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Maybelle is a woman of many qualities. She’s a hard worker, a good mother, she does her level best to be kind, honest, and determined, everything she’d been raised to value in those around her. She looks out for her teammates with the same adoration she looks out for her children, knows exactly when Jess needs company for a cigarette, when Jo hasn’t slept enough, when Esti wants to suggest something but doesn’t have Lupe around to translate. She keeps allergy tablets on her for Shirley, a pocket Spanish dictionary for Esti, spare smokes for Greta, Lupe, Jess, whoever else wants one but doesn’t want to have to go back upstairs. She takes care of her girls, and they take care of her; the rest is just detail.
She’d picked up on something going on between Carson and Greta back in training, too many glances and keeping-up-appearances for her to stay oblivious. Maybelle is a lot more observant than people give her credit for, quietly watching the people around her, and there’s something about those two that piques her interest. She doesn’t know that there’s anything big going on, but stolen looks, whispered conversations, a general orbiting of each other - it all catches her eye.
Her suspicions are confirmed pretty unmistakably one night in June. She’s left her bag in the locker room, too swept up in the celebrations of their home victory over the Racine Belles to notice until everyone’s halfway home. Shirley offers to come with her, but Maybelle declines; she’ll run the distance and be back in half an hour, no need to drag anyone else all the way out with her.
It’s a clear evening, the sun just setting beneath the trees, and Maybelle jogs along the pavement, knowing she probably looks a little odd doing so in her heels, but never having been one to care. The stadium is empty, neither audience nor staff still behind, and she ducks under the gate, cutting across the pitch to get to the lockers. The light is on - odd, she thinks, but she’s not really in a position to criticise anyone else’s forgetfulness - and she slips through the door, pausing almost immediately as she hears voices from around the corner.
“You’re magnificent out there,” one of them says, and Maybelle’s eyebrow raises as she recognises the voice as Greta. Dark horse, she thinks, wondering who the lucky guy is that Greta’s smuggled into the stands, all too ready to tease her about it later and entirely unprepared for the response she hears instead.
“So are you. It’s really distracting, actually. I can’t keep my eyes off you.”
Carson?
Greta chuckles lowly, and Maybelle hears the unmistakable sound of a kiss, eyes widening from around her corner. One of them sighs softly into the quiet - Carson, she thinks, though at this point she can’t be sure - and Maybelle knows she should go, leave them alone in their stolen moment. She creeps around the corner, careful to avoid the squeakiest floorboard, catching sight of the two of them; Greta pushed gently up against the wall, hands in Carson’s hair as Carson’s arms wrap around her waist. She watches them for a second, something in her stomach settling, warm and inviting, at the display of intimacy in front of her. She’s grateful that it’s her that walked back in, instead of Sarge, or God forbid Shirley; the reactions of those two don’t bear thinking about.
She darts back around the corner again, not wanting to scare the two of them. It takes a couple of minutes to extract it silently, but she finally takes her bag and heads back into the evening, hearing Carson’s murmur of you’re so beautiful as she steps outside. Greta says something in response, too lowly for Maybelle to hear, but Carson’s bashful laughter fills the air as Maybelle makes her way back out of the stadium.
Maybelle isn’t a complete stranger to unconventional relationships. She’d been raised from a young age to take people at face-value, protected friends over the years, still thinks fondly of a high-school sort-of-boyfriend who needed a safety blanket to compensate for various trysts with the baker’s son in the next town over. She’d fooled around in her twenties, on-off encounters with a masculine brunette in the back room of her retail job, soft, gentle hours spent with a woman she’ll never forget. Takes all kinds to make a world, her mother always said, and Maybelle had let those words sit with her, carried them through her life and let them sink into her bones, underwriting her every judgement as she grew into herself.
She walks down the sidewalk in the twilight, thinking of the sheer strength of the affection between Carson and Greta, how tightly they were intertwined, as if neither could ever let the other go. She’s been in love before, knows how quickly it can take hold, and she finds herself already really rooting for the pair of them. Let them have their secret, she thinks to herself, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. God knows they deserve it.
