 
Ravaged

Souls

By D.L. Bragdon

This story is copyright 2016 by DLBragdon. All rights reserved.

Smashwords edition

Caution: This is a work of fiction containing material that may be objectionable and/or offensive to some; including, but not limited to, graphic language and adult themes. It is intended for adult readers only. Names, characters, and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue

Act I - The Simple Kind

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Act II - An Instant of Eternity

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Act III - On the Edge of Ugly

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Prologue

July 16, 1993

Janet

How did it come to this? I got played for a fool. There's no candy coating it. I was played and I fell right into it. Damn it, I thought I was smarter than that!

An angry frown darkened Janet Brookes' face as the bitter thoughts ran through her mind. She sat at a small kitchen table, silently sipping from a pink pastel colored coffee mug with the words 'World's Greatest Mom' emblazoned across its front in whimsical, white cursive lettering. The mug was a gift she received from the youngest of her two children on her last birthday. The yellow terry cloth robe she wore had been given to her by her oldest on the same occasion.

The overhead lights were off, the room's only source of illumination came from a lamp left burning in the adjacent living room. Janet's straight, black hair, normally worn down with its tips resting lightly on the shoulder, had been swept up and set into an impromptu ponytail. To a casual observer she might have the appearance of a woman settling down for the night, relaxing at the end of a long day. It had been a long day for her, but that day was not yet over and she was far from relaxed.

She was not in the habit of drinking coffee this late in the evening. The caffeine tended to make her 'twitchy' as her own mother would say, making it difficult to sleep. She doubted that it would make much of a difference tonight though.

It's not the caffeine that's got me on edge tonight. I wish it were. If only it was that simple.

She was not in the habit of smoking either, not for quite some time at least. She had gotten along quite well without that particular habit for seven years. Now however, there was a half-empty pack of Marlboro Lights resting near the center of the table, next to them lay a bright red, Bic lighter. It would be easily apparent to any veteran smoker that the lighter had been a recent purchase, as the warning sticker on its side remained pristine as yet. In the coming days it would slowly be eaten away by the countless rubbings it would receive from nervous fingers running over it endlessly. The ashes from the already consumed portion of the pack lay at the bottom of the right sink, flicked there haphazardly in lieu of an ashtray.

Janet was no longer a young woman, at least by her own standards, though she expected that a few of her regulars down at the Shop N' Save might have cause to disagree. She would be observing her 42nd birthday next month, and while there were many that might enviously call that 'young', she was not among them.

Still, all in all, she believed herself to be in fairly good shape for a woman of her age. A good part of that, she had to admit, was just pure dumb luck on her part. She was one of those fortunate few blessed with 'good genes', another one of her mother's sayings. She was not short, she was petite; meaning that along with her diminutive stature, Janet had been blessed with a naturally slim and athletic build which she diligently maintained with regular light exercise. The daily walk, a round trip circuit of approximately three miles, was a habit she had adopted at roughly the same time she had abandoned the far less healthy smoking habit.

Her brown eyes were slightly elongated, a subtle tell-tale characteristic trait of her Asian heritage. She knew that it was commonly whispered among the town's gossips that her mother had been of oriental descent, likely a woman left behind by a returning serviceman. The truth was rather the reverse. Janet's more exotic features were an inheritance from her father, it was his only legacy to her, one small, yet enduring, reminder of his existence. Janet had never known her biological father, a fact which had never really concerned her overmuch. Her mother had been the source of enough frustration while growing up, she had hardly felt the need for a second parent to watch over her.

Vivien, Janet's mother, had been raised in a small town some fifty-odd miles away, and in all likelihood would probably die there within a matter of blocks of where she had been born. In that respect her mother was very much like many other women of her generation living in the rural Florida panhandle. Yet even Vivien had been young once, and it was during this time that she had spent several years in South Korea as a nurse. Janet, her only child, was born soon after her mother's return to the states.

Janet took another sip from her cup, frowning at the liquid's tepid temperature. She stood, turned slightly to take the coffee pot from its perch on the warmer, and refilled her cup before returning the pot to its previous position. Seated once more, she watched as fresh steam rose lazily from the mug before her. She suddenly recalled a favorite saying that Travis had repeated often, "The two things I hate most are cold coffee and warm beer."

Travis had undoubtedly been the love of her life, but he had left her over ten years ago. Then he had died two years after that, dashing any lingering hopes she may have harbored for reconciliation. Still she found that the smallest of things would bring her thoughts back to him. Perhaps, as Janet rather suspected, they always would.

Some people are easy to let go, but with some it's impossible. The bitch of it is, we never get a choice on which is which.

Even though they had been separated at the time of his death, with the paperwork of divorce slowly working its way through the court system, the love between them had never dimmed. Love however, contrary to the old Beatles song, was not always enough. There are times when people that deeply love each other, for whatever reasons, simply cannot not make the pieces fit no matter how hard they may try. That had been a hard lesson for Janet to learn, but the pain of their separation was only the beginning as it turned out.

News of the traffic accident that took his life would begin an almost year-long bout of depression for her. In time it would be love of another sort that eventually brought her back from the blackness that her life had become. She had two young children to attend to; Tommy, the oldest at nine, and Jennifer, age seven. With the help of friends and family Janet slowly stitched her life back together. She dropped the cigarettes, took up the daily walk, and resumed her life as best she could. It had not been so much for her own sake as it was her childrens'.

It would be another four years after that before she was ready to take another chance with her heart. This time it would take the form of John Foster, a man who, oddly enough, was completely different from Travis in almost every measurable sense. This was a fact for which she had been grateful initially. They dated for six months before he asked her to marry him, but she was not ready for marriage yet and told him as much. Instead, she made a counter-offer, inviting him to move in with her without the obligations that a wedding ring would entail for either of them. The gossips would call it 'shacking-up', but Janet cared less about the good opinions of the local rumor mongers than she had about her father's whereabouts.

That was almost three years ago. Seems like forever now. Thank God, I said no. I finally got one thing right at least.

Janet found herself staring blankly at the pack of cigarettes. How long ago had she smoked the last one? Fifteen minutes ago, maybe. She could not remember. For all the years she had gone as a non-smoker the compulsion she felt now seemed as powerful as ever, reawakened in full by their mere presence in the room. It was a mistake to buy them again after all this time. She knew this to be true, but she no longer cared, not with her knowing what was in front of her tonight. Janet's hands trembled ever so slightly as she reached out and took another cigarette from the dwindling pack.

"Screw it!" she said to the empty room as she lit the cigarette, the harsh sound of her own voice surprising her with its bitter tone. She had hoped that the hours she spent waiting might help to calm her anger somewhat. That had been a futile wish however. If anything her inner fury was only growing with each passing tick of the clock.

Janet glanced at the digital clock built into the oven that sat opposite of her along the far wall of the kitchen; 11:02.

He's late again, not that it's any huge surprise. If he had been back early, or even 'on-time', now that would be surprising. I have to wonder now, of all those times he's come home late, how often was it from the same place? How often did I go to bed alone so that he could stretch out every last moment with her?

As though on cue, she heard the soft click of a key being inserted into the front door, followed by a muffled creaking as the door slowly opened and then was closed. Janet silently laughed to herself. For ears attuned to silence for hours on end, as hers now were, the sounds he made as he slowly navigated through the living room marked his progress as surely as would have a full-throated battle cry.

He thinks I'm stupid. He thinks he can just slip in unnoticed and everything will be just hunky-dory. Well, why wouldn't he? Why would tonight be any different?

"It's after eleven."

Janet intended the words to come out low and even tempered, but her voice seemed to resonate in the darkened room with a tone of menace vaguely reminiscent of a low rumble of thunder carried on the air from a distant storm. The creeping figure froze instantly in an almost comical fashion. With a quick flick of her wrist Janet flipped the light switch, flooding the kitchen with light.

John stood just beyond the doorway connecting the kitchen to the hallway. As usual he was dressed simply, sporting a white t-shirt with a small Harley-Davidson logo covering the left breast pocket and an old pair of weather-beaten blue jeans. He was a tall man, standing at just over 6'4". His lanky frame further accentuated this height, giving him the semblance of a scarecrow.

John tended to wear his hair longer than most men in a manner that could almost, though not quite, be labeled as hippie-esque. When Janet had first met him she had regarded it as one among several of his most endearing traits. In the kitchen's harsh lighting she now saw it for what it was; a pathetic attempt to desperately hold on to a youthful past that had slipped his grasp long ago. Janet noted the rapid thinning at the crown of his head with uncharitable satisfaction.

He was five years older than Janet, but in the bright glare of the kitchen lights it looked more like a difference of ten. His face was criss-crossed with a series of fine lines that made aging with grace impossible for him. What his face currently showed most starkly was surprise. It was but a momentary effect though. Already his mouth was curving into a familiar smile. She had to admit that when he cared to make the effort, he had a way about him that could charm a rattlesnake.

"Hey baby, you're up. And here I was trying to slip in all quiet like so I wouldn't wake you. Guess you got the jump on me tonight."

His voice was warm and entreating, as was typical of many Southern men. His drawl sounded as sweet to the ear as a dollop of ice cream would to the tongue. He was a man as experienced at placating the mercurial moods of the female sex as anyone, perhaps more so than most could boast. How many times had he deflected her anger with just such a smile and his honeyed words? She had never bothered to keep track of such things but it was many times, of that she was quite sure. She was equally assured that tonight would not be one of those times.

"Sit down John. There's a pot of coffee on if you want some." She leaned forward slightly and sniffed the air. As she expected she caught the faint whiff of alcohol coming from his direction mixed in with an even fainter scent she could not quite identify. She did not think he was drunk, at least not by legal standards, but she expected he was not far from it. "Smells to me like you could use a cup."

"Nah, that's ok baby. Been a long day. Think I'm just gonna hop into the shower real quick like and call it a night."

"I said sit down John. We need to talk."

Janet's voice barely rose above a whisper as she spoke, but the effect could hardly have been greater if she had screamed it at him. As any child could tell you, there was a certain tone of voice acquired early by every mother throughout the ages, at once both learned and instinctive, guaranteed to get the attention of the misbehaving. If ever there was an occasion to use it with John, this was it.

John did as he was told. He grabbed a nearby chair, gave it a quick twirl, and plopped down on it backwards, his hands dangling over the chair back. The smile was still there, but a new wariness had crept into his eyes.

"Your boss called today. He wanted to check in on you. Make sure you were doing ok. You know, on account of you being out sick and all."

John's smile slipped a bit. Janet could see it dawning on him that the dice had been rolled once too often and now it was finally catching up to him. He never bothered to try to explain her statement away, instead he just sat there, waiting and listening.

"Of course I told him you were just under the weather for awhile and you'd be back to work as soon as could be." There was a hard quality to her voice hinting at the anger beneath. "Funny thing though John. It sparked my own curiosity. I mean, if you weren't at work, and you weren't here..." She let the implied question trail off into empty space, daring him to try to answer it. Long seconds of silence followed. John made no effort to indicate what he might be thinking.

I'm tired of this game playing, time to end it.

"Where were you?"

John said nothing.

He's trying to figure out how much I already know, and whether it's worth his time to try to lie his way out.

Apparently it was. The smile, that had all but disappeared earlier, came back wider than ever. "Now baby..."

"Don't 'baby' me, you fucking bastard!" She hissed, her self-control in danger of giving way completely.

"I was just out with..."

"Don't lie to me!" She warned, her voice just short of a shout.

John cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. "Keep it down. The kids will hear you."

"Don't you worry about them. Worry about yourself right now!"

Yet despite her words and the venomous gaze which accompanied them, she had indeed lowered her voice a notch. Janet leaned back in her chair, taking a moment to recompose herself. "Tommy's gone for the night, he drove off to Panama with some of his friends. I don't expect he'll be back till late."

Isabella was a small town whose population of approximately 3,000 included a good number of older retirees. It was common for any local teenagers that possessed the means to travel the thirty five miles to Panama City every chance they got. On summer weekends, such as this one, the city who's unofficial title was the 'Redneck Riviera' presented an irresistible lure to the local youth. Tommy was hardly the 'party-hard' type of kid, a fact for which she was grateful, but if he was with his friends there then she was most likely correct. Tommy would not be back for quite awhile yet.

John and Tommy, who was increasingly focused on establishing his independence, had never gotten along very well from the start. It was just one of those things understood by everyone and talked about by nobody. John was the classic, stereotypical, southern redneck; quick with a laugh and eager to have a good time whenever, wherever, and at whatever cost. Tommy was his opposite; quiet, reflective, almost painfully shy. Janet knew that John had tried his best to make friends at first, but to no avail. They were simply far too different to find anything resembling common ground between them. In the end both had settled for a sort of detente, giving each other ample space.

"As for Jenny," Janet looked down at her own hands, suddenly realizing that the cigarette she had lit earlier had burned itself out. She absentmindedly dropped the butt into her coffee mug before continuing on, "She had one of those nightmares about Travis again. I gave her some Nyquil to help her get back to sleep. I figure she'll be dead-to-the-world till sunup."

It was only then that John appeared to take notice of the cigarettes. His eyes tracked the spent butt as it slowly swirled along the inside rim of her cup. Its motion had a near hypnotizing effect on him.

"You didn't answer me. Where were you this evening?"

John paused a bit longer, likely formulating a new and improved lie. Before he could answer Janet's right hand reached into a side pocket of her robe. She quickly fished out a Polaroid picture and contemptuously slammed it down onto the kitchen table. "Here, 'baby'," she sneered. "I'll save you the trouble."

At first glance the picture would seem innocuous enough. The photo showed an average looking pickup truck parked side-by-side with an equally average appearing car. What would make this particular photo hard for him to ignore was that it was John's truck, and the car belonged to a young woman by the name of Sharon Hayes. All this could be confirmed easily enough because Janet had carefully seen to it that the license plates of both vehicles were visible. She had no doubt that the numbers would be easily readable with a simple magnifying glass. Worst of all from his perspective, was where the picture had been taken; the parking lot of the Seaside Inn. The motel was located about thirty miles east, just across the county line. John had surely thought himself safe there from the prying eyes and loose tongues of Isabella's gossip mill. Now Janet was proving to him just how wrong he had been.

She watched his reaction with a degree of angry satisfaction. The game playing was at an end and they both knew it. He was well and truly caught this time. She had suspected his cheating on her for weeks now, but suspicion was not proof. So she had waited patiently, knowing that eventually he would grow careless, and so he had.

"I want you out, tonight."

John seemed not to hear her. The photo which he held before him now appeared to command his full attention.

"You grab what you can carry for now. After you find a new place to stay call me. We'll arrange a time for you to come collect the rest of your stuff."

John just sat there, showing no apparent reaction. He began turning the Polaroid end-over-end in his hands. He no longer even seemed to see it, his gaze focused on the tabletop surface.

"Are you listening to me? I said I want you to leave. Now!"

"No."

"What?!" Janet was sure she had heard him incorrectly.

"I said no." John lifted his head and looked directly at Janet for the first time since the photo had been revealed. There was no sweetness to his drawl now, no warmth in his eyes, and no smile. "Not until I've had my say. You wanted to talk? Ok. You've had your say and now it's my turn."

Janet was flabbergasted. What could he possibly say to this? She angrily stabbed the Polaroid with her finger. "Your say? You had your say! It's right here!"

He ignored her outburst and continued on, his voice low, yet filled with an undercurrent that hinted of a cold rage equal to her own white-hot fury. "You made me go to her. You practically forced me."

"What the...?"

John did not wait for her to continue, "When was the last time we had sex? You'll have to tell me because I'll be damned if I can remember that far back. It had to be before New Year's though, that much at least I know."

"I..." She stammered in frustration, unable to recall the last time either now that the subject had been broached.

Has it really been that long?

"Look Janet, I know full well what you think of me. You've made that pretty clear. I've tried my very best to make you happy, but I suppose that's just not good enough for you."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie came out smoothly enough, but it was a lie nonetheless. Her heart felt weighed down by a ton of stone at its utterance.

"I'm sorry I'm not Travis. I'm sorry that the one you really want can't be here for you, but he's dead. Yes, I've said it. He's dead. Isn't it about high time you accepted that? Because sitting here in the dark wishing otherwise isn't going to change a fucking thing, so I suggest you open your eyes and begin to appreciate what you do have."

"Get out John." Janet hissed the words out at him.

John leaned forward over the table. "I'll leave when I'm finished, not before. I've still got a lot to say, stuff that I've kept under my hat for a very long time. Tonight it's your turn to do a little listening."

Janet wanted to shout back at him. She wanted to scream obscenities at him. She wanted to run away from the room. She wanted to claw at his eyes. She did none of those things, instead she sat back in her chair and steeled herself for whatever he had to say next.

"You know, it doesn't always have to be love. Sometimes sex can just be sex. It's ok to do it just because it feels good. There doesn't have to be anything more to it than that."

"That's your excuse? She's just a fuck buddy, so that makes everything alright?"

Janet could see his jaw clench in response to her retort. For an instant she was positive he was about to leap across the table at her, but any fear she may have had only served to intensify her own anger.

"I was talking about you, not her. She's not the one keeping herself as frigid as a fucking iceberg."

"Oh, I think that's been fully established already. You're not the only man in this town that's enjoyed her company of late, or did you think differently? Little miss Hayes is quite the eager slut from what I hear, or has she gone pro now? Tell me John, did you have to pay her to screw you?"

Surprisingly he leaned backward on his chair, smiling back at her arrogantly. "Damn baby, if I'd known just how pissed it'd get you I would've fucked her a long time back. Truth be told, I was half afraid you wouldn't give a damn. You sure never acted like it."

"I want you out, right fucking now! Leave, or I'm calling the sheriff."

"Go ahead. Call him. I'm not afraid of him."

John stood and took a step backward, opening a path for her to reach the living room where the phone awaited.

She looked at him intently for a moment before coming to a decision. Wordlessly she rose and started for the doorway. As she passed him he reached out and grasped her left arm, not hard, but firmly.

"Baby wait."

It was precisely the wrong thing to do and say, at precisely the wrong time. She put all the power that her small frame could muster into her right hand as she slapped him hard across the face. John staggered back and fell to one knee, dazed by the unexpected attack. A loud cracking sound filled the room, the sound of wood suddenly stressed beyond the breaking point and shattering.

Janet had not thought through her reaction, or what the consequences might be. Now that it was done she instantly realized her mistake. Though briefly stunned, John now blocked her path, rising to his feet before the kitchen's only exit.

Still reacting on pure instinct, she dashed back into the kitchen and threw open a drawer. She frantically searched within for something to use as a weapon. Her hand wrapped around the handle of a steak knife and she raised it before her as she whirled around to face him. John had recovered faster than she expected though. Before she could complete her turn his fist swung out at her. He had clearly meant to aim it dead center at her face, but he mistimed the swing slightly, landing only a glancing blow to her left temple.

Accurate or not, the strike was more than enough to send her flying backwards, her head bouncing hard off the oven door. She lost consciousness as her body slumped, coming to rest in an unceremonious sprawl on the kitchen floor. The attack came so quickly that she never had a chance to feel the pain. That would come later.

Act I

The Simple Kind
Chapter 1

March 4, 2004

Tom

"Earth to Major Tom, come in please."

"What?"

"You zoned out on me again." Beverly Dyer had an uncharacteristically concerned look on her face as she regarded Tom.

Tom Brookes leaned back in his chair, a sheepish half smile on his face. His mind had been wandering, as it frequently did, on a path to nowhere. It took a moment's effort to refocus his attention to the present.

The day was bright and sunny. The sky had that brilliant shade of blue that seemed uniquely reserved for cool, clear early spring days. The sun's unimpeded rays striking him from directly above made the day feel warmer than it's actual temperature, which at the moment hovered somewhere near the low 70's. The forecast called for a high chance of thunderstorms over the next couple of days, followed by cooler temperatures by week's end. There had even been some mention of a possible overnight freeze warning, an unusual occurrence for the area in March, though not entirely unheard of. While there might be many eager to grumble about this approaching cold front, Tom was not one of them. He knew that once the summer season had begun in earnest, the days would be marked by oppressive, humidity-laden heat.

The two lunch companions sat at an open air lunch table outside of Billy's Burger Barn, better known around town as simply 'the Barn'. The name was deceptive, the building itself looked absolutely nothing like a barn at all. It was nothing more than a totally unremarkable appearing, locally owned burger joint. The food here was equally unremarkable, except perhaps in price. Due to its location, situated at the side of the town's only major highway and within easy walking distance of what passed for a downtown in Isabella, the Barn was fortunate enough to grab the lion's share of the tourist traffic passing through. Naturally this gave the owner, Billy Melcher, ample incentive to charge significantly more than most locals would be willing to pay. For that reason alone, Tom rarely ate here. With his finances a $6 hamburger was a luxury best avoided whenever possible.

It was Beverly that had called and suggested their meeting here today. It was easy to understand why she had chosen this place to meet. The location she picked made good sense if looked at from her point of view. The Florida First bank where she worked was just around the corner, less than a five minute walk away. What was less clear to Tom was just why she had called in the first place.

The pair made a rather unusual couple, or at least Tom had always thought so in the past, now they could hardly be a called a couple at all, unusual or otherwise. Both were approximately the same age, in their late twenties, with Tom being the older by only a year. Any similarities began and ended there however.

Tom generally regarded his own appearance to be quite mundane. He was of average height and weight. And though he didn't consider himself to be particularly unattractive; his facial features, along with his conservatively styled, brownish-blond hair, and brown eyes could be found on almost any guy in town. He was just the sort of fellow that would easily blend into any crowd unnoticed and unremembered by everyone present. Tom had been told many times, and by many people, that he strongly favored his father. He would just have to take their word for it on that, given that his own memory of his father, who had passed away long ago, had gradually faded over time, dissolving bit by bit into a series of disjointed snapshot images of a man that was now more myth to him than reality.

Beverly, by way of contrast, would always stand out in any group she was associated with. She was attractively petite, but in a wholesome way, with her curves having filled out in just the right proportions to catch the eye of any man. Her face was perfectly formed and highlighted by a spattering of light freckles that only added to her beauty, giving her a pixiesh appearance. She had shortened the length of her hair, and upon closer inspection he was mildly surprised to note that she had dyed it a shade darker as well, transforming her natural crimson to a deep auburn. Most remarkable of all though were her eyes, emerald green. They sparkled and shimmered, bursting with life. There had been a time when he would have done almost anything for an instant's glimpse into those eyes. Now he could hardly bear to glance at them.

As attractive as she was in the physical sense, it was in her personality where Beverly's beauty truly shone. She had always had an enthusiasm about her that seemed on the brink of breaking out chaotically, as if her small frame was incapable of holding back so much raw life. The word that best described her was vivacious. It was a quality about her that made people feel energized and alive just by being around her. It pained him to remember how near the end of their relationship that energy had seemed to flicker and dim. Knowing that it was chiefly because of him had made it hurt all the worse.

In the year immediately after their breakup both had made attempts to keep in touch with the other. It was not that either had any expectation of renewing their romantic relationship, but rather it had been due to a lingering hope that perhaps at least some semblance of their friendship could be salvaged. Tom had found himself unable to muster any real enthusiasm for the effort at the time. For him the wounds had been too fresh, and far too deep to simply forgive and forget. Beverly had tried with greater persistence before grudgingly accepting the truth of the old adage that "it takes two".

She was married now, and he had to reluctantly admit to himself that the married life seemed to suit her very well. Upon first meeting her today, he was immediately struck by how happy she appeared, far happier than she had been with him at any rate.

Well, at least there towards the end. Then again, neither of us were all that happy at that point. Were we?

The two had hardly spoken a dozen words to each other since her wedding seven months ago. In a town the size of Isabella it was impossible to avoid the occasional chance meeting, the last occurrence had only been last week in fact, but every such encounter had been awkward and brief. There were many times he had thought to call her. But each time he had picked up the phone he knew it would be a mistake on his part. She had a new life now, one that had no place in it for him anymore.

"You do that a lot you know."

"Do what?"

"You know, flake out. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, you've always been that way. Even before...Well, when we were together."

Tom looked down at the tabletop. A half eaten burger lay before him, next to that lay a messy pile of rapidly cooling fries smothered with ketchup.

"I know. Sorry about that."

"Don't apologize. You know you don't need to apologize to me. It's just..." Beverly paused, searching for the words. "I always wondered what you were thinking about when you did that. It's like you go into your own private little world or something, a place where nobody gets in without the super -secret password that only you know."

Tom shifted his weight in the chair, then reached into his shirt pocket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"What were you thinking about just now?"

"Nothing." He went to light a cigarette, but an errant breeze extinguished the flame before he could complete the process. It took several clumsy attempts before he was finally successful. Beverly said nothing, patiently waiting for him to continue. When at last the cigarette was lit he gave it one long drag. Tom felt the nicotine flooding through his system, calming nerves that he had not realized were so jangled until this moment. "Nothing important at least."

"When you say nothing..." Now it was Beverly's turn to stare at the tabletop, her voice lowering to hardly more than a whisper even though they were alone out here, "...do you mean us?"

Tom kept his silence; his lack of a response allowing her to make her own conclusions.

"Are you dating again yet?"

This line of questioning was beginning to make Tom uncomfortable. A tersely spoken "No." was his only answer.

Beverly started to say something, then stopped. Something in the tone of Tom's voice gave her reason to reconsider whatever it was she was about to say. There was a brief flash of anger in her eyes, there and gone again so quickly that Tom wondered if it had been real or simply his imagination.

"Why not?"

"Why should I?" He countered.

"I don't know. Some people like having the companionship of another. Having someone to be there with them, for them. Some people find that only natural."

"Yes, some people do." He admitted pointedly.

"Are you still angry at me Tom?"

Tom took a deep breath, looked away, and lied. "No."

"I see."

There was a long period of silence between them, so deep and profound that even the sounds of the traffic whizzing by on the nearby highway seemed to hush out of respect. Neither knew what to say, neither knew where to go with the conversation. Both were afraid that whatever was said would be misinterpreted, or perhaps even worse, correctly understood, causing the other pain.

At last it was Beverly that moved to break the stalemate. "Tom...You know that what happened between us..."

Tom did not want to hear it, in fact did not think he could stand to hear it. He raised a hand, prompting Beverly to choke off whatever it was she was intending to say. "Bev...Beverly. Why did you call?"

Beverly lightly bit her lower lip. It was a gesture of hers that Tom was well familiar with, meaning that she had something to say that she would rather not say. He was quite well versed at reading all her little tells and this was perhaps her easiest to spot.

"I wanted you to hear this from me, before you heard it from anybody else."

Tom leaned back in his chair, taking another long drag from his cigarette to fortify himself for whatever she had to say.

"I'm pregnant."

Janet

It had been a crappy day for Janet Brookes.

It was not so much that anything had gone particularly bad today, it was more a sense that nothing had gone especially right either. Of course this was nothing new or unexpected for her, it seemed that most of her days had leaned pretty heavily to the crappy side lately.

For one thing the annual hell that was spring break was rapidly approaching. While it was true that the vast majority of those hormone driven, overgrown teenagers would bypass sleepy little Isabella on their yearly pilgrimage to the traditional hot spots of Daytona Beach and Panama City, even the relatively few that did arrive here was more than enough for her.

The Shop N' Save was essentially the only real grocery store within a radius of at least 25 miles. There were, of course, a handful of small mom and pop stores in the area, but nothing of any real size. This meant that any tourists spending more than a day or two in town were destined to make it one of their first stops, and by all accounts the year to date had all the earmarks of being a banner one for tourism.

Earlier in the day she had spied a small gaggle of college breakers, their clothing all proudly emblazoned with the bold, squat G of the University of Georgia. The group had consisted of four boys cavorting throughout the store with that wildly joyous abandon of a pack of dogs long cooped up in cages and suddenly sprung free. In their wake had trailed the lone female of the group, a pretty little Hispanic girl her facial expressions alternating between mortified embarrassment at their antics and unadorned adoration of the same as though she longed to join in with their capering but could not bring herself to do so out of a lingering sense of propriety. They were the early arrivals, it would be weeks yet before spring break officially began with the locals having to compete with the twenty-something newcomers to see who could pick the shelves bare the quickest.

Granted this was all great news for her boss, David Melcher, the store owner (and elder brother of Billy Melcher). If pressed she would claim that it was good news for her as well, seeing as how all those tourism dollars flowing in helped to account for a significant part of her paycheck each week, but on days like today it was easy to forget such trivial facts when weighed in the balance against the added aggravation.

Janet was a customer desk manager, and as such was responsible for essentially everything and everyone that the customers interacted with during her shift. Primarily that meant supervising the cashiers and dealing directly with any customers that had specific questions or complaints. It was a job that demanded patience and people skills. After having worked at the store for over thirteen years, experiencing the same frustrating problems day after day ad nauseum, those were two qualities that she possessed in increasingly meager supply.

Today her chief source of frustration came in the form of Angie Peebo, the cashier assigned to register #5. Her register had come up short, the second time in as many months. Janet rather liked Angie, the girl was friendly, courteous, and hard working. All that was immaterial however if the money failed to come out right. She had managed to smooth over the first incidence with Mr. Melcher, no small feat in itself. This time would necessitate an official write up, and if it happened a third time then Angie would have to go. It gave her no satisfaction, but business was business.

The past decade had not been kind to Janet. She was 52 now, and constantly felt every bit of it. If it was true that you are only as old as you feel, by her reckoning her true age was closer to 65 or more. Long gone were the days when she had conscientiously exercised every day and diligently watched her diet. She simply had neither the energy nor the incentive for such fastidiousness.

The result of this lassitude was predictable enough, she had gained weight, more than twenty pounds this past year alone. If she dared to step on a scale it would now clock in at somewhere just over 155 lbs, hardly an alarming number for most people, but her small frame was unforgiving and seemed determined to proudly display every last ounce of it for all to see.

More importantly, her weight gain, in conjunction with the stresses of her job and her incessant smoking habit, was wreaking havoc on her physical health. She had recently been diagnosed as being in the early stages of adult-onset diabetes, and though the doctor stressed otherwise, she regarded the news as tantamount to a death sentence. In the end she had been sent on her way with a long list of do's and dont's (most of which she stubbornly ignored), a few new prescriptions (including one for Valium even), and an appointment to follow up on her progress (which she had no intention of keeping).

Fortunately today was Janet's short day. She would be getting out as soon as her relief for the evening shift arrived, and on Thursdays that would be at 1 o'clock, with the following Friday and Saturday being her two off days.

She knew that she needed to do a bit of grocery shopping upon clocking out for the day. The cupboards at home were virtually empty. However as the last few minutes of her shift ticked down and the routines associated with being relieved were completed, that plan (like her exercise regimen) was sacrificed to simple expedience. She would just have to make a quick run through the drive-through window at BurgerMeister, Isabella's lone fast-food franchise.

The bright, beautiful weather hardly registered at all with her as she wearily exited the Shop N' Save and trudged across the parking lot. Her gaze never left the pavement beneath her feet throughout the long trek to her car, tempting anybody observing her to assume she was a woman deep in thought. And so she was, in a sense, but the thoughts running through her mind were entirely focused on the pain emanating from the bottoms of her feet; pain caused by long hours of standing in shoes whose soles had all but broken down by age and use.

I'm getting too damn old for this shit. I need to quit, or at least find another job.

Of course she would not. She could not. There were bills to be paid, Jenny's college costs to cover, and soon there would be additional expenses associated with her own declining health. No, quitting was not an option for her, certainly not now. As for finding another job, one that was less stressful and destructive to the body and mind, there were none, not in this town.

The thought occurred to her as she entered her car and started the engine that perhaps at the very least she should talk to Mr. Melcher and request a reduction of her hours. Even one additional day off each week might work wonders in restoring her energy level to a point where she could begin to proactively work on getting back some semblance of her former health, but even as she considered it she knew that she would not.

I need the money too much. That's what it comes down to. That's what it always comes down to.

She dutifully checked the traffic as she pulled her car out of the parking lot and onto the main highway. Her eyes scrupulously darted back and forth as she drove, carefully noting each and every detail. Preoccupied or not, Janet had always been a careful driver her entire life, a trait reinforced to the point of obsession by the manner of Travis' death almost two decades prior.

That's why she managed to spot them; a young couple sitting at a lunch table in front of Billy's Burger Barn seemingly engaged in conversation. Her car had already passed their position before it registered on her that there was something very familiar about the couple, so brief had her first glimpse been. She slowed the car, from its previous 35 mph down to 30 mph, as she glanced into her rear view mirror.

A quick surge of anger flashed through her upon recognizing them both. It was her son, Tom...and he was with that woman again.

Tom

Pregnant!

This has to be a joke, a very sick joke.

Tom rejected the speculation as quickly as it came to mind. Beverly had always had a weird, prankster sense of humor but this...

No, this is no joke. This is real.

Beverly apprehensively studied Tom's reaction as she waited for him to process the news. She had good reason to be anxious.

"Does Tim know?"

Beverly's eyes darted downwards, unable to maintain eye contact while answering. "Yes."

"I guess you've learned one lesson at least. A little late for us, but better late than never I suppose." Tom regretted the words and the bitterness with which he had uttered them even as he spoke.

Beverly flinched as though the words had been a physical slap. Tom took a deep breath, tossed his spent cigarette to the ground and immediately pulled another from the pack. His fingers had an ever so slight tremble to them as he lit it. He took several short, shallow puffs before speaking again, using the time to try to rein in his emotions.

"I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that."

"Yes, I did."

A large part of him rather agreed with her, but now was not the time to score retribution points. "And...?"

Beverly had a puzzled look on her face, clearly not understanding the implied question.

"Are you..." Tom hesitated, not sure how best to phrase it. "What are your intentions?"

"Oh." Now Beverly was the one hesitating, equally unsure of how to proceed. In the end she responded with a short, simple answer. "I'm keeping it."

"Well...I suppose congratulations are in order." But the words rang hollow in his own ears.

"Thank you."

Seconds ticked by slowly, each struggling desperately to find the right words.

"Tom...The situation is different now."

"Obviously." Again he regretted the word as soon as it was said. Try as he might, he could not suppress what he felt. There was far too much residual anger and resentment for that. "Look, I'm sure you probably need to get back to work, and I should really be moving along myself."

Beverly reached a hand out across the table surface and clutched at Tom's right arm. "Tom, don't go. Not yet. There's things that need to be said. Things I need to say...to you."

Tom's first reaction was to recoil from her touch, but she held on to him with a surprisingly strong grip, refusing to let him go.

"You've never really let me explain."

"What's to explain Beverly? What's done is done." Tom stared at her hand on his arm, determined not to look into her eyes. If she really wanted to talk then she was not about to like what he had to say, and he knew he would not be able to continue once he saw its effects on her. "It was three years ago. The time for explanations is over I think. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm here, talking with you now. Do you think I wanted to have this conversation with you? I'm here anyway though. Doesn't that say something?"

She had a good point there, but not one he wanted to admit to her.

"Why are we here anyway? If you're hoping for some sort of reconciliation, some kind of...I don't know...forgiveness. I'm sorry, I'm not there yet. I can't give that to you."

Beverly's voice was on the verge of breaking. "Not forgiveness, understanding."

"Understanding?! How can I understand what you did?...You took it on yourself to make that decision without ever coming to me." The anger and hurt in his voice was unmistakable now. Each word spoken threatened to shatter what little restraint he had left. "Didn't you stop to think that just maybe I had a right to know? I should've had a chance to be a part of that decision. Instead I find out after the fact."

"Tom, I had my reasons."

"Reasons? What possible reasons would explain what you did? Was it because you knew I'd argue against it? Yes, I admit it. I would have. I would have fought for life, but...it would have been a decision we made together."

"What I did..."

"You aborted our baby. Our baby!"

"Tom please, let me..."

"Let you explain? I don't think so Beverly. Whatever reasons you think you had, I don't want to hear them now. The time for that is long over. You want me to understand? I'll never understand what you did!"

Beverly's hand relinquished her hold, drawing back from him as if scorched by a fire. Without another word Tom jumped to his feet, turned his back on her, and walked off.

Chapter 2

Anne

It was Anne Roche's lucky day.

She softly hummed a lively tune to herself as she exited the Florida First bank and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The bright afternoon sunlight momentarily dazzled her eyes, forcing her to halt and give her vision time enough to adjust to the contrast from the building's relatively dim interior. Though it may have forced her to pause in place, the garish light did nothing to curb her lighthearted mood.

She was employed now, as of two hours ago, her first paying job in over five years. While her new job as a part-time evening salesperson might not exactly be what one would call a dream job, it was close enough for present in her opinion. She was now the newest employee of the Local Color Art Gallery located at the corner of Flagler and 1st streets. The store specialized in displaying artwork, primarily provincial themed pieces such as seascapes, for purchase by the visiting tourists that would begin to descend on Isabella during the spring and summer months. Given the small town's limited opportunities for employment, and her own interest in the field which went beyond the average lay person's idle curiosity, the job was a natural fit and as such had been her first choice from among the dozen or so applications she had submitted around town.

At first glance Anne's appearance hardly seemed that of a typical 'starving artist'. The dress she wore was a colorful, but tastefully conservative designer piece, bought a year ago at one of the tony little shops on Cleveland's west side. She wore it with an ease that comes only from having been raised in a home where money was rarely much of an issue. That money was her parents' however, not her own, having come from a lifetime spent by her father working as a patent attorney for a variety of brand name corporations. Despite their constant objections to the contrary, Anne was determined to wean herself from the wealth of her birth as much as possible.

The realities of her situation had already compelled her to accept more aid from them than she would have preferred in the form of the beach house in which she, and her young daughter now inhabited. Living on principle was one thing when your only responsibility was to yourself, it was quite another when you had a four year old child to raise on your own. So when her father had offered to allow her the indefinite use of the family getaway house rent free the offer was simply too good to refuse.

She had arrived in town late last week, spending her first few days lodged at a local motel as she awaited the activation of electrical and water service to the house. The room rates at the motel were grossly over inflated of course, spring break was just around the corner, and as the number of collegiate escapees swelled, so in turn would the cost of lodging. It had only taken one glimpse at the resulting bill to make her realize that her initial plan to settle in slowly, living off her modest savings for the first few months, was not going to work out. She needed a job, and quickly.

Before she could go job hunting in earnest though she had needed to make arrangements for her daughter's daycare. This proved to be an easier decision than she had anticipated, as the town seemed to have very few options in that respect. Fortunately the one she chose seemed to have a very positive reputation locally, and as a extra bonus they were even open on Saturdays, an especially rare find. Once again though, as if she needed any reminding, the cost of that daycare had impressed upon her just how quickly she would need to get up and running on her own steam financially.

This would be the first time in her life she was truly out on her own. Like many, if not all, of her peers at college, she had pretended at being independent of her parents, all the while accepting her father's generosity whenever the occasion seemed to demand it of her. After college she had immediately gotten married to fellow would-be artist, and the eventual father of her child, Robert Manac. Out from under one dependent relationship, into another.

Robert's nickname at the university had been Maniac, an obvious play on his last name. As nicknames go however, his had proven to be all too appropriate. Their marriage had lasted for six years, five years too long in retrospect. Qualities that had been either endearing or at the very least, had been easily overlooked during their brief courtship made living with Robert difficult at best, and quite impossible when at their worst. Simply put, he was a control freak, though the reality of all that the term entailed was anything but simple.

The divorce had been a messy affair, lasting to one degree or another, more than half the duration of the marriage itself. In the end though she had succeeded in leaving with full custody of Michelle, thanks in no small part to the intercession of her father, who was more than willing to pay whatever price was required to rid his only daughter and grandchild of such a man.

Now that the divorce had at last been finalized, she was free to start her life over again. She had made her mistakes, had allowed another to seize the reins of her life, and had paid the cost of it. This was the reason she accepted her parents' offer to use the beach house. Isabella represented a new start for her in a brand new state far from home. It was an opportunity to guide her own fate for once, and she was resolved to make the most of it.

Granted it might seem to many counter intuitive to begin that new life with the acceptance once again of her father's assistance, but she knew there was just so much responsibility she was prepared to assume as yet. She wanted her independence, she wanted to pay her own way as much as possible, but reality was reality. Reality for her was that she simply was not prepared to pay the full cost of true independence just yet, especially not if that meant that Michelle would be paying for it right alongside her.

Fortunately the gallery had given her a call back on her application within two days of receiving it, a good indicator of just how desperate they were to fill the position. Anne was just as desperate to make the most of the opportunity, it was by far the most enticing job prospect she had seen since arriving in town. So this morning she had put on her best dress, applied her makeup, and headed out the door with resume in hand. She had arrived bound and determined to get the position no matter what, and she had.

Her first instinct upon leaving the gallery was to call her father and give him the good news, but the town's isolated location had made that impossible. Whatever cell tower that her phone was seeking appeared to be just out of reach, the signal bars on her phone alternating indecisively between one to two bars before finally coming to rest at no bars at all. The call would just have to wait until she got back to her new home, when she would at last have access to a far more dependable land line.

In the meantime there were still things to do, people to see, and places to go. When she had made her decision to move to Florida it had not really dawned on her just how much work would be involved in the process of moving. Her previous moves, first the one to the campus at Kent State, and then later to the home she would share with Robert on the outskirts of Cleveland, were relatively easy relocations. Both had been within a two-hour drive of the home where she had been raised. Moving across state lines, with the ink still damp on her divorce papers was another matter entirely.

After leaving the gallery Anne decided to put off lunch for the time being, opting instead to visit first the post office to fill out a change of address form, and then the bank to setup a checking account. Her current bank, though a nationally recognized name, had no branch offices in Isabella. It had taken her just over an hour to fill out the various forms necessary to create a new account locally and have what funds she possessed transferred from her old bank to the new.

Now those tasks were done, and as she stood upon the sidewalk basking in the warm rays of the afternoon sun she felt the first rumblings of a stomach too long denied. She had skimped on breakfast this morning; a single bagel with cream cheese and a glass of orange juice. The initial excitement she had experienced upon her hiring at the gallery had held at bay any thoughts of eating for awhile. Now, due to her subsequent errands, that excitement had eroded to a point where her body began to demand its due.

Anne quickly decided on a course of action. She would look to visit one of the locally owned restaurants for a brief lunch before doing her grocery shopping at the Shop N' Save. Once the grocery shopping was done she would then retrieve Michelle from daycare and drive both of them the twenty miles back to the house at False Cape. Tonight the two of them would celebrate privately with a home cooked meal, though Anne seriously doubted her daughter would fully appreciate the significance of such an event.

Anne checked her phone one last time as she settled in behind the wheel of her 2001 Ford Mustang. Unlike earlier, the signal bars on her phone appeared to be holding steady at the three bar mark. Perhaps it would be enough to make that call to her father after all. She dialed the number and waited impatiently as the phone attempted to complete the call. She turned the key in the ignition, balancing the phone precariously between her head and shoulder.

"Andrews, Marsh and Roche. How may we assist you?"

This really was her lucky day after all. She had not actually expected the connection, but the professionally amiable, female voice was evidence to the contrary.

"Please connect me with Mr. Kevin Roche."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Roche is currently unavailable. He's in a client conference at the moment. May I take a message?"

Anne smiled to herself. She knew the routine. The faces and voices may vary, but every receptionist has one thing in common; they are the first and usually the last filter that everybody has to go through in order to get an audience with the man (or woman) behind the big desk. To a large extent it was the source of their greatest power and one they universally guarded with the utmost care. Well, she had long ago discovered the key to getting past this particular gatekeeper at least.

