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The first night at the convent, Carson feels the rush of being alone with Greta at last, the thrill of her plan's perfect execution when the lock clicks shut behind them and they're alone in the room, with just two beds and Jesus watching. It's the rush that drives her forward, leads her to race into that first kiss without so much as pulling down the blinds. There's something about Greta that makes her so careless, even while Greta herself seems to think far too much about caution and consequences. If she weren't so intoxicated by Greta's presence, Carson might take a moment to pause and think, but the response in her body is far too loud to ignore.
She's rushing, and Greta pulls the breaks, which sends Carson straight into a spiral of self consciousness. As soon as she stops, there's something in her mind setting off alarms, making her question why Greta even wants to be with someone like her, why Greta even likes her to begin with. But Greta also has a way of getting ahead of Carson's thoughts, catching hold of her before she takes the plunge into a downward spiral, offering reassuring words and the sweetest of smiles. And honestly, food is a good distraction.
So they make their way into the convent kitchens, on their own for just a moment or two, giggling like schoolgirls, before a helpful nun comes to their aid, unlocking the pantry and piling food on their plates. Turns out they do like snacks.
Back in their room again, they change into their sleep things with their backs modestly turned, and sitting on the floor with Greta on a pile of pillows, Carson is reminded of sharing a room with her sister, back when they still got along much better than they do now, when they'd lie in their beds with the lights out and tell each other stories, share confidences and tales of the days they had. Carson had some of that with Charlie, maybe, before he went to war, but then each person she's been this close to draws forth a different version of her. With her husband, she often ends up making jokes, taking the conversation some place where she doesn't feel her emotions brimming too close to the surface. With Charlie, she's become good at playing the role of a happy wife, by side-stepping all the issues she never wants to discuss.
Greta, though, shares herself so openly that Carson feels safe. She sometimes thinks she has, with Greta, since the first moment they met, recognizing something familiar and comforting in her and Jo, a kinship she's never felt back in Idaho. And so she's finally comfortable enough to ask the question that's been nagging on her mind: why did she leave with that guy at the bar, the first night they kissed? And Greta tells her it's one of her rules, which makes Carson contemplate how many other women there have been. She's not a complete idiot, and the answer doesn't surprise her, but it's still strange to hear Greta talk about her love affairs so casually. It's different for Carson, who doesn't dip in and out of love so easily: she's only ever been with Charlie, and for most of her life that was the one and only choice for her. She never questioned the rules she followed, even with the weight of unhappiness growing in her chest for years. Not, that is, until Greta pulled Carson into her warmth, and woke her with that kiss in the alley behind the bar.
It's strange to see Greta shrug away her history with other women, to bring husbands into the mix, as if she's not a person with feelings at all, but a tool women use to fix their marriages. Something contracts inside Carson at hearing those words, and when she tries to express what she feels, the only simile she finds is a line she might cross, and never come back from.
After that, the air in the room feels heavy, the light mood gone like the last of the evening light. They sit in silence for a moment or two, until Greta clears her throat and announces she'll go wash her face and get ready for bed. It's gotten late, though Carson's body, it seems, has forgotten to feel sleepy tonight. She nods and hums in response, then clears away the dishes and the rest of their food. Despite her detour to the kitchens, she's back in their room with brushed teeth before Greta is, rummaging through her bag to find the book she's brought on the trip, then sitting down on the edge of her bed, unsure of herself.
Greta doesn't take long to return after that, face scrubbed clean and curls pinned up, locking the door behind her once more. Their eyes meet, and they share a grin across the room, uncertainty leaving Carson's mind again in an instant. It's the first time she's seen Greta without the armour of her well-assembled façade, though she's caught glimpses of her through the cracks, and it makes the ground seem more level between them. Tonight, the sight before her reminds Carson of how much bravado there is to Greta, of the soft and tender side she hides so well, and of how much work it must take her every day to maintain the perfect curls and the peachy complexion. Carson has never understood the point of make-up on herself, and owns little more than the tube of lipstick they were issued along with their uniforms; but on Greta, she sees the art of it all.
"I wasn't sure…", she begins to say, gesturing awkwardly between the beds, and trails off without completing the sentence. They made up their minds not to have sex tonight, but sleeping together may still be on the table. Greta cocks her head from her side of the room in consideration, them smiles at Carson before slipping under the covers, and patting the leftover space in the bed. "Come on, get in," she says, and the invitation sets Carson's mind spinning again. Focusing on her breath this time, she takes another moment to place the book she's still holding in her hands on the nightstand, and turn off the light next to her bed, before she crosses the distance and lies down to face Greta.
"This is nice," she comments, their noses nearly touching in the narrow space of the bed, though the tension in her body tells a different story. It's still a lot, to be so close together, to feel the length of Greta's body, and the heat radiating from it. It sets Carson's heart to racing, even when she's got her eyes firmly fixed on Greta's, stupidly afraid of letting them wander down to the dip of Greta's nightgown and the curve of her breasts. Greta, perceptive as she is, notes the awkward pose of Carson's body immediately and laughs with barely a sound, which makes the mattress quiver. "You don't look very comfortable, Carson," Greta observes, and reaches out to brush a strand of hair from Carson's eyes, trailing fingers across skin as she does.
Carson doesn't want to think of her husband right then, but she does: of the way their marriage bed feels impossibly large compared to this, and how, most often, she falls asleep with her back turned to him, as much distance between them as possible. She's never sought out his body the way she feels drawn to Greta's now, inching just a little closer, until her toes meet Greta's legs under the covers. Here, the bed seems to tip her into Greta's embrace, who drops a kiss on Carson's nose and pulls her closer still, until Carson is tucked safely under her chin, their arms wrapped around each other. Carson's heartbeat finally begins to slow, matching up with Greta's own; she breathes in the scent of lavender soap, the traces of perfume underneath, and starts to count all the freckles she can see. "Better?" Greta asks, shifting just a little as Carson smiles against her skin and hums in agreement, then reaches out to kill the light.
"Goodnight Carson," she tells her softly, chest vibrating under Carson's cheek, and Carson answers with a "Goodnight Greta" of her own, though sleep still seems far out of reach. As Greta's breath grows deeper and more steady, Carson lies awake in the comfort of Greta's embrace for what feels like hours, dreaming wide awake of a life together they can never have.
The next night, the tension of the first is gone, the excitement of a Peaches win and her new appointment as coach still coursing through Carson's veins, exuberant. Their bodies find each other with ease, and she doesn't feel nervous this time, not even when Greta unbuttons her blouse and unhooks her bra. The memory of stolen touches fades quickly as bolder ones take their place, hands and lips moving freely – without inhibition or the threat of being caught. They take their time with each other, savoring each moment in the knowledge they might not get another chance like this in a while, being together in relative safety as they are.
Afterwards, Carson feels the traces of Greta's heated touch just as much as she feels the aftermath of her orgasm, light and bright like nothing else she's experienced before. Lying with her back against Greta's chest and linking their fingers together, she can only marvel at how different this feels to the seven long years of her marriage, how her entire being suddenly feels so much more alive than it ever has before, and knows she was right about crossing that line.
Greta doesn't bother setting her hair this time, and they stay wrapped up in each other, skin against skin. Whether it's the exhaustion finally setting in, or the sense of security she feels in Greta's embrace with the final barriers of fabric removed, this time Carson drifts off with ease, and dreams for real this time, of a future they might carve out for themselves after all.