After the incident in the locker room, the way Carson and Greta behave around each other makes a hell of a lot more sense to her. She’d puzzled over their distance previously - it was obvious to anybody with a brain that they were close friends, but somehow they’re always so calculated, in a way that neither of them seem to be with anyone else. She catches the everyday decisions they make, notices the careful separation when they’re standing too close, and her heart aches at the lengths they have to go to, wishing beyond anything she could be of some help.
It’s late one Thursday when she realises she still has Greta’s hair mister, having borrowed it to set her curls for the night. She knows Greta uses it regularly, hopping up out of bed to try to catch her before she and Jess head to sleep; Greta’s curls are practically a defining personality trait, and Maybelle hates to be a source of irritation. Greta’s room is three doors down, the larger room on the outside of the house - Maybelle envies her and Jess the big windows, wishing her own room had as much sunlight. The door is ajar when she gets there, knocking softly before entering. She’s just about to announce herself when she sees Jess’ bed is empty, the lights out, curtains not yet drawn. Maybelle shrugs to herself, stepping in quietly - she can leave the mister on Greta’s bedside table and call it a night. She turns, heading towards Greta’s side of the room, stopping abruptly.
Greta is very decidedly not the only person in her bed, fast asleep with Carson curled into her. It looks unintentional - Greta is half-sitting up against the headboard, Carson’s head resting against her sternum at an uncomfortable angle, and both of them are still fully-dressed. Greta’s left hand is tangled gently in Carson’s hair, Carson’s arm across her waist; the tranquility between them makes Maybelle feel like she’s intruding. She thinks over the options - they need to be more careful than this, but she doesn’t want to be the one to wake them up. Greta’s always been private, Carson’s not got a shining reputation with social graces, and it doesn’t feel right to disturb them.
She’s mulling over her actions when the door opens behind her, Jess taking a step in and stopping dead before she’s even flicked the light on. Jess’s eyes widen immediately at the predicament in front of her, darting from Maybelle to Greta and Carson, evidently not sure what to say. Maybelle just nods at her. “I didn’t wanna wake them,” she explains in a whisper. “But I don’t think they should wake up with me in the room.”
Jess narrows her eyes, hesitates for just a second before she nods back. There’s an understanding between the two of them, so tangible Maybelle can feel it in the air. “Yeah. Yeah, uh. You head out, I’ll follow. Maybe shut the door a bit loudly, so it wakes ‘em up.”
“Yeah. That should work.”
They creep back out of the room together, Jess making sure to shut the door with a firm click, and they walk quickly down the hallway, not wanting Greta or Carson to have to chase after them in a blind panic. They get all the way downstairs before Maybelle hears footsteps quietly creeping out of what she thinks is Greta’s room, smiling to herself. Jess nudges her arm, holds out a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke?”
“Sure.”
They head out onto the porch together, sitting on the step and looking out at the road. “You’re not, uh. You’re not gonna say anything, right?” Jess asks her, a nervous quality in her voice Maybelle hasn’t heard before. She shakes her head, lighting her cigarette.
“No. None of my business. As long as they’re happy.”
“Are you–”
“Like them?” Maybelle shakes her head. “Not really. Well. I’ve had…fun, back in my twenties. But I like men too, so I lean into that.” Jess’ lips are curling up in a smile as Maybelle catches her eye. “Can’t say I’d kick Katharine Hepburn outta bed, though. Saw her back in Morning Glory, in ‘33. That silver sparkle dress was a bit of an awakening.”
Jess chuckles next to her, nodding. “Man, do I remember that dress.”
“I take it you’re–”
“Yeah.” Jess takes a long drag, blowing smoke into the night air. “Gill doesn’t know yet, I don’t think. Don’t wanna bring it up while she and Shaw are doing…whatever it is they’re doing. Not until it’s gone on a bit longer, anyway.”
“Has this happened before?”
Jess shakes her head. “Never caught them together. But I sorta guessed. Back at the bar, that first night, they disappeared out back for a few minutes. Shaw came back in the room looking more alive than I’d ever seen her, didn’t stop staring at Greta all night. Put two and two together.”
