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For as long as Naomi had been alive, the same woman had operated the repair garage and junkyard. They called her the widow even though everyone was pretty sure she'd never been married and they called her The Widow Frye even though it was fairly clear that she'd been born a Frye.
Everyone in town went to her for ship fixes and mule parts and even farm equipment tuneups. Even folks from other towns on Haven made the trek for important or expensive machines and there were a few travel mechanics on cargo ships who swung by when they were planetside. Naomi herself had once taken her half-destroyed bicycle over when she was eleven, walking five miles while dragging it beside her, all of her Christmas money in her pocket in order to pay for the repair. She'd ridden home on what felt like a new bike and when it came to payment, the mechanic had glimpsed a coupon for a free cone from Rivera Sisters Ice Cream in Naomi's wallet and had insisted on only taking that.
No one had ever explained to Naomi who had died to leave Mrs. Frye a widow. It had happened a long time ago, they told her, long before Naomi was born, back when her parents were teenagers. Folks didn't discuss it; it didn't seem right to keep reminding Mrs. Frye about a painful time.
Naomi thought it was probably more painful to be called the widow in everyday conversation, but she didn't say that to anyone.
"I learned calligraphy from her," Naomi's aunt confessed during one Easter party after she'd had a few glasses of apple wine and Naomi had recounted how the Widow Frye had driven all the way out to the Burke farm to fix their tiller.
"From who? Mrs. Frye?"
"Her wife."
"Wait, really?" Naomi asked, leaning in. The party buzzed around them, so if there really was some sort of taboo on speaking about Mrs. Frye's late wife, it was unlikely anyone would notice. Her aunt nodded. "But I thought that she wasn't ever actually—"
"Oh sure, who knows if it was legal on the Cortex, or whatever, but they lived together in that tiny house next to the shop, went everywhere together, were always kissin' on each other at festivals. That's a marriage, as far as I know."
"What happened to her?"
"She died," Naomi's aunt said with a sad little shrug. "Way too young, too, but she was sick. I dunno with what. But she got sicker and sicker and Mrs. Frye took care of her until the end."
"What was she like?"
"Oh, the most elegant woman you ever did see. She looked like a princess and she dressed like one, too. I never found out where she was from, but she must have been from some rich family on a Core planet."
"Why come to Haven, then? Wouldn't she have gotten better care in the Core?"
"I think she wanted to be somewhere quiet with the woman she loved," Naomi's aunt said. "She never once talked about where she'd come from, so maybe there was some bad blood there. I never asked."
"How'd they meet? What brought her to Haven in the first place?"
"Oh, the mechanic ain't from here originally either. They picked it on the advice of an old preacher that passed before you were born. I think someone said once that they flew on the same ship…probably as passengers, you know, and fell in love during a long haul flight."
"What was her name?"
"Oh, gosh…I can barely remember it. Amara? Maybe?"
A few weeks later, Naomi finally found a free moment to go searching in the cemetery. It wasn't entirely to go looking for Mrs. Frye's wife; she did like the meditative atmosphere that came from walking there, and she had relatives to visit as well. But she couldn't lie; she wanted to know more about the mysterious mechanic.
There were no Amaras in the graveyard. Naomi made two leisurely loops through for a double check. She was a little disappointed, but her aunt had admitted that she hadn't been sure of the name, and besides, it wasn't really important. Naomi paused her walk next to a flowerbed grave covered in well-tended blooms of red and pink and adorned with both a pillar engraved with hanzi as well as a flat headstone.
Inara Serra
16 November 2494-February 26 2523
It had to be her, considering how old Mrs. Frye was and the close birth years. She definitely had been young. The state of the flowers and the grave markers meant they were cared for often, and Naomi briefly wondered how Mrs. Frye found the time for that in between fixing everyone's machines.
"She doesn't get many visitors aside from me," said a voice behind Naomi.
"Mrs. Frye, I am so sorry—"
"It's okay. You were curious," Mrs. Frye said gently. "It's natural for young people to be curious."
She was pulling along a green metal wagon full of gardening tools and two new flower plants in plastic containers.
"Naomi, right?" Mrs. Frye guessed.
"Yeah."
"Would you help me a little, Naomi? A few of those flowers have given up the ghost and want to get 'em out, replace them with something fresh."
"Oh, sure."
Naomi helped her unload the cart and unwind the hose in the graveyard's tiny maintenance shed, and then they started pulling weeds and Naomi gently wiggled the dead plants out of their spots, untangling their roots from those of their neighbors.
"She was…your wife?"
"Nearabout," Mrs. Frye said. "Never did make it official, paperwork-wise, but we had a ceremony and a big party with our friends."
"I feel like usually it's the other way around."
"Sure. There were just too many hoops to jump through, and…the illness had already taken a lot of energy from her. It was better to use it for havin' fun rather than for filling out forms."
"I…if you don't mind me asking, where are you from? My aunt…I'm sorry, she was telling me a bit about you. I really don't mean to pry—"
"I'm from Kowlonshi originally," Mrs. Frye said, and then smiled sunnily. "I don't mind, Naomi. As much as I was grateful that folks didn't ask about her too much in the first few years after she passed…now the way they try to be so hush hush about her makes it all feel like something shameful, almost. I like talking about her. I always have, right from the very beginning."
"Where was the beginning?"
"It was on a ship! I was working as a live-in mechanic on a cargo transport ship and she rented one of the two shuttles that docked on board."
"She wanted to see the 'Verse?"
"She was a registered Companion," Mrs. Frye revealed, and laughed at what must have been Naomi's obviously shocked face. "Pretty flattering, don't you think?"
"Wow…I…my aunt said that your wife taught her calligraphy. You're saying that a real life Companion…"
"They're still just folk. She was certainly something special but she was…human. We fought like any other couple and she was my best friend."
"What happened to the ship where you met?"
"That crew is still flyin' believe it or not," Mrs. Frye revealed. "They visit me whenever they can, but they don't ever stay long."
"You don't want to go back with them?"
"I didn't want to be flying anymore," Mrs. Frye told her. "I tried, just for one job, right after she was gone, but…it felt like something I only ever did with her nearby. Something about it didn't feel right. Besides, she's still here and I can't leave her all alone."