept herself busy all the time, whether at work or with house chores. She made a few friends. She frequented the local library. It was a decent life she was sure she'd slot into. Though she hoped it would happen faster; she had already lived there for two years. She already had a baby on the way.
But there was some downtime. When she had that rare opportunity to sit alone on the porch or when George was off on those hunting trips while other men handled the cattle and the like. It had been happening more recently as she sat on the antique of a rocking chair at home, feeling the swell of her belly underneath one of her new maternity dresses. Others told her she was glowing. She seemed happier than ever. It would be odd not to agree: she liked how she looked in the mirror. Pregnancy agreed with her.
But she would stare out at the often empty dirt road by their home. She would let the unbearable silence linger as she wondered: How would Martha feel about all of this?
Martha, Martha, Martha.
Karen wished she could tell others she was done mourning. In a way, she looked like she was over it: she had a strong head on her shoulders. She lived life firmly. Anyone who knew her nowadays described her as gentle as a flower but tough as nails; she couldn't admit it, but the… incident changed her. Much more than she expected it to.
But Karen still visited her grave every month. Sat down there, brought a soda for each of them, and read one of the pulp novels that Martha had on a ‘to read’ list. She always read them aloud, laughed at all those gauche lines that tickled Martha pink. Sometimes she'd take her eyes off the book to tell Martha she missed her. Sometimes she'd joke that the list was growing shorter and she'd like a few more recommendations. And each time, tears filled her eyes.
That confession of Martha's. One of desperation and love. It was one Karen had repeated in her mind like a record skipping. And not just because it was one of their final exchanges; it was because it had Karen thinking back on theit past. It made her wonder back on all their innocent little interactions in college, when they started their life together. There was always a warmth Martha had about her. Karen found herself drawn to it as soon as they'd met. Like a moth to a flame.
Maybe I was in love, Karen thought to herself on her first night without Martha. She'd slept alone all these nights, fine. But the school they'd built up felt too empty as she slipped into bed; knowing Martha was around had always been the greatest comfort in those troubling times.
But memories of the past kept flooding in day after day.
They were in the university cafeteria the first time they talked about what was to come after graduation. Karen's first instinct was to ask if Martha would visit her, wherever she ended up. The response she gained was Martha with this little pout, pretending to sulk as she asked if Karen would leave her alone like that.
And as much as it had been a joke, Karen felt a little pang in her heart. That the thought of leaving Martha alone was a ridiculous thing in the first place. So it was then Karen pretended to sob. Reassured Martha that they'd be together forever. Funny as it had been, that conversation planted the first seeds of what would become their school.
They were in her dorm room during a blackout when she found herself caught up in Martha's beauty. She always found that girl pretty, of course. But there Martha was, nothing but a small candle lighting her face as she tried to read Karen's notes in one of their classes together.
It was like the gentle lights, gentle shadows cast upon her face made her seem ethereal. Unreal. Karen smiled as she slid a chair over to help with the studying. Even as they sat close, she wondered out loud: “How could a girl like this be from Earth?” And when Martha glanced over, Karen just coughed and excused herself. They never brought it up again.
They were looking over the building that was soon to become their home, their school. It wasn't a looker at first; it was dusty, dilapidated. Renovations were in order and would have taken a few months, even if they hired others to help. Karen was just about ready to give up on their plans. But then she peeked into the kitchen area, saw Martha already rifling through the cabinets like they were already full with all the food that they'd ever need.
“What do you want to eat, honey?” Martha asked in this sickeningly sweet imitation of a housewife. She made her way to Karen, pretended to be a doting thing as she straightened out Karen's blouse. “Not hungry?”
Karen laughed. God, she laughed as Martha kept playing house, put on this show that made the place look like something worth living in. But now there was the idea of domestic life with the both of them that filled her mind. To wake up with–no, next to Martha every morning. To know there was someone who cared for her without a hitch. To live for each other—it was a dream that sounded tempting. It was a dream that made her heart flutter.
But a dream was all it could be.
I was in love, Karen thought to herself. By then, it was too late. Much too late; it was on the night of her honeymoon. As she was in the bathroom, smoothing down her nightgown, knowing the man who would cherish her forever right outside the doors.