Maybelle nods, letting the silence settle between them. “I saw them in the locker room together, a couple of weeks ago. They didn’t see me. Bit of a surprise, but it makes sense. They were always a bit, I don’t know–”
“Strategic?”
“Yeah.” She pauses, looking out over the streetlights. “Felt like they were always looking over a shoulder, y’know?”
“Mm.”
They finish their smokes in silence, a gentle cameraderie settling between them. Maybelle’s always liked Jess, admired her spirit, but it feels different between them in the wake of the evening’s revelations. Softer, maybe. There’s a new understanding - Jess’ contrary nature makes sense to her now, why she’s so desperate to escape the femininity that’s being imposed on them. She reaches a hand out, squeezes Jess’ arm softly. “I’m gonna head up for the night. Big day tomorrow.”
Jess chuckles, pulling out another cigarette. “It’s always a big day tomorrow.”
“True that, McCready.” She stands, smiling. “See you in the morning?”
“See you in the morning. Go get your beauty sleep.”
Maybelle flashes her one last smile, heading back into the house. She bumps into Carson on the stairs, hair still messy, and suppresses a smile. “Night, Shaw,” she murmurs, and Carson responds in kind. At the top of the stairs is Greta, and Maybelle does her best impression of someone who doesn’t know that Greta’s watching Carson go. “See you tomorrow, sweets.”
Greta’s eyes barely leave Carson as she nods. “Sleep well.”
Yeah, Maybelle thinks to herself, flopping down on her bed. They need to get better at that.
It’s hard to be mad about being woken up at midnight when the house smells as delightful as it does. Maybelle’s stomach is rumbling, peeling off her sleep mask as she stands. Jo is still asleep, snoring quietly as she tiptoes past her, shutting the door as silently as possible.
From the landing she can see the kitchen light is on, the door slightly ajar, and she wanders down the stairs to find the source of what she thinks is a mix of vanilla and almond. She knows that Terri bakes from time to time, having produced boxes of cinnamon muffins as a half-time snack several times over the weeks, but Terri is also out like a light by half past ten every night. Maybelle gets to the bottom of the stairs, padding along the hallway to the kitchen and stopping just outside as she hears voices inside.
“I swear they’re done. They’ve gotta be done by now–”
“It’s been six minutes, honey. Relax.”
Maybelle hesitates, lingering around the corner, the familiar voices of Carson and Greta filling the space. “Maybe I should check if they’re–”
“Nope,” Greta responds, and Maybelle hears shuffling, followed by a quiet giggle from Carson.
“Trying to distract me?”
“Depends. Is it working?”
“It always works,” Carson murmurs, and Greta chuckles lowly, the sound followed with a kiss. Maybelle can only assume they haven’t heard her, knows there’s no way she can walk into the kitchen now without giving one or both of them a heart attack. She hovers in the hallway for a few minutes, leaning against the wall as she decides whether a couple of cookies are worth the possibility of killing Carson off entirely.
There’s relative quiet in the kitchen, the two women evidently too wrapped up in each other to care about the rest of the world, and Maybelle decides to wait out the timer. She’d rather it was her walking in than anybody else, sensing that that particular thought is going to become a recurring theme; there’s only silence coming from upstairs, but anyone could wake up after she’s gone back to bed. After what begins to feel like a lifetime of indecision a timer goes off from the kitchen, and Maybelle grins at Greta gently teasing Carson over how much it had clearly made her jump.
“You’re fine with baseballs flying directly at you, but an oven timer is a step too far?”
“Hey. I can see the baseballs coming. And I’ve got armor on.”
“Idiot.” Another kiss. “Get the oven gloves?”
Maybelle is about to choose that moment to enter, turning the corner, when she catches sight of the two of them through the crack in the door. Greta is carefully placing a tray of freshly-baked cookies on the side, Carson closing the oven door before sliding over behind her, wrapping her arms around Greta’s waist and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “They smell great,” she says, and Greta turns her head just enough to lean her cheek against Carson’s head.