"This is his daughter calling, Anne."

"Um, Hold one moment please." The voice sounded a good deal less sure of itself than it had only seconds ago.

Anne absentmindedly checked her rear view mirror as she listened to the vapid stream of music issuing out of her phone. Seeing no traffic on the street behind her, she shifted the car into reverse and began to slowly pull the car out of its parking space.

"Anne, where are you? Your mother and I have been waiting all week for your call..."

Whatever else her father may have said was lost, drowned out by a sudden screech of tires on pavement followed by a jarring lurch and the awful crunch of metal crushing plastic. Anne immediately shifted the car into park and took another glance in her rear view mirror. It was not clear anymore. Directly behind her was an older model Jeep Cherokee, its front bumper resting solidly on top of what remained of her now useless rear bumper. As she heard the first siren begin its wail from somewhere down the street Anne knew that her lucky day had come to an end.

Tom

Great, just great! This is just what I need. What a perfect way to cap off a perfect day. First Beverly, and now this.

Tom sat at the wheel of his jeep staring blankly at the car he had just rear-ended, his emotions more closely resembling a state of resigned disgust than true anger. He had barely been able to afford the insurance on his vehicle before this, heaven only knew to what heights the insurance company would raise them now. The sound of the police siren coming from two blocks down the road within mere seconds of the impact meant that the officer must have been looking directly at his jeep at the instant of collision. There would be no escaping the blame, even if he had been inclined to attempt it.

Tom knew he had been driving too fast for Flagler street's narrow lanes. He had been hurrying for the singular purpose of putting as much distance between him and Beverly as possible, as quickly as possible. It was not as though he had been tearing through town with wheels burning on the asphalt, it had only been just a tad over 30 mph. Given the street's 20 mph speed limit though, he doubted that whatever officer was responding would appreciate so fine a distinction as the difference between merely fast and 'as fast as a bat out of hell'.

Tom waited until the police car had pulled up alongside his jeep, effectively blocking off the entire street from both directions, before getting out. The flashing blue strobe lights were all but blinding at this proximity, even given the bright afternoon sunlight.

Damn. Those lights are giving me a headache already.

"Is everybody ok? Anybody hurt?"

Tom thought the voice familiar, though he could not immediately match it to a name as yet. The officer stood only a few yards away, outlined starkly by the strobing lights behind him. Tom raised a hand in an effort to block out the worst of the lights' effects. As his hand grazed his forehead he felt a warm, sticky sensation on the back of his hand.

"Jesus Tom, get back in your jeep and sit down before you fall down."

It was already too late. Tom collapsed to the street below, his last conscious thought as his knees buckled was that he finally recognized the voice as belonging to Chad Morris, an old schoolmate of his, now a junior officer on the Isabella police department.

Janet

Even as Janet stepped through the doorway into her home she began to tug upwards on the hem of her Shop N' Save shirt, pulling it off and tossing it disdainfully onto the sofa as she nudged the door closed with her left foot. She uttered a deep sigh as the door slammed shut, expressing at once both her disgust and relief.

She was home now, and nothing short of a natural disaster would dislodge her until Sunday morning. Come Sunday she would begin the cycle anew, don that loathsome shirt for the millionth time, and head back out to face whatever came at her. Now was her time though, and she damned well intended to claim what was hers for herself.

Janet flopped down hard on the sofa couch, her legs no longer having sufficient energy to hold her aloft for the time required to make a gentler, graceful sitting. The sofa was still fairly new, having replaced its predecessor within the past year, but already there was a slight sag in the spot where she sat, a result of far too many flop downs. When she was younger she would have scolded her children to no end if she had ever spied them doing the same. That was then, this was now.

She lived alone these days anyway. It was not as if she needed to constantly set the example for her children anymore. For that matter they were not even children anymore. Well, at least that is what they told her, incessantly. Fine, let them attend to themselves for a bit, she really did not have the energy to deal with them anymore. Besides, it was not as if either of them really wanted her help anyway.

No, that's not true. They still want my help, so long as it's in the form of dollars. It's me they'd rather avoid, not my help.

Even though both had jobs of their own, neither could really be said to be making it completely on their own efforts. At least Tom had the grace to thank her for the occasional financial boost, even if he did so with great reluctance as though she were somehow forcing it upon him.

Jenny had the better job of the pair, and better prospects at future earnings as well, but she also had greater expenses and so her immediate needs were greater. From Jenny there was only sullen silence for months on end, broken sporadically by the obligatory phone call. Given their past history with each other, and the predictable flow of conversation during those calls, Janet had almost come to prefer the silence.

The truth was that she really would not begrudge either of them as much help as they might need, if only she felt as though she were still an important part of their lives. She did not, and had not felt that way for quite some time. Over the holidays Tom had dropped by for an hour on Christmas Eve followed by an even briefer visit on Christmas day itself. From Jenny there had only been uninterrupted absence. That appeared to be the extent of their concern for her welfare.

With Jenny the situation was actually somewhat more understandable. They had lost touch with each other long ago, and if Janet were being honest with herself she would have to admit that the withdrawal had not been a simple one-sided affair. Jenny's teenage years had been difficult ones, both for herself and for Janet.

Janet had gone through her own rebellious years as a teenager and would have been prepared to accept the same in her daughter. Jenny's problems during this time went well beyond the typical teenage angst of Janet's own past though. It had begun with seemingly minor behavioral offenses in high school during her freshman year, then progressed from there to encounters with the law for underage drinking by her sophomore year. Matters only worsened after that. In her junior year Jenny had begun using ecstasy, a drug that Janet herself had not even known existed prior to finding it in her daughter's room. Upon confronting her daughter with the evidence and issuing an ultimatum for her to 'straighten up or else' Jenny's response had been to attempt suicide.

The suicide attempt itself had been a clumsy, half-hearted effort, but it had achieved one thing at least. It had finally convinced Janet that whatever problems her daughter was having she was ill-equipped to deal with them herself. So Jenny had been sent away to seek professional help in the way of rehab and psychiatric care. When she was pronounced fit enough to be released six months later it was not to her home she returned, but to the home of Janet's own mother, Vivien. It was there that Jenny would spend the next two years, her last as a teenager.

These days it seemed that Jenny had at last gotten the upper hand on whatever demons had been leading her down the path towards self-destruction. She was attending college at UCF, studying veterinarian medicine, and by all accounts appeared to be doing surprisingly well. She had even finagled herself an internship with the local zoo in Orlando.

Of course this was all very gratifying to Janet. What mother could possibly ask for more than such a miraculous turnaround? Only she could not ignore the fact that in order to escape her addictions, Jenny had first needed to escape her home. By all appearances, Jenny had every intention of leaving both in her past permanently.

Tom's case was different. His withdrawal had been more gradual, more subtle, and less explicable. He had chosen for his own reasons not to go to college. That was a decision Janet regarded as not only foolish, but wasteful as well. He had the intelligence to achieve anything he wished, if only he had the wisdom to put it to good use. She had done her very best to change his mind, but every attempt had failed, dashed upon the stubborn rocks of his refusals.

Though Tom moved out immediately after graduating from high school, he never went far. For the past decade he had bounced from one minimum wage job to another right here in Isabella, never staying at any one place long enough to progress up the ladder.

Initially Tom had kept in close contact with his mother. The mother-son bond they shared far surpassed the strained relationship that she had with Jenny. It was not that Janet loved either more than the other. It was just that Jenny and Janet had never been capable of communicating with each other without the inevitable argument ensuing. This was a problem Janet never encountered when dealing with her son. He would patiently listen to whatever advice Janet had to give, then he would either silently acquiesce without comment, or completely ignore it, proceeding according to his own dictates. His refusal to seek a college education was a classic example of the later course of action.

Tom's relationship with Beverly Hayes was another. He became involved with her in the final days of his senior year of high school, beginning a relationship that lasted for seven years, far longer than Janet would have expected. Janet had clashed with Beverly from the very beginning. While it was true that no girl would have been good enough for her son, this girl was an especially bad choice in her opinion. Beverly was the younger sister of Sharon Hayes, and though Janet did her best not to judge the girl on that basis, she increasingly found it difficult to maintain the benefit of the doubt regarding the young woman's own character.

I was right about her too, even if he still refuses to see it. The apple never falls far from the tree, or in this case from the branch.

Janet often wondered why the two had not married. It was clear to her that Tom would do what he wanted, whether she approved or not. When the two of them finally did split up Tom refused to even tell his mother the reason for it, saying merely that it was a matter between the two of them and nobody else's business. Janet had reluctantly left it at that. It had not been until weeks later that she discovered for herself the real reason for the breakup, and by then it seemed the smartest thing to do would be to let the whole matter rest. The important thing was that he was free of her, or so she had thought until today.

Janet let out a low sigh. She stared at the blank television set before her, pondering whether or not to turn it on. She did not really feel like watching television. In fact she did not feel like doing much of anything at all beyond sitting there and continuing to breathe in and out. Existence itself seemed more than enough of a challenge in her current mood. She hardly felt the urge to raise the bar much higher at the moment.

It was while she sat there brooding that a flashing red light in her peripheral vision caught her attention. The light was coming from the answering machine, indicating she had a waiting message.

Probably just another sales call. Not worth getting up for.

She tried her best to disregard it. In the end the machine's insistent regularity won out. Once noticed she could not ignore it for long.

Janet heaved herself out of the chair with a grunt of annoyance. She hit the play button, expecting to hear an automated sales pitch.

Wonder what it'll be this time. Health insurance? Aluminum siding? A politician getting an early start on the phone banks? It is an election year after all. Well, if it's the last he's automatically lost my vote just for making me get up.

"Um...Hi mom..."

It was Jenny, her voice filled with nervous energy.

"First of all, I want to say I'm sorry that it's been so long since I've last called. I know I should have called at Christmas...um I should've called a lot sooner than that actually. But...Well, things have been pretty busy here lately."

There was a long hesitation. Jenny's discomfort was painfully clear in her voice.

"Anyway, the reason I'm calling now is to tell you that I'm coming home, just for a few days. I know this is really short notice, but I'll be driving up tomorrow. I should arrive in town sometime in the early evening I think. Don't worry about getting a room ready for me. I already have reservations at the Boardwalk motel."

Even without being able to see her daughter, Janet knew there was something being left unsaid, something Jenny dreaded saying.

"Um...I...Well, there's something I need to tell you. It's something I can't really talk about over the phone. That's why I'm coming up there."

Jenny stopped. Janet could well picture her taking a deep breath.

"Well, that's it I suppose. I'll call you again when I get there. See you soon...I love you."

Well now, this is certainly an interesting development.

Janet glanced around the room, silently asking herself what needed to be done in preparation for her wayward daughter's return. The house was in decent enough shape she thought, perhaps not spotless, but good enough that it would require only minimal effort to have it ready for her daughter's visit.

Damn! I should have done my shopping this afternoon after all. There's hardly a thing to cook in the kitchen.

Janet began walking back to her bedroom for a fresh change of clothes. She knew that she would be going back out again whether she wanted to or not. When she had arrived home Janet had thought to herself that it would take a natural disaster to get her to leave again. Given her history with Jenny this just might qualify.

Tom

"Don't move. Just lay still. You've been in an accident."

Tom blinked his eyes twice but otherwise followed the directions being issued to him. Prone as he was, his sight was dominated by the cloudless blue sky above. He felt the hard pavement below digging into his backside at a thousand different points. Laying upon its rough surface was a bit like reclining on a giant cheese grater. Curiously his head seemed to be the one exception, something soft and slightly springy lay beneath him there, perhaps someone's jacket. It could not be his of course, he had left his at home that day.

That's weird. I know my jacket's at home. But I have no idea where home is.

Tom felt cold; a bone deep cold that ran completely counter to what his senses told him he should be feeling. The sun was high in the sky, the light breeze running across him warmed by the day's heating. Yet he was cold. He briefly wondered if the jacket, if that was actually what it was, would be put to better use covering him.

The brightly streaming sunlight, combined with the chill he felt, made it tempting to simply surrender his consciousness for awhile. Not for long of course. Just an hour or so, and then he would wake up and this would all have been just a bad dream.

Tom closed his eyes, only to be thumped sharply on the tip of his nose by a single finger.

"Oww!"

"Stay awake. Stay focused on me. Can you tell me your name?"

Tom considered the question, tried but failed to think of the correct answer. Who was asking anyway? He did not recognize the voice. He began to turn his head in the direction the voice was coming from.

"No. Don't move. Not yet. Tell me your name if you can."

The speaker was a man, that much at least he was able to discern. His interrogator wore the dark blue uniform of a police officer.

"Um...Tommy..."

Tom could not complete his answer, could not even remember his own last name.

"Tom! Oh my god, Tom!"

The sudden shout seemed to come from far away. This was a woman's voice, young by the sound of it, but he could not see her to confirm his hunch. The officer stepped away from Tom's side, apparently moving in the direction that the woman's voice had come from.

"Stay back Beverly! Please stay back. You can't help him right now, you'll only get in the way and maybe get him hurt worse."

Beverly, the name sounded familiar. Why could he not remember who that was? Whoever it was did not seem to be paying the officer much attention.

"Chad let me go! Let me go!"

Chad Morris. That's the officer's name. And my name is Tom Brookes.

"Frank, grab her please. Get her away from here."

Ignoring the earlier advice Tom turned his head in order to take in the scene around him. One of the gathering bystanders nearby stopped gawking at his prone figure and moved in compliance with Chad's directions, taking hold of the woman's right arm. He was a tall, beefy looking older fellow wearing farmer's overalls. Although he dwarfed the much smaller woman, she struggled to resist his attempts to pull her away so vigorously that Tom wondered if he were outmatched.

Beverly Hayes...No, that's not right...Beverly...Dyer.

"Where am I? What happened?"

Chad came back to his side, once more standing over him.

"You've been in an accident. You're still at the accident scene. The ambulance will be here any minute."

Chad (Tom had known him far too long to ever think of him as Officer Morris) looked down at him with an expression on his face that was meant to be professionally reassuring, but as he spoke Tom detected a note of worry lurking just behind the words.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Tom Brookes. My name is Tom Brookes. Dammit Chad, you'd think you would know who the fuck I am. We went to school together."

The smile of relief on Chad's face was obviously genuine, his shoulders relaxing visibly in response to Tom's sudden outburst.

"Ok. We got that much settled at least. Now, can you remember what day this is? What is today's date?"

Tom made an attempt to sit up but gave up the effort even before Chad could kneel at his side and place a gentle hand on his chest to restrain him.

"No. Don't Tom. You could have nerve damage. You weren't wearing your seat belt and you hit your head pretty hard on the windshield. Thank god you weren't going any faster than you were. Now, one more time, can you remember what today is?"

"Yeah, it's..." Tom felt a stab of fear in his gut.

I don't know. I can't remember.

"...February?..." Tom looked at Chad searching for a sign of affirmation. Not seeing it he quickly recanted. "...March...March 4th?" Chad nodded imperceptibly. Tom gave a weak laugh. "Though it feels a lot more like April 1st to be honest and this day must all just be one big April Fool's joke on me"

Chad responded to his bitter humor with a laugh much heartier than Tom's own.

"They say God protects fools, and it must be true. You're proof of that. A head injury like yours could have been instantly fatal, even with the collision at slow speeds. You're damn lucky you didn't snap your neck like a twig."

At the moment Tom was not feeling quite so lucky as his friend seemed to think he was. His head felt as if he had been pounding it repeatedly on a brick wall. Then again, maybe he was not so far off in that comparison after all.

Out of the corner of his eye Tom noticed a woman approximately his own age standing on the sidewalk intently watching the scene with a troubled look on her face that felt strangely out of place. Now that he recognized Chad and Beverly their reactions made perfect sense. The other bystanders, and there were many by this point, all appeared to be motivated more by idle curiosity than any true feeling of concern. This woman was an anomaly.

Nor was her oddly solicitous behavior the only thing he noticed.

She's beautiful. Ok, maybe she's not supermodel beautiful, but close enough in my book.

Her physique was tall and slim, with a flawlessly proportioned bust line superbly highlighted by the stylish dress she wore. Her legs were dancer's legs; long, slender, and toned. Her complexion was neither tanned nor pale, but rather centered at just that point of perfection in between. Her honey hued hair fell down in wavy ringlets to just below her shoulder blades. Her eyes...

Tom took advantage of Chad's momentary distraction as the officer conversed over his chest strapped radio, turning his head for a better look.

Blue...They're blue, like the sky.

Tom laughed inwardly at himself.

Here I am, flat on my back in the middle of the street, and I'm thinking about how beautiful some random stranger looks. As if I don't have more important things to concern myself about. Um...She is a stranger, isn't she?

"Do I know you?"

The woman took one step forward then halted.

"My name is Anne Roche. I'm the driver of the Mustang."

She looked at Chad as she spoke but her response seemed directed at both.

Chad responded distractedly, his focus torn between multiple fronts, "Ms. Roche please stay put for the time being. Someone will be looking to take your statement shortly." Almost as an afterthought Chad added, "How are you feeling Ms. Roche? Maybe you should find a place to sit down and rest as well."

"No. That's ok. I feel fine, just a bit shaken up I suppose, but otherwise I'm ok."

That seemed enough to satisfy Chad for now, his attention returned to Tom once again.

"Tom you've lost a fair bit of blood. Head gashes can bleed like a bitch and you might have even nicked a small artery at the temple, hard to tell with all that blood. I think I've managed to stem the worst of it, at least any external bleeding. That's not to say anything about any internal bleeding you might have. The thing I'm really worried about is whether you might have a concussion or not, and if you do how bad is it."

For the first time Tom took notice of just how horrific a sight he must have presented. A hastily applied bandage covered his forehead, dipping slightly lower over the left eye, obscuring his vision on that side by a small degree. There was blood all down the front of his once blue shirt, it was a given that it was a total loss.

Damn. It was my favorite shirt too.

"Um...This is my first traffic accident, but isn't this the point where you tell me something good for a change to perk up my spirits?"

The woman, Anne was her name as Tom corrected himself mentally, burst forth a short nervous laugh at his joke. He had inadvertently brought a tiny smile to her lips as a result and it occurred to him that it had been way too long since he had done that for any woman, regardless of the circumstances. Maybe it was a crazy thing, considering the current situation, but just knowing that he had done that one little thing gave Tom a peculiar feeling of satisfaction.

"Sorry about that. You're my first accident too, as a first responder that is." Chad thought for a moment, apparently trying to find something perky to say. "Well, you're alive. How's that for something good?"

Yeah. There is that. I guess that'll just have to do for now. Maybe it's not such a bad thing after all.

At this point Tom could begin to hear the sound of approaching sirens, whether they were from an ambulance or additional police cars he could not tell. As it turned out they were both. It took a few more minutes for the ambulance to navigate its way down the narrow, crowded street, having to squeeze through the gaps between parked cars before it could reach them.

As the EMTs began to exit the ambulance, and the newly arriving police began the work of untangling the mess that Flagler street had become, Chad had one final question, "Is there anyone that you need me to contact?"

Tom furrowed his brow, winced at the effort and replied, "Call, no; but if you wouldn't mind running by my mother's house and talking to her I'd be grateful. If I know her at all she's probably going to freak out as soon as she hears what happened."

Chapter 3

Janet

It was late afternoon, slowly edging over into evening by the time Janet walked back in through the Shop N' Save front doors. She made a quick tugging motion on the sleeves of her shirt, pulling them down to more adequately cover her arms and provide some modicum of protection from the chilled air conditioned environment. She had left her short sleeved, mustard colored work shirt on the sofa at home, choosing instead to don a long sleeved polyester blouse which now helped to ward off the cold to some degree, but not enough, not nearly enough for her taste.

I should have remembered to bring my sweater with me. God knows why Mr. Melcher likes to keep the thermostat so low in here. You'd think he would try to save a few dollars on the electric bill for a change instead of on everybody's paychecks.

Janet paused just inside the automatic doors, standing slightly off to the side of the main entrance as she fished out a scrap of paper from her pockets. The items on the shopping list were difficult to make out even under the Shop N' Save's garishly bright overhead lights. Fortunately the majority of the items were still fairly fresh in her mind, having been jotted down only minutes ago as she was preparing to leave her house. She slowly moved the list back and forth before her eyes as she attempted to make out those few entries that proved the exception.

I'm more tired than I thought. I can't read my own writing anymore.

It was unusually quiet in here, one of those rare times when the customary evening crowd had abated for whatever reason. Janet glanced about before proceeding forward, intending to take a quick shortcut through one of the unused checkout lanes directly into the heart of the store rather than follow the traditional flow route through the vegetable and fruits section. There were only two registers open out of a possible six, and surprisingly neither of them were busy right now, their cashiers both stood there looking bored beyond words.

"Where's everybody at today? You'd think it was a Sunday night the way this place looks right now."

Startled out of whatever daydream reverie she may have been indulging, Katie Weeks looked up and smiled. Her's was that peculiar brand of smile that could only come from someone too young to have lost her innocent faith in the inherent decency of all she met. "Oh hi Ms. Brookes!"

Katie was the youngest cashier employed by the Shop N' Save, in fact she might very well be the youngest employee of the entire store; only nineteen years old and still in her last year of high school. A brief surge of envy threatened to sour Janet's already dour mood even further. How long ago had it been since she herself was that young, that innocent? She could not recall, perhaps she never had been.

"It's been dead in here for awhile now." Katie informed her, "It started just after you left actually. Maybe it's got something to do with that accident they had over on Flagler."

"It's not the accident." This came from Earline Laird, the cashier over on the other open register. In clear contrast to Katie there was nothing innocent about Earline. She was only a few years older than Janet though by the looks of her you would never know it. Earline had lived her life hard, and that fact had taken its toll, etching lines on her face and putting a gravel in her voice that came from decades spent married to Cap'n Jack Laird (his first name was really Jedidiah, but Cap'n Jack just sounded so much better to the ear that he had adopted the moniker unofficially when he bought his first shrimp boat). Being a shrimper's wife was certainly no picnic in the park. Earline had been expected to be there beside her man every night, hauling in the catch right alongside. She had too, right up until the shrimping industry had all but died in town, killed from a combination of over fishing and increasingly tighter regulations with each passing season.

"It's the game, some big deal basketball game this evening. I can't remember who it is that's supposed to be playing, but half the town is at home stuffing their faces with junk food in front of the idiot box...And the other half is down at the Mermaid watching it on that fancy new Hi-def TV they got there," Earline paused for the space of half a breath, "...including that bum I call a husband. Likely drunk off his ass by now I'm sure."

"Wait a minute...What accident?" Janet turned her attention back towards the perky little blond cashier at her side. Something; call it instinct, premonition, or just morbid curiosity drew her back to whatever it was Katie had to say on the matter.

"Oh, you didn't hear?" Katie's voice had that chipper quality to it that indicated she was just busting to spread the latest bit of gossip to someone new, not surprising given that disseminating gossip was the primary form of entertainment for many in a small town like this. "Yeah I heard it was something awful, they had to cart away someone in the ambulance and everything."

"One of the spring breakers?"

"Nah. At least Mr. Harp didn't think so. He didn't actually know who it was but he said he thought it was someone local. He said Officer Morris acted like he knew who it was, but Mr. Harp said he couldn't make the guy out because he was all covered in blood. He said it was just like a scene out of one of them axe murder movies."

Earline gave a small snort of derision. "Katie you ought to know better than to listen to Frank. That man exaggerates everything. If someone gets busted for smoking pot he makes it into a million dollar drug bust."

Katie paused, her smile retreating ever so slightly. She actually seemed disappointed to think that maybe the scene was not every bit as gory as she had pictured it.

"Miss Weeks!"

Katie and Janet both jumped at the sound of Mr. Melcher barking out the girl's name. Janet spun around to find her employer standing just behind her. Her heart raced in response to being startled in such a manner.

David Melcher was a short plug of a man, nearly as wide around at the waist as he was tall, which actually was not saying as much as one might imagine. In fact he stood almost even with Janet in height, though he always seemed to move with a certain swagger that was hard to reconcile with his rotund appearance.

"Miss Weeks, seeing as how we're slow enough this evening that you have the time to chat it up, why don't you go ask Mr. Adams if he might need some help in preparing for the upcoming inventory count?"

"Yes sir."

If Janet herself had not been so startled by Melcher's sudden arrival she might have laughed at the almost comical sight of Katie scurrying off as quickly as she could manage. As it was she almost felt something akin to pity for the young girl. Janet followed Katie's retreat, continuing to look in her direction even as the cashier rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.

"Ms. Brookes, would you please accompany me to the office?"

Janet turned her attention back to Mr. Melcher (The last employee that had made the error of addressing him by his first name had been fired on the spot five years ago.). She was amazed to detect an unexpected softening to the tone of his voice. The change in his demeanor was every bit as startling in its own way as his sudden appearance had been only moments ago. She almost said yes, almost complied without a second thought. Almost.

"Mr. Melcher, if this is about Angie...?"

"It's not. It's..." He cast a hesitant glance towards Earline, who was doing her very best to appear completely oblivious. Janet knew better, but did not care in the slightest if their conversation was being surreptitiously monitored by her nosy co-worker. Melcher on the other hand appeared to buy into the fiction, at least enough to risk one small bit of information, "...It's about your son."

Anne

Anne closed the cover on the year-old copy of Time magazine and tossed it upon the scattered pile of magazines covering the waiting room table. She glanced up at the wall mounted clock and checked the time.

Ten more minutes. I'll give it ten more minutes, and then if nobody's gotten back to me I'll leave. That guy probably doesn't even want to see me anyway. I should be at home with Michelle instead of sitting here useless.

A small smile crept across her face as she realized the hidden implication behind her previous thought.

Home. Interesting word choice there. Is that what the beach house is now? Is it our home?

No, not yet. Maybe soon though, hopefully soon. It'd be nice to have a home again, just the two of us.

Funny how that works. You don't really realize just how important the word is, what it represents, until after you've been without one. Home is more than just a set of walls with a roof, more than just a place where you sleep at night. Home is the place where you belong. It's the place that makes you feel right.

Michelle needs that. We both do.

Anne knew there was no need to worry about Michelle for the night. Mrs. Sheppard at the daycare center, having already heard about the accident before Anne could retrieve her daughter had taken one long look at her and then promptly insisted on keeping the little girl for the night. Michelle would stay at her home of course, sharing a bedroom with her seven year old grandchild.

Hearing the offer, Michelle quickly made her own preference perfectly clear, issuing a rousing cheer of joy in anticipation of a sleepover with her new 'bestest friend in the whole wide world'. Anne knew when she was outvoted. She made one feeble protest, then bowing to the inevitable gave in gratefully. She awkwardly tried to inquire as to how much such a service might cost but the question died in the air upon seeing the look on Mrs. Sheppard's face. This was not to be something paid for in terms of dollars, this was a simple common courtesy extended from one old hand at motherhood down to the neophyte as the need had arisen.

As it turned out Mrs. Sheppard had done her more of a favor then Anne had even realized at the time, temporarily solving a problem for her that she had not yet even considered. With Anne's Mustang sitting for the time being at Rex's auto shop, just getting to and from False Cape would be problematic, not to mention having a restless, squirming toddler in tow just to add additional complications.

She had checked out of the Boardwalk motel just this morning, believing that she and her daughter would be occupying the beach house by nightfall. It seemed that it would now be necessary to amend that plan. Until the car was repaired False Cape would just have to wait.

Anne returned to the motel alone and exhausted. It had been a terribly long day punctuated with a minor emergency just for extra flavor. Yet it had also in turn been a strangely thrilling day as well, with just the proper proportions of excitement mixed with anxiety to produce a late surge of nervous energy demanding release with activity of one sort or another.

Within minutes of checking back into the motel she found herself once more standing on the sidewalk near the entrance. The western sky was just beginning to show the first streaks of scarlet and orange, the vividly hued wisps of clouds hung above a slowly descending fireball that was the setting sun.

She left the motel without any clear idea of where to go or what to do, just a vague sense that there was something being left undone, something important. Fifteen minutes later she found herself standing in front of Isabella Community Hospital, staring at the automated sliding doors dumbly, unaware at first why this place should have any significance whatsoever to her.

Of course, he would be here. The man (Anne tried to remember his name and could not) in the accident had been taken away by ambulance. They would have brought him here. Suddenly her wanderings made perfect, if somewhat strangely unsettling, sense to her. Somehow she had found her way here to see him.

Her memory of the accident had already acquired a bizarre quality to it, as though it had happened not that afternoon, but a lifetime ago. Anne sought to picture the scene from earlier that day in her mind, but the resulting mental image was fuzzily indistinct, like an impressionist painting seen at too close a distance. There had been dozens of people milling about before it was all over, and now that it was she strongly doubted she could recall the face of even one of them. Correction: there was one, but only one, the young man drenched in blood. That image remained bright, crisp, and clear.

No, not an impressionist painting at all. A photograph, with only one face among the multitude sharply in focus.

Strangely enough it was not the blood itself that she remembered most vividly. He had been laying on the pavement. His face looked so pale, especially given its sharp contrast with the gaudy crimson of his blood soaked shirt. She remembered staring down at him, standing there in absolute terror, not for herself but for him. Then he turned his head to her.

It had been his eyes; brown. Why that should stand out above all she had no idea. Brown eyes were about as common as common gets. But there was something about his eyes that were not common at all, something she could not name but instinctively knew.

It's because he saw me. I know how insanely odd it would sound if I were to say it aloud, but he saw me. He wasn't just looking at me. For a moment it was like...he was looking into me, seeing past what everyone else sees. He saw me, not the shell I wear.

"Ms. Roche?"

Anne jolted awake. The gentle hand on her shoulder mirroring the hushed voice, rousing her from a light doze. How long had she been asleep? Five minutes? Five hours? More?

"Yes?"

"He will see you now. If you still want to that is."

He? Oh, yes. Him. Silly me.

Anne stole a quick glance at the clock mounted on the far wall; almost seven o'clock now. So it had been closer to five minutes after all...unless it was morning now. No, she dismissed the thought even as it crossed her mind, the window to her right looked out upon the western horizon, the sky had slightly darkened but she could clearly make out where the sun had settled down just below the tree line.

"Ms. Roche I'm sorry to say you'll need to hurry if you want to talk to him tonight. Visiting hours will be ending shortly."

"Yes. Yes, thank you."

Anne slowly rose from her chair and followed behind the nurse, allowing herself to be meekly led onward. Even just that small sliver of slumber had left its mark, her body marked by a stiffness she had not noticed beforehand. Before long the nurse stopped at a door, gesturing at it silently, then turned around and left her there. Clearly this was the place.

The door creaked softly as Anne tentatively pushed it open. The light in here was brighter than she had expected, at least as bright as the hallway itself. There were two beds in the room but only the far bed was occupied, the nearer bed still ready for its next resident whoever that might be.

"Hello."

"Hi there."

The smile was genuine and warm. One potential worry of hers was already melting away at first glance. The blood was gone of course, but in its place she could easily make out the first beginnings of what would soon be an angry purplish knot centered squarely on his forehead. In the days immediately ahead she imagined it would be a hideous sight indeed for the unprepared.

"I hope you'll pardon me if I don't get up. It seems hospital gowns are not designed with visitors in mind."

"No, no. Of course not...I mean don't get up...please."

The man she had come to meet smiled even wider, amused by her sudden discomfiture. Now that she was here, face to face with him it dawned on her that she had positively no clue at all just why she was even here, or what she was supposed to say.

"Um...My name is Anne. Anne Roche. I'm the one that was in the Mustang you hit."

"Yes. I remember. Sorry about that by the way."

"Oh, well. I wasn't sure just how much you might remember. Things were a bit...messy there for awhile."

"Well, I remember you." There was a silence, as if he had thought to add a bit more to the statement and then decided against it. "Oh. Um....My name is Tom Brookes."

Tom extended his hand outward. Anne reflexively reached forward and placed her own hand in his. His handshake was stronger than she expected, though not to the point of being crushing. There was an unmistakable roughness to the palm of his hand. It was obvious he was no stranger to physical labor.

"Yes, I remember you too."

"I must have been quite the sight there. I hope I didn't scare you too badly."

Anne shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. "Well, to tell you the truth...you did, a little. It wasn't the sort of meeting I would have preferred."

"As you can see 'All's well that ends well'."

"Um...Anyway, I can't stay long. I think the nurse may be here to throw me out at any time, but I wanted...Well, I just wanted to make sure you were going to be ok."

"Thank you Miss...um, What was your name again? And why are you here?"

Anne felt a moment of confused alarm before realizing that he was merely having a bit of fun at her expense.

"I'm sorry Anne. I just couldn't resist the sudden urge."

Anne laughed, all the tension draining right out of her in reaction to Tom's mischievous grin. "I would say that I would have to get you back for that, but I think that merely makes us even instead."

"Deal!"

"What do you mean I can't see him?" The voice was shrill and carried clearly right through the closed door at Anne's back There was a response, Anne supposed it was the nurse who had lead her in, but in contrast to the first speaker it was muted to the point of being undecipherable through the thick door. "Well just who is in there with him right now?" Whoever it was out in the hallway was clearly not in the mood to take anything resembling 'no' as an answer to anything.

Tom sighed, his shoulders slumped even as he lay upon the hospital bed. "Mother." The word carried an ominous tone of dread. "Ms. Roche, you may wish to leave now. She's apt to be rather...unpleasant."

Anne nodded without saying a word and crossed the short space between her and the door. She pulled the door inward to reveal a shortish, somewhat frumpy looking woman. The woman's eyes opened wide in surprise before narrowing back down in suspicion.

"Who the hell are you!? And what are you doing in my son's room?!"

Tom

Tom winced softly as he sat up within the bed. He swung his feet over the sides in preparation to stand. The low throb in his head, which he had all but forgotten while talking with Anne suddenly returned with a vengeance.

"I asked you a question miss." The voice of Tom's mother somehow managed to seamlessly blend together a hodgepodge mixture of accusation, menace, and contempt all at once. Instead of eliciting a response it was having the predictable effect of stunning Anne into stupefied silence. The young woman merely stood still in the doorway unable to formulate any meaningful reply.

"Mother, please..."

Janet advanced a step towards the open doorway, apparently intending to enter the room regardless of whether Anne stepped aside or not. Her forward movement forced Anne back into the room. Something about the scene before him, the sight of his mother intimidating this woman who he hardly knew but who had nonetheless made a special effort to come see him, infuriated Tom.

"Actually, you asked two questions. And if you had asked them in a different tone I'm sure Ms. Roche would be happy to answer you. As for why she's here, it's to see me. She was kind enough to check up on me. So please, treat my guest with the respect she's due."

The words came out of his mouth without a second thought, each syllable enunciated with icy crispness. He instantly regretted them even as the last word was spoken. He had intended to draw her attention to himself and away from Anne, and in this he was successful, but in the process of doing so had crossed a line he rarely dared approach. Mistake or not he would not back down now, with the challenge issued he could not step away.

Tom could not recall ever confronting his mother in such a manner and her reaction was clear indication that neither could she. The scene seemed to freeze into place for several long seconds. Janet stopped her advance, her eyes locking on Tom's. In that fleeting, yet eternal moment Tom sensed his mother transitioning from shock to rage and finally settling at pained bewilderment. Anne took yet another step backwards, her eyes darting quickly back and forth between mother and son. Instinctively she stepped to the side, away from the direct line of sight between the two. As it was, both contestants in this silent battle of wills, once focused on the other had lost all awareness of her existence.

"Is there some problem here?" The softly spoken words came from the hallway behind Janet, emanating from some point just out of Tom's sight. The question resonated heavily within the tension filled hospital room despite, or perhaps because of their mellow delivery. Janet's eyes blinked and the battle was ended, not in victory or defeat, but instead as a sort of temporary truce between them.

The nurse, who had been all but forgotten by everyone, span around in place, relief flooding her face. "Dr. Aster, I was just about to call security. I tried to explain..."

"That's ok. I don't believe that will be necessary."

Janet hesitantly turned around to face the speaker in the hallway, reluctantly abandoning eye contact with Tom. Now with her back half turned to the room she slowly entered it in reverse clearing the way for this interloper to come into the room.

Tom did not need to see him to know who it was that approached. Isabella was a small town where it was a given that you would know almost everyone by sight if not by name. Tom already knew who it was by the sound of the voice alone.

Dr. Gregory Aster was young as most doctors went, at least at this hospital, only being in his mid-thirties. Nevertheless his height alone would be enough to command the attention of most. He stood somewhere at or about 6'6". He was handsome too, in a fashion that Tom knew he himself would never be, or indeed as most men never could be. When combined with his quietly competent manner this earned for him a certain brand of respect from almost everyone he interacted with on first sight, even with the old time locals who otherwise might be more grudging in their opinions regarding an African American doctor.

"How are we doing tonight Tom..." Dr. Aster stopped, opened up the manila folder he carried with him and glanced at the top page for a moment. "...Brookes?" He pronounced the name almost as if tasting it for its flavor, judging it as he would a wine's bouquet.

"Honestly, I've had better days." Tom grumbled, the tension slowly easing out of him, but not yet completely absent.

The doctor beamed a warm smile in response. "I imagine so. That's one nasty looking bump on your head. Still, even so, you're very fortunate that it wasn't a much worse day. Luck was with you today, even if it might not seem that way just now."

He flipped first one, then a second page of the file, his eyes rapidly scanning the contents within. "Are we having any headaches, any wooziness, any signs of blurry vision?"

"Yeah, a bit of a headache right now." Tom involuntarily shifted his gaze from the doctor to his mother and then back again as he spoke, but if she noticed the implied rebuke she gave no sign of it. Her attention was now exclusively focused on the doctor.

If his mother was oblivious Dr. Aster was not. He ceased reading the report in his hands, pausing as if to consider his next question. "By the way, my name, as you've already heard is Dr. Aster. I'm the ER admitting physician for the night." He took several steps forward, extending his right hand, not to shake Tom's hand as might be expected, but Janet's.

Tom could see that the doctor's real intention was to subtly interpose himself between the two women, clearing a small pathway for Anne to retreat from the room without requiring her to approach her persecutor. Anne eagerly made the most of the opportunity, slipping out without speaking a word. Janet watched her go, saying nothing.

With his first objective completed and the situation at the very least temporarily defused, Dr. Aster changed his focus back to Tom, shaking his hand in two quick, powerful pumps. "Now...About that headache...Can you tell me approximately where it's located? In the front, back...?"

As he spoke the doctor fished around in his coat pocket, extracting a small penlight. He briefly flashed the light into each of Tom's eyes, carefully noting Tom's physiological response as he did each. Apparently satisfied with the results, his hands then reached out and gently probed Tom's head, lightly feeling for...Well, Tom was not exactly sure what he might be seeking.

"Um...Right about in the middle of the head I'd guess. Kind of hard to pin it down to a specific place."

"Hmm..." His hands now slowly moved down the back of Tom's head, gently poking here and there until he finally stopped near the point where the back of the skull met the topmost extension of the spinal column. Dr. Aster straightened back up, glanced back towards the door, now closed in the wake of Anne's exit, and apparently came to some private conclusion.

"Mrs. Brookes..."

"Ms. Brookes." Janet interrupted, "I'm a widow. My husband died in a car crash almost twenty years ago."

"Oh, I see. I'm very sorry to hear to that Ms. Brookes." The sympathetic tone of his voice was warm and genuine.

"I mention that so that you'll understand if I'm just a bit out of sorts right now. When I heard my son was in a crash, covered in blood and driven away in the ambulance...Well, what mother wouldn't be?"

"Of course."

"And, if you're thinking about asking me to leave the room..."

Tom could tell by the doctor's reaction that he had intended to do just that. Tom gave a slight shrug of resignation, silently accepting the situation.

"Ok then. Here's the good news...The x-rays came back negative. I'm not seeing anything particularly unusual on them. Additionally you performed well on the series of motor control tests that Dr. Syberg gave you when you arrived. There's no obvious nerve damage, hearing loss, or vision loss. Those are all very good things..." Tom waited patiently for the kicker. "However, you do have a concussion, that much is apparent. It's my opinion that it is a fairly mild concussion and I fully expect that in a few days you will back to your usual routine, with one hell of an ugly knot to remind you to drive more carefully for a little while, but otherwise in good shape."

"A few days?" Tom did not like where this seemed to be heading.

"I'd like you to stay here for observation for...say at least the next 24 hours. After that we can see how things are going and I can make a new recommendation on whether we need to extend that or set you free."

"I can't..."

Dr. Aster raised a hand cutting off any argument. "The headache itself is not particularly alarming, not yet at least. I'd be pretty surprised if you didn't have one right now. What concerns me more is the report of memory loss immediately after the accident. That's not to say you should be worried, it's quite common in an incident like this and likely this is just a transient event that won't be repeated. However concussions are tricky things and not something to take lightly."

"But I don't have..."

"Not yet at least? What does that mean?" Janet interrupted.

"As I said, it's not surprising he'd have some discomfort this soon after the accident. I fully expect that to resolve itself in short order though. However if it does become persistent we may need to take a closer look at that. For now though I wouldn't worry unnecessarily. I just believe that it's better to be safe than sorry, and to that end I'd feel better if we kept an eye on him overnight."

"Understood doctor. Of course we'll do as you recommend." And with that Janet had made her pronouncement. The decision was out of Tom's hands. He considered renewing his protest but knew it was pointless. Once again he merely shrugged his shoulders, outvoted.

???

The man stood motionless within the cover of a small grove of scrub pine, patiently watching the house before him. The house was completely dark, rising up off the sand on which it was built and set upon stilts, giving it something of a fortress like appearance. Its inviolability was an illusion though, and he knew that fact all too well, it was just a house and nothing more; no more formidable or sacrosanct than any of the dozens of others located in the vicinity.

Although the skies above him were clear, with the stars shining brightly, there was a dark line of clouds out on the western horizon rolling in rapidly off the water. He knew it would not be long before the weather changed for the worse.

The steady gale winds coming off the Gulf of Mexico constantly plucked at the man's clothes, grabbing each nook and cranny of his parka in an attempt to force him back further into the pines. It was almost as if nature herself was making one last feeble attempt to dissuade him from his task.

Well, let it try. I'm like the postman; 'neither rain, nor sleet, nor gloom of night'...

He smiled at the mental comparison. It was a sure bet that nobody on this stretch of beach would welcome his arrival. The thought did not disappoint him though, in fact it was the entire reason for his being here. These rich out-of-towners, with their million dollar summer homes needed somebody like him; someone to show them that there were limits on what their money could buy them. If you really thought about it, he was actually there to do them a public service, just like the postman, though he knew that none of them would ever stoop to thank him for his dedication to the task.

Every year would see the construction of more and more of these homes in the area. It had begun slowly, with an isolated parcel here or there, but with each passing year the impetus had grown stronger, rising over time to its present level of development. It had gotten to a point where it had actually proven something of a challenge to him just to approach this house without being seen.

Twenty years ago this entire stretch of beach had been completely empty, he knew this because he had been here at the time. He well remembered when False Cape was nothing more than a name on a map. Back in those days you could do pretty much anything you might want to do out here without being bothered, because in those days there was hardly anyone out here to object.

Oh there had always been the rules, but what rules had existed at the time were relatively lax, and more importantly hardly ever enforced, just so long as you made sure to keep the worst violations out of sight. Who really cared if you hunted a deer out of season? Or if you sat on the beach all night smoking marijuana until the break of dawn? Certainly not the local sheriff, he had far more important matters to attend to, like raising money for the next election.