Yet she still faced him. Yet she made love with him like nothing had been plaguing her mind.
Karen knew there was no hope to yearn for a woman who'd passed. Yet she did, staying up late to think over what could have been. Sometimes, she'd sit in the living room, all the lights on despite the odd hours. She'd open up an old photo album, see photos of them clinging to each other like their lives depended on it, grinning from ear to ear. Sometimes she'd delude herself that she heard footsteps from the hallway, and that Martha would come walking in. Kiss her on the cheek. Tell her to get back into bed.
I love you, Karen always imagined Martha saying. Maybe while peppering her face in kisses. Maybe while holding her close post-coitus.
But those times always ended up with her sobbing into her hands. With George holding her close and leading her upstairs. He'd always try to ask what was wrong, but she found it difficult to respond. She often wished it was Martha holding her instead. Though nowadays—even as Martha lived on in her thoughts—Karen swore she was forgetting the sound of her voice.
Karen felt like a fool. A good for nothing fool.
But Karen knew she had to live on. Keep her head up, even higher than she already had. She could mope and she could mourn but it was no use; knowing Martha, that woman would have wanted her happy. Would give her a little smack on the arm and tell her she had a lot ahead of her.
Karen was seven months pregnant now. It was growing more difficult to move, but she had one of her fellow teachers—this older woman, Gertrude, a sweetheart—as a chauffeur of sorts. And she'd just dropped Karen off in that rundown red car of hers, telling her to rest up.
After Karen waved Gertrude goodbye, she made her way to the front door, a paper bag in hand. In it was another book from Martha's list: Wild Gals on Wheels. The synopsis on the back was just as trashy as the others. But goodness, Karen was really understanding why Martha kept picking these up. These books had always provided a strange comfort—more so now, as it was difficult to travel too far. She wasn't able to visit Martha last month. Wouldn't be able to now.
Though Karen's train of thought was interrupted when she noticed George standing at the door. He sighed as he made his way down the porch. He helped her to the door, speaking in his gruff voice: “You shouldn't be spending too much time out after your classes. Don't want you exhausted.”
“I feel fine,” Karen said with a frown as they walked past the front door. “An extra hour on my feet isn't too much.”
“Whatever you say. But just… y'know, don't wanna see you too out of it…” His gaze lowered to the paper bag in her hands, and he took a quick glimpse in without warning. She giggled and he scoffed, but showed he was amused. “You keep reading this type of stuff. Gal like you… hell, I didn't think you'd be interested.”
“Well, I'm not reading these for enlightenment, am I?” she asked with a grin.
She never did tell George about Martha, did she? Not in full anyway. She still had that old graduation photo of Martha on one of their sidetables downstairs. My best friend who died—that was her description when he asked who she kept leaving town for, and George never pressed any further.
Would he have known?
Even if he had, she guessed it didn't matter now.
And then it was dinner time. George cooked up some steaks that Karen always enjoyed. Their dining table was meant to seat six, and George liked to joke it would fill out eventually. And they ate on with the television blasting some celebrity's show from the living room. It wasn't a bad way to spend the evening, Karen could say that much.
Then George brought up their child just as Karen went in for another bite. Grabbed Karen's hand from across the dinner table, caressing the soft skin with his calloused thumb. “You ever think about what we're naming that thing?”
“Hm?” Karen pressed her palm to her stomach on instinct. She told him what she told everyone else: “No, not really. I feel like I'd overwhelm myself, thinking of all these names…”
“Well…” He hummed in thought. “If it's a boy, George Junior. And a girl, Karen Junior. Makes it less hard to think about all that stuff, right?”
Karen smiled. She should have said yes, she knew that. But having a child named after her? It felt silly. A bit self-absorbed, in a way. “No, not Karen for a girl. George I like but–”
“What would you name a girl then?”
And there Karen's mind ran with a few ideas. A few names she liked from books, flowers, magazines, movie stars. But none of them felt right. She frowned as she tried to dig something out of her mind.
“Well?” George urged on, and Karen huffed.
And then it just came out: “What if we named her Martha?”