“We’re a good team.”
“Sure are.”
Greta turns in Carson’s arms, and Maybelle sees her brush some of Carson’s hair behind her ear before she darts back out of sight of the door. She’s about to make her way back upstairs when she steps on a particularly creaky floorboard, wincing as she hears footsteps of one of the pair jumping back. Thinking quickly, she turns back to the kitchen, sauntering through the door as if she hasn’t been standing there for twenty minutes now. “Thought something smelled good,” she says, as casually as she can.
“Yeah, uh. I couldn’t sleep, and Greta, uh–”
“I had a date,” Greta steps in. “Got back late, thought I’d help. Want one?”
Maybelle nods, deciding not to mention the fact that they’re both in their pyjamas, Greta evidently not having been out any time recently. She accepts a cookie, taking a bite and humming appreciatively. “Damn, Shaw. Didn’t know you were a baker.”
“Greta helped. A lot.” Carson grins, taking one for herself. “I can make a good pie, but that’s about it.”
“Skill’s a skill,” Maybelle replies, and Carson shrugs, still smiling. “Credit to both of you. Just the pick-me-up I needed.” She finishes her cookie, reaching for a second with a wink and wrapping it up in a bit of kitchen roll to take upstairs with her. “You two want a hand cleaning up?”
Greta shakes her head before Carson gets a chance, already making a beeline for the sink. “You’re good. It’s our mess. Plus, gotta stop this one stealing them all before I get a chance to try ‘em.”
Carson bats at her with the oven gloves, and Maybelle nods, not wanting to overstay her welcome. “Don’t stay up too late,” she warns. “Long day of training tomorrow.”
“We won’t. Night.”
“G’night, Coach.”
She closes the door softly behind her, making it as far as the second step before hearing the gentle murmur of a conversation starting up again, smiling to herself as she makes her way back to bed.
Piling into a co-opted minivan at seven in the evening is one of their more spur-of-the-moment choices as a team, especially with three hip-flasks being circulated around the passengers and a thankfully-sober Jess at the wheel, but as they pull onto the highway towards Zion - and, more specifically, Illinois Beach and Nature Reserve, their destination for the evening - Maybelle realises that it’s exactly the kind of spontaneity they all need over the long Labor Day weekend, breaking the cabin fever that’s settled over the last couple of days.
The party is made up of herself, Jess, Lupe, Jo, Greta, Carson, and Esti, who Maybelle is particularly glad to see was invited. She’s got a soft spot for her, and despite the language barrier they’ve managed to strike up an unconventional friendship, mainly communicating through an enjoyment of artworks and Maybelle’s pocket-size Spanish dictionary. “Está una noche buena,” she offers, her accent still appalling, but Esti grins, enthusiastic as always.
“Una buena noche,” she corrects her, and Maybelle repeats it with a smile. Lupe turns from where she’s sat in front of them, nodding.
“Getting better, Fox.”
“Got a good teacher.”
Lupe translates the exchange for Esti, who seems genuinely touched, beaming up at Maybelle with sparkling eyes. “Cuándo llegaremos al lago?”
“Hey, Jess?” Lupe calls to the front, getting a shouted what? back.
“When we getting there?”
“Another half hour.”
Lupe translates to Esti as Maybelle shifts over, taking the seat next to Jo, who is somehow already fast asleep. Carson and Greta have taken the seats behind them, voices low as they talk, and Maybelle spends the rest of the journey staring out of the window, watching the Chicago suburbs go by as they finally approach Lake Michigan.
It’s a glorious evening, September sun shining across the water as the six of them pile out. Jess is already lamenting being the designated driver to Lupe as they walk, muttering something about how she could use a drink before stripping off, and Maybelle takes up stride with Esti again. It’s been years since she last went swimming, having lived in landlocked states most of her adult life. Lake Michigan is huge, far more boundless than she’d imagined, and Esti races her to the strip of sand, laughing as Maybelle tries to catch her.
Jo is the first to get in the water, stripping down to her bathing suit and leaping in, splashing up around her. Greta follows, then Esti, and Maybelle grins at Carson, nodding towards the lake. “Been swimming before?”