It was not as if the sheriff could have done anything about it even if he had cared to try. There had only been one of him with his handful of deputies, and hundreds of square miles of densely forested, swampy ground to be responsible for throughout the county. Of course this was all before the wonders of modern technology made enforcement of that vast expanse somewhat more feasible. It was also before the federal and state agencies had came barging into the mix, tasked with the mission to interdict drug runners that had abandoned their previous, overcrowded and tightly patrolled smuggling routes further south in favor of the easier points of entry here along the Florida panhandle.

Yes, back then a man could be free to do as he wished. Not anymore.

And it was all because of these people; these rich, out of state, hypocrites. He hated them all with a passion.

They had come into the area like a plague right out of the Bible. Many of them were ex-flower children of the sixties, people who had cowered from their responsibilities as citizens of this great land and opted instead to spit their invective on those that had chosen to do their duty in the humid hell of Vietnam. They were once followers of leaders like Hanoi Jane and Malcolm X, now leading an entirely different sort of life. They reluctantly left behind the Age of Aquarius only to create and embrace the Age of Greed. These college educated hypocrites that had once denounced money as the seeds of evil, changed their minds easily enough once they found out how easy it was to manipulate the system to their own benefit. While the common man continued to struggle endlessly just to put food on the table for himself and his family, they had adopted much better paying professions, like lawyers and stock brokers. As such, they had made their money by siphoning it away from those foolish enough to actually work for it. They were mosquitoes, sucking the blood out of their betters.

Now they were here, in ever increasing numbers. They brought along with them their liberal sensitivities, running roughshod over the local population like lords and ladies of olden times. They bitched about everything of course; the public water tasted different than they were used to, the gun laws were too loose for their taste, and heaven forbid if a local industry bringing in real money for hard working employees incidentally threatened their favorite species of the month. They wanted the laws changed, they wanted improvements in the public utilities and stricter environmental controls. Granted this would all cost money, which meant that the local and state governments would need to raise taxes higher, but they did not see that as especially onerous. They had all come down from places where the tax burden was already much higher than anything they found here.

They thought nothing of plunking down hundred dollar bills on the counters of the local stores like they were pocket change, flaunting their wealth in front of people who counted themselves fortunate if they possessed so much as a twenty dollar bill in their wallet. Hell, they even had the nerve to think of themselves as doing the locals a favor, pumping money into the town's economy. All they really did was raise prices on everything far beyond the reach of those that earned their pay, with the businesses here greedily sucking it all down a dark hole and asking for more. It was not as if any of that money would ever reach down to those that actually needed it, instead it would all go back north, back once more to corporate headquarters in some remote metropolitan city, eventually feeding back into the stock portfolios of these same parasites in one great cycle. It was quite enough to make anyone with a lick of common sense disgusted and outraged.

Well, that is where he would come in. He was here to set things right, even if it was only in a very small way.

If there was anything that these people valued more than money it was their offspring. They took great pains to protect their sons and daughters from the harsh realities of life. They cavalierly spent thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands of dollars just so that they could go to college where they would learn the necessary skills to become the next generation of fiscal vampires. Nobody had ever given him such largess, certainly not his own father. The only gift that man had ever given him was the business end of a leather belt whenever he damn well felt like it, which had been often enough.

The sons he really did not give a damn about. Sure they were all arrogant little pricks in desperate need of a lesson on humility, but he was content to allow someone else to address that issue. He was only one man after all, he had to prioritize. He would focus his attention on the daughters.

Those daughters were all a bunch of cock teasers anyway. Every last one of them. They were eager to shake their asses in the air for any man they took a passing fancy to, but never with any real intention of following through. They just wanted their fun, the hell with the consequences. It was not as if they gave a damn about how it might affect the men, men like him. They were getting far too much enjoyment in watching the men squirm under their thumbs, playing the game they had rigged in their favor at birth. As a younger man he had tried to play by those rules, to abide by society's expectations of him. He had done his best to be a 'good man' and where had it gotten him? Nowhere.

He had his urges, his needs, and they had to be filled. So he had long since stopped playing the game, trying to placate the women in a vain attempt to get what was necessary for his existence. Now, he just took what he required, and if they resisted, all the better.

It was why he was here tonight.

This was not the first time he had stood at this very spot, he had been here just three days ago. He had been quietly watching, all the while carefully taking pains to remain hidden from view, as a young woman had repeatedly strode up and down the set of stairs while carrying boxes of various sizes up from her car. It was clear after only a few minutes, that she was preparing to move in. She was a very attractive twenty-something sandy blond, and even if it had not been for the beautiful house and the fancy, bright red Mustang he still would have recognized her as coming from money. She just had that air to her, maybe it was the way she held herself, with that degree of confidence that only came from possessing wealth. He was not entirely sure how he knew, he just did. It had transmitted easily over that distance, drifting over the intervening space like a prey's scent. It was a scent that was irresistible for a man like him. It had drawn him back to this spot tonight like a bee to a flower.

When he had noticed that many of the items she carried unmistakably belonged to a young child it had done nothing to deter him. Actually it was an unexpected bonus in his opinion. It was a trick he had learned a long time ago, and practiced whenever good fortune provided the opportunity. Control the child, control the mother. All he need do was to threaten the little brat's life and the mother would do anything, literally anything, he wanted. She would eagerly spread her legs and beg him for his cock if he demanded it. The image of the coming scene excited him beyond words. The prospect of having that kind of power over her was intoxicating.

The man shivered, the wind coming in off the water was laden with atomized sea spray and even at this considerable distance from the shore had managed to coat his clothes with a thin, salty mist. He had waited for over two hours now and still there was no sign of activity from the house. His legs, already fatigued by the mile long walk from his truck through the soft sand of the beach now fairly burned from the effort of standing for so long a time. He had thought surely she would be here tonight, settling in for the evening, deluding herself that she was safe in her own home. Regrettably he began to prepare himself for the probability that his quarry would not show herself. He did not know where she was, or why she was not here, but whatever the reason for her absence it was proving extremely frustrating for him.

Soon he would need to make a decision. Leave now and try somewhere else before the night was too far gone, or continue to wait for the target he really desired. It was not as if this was the only house he had scouted out, there were other serviceable targets within a reasonable walking distance. None of them had seemed quite so promising as this one had at the time though, and if he did choose another that likely meant it would be too risky to return for a second attempt. It just did not pay to get too greedy at this little game; a game he had played for years now, slowly learning and perfecting his technique. You had to have patience and discipline. Once a target was chosen, and he had plucked the sweet fruit it was best to move on, to find another hunting ground before the police could manage to reverse the role of hunter and hunted.

I'm home again, or as close to home as I'll ever be. I could stop. Stop the running from town to town, endlessly wondering if the next one is the one that sends me back. I don't have to do this.

No, he could not stop, not anymore. That was foolish, useless thinking. There were warrants out for his arrest. So what if they were all in other states? A warrant was a warrant, it made no difference to him. If he did try to stop, if he tried to start over again, it would only be a matter of time before he was found out and sent back. That was something he could never allow to happen.

Besides he had played the game too many times to stop now. He had gotten the taste and found he liked it far too much for that. It was that moment he lived for now, the moment when she would realize that she was completely at his mercy. With all of them there was always that moment, when at last they could clearly see that no amount of resistance would save them. From that time forward he would be the one in control, not them.

Control is everything. I write the rules. I decide. Not them, not anymore. They think they're the ones in control, but I'll teach them otherwise. I'll teach them all.

He stayed rooted there for several more long minutes, listening intently to the constantly pounding surf. Eventually though he had to accept the truth. She just was not going to show tonight. It was time to choose another. John Foster shook his head sadly, gave the house one final glance and began walking.

Chapter 4

Twin spears of light knifed through the moonless dark, blazing a path for the car that followed in their wake. The vehicle slowed upon reaching its destination, made one last turn up the driveway, and came to a complete stop. The headlights briefly illuminated the raised tailgate of a parked pickup truck before winking out.

Tom watched as the man stepped out of the car and walked up the side of the driveway. The slow tick-tick of the car's engine cooling in the night air and the soft crunch of gravel being stepped upon were the only sounds to mar the otherwise perfect silence of the night. The man...

No, that was wrong. Perhaps he was more than just a mere boy, but it was still far too early to call him a man as yet. This was a fact that Tom knew in the way that all things are known in dreams. It was a fact that was somehow just there, a given piece of information that requires no directly observable evidence to justify its existence.

That's what this is. It's a dream. And that boy is me.

Tom experienced the scene as if he were an invisible presence; his earlier self a separate entity, completely unaware of his existence. He watched as the boy halted beside the pickup, extended a hand and felt the hood of the truck.

The pickup truck, normally bright red in the full light of day, was now a much darker shade resembling the color of dried blood; illuminated as it was, by only the dim light of the stars and a shrouded glow emanating from the plate glass window dominating the house before them.

It's John Foster's truck.

That dream-truth filled Tom with an uneasy sensation, although he did not understand why that should be. He had never really cared for John, that much was true, but the feeling of growing dread he was experiencing now far exceeded anything justifiable by a mere disdain for the truck's owner.

As the boy straightened up and approached the front door of the house Tom felt a sudden urge to shout a warning to him.

Don't open the door. Turn around. Leave now!

But of course nothing came out, his ghostly presence possessed no mouth capable of issuing any such cautionary advice. Nevertheless the boy hesitated, his hand resting on the doorknob, he seemed unsure of whether to proceed or not. Just maybe he would turn around after all. Just maybe Tom's silent alarm had somehow gotten through.

It had not. The boy at last twisted the knob, opened the door, and walked through the doorway. Tom stood on the lawn, pondering whether he should follow his own advice and flee, but he could no more resist the compulsion to enter than his counterpart.

It was then that Tom realized that this was not a dream after all. It was a nightmare, and in nightmares we are all unwilling slaves to our own fate.

Tom

"Good morning!"

Tom awoke disoriented, unsure of where he was or why he was there. The woman standing near the foot of his bed, dressed in maroon colored scrubs, was busy scribbling something down on a clipboard she held in her hands.

She's a nurse. I'm in the hospital. I remember now. There was an accident.

Without quite understanding why it should be so Tom felt a huge wave of relief wash over him at the realization. Still somewhat groggy, he began looking about the room, taking in details here and there. He did not recognize the woman, he certainly would have remembered her if she had been one of the nurses he had dealt with the previous evening. She was a heavyset woman, threatening to pass over into obese. Tom judged her to be well into middle age, with errant streaks of gray running through her otherwise dark hair which at the moment was pulled back tightly in a bun at the back of the head.

The second thing he noticed regarding the room were the flowers. There was a single vase sitting on a small table alongside the wall just behind where the nurse stood filled with yellow flowers, though Tom had no idea what sort of flowers they might be. Horticulture was definitely not included on his short list of interests.

The nurse, sensing the change of focus in his attention, turned around to spy what he might be looking at. "Ah, yes. Flowers already. I'll bet this room is stuffed with them before you leave here. A young man like you must have lots of people missing you already." She reached out a hand, plucked the card from the side of the vase and came around to his bedside, handing it off to Tom.

There was something odd about her accent that Tom could not immediately identify, a lilt to it that was foreign to his ear. At first he attributed it simply to the cheerfulness with which she spoke. Being something of a cynic, Tom's first reaction when hearing anyone that cheerful was to wonder just what sort of mischief they might be trying to hide and whether or not he should be worried as a result.

He took the card from her hands, opened it up, and read it silently to himself. The card was from the preacher at the Gulfside Baptist Church, of which he had officially been a member since his baptism as an young child. Reality was another matter entirely. Tom doubted that he had stepped through those doors and sat in those pews for over a decade now. The idea that he would now be receiving well-wisher flowers and a card from this man was frankly mystifying to Tom.

"Not that you'll be here all that long anyway. A quick rest and you'll be ready to bounce right out of here don'cha know!"

Somewhere up north. Minnesota, or maybe Canada. That's why she sounds foreign.

She essentially was, at least in this town. Isabella, being a small coastal community located in northern Florida was, strangely enough, simultaneously at the edge and at the core of the Deep South. If you were to travel southerly down the peninsula you would eventually cross an invisible line somewhere in the vicinity of Gainesville where the cultural character of the state begins to slowly, but dramatically change to resemble a hodgepodge mixture of many different influences including Cuban exiles and Yankee retirees among others. Here though, in the northwestern third of the state, things were different. On the surface it was just another American small town, like any other you might find anywhere else in the nation, just another piece of that great amalgam called the United States. Take the time to scratch the surface though and you would soon find that the Old South still lived on underneath; with all that implied, good and evil.

Tom gave the woman a small, half smile in reply. There was an infectious quality to her personality, as if she simply had too much happiness to keep it all caged within even her large frame, and by necessity it had to be spread around to everyone she met.

A low rumble sounded far off in the distance, drawing Tom's attention to a small glass window. The window was darkened, and had it not been for the sound of thunder he would have simply assumed that it was still night. A cursory glance told him otherwise. It was daytime, though exactly what time of day was unclear. Dark, angry rain clouds blotted out any hint of sunlight, though as yet there was no actual rain falling.

"Oooh it's looking to get nasty out there. I got a chance to catch a little of the weather channel before coming on shift. It's supposed to rain all day long. Hmmm....Would'ja like me to turn the TV on in here? Maybe see if we can get an update on that?"

Tom merely gave a small shrug of the shoulders, passively accepting whatever she might choose to do. Taking this as her cue to continue, the nurse picked up a remote off a nearby tabletop, used it to power on the television and began flipping through the channels seemingly at random. "You aren't much of a talker are you? Well, that's ok. I talk enough for two people so we'll get along just fine I think. My name's McKinney by-the-by."

By-the-what? Oh! She means by-the-way.

Tom had become so focused on deciphering this woman's strange accent that he was slow to notice when she finally ceased her mad channel surfing, apparently having located the target of her interest. On the screen was a radar image of the surrounding region. Raggedly bisecting the image was an ominous multicolored ribbon with bright red splotches at its core.

"I'll be. If we aren't on the very edge of ugly!"

The time lapsed motion loop showed the squall line originating at the northwest edge of the radar coverage, with the line itself stretching from the northeast to the southwest. The line was moving very rapidly to the southeast with Isabella almost dead center in its path. As colorful phrases go Tom judged hers to be an apt one, once the rain began in earnest it was likely to get very ugly indeed.

Anne

Anne awoke to the crashing peal of thunder. It boomed so loudly that it rattled the room and everything within it. Fat droplets of water were beating hard against the patio glass doors, beyond which lay a narrow balcony overlooking the highway two stories below.

It's just rain. Go back to sleep.

She lay her head back upon the pillow. The insistent rat-a-tat-tat of thousands of raindrops beat out a lullaby luring her back towards the realm of dreams. Her eyes closed, fluttered open again briefly, then closed once more, her hold on consciousness gradually slipping away.

Michelle!

Anne's head rose from the pillow like a flash, her five senses suddenly seemed sharpened a hundredfold, each reaching out in search of her child. For several long seconds she sat there in the twilight of the morning's rain-darkened gloom listening intently for any telltale indication of her little girl's whereabouts, hearing only the thudding of her own racing heart beating out a rhythm even louder and more frenetic than the deluge outside.

She's with Mrs. Sheppard.

Anne turned her head and spotted the red, dully glowing numbering on the bedside alarm clock, the time flipping over from 9:45 to 9:46 as she watched. Michelle would be back at the daycare center by now with all the other kids.

She rose from the bed, crossed the room and fumbled along the wall with her left hand in search of the room's overhead light switch. It was then that she noticed a stiffness to her back that was completely new and unexpected. Her first impulse was to simply explain it away as a poor night's sleep in a bed that was not her own. Then it occurred to her that just maybe it could have had something to do with the accident the previous day and that it might have been better if she had allowed the EMTs to examine her after all. Too late for that now though, she would just have to see if the stiffness went away with the day.

With the room's lights now on, she retrieved her purse from its place on top of the dresser, rummaged around within for her billfold and eventually extracted a business card for the daycare center. She sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching for the phone as she sat. She hesitated before dialing however, her eyes drawn to the image of the rain beating against the glass. The furiously falling rain along with the howl of the gusting winds combined to produce a mesmerizing vision.

I should wait until after I've had breakfast, or at least a cup of coffee to wake me up before I call.

Lightning flashed off in the distance. Seconds later the low rumble of thunder reverberated through the room causing her to flinch reflexively in response. This one had been further away, but still far too close for her liking.

It's just lightning. Nothing to worry about. Who's afraid of a few thousand volts of electricity anyway?...Ok me, that's who.

She sat there, watching the storm rage as if in a trance. Anne's thoughts slowly drifted from topic to topic, never quite settling on any one subject for long before flitting away like a butterfly to something else. At first she attempted to keep her mind focused on the practical, crafting a mental checklist for goals she wanted to accomplish over the next four days before she began her new job on Tuesday afternoon. After a few minutes she finally gave up the effort and allowed her mind to wander to where it really wanted to go, back to that hospital room from the previous evening.

She still was not even sure why she had gone there in the first place. Of course it could be explained away as merely wanting to make sure he was not seriously hurt, a natural concern for a fellow human being given the situation. Somehow deep inside she knew that was a lie, or rather that it was at best a grossly incomplete explanation. There had been something else at play; an urge, a compulsion to go there. Almost as puzzling had been her own reaction while there. She had acted like a nervous schoolgirl upon entering the room, unsure of herself in a way that was completely alien to her. Her parents had raised her to be a self-assured, oftentimes headstrong, young woman, unafraid to brashly reach for whatever it was she wanted. Even her marriage to Robert had not changed that, in fact it was that spirit, in combination with her need to provide her daughter with a future unencumbered by his controlling influence, that had seen her through those unhappy years. If her initial nervousness at the hospital was not unusual enough, what followed certainly was. Being suddenly confronted by his mother in such a bizarre manner had left her feeling like a trapped animal cornered by a hunter.

She would not let herself get into that sort of a pickle again. She had done her duty. She had checked on his welfare. He was going to be just fine. That was it; case closed. There was no further reason to see him unless she just happened to bump into him on the street, and then she only need exchange the obligatory greeting before continuing on her merry way, resuming her busy life. She had way too much on her plate already. The very last thing she needed was to be involved, however innocently, with someone with a half-crazed woman for a mother.

Oh no! Dad! I completely forgot.

Picking up the phone once more, she began to dial his office, then stopped. It being a Friday, he would not be there. To her knowledge he had not worked a Friday in almost fifteen years; the privilege of being a senior partner was having a say in what hours you actually spent in the office and which you could you merely phone-in from home. She set the receiver down on its cradle momentarily, checked to make sure she had a fresh dial tone, and began to dial again, this time using the number of his private home office. Two rings was all it took to get an answer.

"Um, Hi dad." Her tone was sheepish, half expecting him to be furious with her.

"Are you okay?" His reply evinced no anger, only concern.

"Yes. I'm perfectly fine. I'm sorry about yesterday, there was an incident." An understatement perhaps, but true enough for her conscience to swallow.

"Incident? What does that mean?"

Anne paused, unsure of just what to say.

"Anne, I could hear a siren over the phone before it went dead. Now...What kind of incident?"

Busted. Oh well, it made the choice much easier for her.

"My car got rear ended yesterday. That's what you heard. I'm perfectly fine, a bit of damage to the back bumper but that's all. Nothing to be worried about."

A short period of silence followed. Anne could almost see her father sitting there, mulling over what he had heard and how to respond to it.

"Ok."

That's it? Seriously?

"Really?"

"Yes, really... Look Anne, I love you honey. You know that I do. If you ever really need anything that I can help you with then I'll do whatever it takes, but whether I like it or not you're a grown woman now with your own little girl to raise. Your mother and I have done the best we could for you, and I think we've raised a very smart young lady that has what it takes to make it on her own. If you say you've got things handled then that's what I'll go by. It's time for you to start making the choices you'll need to live by; not me, not anyone else, just you."

Of all the possible things she might have imagined he would say, this was definitely not one of them. Anne sat there unable to reply, afraid she might begin crying if she tried. Knowing that he was expecting some sort of response she finally choked out the one thing, the only thing she could say.

"Dad, I love you."

"I know. Your mother and I both know."

"I need to hang up now. I'll call you again soon. I promise."

"Ok. Take care honey."

And that was it. A click, then an empty dial tone and finally nothing but the sound of the rain beating against the glass once more.

Oh crap! I'm an adult now. When did that happen?

Anne leaned forward on the bed and stared absently at the carpeted floor between her feet feeling the weight of that thought bearing down on her.

Tom

Tom sat in the chair staring out the window at nothing in particular. The fingers of his right hand methodically beat out a tuneless rhythm against the chair leg. If there had been anyone else in the room to observe him they would likely attribute his current behavior to sheer boredom, and they would be at least half right. He was bored, incredibly bored, but that alone did not completely account for his present mood.

He wanted a cigarette, and wanted it badly. So badly, in fact, that he found it difficult to keep his thoughts on any other subject than his immediate need of feeding his addiction to nicotine. As almost any smoker would freely admit, smoking was a curse, especially so because as much as he might despise the habit and rue the day he had smoked his first cigarette it was never quite so strong as his desire for 'just one more right now'.

Maybe this time I really will quit. Maybe.

He knew he would not though. It takes more than a mere loathing of the habit itself and what it does to a person to see you through the process of quitting. That was because quitting was not something you did for a day, a week, or even a year and then the trial was over, mission accomplished. No, smoking was an addiction, meaning it was something you had to be ready for over the long haul. And long haul in this case meant forever. Nicotine gum, patches, and support groups might see you through long enough to kick the habit initially, help you purge the body of its purely physical fixation. But the psychological desire was a different manner of beast altogether, and he instinctively knew that as with his mother before him it would be something that never went away. It would always be there, ready to welcome him back to the ranks. All it would take would be a stressful moment and an instant of weakness and he would fall once more. For that reason, it was not enough to merely abhor the addiction, it also required having a positive reason to truly desire to be free of its effects. You have to be able to believe that you really are abstaining for a reason, not just temporarily putting off the inevitable. Without that kind of faith the act of quitting was pointless, merely putting yourself through a form of self-torture. And for what, to temporarily deny the undeniable?

Tom had tried earlier that morning to get his mind off cigarettes by watching television. The hospital TV set had a basic cable package, something that his own television back at his apartment lacked. But despite the expanded options of cable it was still just a television, which meant as far Tom was concerned, it just had twice as many channels of crappy programming to watch.

And so after awhile he had finally gotten out of his bed, wandered over next to the window and pulled up a nearby chair to sit down in. He had been there for over an hour by this point, simply staring out the window, his mind racing, though not quite able to continue any single thought process for very long. The squall's initial winds had died down by now, but the pace of the rainfall had not. If anything it seemed to be coming down harder than ever. He watched as long, undulating sheets of water cascaded across the hospital parking lot.

Though it was only the first week of March, the sight of the downpour was reminiscent of a summer thunderstorm in its ferocity. Tom had always loved summer storms while growing up. There was something comforting about them that was difficult to explain. First there would be the lightning, and its accompanying thunder, initially it would start far in the distance beyond the horizon, but coming nearer with each passing minute. Soon enough the skies would be crisscrossed by a steady display of natural fireworks far more awe inspiring than any pyrotechnics he had ever witnessed in any Independence Day demonstration. Next would come the first fat drops of rain hitting the warm earth and releasing a unique earthy odor, a fragrant mixture of moisture and life. And finally would come the winds, carrying with them the cooling spray of rain, a much welcome relief from Florida's typical muggy heat. It was a total package in his mind, one that spoke not just of home, but of his childhood, of a time when he could sit down for an hour or so on the porch and just watch the rain with no worries or cares sufficient to intrude on the moment.

"Well now, if that isn't a humdinger of a burst!"

It was the nurse again. He had found himself so engrossed in the tableau outside that he not even noticed her entrance. He struggled to remember her name again.

McKinney.

Yes, that was it. He had a fleeting flash of satisfaction at being able to successfully recall her name before it was drowned out by a greater sense of irritation from her intrusion on his solitude. Her cheerful demeanor this morning had initially prompted an instinctual degree of wariness on his part, before he had at last found himself beginning to warm up to her. Now however, there was only an aggravating feeling of annoyance. Her gaiety might be endless, but his patience certainly was not, especially not now.

Tom said nothing in reply, merely watching her without comment as she pushed in a cart loaded with the afternoon meal. The nurse ambled the cart over to a spot near where he sat. Upon first sight of the food there was an inaudible grumble from the pit of his stomach, a reminder of just how long it had been since he had last eaten, or perhaps in protest against the anticipation of hospital food.

"Thank you." His words of gratitude were spoken low, without true conviction.

Fortunately she seemed not to notice, or if she had she was taking pains not to let it show. "There's a visitor out in the waiting room wanting to see you. Do you want to finish your lunch first before I send her in?"

"Her?" Tom's head came up instantly.

"Oh ya. Beautiful wisp of a girl she is too. I imagine you'll be happy to see her." The nurse dropped her voice a notch and added conspiratorially, "Now don't you be thinking of pulling any hanky panky in here. You might have the room to yourself for the time being but this is still a hospital. So you mind your manners." Tom could not help laughing in response, the sight of the nurse wagging a single finger as a final point of emphasis added just the right comic touch.

"Thank you, but I'll see her now if you wouldn't mind sending her in. And I promise, no hanky or panky."

Nurse McKinney gave a silent nod, her smile widening, obviously pleased with herself that she had at last found the secret to lightening his mood. She turned and exited the room quickly, leaving Tom alone with the slowly cooling meal.

Tom's pulse quickened slightly in anticipation of being able to see Anne again. He could hardly believe that she would be willing to see him again after that confrontational scene with his mother the prior evening. Mentally he began to prepare some sort of apology to give her, something that would convince her that his mother was not really anywhere near as bad as she might think. He wanted Anne to understand that it was only the stress of the moment that had brought out the worst in her. In the seconds that passed, version after version of this explanation was hurriedly conceived, then rejected as inadequate.

"Ya, the next door. Go on in miss." The sound of McKinney's voice out in the hallway seemed artificially raised, as if she knew he would appreciate one last instant of preparation before seeing his guest.

A wide smile crossed Tom's face in anticipation, then melted away as in walked Beverly Dyer.

Janet

Janet sat in the corner booth of the Flamingo Cafe sipping her cup of coffee slowly. On the table top in front of her was a plate on which sat one half of a grilled cheese sandwich. She had ordered the light lunch primarily because it had seemed the right thing to do at the time instead of any real hunger on her part. Mostly she was there simply to relax. It was Friday, a day off from work. This was her day, and no matter what might come as the day progressed she was at least going to start it off right, at her own pace.

So far things were going much smoother than yesterday, a fact for which she was very grateful. It had started with a good night's sleep, an all too rare event for her. Upon returning from the hospital late last evening she had been quite exhausted, worn down by the stresses of the day. She had come home, changed into her nightgown, and was fast asleep within near record time; and this without the necessity of taking any of the Valium that idiot doctor had prescribed.

Not only had she managed to get to sleep easily, just as remarkable was how long she had managed to stay asleep. It was almost noon before she woke up, a period of nearly fourteen long hours. She could not remember the last time she had slept for such a long stretch of time. When she did awake her body felt a little stiff at first, but her mind was uncommonly alert, free of the usual cobwebs that came in the wake of a poor night's rest.

Normally she would have simply brewed a pot of coffee back at the house, taking her relaxation in the comfort of her own home. She was not in the habit of eating out, chiefly because smoking in public restaurants, indeed virtually every public space had long since been outlawed. A simple cup of coffee after a meal just was not the same sans a cigarette.

It's like sex without the orgasm.

She chuckled softly to herself at the thought. Just as she was not in the habit of eating out, likewise she was not in the habit of letting her mind wander to thoughts of a sexual nature. To allow herself the freedom to ruminate on such topics was just asking for trouble in her opinion. Usually she was successful at banishing such considerations from her mind on a daily basis, but every so often the stray thought would slip through the mesh. How could it not? She might be a bit past her prime, but that did not mean she was dead yet.

Not that it was anybody's business but her own, but it had been quite some time since she had been with anyone in an intimate manner. It had been too long, she was forced to admit to herself. The last time had been (here she had to stop and think it through for a second) roughly eleven years ago. And that had been with John, so it hardly even counted as 'intimate'. Sex with him had been more like a coupling between barnyard animals than anything resembling love.

Janet's face soured at the thought of him. She had no idea what had happened to him after he left all those years ago, and for the most part she really did not care. All she cared about was that she never have to see him again. Ten years gone was not nearly enough.

If there's any justice in this world he's more than likely dead by now, and good riddance.

A bitter half smile crossed her face as she pictured John laying in a ditch somewhere, preferably with an agonizing gutshot bleeding out his lifeblood slowly. It was a pleasant scenario to contemplate, though perhaps still a bit too merciful for her taste. He deserved worse in her opinion, much worse.

It was because of John that she had turned away any potential suitors over the past decade. It was because of John that she could not help flinching whenever a man touched her, even when the contact was incidental and innocent. It was because of John that she had let herself go, allowing her body to slowly morph over time to a point where her outward appearance more closely matched her state of mind. It was a defense mechanism, though one that she had never consciously decided on, a way to ensure that the flirts and overtures from men, both single and otherwise, came more and more infrequent. And as defense mechanisms went, hers had become very effective indeed. When she was younger there had never been a shortage of opportunities, but that was long ago. Now...

Enough! There was no use in thinking about it. She had already spent far too much time thinking on the matter over the years. Time to let it rest.

Only she could not. She never could. She doubted she ever would.

This is why you don't let your thoughts go to sex. There's never any good down that path.

And that is when she began to think about Travis, almost as if some small part of her psyche were protesting the thought, proclaiming it false. There was good there after all. As bad as John had been for her, there were good men out there as well.

Her marriage with Travis had not been perfect. No marriage ever was. But he had been a good man, and she had never doubted, even at the worst of times that he had loved her. She had loved and trusted him in return, and as far as she knew, he had never violated that trust, not even at the end when everything seemed to fall apart at the seams.

But Travis was gone too, and with him she did not need to wonder about his fate. He was dead, killed as a result of a stupid freakish traffic accident. His body had been mangled so badly she was never called upon to identify it. The authorities deemed it simply a waste of time. Instead they had called upon dental records and DNA testing to do what she could not. With him there would be no open casket funeral. There had only been the long droning of grief from friends and family as each in turn attempted, yet failed to bring comfort to her. It was her mother that had finally done the most to break through, by pointing out that whatever grief she was going through the fact remained that she still had two beautiful children from that marriage. Her children needed her to be strong, if not for her own sake then at the very least for theirs.

Tom reminded her so very much of Travis. So much so that at times it was almost painful to look at him. It was not just that Tom looked like Travis, that much would be expected, it went much deeper than that. The similarities between them were often uncanny; the same mannerisms, the same sensitive natures, even the sound of their voices were virtually identical.

Jenny was a different story altogether. If looking at Tom was like looking at an old photograph then looking at Jenny was more like looking into a time warped mirror. Whenever Janet looked at her daughter she saw herself, or rather what she had once been. Janet knew, without wanting to admit it, that this had been a major factor in their estrangement. She had tried her very best to treat them both equally, she certainly felt she had loved them equally, but the bitter truth was that despite her best efforts it had never quite worked out that way. She had demanded more of Jenny; showing less flexibility when the situation warranted it, and more criticism when it did not.

But now Jenny was coming home, even if it was only for a day or two. She would seize the opportunity, try once again to find some bridge between them. This time she would succeed where so many times she had failed. She just had to redouble her efforts, show more patience. Above all she knew she would have to make Jenny understand just how proud she really was of her daughter. Jenny had somehow gotten past a very rough spot in her life and had managed to turn her life around, this was no small thing. It was critical that Jenny understand just how much her mother admired and respected her for that.

Janet lifted the coffee cup to her lips and took a small sip. The contents had gone cold, indicating just how long she had sat there brooding. By reflex she glanced at her watch only to be alarmed by the realization that she had been there almost an hour now. She still had to run by the hospital this afternoon and check to see if Tom would be discharged.

It's a fair bet he'll need me to give him a ride to his apartment if they do.

She hurriedly snatched up the tab, gave it a summary glance and extracted enough from her purse to cover both the bill and a modest tip for the waitress. She left the money on the table, not bothering to flag down the waitress or stop at the register. She had spent at least twice as much time here as she had intended and now it was time to add a bit of urgency to her pace.

Janet hesitated after exiting the cafe. The rain had slackened considerably during the time she had spent inside but it was still steady enough to give a good drenching in short order. Well, rain or no rain she could not simply stand here all day huddled under the awning. She took a breath, gathered her coat collar up and over her head and began the dash down the street sidewalk in the direction she had parked earlier.

A pickup truck rumbled down Flagler street heading in the opposite direction. Something made her stop suddenly in her tracks. There was something she could not quite comprehend, that drew her attention to that truck. It was not as if it were the only truck of its type in town. In Isabella there were quite likely as many pickup trucks on any given day as there were cars, enough to liberally cover every conceivable make and model several times over. And there did not seem to be anything particularly unique about this truck. It was an older model with a badly worn red exterior that was in desperate need of a new paint job, but again that was not especially remarkable in this town either. So what was it that had grabbed her attention? She did not know, but whatever it had been refused to let go.

The driver of the pickup was obscured from her view for the one or two seconds she might have had to identify him or her. The truck's windshield wipers beat furiously back and forth in an effort to keep pace with the rain. Her eyes continued to follow the vehicle as it passed. The license plates were from Louisiana. Her mind raced, trying to think of anyone she knew from that state only to come up blank.

Then she saw it; the sticker on the back left bumper. The sticker was faded and peeling but still legible. In bold white letters on a black background were the words "Will trade wife for good hunting dog".

She knew that truck. It had belonged to the one person in the entire world she had hoped to never see again. It was John's.

Chapter 5

Tom

"You were expecting someone else, weren't you?"

"No, of course not." Tom lied. Hastily he reapplied a smile even as he began to rise from the chair. Not knowing the exact protocol for moments like this he found himself temporarily flustered, a bit unsure of what he should do next. Cross the room and shake hands? Sit back down and wait for her to speak? He settled on a compromise. He walked a short distance until he was even with the hospital bed and then sat down on its side, now closer to where Beverly stood, but not yet close enough to reach out and touch.

She pasted a smile on her own face equally ambiguous as his own; unsteady and hesitant. "I just came by to see how you were doing. I have to admit you scared the hell out of me yesterday."

"I'm sorry about that." And he was, this much was true without reservation. Whatever issues they had between them, however angry he might have been, he had never maliciously meant to hurt her. Those last hurtful words to her at the Barn had come out of his own pain, not as a deliberate attempt at verbal retribution. But whether intentional or not he knew the effect it must have had on her and that cut a gash in his conscience that ached worse than any physical injury sustained yesterday.

"So...How are you?...Doing, that is."

"Oh, I'm doing good. The doc thinks I'll be the same ol' me in no time at all." Tom shifted slightly on the bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. The side railing, though in the down position was still managing to poke him in all the wrong ways and growing less comfortable by the second. "Um...On second thought, maybe that really isn't for the best."

"What do you mean?" Beverly took a step into the room, the door automatically closing behind her with a soft click.

"Being the same ol' me. I think its time I tried to improve on that."

"I don't understand." And it was clear from the expression on her face that indeed she did not.

"Well, I...Excuse me for a second. Could you please turn around for just a bit?" He twirled a finger in a turnaround gesture for extra measure.

"Oh, of course."

Tom waited for Beverly to do as directed, rose from the bed, went back to his previously occupied chair, turned it to face towards her, and plopped down without ceremony.

"Thank you very much. I'm afraid all I have under this stupid gown is a pair of boxers and I just had to get up from there."

"All better now?"

"Oh, yes. You can turn back now."

There was a sly hint of the old Beverly humor in her eyes. "Tom, I've seen you with less before. I never had cause to object then."

"Yes, but that was then. Things are different now."

Beverly gave a slight nod of the head, as if confirming in her own mind the truth of his words. "Yes. I guess you're right. Things are definitely different now."

And it was just that quick, the brief old familiar ease between them; there for the briefest of instants and then gone once more, replaced yet again by a freshly erected wall of tension.

Stupid! Why did I have to say that?...Because it's true.

Beverly nervously glanced from side to side. Tom could see that she was preparing to make her exit. Somehow their roles had reversed from the day before, with her wanting to flee and him now desiring to talk. Only he had no idea what it was he should say, or what he could say.

"I should be discharged some time this evening I think." Tom rushed the words out, trying to find something to say that would keep her from bolting from the room.

"Oh. That's good."

She looked back at him once more, this time looking directly at him, perhaps for the first time since entering. Beverly winced as she took note of the swelling lump on his forehead, which he had all but forgotten himself until just now. She took another step closer, her right hand coming up.

"Don't worry. It really doesn't hurt all that much anymore."

Except whenever I touch it.

As though she had somehow intercepted the unspoken thought her hand stopped moving forward mere inches away from him. She held it suspended in the air for a second or two, then lowered it back down. A look of sadness crossed her face that cut Tom to the core. How had things come to this? How could it all have gone so wrong that even with both trying their best all they could manage was to cause the other yet more grief?

"Well, um...Anyway I can't stay. I'm here on an extended lunch but I'm sure my boss is starting to get a bit antsy by now. She's a bit of the nervous Nellie type."

Beverly took one step straight back, slowly turned around and began to leave.

"Bev...Please stay."

She froze in place, her hand on the doorknob, neither turning back nor moving forward. "I..." Her voice was on the edge of breaking. "I can't keep doing this Tom. Not anymore. I know how you feel about me, about what happened. I'm sorry. You have no idea just how much. But Tom, it happened, and there is nothing I can do to change that."

"Beverly, please. Yesterday you wanted me to talk. I wasn't ready for it then, you caught me too much by surprise..."

You can do this Tom. Just do it. Do it now, before she leaves, before its too late.

"...You asked me for understanding. That's still not something I can give yet..."

Tom could see her hand tightening its grip on the handle, preparing to pull the door open.

"Wait, Beverly. Hear me out."

She lowered her forehead against the door, held in place by his plea.

"Understanding is something that I can't promise, but Beverly I want to try. Help me try. Could we...maybe start with something a little easier? If you'll be patient with me I'd like to start with forgiveness. I know things have changed now, but I miss my friend, and I want her back."

She turned around to face him. Tears misted the corners of her emerald green eyes.

Anne

"Mommy!"

The miniature screaming dervish raced around the corner of the single-story, red brick building and bounded towards Anne at full throttle. Completely heedless of the lightly falling drizzle, she splashed over and through puddles along her path with abandon, never allowing any of them to slow her in the slightest.

Anne squatted down, scooped up her little girl and lifted her briefly into the air before setting her back down on the ground once more. "Ooooh I missed you so much!" And she meant it completely without the least exaggeration. This was not the first time she had needed to part with her daughter for a day or more, and she certainly knew it would not be the last, but that did nothing at all to make the separation any easier.

"Mommy, mommy! Guess what!"

"What?"

"Mrs. Sheppard has a dog!" Michelle made the announcement with the enthusiasm of someone that had just discovered the most wonderful of hidden secrets.

"No!" Anne reacted with mock surprise, getting caught up and swept along with her daughter's exhilaration.

"Yeah, his name is Max. And he's a biiig dog too!" She stressed the word 'big' as if the canine had been a ten foot tall monster of a beast. "He's all black. But he's nice. Not at all like Mizzy. He even let me ride him!"

Anne frowned at that. Michelle was still at that age where she needed to learn her boundaries and respect the feelings of others, and that applied especially with pets. Mitsy was a ten year old cocker spaniel, owned by Anne's mom. Only four months ago it had given Michelle a small warning nip after she had attempted to pick it up in an awkward manner. Anne had hoped that it might teach her daughter a valuable lesson regarding how to interact with animals but apparently it had not.

"Now honey, you can't do that anymore. You might hurt him."

"But he didn't mind. Honest!"

"I said don't. That's final!"

Michelle looked ready to continue her protest but reconsidered upon hearing the stern tone of her mother's pronunciation of the word 'final'. Anne knew though that her admonition would be forgotten the moment she was once again out of sight. Her daughter seemed determined to learn all her lessons the hard way. Well, that did not mean she should not at least try to reason with her.

Now, how do I do that?

"Honey, listen to me."

The look on Michelle's face indicated that at that moment listening to her mother was just about the very last thing she wanted to do.

"What is the name of Mrs. Sheppard's granddaughter?"

"Kinesha." Michelle's face lit up at the mere mention of her new friend.

"You and Kinesha are friends now, right?"

"Best friends!"

"Now lets pretend that you and Kinesha are playing..."

"Dolls!" Michelle interjected excitedly.

"Ok. You're playing dolls. And you're both having fun." Michelle nodded her head vigorously, as if her mother had merely stated the most obvious thing in the world. "But then something happens, and Kinesha does something to hurt you."

Michelle scrunched up her face. "But she wouldn't do that. We're friends."

"Well, she wouldn't do it on purpose, no. But sometimes we hurt others without meaning to. Maybe we play a bit too rough, or we say something without thinking first. It's easy to hurt others without ever wanting to."

"But I would just tell her to stop."

"That's right! You would, wouldn't you?"

"Yup!" Michelle's face brightened once more, the hypothetical problem solved in her mind with that simple statement.

"And since Kinesha is your friend, and she didn't want to hurt you, I imagine she'd feel real bad about it afterwards. Wouldn't she?"

"She'd better!" A quick vigorous nod adding emphasis.

"But honey, animals can't talk. They can't tell you to stop."

"Oh." It was clear that this was something she had never stopped to consider before.

"Now, stop and think about how you would feel if you had accidentally hurt him."

Michelle took a second or two to answer. Anne could see her thinking it through as if she had been asked what letter might come next after 'A'.

"Bad, I guess."

Anne smiled, gratified by her girl's simple exercise of logic. "That's right. And we don't want you to have to feel bad. Now do we?" And with that she began poking her gently with her right index finger, reducing Michelle to a giggling ball of laughter within seconds.

The merciless teasing went on almost a full minute before Anne heard the sound of someone clearing their throat conspicuously in an effort to gain her attention. She released Michelle from her grip and straightened up, turning at the same time to face the direction the sound had come from.

Mrs. Sheppard stood at the same corner from which Michelle had emerged earlier, leaning against the building lightly with her arms loosely folded together. She was smiling earnestly, allowing Anne to catch a glimpse of her brightly shining white teeth as they contrasted sharply with the dark ebony hue of her skin. Anne had a difficult time imagining her as a grandmother, she could not have been much past the age of 40, perhaps 45 at the very most.

Anne gave a quick wave before returning her focus to her child. "Honey, I want you to run back inside and gather your things, then I want you to come back out here. Ok?"

"Can I say goodbye to everybody?"

"Of course you can, especially Kinesha."

Michelle's face soured in disappointment. "I can't. She's not here. She's at school." She spoke as if her friend had been flown to the other side of the globe.

"I see. You know, it won't be too long before you'll have to start going to school also. How would you like that? You'd be able to see her every day."

"Every day? Really?"

Anne laughed, "Yes, really. Now, go get your stuff."

Michelle did not need to be told a third time. She bounded off just as rapidly as she had arrived.

"How much did you see?" Anne spoke to the air, never turning back to face Mrs. Sheppard. She did not need to, Anne knew without a doubt that her question had been clearly heard and understood.

"Enough, I think."

Anne smiled, suddenly embarrassed. She felt as though she had been tested without her knowledge, a pop quiz on Parenting 101. "When I was her age I used to think my parents knew everything. But it's a lot harder than I ever imagined. Knowing what to do, what to say. I never really know if I'm doing it right."

"Right enough, I would say. You never get everything just right. In the end, you have to keep doing your best and hope that 'right enough' really is enough."

Anne considered this silently for a bit. "It gets scary though sometimes. Thinking that maybe it's not enough."

"I know. It always is. It still scares me sometimes. I don't think that ever goes away. It's what makes you a mom."

Anne smiled, deeply satisfied.

Tom

Tom sat motionless in the passenger seat of his mother's Ford Taurus, patiently waiting for her return. Currently she was inside the Maxi-Mini picking up a few items. What items that might include he neither knew nor cared to know about, with one notable exception. She was buying a pack of cigarettes at his request.

He was understandably grateful that she had so readily agreed to spot him the money for a fresh pack. Whatever had remained of his previous pack had been discarded right along with his ruined clothes yesterday, a fact that he oddly rued almost as much as the accident itself. Tom knew that there would be no cigarettes waiting for him at his apartment, the lost pack being the very last of his supply until payday, a week from today.

At least he had his own clothes again, courtesy of his mother. She had been thoughtful enough to raid the storage room for a fresh change of clothes before leaving for the hospital. That was his mother all over, always thinking ahead, always planning for every contingency. Sadly, it was a trait that he had never inherited from her. It was more his style to just let the flow of events take their course and deal with the consequences as best he could.

Probably the reason I'm always broke.

Normally he might have been able to see her within the convenience store as she went about her task. The car was parked right in front, with a clear line of sight to the plate glass windows that constituted the store's front. Instead all he could see from his vantage point was the steamed up windshield directly before him, water beading on the glass before creating tiny rivulets that dripped down along the interior towards the dashboard.

Tom reached forward, closing the vents on his side of the car. She had the heat cranked up again. Since leaving the hospital parking lot it had been steadily pumping warm moist air on him, making the car's interior stuffy to the point where he was beginning to wonder if he might pass out before she delivered him to his destination. He did not dare open the window. To do so would instantly flush all that warm air right out, and though it might come as welcome relief to him in the short term, he knew that she would not only notice, but complain incessantly about it for the remainder of the short ride. As much grief as the heat might be causing him now, it was nothing compared to the grief she was likely to cause.

It seemed to him that his mother was always cold lately. The few times he had been at the house in the last six months or so she had always had the central air turned way up, making the place feel more like a sauna than a home. Granted it had been winter time, and oftentimes the weather outside had been on the cool side, much as it was this very moment. But that hardly explained it in full. If it were in the forties outside it would be in the mid-eighties or higher inside. How she could possibly find comfort in such an unearthly heat he could not begin to guess.

Aren't women my mother's age supposed to be hot all the time? Don't they have heat flashes or something? Leave it to her to be contrary like that.

Regardless of the heat he would just have to tough it out a little longer. They were only a couple of miles from his apartment where she would be dropping him off. There was no sense in taking the risk of inadvertently setting her off at this point by rolling down the window or adjusting the heater controls. Better to just let it be.

It was a strategy for dealing with his mother that he was thoroughly familiar with by now. Jenny was the one that could never abide by their mother's dictums. She was the one constantly pushing back at every opportunity. Tom was the peacemaker of the family.

No, that was wrong. It was not that Tom actually brought peace to the family, he simply did what he could not to worsen the situation. Tom often felt that it was the best he could do, and so he had done it. It was a survival skill he had developed over the years, and honed to perfection through much practice.

So far tonight his mother had been unusually easy to deal with. He had fully expected the necessity of dodging any number of pointed questions from her immediately after the discharge but as yet there had been nothing. Now that he thought on the matter more deeply he realized that she had hardly said anything tonight; critical or otherwise. This was certainly not like her. She always had something to say about pretty much anything and everything.

The driver's side door swung open, breaking Tom's train of thought. The sudden rush of cool air was refreshing, if all too brief. Janet awkwardly settled into the seat, the car depressing slightly as her full weight was added to its load.

She's still gaining.

It was not that she was fat. Well, maybe she was starting to get there, but Tom did not really think of her that way. It was just that, well...she could stand to get in better shape. The few real discussions the mother and son pair had engaged in this past winter had all concerned her physical health. It was perhaps the one topic that it was actually safe enough for him to challenge his mother on.

She knew what she was doing, whether it was by conscious choice or not. She also knew the risks that she was taking by continuing down that path. Whenever he would mention the subject she would do her utmost to simply change the topic but he had managed to wrest from her, on at least one occasion, a confession that she was making a mistake by not doing more to reverse the trend. That moment had been a singular event for him. He could hardly remember her ever admitting to a mistake of any sort. It just was not something she could bring herself to do.

His mother tossed a small plastic bag into Tom's lap. Inside there was not a single pack of cigarettes as he had hoped for, but rather an entire carton. It was more than he could have dared asked for and he felt a momentary burst of shame for his ungenerous thoughts while he awaited her.

"Thank you." His expression of gratitude, though quietly spoken, was genuine.

"You're welcome. They didn't have your brand. Hope you don't mind smoking Marlboro. I don't know how you can stand to smoke that garbage brand of yours anyway."

"Because they're cheap. Well, cheaper at least."

She gave a short 'hmmphf' in reply. It was obvious she did not regard that as adequate compensation for the difference in quality. She reached her hand for the ignition switch even as he tore into the carton, but her hand, once on the key, hesitated. Instead of turning the engine on and resuming the drive she just sat there, motionless. Tom hardly noticed, he was far too interested in his sudden, unexpected bounty. She waited until the process was complete and he was at last lighting his first cigarette before speaking.

"Your sister is coming home for the weekend."

"Oh?" Tom's tone was deliberately noncommittal.

"I mention it because I thought you might want to see her while she's here."

Tom did not answer right away, preferring to give the matter actual thought before making a decision. "No, I don't think so. Not this time. I'll wait till the next time around I think."

Janet silently nodded her head, as if expecting his response. "Don't you think that maybe you should cut her a little slack? She is your sister after all."

A tiny spark of anger surged through Tom, but he did an admirable job of keeping any trace of it out of his voice, "It's not that I have any problem with her. It's the other way around."

"What are you talking about?"

The irony here was that she really did not know what he was talking about.

How does she do that? How does she see only what she wants to see while ignoring the obvious?

"Mom, she may be my sister, but that doesn't mean she likes me."

"Don't be silly. Of course she loves you. She's your sister." His mother's voice was incredulous, she still did not get it.

"I didn't say she doesn't love me. I said she doesn't like me. There's a difference there."

"That's absurd. What reason would she have to not like you?"

"I don't know. Why don't you ask her when you see her?"

Actually Tom did have his suspicions on the matter, but thought it more diplomatic to keep any such speculations to himself. He expected it was because he had done his utmost for the past decade to avoid taking sides in the constant bickering back and forth between the pair. She had wanted an ally in her battles and instead he had played the role of neutral noncombatant. It was an explanation he could understand, and even sympathize with to a degree. It had not been an easy time for Jenny and he regretted the fact that he had essentially stood aside, powerless to help her through it.

Janet pondered his response silently before answering, "Well, maybe I will at that."

Anne

Anne wearily stabbed at the 3rd floor button, setting the elevator car into motion on its short upwards trek. Michelle lay in her arms, her head resting on Anne's shoulder with her own arms loosely encircling her mother's neck. Anne shifted restlessly as she waited for the elevator to deposit the pair at their destination, her daughter's weight had gradually taken its toll over the course of the last half hour she had been carrying her.

They had started out on foot from the daycare center with Michelle in the lead, eagerly running ahead at every opportunity. It was not long however before the little girl, who's energy often seemed inexhaustible, had in fact, exhausted it. Anne had begun to regret her decision to save a few dollars on cab fare by the time they had arrived at the Boardwalk.

Fortunately the rain had stopped at least, though the overhanging clouds still remained behind, as yet preventing any last glimpse of the sun for the day. An intermittent breeze had begun, ushering in the cooler air of an incoming cold front, making the relatively short walk uncomfortably chilly. It was not that it was actually cold in the literal sense. Having spent her youth in Ohio, Anne was quite accustomed to far cooler temperatures than Florida's relatively balmy early spring weather. But there was a different quality to the cold here, reaching far beyond the measurement of mere degrees Fahrenheit or Celsius. The air was saturated with moisture, leeching the warmth right out of anyone bold or foolish enough to dress as lightly as she had done.

A bell softly chimed as the doors opened, revealing the empty hallway which led towards their room near its end. Michelle stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, the meaning of the words lost somewhere in that nebulous boundary between wakefulness and slumber.

"We're here baby." Anne replied quietly. "Wake up now. Mommy needs you to wake up just for a little bit. Ok?"

Michelle grumbled a half hearted protest at the notion of doing any such thing, but reluctantly did as she was asked. She blinked and rubbed her eyes as her mother set her feet down on the hallway carpet. From the look on her face it was apparent that Michelle would just as soon lay down right on the spot and go back to sleep as walk the few remaining yards to their room, and given the way that Anne felt she could hardly argue with such a tempting idea.

She mentally ticked off the door numbers as they went; 303, 304, 305...at last coming to their temporary abode, 309. Anne unstrapped her purse and began fumbling around inside for the necessary card key.

She heard a soft click and more out of instinctual reaction than any true curiosity looked back as the door to room 308 opened up. A young woman emerged, perhaps only a year or two younger than herself. Her hair was jet black and straight, not quite reaching to the shoulders. She was of short stature, though lean of build giving the appearance of being taller than she actually was.

Anne's initial impression was that she was a foreign tourist from somewhere in the South Pacific region. There was something subtle about her facial features that bespoke an Asian heritage, though in Anne's current weary state it was difficult to pin down the exact cause of that impression. It was the small logo on the breast of her sweatshirt for the University of Central Florida that finally changed Anne's mind.

She's just another spring breaker. Poor girl is going to be disappointed with the weather this weekend.

The woman, noticing Anne and her daughter, flashed a quick smile and made a quick little 'hi there' gesture with her hands, not quite a wave but something reminiscent of the sort, aimed at Michelle. The little girl muttered a weary "Hello" back in reply, too tired to give it her customary eager enthusiasm. Anne merely gave a brief nod of acknowledgment before resuming her search for the card key. In her current state it was about the most she felt capable of in the way of a greeting.

"Jenny, come back to bed with me. We can deal with your mother in the morning. It was a long ride and we're both tired. Tonight let it just be us." The female voice, originating from within room 308 where the young woman had exited just moments before, carried clearly throughout the hallway, a slight note of exasperation lending it an element of urgency.

The woman, who's name evidently was 'Jenny', blushed lightly in apparent embarrassment. It took a moment for Anne to completely process what had been said and match it with the reaction, only then understanding the reason for her discomfort.

Oh.

Before the thought had even completely formed another woman stepped out of the room. This one was taller, perhaps a bit taller than Anne herself who was generally used to being the tallest woman in the room. She was also older, being in her early to mid thirties by Anne's estimation. That alone would have contrasted the pair sharply but the differences hardly ended there. This newest entry into the hallway was blond, with fair, almost pale skin. She carried herself with an obvious sense of confidence, indicating that she was accustomed to leading the charge for whatever group she might be associated with, again differing with her shorter companion who gave the appearance of being more reticent by comparison.

"Terri, not now." Jenny whispered the words under her breath, intending them to be only heard by her friend who as yet had not taken notice of Anne or her child.

Terri stopped short of doing whatever her own intentions had been, a puzzled look on her face. Following the gaze of her friend she slowly turned and caught sight of the reason for Jenny's atypical reaction.

"Oh hello there. Sorry about that." But the words were spoken light and airily, with no hint that she shared the slightest bit of Jenny's discomfort.

"No problem. Nice to meet you." Anne spilled the words out hurriedly even as her hand within the purse finally found its mark and pulled forth the long sought card key.

After the door had been opened and Anne had led Michelle into the room, her daughter looked up at her with a look of confusion on her face. "Who're they? Do you know them?"

"No, honey. They're just people. Nobody to worry about."

Chapter 6

Anne

Dawn came early for Anne that Saturday.

"Mommy, mommy! Wake up! Everything's nice!"

Anne came awake to find her daughter crouched above her on the bed, the little girl's hands insistently shaking her back and forth.

"What?"

"It's nice. Everything's nice!" Michelle was pointing excitedly in the direction of the balcony, desperately urging her to go see for herself.

Anne sat up, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. She tried to focus on what her daughter was saying, her words came forth so rapidly that Anne had difficulty in her half-woken state understanding them. The overhead lights were on already, apparently turned on by her little girl, who was by now practically jumping up and down on the bed.

"Whoa there. Stop! Stop Michelle!"

And surprisingly, she did. Satisfied that she had sufficiently roused her mother, she leaped off the bed and ran to the windows, pulling back the curtains to display the world in all its glory for her mother's benefit.

"See?"

Indeed Anne could see, even from where she still sat on the bed. She realized that she had misunderstood what Michelle had been trying to tell her. It had not been 'nice' she had been saying after all, but an even simpler word.

The balcony was covered with a thin sheen of glittering ice.

Janet

Janet sat at the kitchen table, cradling a cup of coffee in both hands, taking advantage of the heat radiating outward from the ceramic surface and into her fingers. She stared out the kitchen window, not because she was enjoying the view, but because there simply was no better alternative.

The view was not much to speak about in any case. The window looked out upon a small side yard, not much wider than the room in which she sat. Beyond that was a chain link fence separating her property from the densely packed pine woods that surrounded her lot on three sides, the only exception being the front, which faced the county road running by her house.

Janet had thought the rain ended as she settled in for sleep last night. Apparently it had outdone itself however, delivering one last burst of freezing rain as she slept. She had been startled this morning to find her yard brilliantly shining, the dawn's light reflecting off the frigid landscape, transforming it into a scene out of some Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale.

She shivered against the cold and imagined she could hear the steady drip of water steadily falling from the trees as the ice encrusted limbs began to thaw. It was still early yet, the sun had only risen within the past hour, but already its rays were making short work of winter's last hurrah. By mid-morning all trace of this would be gone, the melt water having soaked back into the earth and out of sight.

Without intending it she found her thoughts slowly drifting back to the previous day, to that moment when she had stood on that sidewalk in the rain staring at that passing pickup truck.

Maybe it wasn't really his truck. Maybe I just thought it was. I was thinking about him while sitting in the cafe, it's plausible that I just made a connection in my head that wasn't really there to make.

Yet for some reason she thought it was John, despite any reasoning to the contrary. No, it was more than that. She felt the truth of it. And for Janet that was somehow more solid, more real, than any logical argument that could be presented to her.

In any case, so what if it was him anyway? What had happened had occurred a long time ago. And though it was not exactly as if it was all just water under the bridge, not for her at least, she thought it best not to dwell on the matter. It was not as if he would come knocking on the door in the next few minutes expecting to resume where he had left off.

Not bloody likely. I'll die before I let him take one step into this house.

If only she could forget that night, then it would be as though it had never happened. Oh how desperately she wished she could.

God knows I've tried. All these years, I've tried so hard. But I can't, not like...

As if on cue a ringing sound permeated the house, the sound of a doorbell chime. Janet sat perfectly still, listening as the chime faded away only to be repeated a second time and then a third. Finally she rose from her chair, her right hand steadying herself as she did so, holding on tightly to the corner edge of the nearby kitchen counter. She found herself not trusting in the strength of her legs to properly support her, her knees felt oddly weak and unsteady, threatening to fold in on themselves without further warning.

She exited the kitchen, and slowly traversed the short distance through the living room, as if she were being compelled to attend her own execution. The chimes had finally stopped, but that did nothing to reassure her. The silence that followed in their wake filled the air with an awful pregnancy that almost made her wish for their resumption.

It's not him. It's not. Stop being stupid. It's not him.

When the knocking started Janet jumped a short distance, the sudden clamoring startling her.

"Mom, I know you're there. C'mon open up, it's friggen cold out here."

Janet Brookes had never before in her life been so happily relieved to hear the irritated voice of her daughter, Jenny.

Tom

Tom punched in the last few numbers on the keypad and took a half step back, waiting impatiently as the ATM processed his command and accessed his checking account balance. The day had started off freezing and despite the bright morning sunlight streaming down it remained exceptionally chilly. Gusty winds were blowing in off the nearby waterfront, spilling over the highway before being funneled through the narrow open space between the bank and the neighboring Flamingo Cafe. Each fresh blast seemed determined to steal from him whatever vestigial warmth he still possessed.

$4.36

Tom groaned audibly. He had known the balance would be low, perhaps too low to dispense the ATM's minimum amount of twenty dollars. This was even worse than he had anticipated.

He stood there, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he considered his next course of action. There was the savings account, money put aside as an emergency reserve for times just like this. Tom was actually quite proud of the fact that he had managed to diligently avoid tapping into the account for weeks now. Well, ok, perhaps not so diligently as all that. There had been the twenty he had taken last Monday...and before that the sixty he had taken the previous Tuesday. But still it was the thought that counted right?

Coming to a quick decision he accessed the savings account and requested a new balance. It would not hurt to just check the balance. It was not as if he had decided to actually withdraw anything as yet.

$96.79

Tom sighed. The balance was roughly half that of what he had thought it would be. It appeared he needed a new definition for the word 'diligence', because the old one was not proving to be what he had thought at all.

Tom would have resigned himself to walking away at this time if it had not been that very moment when his stomach loudly grumbled, letting it be known in the clearest possible way what its preference was. He was hungry, and with good reason. The meal that Beverly's visit had interrupted had been his last. Even from out here he could easily smell the scent of frying bacon among various other delectable items of breakfast fare, carried on the morning air from the rear of the cafe next door.

He would just have to search for a new definition of diligence starting tomorrow. Today he needed food, and that meant he needed money. He extracted twenty dollars from savings, moving quickly now as if trying to keep ahead of any coming regrets resulting from his snap decision.

He hurriedly stuffed the crisp, new currency into his wallet before walking to the cafe entrance and pulling the door open. If the smell outside had been tempting the odor within was all but overwhelming. He could feel his mouth watering as he began to thread his way through the cafe's narrow lanes in search of an unoccupied table.

"Tom?"

He stopped and pivoted, recognizing the voice instantly. It was Anne, the woman from the accident.

Janet

"Jesus mom! It's like a furnace in here."

Janet stepped back from her daughter, frowning slightly at the use of her language, but saying nothing.

I raised her better than that.

Seeing the look on her mother's face Jenny stopped short, suddenly sheepish. "I'm sorry. I should know better."

Janet dismissed the exchange with a wave of her hand, at the same time motioning her daughter to follow her back towards the kitchen. "That's ok. Come on in. I have coffee brewed. Would you care for a cup?" With that she turned and began walking, expecting Jenny to follow in behind her, which she did.

"You have to admit though, it's pretty fu...darn hot in here." Jenny's tongue seemed to trip over the unfamiliar substitute for the word she had really intended to say.

"I see you're learning more down there at college than just veterinarian medicine." Janet tried her best to keep her tone light hearted even as she chided her.

"You're selling yourself short mom. I learned more from you than you think."

Janet started to reply but quickly changed her mind, letting the quip pass unchallenged. Upon entering the kitchen she went straight for the cupboard, pulling a clean coffee cup down off a shelf and setting it on the counter. Jenny busily removed her light jacket, hanging it on a hook set on the back of the kitchen door as her mother poured her a fresh cup of coffee.

Jenny sat down in a chair, taking a deep breath. "Anyway, I told myself that I wouldn't do this Let's try to start over. Ok?...How are you mom?" Jenny forced an over wide smile on her face.

Janet refilled her own cup before taking a place at the table, easing her body down slowly onto the chair. "Oh, I'm doing fine. The weather's a bit too cold for my taste, but other than that I'd say everything's just peachy."

Jenny paused before continuing, she looked as though she were attempting to find a diplomatic means of expressing herself. "Mom, I hate to say it, but you don't look so peachy."

"Well, I'm getting older. That's what happens when you get older. You start getting aches and pains all over. Give it time and you'll find out for yourself what I mean."

"You're not that old. You make it sound like you're ancient, ready for the retirement home. You're only 52. That's supposed to be the new thirty nowadays, or so they say."

Janet gave a small laugh. "They say a lot of things. Most of which you should have the good sense to ignore."

"Still, even so..."

Janet held up a hand, cutting Jenny off from completing her admonition. "You're not telling me anything your brother doesn't tell me whenever we talk. One magpie is enough in this family. Besides I hope you didn't drive all this way just to fuss about my health."

"No, I didn't."

"Well, why are you here? It must be of some importance to drag you all the way up here."

Jenny took a long sip from her cup, buying herself a few seconds to consider her next words. "Speaking of Tom...How is he?"

"He was in an accident over on Flagler street on Thursday. He's fine I think, but he got one hell of a bump on the noggin in the bargain. He even had to stay overnight in the hospital. They wanted to keep an eye on him for a bit, just for caution's sake."

Jenny set her cup down on the table and leaned forward. "What happened?"

"Meh. He rear ended some tourist that was pulling out of a parking space without looking where she was going. You know these out-of-towners, they go on vacation and completely forget how to drive properly." Janet settled back in her chair, its legs creaked loudly as she did so. She fixed her daughter with a critical eye as she spoke. "You know...Tom said the oddest thing to me just last night."

"What was that?"

"He seems to have the notion that you don't like him. I can't imagine where he got the idea, but that's what he thinks."

"He's my brother." Jenny's response was spoken in a deliberately neutral tone, giving nothing away beyond the words themselves.

Janet sat there saying nothing. She was waiting for Jenny to say more, to make a denial of such a ludicrous statement, but her daughter declined to volunteer any more information. "Well, anyway, that's what I said. But for some reason he's convinced that you want nothing to do with him. Maybe you'll want to run by and see him while you're in town. Just to show him he's wrong about that."

Jenny gave a slight nod of the head. "Maybe. We'll see how things go. I can't stay in town long, just a couple of days and then I have to get back to Orlando."

"I see. Would you excuse me for a second?" Janet lifted herself and left the kitchen without waiting for a reply. She went to the living room, quickly locating her cigarettes and lighter. In less than a minute she had returned, a lit cigarette now in her right hand, trailing a long thin stream of smoke.

"You know those things will kill you."

Janet pulled an ashtray off the far end of the kitchen counter as she sat down, placing it squarely in front of her place at the table as if it were a plate of hot food. "Something's going to kill me one day. That's for damn sure. May as well be these as anything else."

Jenny said nothing. Janet could see the disapproval in her eyes though, saying quietly what she chose not to say verbally.

Let her disapprove if she wants. I fully pay my own way. When she can say the same and she's paid back some of the money I've sent her for college then she can lecture me about smoking.

"I have to say, I don't understand why you chose to get a room at the Boardwalk, when I have a perfectly good spare room right here. Seems to me you're wasting good money when you don't need to. I would have thought you'd be more practical than that."

Jenny shifted uneasily in her seat. "That's because I'm not here alone. I brought a friend up here with me. I didn't want to impose on you with an extra guest."

"Nonsense, any friend of yours is welcome here of course. You know how comfy that couch is. I'm sure you wouldn't mind sleeping on it for a night or two while your friend takes the spare room." Janet stopped, realizing there might be another reason for Jenny's hesitancy. "Is it a roommate, or did you bring a boy back with you? Not that it matters really, I'm not so old that I don't remember what it's like to be your age."

"It's a roommate, of sorts...Her name is Terri."

Janet breathed a small sigh of relief without even realizing it. Despite her words to the contrary having a boyfriend here in the house would have added an extra level of complication to the situation she wasn't fully prepared to accept quite yet.

"Speaking of boys, are you seeing anyone down there? You don't need to give me any of the gory details but I'm just wondering how you're getting along. Life isn't all study and work all the time. You just have to keep things in balance."

"Mother..."

"The main thing is that you don't let yourself get so infatuated that you forget why you're really there. Believe me, it's easier to do than you might realize..."

"Mom...Terri is a lesbian."

Whatever Janet's next words might have been vanished from her mind instantly.

"Oh."

Jenny took a deep breath before continuing on. "And so am I. We're a couple."

Tom

Tom stood near the front of the cafe, already feeling hemmed in from all sides. The cafe itself was small, with too many tables for its limited space. Making the situation even worse was that at this time of day it was filled to capacity or perhaps even beyond with the morning breakfast crowd, the din of dozens of conversations blended together, heightening his growing sense of claustrophobia. He quickly scanned the floor space, searching for an empty table he might occupy. There was only one that appeared to still be unclaimed, far in the very back, hard up against the kitchen door.

"A bit crowded in here isn't it?" Anne was seated at one of the smaller tables, built only for one or perhaps two depending on how cozy you preferred your accommodations. Her table was located along the side wall, well away from the main pathway running through the center of the cafe. She practically had to shout to be heard, the words all but lost amid the cacophony.

Tom was forced to step aside as another customer passed him, the man ambled clumsily along on his way towards the back of the cafe. Tom stood, rooted to the spot by his conflicting desires to speak with Anne, even if it was only in the way of exchanged shouts, and his need to lay a claim to a space he could call his own before it was too late.

"Yes, just a bit." He called back to her.

Even as Tom stood there, the fellow that had just passed him by approached the table that Tom had spied near the kitchen and eased himself down before it. That left none now available.

"Would you like to sit here? I was just about finished anyway, you can have my table."

Tom smiled gratefully and made his way towards where she sat. "Yes, thank you."

Upon reaching his destination he slid an empty chair to a position at an angle to the table, so that when he sat down his back would be against the wall. He had always disliked that feeling of vulnerability that came with having his back facing empty air.

Anne was dressed casually, sporting a pair of jeans with a simple short-sleeved white blouse, a blue denim jacket hung from the back of her chair. A newspaper lay on the table before her, a quick inspection confirming it to be the daily out of Panama City. The only other item on the table was an empty coffee cup positioned just beyond where her right hand rested.

"I see they let you out. How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling pretty well. Thank you." His words were spoken without conviction though. The packed eatery was making him anxious, the noise of all those people babbling amongst themselves steadily adding to his growing sense of unease.

"Really? You're looking a little pale."

Tom forced himself to give a little smile. "I just need to get a bite to eat is all. I'll be ok."

Anne said nothing despite the look of concern on her face. Tom could feel her watching him, silently judging for herself the truthfulness of his words. "Well, we can fix that."

Anne stood up and called loudly to a waitress struggling to navigate the crowded coffee house with a couple of plates of steaming food. "Miss, soon as you get a chance please." The waitress paused only long enough to give a harried nod in reply.

Tom willed himself to relax. He looked down at the table top, only then realizing that he had been unconsciously gripping the edge of the table hard enough show the whites of his knuckles.

"When did you last eat?"

"Um, yesterday. Lunch at the hospital."

"No wonder then. Hospital food, ick!" She laughed lightly, helping to ease his anxiety just a notch. The sound of her laugh had a faintly musical quality to it.

The waitress arrived, having finished her task at the other table. She flipped open a new page on the small pad she held, preparing to jot down his order. "Do you know what you want? Or do you need a menu?"

"No menu, thank you. I'll just take an order of toast and sausage. Oh, and some coffee too please." Under other circumstances he would have ordered more, but now his hunger had progressed to a point where his stomach was roiling angrily, making him unsure of the wisdom of giving it too much, too quickly. Besides, he still had only the lone twenty in his wallet.

Anne sat there quietly until the waitress had departed.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, thank you. No need to worry."

"Ok, I just don't want to see you sprawled out on the ground a second time. Once was enough."

"Well, in the unlikely case that I do pass out I think it's safe to say that at least there won't be any blood this time."

Again that musical laughter of hers sounded. Tom found himself hanging on to it like an anchor. She had an easy way about her that he found comforting and reassuring. Tom took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly, allowing the tension in his body to ebb away.

That's when it happened. A hand landed on his shoulder, gripping him strongly, pinning him down into his chair. The suddenness of its intrusion took the breath from him. "Hey there buddy!"

Tom's heart sank. He knew without looking who it was, and it was the last person he wanted to see.

Janet

"No, you're not." Janet proclaimed with false certainty.

Janet refused to accept the unexpected news. Jenny was confused or she was merely acting out, attempting to begin yet another argument. Whatever the explanation was it could not be as simple as her statement indicated.

"What?" Jenny sounded as though she could not believe what she was hearing.

"I said that you're not. I know that you're not."

Jenny gave a small bitter laugh. "You know I'm not?"

"Yes, exactly." Now that the immediate shock was receding Janet felt a growing conviction in her own words She only had to convince her daughter. Janet sat back in her chair, her arms now folded across each other, trying to adopt a stance that would project a calmness she did not feel.

Jenny mimicked her mother's pose, leaning back and folding her own arms together. "Ok, mom. This should be interesting. Please, tell me. How do you know this?"

Janet suppressed a surge of anger.

Why does she always have to do this? We're always fighting because she's always trying to bait me, trying to provoke me. And like an idiot I always fall for it. Not this time though, I'm not going down that road today. I'm just not.

Janet kept her voice calm and even, giving away nothing of how she might really feel. If Jenny was determined to start a fight she would be disappointed. "Billy Hadder."

She spoke the name as if it was all the evidence she needed, because it was. The look on Jenny's face told her that she had indeed struck true.

Billy Hadder was the name of Jenny's boyfriend during her last two years of high school. She had not lived at home at the time, but instead had stayed with Janet's own mother, Vivien, some fifty miles away to the northeast. Janet knew her daughter thought her completely oblivious to her existence during this time, but she could not have been more wrong. Not a day had passed during that time when Janet had not seriously considered driving up there and bringing her home. The only reason she had not done it was because in her heart she knew it would have been a mistake. Vivien lived far out in the countryside, miles away from any of the temptations that Jenny had surrendered to while living here. She had needed this desperately at the time, needed the isolation from not only the drugs but from the continual conflict here in the house arising as a result. But Jenny was badly mistaken if she thought she had been forgotten. Janet had kept informed, mostly by Vivien, but by other means as well.

Janet had never actually met Billy but she felt she knew a fair bit about him nonetheless. He was the star football player for his high school, a well rounded athlete, equally gifted on the field and in the classroom. He had even been recruited to play ball for Florida State, though he unexpectedly dropped from the program after only one year, electing instead to continue his studies as just another student, without the benefit of an athletic scholarship. He was rather good looking too, in a boyish sort of way, not yet having fully grown into his body despite his tall, muscular frame. He was just the sort of guy that Janet might have had a crush on at Jenny's age. She had secretly been disappointed when she learned the two were splitting up, going their separate ways at different colleges. By all accounts the two had been good for each other, his influence during those two years helping to steady her daughter.

Jenny burst out laughing. It was not just a snicker or a chuckle, but full out laughter.

Janet sat there, deeply confused by the inexplicable behavior of her daughter. Eventually, her patience stretched to a hairline thickness, she could no longer stand to hear another second of it. "What?! What is so damn funny?"

"Mom....Billy...." Jenny could hardly get the words out between fresh bouts of laughter. "I was his beard."

Janet had no idea what she was saying, she did not even trust she had heard her correctly. What she was saying made no sense. "I don't follow you."

"His beard, you know, his cover."

Janet merely shook her head, indicating her lack of understanding.

"Mom...Billy is gay."

Janet struggled to process this new bit of information. It was just beginning to dawn on her that the one bit of 'proof' she had held onto was an illusion.

"Yeah, he's gay all right. That's right, Mr. Football is gay. Surprise!" Jenny broke down into yet another round of mirth.

Janet got up from the table, turned and walked out into the living room. She was dazed, not by Billy's status, she hardly cared a whit about him, but about what this meant regarding her daughter. Jenny could not be a lesbian, she just could not. Not her own daughter. And there she was, in the kitchen, laughing like it was all just a joke. A joke on her.

"He was afraid to come out, afraid of what it would cost him. He was afraid of what his friends would think, afraid of what everybody would think, but mostly I believe, he was afraid of what his parents would think." By now Jenny had followed her out of the kitchen. She stood at the entranceway, continuing on. "Imagine that mother. Being more afraid of what your parents might think than anybody else in the world. Silly isn't it?" Her words had an edge to them, laying down the challenge clearly, daring her to join the fight.

Well, if that's what she wants then fine.

"This is why you're here? So you can laugh at me? To throw this in my face and watch me twist in the wind while you have your fun?"

"I'm here because it's time. Time for you to know. Time for me to stop lying about what I am." All trace of laughter had vanished. Jenny's tone had turned deadly earnest.

"What you are? I have no idea what you are anymore. I thought I knew, but not anymore."

Jenny took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. "I'm your daughter. A daughter that just happens to be a lesbian."

"Tell me Jenny. What am I supposed to do? Tell me, because right now I just don't know."

Jenny shook her head. "I shouldn't have to tell you. I'd think it should be obvious, even to you."

"My daughter the dyke." Janet shook her head ruefully. "I suppose I'm expected to just accept that, to say it doesn't matter. Is that right? Do I just pretend it doesn't matter? Do we go back to chatting about the weather now? Or maybe you'd rather talk about national politics instead? Is that it?"

"I would have thought you'd had enough of pretending away things you don't like by now. Or at least I had hoped you might."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know damn well what that means." The tone of accusation was caustically clear.

A long silence ensued. Neither trusted their own voices for the moment.

"As for accepting this...Well, Viv did. She accepted it. If she ever thought even for an instant that it made me any less her granddaughter she never showed it. Not once."

Mother knew. She knew, and never said a thing to me.

"I guess it really was a bit much to expect after all. To think that you might love me just for who and what I am, instead of what you thought I was. I really don't know what I was thinking. I thought that just maybe you would. That you might have changed. I see now that I was wrong." Every sentence dripped with contempt.

"I've had enough of that Jenny. You can show me some respect. I'm still your mother."

"Really? Are you sure? Do mothers send their daughters packing when they get into trouble and send them away? Is that what mothers do? Do mothers quit when things get too hard and let someone else clean up the mess? Is that what makes you my mother? Tell me...mother. Because I'm curious. Just what is it that defines motherhood?"

Janet turned around, unable to look Jenny in the face. "You must really think I'm a monster. To come all this way just to tell me this. You really must hate me. I'm sorry Jenny. I'm sorry for whatever it is I did to make you hate me. I tried my best. I really did."

"I don't hate you. That's the funny thing about it. Well, actually it's the sad, pathetic part about it. I don't think you're a monster at all. You're just broken."

"What?"

"You're broken. And I know why, but you're still not ready to talk about that are you? Not yet. You and Tom are both broken. The difference between you is that Tom doesn't even know it. But you do. And that is what makes it so very sad."

Janet felt ice in her heart. "You don't know what you're talking about. This is all nonsense. You're just trying to put the focus on me. It's you we're talking about here. This has nothing do with Tom...or me." She focused her eyes on a small picture frame sitting on a bookshelf, refusing to turn around and face her daughter.

Jenny did not respond right away. When she did there was a hesitancy in her voice. "Do you really want me to go there? Do you want to get it all out now? Because I think we should. I really do. I just don't know if you're ready for that yet."

"Whatever it is you think you know, you're wrong. Trust me on this."

"No mom. Not this time. This time it's you that's wrong. Wrong to think that it would all just go away somehow. Wrong to think that you can just sweep it under the rug like it never happened. Look at yourself. You're falling apart. It's killing you a little bit each day but you won't change, you won't face it."

"I think you should leave now. Please."

"Mother, some day you're going to have to admit to what happened. You'll never get past this until you do."

"I said go."

"Who do you think you're protecting?...Tom?...Or yourself?"

"Now!"

Janet heard Jenny give a tired sigh of defeat, then seconds later the soft click of the door shutting behind her. Finally all that was left was silence.

Chapter 7

Anne

Anne was almost as startled by the sudden intrusion as Tom appeared to be. She had been so focused on him that she had taken no notice of the stranger approaching. So when Tom jumped in his seat, so had she.

The man that stood before them was tall and fair. His richly tanned skin provided so sharp a contrast with his bleached blond hair and the white, short sleeved shirt he wore that Anne could not help but think the effect was deliberate. His build was athletic, but not muscular, the kind of physique one might get from playing tennis or golf rather than anything so base as manual labor. He flashed a wide, easy smile towards her. Anne's first impression was that it was the sort of smile you might see on a shark in the instant before it attacked.

"Tom, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend there?" His voice boomed a little too loud for her taste, easily cutting through the background din of the noisy cafe.

Tom declined to look at the man, instead casting his eyes downwards at the table top, a slight slump to his shoulders. "Anne, this is Tim Dyer. Tim this is Anne..." he paused, obviously searching his memory for her last name.

"Roche." She finished the introduction for him, holding her hand out for a quick handshake as she spoke. Tim shook her hand vigorously, his grip carelessly strong.

"Roche?" The name sparked a glimmer of recognition on Tim's face. "You wouldn't be from Ohio would you? I know a Roche from there. His name is Kevin Roche. Any relation?"

"Yes. Yes I am. He's my father."

"Well now. If it isn't a small world after all." Tim beamed. He whirled around and spied an empty chair at a nearby table. Without even bothering to address the couple that sat at the table he dragged the chair over and span it around, sitting down in it with his front facing the back of the chair, his hands dangling over the headrest. "I sold him that house on False Cape. Beautiful place too, right on the beach. The view from the balcony there is as good as it gets, just right to catch the sunset. Are you staying there Ms. Roche?"

"Yes, I am." She kept her answer as short as possible. She could not help feeling a slight twinge of irritation at the way he had seated himself, assuming an invitation where none had been given.

"How do you like it there? I trust the place is meeting your expectations Ms. Roche." If he had the slightest inkling that his presence was unwanted by either of them he showed none of it, his smile only widened, displaying his perfectly whitened teeth. Anne's irritation was growing by the second. There was something plastic and false about the man that she instinctively disliked.

He's a Ken doll. A living, breathing Ken doll.

"Well, actually, the house isn't quite what I expected to be honest. It's only, what five years old right?"

"Six." Tim volunteered. "It was built in '98."

"Six then, and it already needs some repairs as I see it, the sort of repairs I would expect from a house twice its age."

That caused his smile to dampen ever so much she noted with a small sense of satisfaction. "What kind of repairs? Perhaps I can help you out there. I know quite a few local contractors. Knowing who to call for that sort of thing comes with the job of being the county's leading real estate agent."

"That balcony you mentioned for one thing. The railing is quite loose and many of the boards on the planking are warped."

Tim leaned backwards, both hands holding onto the chair back. "That's an easy fix. Hardly even an afternoon's work."

"...And then there's some water damage in one of the bedrooms. I believe it's got a leak in the roof somewhere above. I haven't been there long enough to pinpoint where exactly."

Tim frowned. "Hmm...That's a little more serious. Let me make some calls. I'll be happy to get you in touch with someone that can take a look at it." He reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a monogrammed pen and a small silver case that opened up to reveal a handful of business cards. He plucked one of the cards out and handed it to her.

She glanced at the card only briefly before placing it face down on the table. "Thank you."

Tim handed her the pen as well. "If you wouldn't mind writing down your phone number so I can get in touch with you when I have a name."

"Of course."

After she had jotted down the number on the card back he reached out and took it, replacing it with another fresh card, this one placed so that his name and number were facing up. "There's been a couple of near misses from tropical storms and hurricanes in the area these last few years. I wouldn't be surprised to find almost every house on the cape has some bit of damage of one sort or another. It's the price you pay for a home in paradise. But don't you worry any. That house is built as solid as any out there. It might have a wrinkle or two but it'll ride out near anything that nature throws at it."

The waitress reappeared, placing the plate with Tom's order on it before him alongside a steaming cup of coffee. Tim went silent only long enough for her to do her duty and move on to her next customer.

"So, Tom. How are you feeling there? That is one nasty bump you got. Makes you even uglier than you were before." Tim's tone was jovial, but she noticed Tom giving a slight flinch at the words, as though bracing for a heavy-handed slap on the back.

Tim reached out his left hand and seized hold of Tom's shoulder instead, shaking him playfully. "Relax Tom. You always were the jumpy type. You need to learn how to chill out. You take things way too seriously. You always have." Tim switched his focus back to Anne. "Me and Tom here go way back. Don't we Tom?"

Tom said nothing. He was eyeing the food before him without making any move to consume it. The plate just sat there, untouched.

"Yeah, Tom never has been that much of a talker. Maybe that's what I like the most about him. Takes a smart man to know when to keep his mouth shut." For the first time Anne detected just a hint of an edge to Tim's voice, the playfulness of his words a mask for something darker in nature. "Now Tom I gotta admit I'm just a smidge cross with you at the moment. Beverly..." Tim paused and momentarily shifted his attention back in Anne's direction, "that's my wife..."

Tom's head rose at Tim's mention of the name. Anne saw a glimmer of anger on his face, though he stayed quiet.

"...has been worried sick about you these last few days. Ever since you had your little accident you can tell she's hardly thought about anything else. You need to be more careful in the future. I don't want you worrying her like that again, especially now." Tim dropped his voice to a loud whisper and raised his right hand to the side of his mouth as he leaned forward over the table in Anne's direction. "She's in something of a delicate state these days. You know...women's issues."

Tim gave a conspiratorial wink and leaned back once more continuing on at his previous volume. "She'll be meeting me here shortly for an early lunch by the way. I'm sure she'll be glad to see gloomy puss here out and about, even with that ugly lump. Come to think on it, I imagine she'll be eager to meet you as well Ms. Roche, seeing as how you're Tom's friend and all."

"Oh. We hardly know each other. We just met the other day, at the accident." Anne deliberately omitting that it was her car Tom had run into.

"Is that right?" Tim eyed Tom with an appraising look. "Well, guess it's true, every cloud does come with a silver lining. Guess it shouldn't surprise me any though. Leave it to Tom here to get himself all banged up and come out of the deal ahead. He's always had that lost puppy dog charm that drives the women wild."

Tom seemed tempted to reply but ultimately kept his silence.

"Oh Tom, in case you haven't heard, Beverly is pregnant now. She's due in October." His voice lowered, an unspoken challenge lurking in the spaces between his words.

"Congratulations." Tom replied but Anne heard no sincerity in the tone.

"Thanks...old buddy. I just knew that you'd be happy to hear to that. She's very excited about it. We both are. It'll be our first." Tim turned back to Anne. "Well, her first born at least. This is actually her second pregnancy, but the first she'll actually take to term. She opted to abort the first one, but that was before I came along. Tough decision for her at the time, I'm sure, but then Tom would know that better than I. Right Tom?"

The tension between the two was unmistakable now. Tom glared at Tim with undisguised hatred. Tim for his part seemed content to just smile back at him, feigning innocence. Anne edged back from the table slightly convinced the two would come to sudden blows right in front of her, crowded cafe or not.

Instead Tom reached into his wallet, extracted a twenty and tossed it onto the table. "If you'll both excuse me. I just remembered I have to be somewhere." With that he rose from the table, turned and began to make his way for the exit.

Tim rose. He stood quietly beside the table with half clenched fists at his sides until the door closed once more. He moved to occupy the chair that Tom had just vacated, the breakfast plate now before him. "Something I said?"

He reached for the silverware and pulled out a fork, stabbing a sausage link with the tines. "It'd be a shame to let good food go to waste. I'm sure Tom would agree." There was a triumphant look in his eyes as he began to devour the abandoned meal.

Tom

Tom stormed down the sidewalk, neither knowing nor caring in which direction he was headed. The cool, mid-morning air did nothing to abate the growing fury inside him.