Carson shakes her head, and Maybelle thinks for a moment she’s staring nervously at the water, before realising that Greta is directly in her line of sight, droplets of water scattered across her thighs as her hair gleams in the sun. It’s with the greatest of affection that she has to suppress an eye-roll, reaching for Carson’s hand and pulling her towards the lake. “You’ll love it. C’mon, let’s catch up to ‘em.”
Carson shrieks as the water hits her stomach, and Greta spins on her heel, laughing as she makes her way over. “Hey, Shaw, thought we’d never get you in.”
Maybelle’s getting thoroughly used to feeling like a third wheel around the two of them, more amused than she ever is irritated, and today is no exception as Greta’s eyes roam hungrily over Carson. “Yeah, uh. Needed a bit of encouragement.”
Maybelle clears her throat. “Well, I’m off for a proper swim. See you in a bit.”
They both nod, and Maybelle makes her way over to Esti, who is cheerfully swimming in circles, diving under the water every few minutes. Maybelle is much more content to tread water, looking at the views across the lake; it’s surprisingly quiet in their area, and she takes a moment to watch her teammates. Jess and Lupe are smoking together back on the beach, looking out over the sunset. Esti seems to be trying to challenge Jo to a swimming race, and Carson and Greta are, as Maybelle expected, completely wrapped up in each other, over in a deeper part of the lake. Maybelle’s pretty certain they’re holding hands under the water, though the waves gently lapping at Carson’s shoulders make it hard to tell.
Their height difference is exaggerated by the fact that Greta is clearly bending her knees to be closer to Carson’s level, which makes Maybelle smile to herself. She doesn’t know how long precisely it’s been going on, but they seem every bit as infatuated with each other all these months later as they were that day in the locker room, and Maybelle’s unreservedly thrilled about it. Greta leans in, says something to Carson, who laughs and splashes her; Greta splashes her back before immediately swimming away, Carson hot on her heels as she tries to splash her again, and Maybelle makes it all of ten seconds before she’s caught as collateral in their water-war.
She shrieks delightedly as she dashes an arc of water back in Greta’s direction, swiftly diving in the other direction to avoid the payback. Esti joins in, easily the strongest swimmer of them all as she uses her feet to kick a wave over Carson, diving under the water and reappearing several meters away as she laughs loudly. Jess and Lupe are cheering from the side, and the look between Greta and Carson doesn’t go unnoticed by Maybelle. Carson splashes Greta again, and the air between them is filled with so much affection that Maybelle has to avert her gaze, spinning in the water to chase after Jo as the sun sinks lower in the sky.
The final hit comes in a game against the Blue Sox, in the leadup to playoffs. Greta takes a nasty fall, her ankle rolling as she rounds third base and half the skin on her thigh getting left behind as she skids across the ground, yelping in pain. Maybelle winces at the sight - it looks bad, even from a distance. Carson’s next to her in the dugout as Greta falls, up on her feet the second she goes down, running over to her as the game pauses. “Holy shit,” Maybelle hears Carson say, following her to where Greta is still on the floor, clutching at her leg in pain.
There’s a lot of blood, more than Maybelle’s seen in any of their injuries so far. “Shit,” Jo breathes next to her, and when they reach Greta there’s tears in her eyes, looking at Carson, who beat them all there, on her knees in the sand as she examines Greta’s ankle. “God, Greta, you okay?”
Greta nods, but she’s evidently in pain, wincing every time Carson touches her ankle. “Motherfucker,” is her only verbal response as Carson presses on a particularly sore spot.
“I think she’s sprained it.”
A groan goes up from the Peaches - a sprain means she’s out for a couple of weeks, maybe longer if it doesn’t heal right. Carson diverts her attention to the deep, gritty scrapes on Greta’s thigh, blood soaking rapidly through the skirt of her uniform. Maybelle looks down, sees Carson’s hands are shaking, and gently touches her shoulder. “Go get some isopropyl and bandages,” she tells her, soft, but firm. “Jo and I will get her back to the benches, and we can get her patched up together. Okay?”
Carson nods, a little dumbstruck. A look passes between her and Greta, one that Maybelle can’t quite decipher, and Carson sprints off to get the requested supplies as Maybelle and Jo get Greta on her feet. “C’mon, Bird,” Jo murmurs. “Can’t let a shitty ankle be the end of you.”
Greta chuckles, sniffing. It takes a few minutes to get her to the bench, Greta hopping between them. “Shame you’re the tallest,” Maybelle quips. “Could’ve carried you back, fireman-style.”
Carson’s frantic by the time they get Greta to the dugout, darting around and shifting her weight from foot to foot. Maybelle takes the isopropyl and bandages off of her, trying to give Carson a reassuring glance before crouching next to Greta. “This is gonna hurt, sweetie. Might wanna hold on to Carson, there.”
It’s partly an excuse to help them out, partly a genuine suggestion - Greta’s cuts are deep, and she knows this is gonna be painful. Greta hesitates for just a second before reaching out, Carson cradling Greta’s hand in her own, rubbing her thumb soothingly over the back of it. Maybelle can’t tell who has the tighter grip between the two of them - Carson’s knuckles have already gone white, and Greta’s clenching her teeth. “Ready?”
She cleans Greta’s wounds as best she can, Greta yelping again and muttering a stream of curses above her at the sharp sting, holding Carson’s hand to her chest as tears fill her eyes again. “Nearly there,” Maybelle tells her soothingly, pressing gauze down over the cuts and gesturing to Carson. “Can you lift her leg, so I can get the bandages around it?”
The sudden redness on Carson’s cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed, but she nods, sliding her free hand around Greta’s calf and gently lifting it up. Maybelle works quickly and efficiently - years of patching up her own kids have left her with deft hands - and she catches Carson gently squeeze Greta’s leg out of the corner of her eye. “Right. Now that’s sorted, we need ice for that ankle, and lots of it.”
Jo volunteers to get it, and Carson moves to sit next to Greta on the bench, letting go of her hand but shuffling in close. Maybelle is keenly aware they’d rather sort it by themselves, but with a stadium full of people watching, she knows there’s no point in giving them any privacy. They’ll have plenty of that later; Greta certainly won’t be going anywhere for a few days. “Nearly done, Gill,” she says gently, and Greta nods. Maybelle’s pretty sure she sees Carson’s hand sneak around to rub Greta’s back softly, averting her eyes as she focusses on the sprain in front of her. Greta’s ankle is double its normal size, bruising already showing up as the blood rushes to it, and Maybelle nods grimly. “Two weeks minimum for that. Depends how much you can stand to rest it.”
Greta closes her eyes, wincing. “You sure it’s not just twisted?”
“It’s the size of my head, sweets. You’re out for a bit.”
Carson’s biting her lip, eyes never leaving Greta; Maybelle can feel her panic as if it were her own. She likens it to the feeling when one of her kids gets into trouble - she knows the agitation Carson is feeling all too well, trying to figure out how else to throw her a bone. Jess appears before she can think of anything, kneeling down next to them. “Hey, Coach. Want me to trade rooms? Part of the job, nursing us all back to health, y’know.” It’s a flimsy excuse, but just as Carson hesitates Maybelle pipes up.
“Makes sense. You know how Shirley is if she doesn’t sleep, if you’re up worrying about the team all night she’s gonna pick up on it.” She nods at Greta. “Plus, this one needs a firm hand to stop her up and about before it’s healed. You’ve got the authority.”
Jo seems a little more wary, staying silent as she raises an eyebrow at Greta. Carson nods, slowly, looking at Greta, then back up at Jess. “If you’re sure. Yeah. Yeah, makes sense.” Maybelle is positive she sees the quickest quirk upwards of Greta’s lips, suppressed as soon as it arrives.
“Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Jess.”