Who does that bastard think he is? I should go back. Go back and...and...

But that was the problem. Do what? In a crowded public setting like the cafe there was nothing he could do that would not make the situation far, far worse than it already was.

Tom stopped abruptly in place. He turned and stared back in the direction he had come from, back towards the cafe. He stood there, his impotent rage building. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Beverly approaching the cafe from the opposite direction. Her head was turned downward, her eyes cast upon the sidewalk lost in her own thoughts. Tom made no effort to get her attention. He simply stood there and watched as she pulled open the front door and entered, oblivious to his presence.

Time passed. A minute, five minutes? Maybe more? Still he did nothing. He just stood there irresolute; too furious to simply leave, too afraid of what might happen if he went back.

Let it go. Just let it go. I'll go to BurgerMeister and get myself...

The thought died in mid-sentence. In his anger he had left behind the only cash he possessed on him. Tom's anger now began to turn inward on himself.

Serves me right. Letting that ass get to me like that. So now what? Cut my losses and run? Or...

Tom fumbled in his shirt pocket, pulling out his cigarettes. He lit one and began to angrily puff away on it, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs with each intake. The nicotine did nothing to lessen his rage, but it did help to focus his thoughts.

I'm tired of this shit. Tired of running away from crap. It's time I did something, anything.

He tossed the half spent cigarette onto the ground and began to retrace his steps, back towards the cafe.

Anne

Anne clutched her purse and rose from the table, simultaneously grabbing her jacket from the chair back as she stood. She did her best to appear calm and unhurried with limited success. "I really must be going. It was a pleasure meeting you Tim. I'll be sure to call about those repairs."

She did not want to spend even one more minute in this place, not with her present company. She had known the man less than fifteen minutes and she already felt she knew all she needed to know about him.

He's an ass.

The thought was simple, direct and all encompassing. She was half tempted to say as much to his face but managed to hold her thoughts to herself.

"No problem. Feel free to call anytime, day or night. It's a shame you won't meet Beverly though. I'm sure you two would really hit it off...Oh, speak of the devil."

Anne turned around. Standing just behind her was a woman dressed much like herself, with a sleeveless top and jeans, except in her case the jacket was brown suede instead of Anne's denim. The woman was almost half a foot shorter than herself. The morning sunlight coming in from behind framed her head, brightening her hair to a point bordering on crimson, giving her a radiance that perfectly highlighted the freckles that ran across her face. Anne felt unaccountably drab in comparison. She was not used to feeling self-conscious about her looks but this woman now standing before her managed to make her feel plain without speaking so much as a word.

"Oh." Was all the woman said, a look of confusion spreading across her face as her eyes tracked back and forth between Tim and herself.

"Hey babe I want you to meet Anne Roche. Ms. Roche is a friend of Tom's. He was here too, about to have breakfast with her, but I'm afraid you missed him. He had to run off suddenly. Ms. Roche this is my wife, Beverly."

"I see." The cautious tone in Beverly's voice indicated she was less than sure what to make of it all, but to her credit she extended her hand and put on a hesitant smile. "It's nice to meet you Anne. I didn't know Tom had a girlfriend."

"Oh no. We're not...I mean I hardly know him." Anne felt defensive, fumbling for the words. Without even looking at Tim she knew he would be sitting there behind her with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. In its own way it was like the scene in the hospital room all over again, with Anne feeling trapped among players in a game that she did not understand, the teams and the rules a mystery. "Anyway, I really must go. Nice meeting you."

Anne stepped forward, prompting Beverly to stand aside allowing her to pass, but she could almost feel the weight of the woman's stare on her backside as she picked her way between tables en route to the door. The door opened just seconds before her hand could grasp the handle. A cold draft swept through her causing her to lift her head. Tom stood in the doorway before her, just beyond the threshold. She looked into his eyes and saw a smoldering rage, his jaw set tightly clenched, his intentions clear as glass.

Anne hardly thought about what she did next, she barely had an instant to come to a decision. This was not her fight. She had no place here. Better to just get out of the way and let whatever happens be between them.

I can't.

She put a hand out, placing the palm of her right hand firmly on the center of Tom's chest. "No, Tom, don't. Whatever you're thinking, don't do it."

Tom looked at her, barely recognizing her through his own anger. His gaze flicked back towards where she knew Tim and Beverly sat. For a moment Anne thought she might have made a mistake. She could feel his heartbeat right through his shirt and it was racing. The idea crossed her mind that perhaps putting a hand on him while he was in this current state just might not be the smartest thing she had ever done.

When in doubt, double down.

"Take me to lunch instead. Anywhere but here." She lifted her left hand. A folded up twenty dollar bill was tucked neatly in the palm. Anne did her best to flash him her most winning smile, "If he's going to eat your food he can damn well pay for it himself."

Anne sat patiently at the table, listening as Tom noisily slurped down the last of his milkshake. He sat across from her at BurgerMeister's most isolated table, a corner booth situated as far from the doors and registers as possible, though where his mind was right now she had no idea. He was not looking at her. His gaze remained fixed on some point beyond the window, but she seriously doubted his attention was anymore occupied by anything going on outside than it was on her.

Well, I suppose that absentminded is an improvement over homicidal fury.

Tom hardly volunteered a word on the short walk over. Instead he had only answered when spoken to, and then only in the briefest possible manner, keeping his responses to 'yes' and 'no' whenever possible. It was not as though she had tried all that hard to get anything more out of him. Ever since they had left the cafe together the anger had radiated off him like heat off a freshly baked pie.

She did not pretend to understand everything that had transpired at the cafe, or what he might be thinking now. All she really knew, or felt in any case, was that he had needed this; an opportunity to slowly let it go at his own pace, in the silent presence of someone willing to listen without speaking.

"Thank you." The words were spoken softly, so low she barely even heard them.

She smiled, instinctively attempting to lighten his mood. "It was your twenty bucks. I should be thanking you for the lunch. I was hungrier than I thought. I'd only had coffee at the cafe." She poked an empty wrapper before her that had briefly held a small cheeseburger in way of emphasis.

"No. I mean for earlier. For getting me away from there."

Tom tore his gaze away from the window and looked directly at her. She could see that whatever anger there had been before was gone now, replaced by...she was not exactly sure what to call it. The word 'sadness' came to mind but that was not quite the right word for it. There was something more complex behind those eyes than such a simple term could encapsulate.

"He's a jerk, and he wanted you to lose it. I could tell that much. And while my money would've been on you I figured it's just as well we didn't need to find out. Win or lose you still would have lost. I think that was his plan all along."

"Maybe." Tom set his cup down on the table and turned his head away again, back towards the window, quiet once more. After several minutes had passed he finally spoke. "It was mine you know."

"What was?" Though Anne believed she already knew.

"The pregnancy that he talked about, her first, the one she aborted. It was mine, it was ours, back when we were together."

Anne only nodded, unsurprised.

That explains a lot. I'd want to tear the bastard apart too if I were him.

"Do you still love her?"

"Do I still love her?" He repeated the words questioningly, as though the thought had never occurred to him before. "No...Well, maybe. I don't really know to be honest. I'm not even sure what love is anymore. It's weird. Such a little word. You'd think it would be easy to define, but it's not. I used to think I knew what love was, but now it's not so clear anymore."

Anne thought carefully before replying, "Well, I believe there's different kinds of love. Some that develop over time, and some that just are without ever needing a reason. I think it's only the latter ones that are simple. The kind of love that comes more slowly tends to be more complicated."

"I don't follow you."

Anne struggled to find the words, she was not used to thinking about the subject in this way. She had done everything in her power not to think about it ever since Robert. It just was not productive. Moping about what might have been or could have been was not her way.

"Well...I love my daughter and that's not something I ever needed to think about..."

"You have a daughter?"

Anne reached down by her side and retrieved her purse. In seconds she had located the small case that contained a dozen or so small pictures. Most of them were of her daughter but a few showed her parents as well, and even one of them was of Robert. 'For better or worse' the vows had said, and there was more truth there than she cared to admit. Whether she liked it or not he had, in his own way, become a permanent part of her. She shuffled the pictures almost like playing cards until she spotted her favorite, the most recent taken of Michelle, only six months ago.

"Her name is Michelle. She's four now, but she has a birthday coming up at the end of the month. If anybody asks her how old she is she'll say 'almost five' like it's an age all it's own."

Tom took the picture in hand and stared at it, entranced by the image.

He doesn't see Michelle, not really. He only sees what could have been for him. He sees the child that never was.

She did not know what prompted the stray thought, but there was a truth to it that was plain to see once it had flashed through her mind.

"She's beautiful." Tom reluctantly passed the photo back to Anne.

"Yes, she is. And I love her, and it's the simple kind. It's the kind of love that doesn't ask why. It just is. Maybe that's one of the few universal truths, the simplicity of a parent's love for their children."

Tom smiled, but there was a sadness to his eyes. "I envy you."

Jenny

The town of Isabella had changed during the years of Jennifer Brookes' absence. The changes were not of the sort that would be readily apparent on first glance, but rather more subtle in nature; a new home here, a new sidewalk there. They were things that on an individual basis would hardly rate a second look but when added all together made the town, which was once as familiar as her own face in the mirror seem oddly alien to her now. It was the town she remembered, and yet it was not.

As she drove her black Nissan Sentra through the residential streets she never consciously pondered the contradiction. Instead it merely registered on a subliminal level, adding one more layer of anxiety to her already strained psyche.

Jenny knew she should be headed back to the motel. Terri would be waiting for her there, wondering how her little reunion had gone. She should have headed straight back immediately after leaving her mother's, thrown the luggage back into the trunk and got both of them the hell out of town as quickly as possible.

Instead she drove from one end of the county to the other and back again. For four hours she had driven, all the while never getting more than thirty miles away from Isabella, stopping only once, and then only long enough to refill the gas tank.

It's after two o'clock now. Terri is likely to begin worrying about me soon.

Then again, perhaps not. Terri was not the kind of person to worry about much of anything at all. She just did what she wanted, the hell with what anybody thought. It was probably one of the things Jenny loved the most about her.

When Jenny had first arrived on the UCF campus she had been a paradoxical combination of a rebellion and timidity. On one level she had already reluctantly accepted the truth of herself regarding her sexuality. She had even been blessed with the good fortune of having a grandmother raise her that had freely accepted what she was without reservation, and a friend like Billy that showed her that she was not alone in how she felt. But there is a big difference between acceptance and encouragement.

Vivien, for all the love she gave, might sympathize but could not truly empathize, and Billy was too terrified of being outed himself to give much moral support. At the end of the day, whether intentional or not, the message that came through loud and clear was 'Your secret is safe with us, even if nobody else understands'. The problem with secrets is that by their nature they always make you feel guilty, merely by having them. And so it was with this particular secret.

It had taken Terri to change all that.

They met in one of the nightclubs lining Church Street. Jenny had been standing along the wall, idly watching the club patrons gyrating to some nameless bit of music that was all rhythm and beat and little else. Jenny was bored, a little tipsy (despite being underage at the time) and on the verge of abandoning her roommate who by this time was nowhere in sight, most likely making out with some random stranger in a darkened corner somewhere. Just as Jenny was about to leave Terri walked right up to her, took a long, hard look that was almost to the point of being lecherous and stretched out her hand in invitation. Terri hardly spoke that night. There was nothing that needed saying. She simply opened the door and allowed Jenny to walk through.

It was an act that had changed things for her forever. With Terri she never wondered where she stood, never doubted herself. Terri never took more than what was freely offered, never asked her any personal questions. Instead she always waited patiently for Jenny to volunteer whatever she was comfortable giving. Terri was freedom incarnate.

More than anyone it had been Terri that had been responsible for the feeling of empowerment that had at long last begun the process of not just surviving the past, but actually coping with it. Without ever understanding the reason for Jenny's estrangement with her family she had nevertheless sensed something of its importance to her and that had been all that was required. It had been her insistence that had finally broken down her reluctance to come here this weekend, to make the effort to speak with her mother.

That effort had been in vain though. Nothing had changed.

Why did I expect anything different? I knew she wouldn't accept me. It was as predictable as the sun setting in the west and yet I came here thinking...what? Exactly what was it I was expecting anyway?

She did not know. For that matter she could not even say why she was really here at all. If forced to come up with an excuse she would have said it was only to end the lie, to make a new start with her mother based on something more substantial than a convenient fiction. But that itself was a fiction, at most a mere half-truth. Let her mother lie to herself if she must, she would refuse to do likewise.

As much as she hated to admit it, her mother had been right about one thing. Prior intentions to the contrary, she had gone in spoiling for a fight, and she had gotten it. Yesterday she had thought herself ready to put behind her the old resentments, the bickering, and the accusations. But at the moment of testing she had found herself sliding back into the old routine. Her own reaction had come as naturally as walking or breathing.

If this is what family is all about I'd be better off sticking with the animals. I've never had a lion lie to me, or a lemur that gave a shit about my sexual status. Well maybe the bonobos might have been a little curious on the subject, but they weren't prone to make judgments.

Why do I even care anyway? Grandma Viv was more of a mother to me than she was. Why is her acceptance even an issue?

And the realization came in a rush, it was not the issue at all, it never had been. Jennifer's sexual orientation or her mother's disapproval had never been the real cause of the fight. It had never even been the true reason for her having driven all this way. It was not acceptance she had sought, it was resolution.

A decade later and I'm still pissed because the whole mess got buried. They both just act as though nothing ever happened and I can't, and that just pisses me off to no end. What's even worse, what galls me the most, is that I can't force myself to rip off the bandage no matter how much we all might need it. When push comes to shove I just can't do it. I was practically begging her to talk about it this morning, but even then I just couldn't go that last step.

Oh God, I'm no better than either of them. I tell myself that I'm past it, that I've finally accepted the truth of what happened but I've just been lying to myself. I can't get past it because she won't let me. She'll never admit the truth, and until she does I'm no more free of it than Tom.

Chapter 8

Tom

"...So Debra looks him straight in the eye and says 'Next time tie a balloon to it, maybe that'll get it up.' Oh my god, I was so embarrassed. I just wanted to die right there." But the look on Anne's face was of pure joy. Her mouth was curved in the shape of a crescent half smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She looked in fact like she might be on the verge of bursting out with laughter and seeing it made Tom feel more alive than he had for far too long.

"That's a horrible story." He exclaimed with mock horror.

She shrugged lightly, as though acknowledging an immaterial fact. "I'm sure whatever happened between them he deserved it. He was a prick."

Something about her statement felt out of place, "I thought you didn't know him."

"I didn't. Not then. It wasn't until later I found out what kind of guy he was."

"What happened later?"

Anne sat back in the booth and gave a deep sigh. "I married him."

Tom was floored. His brow furrowed in confusion, his mouth opened and closed silently, incapable of uttering a single word. Anne took one look at him and could no longer restrain herself. Her laughter suddenly rang out in great gulping waves. Tom noticed a few of the other patrons sitting at nearby tables turn and give a curious glance at them before returning their attentions to their previous occupations.

"I'm sorry, but if you could just see the look on your face right now. Believe me it's precious. It really is."

"I'm confused."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed." She attempted, with only partial success to stifle her laughter.

"If he was..."

"...a prick?" She finished the statement for him, filling in the word he hesitated on.

Tom nodded, "Then why..."

"...did I marry him?"

"Yes."

She gave another sigh, this one shallower than the first. "Like I said, I didn't know him. I was young, younger at least. Right out of high school and in my freshman year at Kent. I saw the package, and heard the words and fell deeply, madly in love. At least that's what I thought at the time. I didn't know the difference between love and crush back then. We made out for the first time the very night that Debra dumped him. I guess that should have told me something right there but..." Her words trailed off into silence and a look came over her face that was impossible for him to read.

"Funny thing is though, I'm not sorry I did it...Married him, I mean."

"But if he was such a prick..."

"Because without Robert there never would have been Michelle. Oh, maybe I would have married someone else and had children with them. I imagine I'd even love them every bit as much as I love Michelle. But they wouldn't be her. Whatever he might have been I still owe him for that."

"Do you ever miss him?"

"Robert? Oh no. If anything I miss Debra more than I do Robert. Good friends can be hard to come by and when I started going out with Robert that was the end of that. She tried to warn me, to tell me what he was really about, but of course I wasn't listening."

"You and her were close?"

"Oh yeah. Like this." She twined her fingers together. "Ever since grade school. We even picked the same college so we could stay close. Well, that didn't exactly work out." She laughed. "But you know how it goes. You have your friends that you're real close to and you say you'll stay in touch forever. Eventually you each go different ways though. Oh sure, you try to write and call as much as you can. But over time the calls get fewer and fewer, and finally there's a time when you can't even remember who-called-who last or when. So you make new friends. Guess that's just how life goes."

Tom sat quietly, mulling her words over in his mind.

"Not really, no."

"What?"

Tom hesitated before elaborating. "I don't know...how it goes. I can't really say that I've had that many friends, and none I'd call close."

"Nobody? Really?" Anne sounded doubtful.

"There's lots of people that I know, but friends...people you hang out with or talk to about things...Well, there was one, but..."

"But?"

"Yeah, I guess you'd say she didn't really work out either."

"The one at the cafe?"

"Yes. Her name is Beverly."

Anne leaned across the table and reached her hands out, covering his own, resting them lightly on top. "See, you do know how it goes."

Tom could feel a warmth flowing out from those delicate hands. She gave his hands a quick, gentle squeeze before pulling back, leaving his hands alone on the table again all too soon.

"So. Now all you have to do is make some new friends."

Tom winced ever so slightly. "Ummm yeah...That's not so easy as you make it sound."

Anne cocked her head to the side quizzically. "Why is that?"

"It's just not." His response sounded peevish even to his own ears.

"I see." Anne leaned back in her seat, her eyes boring into him. Her stance was reminiscent of an engineer studying a complex problem, trying to decide on the best beginning approach. The scrutiny began to make Tom feel uneasy and restless.

"Well," She finally began. "Being new here in town like I am, I haven't had much of a chance to make any new friends yet. All of mine are way up in Ohio. So, here's your big chance. Make a new friend. Me."

"You?"

"Yeah, sure. Why not?"

Why not indeed?

"I'd like that."And a truer statement he had never uttered before.

"See." Anne beamed. "It's really not so hard at all."

Jenny

It came as no surprise to Jenny when the lights flashed behind her. She had no clue as to the reason she was being pulled over by a police patrol car but somehow it felt only appropriate on a day like today. It had been only minutes ago that she had finally resolved to stop delaying and had begun driving on a straight course back towards the motel. As she pulled the car over onto the curb she began to wonder if perhaps she should have continued stalling for just a little while longer.

I really don't need this right now. Not that there's ever a good time for this. But now, really not a good time.

Jenny leaned over in her seat and reached into the glove box, leafing through the contents in search of the items she knew would soon be demanded of her. By the time she had located and retrieved the necessary documentation the officer had exited his car and come around to stand at a point just behind her car. He was speaking into a radio receiver that was strapped onto his right shoulder with a strip of Velcro. His words were spoken too softly for her to make out but it hardly mattered. She believed she already had the gist of what he was saying and he was not speaking to her in any case.

The officer was tall, but lanky, too thin to completely fill out the uniform he wore. He was young also, Jenny's first guess being that he was barely into his twenties, maybe even younger than herself.

She rolled down her window as he finished talking with dispatch and approached her door. Jenny prepared her brightest, most innocent smile for him. "Afternoon officer."

"License, registration, and proof of insurance please." He rattled off the list in a voice caught somewhere between boredom and irritation. He quickly thumbed through the requested items she handed him through the open window.

Jenny studied his face intently, hoping in vain to recognize him. Close up he seemed a little older than she had first thought, though not by much. His face was mostly clean shaven, the only exception being a peach fuzz mustache. She spied the name tag, 'Officer Morris'. The name sounded only vaguely familiar.

He stopped and focused intently on her driver's license, then looked down at her directly for the first time. "Jenny? Jenny Brookes?"

"Yes."

He smiled. "I haven't seen you in ages. Where have you been? What have you been doing with yourself?"

"Um...I'm in school in Orlando now." She answered, keeping the reply as short as possible. He obviously recognized her, putting her at the disadvantage.

"Really? What school?"

"UCF."

After a moment's thought he said, "That's the Bulls right?"

"No, that's USF...South Florida. We're Central Florida. Home of the Golden Knights."

"Oh." His visage was clear evidence that he had never heard of the school. "Anyway, what are you doing here? Home on spring break?"

Jenny nodded, "Pretty much." It was a small enough white lie for her conscience to handle. Her school did not begin its spring break for another two weeks. But it would have been senseless to ruin a perfectly good excuse with the truth. Besides, it was no business of his anyway as far as she was concerned.

"Well that's cool." His mouth went into an earnest, goofy grin. "You don't have any idea who I am. Do you?"

"No, I'm very sorry. I don't."

He tried, but failed to completely hide his disappointment. "I understand. It's been a long time. I'm Chad. Chad Morris. I was a year ahead of you in school."

"Oh, ok. Now I remember." She really did not, but it seemed a kind lie.

"So why did you leave anyway? One day you're in school and the next it's like you just disappeared."

"So...anyway..." Jenny tried to gently prompt him along. She had no intention of going into that subject now.

"Oh...yeah. Anyway, you know why I stopped you, right?"

"Actually no. I don't."

"You were driving almost 40 mph in a school zone. Big no-no." He pointed back the way she had come from. As if just to prove his point, three brightly colored, yellow school buses turned the corner at the last intersection she had passed through, each stopping in turn at the stop sign before slowly proceeding forward. All three of them were loaded with pre-teen kids from the middle school on their way home for the day.

What an idiot I am. Serves me right.

"I'm sorry. I've been away for awhile. I forgot the school was even there."

Chad only nodded while making a 'mmmhmm' sound. Jenny imagined he had heard this excuse before, likely many times.

"There are signs posted. That's why they put them there. To remind you."

Jenny reflexively craned her neck, trying to spot one of the street signs. She saw none but declined to point that out. Attempting to dispute the point would only risk antagonizing him.

"Look, everybody needs a second chance every once in awhile, so...if you promise me that you'll be more careful from now on..."

"Oh I definitely will. Not to worry." Jenny pounced on the opportunity, grabbing at it before he could reconsider.

Chad laughed. "Ok. Consider yourself warned then." He gave her one last smile, turned and seemed about to walk back to his car. Before Jenny could restart her car he turned back around. "By the way. While I'm giving out warnings. Be careful while you're here."

"What?"

There was an odd look on his face. "Well, spring break is coming up...and its just that people go kind of crazy around here."

Jenny laughed in reply. "Since when did Isabella become a spring break destination?"

"It's not. We still don't get anything near what they get over at Panama. But still, these folks get out of their classes and they just go nuts. We've got DUIs all over the place and there was even an attack out on the cape."

Something about the way he phrased that seemed oddly out of place to her. "An attack?"

"Yeah, just the other night. Girl out there, a college kid just like yourself, had a break in. Someone forced his way into the house, tied her to the bed and raped her. The sick bastard even went so far as to carve her face up after he was done. If you ask me it would have been almost kinder if he'd gone ahead and killed her afterwards. I know that sounds wrong, but he really messed her up bad."

"They catch the guy?"

"No. Not yet. More than likely he's long gone by now."

"Why do you say that?"

Chad hesitated before answering. "I probably shouldn't say this, but this guy, whoever he is, isn't local. We can tell by the way he did it."

"Really?"

"Most of the time something like this is a just spur of the moment thing. Some guy gets frustrated because his girlfriend isn't putting out like he wants or they have a fight over God only knows what, and stuff just gets out of hand. This was different. This guy was careful. Nobody saw or heard anything. That means he's done this before. He's had practice. If he were a local we'd already know about him."

"But you got physical evidence right? And she can identify him when you catch him."

"Um..." He hedged. "That I really can't get into. Sorry. I've already said more than I should. Anyway, the point is, just take a little extra care while you're here. This might not be Orlando, but it's not quite the sleepy little town you remember either."

"Since when is anything ever the way you remember it?"

He shrugged, conceding the point. "Anyway, enjoy yourself here, but just do it safely. I'd hate for anything to spoil your fun." And with that final admonition he left her alone.

Don't worry. I won't be here any longer than absolutely necessary. Not even one minute more.

Tom

It's been a good day.

Tom strolled down the sidewalk bordering Parker street as he mindlessly hummed a tune to himself. The melody was light and lively, in perfect harmony with his current mood. Perhaps it was something he might have heard once or twice before, some small bit of joyous song that had hidden dormant in the far recesses of his mind for years. Perhaps it was an original creation of his own making, inspired by the moment and called forth from out of the ether. Tom neither knew, nor cared which might be the case. He was feeling good for a change, and that was enough.

Tom stopped beneath an overhanging wisteria vine, its limbs coiled tightly about the base of a nearby street lamp. It had not bloomed as yet. Small specks of lavender were dotted among the green leaves and brown vines marking where the flowers would burst open in the coming days.

Wisteria was his favorite flower, always had been for as long as he could remember. Let others hail the coming of roses or azaleas to herald the coming of spring, those flowers in their neat little rows of carefully manicured beds and orderly trimmed hedges. They were beautiful, in their own way he supposed, but in a delicate, cultivated sort of way. Like many other species of garden flowers they required care and maintenance. Take away that care and the rose would wither and die, the azalea devolve into an ugly, shambling mess. Not the wisteria. It thrived best when simply left alone to its own whims. It grew as it wished, where it wished, resisting any effort to prune it back by returning the following spring just as wild and beautiful as before.

Independent, resilient, and free, everything that I'm not.

Well, that can be changed he thought to himself. He could change.

Can it? Really? How?

That was just it. He did not know how. If he did it would have been done already, long ago. For the first time his smile slipped a notch. The tune died a silent death in his throat.

I feel good this evening. Why? Because a woman smiled at me? Because she wants to be friends with me? Really? Come on, get real. That was pity, nothing more. She doesn't know me, any more than I know her. If she did...Well, let's just say pity only goes so far. I might be feeling all dandy today, but tomorrow I'll wake up and nothing will have changed. I'll still be me.

A light breeze washed over him, chilling him. The day had eventually managed to tip out at just over 60 F, but now the sun was almost on the horizon once again and with the waning of the day's light the temperatures were beginning to drop back down. Tom resumed his walk, he was getting close to home now. Another ten minutes, fifteen at the most, and he would be there.

It was true that he hardly knew anything about Anne, a few surface details here and there. And as yet she knew even less about him. But perhaps that was precisely where he could best begin making those changes that he felt his life sorely needed right now. Forget the expectations, forget the fear, just...try.

Sure. What's the harm? Just talk with her, get to know her. Let her get to know me. I mean, it's not like I'm talking marriage or anything. Not like it was with Beverly. Now there was someone that actually knew me, or at least as much as anyone is ever likely to know me. She knew me well enough to say 'no' didn't she? Knew me well enough to abort our child. Let's not kid ourselves here; she did it because she was terrified of getting stuck with me. She's happy enough to go to term with a baby now. Now that she's married to Tim.

NO! Stop! I'm not going to do this. Not again. Not now. Whenever I feel the least bit of happiness, for whatever the reason. I always find a way to tear it down. But I'm not going to do that today. I'm just not.

Almost as if his body had heard and interpreted the command to stop literally, Tom came to an abrupt halt at the corner of Parker and Howard. On the opposite side of the intersection from where he stood was the Piney Woods apartment complex; a long, squat one story building stretching all the way down to the next street. There was no sign out front advertising its name or function, but it hardly needed one. Everyone that lived in Isabella knew about Piney Woods, it was the housing of last resort, the place you went for those who could go nowhere else.

It was sectioned out in a series of apartment blocks, twenty five of them if anyone had ever cared to count them as he once had. Each was indistinguishable from the other except for the address numbering stenciled above the doors. The entire complex was painted a drab hue of tan, or had been at one point. Slowly accumulating grime had dirtied the facade, gradually transforming the tan into something more resembling brown or even olive green in spots. The cheaply constructed asphalt parking lot that ran before it was buckled and cracked, with small patches of grass peeking out from the breaks.

Tom crossed the intersection and approached the communal mail box. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys as he walked up to the box. The box, like the apartments it serviced, had once been painted that same boring shade of tan, but now its appearance was marred by a chaotic confusion of spray painted colors. The address numbering on his own box was virtually unreadable beneath a heavy band of hastily sprayed on matte black. But it made no difference to him. He no longer needed to read the numbers to know which was his own. His was the third from the top on the right-hand column, number 223, the same as it had always been in the two years he had lived here. He inserted the key and opened the box. A small avalanche of mail spilled forth scattering letters on the ground around his feet.

I really need to check my box more often.

Tom muttered to himself almost inaudibly as he bent down and scooped up the errant correspondence. He flipped through them quickly, taking a cursory inventory. Three bills and four, no...five advertisements.

Hmmm...or not.

The advertisement flyers sailed into the garbage can that lay tucked beneath the box without a second thought. The bills he held onto, shuffling between them like cards for a short while as he debated their fate. He was about to shove them back into the box from whence they came when he noticed one last piece of mail that had stubbornly remained within as the others had tumbled out. The return address was for Thomas Sims Publishing Inc. out of Atlanta. He pulled it from the box, subconsciously feeling the weight of it in his hand. It was far too light to be anything other than a simple, one-page form letter. He almost stacked it with the bills as he returned them to their place in the box but on a whim decided to keep it out.

Tom buried the letter within the folds of his jacket and began the last short leg of his trek towards his apartment. The narrow parking lot was mostly full at this time of evening, so it was not until he was almost at the apartment door itself that he spotted his jeep parked squarely in front of his front door. His mother's car sat parked on the far side.

Tom took a few seconds to inspect the jeep. If there was any new damage he could not spot it. Aside from a small, bright splash of red paint scuffed onto the front bumper bar there was absolutely no sign that he could see that the Jeep Cherokee had ever been in any sort of accident. It was the same lovable, old heap he had driven around in for years.

"Jeep vs. Mustang. Jeep wins!" Maybe they need to put that in the commercials.

Tom turned and looked at the small window to the right of his front door. The shades were drawn closed as he had left them that morning, but he could detect a faint glimmer of light coming from within. Tom turned the handle on the front door, it was not locked, just as he had expected. She was inside, waiting.

Let's get this over with.

He entered.

Anne

"Mommy I'm tired. I don't want to walk anymore. I want to go home."

Anne cringed inwardly, she knew that voice. It was precisely the same voice that always preceded one of Michelle's temper tantrums. Thankfully they were relatively rare, but when they did come they could be a terrible sight to behold. She did not need this right now, and certainly not here, out in public view.

"Baby we talked about this. The car won't be fixed until Monday."

Anne knew it was wasted breath. Reasoning with a four-year old could be challenging under the best of circumstances. When that four-year old was tired, hungry, and peevish it was quite out of the question.

"I don't care. I want to go home!"

"We are going home."

"Now!" The word was one-quarter plea, and three-quarters command. Spoken as only a cranky child could voice it.

Anne abandoned her attempt to extract Michelle from the buggy where she sat. Instead she looked around her, hoping without any real hope to spot some inspiration for a means of gracefully resolving her predicament. They were in the foyer area of the Shop N' Save. The plan had been to stop in just long enough to buy a single bag of groceries, just something to tide them over until Monday evening. Instead she had checked out with three bags, at least one bag too many. Fortunately the motel was not too far, only a fifteen minute walk normally. It might as well have been in another state though given her daughter's current mood. She doubted the store would appreciate finding one of their carts disappearing only to reappear outside the motel, but the idea was tempting nevertheless.

She spotted a bagboy pushing a small stack of carts into the foyer and unexpectedly she received the inspiration she had sought.

"Mommy!"

"Hush baby, I'm going to see what I can do." Anne said the words to herself as much as to her child, unconvinced but willing to try anything to avoid a scene with Michelle.

"Excuse me." She called out to him, waving her hand to gain his attention.

"Yes, miss?" The term 'bagboy' hardly seemed appropriate. It had been many, many years since this older gentleman had been anything resembling a boy.

"I don't suppose there is anything like a cab service in this town. Is there?" Anne was afraid that she already knew the answer to her own question, but it would not hurt to at least ask.

"Well..." he hesitated and seemed to ponder the question, "There is Bertie. He runs Coastal Cab. You can get his number out of the phone book over yonder." He lifted his arm and pointed to a location beyond the vending machines which lined the entranceway just outside the foyer exit."There's a couple of pay phones out there. Should be a phone book there too if someone hasn't ripped it off again."

"Thank you. Thank you very much."

The employee simply nodded his head and went back to his business, leaving her once again alone with Michelle in the foyer.

"Mommy?"

"Mommy is going to get you home. Well, back to the motel at least. It won't be long now."

"I'm tired."

"I know you are baby. Mommy is tired too."

And she was, more than she had realized until just now. Pushing the buggy suddenly felt like moving a small mountain. It did not help that one of the wheels, the right front wheel, was out of alignment and kept trying to turn perpendicular to the cart's forward momentum. Even so it only took a matter of seconds for her to come to the pay phones he had pointed her towards. She spotted the phone book and flipped the pages rapidly, searching for the listing. That's when her luck seemed to sputter out and die, the page where the cab service should be located was missing, ripped out of the book with only a telltale remnant left behind to mark its former placement.

"If you're hoping to call Bertie you might be here awhile."

Anne looked up startled by the voice of the young woman standing behind her. There was something very familiar about her, but Anne was far too tired to instantly recognize her as she normally might.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to spook you." The woman backed up half a step even as she peeled a black leather glove off her right hand and extended it forward. "Hi there, I'm Beverly. We met earlier today."

Anne hesitated briefly before she accepted the gesture and reached out to shake hands. The smile on the other woman's face seemed sincere and friendly enough, despite the scene at the cafe where they had met in passing.

"And what's your name?" Beverly bent her knees and squatted down so that her eyes were on the same level of Michelle's.

Michelle said nothing at first, she just stared at the woman warily. After a long awkward pause she finally replied, "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

If she took the slightest offense she hid it well. She only smiled wider and held out her hand. "That's right! I so forgot. But if you shake my hand we'll be friends then, and then you can tell me your name."

Michelle looked up at her mother, silently seeking confirmation. Anne gave a small nod in response. Michelle reached her hand out with a look on her face as if she half expected to be dragged away and locked up in dungeon cell. "M'chelle."

"I'm so glad to meet you Michelle." She straightened back up and turned back to face Anne. "I overheard you inside asking about a cab. Bertie's not much, but he's all we got here in Isabella. But seeing as it's getting near nightfall on a Saturday...Well, the drunks keep him pretty busy on nights like this. You'll be lucky if he says yes, even luckier if he gets here within the hour."

Anne grimaced in frustration, this was not something she wanted to hear.

"Come follow me back to my car. I'll give you both a ride. It's too cold to walk tonight. Especially for her." She reached into her small handbag and pulled out a set of keys and pressed the button on the key fob.

Somewhere nearby Anne heard the sound of single, short bleep of a car horn as its doors were electronically unlocked. Despite any doubts she might have had Anne could not argue. She began to push the buggy containing her child forward, both of them following behind their new benefactor.

Chapter 9

Tom

"Hello mother."

Tom slipped out of his jacket without stopping to look at her. She was sitting in the small room's only chair, facing back at him and the entranceway. It was an efficiency apartment, which must be renter's lingo for 'as little as a human being needs to get from one day to the next'. The entire apartment was about the same size as an average run-of-the-mill motel room. More than half of that was devoted to a space towards the back that was his sleeping area with a tiny, adjoining half-bath. Forward of that was an equally diminutive kitchenette, complete with a breakfast bar and a pair of stools which together served as his 'dining room'. And then there was the entrance area in which he now stood. That was essentially the grand tour of his humble abode described in those few short sentences. If he chose to he could pretty much see the entire layout from where he was. The only room separated off with anything so much as a door was the bath.

"You're home late." If Janet was trying to hide the irritation in her voice she was doing a very poor job of it.

Tom finished hanging his jacket on the peg behind the front door before checking his watch. "It's not even seven yet. I'd hardly call that late."

"Well it's late to me."

Tom grinned. "I'm sorry, but I wasn't expecting your company tonight. Of course if I'd known you were coming I would have hurried home much sooner."

"Would you now? I wonder about that." The look she gave him made it obvious she no more believed that than if he had told her a story about elves and orcs waylaying him on the way home.

"I suppose I have you to thank for my jeep being out front?"

Janet shrugged as if the matter was completely unimportant. "I had them tow it here this afternoon. It would have been here this morning waiting for you when you woke up, but the windshield needed to be repaired."

Tom frowned slightly, he had not expected that bit of news. "The windshield?"

"You put quite a nice little crack in it, stretched all the way across from side to side. I always knew you were hard headed, I just never realized how much."

"You didn't need to do that. I would have taken care of it."

She laughed, "When? Next year maybe? I can't imagine you're carrying anything more than the most basic liability coverage on that thing are you? I'm not going to have you driving around with a cracked windshield while you save up your pennies."

Tom did not bother to dispute her, she was right. She was usually right. It was probably one of the main reasons she could always manage to get under his skin so easily.

"You did have liability coverage at least...Right?"

"Yes."

Janet breathed a small sigh of relief. "Good. At least you have a little sense in there somewhere." Her right hand reached into her jacket and pulled forth a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"I'm not supposed to smoke in here mom, apartment rules."

"Really? Then explain this." She reached down to the floor on the right side of the chair and pulled up a glass ash tray, brimming with spent butts, all but a few of them his own. "I found it next to your bed. I was beginning to think I'd never find one, until I stopped to look in the most obvious place. By the way, it needs emptying. Would you mind?" She held it out to him.

Without a word he took the ashtray from her hands and walked to the kitchen where the trash can was located, wedged in beneath the sink.

"Oh, before I forget. I took the liberty to restock your kitchen for you too. I can't imagine how you expected to get by for very long with nothing more than a box of Ritz crackers and a bag of Sugar Puffs."

Upon emptying the ashtray Tom put it aside on the kitchen counter. He cracked open the door on the mini fridge. Restocked failed to cover to it. She had filled it to capacity and then some. He felt his salivary glands activating at the sight of it all, just as if he were Pavlov's dog. A quick check let him know the overhead food pantry had similarly been stuffed full.

"What was that? I can't hear you in here."

Tom spoke the words he knew she wanted to hear loud and clear, making sure she could not fail to hear, "Thank you."

She mumbled something back to him but it was lost amidst the sounds of clinking glass as he pulled down two glasses from their cabinet and set them upon the counter next to the newly emptied ashtray. He opened the fridge door a second time. There it was, a carafe of orange juice, wet dew running down the sides. It had been a long time since he had seen anything quite so precious in his own kitchen.

"None for me. Thank you. But I will take that ashtray if you don't mind." She was standing at the intersection spot where the front met the back of the apartment and looked directly into the kitchenette. Without waiting for him to hand it to her she just reached over and scooped it up. Then she turned her back and headed back in the direction she had come from.

Janet had resumed her seat by the time Tom had finished pouring his glass and rejoined her. He sat down on top of one of the stools, sipping his drink and savoring its acidic flavor.

"I talked with your sister this morning."

"So what did she do to piss you off today?"

His mother's eyes narrowed. "What makes you say that? I just said I talked with her is all."

Tom laughed. "Because if you weren't pissed off by something you would have called her by name. She's only 'your sister' whenever you two have an argument."

"Well, ok. I'll give you that one. And yes, I'm sorry to say that things didn't exactly go the way I'd hoped for."

Tom rather imagined that was a gross understatement on her part. He had been there for too many of their discussions, silently standing aside as each would verbally tear at the other over the most trivial matters.

"She's gay. Or at least that's what she says now. Can you believe that?"

Tom snickered.

Gross understatement indeed.

"You're laughing? You think this is funny?"

He could not help it, he did. He thought it was hilarious in fact. It was all he could do to keep from laughing out loud. Fortunately he managed to tame it down to a mere knowing smirk as he sipped his orange juice. "Well, maybe it is. Just a bit."

"I don't understand you. I really don't. Your sister says that she's gay and you think it's funny?"

"What do you expect? My sense of humor has always been a little warped. You know that. Besides, technically I believe gay only refers to the guys these days. She would be a lesbian."

"I'm sorry if I'm not current on the latest queer terminology."

Tom grimaced. The situation was rapidly losing any humorous value as he formed a mental image of their confrontation. His mother's anger was palpable. He imagined that if he looked directly at her he might see the heat of it rising from her, shimmering the air like a heat mirage.

"You don't act too surprised to hear it. Did you know?"

Tom shrugged. "I didn't know anything. But...I did sort of suspect."

"How? And for how long?"

"Does it really matter? I suspected, that's all there is to it."

"It matters to me. Tell me. How did you come to 'suspect' this? And for how long?"

Tom sighed. It was obvious she was not about to just let it go. "Billy Hadder. I knew he was gay. When Jenny started going out with him everywhere acting like they were a couple I kind of put two and two together. The only way it made any sense to me was that they were covering for each other."

"You knew he was gay? How? You two didn't even go the same schools. You heard rumors all the way down here?"

"Rumors? No. I didn't need to. I met him, that summer I spent a week at Viv's."

"You met him?" Her voice was incredulous. "And that's it? You meet him and you just know? What happened? Did he come on to you or something?"

"No. It wasn't like that." Tom shook his head "Look, you women have your intuitions. We have ours. It's not fool proof, but...You can paint black stripes on a white horse but at least some of the zebras are going to figure out there's something different about him. He would act differently with her depending on whether there was anybody else around. Whenever someone came near he would puff up and act all macho, but it always felt like it was just that; an act. It really was just that simple. Nobody should have to act what they are. It should just come naturally."

"And when you realized he was gay and you...I don't know, 'suspected' that Jenny might be also, none of that ever bothered you? Not even the smallest amount?"

"Why would it? She is what she is."

"Did you talk to her about it? What did she say?"

"No. No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

Tom squirmed on his stool. Her interrogation was becoming irritating. "If she wanted me to know she would've told me herself. Besides, I could've been wrong. Imagine what an ass I'd be making of myself. In any event, it's not like the world was coming to an end."

Janet heaved herself up out of the chair and began pacing the room, her lit cigarette dangling from her right hand as she strode. "How do you do that?"

For the first time he was genuinely puzzled. "Do what?"

She stopped in mid stride and looked at him. There was no anger there any longer, just a sad look of confusion. "Do that. Just accept it. How do you do that? How can you just find out she's gay and not even care?"

"Care? About her being a lesbian? What does that change?"

"Everything!" She almost shouted the word back at him.

"Why?"

"It's wrong! It's...unnatural."

Tom looked at his mother and saw something he had never noticed before.

She's scared. Something about this is freaking her out. There's more going on here than just this.

"Mom, this is Jenny's life we're talking about. This is something for her to work out. It's not our place to make her decisions, to set her path."

"You don't understand." Janet sat back down in the chair. She looked exhausted by the exchange.

"What is it that I don't understand?"

"What it's like to be a parent. That's not something that ends on your kid's eighteenth. It's a lifelong job. It never ends."

Tom did not argue, "No, you have me there. I'm not a parent. I'm only her brother."

"You don't act like it."

"How am I supposed to act?"

"Like you care. Like you're part of this family. Like it matters to you."

Tom took a deep breath. He knew it was important what he said next. That it would be important to her and Jenny both.

"She is whatever she is mom. And me caring about something like that, worrying about it, judging it; none of that changes it. All it would do is...Well, none of that is half so important as the fact that she's still my sister. I'm not about to let something like that cost me a sister. Are you willing to let it cost you a daughter?"