After the game Maybelle gives Carson a hand with getting Greta upstairs, relieved that Greta’s room is close to the staircase. They stock up on bandages and isopropyl, and Jo gets a bottle of aspirin from her room, Esti runs upstairs with two glasses of water, and it’s heartwarming to see them all swarming around their teammate; Ana brings her fluffiest socks, Lupe makes her a herbal tea, Terri fetches a couple of books to help Greta pass the time. Maybelle catches sight of Carson shuffling awkwardly in the corner of the room, feels a wave of sympathy hit her - Carson must desperately want to be alone with Greta, and she can see how the support could feel overwhelming. “Right, let’s give the girl some space. We’ll be downstairs if y’all need anything.”
It’s her best mother-hen voice, and the team follows suit, Maybelle nodding to Carson as she closes the door behind her. She follows the others downstairs, stopping halfway and realising her cap is still in Greta’s room, turning on her heel and darting back upstairs. It’s only as she’s already opened the door that she realises her mistake, that she should have knocked, instead walking in on Carson and Greta mid-kiss, the two of them springing apart as if they’ve been burned. “Sorry, sorry, just left my cap behind–”
“It’s not what it–”
“Carson was just–”
Maybelle shushes them both. “Hey. You’re fine. Just came back to get my hat.” She picks it up, nodding at the two of them, seeing the fear in their eyes as they stare at her. She gives them a lopsided smile, going to shut the door before sitting on the end of Greta’s bed. “I’m not gonna say anything. Kept you two a secret for months, I’m not gonna break that now.”
Greta is silent as Carson splutters. “You knew? This whole time?”
“Most of it.”
“Have you told–”
“Not a soul.” Maybelle meets Greta’s eye, who looks as if her whole world is ending. “Hey, Gill. Breathe. Just ‘cause I stick to men doesn’t mean I haven’t wandered down the other path myself.”
There’s a pause as Greta balks at the revelation, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Does anyone else know?”
Maybelle nods her head. “Just Jess, but she didn’t hear from me. Promise.” Greta doesn’t seem surprised by the revelation, and Maybelle wonders if Jess has finally confessed her own leanings. Carson suddenly steps in, frowning.
“Is this why she switched with me?”
Maybelle smiles at her, raising an eyebrow. “Might be. We walked in on you asleep together, ages ago now. Kinda kept an eye on you since then.”
The pair seem oddly touched by the gesture, Carson returning to sit beside Greta from the side of the room she’d leaped away to. “When you say you wandered–”
“There was a girl back home. Years ago, back when I was almost Esti’s age. We had fun, fooled around. She moved away, and that was that. I like men, too, probably more. But I think about her, sometimes.” Maybelle pauses, looks back at the two of them. “Anyway. Times gone by. But point is, you two are cute. And if you ever need a lookout–”
Greta chuckles, fear starting to gently ease as Carson strokes up and down her back, softly. “I’ll leave you kids to it,” Maybelle continues, about to stand when Greta takes her hand.
“Thank you.”
Maybelle grins at her. “Don’t mention it.” She stops just before getting to the door, as Carson swings her legs up to lie with Greta, both of them still nervously looking at Maybelle as if she’s going to suddenly retract her statement. Instead, she just smiles, nodding at the two of them. “Best take care of your girl, Coach. We’ve got more games to win.”
Carson returns the nod, Greta settling against her, hissing as she jolts her ankle. Carson’s all over her immediately, easing her down, and Maybelle slips out of the room with a warm feeling in her chest. Jess is waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, beers in hand, offers one up as Maybelle joins her. “Lovebirds doing okay?”
Maybelle grins, clinking their bottles together. “They’re gonna be just fine.”
And when Maybelle joins them at Vi’s one evening down the line, when she dances with Jess in the underground bar, laughs and drinks and even beats Jo at darts, that sense of belonging she’d felt right from the start only intensifies further. She leads Jess into a gentle waltz, both of them laughing as Jess bows deeply to her, and she catches Carson’s eye across the room, smiling at her. Greta’s eyes are closed as she and Carson sway together, not a centimetre of space between them, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Jess squeezes her hand, catches her attention again. “Happy you caught them?”
Maybelle just grins, presses a kiss to Jess’ cheek. “Yeah. Couldn’t be happier.”