Anne

The silver-gray Elantra came to a gentle stop in the parking spot behind the Boardwalk motel. Anne realized with a start that in just the short while that it had taken to ride between the Shop N' Save and here the quiet motion of the car had lulled her into a state of half-sleep. She turned her head to see her daughter slumped over in the back seat. Whereas she had only kissed the edge of sleep, Michelle had completely abandoned her hold on consciousness. With any luck at all Anne would be able to carry her up to the room without her stirring so much as a twitch.

"Better than Bertie's cab any day. I'm faster and cheaper." Beverly kept her voice low and soft, mindful of the sleeping child in the back.

Anne smiled back, grateful for the timely kindness that had been done for her. "Thank you."

"Before you go though..."

"Yes?"

"I don't really know what all was said earlier at the cafe before I got there. But from what Tim said afterward, and from what little I did see...I think an apology is in order. Normally Tim is...Well, you weren't exactly seeing him at his best. The Tim you saw today is not who he really is."

Anne reached her left hand out and placed it on Beverly's forearm. "It's ok. You don't have anything to apologize for."

"Maybe not." She sounded skeptical. "But if you'll let me, I would at least like to explain a little bit about why he was acting that way. You see, Tim and Tom, there's been bad blood between the two of them for awhile now. Put them in the same room and it's like having two roosters in the coop with only one hen between them"

"Because of you?"

Beverly nodded before answering. "Yes."

"I guess that makes you the hen."

Beverly laughed softly, "Yes, I suppose it does at that."

"And the abortion?"

Beverly turned towards her quickly, even in the gloom Anne could feel her stare. "Who told you about that?" Though her voice was still low and measured there was now a hard, almost bitter edge to the question.

"Actually your husband did, this morning. It looked to me like he was trying to provoke Tom."

"Damn! I was afraid of that."

"Then afterwards Tom talked about it a little more also."

"Tom? Tom talked to you about it?" Disbelief laced her words. "I thought....You said you hardly knew him. What did he tell you?"

Anne suddenly found herself on the defensive, realizing that it may have been better off not mentioning the abortion at all. "You're right. I don't really know him. When we left the cafe I could see that Tom was upset. He needed a chance to cool down, to work off some steam. So...We talked. He didn't really go into that much detail, just that..."

"Just what?"

"Well, it's clear that he's not entirely over it, not really. I got the vibe from him that there was a lot of resentment between the two of you after that."

"Oh that's for sure."

"I could see that it hurt him, losing his chance at being a father in that way."

"You know it wasn't all peaches and cream for me either! You think I made that choice lightly? I did it because I thought it was the right thing to do, that it was the only thing I could do. Hell, I still think I did the right thing, even if he doesn't, but there's not a day where I don't wish it could've been different."

The words 'I'm sorry' came to Anne's mind but she rejected them as woefully inadequate for the situation and so she opted instead for sympathetic silence.

"I had my reasons you know." Beverly continued on, "You don't know what it was like for me. You couldn't know. Nobody knows what it was like. It's for damn sure Tom doesn't know. All he knows is how much it hurt him. You think he ever stops to think about what it did to me? I had to make that call alone and when it was all said and done I had lost everything."

"Talk to him. Tell him that."

Beverly snorted derisively in response. "Don't you think I've tried? A million times I've tried but he's never wanted to listen. He wouldn't listen to me then and he's not about to listen to me now. Getting Tom to talk about something like that is like trying to force feed a snake. Whenever a conversation gets too personal for him he just squirms his way out and slithers away looking for the nearest rock to hide under...Besides it's far too late for that now."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is."

Her voice was firm and unyielding but Anne could not help feeling that there was a little something hiding underneath, a lingering doubt perhaps...or hope.

Beverly gave her head a kind of half-shake. "Honestly I'm amazed he talked to you about any of this, to someone he barely knows. I doubt very much he's even told his own mother about what happened. In fact I'm almost positive he hasn't, or else she would've come visiting me at some point."

"Visiting?"

Beverly laughed. "Oh yeah. That woman...She's something else all right."

"I met her, briefly at the hospital, not long after the accident. I don't think I saw her at her best either."

"Oh, that's right. I had almost forgotten, Tim told me you met there...Wait a second..." Beverly's gaze intensified on her. "I saw you there didn't I? It was you in the other car, wasn't it?"

Anne nodded affirmatively. "Yes. My second week in town and this happened. What a way to get introduced isn't it?"

"So, let me get this straight. You meet Tom by accident, literally, only two days ago. And today he's telling you personal details about himself? What's your secret? How did you pry him open so fast?"

"I don't understand."

"I told you, Tom doesn't talk, not about personal stuff. I dated him for a year and a half before I found out his favorite color is blue. This is a man that does not like opening himself up to others."

"I don't know. I think he just needed to vent this afternoon. Everybody needs somebody to talk to at some point. I just happened to be available when it was his turn. You know, it's still not like I really know him all that well. Just that one thing really."

"Just that one thing..." Beverly sounded unconvinced.

"You still have feelings for him. Don't you?" Anne knew she was right even as she asked the question. She could see it plainly written across the woman's face.

"I'm married now."

"I know that. That's not what I asked."

Beverly did not answer for a long while and Anne chose not to push the issue too forcibly. The question had been asked, that was enough.

"Yes. I'll admit it. There's still something there. " She answered even more softly than before. Her voice barely above a whisper. "Whenever I see him I can't help but feel something. Something I can't really describe. Something that makes my heart flutter and break all at the same time. But it doesn't matter, not anymore. I am married. And expecting. That's what matters."

She sounds like she's trying to convince herself more than she's trying to convince me.

"Why did you marry Tim when you're still in love with Tom?"

She laughed, but Anne could hear the pain hidden beneath. "Why? I don't know. Perhaps because...because being in love with Tom is just asking for trouble. You might not understand what I mean yet, but you will. If you spend enough time with him, you will. There's so much to him that nobody ever sees. They never see it because he doesn't want them to see it. It takes time and patience to get him to open up, even just a little, to show you a glimpse of what's underneath. Once he does though you're trapped, you can't help but love him. That's when the real heartache begins."

Both of Beverly's hands were gripping the steering wheel in front of her, her eyes stared out the windshield. "The thing about Tom is; he doesn't want you to love him. Oh, a part of him does. There's a part of him somewhere deep inside that wants it so badly it hurts just to see it. But there's another part of him, the part that puts up the guards and shields and keeps everyone away. That's the part of him that doesn't want your love. He's afraid of being loved. I don't know why. I wish I did. I tried so long to get past that, to make him understand it's ok to just be loved. But it wears you out over time. Always fighting for every inch of ground, every ounce of trust. Things had gotten difficult enough between us even before the abortion, afterwards... I just couldn't anymore."

"You gave up." It wasn't a question, or a judgment. Just a statement.

Beverly turned back to face her again. "I had to...to save myself."

Jenny

"I can see now that tomorrow is going to be a very, very long drive back home."

Jenny tried to smile in response, but the most she could manage was a weak imitation that would never have fooled anyone, much less Terri. "I'm sorry." She stabbed the last remaining cherry tomato from her salad with the tines of her fork and plopped it into her mouth. It proved just as juicy, yet tasteless, as the four preceding tomatoes had.

Terri sighed, "No, I'm the one that's sorry. I'm sorry I ever put you up to this. I thought this trip might help. I thought you might get some closure you've been needing. It was my mistake, not yours. I admit, I had my doubts how she would react, just from what you'd told me about her, but I never thought it would affect you like this."

Jenny glanced around the motel dining room, subconsciously trying to ascertain if any of the half-dozen or so customers might be paying her any undue attention. Something about being here, back in Isabella after all these years, made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

Jenny returned her focus on Terri, satisfied for the time being that they were being ignored by all. "It's not your fault. You couldn't have known. You don't know my mother. You don't know what it's like to have a parent where you're tensed and ready for a fight the moment you step into the room with them."

Terri reached a hand over the small table and covered her left hand. Jenny had to stifle the urge to flinch her hand backwards at the touch. "You're right. I don't. I don't know what it's like to have a parent at all."

"What?"

"I'm an orphan, Jenny."

"You never told me this before."

"You never asked."

Jenny shook her head, refusing to accept such a simple explanation. "That's no excuse."

"Excuse? I didn't know I needed one."

"C'mon Terri, you know what I meant. That's the sort of stuff I should have known by now. Don't you agree? You should have told me before. You should have volunteered it, not just waited until I got around to asking."

"Why?"

"Because," She stammered, "It's part of who you are. It's relevant. You lay this on me here and it's suddenly like I hardly even know you all over again. You've been holding out on me."

"Holding out on you? That I'm an orphan? Are you serious?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Does this thing with your mother have you so weirded out that now you're just looking for any excuse for a fight?"

"We aren't talking about her anymore. This is about us."

"Is that right?"

"Yes. I just don't appreciate finding out like this that there's stuff you've been hiding on me that I should have heard already. What else is there I should know?"

Terri leaned back in her chair, her mouth open in surprise. "Really? I get all that just because you find out tonight that I'm an orphan? Wow! I never expected that."

Jenny could feel the anger rising within her. "Just what do you expect from me?"

Silence settled over the table. Terri's eyes were locked on her own. Jenny saw something, a flash of an emotion cross her lover's face. "I expected... I still expect, what I've always expected. That you care about me. Not whatever I might have been before, but what I am now. I would have thought I had made that clear by now. Isn't that how I've treated you?"

"But..."

"No, uh-uh. No buts this time. Answer the question please. Hasn't that always been the way I've treated you?"

"I don't know what..."

"You do know what I mean. Have I ever asked you to tell me anything you weren't ready to tell me?"

There was a flash in Jenny's peripheral vision, a man at a table ten feet away locked eyes with her momentarily before he turned his gaze away. Jenny looked down at the table top, collecting her thoughts, willing her emotions to settle. "No, but..."

"But what?" Terri's own voice was subtly softer now.

"It's not the same. The stuff with my family is..."

"What? Private? More private than my being an orphan? How is it different Jenny?"

"No, it's just that...It's more complicated. You could have told me about yourself, everything about yourself, and I would have accepted it. My stuff is different."

Terri shook her head. "Come on Jenny. Don't try to bullshit me. I tell you I'm an orphan and you jump all over me. Try again. Give me a reason I'll believe. Why is your past off limits, while mine is supposed to be an open book?"

"Maybe you should have asked then. Why didn't you?"

"Because your past is not who you are."

"Yes, it is."

"Why?"

"It just is." Jenny could not help it, her voice was rising again, the anger creeping back over her.

"Why?" Terri refused to reciprocate, she held her gaze and the measure of her voice firm. She was neither yielding, nor allowing herself to be swept along by Jenny's emotional state.

"Because your past is what makes you what you are. Everything you are is a result of what's gone before."

"That's a convenient philosophy. It's pure bullshit, but I can see how it might work for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you follow that line of reasoning then everything bad that ever happens to you is your mother's fault, not yours."

"Fuck you!" The words were loud and ringing in the dining room.

Terri shrugged, completely oblivious to any furtive glances that might be focused on the pair. "Maybe later, but not right now. I think you need to talk more than you need that."

"That wasn't fair." Jenny hissed.

"Really? Why is that?"

"I've never blamed my crap on her. I dealt with it on my own. I never asked her for a fucking thing. I did it all. Me! You think she ever helped me? Fuck no! All she ever did was send me off to a friggen rehab funny farm. I put myself back together. I got off the drugs. I got myself into school. I took care of myself when all she ever did was turn her back on me."

Terri shook her head sadly, "Keeping that shit to yourself is not the same thing as taking care of yourself. And it's not the same as taking responsibility either. Stop for a moment. Listen to your own words. You think you've fixed yourself? That you're over this...whatever it is that happened?"

"Taking responsibility? Just what kind of responsibility am I supposed to take? This shit ain't my fault."

There was a sadness in Terri's eyes that Jenny had never seen before. "No, honey. It's not. You are not your mother. Don't let her issues become yours. Your responsibility is taking care of you. It sounds like she's got enough of her own problems without you trying to do it for her."

"I..."

"Jenny, let it go. You're not your mother. Just let it go."

Jenny's voice cracked. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. I'm here. I'll help. Let me help you."

It was as if an emotional damn had burst inside her. The sobs started coming without warning. Jenny no longer cared who in the restaurant might be watching or what they might be thinking. She was beyond caring. The next few minutes passed in a blur as Terri rose from her chair, took her hand and led her off to the restroom.

As soon as they were inside Terri wrapped her arms around her, pulling her in tight, inviting Jenny to lay her head on her shoulder. There was nothing sexual about the embrace. It was a simple act of love, shared from one human to another. Jenny did not know how long she held her there like that. It felt like forever, it felt like a twinkling of the eye. It was both and neither.

"How did you mother ever fuck you up so bad anyway? What did she do?"

Jenny choked off the last of her tears, beating them back with the last shred of willpower she had left to her.

Can I? Can I do it? I've never done this before. I never told the shrinks, or Viv. I've never told anybody. I don't even know if I can.

Jenny pulled away, taking a half step back from Terri. It took everything she had to raise her eyes and look at Terri. "When...when we get back to the room...I'll tell you then. I'll tell you everything. I think maybe it's time."

Terri looked at her and nodded. "Ok. I'll take care of the table and the bill. Can you wait for me in the lobby by the elevator? I'll be right behind you. I promise."

"Ok." Jenny's voice was meek and frail. Her throat was raw, her body robbed of all strength by the force of her crying. With as much enthusiasm as an aimless zombie she allowed herself to be led back out into the dining room.

Terri pointed in the direction of the lobby and with one last squeeze of the hand gave her a gentle nudge to set her on her way.

"Remember, wait for me by the elevator."

Jenny walked forward. She never looked left, or right, or even straight ahead but kept her eyes firmly on the carpet beneath her feet. Even the normally automatic action of walking a straight path seemed to require her full attention now.

Finally she came to the designated rendezvous destination. As she waited her senses slowly began to come back to her, not all once, but in an almost pixelatted fashion. Bit by bit she began to notice her surroundings again. There was a man in a hotel uniform talking to a guest at the front counter, there was a woman struggling to carry an obviously heavy suitcase in through the front door, there was a...

That's weird. What's he doing sitting on his ass?

Jenny turned around to stare openly out the glass window that bordered the lobby's rear exit. There was a young couple outside, but they were neither standing, nor walking together, as you might expect. Instead he seemed to be just sitting there, his legs sprawled out before him as if he had sat down for a picnic. The woman was standing over him, talking to him, though there was no way Jenny might guess what they could be saying to each other. The woman's back was turned to her but Jenny had a clear line of sight to the man's face.

I know that face. I know who that is. It's been years, and he's changed. He's changed more than I ever imagined he would, but it's him.

Tom

This is either mom's best idea in years, or her very worst. I certainly hope it's the former and not the later.

Tom slowly eased his way into the parking lot of the Boardwalk, quickly finding an empty space in which to park. After exiting the jeep he paused to light a cigarette. He paced back and forth next to his vehicle, using the cigarette as an excuse to delay for just a few minutes more. He was here to do something he really did not want to do, but rather felt obligated to do. After all, this was as much his own idea as it was hers. He was the closest thing to a neutral third party in regards to his mother and his sister. It was time to use that to everyone's advantage and help put an end to this sorry mess.

All too soon the cigarette had burned itself down to the filter, leaving him only the choices of either lighting another and delaying even further to no good end, or gritting his teeth and getting the whole episode over and done with. It was a tougher decision than he would have liked to admit but ultimately he chose the second option. He flicked the spent butt across the parking lot haphazardly, uncaring of where it might land, turned on his heels, and strode towards the overhang that marked the back entrance of the motel.

As he neared the door he almost tripped over a collection of paper shopping bags, three in total. He had not even noticed them sitting there until the last possible second. He stopped to peer down into the bags, taking care not to physically touch them lest their owner suddenly emerge from nowhere and accuse him of theft. Two of the bags appeared to contain nothing more than food, the third looked to be partially filled with feminine hygiene products of various sorts.

Since he was bent over the bags looking downward he never saw the door opening. He never saw it, but he felt it. The glass door opened outward, smacking him hard at the crown of the head with a plainly audible 'thump'. Like a comical act at the circus he pinwheeled backward, both hands outstretched, grasping at air, before landing hard on his rear end. He sat there dazed, unsure which part of his anatomy had received the rudest blow; his head or his tail.

"Oh my God! I am so sorry! I didn't see you." It was a woman's voice. It was Anne's voice.

"You!?"

"Tom?! What are you doing here?"

"Me? What are you doing here?"

Anne started moving towards him, clearly intending to help him to his feet. Tom waved her off. "Please, don't touch me right now. Just give me a second, ok?"

She backed away, giving him room. "I'm so sorry. Please don't be angry. It was an accident."

"I know, and I'm not. I just..." Tom fought to find the words. His head was pounding, worse than at any point since the accident on Flagler. "I just need a second to clear my head before I try to stand up." Tom had often heard the expression 'seeing stars' but this was the closest he had ever come to actually experiencing it himself. He did not trust himself to try to rise again quite yet.

"What is it with you anyway? Am I going to need to start wearing a helmet every time I get near you?"

Anne smiled. "They say you should always wear protection when in doubt." She blushed a beautiful shade of crimson as she realized what she had said. "Oh my God! I can't believe I just said that." There was a stunned silence for a quarter of a second before both of them began laughing in unison.

"Those are my bags." Anne pointed behind her where the three bags still sat.

"What?" He asked, confused by the quick change of topic.

"The grocery bags are mine. I just got back from shopping not too long ago. You asked me what I was doing here. So I'm telling you. I had to leave the bags down here long enough for me to get Michelle up to the room and tucked into bed. I was just coming back down to get the bags when I ran into you...Again."

"Oh, ok." Tom said, as if it perfectly explained everything. "Well, I came here hoping to deliver a quick message is all. So there, that's my story."

"To me?"

"No, umm...Someone else."

He lifted his right hand into the air, forestalling any further questions she may have had. "Ok. I'm ready for that lift up I think."

Anne placed her hand in his. Her hand felt light, warm, and delicate. He felt her give a gentle tug upward as he pushed himself off the ground with his left hand. He was still a little woozy, though he could no longer tell if it was a result of the fall or his proximity to her. His vision swam, blackness contracting his vision down to a point centered on her. For an instant he was terrified that he would lose his balance and topple, bringing her down with him. He clutched onto her tightly, using her body to help steady himself.

Even as his vision returned to normal his other senses were awakening in ways long forgotten. He held onto her tightly, keeping her pressed up against him, basking in the warmth of her life's energy flowing about her. He smelled a scent reminiscent of wildflowers on a sunny day. He heard the thumping of his own heart as loudly as if it were a metronome beating out time.

Tom was a man used to acting on impulse, and invariably regretting it. For as long as he could remember, his life had been a series of lost battles with his own penchant for self-destructive snap decisions. But now, in a stretch of time barely greater than that required to blink an eye, his mind warred between two equally fierce and yet contradictory impulses. Run, or...

Tom bent his head forward, placed his lips on hers, and kissed her. Anne's eyes remained open for a moment, the surprise of the kiss registering clearly within them, but as the kiss continued her eyes fluttered and then closed. He could feel her body surrendering to the moment, her mouth opening wider, her hands and arms clutching back at him. Any initial resistance melted away and was replaced by a desire matching his own.

"Tom? Is that you?" He knew that voice and yet there was something oddly strange about it also. It was not merely that it had been so long since he had last heard it, there was something else at play here. The voice was weaker than he remembered, strained. It was drained.

Not now. Please God, not now!

Tom turned around slowly, reluctant to relinquish his embrace of Anne.

"Hi sis."

Anne

Anne felt wonderfully confused, at least initially.

Then the moment passed, leaving behind only the confusion in its wake.

Tom stood at her side, his left arm loosely wrapped around her waist, holding her close to him. There was a woman standing in front of the door to the motel, the same doorway she herself had exited only minutes ago. Anne recognized her as being the young brunette she had met briefly in the hallway near her room the night before. Anne attempted unsuccessfully to recall what the girl's name was. She knew she had heard it at least once before.

"Hello Tom." There was something peculiar about the way she addressed him. Her voice sounded washed out, devoid of any real warmth. That is when Anne began to notice the slight, red puffiness around the eyes. She had been crying, and quite recently by Anne's best guess.

"Oh, um...This is my friend; Anne." Tom's arm dropped from her waist. Something deep inside her felt a momentary tinge of disappointment at losing the feel of it there. "Anne, this is my sister, Jennifer."

Gamely she tried to put on her best smile as she stuck her hand out. "Nice to meet you, again." The girl made no move to respond in kind. She simply stood there, mute. She seemed almost dazed somehow, as though she were attempting to process the scene before her and the effort of it required all her mental energy, leaving nothing in reserve for anything else.

The door opened yet again. The other woman she had seen that night in the hallway emerged. "Jenny? Honey, why didn't you wait for me?"

Jenny stepped aside, clearing enough space so that her partner could fully open the door and step forward. "It's my brother." Was all the answer she gave.

There was an instant of uncertainty on the woman's face as she seemed to notice their presence for the first time. But it was gone again so quickly that it was if it had never existed. "Oh, hello there. I'm Terri Post."

"Tom Brookes and..." he tilted his head in her direction, "my friend Anne Roche." Tom reached forward, eagerly shaking her hand. He almost seemed relieved by the newcomer's presence.

Terri's demeanor was friendly, but not casually friendly. It was almost professionally courteous. "I'm glad to meet you, but also a little surprised. We weren't expecting anyone tonight, not after what happened this morning."

"Yes, about that..." Tom shuffled his feet slightly. His embarrassment was obvious. "That's why I'm here actually. Mother sent me here, to try to correct that."

"She sent you?"

Anne quietly took a few steps backward. She wanted a better vantage point so that she could observe the conversation without the risk of becoming an active participant. She considered making her excuses and simply leaving. This, whatever it was, was not her concern. Or, it would not have been only a very short while ago. Now she was no longer sure what her place was anymore. That kiss had changed everything. Nothing was sure anymore.

Jenny, likewise remained silent. Now that her friend had appeared, she seemed content to allow her to do all the talking for her. That was not to say she was disengaged however. Anne could see her following the ebb and flow of the conversation between Terri and Tom, processing everything, just as she herself was doing.

Now I know what being that fly on the wall is like. Everyone's forgotten I'm even here.

"Mom knows she handled it badly..."

"She threw Jenny out of her house. She asked her to leave."

Tom's smile vanished. "As I said, she handled it badly. She was surprised."

"So she sent you to apologize for her?"

Tom shifted nervously. "Not exactly, no."

"Then why are you here? If not to apologize."

Tom turned his attention back to Jenny. "To ask you for a second chance. She wants a do-over. Now that she has had some time to let your news sink in, and the shock has faded somewhat."

"A second chance?" Terri sounded doubtful.

"She wanted me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night." He turned back to Terri. "Both of you."

"At her house I assume? When?"

"Actually, no. Not at her place. She wants to take you both out to dinner, her treat. She was thinking about meeting you at the Horseshoe Crab at nine o'clock. She was leaning toward an earlier time, but I suggested later. The crowd will have thinned a bit by then. And besides, it might help things go a little smoother knowing that they'll be closing before too long."

"So, the two of us meeting the two of you on neutral ground. Is that the idea?"

Tom grinned, "Well, not exactly. I wasn't invited. It will just be the three of you. But otherwise, yes. She promises to be on her very best behavior. She's really sorry about this morning. She wants to make things right again."

"To make things right again? That's asking for a lot."

There was a deadly serious look on Tom's face as he turned back towards his sister. He addressed his next words for her alone. "She knows that. Look, we all know this won't exactly be a fun evening of pleasant chit-chat between old friends. But you have to start somewhere. You've been away too long. It's time to make your peace with her. She wants this. She needs this. Enough so that she's willing to do whatever it takes. And you need it too."

Terri looked over at Jenny. The younger woman's face was a sphinx mask, giving away no clue on her thoughts. Terri seemed uncertain and hesitant as she answered. "I'm not entirely sure a public meeting is the best way to go right now. Maybe we could talk things over between us tonight and give you a call tomorrow morning?"

"We'll be there." Jenny interjected, finally taking her place in the exchange. Her voice was low and quiet, but there was a hint of tempered steel buried somewhere beneath.

"Honey, this might not be the best idea. We should..."

"I want to do this." A little louder this time, steady and firm.

Terri looked pensive. Anne could clearly see the debate raging across her face as to whether she should continue her protests or not. Finally she relented, nodding silently.

Tom let out a breath. "Good. Then it's settled."

"I have a condition." Jenny stated.

Tom's look of relief was quickly replaced by one of wariness. "What?"

"I want you there also."

Tom shook his head, "That's not such a good idea. It's not my place to..."

"Make it your place!"

There was something about the way she said it, when combined with the look in her eyes, that made it perfectly clear this was not a negotiable request. It was a rock solid condition. It was more than that even, it was a challenge. Anne did not pretend to understand what was going on here but even she could see that now everything rode on Tom's acceptance or refusal.

A complete silence fell over the group.

"Ok then."

Jenny nodded, satisfied she had what she wanted. Without another word she pushed past her friend, gripped the door handle and swung it open. She never even paused as she entered the motel. Just like that she was gone, the conversation over.

Terri remained behind. She looked like she wanted to say something more. Her eyes darted back and forth between Tom and the sight of Jenny stalking off through the motel lobby. Through the glass window Anne could now see Jenny standing before the elevator, punching the call button furiously. Terri finally made her decision and entered the motel, leaving Tom alone with her once more.

Anne did not speak. She just watched as Tom stood there, his eyes on the door, oblivious to her presence. "Family." He spoke the single word as if it were a curse, turned and headed off. She continued to stand there as he walked away, her mind roiling. Undecided.

Finally it was only her. Her and the three forgotten grocery bags.

Chapter 10

Tom

Tom awoke to the sound of a phone ringing. He rolled over in bed and glanced at the alarm clock at his bedside. The clock read 10:05.

Shit! I'm late for work.

Tom sat bolt upright in bed. His head was pounding in rhythm to the ringing phone. Brinnng brinnng brinnng...It stopped.

The phone stopped that is, the pounding in his head continued unabated. He had been dreaming he knew. The dream had been something about his mother's house and John's old truck, but beyond that he could not recall. The dream was already mostly gone. It was wiped away in the instant that he had looked at the clock more cleanly than writing on a chalkboard swept away with the brush of an eraser.

It's Sunday. I don't go into work until tomorrow.

Tom sat there, allowing himself time to fully wake up. Sunlight streamed in through his back window making it apparent that the day would be bright and clear without so much as a trace of clouds.

I could use a few clouds right now. It's too damn bright out there.

Tom reluctantly swung his feet over the edge of the bed and planted them both firmly on the floor. He flexed his toes, enjoying the feel of them running over the cheap carpeting. The morning air was cool, but not quite to the point of being cold, just the perfect temperature.

Now, if only I had a steaming hot cup of coffee and a cigarette I actually might not mind waking up...Well, who's to say I don't? Mom restocked, remember? Maybe there's coffee in there after all.

He heaved himself up off the bed and shuffled across the floor, making a straight line to the kitchen, not bothering to take the time to dress. He stood naked in the small kitchen space staring blankly into the pantry cabinet. Eventually he found what he had sought, a vacuum packed bag of Folgers, and for a bonus he spied a bag of blueberry bagels.

Life was good.

Anne

Anne folded the page corner on the paperback book she was holding and set it aside. It simply was no use, she had read and reread the same page three times already this morning. She just could not keep her attention focused on the words. The story was a mystery romance, just the sort of thing that was Anne's secret guilty pleasure, something specifically designed to melt away the burdensome worries of reality for an hour or two. Although she was unfamiliar with the author, she had, until this morning, been surprisingly impressed with the book. So far it had proved to be a more interesting read than the simple, unremarkable cover had initially promised. But that had been before last night. Last night had changed everything.

Anne casually glanced over to where her daughter sat before the television. Michelle was watching The Little Mermaid for what must have been at least the twentieth time. Currently Sebastian the crab was performing his signature song accompanied by not only a full host of marine creatures but also her very own daughter who was gamely singing right alongside as though she were a contestant at a karaoke bar. She was mangling the song of course, inserting her own words from time to time whenever her memory failed to anticipate the true verse. None of that mattered though, it was the enthusiasm of the effort that impressed Anne.

She loves to sing. And I love that she gets so much enjoyment out of doing something that she loves. I have to admit though, it would have made my life a little easier if that 'something' was a quieter activity, like doing crossword puzzles or whatnot.

However it was not her daughter's warbling that was distracting her this morning and preventing her from immersing herself in the novel's milieu. It was that kiss. More broadly speaking it was not just the kiss itself but everything that had followed. But primarily, it was the kiss.

She had every reason to not want to get involved with anybody right now, especially someone like Tom Brookes. Ok, so she definitely felt a physical attraction to him. It would be pointless for her to try to deny that to herself. But every indicator to this point reinforced a simple, inescapable fact. The man's life was a mess. And she already had enough clean up work to do on her own life without involving herself in his.

If only he had not kissed her, or failing that, if only she had felt nothing when he had kissed her. Simple friendship was one thing, it had boundaries, easily definable limits. But he did kiss her, and she had felt something. And somehow, those two facts threatened to change her entire world.

So, it's simple. I just need to nip this whole thing in the bud now. It's what is best for both of us, and more importantly it's what is best for Michelle.

But simple things are rarely as simple as they might seem, and this was no exception. The problem with that line of thought was that regardless of whatever reasons she might have for putting distance between them, that was not what she wanted. She liked Tom, she liked spending time with him, and heaven help her, she liked being kissed by him.

"Mommy?"

"Hmmm?" Anne looked up to see her daughter standing next to her, the movie continued blaring away on the television but now it played to an empty audience.

"I'm hungry!"

Anne gave her daughter a smile, realizing that she was feeling more than a little hungry herself now that the word had been mentioned aloud. "Ok. Go grab me that bag on the floor over there." She pointed to one of the grocery bags, the one she believed would contain a certain package of chocolate chip cookies. "The one on the left, honey....No...Not that one, the left one."

Michelle was standing over the bags peering down into the center bag. "What's this?" Michelle asked as she reached down into the bag and pulled out what looked to be an envelope.

"I don't know. Bring it over here." Michelle's find had sparked her mother's curiosity.

She took the letter from her daughter's fingers and turned it over to look at the face. Upon reading the name of the addressee she smiled.

It must have dropped into the bags by accident last night when I hit him with the door. Just maybe the universe is trying to tell me something here.

Tom

Tom had finally managed to wake sufficiently to get himself dressed. He was seated on one of the bar stools enjoying his freshly brewed coffee and a bagel when the phone began ringing again. He hastily swallowed the bagel bite in his mouth and reached for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Is this Tom Brookes?"

"Yes?"

"This is Terri Post. We met last night."

"Oh right. Of course." Tom did a kind of lazy half-spin on the stool, turning away from the bar.

"Yeah, I'm calling to let you know that thing we talked about last night; the meeting, we can't make it for that after all. I'm sorry."

"Oh, I see. Well, if you need to do it at another time, say earlier, or even another night I'm sure we could..."

"No. I'm afraid you don't understand. We're leaving today. We're going back to Orlando just as soon as this call is done. We've already packed the car and checked out of the motel."

Tom's brow furrowed.

What the...?

"You're right. I don't understand. I thought you were staying at least a few days. Why the rush to get back?"

"We both feel it's better this way."

"We? What is this we stuff? Last night Jenny was all for this, and now you're on the phone telling me she's changed her mind. Could you put Jenny on the phone please? If she's having second thoughts I want to hear her tell me that."

Several seconds of silence passed. "She's not available right now."

"Not available? What is that supposed to mean?"

"She doesn't want to speak to you right now. I'll be honest with you Tom, she's an emotional wreck this morning. She came close to having something like a nervous breakdown last night. It started even before you came to the motel."

"Put her on the phone please. I need to hear this from her."

"Tom, no. That's not going to happen, and neither is the meeting you wanted...Look, I agree that she and her mother need to get things settled between them. The sooner that happens the better. But it needs to be done the right way, not like this. I'm not about to let her walk into a restaurant and have it all turn into something like an episode of Jerry Springer. That's not what anybody needs. You should understand that better than anybody."

"The right way?"

"Yes. In private, with the mediation of a professional counselor, somebody that has training with these sorts of issues."

"Ok...What the hell are you talking about? This is a family matter between Jenny and mom. Now I know mother reacted badly yesterday and things were said between them but..."

"How her mother reacted yesterday is the very least of it. That's just a surface symptom. The real problem is what happened ten years ago. You put the two of them in a room together now and all that stuff will start pouring out. Do you really want that to happen in public in your hometown?"

"Wait, just wait...What are you talking about? What happened ten years ago?"

Another long pause followed.

"You really don't know. Do you?"

"Know what? Why don't you clue me in?"

Terri did not answer for awhile. Tom tried to wait as patiently as he could but finally the suspense was too much.

"Hello, are you still there?"

"Tom, my best advice for you is to talk to your mother yourself. Do whatever it takes but get her to tell you the truth. And afterwards, get yourself some help for this. You're going to need it."

"What the fuck?!"

"I'm sorry. I really am."

The line went dead. That awful drone of a disconnection was all that remained.

Janet

So far Janet's day was going about normal. That is to say, badly.

It started as soon as she walked in the door at the Shop N' Save. Within minutes of arriving she had been summoned along with Angie Peebo to Mr. Melcher's office, where he proceeded to read the poor, young girl the riot act as only he could, before delivering the coup de grace by firing her. The entire sorry scene had finally ended, predictably enough, with Angie in tears and herself feeling physically sick from the stress of having to witness and participate in the matter.

Her day had not noticeably improved since then. There had been a technical glitch on register #2 resulting in a complete shut down of that lane, and now tech support was telling her it would be Tuesday at the earliest before they would be able to dispatch someone on site to correct the problem. Katie Weeks who was scheduled to arrive for her shift at ten o'clock that morning had neither showed, nor called in, leaving her even more short handed on the registers in the wake of Angie's dismissal. Add to all that, the inevitable customer complaints that were a constant component of her job description and it had made for a thoroughly miserable morning. And it was not even noon yet.

She was on her lunch break now. As always, she was allowed a mere thirty minutes for lunch. She had already consumed almost half of her alloted time in the process of buying herself a soda and a cranberry muffin and transporting herself and her meager fare to the outside picnic tables situated at the side of the building. It was the only place where the employees were allowed to smoke during their breaks, and because of that it was more or less the place to catch up on all the latest rumors. She had no interest in rumors, Janet was content to leave that to people with no better way to occupy their time and energies. All she wanted was to be left alone for a few precious minutes to sip her drink, nibble on her muffin, and enjoy a much needed after-lunch stress reducer.

She was in the midst of devouring the muffin when Earline Laird approached. Earline waved, and then continued on to another table. Janet smiled and waved back, secretly thankful that the woman had decided not to sit at her own table. Unfortunately, Janet never saw the real threat coming, not until he was standing right behind her.

"Hello there darlin. Been a long time. Miss me?"

Janet's day had just gotten worse. Much, much worse.

Tom

Tom flicked the key chain straight up, watched it sail almost to the ceiling and then with a quick flick of the wrist snatched it from the air at the very moment it had returned to its original position. It was the ninth consecutive time he had successfully retrieved the keys without having missed and spilling them onto the floor.

I guess it's true. Practice does make perfect. Or at least, a little more perfect.

He was feeling more than a little irritated and anxious. The problem was, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Upon hanging up the phone his first thought had been to grab the keys and drive down to the motel and demand to see Jenny herself, but that was unrealistic and he knew it. For one thing she would not even be there by the time he arrived. Terri had made it perfectly clear that placing the phone call was their very last action prior to leaving. By now it was a sure bet they would both be in the next county and well on their way back south.

Next he considered the possibility of having a little chat with his mother. He had no idea what that woman on the phone had been talking about, but he was starting to think that her last suggestion might be a passing fair idea. It was time for him to get some answers from someone, and if he could not get them from Jenny, then his mother would be the next logical source. But that would have to wait, for a little while longer at least. She would be at work now. As much as he wanted to talk with her right now, it would just have to wait.

And so, in lieu of any better options, he had taken to practicing his manual dexterity with his set of keys. Up the keys flew into the air, hovered a fraction of a second, and then began their descent. Out shot his hand, and...missed. The keys fell to the floor. Tom sat there, blankly staring at them.

I can't just sit here doing nothing.

Tom reached down to the floor and scooped up his keys for the last time. Instead of throwing them yet again he hurriedly jammed them down into his right front jeans pocket. It was time to leave, it was past time. With hardly any more thought than batting an eye he peeled his jacket off the hook from which it hung. His hand was on the doorknob, twisting it to the open position when the phone rang for the third time that morning.

Talk about timing.

Tom flung his jacket over the chair even as he was lifting the phone receiver from its cradle.

"Hello? This is Tom."

"Oh, hi there Tom." It was Anne. Somewhere deep inside him Tom uttered a silent groan.

Yes, I would love to talk to you. But now...maybe not the best time.

"Anne? Um...How did you get my phone number?"

"You're listed in the phone book. I hope this isn't a bad time."

"No, no, of course not." He lied. He sat back down on one of the bar stools, letting out a deep breath in hopes of calming his nerves.

"It might sound silly, but you surprised me when you answered. I thought maybe you'd be out, and I'd just leave you a message."

"I imagine you're calling to talk about last night. The kiss."

"Well, actually no. That's not why I called. But since you brought it up, maybe now's a good time to clear the air on that."

"Anne, I want to apologize for that. I don't really know what happened. One minute you were helping to pull me up and the next thing I know I'm kissing you. I want you to know that what happened...It's not like me, at all."

"Oh...so...You're saying it was all just an accident? That you never meant to kiss me?"

Tom felt flustered. "Well, sorta I guess. I mean, jeez. I don't really know what I'm saying to be honest. I was there, you were there, and I guess something just kind of flipped over inside me and I went for it."

"Make up your mind Tom. Are you saying that you're sorry that you kissed me, or not?"

Tom hesitated, thinking his answer out carefully before delivering it. "I'm not."

Milliseconds felt like hours as he waited for her next words.

"Good."

Janet

Janet glared at John Foster with undisguised hatred. "What are you doing back here?"

He chuckled lightly, not the least bit deterred by her open hostility. "Now darlin, is that how you say hello to an old friend?"

John ambled casually around to the opposite side of the table and dragged out one of the chairs, scraping its metal legs noisily across the concrete slab slowly, deliberately.

"You might be old, but you're no friend." Janet practically spat the words out.

He arched his eyes and shrugged his shoulders in way of admission to the truth of her statement. Now that she had a moment to really study his face she saw just how much he really had aged, it was more than just a few added lines to this face. John had always been a tall man, his height exaggerated by his thin build, but now his shoulders seemed to hunch forward giving him a slight stoop that not only reduced his height but added years to his appearance. He wore a pair of ragged, faded blue jeans and a simple cut, baby blue t-shirt that was at least two sizes too large for him. It hung off him like a badly dressed scarecrow. His hair had completely whitened, what little remained of it. His old ponytail that he used to take such vain pride in was nowhere to be seen, in its place was only a sun reddened, bare scalp fringed at the edges with snow colored tufts of hair. She knew he was only a few years older than herself, but he looked more like a man approaching retirement age.

"You might not have missed me much, but at least you remember me. I guess that's worth something. A man likes to think he'll be remembered when he's gone."

Janet lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in his direction out of spite. "Stay gone and I'll keep remembering you."

John leaned back, avoiding the puff of smoke wafting towards him. A wide, arrogant grin spread across his face. "Now darlin, don't tell me you're still holding a grudge after all this time. I swear elephants ain't got nuthin on a woman. And here I was thinking we could just let the water flow under the bridge like civilized folks."

"There's nothing civil about you."

John stretched his arms out wide to his sides, "That's where you're wrong baby. I've changed. I'm a brand new man. Time changes all."

"Why are you here?"

"Always to the point ain't you? I used to love that about you."

Janet said nothing, she just continued to stare at him, daring him to answer her.

"Ok, well there ain't no deep mystery here. I'm just visiting town for old time's sake. Catching up on all my old friends."

"That shouldn't take you long." She sneered.

"Aww now that hurts to the quick. You know, I'm starting to get the impression you don't like me all that much."

"I wonder why."

John leaned forward, there was a hardness in his eyes that age had not softened. "Maybe I'm reading you all wrong at that. Just maybe you're acting all spitfire on me because you really do miss me somewhere deep inside. What about it darlin? You achin to start back up where we left off?"

A shiver of fear raced through Janet but she held her ground, refusing to allow it to show. "The only thing I want is for you to go away. Go away and stay gone."

John laughed but there was no humor in the sound. "I'll take that as a maybe."

"You're an asshole."

"Maybe so. You may have the right of that. But I've found that being nice and sweet don't pay jackshit. Hell, you're the one that taught me that. I did everything I could to be good to you, and all you did was cross your legs and lock me out. So...If I'm an asshole, it's all because of you darlin."

"You never had any problems getting your kicks somewhere else. Why should it have mattered to you. Not like you were doing without. Was it?"

"Damn woman! A man's got needs. Didn't your momma ever tell you that? What did you expect anyway?"

"I expected you to keep your dick in your pants. Not to go find some slut to have your jollies with."

"Well, we all make mistakes." The way he phrased that made her think he was referring to her, not himself.

"You made the mistake, by coming back here." She stopped, sighed, and lowered her voice. "John, there's nothing left for you in this town. Nobody wants you here, least of all me. You should just leave again, for your own good if nothing else."

He stared at her hard for a moment and she began to hope that maybe, just maybe, she might have finally broken through.

He has to realize it's for the best, for everyone. It's plain to see. Just go John.

"I caught sight of your boy the other day. He never saw me, but I couldn't have missed him if I'd wanted to. I'll be damned if he don't look the spitting image of his daddy these days. You know who I'm talking about, the guy who was your one true love, the man you were supposed to share your whole life with. Only problem is, you can't. Can you? Because he's dead. Twenty years now, give or take, and you're still pining after the poor bastard aren't you? I'm curious Janet...What's it like to go to sleep every night dry humping the sheets, dreaming about the love you lost and then seeing his face every day on your own son? God, that's got to be a real bitch."

John settled back in his chair, his eyes boring into her. "You know...On second thought I don't think I want to start back with you again. Look at you. You've let yourself go to shit. You used to be a hot chick once, but now...Now you're just some old hag acting like you got something somebody wants. When the truth is, nobody in their right mind would want to touch you anymore."

Janet struggled to come up with a retort and came up empty. She felt like he had just swung a roundhouse blow to her emotional midsection, felling her with a cheap but effective sucker punch.

"Now Jenny on the other hand...I'm willing to bet she's looking pretty good these days. She'd be what...mid twenties now?"

"You leave her out of this. You're not fit to speak her name."

"Oh yeah, now that I think on it, I'm pretty sure I'm right. I'd be willing to bet she's everything you never were. What about it Janet? Is she all grown up with tits and all? Does she have some nice young man porking her night and day? Does she scream his name when she's getting off? Or maybe she's into older guys. Oh come on darlin, just between us, I'm dying to know. Does she have the hots for the Metamucil mamba? Maybe she's the one I should be visiting right now instead of you."

"Listen to me John, and you listen real good. If you touch her, if you so much as talk to her. I swear to God and all his holy angels, I will cut you. I will cut you in such a way that you will never again have cause to touch another woman, ever."

"Oooooh scary! Brave words here in the sunlight, but what about when the sun goes down?"

"I mean..."

"No! Now you listen to me bitch! It's my time to do the talking."

"It's been ten years I've been away. You ever, even just once, wonder where I might be during any of that time? Well I'll fill you in. I spent six of those years in a Louisiana prison. So you best believe me when I tell you that I ate, shat, and slept among men that really would cut a person up for nothing more than the pleasure of it. You think you can scare me? Ain't nuthin scares me anymore. Least of all some pissant cunt like you. So...I advise you to talk to me with some Goddamned respect from here on out. Do you hear what I'm telling you?"

Out of the corner of her eye Janet saw Earline rise from her table and begin to briskly walk back towards the store entrance, leaving her alone out here with no other witness within a fifty foot radius. Any bravery she might have had fled her along with Earline's retreating footfalls.

"Answer me! I asked if you heard me."

"I...heard you."

"And are you ready to give me some fucking respect?" John was leaning forward over the table, his face thrusting forward. There was a terrible tenseness in his sinewy arms as they gripped the table. Janet half expected him to throw the table aside at the least provocation and leap at her, broad daylight or not.

"Y...yes."

He stayed like that for a long moment, fixing her to the spot with a baleful gaze that threatened more than any mere words. After what felt like an eternity he settled back into his chair. A smile of triumph slowly crossed his face. "Good. That's all I ever wanted darlin."

John set his elbows on the table, put his hands together, and began to wring his hands. He looked away for a split second as though he were taking measure of his surroundings. "You know, now that we've settled that, maybe now we can have an actual conversation here. You remember what that's like don't you? It's called give and take."

"What is it you want?"

"What do I want? Hmmm....You know that's a right smart question." He seemed to ponder the matter a bit. "Well, how about one of those cigarettes for starters?"

There was a slight tremble to her hands as she pushed the pack of cigarettes over the surface of the table in his direction. His eyes never left hers as he pulled one out and lit it. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and exhaled.

"I didn't think you smoked."

"I didn't used to. But like I said earlier, I'm a changed man now. You really ought to listen more and talk less. You might find it makes life easier."

"Is there a problem here?"

Relief flooded over Janet at the sound of Butch Gregor's booming voice. Butch was the closest thing that the Shop N' Save had to a security officer though his actual job description was something else entirely. He was 6'3", all of that muscle, and right this instant, quite possibly the most beautiful man that Janet had ever seen. She turned her head and watched as he strode toward them, his gait was deliberate and slow. Standing beyond him was Earline, intently watching the scene from a point next to the store entrance.

John stood up from the table slowly, "No problem here friend. I was just passing by and asked the lady for a cigarette is all. And now that she was nice enough to provide I'll be moseying on my way."

John took three steps away heading in the direction of the parking lot before turning his head back one final time. "Now darlin, you just remember what I told you. I'll be in touch, count on it. And then we can finish this conversation where we left off. You have a right nice day there." He made a motion as if to tip an imaginary hat to her, turned and continued walking away.

Chapter 11

Tom

"Why did you call anyway?"

"What?"

Tom twirled back around to face the kitchen bar. He casually placed the keys down on the surface and lightly pushed them away. "When I asked if you were calling about the kiss you said no. So, I'm just wondering. Why are you calling?"

"Oh, um...I think you must have dropped something in one of my bags last night by accident. I was just calling to let you know and ask if you wanted me to mail it to you or whatever."

"Dropped something? What did I drop?"

"It's a letter, addressed to you. It looks like it might be something important."

Tom reached into the folds of his jacket where he had hastily jammed the letter the previous evening. Sure enough, there was nothing there.

"Um...Thank you. It's really not all that important to be honest, but sure, if you want to just remail it to me that would be fine. Or if you'd rather, you can just hold on to it for me, until I see you again."

"And when would that be Mr. Brookes?...Mr. Thomas H. Brookes of Parker Street." There was a playfulness in her voice that brought a smile to Tom's face.

"Well, I don't know Ms. Roche. When are you available?"

"Hmmm....What about this afternoon? Is that too soon for you?"

"This afternoon? Yeah, of course. Should I just come by the motel?"

"Wait, before you say yes there is one catch."

Tom laughed, "There's always a catch somewhere. What is it?"

"I have Michelle with me today. Are you up to meeting her?"

Tom never hesitated, "I'd love to."

"Room 309. We'll be expecting you."

Janet

Janet stood at her usual spot behind the service desk, looking out across the checkout lanes, her eyes darting over cashier after cashier. Matters seemed to be going smoothly for a change, all except for register #2 of course, which was still out of service. She did her best to project a sense of calmness that belied her true emotional state. She was a jangle of nerves, ready to violently unwind at the slightest touch, and she knew it.

I can't do this today. I need to get out of here. But how? My relief won't be here for another two hours.

She could get Earline to cover for her. The woman was her designated backup for those frequent times when her job demanded her elsewhere in the store. But that would require Earline's cooperation, and somehow Janet doubted she would be willing to just accept the turnover with 'no questions asked'. She looked directly at Earline who was busily ringing up customers on #5, silently debating with herself the necessity of leaving versus the wisdom of staying. Then again, questions asked did not necessarily necessitate complete and forthcoming answers. Not today at least.

Earline looked up and locked eyes with her, almost as if she had sensed Janet's scrutiny. The woman's face was an inscrutable mask, her eyes as black as a shark's. Janet raised her hand and motioned to her, calling her forth. The cashier gave a quick nod and flipped the switch turning off her register light, giving notice to any potential customers that her lane would soon be unavailable. It took a few minutes, but eventually she finished ringing up the customers she was already engaged with and left her station to approach the service desk.

"Earline, I'm not feeling well this afternoon. I'm afraid I'm going to need you to cover the service desk for the next couple of hours so that I can take off."

Earline nodded her head. The look on her face indicated she had already anticipated the reason for her being called away from her post.

"Now I'm expecting register #2 to be down for..."

Earline raised a hand to cut her off, "May I speak to you for a minute?...In there." She pointed to the door of the counting room office.

"That's really not going to be necessary. I can sum up everything you need to know in just..."

Earline walked over to the office door and opened it. She entered without a word, leaving Janet speaking to the air and feeling simultaneously foolish and frustrated. With no other option open to her she followed the woman inside. Once she had stepped over the threshold Earline reached behind her and closed the door, locking it in one swift motion.

"Look, I really don't have time for this. I'm feeling sick and I need to leave. There's really nothing more that needs to be said."

"Then don't say anything. Let me do the talking for a bit. If you're feeling sick go sit down. There's a chair over there."

"Earline..." Janet began to protest.

Again she raised her hand, prompting Janet's silence. "You may be my supervisor here, but I've still got a few years on you. So...I would really appreciate it if you would just shut up for a second and sit your ass down."

Under normal circumstances that would have set Janet off into a froth of anger. But today was not a normal day. Surprising even herself, she obeyed.

"You know my Jed, don't you?"

Janet nodded. She had only met Cap'n Jack a handful of times, and had never exchanged more than a dozen words at a time with him, but for the purposes of the question that seemed adequate familiarity.

"The man's twice as lazy as any bum and only half as bright. He spends every dollar he can get his hands on like an idiot, mostly on alcohol, damn near any kind of alcohol. He'll chase anything that wears a skirt and can't outrun him. Fortunately for him though, he has a bum leg which means he rarely catches what he chases. Now with all this, you might wonder just why the hell I'm still married to him."

"The reason is simple. For all his faults at least he's not Lamar."

Janet just sat there listening, wondering where this was all supposed to lead.

"Lamar Preston was my first husband. Now there was a dream of a man. God knows I was in love with him. It was more than just looks though, it was the total package, or at least that's what I thought at the time. I swear that man could give me the quivering shivers just by walking into the room and saying hello."

"I was twenty when I married him, and still as innocent as...Come to think on it I never was all that innocent, but I was still a virgin. The afternoon I married him was the happiest I've ever been in my life. That feeling lasted maybe all of four hours before everything went to shit. You see, he wanted me to do things...things I wasn't prepared to do, and he didn't take no for an answer lightly. That night was the first time he ever raised a hand to me, but it sure as shit wasn't the last."

"I stayed married to him for almost a year before something happened that saved my life. I got pregnant. I had just about given up on life. By that time he had beat me down so bad, and I don't just mean physically, but here," She thumped her chest at the heart, "in the spirit, that I no longer gave a shit whether he killed me or not."

"But getting pregnant, that changed everything. The way I saw it at the time, if he killed me that was just my body. But if I did nothing, and something happened to that child, then it's just as much on me as it would be on him. Now, I've never been much for holy choirs and pearly gates talk but even I knew that if I let that child, my baby, die because I was just too fucking scared to say no...That's not just my body anymore, that's my soul."

"So I finally left. Walked right out and never looked back. That's not to say it was easy. The next five years I didn't know from one day to the next whether I'd see the next sunrise. But somehow I always did."

Earline paused, taking a deep breath, perhaps the first Janet had seen her take since she had begun telling her story.

"Now...If there's anything, anything at all, that you'd like to tell me then I'm all ears, and no mouth. I know how to keep my gob shut when it needs to be, no matter what you might think. The important thing is, you gotta take a step. Take a step."

Janet sat there stone faced. Silence filled the room like a fog, seeping over everything.

Several long minutes passed before Janet responded. "There's nothing to say."

Earline pursed her lips, nodded her head and muttered, "Had to try." With that she reached behind her, unlocked the door, and walked out.

Anne

"Mommy I'm bored."

Anne hung her head down upon hearing those most dreaded of words from her daughter. She took a deep breath before forcing a smile back onto her face. "I know baby, and we'll go do something soon. I promise you ok? But first we need to wait for just a little bit longer. Have a little patience ok?"

Michelle stood before her, swaying gently from side to side. She was rocking back and forth from one heel to the other. "What does pay-shence mean?"

Anne poked her with a finger on the tip of her nose. "It's something you never have."

A confused look came upon the little girl's face. "Then why tell me to have it? That makes no sense."

Anne laughed and grabbed at her daughter, pulling her down in to her arms. "You got me there. You're just too smart for me. How did I ever get such a smart little girl like you?"

"I dunno. You really think I'm smart?"

"Of course I do. Why?"

Michelle scrunched up her face. "Jeannie thinks I'm dumb. She said so in front of everybody."

Anne pivoted her daughter around on her knee so that she could look directly into her face. "Who's Jeannie?"

Michelle cast her eyes down to the floor, obviously embarrassed. "Just some girl. Yesterday we were playing hide n' seek and when she found me she called me a dummy. She said I was too dumb to hide right."

"I see." Anne said, secretly she was relieved to hear that it was only one of the other children and not an adult. It was bad enough to hear something like that from a peer, but to hear it from an adult that should be expected to know better would have been far worse. "That just shows how dumb she is to say that."

"I think she was just mad though. Because it took so long for her to find me."

Anne brushed back a stray lock of hair from Michelle's face, "You see. What did I tell you? That's a very smart thing to say."

"Baby, sometimes we get mad at people for all sorts of reasons, and it makes us want to say things that we don't really mean just because we're mad. But you can't do that. Because it makes the other person feel bad. Only a dummy would hurt other peoples feelings just because they're mad at them."

Michelle nodded but something in her eyes told Anne that she was not fully convinced. "When are we going home?"

Anne smiled, "Tomorrow. The car will be fixed while you're at daycare, and after I pick you up we'll go home. It's right next to the beach too, all sorts of things to do there. You'll be able to watch the waves rolling in right from your bedroom window. How would you like that?"

Michelle shook her head sadly, "No, I mean our real home. When are we going back there? I miss gramma and gramps. I even miss that stupid old Mizzy."

Anne was not surprised, she had expected this, dreaded it even, but it was still hard to hear. A pang of sadness went through her, and she realized her daughter was not the only one missing their old home. Florida was...Well, it was Florida, not home. Not yet.

"Oh baby. I know. You know, I miss them all too. Just like I'm sure they all miss us. And we will see them again, I promise, but not for awhile. I know this is hard for you to understand but sometimes...Well, sometimes we have to do things that maybe we really don't want to do."

"They miss us too? Even me?"

Anne smiled, "Especially you."

"Even daddy? You think he misses me too?"

Anne took a deep breath before answering. The conversation was taking a turn onto icy ground here, and it was important to get it right. "Yes, I know he does."

She only wished she was as sure of her own words as she tried to sound. Anne had her doubts on that. Robert was not the sentimental sort. To him, people were possessions to keep and control. He never seemed to give a damn about anybody beyond that. If you strayed from the program he had set in his own mind he would simply write you off as useless and ignore you.

"Why did daddy go away?"

"He had to. Remember when I said that sometimes we have to do things we don't really want to do? That's one of the things he had to do...He had to go away."

"But why? I don't understand."

Anne held her daughter close to her, hugging her tightly, "Sometimes...I don't either."

Janet

The loose gravel of the parking lot crunched noisily beneath the tires of Janet's car as she applied the brakes and brought it to a halt, the front grill resting only inches from the railing that ran along the entire front of the somewhat seedy looking pawn shop. The shop looked to be closed, the neon 'open' sign hanging in the window next to the front door darkened. Even so, hope mingled with desperation kept her from accepting the obvious. Before she had even turned into the lot she had spied the owner's car at the side of the building. If his car was here, that likely meant he was here. Perhaps that would be enough.

He has to be open. He just has to be.

Janet stepped out of the car and walked up to the door. She pulled lightly on the doorknob, only to have the door remain stubbornly closed and locked. She peered inside, hoping to see someone, anyone, moving around within, but there was nobody. The interior of the shop was dim and unlighted.

"Hello!" She shouted at the door, ignoring the clear futility of the effort.

A faint answering call seemed to emanate from somewhere off to the side, in the direction she had earlier spotted the lone car. Janet turned away from the door and began walking towards the source of that muffled shout. She rounded the corner and saw him approaching, his face florid and sweating in spite of the coolness of the afternoon breeze. It was Nathan Brookes, her old brother-in-law, and she was never so glad to see the man as she was right now.

Nate had been Travis' older brother, the eldest of four. Of his siblings, he was the only one to still live in Isabella. The two middle brothers had long ago split up and moved to opposite ends of the country. From Travis' entire family (and it was extensive if you counted all the aunts, uncles and cousins of various degrees) it was Nate, and Nate alone, that had maintained contact with her long after the accident that had severed her link to the rest of their clan.

Janet waved, smiling at him more out of relief than anything else. "Hello!"

"Hey, hey there." He gasped out, the words taking the breath out of him as he half ran, half waddled across the lot towards her.

Janet waited as patiently as possible as Nate approached. Finally he stood before her, his hands grasping his sides at the hips as he bent over slightly, his breath sucking in and blowing back out in short, rapid bursts.

"Jesus, I'm getting old." He managed to croak out.

It's not your age that's making you wheeze Nate, it's those 350 pounds you're carrying around your middle.

"How are you Nate?"

"I'm doing good, doing good." He nodded his head vigorously in emphasis."We've missed you at church. It's been a long time Janet."

Her eyes flicked away briefly, "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I know I should be there...It's just, not as easy to get the time for that anymore."

Nate smiled back at her patiently, "Person needs to make time for the important things."

"Maybe you're right. I'll see what I can do about that." Janet knew it was a lie, just as he did. "You open?"

"No, not today. It's Sunday, never open on Sunday. That's the only reason I'm here now." He turned and raised his hand, pointing back the way he had come at a long, sleek fishing boat resting on a trailer bed behind a chain link fence. The fence gate was swung open, an iron chain hung down from the latch. "Tourist came down from Atlanta yesterday and just had to have it. I think he fell in love at first sight. Lucky for me. He paid in full, cash down on the spot. Must be nice to have that kind of money. Only he couldn't cart it away at the time. So, here I am, like a fool idiot, waiting on him to come get it. I figure I'll give him maybe another half hour and then I'm locking it back up. After that he can just wait till tomorrow."

Janet fidgeted nervously, "Nate, I need a favor. I need you to open up for just a bit."

Nate shook his head, "Come on Janet. You know full well I can't do that. Come back tomorrow. Whatever it is can wait till then. I open up at 9 o'clock."

Janet stood irresolute, tempted to argue or plead, but knowing all the while that it would be useless. "Ok." She said, her disappointment clearly evident.

"What is it you need anyway?"

She hesitated, unsure if she should just evade the question or outright lie. "A gun."

Nate stepped back and eyed her critically. "Really? I never took you for the sporting type. Somehow I just can't see you trudging through the woods in camo."

"Not that kind of gun. Something small, light. For personal protection. And...I need it fast."

"You ever even fired a gun before?"

"Yes." Technically not a lie, even if it had been more than two decades prior.

"You know, even if I did open up just for you, it's not like you could just walk out of here five minutes later with it. It takes a little time to go through the background check and everything. Truth be told, selling guns is a pain in the ass. I'd just as soon not carry the damn things. But...They sell. So I do."

Shit!

"How much time are we talking about? A day, more?"

Nate reached up and scratched his ear, shooing away a fly that had perched there briefly. "Usually they're pretty quick about those things. Maybe three days, usually faster. They just want to make sure you're not a felon, or that you haven't been Baker acted."

Shit! Shit!

Baker acted; here in the state of Florida that was slang for having spent a little time as a guest of one of its fine mental health institutions for psychiatric evaluation. It was a term she knew all too well.

"Involuntary only, or voluntary too?"

"I don't honestly know if it makes much of a difference to those boys in Tallahassee. They've really started cracking down on that kind of thing ever since those loonies blew up the towers. I'm not really sure what those nutjob Arabs have to do with it, but you know how those politicians are. Any excuse will do for them."

Janet turned towards the highway, watching the traffic passing by. Her mind raced as she considered her options. Maybe there was another way. Perhaps she was overreacting, acting out of panic in response to a hollow threat. Then she remembered what John had said as he had walked away. He would be back. He promised her that. For once it was a promise made to her that she actually believed he would keep.

Nate watched her closely, gauging her reaction. "Janet, why? Why do you need a gun? Why the rush?"

"I..." She stopped, realizing what she was about to say and how it would sound. "John's back."

"John? John Foster?"

"Yes."

"What is that turd doing back in town? I never did know what you ever saw in him anyway. Best thing that man ever did was leave, and now he's back again?"

"He said he's just visiting. But..."

Nate looked at her with newfound concern. "He threaten you?"

"No, not directly. But Nate...He scares me."

"Well hell, I can see that plain enough. Janet you don't need to buy a gun. What you need to do is go to the police and..."

"No. I can't do that."

"Why not? Let them handle it. That's what they're for."

"Do you really think they'll do anything? Seriously. If I go to them, and tell them there's an old boyfriend in town that scares me but that he's never actually done anything, just what do you think they'll do? Be honest here."

Nate looked down at his feet, unwilling to accept the truth but unable to refute it either.

"Ok, come back tomorrow and I'll get you started on one. I still think you ought to go to the cops though."

"Damn it Nate! Are you even listening to me? I don't have time for that."

Nate stared at her, his eyes questioning her.

Janet took a deep breath. "Nate...Some years back I...Well, I was having a rough time of things. It wasn't long after John left. Jenny was just beginning to get into drugs and I was under a lot pressure myself..." Janet hesitated, unsure if she could continue. "Goddamnit...I had to..."

"You Baker'ed yourself. Didn't you?"

Janet looked down at the ground, she could not answer while looking into his eyes. "Yes."

"That would have been awhile ago. Most likely it would never flag on you."

"I can't take that chance. I need to protect myself."

"What you're asking for is illegal."

"You didn't see him today. He's changed. He's worse than he ever was before. It's almost like the last ten years have wrung out every shred of decency he ever had and left behind only the hate." Nate was almost at the breaking point. She could feel him giving way inch by inch. He only needed that last little push. "Nate, when Travis died you came to me and told me that if there was anything you could ever do for me to just name it. I'm naming it now."

He shuffled his feet, kicking a few loose pieces of gravel across the lot. "That was a long time ago Janet, and this..."

"You'd do it if Travis was here asking. Wouldn't you? I know you would." She hated herself for what she was doing, but it needed saying.

Nate looked away, his eyes glanced about the parking lot indecisively. "If I did this, and anything happened with that gun, the police would trace it right back here. They'd shut me down. They won't care why I sold it, just that I did. I'm sorry Janet. I can't do that. Not even for you...But..."

"But what?"

"...Maybe I know a way."

Tom

Tom stood outside the door, taking advantage of one last opportunity to calm his nerves.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

He gently rapped his knuckles on the door, almost too gently, as if subconsciously he really did not not want to elicit a response. He heard movement from within the room, then a quick muffled voice asking him to wait. Another minute passed before the door unlocked and swung inward.

She stood in the doorway wearing a pair of jeans and a red and white blouse. Her hair was swept up and tucked away underneath a towel that had been quickly twirled and set upon her head. "Hey there. I was starting to think you might not be coming after all. I just jumped out of the shower a few minutes ago. Come on in and grab a seat."

He smiled nervously and entered the room, looking around. "I needed to make a couple of stops along the way. Hope I haven't kept you waiting."

Anne removed the towel from her head, hung her head down low, and shook her hair out. She straightened back out and picked up a brush from the top of a dresser. She began brushing it out as she spoke. "No worries. It's Sunday. I think in this town it might even be illegal to be in too much of a hurry on a Sunday."

Tom grinned. "You may be right about that. I'll have to check with Chad the next time I run into him."

The child was near the television, standing as still as a deer in headlights, her eyes wide as saucers as she watched his movements. "Hi there Michelle. My name is Tom."

The little girl bolted and ran to her mother, hiding shyly behind her legs. Her head peeked out from behind, her eyes tracking him like a hunted animal eyeing a predator. Anne stopped what she was doing and laid the brush back down exactly where it had been earlier.

"Honey, this is the friend I was telling you about. Say hello to him."

The girl gave no answer, she only shook her head from side-to-side slowly. Anne reached down and tousled her hair, attempting to calm her daughter. "She's been running around the room all day like a little banshee. I really ought to thank you. This is the first time she's been quiet since we woke up. I was thinking of taking her out somewhere for an hour or two this evening." Anne leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "First thing you learn as a parent is that nights tend to go a little easier if you wear them out first."

Tom said nothing, unsure how to reply. As he watched the small girl he began to feel almost as uneasy as she appeared to be. He had never dealt with children before. People in general were difficult enough for him to interact with, and he tended to avoid the effort so much as was practical. And if ordinary people could sometimes be intimidating, children were even more so. They always seemed to be running around full-throttle, with no inhibitions, and no boundaries.

"Anyway...Here's the letter." Anne plucked it off a small nightstand and handed it to him cheerfully.

Tom took the letter from her and began tapping it back and forth in his hands. His mind was racing, attempting to fabricate some excuse for his presence here, now that the ostensible purpose of his visit had been accomplished. "You said you two were about to go out. Would you like a ride with me to the beach?"

"The beach?" Anne looked doubtful, she glanced down at her daughter. Michelle, still clinging to her mother's legs, gave no sign as to her wishes. "Isn't it still a little too cool for swimming?"

"Oh, no. Not to swim, just for a walk. I just thought...This is Florida after all. Isn't the beach the reason why everybody comes here?"

Anne seemed to ponder the matter before answering. "Ok, sure. Why not. Sounds fun."

Janet

Janet breathed a small sigh of relief as she turned the key and shut off the engine. She was home again, finally. She glanced down at the passenger seat beside her, eyeing the shoebox that contained her purchase. Now that she had what she had sought, its very presence unnerved her almost as much as the man it was intended to deter. In a small rural town where guns were an integral part of daily life for many of its residents, she was the exception. She had no love of guns, had never owned one of her own, and had at most fired a few shots in her earlier years while dating men that regarded them as part of their cultural heritage. That was not to say that she philosophically opposed gun ownership. The truth was that she had never really given it that much thought. She had never needed to before now.

The firearm was not the only purchase she had made this afternoon that was out of character for her. Sitting on the backseat was a bag containing two large bottles of White Zinfandel. Janet was not in the habit of drinking alcohol apart from the rare glass of wine at the even rarer social event. Tonight though, she was in the mood to make an exception. Her nerves were raw from tension. If a glass or two this evening might help to calm her, would that really be so bad? It was not as though tipping the elbow on a single occasion would instantly transform her into a raging alcoholic. Where was the harm?

Janet leaned over and lifted the lid on the box. She sat there staring at it, transfixed by its deadly appearance. Two small boxes of ammunition rested at its side. She knew it was small as most handguns went, but the enormity of what it represented to her went beyond words. She could use words like 'personal protection' all she wanted, and it was true, that was why she had bought it, but sitting here now the words felt hollow. They were only a euphemism for its true intent. It was a tool designed and created for the sole purpose of killing another human being. It was death.

Only if I have to, only if he makes me.

She refastened the lid on the box and lifted it up, tucking it underneath her arm before opening her door and exiting. The box was heavier than she expected.

How heavy did you think death would be?

She tittered nervously as she walked towards her house, amused by the errant thought. Wedged into the doorjamb of her front door was a single sheet of white paper folded over lengthwise. She extracted the note and unfolded it, recognizing her son's handwriting as soon as she saw it.

Meeting at Crab canceled

Jenny driving back to Orlando

Will come by to talk later

She scowled and crumpled the sheet one-handed, dropping the note at her feet without further thought.

Why can't something, anything, go right? I don't deserve this. I really, really don't.

Anne

Anne watched her daughter run along the water's edge ahead of her, splashing her feet in the surf before jumping back, all the while squealing with joy.

This was a good idea. She needed this.

Tom walked by her side, his sneakers leaving small indentations in the wet sand that would fill with water before ultimately fading away. She was barefoot, her shoes dangled from her right hand. She reached her left hand down and folded it into Tom's right. The gesture felt as natural as rain.

"Do you swim here often during the summers?"

"Me? Here? Oh no. I'm a local. Locals never swim in the gulf. We know what's out there; sharks, jellyfish, stingrays and undertow. Undertow is the worst, mostly because the tourists that do swim here have no idea how to deal with it."

"Sharks here? I think you're just trying to scare me."

"No, really. Scout's honor. Go to Panama City Beach sometime and take a helicopter ride. You'll see dozens of them swimming right next to the tourists. You can't really see them when you're in the water yourself, but from above you'll see them clear as day."

"You were a Boy Scout? Somehow I never pictured you out in the woods rubbing sticks together."

"Umm...I was a Cub Scout. I never made it to Boy Scout. You're right, earning merit badges wasn't really my thing."

Anne smiled at the image of him as a kid standing tall in a scout uniform. "So what is your thing? If it's not wood lore."

Tom shrugged, "I'm not really sure I have a 'thing'. I'm pretty boring really. Mostly I keep to myself."

"Do you write?"

Tom's face darkened slightly, "I used to. Not anymore."

"I couldn't help noticing the return address on that letter. I don't mean to pry but I was just curious."

"It's fine. Ask anything you want. If you're lucky I might even give you an answer." He kept his tone light, but there was a slight trace of irritation in his voice.

"Do you have anything published?"

"No. Not yet."

The two of them walked along in silence for a short while as Anne attempted to come up with a new avenue of approach.

"What's your favorite color?"

Tom looked at her, his face showing puzzlement at the sudden change in topics. "Blue."

A faint trace of a smile crossed Anne's face. "You don't like talking about yourself much do you?"

"I'm not really all that great at making small talk. I never have been."

"It's like everything else, you need to practice at it. If you shut yourself away from everyone how do you expect to get any better at it?"

"People are...scary."

"Really? Even me? Do I scare you Tom?"

"Honestly, yes. A little. Maybe even more than just a little."

Anne laughed, "I'm not sure how to take that. I never thought of myself as scary before."

Tom laughed back with her, "Well, you're a beautiful sort of scary. If that makes it sting any less."

"Yes actually, coming from you it does." Anne thought she caught sight of a slight reddening in his cheeks. "Are you blushing?" She teased.

"No, of course not...It's just the sun."

"Liar! You are."

"Am not." He answered petulantly.

"Ok, fine. You keep your secrets."

"I have no secrets. I'm an open book."

Anne swung her right hand around and across, lightly hitting him with her shoes. "Now you really are lying. You're practically filled with them."

"No, it's true. Not a one."

"What's the H stand for?"

"What?"

"Your middle name. What's the H?"

"You caught me. I do have one secret, and that's it. Sorry, I can't divulge that information."

"Harold?...Hank?...Hogan?" Anne grunted with mild exasperation as he quietly shook his head negatively at each guess. She was almost out of ideas. There just did not seem to be an overabundance of names starting with the letter H. "I know...It's Hector!"

"Horace. I was named after my grandfather on my father's side. I never met him though. He died before I was ever born."

"Speaking of family; what was that all about last night with your sister? "

Tom stopped walking and let go of her hand. He looked back down the beach behind them, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the lowering sun. "You might want to call Michelle back to us. We're beginning to get a little far from the jeep. Perhaps it's time we started heading back."

Ouch! Hit a sore spot it looks like.

"Tom I..."

But she was talking to his back now, he had already turned and begun to slowly walk away.

Chapter 12

Tom

Tom took only a few steps before stopping to look back. He watched as Anne raced after her daughter, scooped her up in her arms, twirled her around once, then twice, then finally set her back down on the sand. Michelle screamed with delight at the sudden onslaught of motherly attention.

She's beautiful. It's not just in looks, though she has that too. She's beautiful inside where it really counts. I hardly know a thing about her, but even a blind man could see that. And she likes me. I don't know why, but she does. And then I turn my back on her the moment she asks me a question. Why?

He waited patiently as Anne turned the little girl around and shooed her back towards him, the child was virtually skipping as she approached. Then Michelle looked up at him, and upon seeing him standing there silently came to an abrupt halt. She flashed him a brief, nervous smile and walked past him, carefully threading her way so as to not get too close to him. Before long she was back to her previous bubbly, curious self. She grabbed a stick of driftwood she chanced upon and dragged it over the sand, creating a long narrow furrow marking her passage.

"I'm sorry."

Anne looked at him curiously. "For what?"

"The thing about my sister..."

"Tom, no. You don't need to talk about that. It's ok. Really."

"Jenny has been away for a long time. To be honest, she's been away so long that I hardly even know her anymore. Believe it or not, there used to be a time when we pretty close. But now..."

Anne said nothing, she just looked at him, waiting.

Tom turned and began walking again. Anne followed at his side saying nothing though he knew she was listening.

"Anyway, she and mother...Those two have always been at each other for about as long as I can remember. I think it's mostly because they're too much like each other. Both of them are as bullheaded as the other in their own ways."

Tom took a deep breath before going on. "...And this weekend Jenny drove up from Orlando. As far as I know it's the first time she's been home in years. And...well...yesterday morning she finally came out to mom. She let her know that she's a lesbian."

"Didn't go so well. Did it?"

Tom laughed, "No...No, you could say that. But then again, they're both still alive, so maybe there's hope."

"You don't sound so hopeful to me."

"Neither of them are about to bend for the other. Oh, they'll talk about compromise and coming together, but at the end of the day...I just don't know if either has it in them."

"That must be hard on you, always having to stay out of the crossfire."

"Yes, it can be at times."

"Maybe I was luckier than I knew. I'm an only child. I always wanted brothers and sisters growing up, but that wasn't up to me. On the plus side though, every Christmas morning when I came down the stairs and saw the tree ringed with presents I knew they were all mine. Mine I tell you!" Anne rubbed her hands together in front of her in a campy impression of gleeful greed.

Tom unexpectedly broke out into laughter causing Michelle to stop and stare at him momentarily before resuming her activities.

"I don't think I'm making a very good first impression on your daughter."

"She's four." Anne said it in a tone that suggested that there was no more that needed to be explained.

"I've never been good with kids."

"Have a few of your own. You'll learn quick. I did."

Tom stopped in his tracks, nodded without uttering a sound and turned to stare out across the gulf waters.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think before I said that."

"It's ok. It's just that...Well, everybody talks about how a woman's biological clock drives her to have children...Now don't give me that look. I know it's a sexist stereotype but there's at least some truth to it."

Anne cocked her head in a tacit acknowledgment of his statement, withholding any critique for the moment.

Tom resumed, "My point is that, rightly or wrongly, it's just assumed for the woman. Nobody stops to think about the guy though. To tell the truth I didn't either, not until afterwards."

"After you found out?"

"Yes. Before that I never gave it a second thought. I mean we were engaged, and I just figured children would be part of the deal, someday. But it still wasn't real to me, not yet. Does that make any sense to you?"

"I think so."

"But when I found out she'd been pregnant, and then aborted without even talking to me first. It all just dropped on me like a mountain of bricks, and it made me realize just how much I wanted it, the whole husband-father thing. Heaven only knows why though. I'm probably the last man that should ever be a father. I'm sure I'd just screw it all up and they'd all grow up hating me."

"Why do you say that?"

Tom just shrugged his shoulders.

"Tom, you need to cut yourself some slack. You take yourself too seriously."

Maybe she's got a point. Maybe...

"You know it's not like that was your one and only chance at it. So it didn't happen that time. Did you ever think to talk to her about how you felt? Maybe you could've tried again."

"Does she like ice cream?" Tom raised his hand and pointed at Michelle.

"What?" Anne seemed startled by the sudden shift of topics. "Oh, of course she does. You ever see a child that doesn't?"

"Would it be ok if I bought us all an ice cream cone on the way back?"

Anne stopped and looked at him with mock indignity. "Tom Brookes are you attempting to bribe my child with ice cream?"

He put his hands up and smiled with equally false innocence. "Never!...Call it incentivizing."

"Bah! I think you're making that up. I'm not even sure that's a real word."

"Sure it is. I'm pretty sure I heard it on an infomercial somewhere."

"You don't need to buy ice cream to win her over. All you need is to be patient. She's only four years old, and you're a man she's never seen before today. Add to that the fact that she's away from everything she knows in a brand new town. She's homesick. Michelle has been real trooper ever since we got here, hasn't complained a bit but...Anyway, it's natural for her to be a little cautious around you. Hell, I'd be more worried if she weren't. Just relax and let her get used to you."

Tom nodded, not entirely convinced but willing to allow the matter to drop. "What's it like?"

"What is 'what' like?"

"Being a parent, a mother."

Anne blew out a gust of wind before answering. "Whew! That's a big one. You sure you want to ask that?"

He nodded without speaking.

"Well, it's having to get up three, four, or even more times in the night because she's crying and needs to be changed, or just to be held. It's always having to do what you think is best for her, when what you want is just a little alone time for yourself. It's having to be in two places at once, and always knowing that wherever you are it isn't where you really should be. It's always wondering if you're doing it right, if you're doing it the way your own mother would have done it. It's having to be patient when she's done something that just makes you want to scream at the ceiling. It's hell...And it's wonderful."

"Wonderful?"

"Just look at her. Do I really need to explain that part?"

So he did. Michelle had abandoned the driftwood in favor of an abnormally large sand dollar that had washed up with the tide. She was holding it before her, intently studying it, the look on her face one of rapt fascination.

Wonderful.

Tom felt Anne take one of his hands in hers.

"Chocolate...Her favorite is chocolate."

Tom

Tom was feeling pretty good when he followed Anne and Michelle into BurgerMeister. The little one had fairly burst his eardrums shouting her approval when he had suggested the surprise treat while on the return drive. Ever since that point she had become noticeably more comfortable around him. She had spent most of the drive regaling him with stories about herself and her mother. At first it was all about the other kids at the daycare, especially a girl named Kinesha that was her best friend for life, and Max which Tom understood to be an exceptionally large black lab. But then she began talking about the home back in Ohio where she and her mother used to live. On and on she went, hardly seeming to take a breath between sentences. By the time they entered BurgerMeister he was almost wishing for a little more of the silent treatment she had initially greeted him with.

"So what flavors did you two want again?" He asked, knowing quite well what the answer would be.

"Chocklet! Chocklet! Chocklet!" Michelle burst out.

"Hmmm...Let's see if I can remember that."

Tom started to approach the counter when out of the corner of his eye he noticed an older man sitting in a booth near the opposite door reading a newspaper. Something, though he was not quite sure what, caught his attention and he stopped to look more closely at the man. He was balding, the remaining fringe of hair the same white hue as the stubble on his cheeks. The man was slightly hunched over, but Tom suspected that once standing he would be taller than himself. Perhaps his most notable physical attribute was his leanness, he was almost, but not yet gaunt. Despite his thin frame there was an impression of hidden strength there as well, a sense that all the fat had been trimmed away leaving behind only the muscle. The stranger was looking directly back at him with an intensity that unsettled Tom. He did not recognize him, did not believe he had ever seen him before, but still...There was something about him. Something...

"Sir?"

Tom spun back around to face the counter. "Hmm?"

"Your order sir?"

"Oh yes. Three chocolate ice cream cones."

Once the order had been placed and paid for, and Tom had an opportunity to turn his attention elsewhere, the man he had spotted earlier had vanished. Only the newspaper, which lay abandoned on the table, gave evidence of his existence. By the time their order had been completed, and the three cones had been served and consumed, Tom had almost completely forgotten about the odd encounter. Almost, but not entirely.

He knew me. I didn't recognize him, but he knows me from somewhere.

The thought ran through his head as he stood beside the jeep preparing to open the door for Anne. She reached over and dabbed his mouth with a napkin, smudging the spot of ice cream she had intended to clean away. She looked at him, hesitated briefly, and then leaned over and gave him a quick but heartfelt kiss. After that Tom had no room in his mind for anything else.

The night was pitch black by the time Tom arrived at his mother's house. High, thin clouds covered the entire sky, preventing even the token illumination of starlight. Closer into town there would be streetlamps and houselights stabbing at the darkness, but she lived beyond all that, at the edge of the pine covered woodlands that stretched on seemingly forever. The only light to be seen here was the faint glow coming from her front window, peeking out through the closed drapes.

As he stepped onto the front step, his foot brushed against something that made a light scraping sound. He bent over and picked up the wad of paper that had once been the note he had left her earlier that day.

Hope this isn't an indicator of her state of mind.

Tom knocked on the door three times in rapid succession and waited for a response. There was none. He placed his hand on the doorknob and twisted lightly, expecting it to be locked. It was not.

Something about this seems familiar. Familiar but also wrong, very wrong.

Tom stepped back, suddenly unsure how to proceed, or even if he should proceed. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was...what? 'Instinct' seemed to be the closest word to describe it, but even that failed to fully encompass the feeling. It was more like a combination of instinct and deja vue wrapped up and bound together by some other indescribable something. And all of it was telling him to leave, to just simply leave.

This is stupid. I'm acting like I expect the boogeyman to jump out at me at any moment.

Cautiously he turned the doorknob once again, this time applying just enough pressure to swing the door inwards. The door creaked on its hinges as it moved, doing nothing to calm his already jangled nerves.

"Mother?...Mom?"

The only sound he heard in reply was the slow, steady shushing of the night insects coming from all around him. From within the house itself there was nothing. He stood there, indecisive; ten seconds, fifteen seconds, twenty seconds. Finally, he stepped forward and entered the house.

Anne

Anne reached over and flipped off the nightstand lamp, plunging the room into darkness. She felt her daughter wiggling under the covers, moving closer to nestle up against her.

"Tomorrow we'll be home?"

"Yes baby. Tomorrow we'll be home."

"And there's a beach there too?"

Anne smiled, not stopping to consider that in the darkness it would never be seen. "Yes, a very nice beach. An even nicer beach than the one we went to today."

"Will Tom be at that beach?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe he could come visit the beach sometime. Would that be ok with you?"

"Yes. I'd like that."

Anne reached out and pulled her daughter closer, "I'd like that too."

Tom

Tom found her in the living room, bundled up beneath a blanket and sleeping soundly. An empty wine bottle lay on the floor, tipped over on its side. Next to it was a glass. The glass was standing upright, but like the bottle, completely drained of its previous contents.

I don't believe I've ever seen her drink before.

"Mother?" He whispered, neither truly expecting, nor desiring a response.

Janet stirred nevertheless. She mumbled something incoherent and reflexively kicked at the blanket which began to slide off her with a light whooshing sound. As the blanket fell away he noticed the second bottle, the same brand and size as the first, clutched tightly in her hands. It was not entirely empty yet, but close enough to the mark as to make little difference. Tom reached down and gently pried the bottle from her fingers. He reseated the loosely stoppered cork and set the bottle aside on a nearby table. Tom gathered the blanket in his hands and spread it once more upon his mother, attempting to do it with an absolute minimum amount disruption to her slumber.

"Travis?" It was still barely more than a mumble, but at least it was a recognizable one this time.

"No, it's Tom. Go back to sleep."

"Tom?" Her eyes opened at last, but they were unfocused and glazed.

"Yes, it's Tom. Now, go back to sleep."

But it was too late for that now. Janet struggled to sit upright, encumbered in her efforts by the blanket draped across her.

"Your home.?" It was neither statement nor question but rather something in between.

"Yes mother. I'm home."

"I was dreaming. Dreaming about Travis." At first the look on her face was content and relaxed, but then it soured and darkened. "He's dead you know."

Tom sighed and sat down in an opposing chair. "Yes, I know."

"You remind me of him so much. Sometimes it hurts." The words were slightly slurred but he had little trouble making them out.

"I'm sorry."

"No, no...It hurts but...In a way, I'm glad too. You're all I have of him now. He's gone, but you're here. That's enough."

Tom had no idea what to say. So he said nothing.

"Jenny back in Orlando?" Her eyes were beginning to focus more clearly, it was clear that she was fighting the alcohol in her system, attempting to regain some measure of sobriety.

"Probably." Tom did not know if she would be back there yet or not. He rather doubted it, but it all depended on what route she may have driven and how much of a hurry she was to get there.

"Call her, when you can. Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I love her."

"You can do that yourself tomorrow. It will mean more to her if you do it."

"No, I can't. She hates me." Janet was moving her head slowly side to side.

"She doesn't hate you mom. She's never hated you."

"Yes, she does. I don't blame her though. It's all my fault. I sent her away. I didn't know. I didn't know." Tears were beginning to trickle down the sides of her face.

"Didn't know what mom?"

There was a look of fear etched on her face, verging on terror.

"What didn't you know?"

"I can't."

"Mother, it's ok. Tell me. What didn't you know?"

"That she knew."

Tom took a deep breath. "What did she know?"

"She was asleep. I gave her something to help her sleep. But...she must have woken up. She must have heard."

It's the alcohol talking. She doesn't know what she's saying.

"She's back in Orlando now. You should go to bed. Sleep this off."

"No!" She shouted back at him. "That night. She heard it. She knows."

"She knows what mother? What are you talking about?"

It was useless. Her lucidity was fading in and out now, at war with the alcohol flowing through her veins. She began repeating herself drunkenly, "She heard, she knows..."

"Mother, listen to me. Focus please. Tell me. What did she hear?"

"It was John."

Tom's blood froze upon her mention of the name.

"He was cheating. I caught him. We argued. He hit me. Then..."

"Then?"

Janet looked at him. Her fear had passed terror and was rapidly closing in on panic.

"I can't. I can't. I can't."

"Ok, that's enough. It's ok now mom. Everything will be ok."

Janet was beyond comprehensible speech now. All she was capable of was wailing her grief, without any semblance of order or direction. Tom sat there watching her, incapable of consoling her. Any words he might speak would be utterly useless. He rose from his chair and went to her side, crouching down so that he was now at eye level with her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping somehow the gesture might lend her some measure of comfort.

"It's ok. Everything will turn out."

She fought to rise from the chair. In the midst of her crying the blanket had once again slid onto the floor. Tom reached forward, afraid that in her current state she would stumble and fall. He took hold of her hands in an attempt to steady her.

"No! Don't touch me! Get away!" She screamed out at him before rising unsteadily to her feet.

Tom stood back, giving her room. Janet turned and began to stagger towards the back of the house in the direction of her bedroom. Tom did nothing. There was nothing to do. He could only watch impotently as she left the room.

That's when the realization hit him.

He raped her. That fucking bastard raped her. I swear I'll kill him if I ever see him.

But he had seen him, tonight at BurgerMeister. He had been the old man in the booth, the one that had stared at him and then vanished. It had been at least ten years since he had last seen him and he had changed so much that he unrecognizable at the time. But now he knew. That was John Foster that had been watching him. He was the man that had raped his mother. And he...He was a dead man if they ever met again.

Tom Brookes had a choice to make; stay here knowing that there was nothing he could do to help his mother, or leave. He had no illusions about finding John tonight. The man would most likely be holed up somewhere for the night. Where that might be Tom had no way of knowing. Even so it was agony to stay here, to listen to her sobs coming loudly down the hallway. Tom made his choice. He walked over to the front door and opened it. He took one last look behind him before walking out.

It was a decision that he would always regret for the rest of his life.

Janet

Janet sat on the edge of the bed. She had been crying for over an hour now and her chest hurt from the strain of it. The tears had mostly dried up now, though her body still spasmed erratically. Her thinking was still fuzzy, but the crying session had seemed to clear it somewhat.

It's out now, or at least enough of it is. What he doesn't already know he'll find out in time. And it won't just be him that'll know. Everybody will. They'll all know, and every time that anyone looks at me I'll know they know. That's how it'll be forever.

Oh God, why did you ever let this happen? How could you? I can't live like that. I can't.

There was a prescription bottle in her hand now. The label read:

Diazepam

Take 1 as needed with meals

Not to exceed 1 per 12 hours

Take as needed...How many is that? Not just one. Oh no.

She rattled the bottle before opening it. She peered inside and counted the tablets. Seven...no...Eight.

That might be enough.

Janet raised the pill bottle to her lips and opened her mouth wide around the opening. Her hands trembled as she raised the bottle up, allowing them to slide down into her mouth. At first she had some difficulty, trying as she was to get them to all slide down at once. She choked and coughed them back up. On the second attempt she swallowed them sequentially, one by one, until they were all gone.

She stretched out on the bed and waited for them to take effect. She had no way of knowing how long it would take. Half an hour? An hour?

At least where I'm going I'll never be cold again.

That was her final thought before she closed her eyes for the last time and drifted off to sleep. She would never awaken again.

Act II

An Instant of Eternity

Chapter 13

March 12, 2004

Tom

The Friday that Janet Brookes was buried was a bright, beautiful day. Thursday had been wet and drizzly, with low overhanging clouds that had settled in during the previous night and then had stubbornly refused to budge for the entire day. Overnight those clouds had at last been swept clean from the skies by brisk, cool winds coming down from out of the northwest. And so it was that by the afternoon, with the funeral concluding, the obligatory speeches having all been spoken, her casket was at last lowered into the ground beneath a brilliantly shining, glorious sun.

It should have been yesterday. We should have buried her yesterday. The sun should never shine this brightly on a funeral. It just doesn't feel right somehow.

In truth, Tom was not really sure what funerals should be like, this was his first experience with one, and he fervently hoped it would be his last. He was here because he needed to be here, because to not be here would be an insult to her memory. He already had plenty enough to atone for, he would not add an ounce more to the weight of it. Oh, but it was such agony, to stand here, held in place like a fly trapped in amber.

Tom shifted uncomfortably. By necessity he had hastily bought a suit jacket from a secondhand store in Panama City only two nights before and it fit him poorly, only adding to his discomfort. The jacket was at least one size too large for him. The heavy material bore down on his shoulders with a weight he was unaccustomed to, making him feel small and insignificant. The color of the jacket mismatched ever so slightly with that of his slacks, not so dramatically that it stood out, but enough so that once noticed it could no longer be ignored. The total effect making him conspicuous at a time when all he wished for was total anonymity.

Maybe I'll burn it tomorrow. It's not as though I'll ever want to wear it again.

Tom raised his eyes to scan the faces of the people gathered around. His sister, stood opposite of him with her partner at her side. They stood together some few feet away from everyone else, somehow separated from the group by a distance impossible to measure with any yardstick. Gramma Viv stood next to Uncle Nate and his wife. She seemed so much frailer than he remembered. She held onto Nate's arm as if it were the only thing keeping her from collapsing to the ground below.

It was a fairly small group, maybe two dozen mourners, though he suspected that might be an overestimate on his part. The crowd at the church service had been considerably larger, perhaps as many as a hundred, but even there the church pews had seemed surprisingly empty to him. Small towns were famous for being tight knit communities, and typically church services for the dead were a classic opportunity to demonstrate that closeness. But for his mother that display of affection seemed somehow restrained, diminished.

He had not been one of the small number of speech givers. Uncle Nate and Gramma Viv had both asked him beforehand to say a few words at the funeral, nothing elaborate perhaps, but at least something, even if it was no more than a simple farewell. He could not. He did not have the words to say, and if someone had thrust the words into his hands he did not believe himself capable of speaking them. Farewell was the last word he wanted to say today. What he wanted was for her to come back, for this to have all been some grotesque mistake. It was not until that moment when the casket finally dropped those last few feet to settle on the grave floor, and his view of it was lost among the shadows, that the realization truly struck home that this was really happening. There was no error in need of correction, no mistaken record to be amended. She truly was gone.

Tom turned and began walking towards the row of parked cars along the narrow cemetery lane. He was the very first to leave the grave site but that never occurred to him, nor would it really have mattered to him if it had. His duty as her son had been completed the instant the casket came to rest. He had stood there watching throughout the service as each participant had stood in turn and extolled his mother's virtues, expressing their grief at her passing. He had kept his silence respectfully throughout it all, despite that raging urge inside of him that wanted to scream his refusal of acceptance.

Hypocrites! All of them. Everybody here is a fucking hypocrite.

By what right did they have to talk about her now? Singing her praises now was a waste of breath, worse than that, it was an insult. It was not as if any of them had ever given a damn about her when she was alive. Perhaps if any of them had she would still be alive now.

And I'm the very worst of all.

He was the one that had walked out the door that night. He was the one to turn his back on her, leaving her alone when she most needed him. He was the one that could have made that difference in the moment it really counted. He was the reason she was...dead.

She's dead. She's dead. She's dead...

Over and over the words repeated themselves in his mind, until gradually the words began to lose their meaning. What did 'dead' mean anyway? It was just a word, like a million other words. Yet somehow it was supposed to have power, meaning, a purpose. Not for Tom, not now. He would not let it. He refused. For him it was just another meaningless word. It was better that way. Maybe tomorrow it would have a meaning once again, but not today. Today the word was an absurdity without purpose, and he had no desire to waste his energies making sense of the nonsensical.

As though in a trance, Tom pulled open the car door and slid over into the backseat. It was his uncle's car. Tom had ridden along with him and his wife, though thankfully not with their teenage twin boys who were both still at school. Tom had never wanted to ride along with his uncle in the first place, but Nate had insisted and Viv had added her approval for good measure. The pair of them seemed to believe that he was in far too fragile a state to be trusted to drive himself. Perhaps they were right. There was a certain comfort in having someone else behind the wheel. Driving himself would have required him to react to traffic, to think his way through the act of driving from one point to another. Thinking was the very last thing he wanted to do now, in any form or for any reason, no matter how simple the task.

Sleep. That was what he wanted. Blissful, dreamless sleep. Yes, that would be just the ticket.

Tom closed his eyes and willed himself to drift away, only to be rudely interrupted by the jarring lurch of a car door slamming shut. It was Emma's door. The door on her side was slightly out of alignment and needed to be pulled shut with an inordinate amount of force in order to close it properly. Emma (Tom still could not force himself to think of her as Aunt Emma) had only been married to Nate a little less than a year now and still acted uncomfortable at times with having to fill the role left vacant by his first wife.

Tom had been surprised the day he had learned that Aunt Gloria had simply packed her bags and headed out the door, bound on a path leading towards an unknown destination. As surprised as Tom had been at the news, he knew it would never compare to the surprise and shock Uncle Nate had experienced, left with two young sons to care for and suddenly lacking the presence of the one person that had been at his side for almost two decades. Nate was not the sort of man to gamely soldier on alone under those circumstances, and so his engagement and marriage to Emma had followed in remarkably short order afterwards. There had been some talk of a scandal involved, there always was in Isabella whenever the normal, predictable pattern of day-to-day life was interrupted for whatever reason, but of course the talk was kept to low whispers between friends, well out of earshot of whomever it might concern. It hardly seemed to matter at all to Uncle Nate, he never showed any sign of having ever heard them, but Tom knew that Emma was keenly aware of them.

"Tom, are you ok?" It was a stupid question and they both knew it. Tom merely nodded in reply, not deigning to speak. Emma gave him a worried look, obviously wanting to say something more, something that would help, but not knowing what that might be. Eventually she turned back around in her seat and faced forward, occasionally glancing out the side to track Nate's progress.

Uncle Nate was still near the grave site, busily conversing with Gramma Viv. Tom briefly observed the exchange, unable to make out any specific words but not feeling any great urgency to hear what was being said. The quicker he was away from here the better.

"We'll be back home soon enough." She sounded as relieved by the thought as he was.

"Good." It was the only thing he could think to say.

"The hard part is over, just a few more hours of this."

"Hours?"

"Well yeah, for the wake. I mean it's not really a formal wake. We're just having a few people over."

No, not for me. I'm done with this.

"Just drop me off at my apartment please."

"Tom, I know that right now it might not seem like it, but this will be good for you. It'll give you a chance to talk to other people about what happened, to get some of what you're feeling out into the open. I know that when my mother passed away..."

He snapped back cutting her off, "It's not the same! Don't think it's the same."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Look, I just want to go home. I don't want to stand around with a bunch of people while they all get touchy-feely about this."

"Tom please. It'll help if you..."

Before she could continue the driver's side door opened and Nate began to settle himself down into his seat. The car rolled slightly as it accommodated his considerable weight.

"Tom, I was thinking, perhaps tomorrow you and your sister may want to start going through some of your mother's things. You know, mark off the stuff you want to keep for yourselves. What stuff to just pitch out and so forth. If you need any help with that I'll be glad to come over and lend a hand." Nate's voice had a false cheerfulness to it that hit exactly the wrong note in Tom's ear. Tom saw Emma give Nate a quick warning nudge with her elbow but it was too late. The words had already been said.

Tom never bothered to voice a response. He allowed his actions to answer for him. Tom opened the door and got out. He would welcome the long walk back home in solitude. He did not think he could take even one more minute in their, or anyone's for that matter, presence.

He heard Nate calling to him, pleading with him to get back into the car, but he just ignored him and kept walking. After several minutes the car slowly lumbered by, Nate obviously hoping he would come to his senses and rejoin them. Tom stubbornly kept true to his course, ignoring the implicit offer. Several more cars passed shortly thereafter, a few stopping to inquire if he cared for a ride, his answer remained the same; as politely as was possible he refused them all. When the last car had finally vanished from sight Tom was at last alone, just as he had wished for all day long. Not until then did the first tears begin to trickle down his cheeks.

Jenny

Jenny turned the wheel, gently applied the brakes, and virtually coasted the car the last few feet before coming to a complete stop on the curb in front of Uncle Nate's house. Half a dozen cars lined the street on both sides, none of them occupied.

"I don't know if I can do this."

Terri reached out her hands and took hold of Jenny's right hand, pulling it away from its place on the steering wheel, drawing it downward onto the small space between their seats. She rubbed it tenderly, drawing Jenny's attention away from the sight of the looming house. Gradually the motion of Terri's hands on her own began to relax her ever so slightly. She could feel her racing heart slowing to something more akin to a normal rate.

"Yes, you can."

Jenny shook her head silently.

"Jenny, look at me." Terri leaned over with her right hand and gently cupped Jenny's chin in her fingers, turning her head so that Jenny was looking directly at her. Terri's eyes were heavy with concern, but simultaneously possessing a powerful strength of will there as well. "Honey, we talked about this. As far as most of them know I'm just a friend along for the ride, here to give moral support, nothing more."

Silence filled the car for almost a full minute before Terri continued on. "You're never like this in Orlando. What's so different here?"

Jenny stopped to think on the question. What was so different here? "It's my hometown. It's my family." And yet the explanation sounded inadequate, incomplete.

"That's right. It's your family, and right now that's what you need."

"But they won't understand."

"Honey, this is 2004, not 1954. Give these people a little credit. Even in a burg like this I seriously doubt anybody is going to form up a lynch mob. I expect that with most of the people in there you could shout it from the rafters and they'd probably just tell you to shut the fuck up because they just wouldn't give a damn. Times are a changing as the song goes."

"It's...well..."

"What?"

"I shouldn't be here. I don't belong here."

"Jenny are you ashamed? Ashamed of me, of us? Of what we are?"

"No, it's not that. Of course not."

"Then baby what is it? Come on, talk to me."

"It's being here, in this town. It's home, but then it's not...It's her's."

Terri eyes showed puzzlement. "Her's? Your mother's?"

"Yes. I can't really explain it. When I left it was like...like being exiled. Now it feels wrong, just being here. I don't belong anymore."

"Exiled?"

"Yes, like I was judged, and that was my sentence. Orlando is different, but here..."

Terri gave her hand a light squeeze. "Jenny listen to me. Nobody in there is going to think that for even a second. They want you here."

"You don't understand." She wailed the statement, her voice strained by frustration and fear, transformed into that of a small child rather than a grown woman.

Terri gave a sigh, a small expression of her own frustration. "I'll tell you what I do understand then. I understand you just lost your mother. I understand that what is left of your family is in that house waiting for you, hoping you'll come join them so that they can grieve with you. I understand that if you let fear make you run away from them you'll regret that decision, possibly forever. I understand that you're terrified, but I also understand that you're stronger than that. And finally, I understand that as much as you're scared out of your gourd right this moment, you need this. You need this for yourself."

Jenny cast her eyes down into her lap, no longer wishing to look into her lover's eyes. "Tom will be there too."

"I wondered when his name would come up. Is that what this is all about?"

Jenny refused to answer.

"You said it yourself; he doesn't even know. He doesn't remember anything about it. And...truthfully, I think you're right about that. So, the way I see it, we just let sleeping dogs lie for now. You've both got enough crap on your plates, no need for a second helping."

Jenny gave a small mirthless laugh at the mental image conjured by Terri's colorful metaphor. "Just that easy huh?"

"Sure, why not? We can deal with all that later, after things have settled down a bit."

"We? We can deal with it?"

Terri squeezed her right hand, "Don't you ever listen to me? What have I been telling you all week long? Yes, we; you and I. You think I'm just going to run off and leave you to sort out this mess on your own?"

"It's been done before." Jenny regretted the words instantly.

"I'm not her. I'm not your mother. No more than you are."

Jenny stared at the house, her eyes roaming over every detail and yet seeing very little. All she saw was a place she had no right enter.

I don't know. Maybe she's right. Maybe...

Jenny turned back to look at Terri once more, searching her face for a lie and seeing only love and resolve. "Ok...Ok, let's do this then."

Anne

Anne leaned over as far as she dared, balancing herself precariously on the footstool as she made the necessary adjustments to the painting's placement. It was a seascape, like dozens of others located throughout the gallery. Hardly a piece existed here that was not in some fashion related to the Gulf of Mexico, the ultimate source of every tourist dollar that flowed into this town. This particular piece was a watercolor showing a lighthouse painted in drab shades of gray, starkly outlined against the vivid colors of an evening sunset. As seascapes went it was actually not so bad, the artist obviously had an eye for composition and color contrasts. The only real problem with it was that it was, in fact, a seascape. She had been working here only a week now and she was already starting to dislike them all on sight.

Anne had never favored seascape paintings, nor their cousins the landscapes either. This was nothing new to her. Landscapes always felt too bleak and sterile, for her tastes. Without people to populate them what was the point? Someone could always dash on a few splashes of pigment to abstractly represent people, but still it missed the mark in her opinion. For her it was the people that was the point, the entire reason for her love of art in the first place. She much preferred portrait paintings, works that strove to not just show the person's face, but their emotions as well. The ultimate goal of any portrait being to somehow draw forth some small fragment of their very soul and display it for all to see.

Four and a half years she had studied art at Kent State, not just paintings of course, but many varied forms of artistry; sculpture, music, literature, along with some of the more exotic forms that hardly even seemed to have a name. Four and a half years...and here she was, in a gallery displaying artwork destined to adorn some tourist's living room more for the sake of its souvenir potential than any real appreciation of its creation.

Yet despite this she was happy to be here. She truly was, as odd as the thought might be. She had a job (paying minimum wage), she had her freedom (as much as any mother of a small child might be said to be 'free'), and she had her daughter. What more could she possibly want? And yet...

Well, anything she might be lacking could always be attained later. She just needed to be patient. Take care of first things first, and everything else would come with time. It was her motto now, and as mottos went, she believed it a good one.

So, if that's the case, why have I spent half the day thinking about Tom Brookes?

He had not called since that evening the three of them had walked along the beach front, though she had given him both her cellphone and home numbers. He had not answered either of the two calls she had attempted to place, nor did he have an answering machine or voice mail. She had not seen him anywhere about town. It was as if he had simply disappeared.

Earlier this morning she finally found out why. She had been near the back of the store, rearranging and tidying up the rat's nest that Mr. Sharp, the store owner, affectionately called the art supplies section. A man had entered wearing a pair of farmer's overalls, and began pleasantly chatting with her boss as though the two were the very best of friends. Before long she had not only learned that the man's name was Frank Harp, but also the reason for Tom's curious absence. His mother's death would be reason enough to explain almost anything away, much less the petty matter of a pair of missed calls.

"Anne..." Albert Sharp called to her from behind the counter, interrupting her train of thought such as it was. His name was an apt one. He was a small, thin man, his body a collection of fine angles with nary a single rounded corner anywhere. "I'm headed over to the Flamingo for a little bit. I'll be back soon, but if you need me for anything I'll be just across the street."

Anne smiled and waved, unperturbed by the idea of being left to watch the place alone. It had been slow all day to this point. Apparently the tourists had more pressing activities to attend to on Friday afternoons than perusing kitschy art shops. She watched as her employer came out from behind the counter, jaunted towards the front of the store, and exited. The electronic chime sounded as the door opened and closed, marking his departure. Only then did she return to her task. She had two more watercolor canvasses to display, both from the same artist that had created the first, and both of similar themes. Apparently he had a fondness for lighthouses.

The spot she had picked out for the canvas was another high space. The gallery had remarkably high ceilings for such a small establishment, almost twelve feet high, and Mr. Sharp was of a mind to take advantage of every inch of it. Even with the footstool at her disposal it was quite an effort to finagle the painting into position.

She had only just begun to hang the second painting when she heard the chime once more, announcing the presence of a customer. She declined to turn and face the door, trusting instead that whoever it was would either patiently wait the short while it took to complete her task or begin to browse the store on their own without need of assistance.

"Good afternoon, be with you shortly." She called out cheerfully, still wrangling the object of her attention into place.

"Take your time darlin. I ain't in no rush." The man's voice was a sweet, almost syrupy drawl coming from surprisingly nearby. In less time than she would have imagined he had crossed the room and was standing almost immediately behind her. The unexpected, close proximity startled her slightly and the fingers on her right hand lost its grip for an instant. The painting swung down on its hinge nearly causing her to lose balance and tumble from the stool.

"Careful now. I'd surely hate to see you take a fall and hurt yourself."

Anne scrambled back down off the footstool, chastised by the near miss. The painting hung on the wall, crooked at an angle that would not do at all. She would need to go back up and fix it, but not now, she had had enough of standing on that footstool for the time being.

The man was tall, despite a slight hunching at the shoulders that diminished his height only slightly. It was an older fellow, balding with a fringe of ivory white rimming the edge of his pate. One glance made it obvious this was no tourist come to idly gawk at the seaside art. His clothes were simple and worn, the shirt he wore hung from his thin frame loosely, giving the initial impression that he might be frail with age and hunger. Upon closer inspection though that impression melted away quickly. He might be aging, he might be lean, but he was certainly not frail. All of this Anne noted with only a quick glance, but none of that was half so striking as his smile. The mouth was opened widely in a smile, the lines etched on his face taut from the effort of it, but his eyes...They did not smile. There was no warmth in the eyes, only a cold, dark intelligence, the sort of cunning intelligence you might expect to see in a predatory animal.

Instinctively Anne took a step back from the stranger. "Hi there. Sorry about the delay. I'm starting to think the only reason I was hired here was because Mr. Sharp needed someone tall enough to hang those paintings. You just missed him, but he'll be coming right back any second."

"No, no. That's alright. I just thought I'd look around." He swept his gaze around the gallery, taking it all in before returning his focus on her. "Thought I'd take a gander and see what I could see."

He took a step forward, closing the distance between them to almost nothing before reaching his right arm out and upward. Anne tried to back away but could not, her back was already against the wall and there was no further space to retreat into.

"Here, let me give you a hand with that." His fingers took hold of the edge of the painting above them and gave a gentle nudge, squaring its placement. "There, all better now."

He stayed there, inches from her, for several long seconds. She could hear the faint flaring sound of his nostrils breathing in and out. He smiled again, even wider this time, before finally backing up and turning away. Anne let out her breath, only then becoming aware she had been holding it back. Her legs trembled slightly and she felt the need to reach out a hand to steady herself against the wall.

"You got lots to offer here. I like what I see. I like it quite a bit." He was roaming casually through the gallery now, stopping from time to time to take a closer look at one piece before moving on to another.

"I think you'll find everything reasonably priced." She called out.

He looked up at her and smiled once more. "I believe in the saying 'the best things in life are free'."

There was something about that damn smile of his that was unsettling. Anne glanced at a clock on the back wall, calculating how long her boss had been absent, and how long before she might expect to see him again.

"This one in particular. It's real nice. It's just the sort of thing to warm you all over."

The man stood before the only portrait piece in the entire shop. It was Anne's own favorite, though for some reason she thought it best not to acknowledge that fact. It was lithograph print of a young girl, perhaps only a year or two older than Michelle, standing on a beach. She wore a bright yellow sundress that caught the light in just the right way, giving her a special sort of radiance. Her face was slightly darkened by the shade of her matching yellow, wide brimmed hat. The child was laughing, her image captured at an instant of pure joy and innocence.

"I do love children." His drawl made the word sound more like 'childrun'. "Do you have any miss? Children I mean."

Anne hesitated before answering. "Yes, one."

He looked at her, his eyes focused sharply on her. "Really? Boy or girl?"

"A girl."

He nodded, as though he had known the answer all along and was simply testing her.

"How old?"

"She's four, almost five now."

He gave the print one final glance before moving on to the next piece. "That's a great age for them. I just bet she's a pure bundle of sunshine for you. Too bad they have to grow up. Then they get to a point where they ain't so cute no more. Don't you wish you could just keep her at four forever?"

"That's what children do. We all have to grow up eventually."

"Maybe. Maybe so. But then again..."

By this point he had managed to make a full circuit of the store and was once more within only a few short yards from her position. "I do apologize. I've done plum forgot my manners today. My name is John." He stretched out a hand.

She hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation made the decision not to respond in kind. "Anne." She said, paring her answer down to the minimal acceptable response without being too rude about it. His hand hung there in the air for a bit before he slowly retracted it. If he took offense at the slight he did not show it. If anything his smile only widened.

"Is that your pretty little Mustang parked around the corner with the Buckeye plates? It's a real beauty. I bet it must'a cost you quite a pretty penny."

"Yes, it's mine."

"Red, my favorite color. Red for fire. Means you've got some heat to ya. I like that."

The way he was looking at her more than unsettled her. Anne glanced toward the door, tracing the path towards it in her mind, calculating the time it would take her to reach it.

"So, Anne...How do you like living out there on False Cape? Bet you got yourself one of those fancy, high dollar places right? You and the little one like living there on the beach?"

How did he know we're out there? I know I never told him that.

"We live here in town."

"Oh, my mistake then. I must'a had you mixed up with some other gal."

One look at his eyes though and she knew without a doubt that he no more believed her lie than she believed his.

"Well Anne, it's been a pure pleasure. It really has. But I think it's time for me to get about my business. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll see you again some day and we can talk for another spell...or whatever."

He dipped his head and turned towards the door. As his hand took hold of the door handle he stopped one last time. "Oh, by the way, if you should happen to see Tom, please tell him that John said hello. Tell him that I'm sorry to hear about his mother. Tell him that there's nobody that knew better than me just how special a woman she was. I know she'll be missed."

Then the chime sounded and he was gone again.

Jenny

"...That's just how she was you know. Always eager to help anybody out. No complaints or anything, just Janet right in the middle of everything, pitching in."

Jenny nodded her head as she listened to Emma prattle on about her mother, praising her kindness as if she would be inclined to nominate her for sainthood on the spot. Emma had been speaking for almost fifteen minutes straight with hardly a break. Even if Jenny had been tempted to contribute to the conversation, not that she had, she doubted she would have been able to wedge so much as a word into what few gaps the woman had allowed.

I have no idea who she's talking about, but it sure as hell isn't my mother.

Jenny dared to look around the room, hoping to spot Terri and signal for an intervention, but strangely enough she was nowhere in sight.

"...and then when me and Nate got married it was Janet that said..."

"Emma honey, I do so hate to interrupt, but I believe Nate is looking for you." Jenny's rescue came in the fashion of Gramma Viv shuffling in from the direction of the kitchen. "Something about being out of coffee or somesuch. I swear at my age I can't hardly keep a thought in my head from one room to another."

"Oh! Oh dear. Sometimes that man can be so hopeless. Jenny dear I'm sorry, but I better go check in on him." And with that Emma was off, striding towards the kitchen with purpose in her step.

Jenny flashed her grandmother a quick, grateful smile. Gramma Viv never even slowed down, not that she was walking particularly fast in the first place. The moment she drew near enough she leaned over and whispered in Jenny's direction. "We'd best take ourselves outside to the porch. Unless you're a mind to have her resume where she left off in a minute or two."

Jenny dutifully followed in her grandmother's wake, out the door and onto the porch. At the end of the porch, overlooking the yard below, was an old swing bench. Vivien sat down on the bench, sighing in relief to be off her feet for a change. The chains that suspended the bench creaked, and the wooden slats of the bench groaned, but both held steady. Gramma Viv was a small woman, made smaller by time. If forced to guess, Jenny would have estimated her weight below a hundred pounds. The bench might very well support her weight, but Jenny was reluctant to add her own to the load. Instead she reached behind the bench, picked up a plastic milk crate that had been laid on its side, and upended it to make herself an improvised chair.

"Since when are you having memory problems?"

Her grandmother grinned back at her. "Everybody thinks that as soon as you get a few gray hairs that means you're daft and senile. There's times when that comes in handy. Best to let them think what they want. Not like you'll change their minds even if you wanted."

Jenny studied her face, noticing the extra wrinkles at the eyes, the widening bags below. Her hair had thinned considerably, freely showing the scalp below in patches. In just the few short years since she had seen her last it seemed she had aged in leaps and bounds.

Viv smiled back at her. That at least had not changed, her smile was as warm and loving as ever. "I know what you're thinking. You never mind about me. I still get along just fine, and I suspect I've got a few miles left in me yet. It's you I want to talk about. You and that brother of yours."

Jenny's eyes darted back towards the house. "Speaking of Tom; where is he? I expected to see him here."

"Meh, I'm sure he'll show up eventually. Looked to me like he was in need of some alone time after the burying. Can't say I really blame him. I've been to more funerals than I care to admit, and there's not a one that I wouldn't have skipped given the option. How long you planning on staying in town?"

"I don't really know yet. Terri's heading back Sunday, she needs to be back in Orlando by Monday morning. As for me, I'm kind of taking things as they come for now. Thought I might stay the week at least. I've been told that taking a little time for myself is at least as important as studying digestive tract parasites. Honestly I'm not so sure about that, but I made a promise."

"That's sound advice, you should listen to it. I'm planning to stick around a few days myself. Nate was nice enough to give me the use of a spare room. It'll give me some time to catch up with you and Tom both. Have you talked with him since she died?"

"No, not yet. Thought I might have to here but..."

"Have to? That's a funny way of putting it."

Jenny stiffened up and turned to look out upon the lawn, her eye noting the lengthening shadows of early evening stretching their tendrils.

Viv gave a sad sigh, "I see. Well, if it's going to be like that we may as well get the easy stuff done and over with first. I met and talked with your friend, Terri, a little bit ago. She's a little older than I expected. Is she one of those, what do they call them...post grads?"

Jenny relaxed ever so slightly. "No, she finished getting her masters last year. She's done with college."

"Masters huh? Nice. I envy you both. When I was growing up it wasn't so easy for a woman to get higher education. Unless you were blue blood you were pretty much expected to get married and keep house. Oh, they'd let you work, especially during wartime, but it was mostly just on jobs where there was a manpower shortage."

Jenny smiled. "I hear that times are a changing."

"Oh child, they certainly are. You have no idea yet. Wait till your my age. I've seen so many changes over the years, and I expect that you'll see even more in due time."

"Terri works for a small advertising agency now. She's in charge of their print media, but she's hoping they'll let her get more active with the online media stuff. She thinks that the print stuff is getting obsolete."

Viv cackled, "Tell that to my mailman. I think every other day he's stuffing half a pound of junk mail in my box."

Jenny turned and looked directly at her grandmother. "I got lucky with her. I can't tell you how much."

"She treating you right then?"

Jenny made a sound that was not quite a laugh but near enough to count. "Oh yeah. She's about the only thing that is right these days."

Viv nodded, obviously pleased, "That's good to hear. You're gonna need that now, more than ever."

A dark look came over Jenny's face. "I was here you know, last weekend. We both were."

"Yes. I did know. I talked with Tom over the phone yesterday. He told me what happened between you and your mother too."

Jenny folded her hands together. "Then you know it's because of me she's dead. I may as well have..."

"Now you stop right there missy! Don't you go getting that idea stuck in your head. You can cut that crap out right now." Her voice came hard and sharp.

"It's true."

"That's a load of bullshit and you're smart enough to know better. Ain't nobody killed her but her. Not you, not Tom, just her."

"Tom?"

Viv gave a sound of disgust. "Yeah, Tom. He's got the same stupid notion in his head too. Thinks he's the whole reason for everything. I swear, sometimes I think neither of you has a lick of sense. She was my daughter, and heaven knows I loved her, but I ain't gonna shade the facts. And the fact is that what she did, she did to herself."

"What did he say to you? Why does he think that?"

"Not much. Soon as he started on about it he clammed right back up. Just like he always does."

Jenny could not help feeling more than a little relieved. "I see."

Viv's eyes narrowed, boring into her. "Is there something you want to say? You look like maybe you might know a thing or two worth sharing."

"No."

Viv stared at her, creating a stretch of silence that begged to be broken. "This family." She muttered and shook her head. "Everybody's got their precious secrets. Let me tell you something about secrets dear. They're poison. I oughta know, carried enough of my own in my day, still got one or two even now. But they're a heavy load to carry. It's the shame of them you see."

Jenny lifted her head and looked back at her grandmother as she continued on. "It's the shame that kills. It kills you from the inside out, blackens the soul with worry and doubt till there's nothing left. And all the while you live in fear, wondering when it'll come out. Oh and it will too. Eventually they all do. It's like trying to hold water in your hands. The tighter you clench, the faster it runs out. By then it's too late though, you've already put everything into holding it back. There's no strength left to deal with what you've been hiding from all that time."

"You want to know what really killed your mother? It was her secrets. Yes, that's right. She had her share of them too. For instance, the real reason you came to me. I know you've spent all these years thinking that she just dumped you on my doorstep, and I'm ashamed to admit that all this time I've never said a thing to correct that. The truth is that I made her give you over."

"What?"

"You heard me. I made her. Lord knows she didn't want to, but I was ready to go to court and force it on her and she damn well knew it."

This doesn't make any sense.

"Why?"

Viv leaned back. The swing emitted a loud squeak that broke the evening stillness. "Because she didn't have the strength to deal with you, not after that business with you and that damn razor. Oh, she wanted to. She wanted to hold on to you and never let you go, just like she did with Tom. But I wasn't about to let her. I couldn't. I..." She shook her head slowly. Jenny could hear the pain in her voice.

"It's ok. You don't need to..."

"Yes, I do. You need to hear this, and I need to tell it. Before you tried, before you had even started on the drugs, your mother tried also."

"Tried...?"

"To kill herself. Damn near did it too. If I hadn't showed up by accident that day we'd have had this funeral ten years ago instead of today."

Jenny struggled to make sense of what she was being told.

"Anyway, afterwards I took her off to the shrinks for a bit. Yeah, I know it's not correct to call them shrinks nowadays, but I'm old, so I'm allowed. They held her there for most of a week before they let her loose again, but she still wasn't right. You could see it in her eyes."

"Those two weeks in Atlanta..."

Viv gave her a sad smile. "I had to get both of you out of town in a hurry during that. My brother was the only one I trusted to keep his mouth shut and who I knew would take you with no questions. As far as either of you were concerned it was just a chance to get away and see the big city."

"I can't believe I never knew."

"Honey, you knew what she wanted you to know, meaning precious little. Anyway, the point is that when you...did what you did later, I had no choice. I made her hand you over. It was either that, or take a chance on losing both of you, maybe even all three of you. As it was, I worried about Tom as well, seeing as he was still living at home with her at the time. But Tom was getting too old for me to make bones about that. There would have been questions asked, questions that nobody really wanted answered. Besides, I think she needed him too much for me to flush him out. If I had taken you both away from her that probably would've just finished her right there and then."

"Why didn't I ever know about any of this? Why didn't she tell me?"

"Because that's who she was. Emma in there can go on and on about how she was the second Mother Theresa, but that was the real Janet. She couldn't handle what she'd done and she couldn't let anybody else know about it either. So instead of letting others help her, she just held on to it till it almost killed her. I guess in the end it still did."

Something's not adding up.

"What she'd done?"

Viv held her silence, her jaw clenched. Her eyes looked down at the ground, refusing to look her granddaughter square on.

"What did she do? What did she tell you? I need to know. Please."

"She had an abortion."

What? An abortion? What the fuck!?

"About four months after John left, give or take. She said it was his, but I never believed her. The timing wasn't right. I knew full well they weren't exactly on good speaking terms well before he took off. There's no way it was his. Best I can figure it, she was catting on him at the end and got careless. She wouldn't be the first woman."

Oh my God! Oh my God! I know. I know what happened. I know why now. I know everything.

Jenny heard the sound of a door opening behind her. "Well there you two are. Me and Terri have been looking all over for you. We were starting to think that..." Emma froze in her tracks, taken aback by the sight of Jenny's face. Terri, standing just behind, pushed her way forward and rushed to her side. It was too late though, by a mere fraction of a second. Even as Terri reached her arms out for her, Jenny's vision narrowed and winked out. She slid off the crate backwards, sprawling bonelessly across the porch. She never felt the impact. She was already unconscious.

Chapter 14

Tom

Tom stood on the side of the road, his left hand resting on his hip, his right hand held high to shade his eyes against the brilliance of the setting sun as he peered into the distance hoping to catch sight of the first houses that would mark Isabella's outer limits.

Maybe another two miles to the town limits. Another half mile after that to my apartment. I really should've waited till I got to Nate's to have my hissy fit.

The onerous suit jacket had long since been abandoned. Less than a mile from the cemetery he had draped it across a chain-link fence running alongside the road. Beggar-weed brambles coated the bottom quarter of his slacks. Looking at them now he realized it would take the better part of an hour to pick them all back out.

It would be dark before he got home. That did not really bother him so much. Neither did it overly concern him that his feet were already wearing sore and most likely would be aching by the time he straggled in through his front door. Any fatigue he might be having as a consequence of what he had done was a minor cost to pay. What did bother him however, was the act itself.

I acted like a spoiled brat who couldn't get his way.

Granted, this was not the first time, nor he suspected would it be the last time. It was in his nature, always had been for as long as he could remember. He tried to fight it, he earnestly did. He wanted to be better than that, to be more practical, patient, and pragmatic. Somehow though the fight was always ultimately lost. It was impulsive, spur of the moment decisions like today's that had cost him his last three jobs. Two of those jobs he had quit, on the third he had been fired, but in all three cases it had been his inability to control his own damnable impulses that had been to blame. He would meekly accept whatever came for as long he possibly could, saying almost nothing, and then one day the proverbial last straw would be added and suddenly that would just be it.

You would think I'd learned my lesson on that by now. Nothing good ever comes from leaping without looking.

Well, almost nothing.

Tom's thoughts strayed away from their previous preoccupation, content to ponder some other subject matter for awhile. He had not called Anne during the past few days, but that was not to say she had been completely banished from his mind. The opposite was true, he had thought of her quite often since that all too brief walk together. In fact, that was very reason he had not called her, strange as his reasoning might sound.

Since his mother's death his brain had been in constant tumult, turning over every facet of that night and examining it ad nauseum. While he had been strolling along without a seeming care side by side with Anne, his mother had been quietly descending into a state of drunken anguish fueled by the memory of what that man had done to her all those years ago. The reasoned part of Tom's psyche constantly tried to reassure him. It repeatedly pointed out that there was absolutely no way he could have known, and that whatever he had done or not done that night was all done in response to imminently human motives. There simply was no possible way he could have anticipated the tragic results that ensued. But reasoning is the realm of the mind, the heart listens to no such prattle. It simply knows what it knows. So despite his best efforts he could not shake the relentless truth; his mother would still be alive now if only he had stayed. The sight of her fleeing to her bedroom had unnerved him, created a sense of helplessness in him that he could not abide, and he had left. That was why she was gone.

With that degree of guilt weighing so heavily on him throughout the week it felt wrong, manifestly unfair, to even contemplate calling Anne. She had far better things to do then to endure his grief wracked presence. She was just settling into her new life here, with a young daughter to care for, and a new job to fill her days. She did not need him around, not one bit.

Perhaps in another week or two, if it's not too late by then, I'll give her a ring. I just need some time to get some of this stuff sorted out in my own mind first.

A flash of movement caught his eye from down the road. There was a car driving in his direction, the first car he had seen on this road in over an hour. The road, the name of which he could no longer remember, dead ended just beyond the cemetery. The only other object of any interest along its banks was the homestead of Frank Harp, sited at the extreme end where the pavement devolved into a set of sandy ruts winding through the pines. There had been no cars traveling on this road for the simple reason that there was no destination for them to arrive at. There was a car on it now though.

The sun, its position perfectly centered above the roadway, was beginning its final descent over the horizon as the car approached, helping to disguise the identity of both the car and its driver until both were almost upon him. It was a silver-gray Elantra, a most welcome sight indeed.

Jenny

"Eat!"

Jenny shook her head, making it plainly evident what her opinion was before she ever said a word. "I'm really not hungry."

Terri held the plate loaded with ham and turkey sandwiches in front of her, her eyes daring Jenny to refuse them. "You haven't eaten anything all day. You hardly ate anything to speak of yesterday. Whether you want to or not you need to eat something. I don't want you scaring the shit..." Terri stopped and glanced over to where Gramma Viv sat, "Sorry about that."

Viv smiled and gave an imperceptible nod to indicate her forgiveness. Jenny almost laughed, she had heard far worse come from her grandmother's lips on more than one occasion.

"I don't want you fainting on me again." Terri picked up where her scolding had left off, her act of contrition done and over with. "I'm serious Jenny."

"No, really. I'm fine now. It won't happen again. I promise."

Terri set the plate down on the small end table at Jenny's side, a disgusted look of frustration easily apparent on her face. "You can be soooo..." She let the statement trail off into the air, turned and stalked from the room, her intended destination unspoken and unclear.

Viv sat in a chair less than four feet away, watching Jenny intently. So far she had said nothing. Any thoughts or judgments she might have had she kept to herself so long as there was another listener within earshot. Now that Terri had stormed off, she slowly shook her head from side to side. "You and your daddy."

"What?"

Viv shifted in her seat, relieving the pressure on her right leg. Jenny could not help but notice her favoring the leg throughout the day. "You take after your daddy something fierce. Always have."

"You mean mother. I take after mother." Jenny gently corrected. Her eyes darted to the plate of sandwiches. She had begun to rethink her position the instant Terri had stormed from the room.

Perhaps taking one wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.

"Pfft! I said exactly what I meant. You're your daddy's girl all right. No doubt in my mind in the slightest."

Jenny reached out and took the topmost sandwich, prying apart the bread to spy its ingredients. This one was turkey, her favorite, lathered generously with spicy brown mustard just the way she liked them. "You're the first person to say that to me. Everybody else thinks I take after mom. It's Tom that looks like Travis."

"Only on the outside. In every way that actually counts it's the other way around."

"I don't really remember dad very much. Just flashes really." Jenny bit into the sandwich. It was delicious. Not until that moment did it strike her just how truly famished she was.

"He was a beautiful man. I don't just mean the outside now mind you, not that there was anything wrong there either. He was as smart as any college man could hope to be, though come to think on it I'm not even positive he finished high school. Can't rightly recall on that score. What I do remember about him was how kind and patient he could be at times. You got it in you too, got it from him."

Jenny laughed, "Never been accused of that before. Don't tell Terri, she's liable to set you straight."

Viv chuckled back at her, enjoying the joke. "Well, maybe not so much with people, but put an animal within ten feet of you and it comes out. You become a whole 'nother person then. Seen it happen too many times for you to tell me different."

"That's different. Animals are different. They don't judge."

Viv shook her head sadly. "Maybe it's not them judging you that's the problem. Maybe it's you expecting it that's the problem. Kinda hard to give people a chance if you're always expecting the worst of them from the gitgo."

Jenny focused her attention on the sandwich in her hand, her grandmother's criticism hitting just a little too close to home for comfort.

"Anyway, that's beside the point. I could see right away why Janet took to Travis so fast, he was exactly what she was needing. I also knew it would never last though. A shame really. Once they met they couldn't stay away from each other. And all the while it was as plain as day that they didn't belong together any more than fire and water belong together."

Jenny swallowed a bite and stopped eating long enough to chime in. "You're losing me."

Viv gave her a knowing smile. "See, your daddy had patience, but to live with him required twice as much. That's one thing your mother never had."

Jenny took another bite into her sandwich, if anything it tasted even better with every bite. Her only comment on her grandmother's account was a quizzical look she flashed back at her.

"The man was contrary, just like you, except even more. If you said up he'd say down, for no other reason than to disagree on principle. I hate to speak a word against him, but I do swear, he was enough to make Jesus himself take his daddy's name in vain."

Jenny could not help but laugh at the metaphor, almost causing herself to choke on her repast.

"They fought nearly all the time. Well, whenever they weren't busy making up." Viv's smile widened until it stretched nearly ear to ear. "Sometimes I think they would fuss at each other just so's they could get to the making up part."

Jenny paused only long enough to add, "I don't remember any of that." before seizing hold of the second sandwich. This time she never thought to inspect its contents before beginning its consumption.

"No. No, you wouldn't. Your brother neither I'd bet, if you ever asked him. They were both careful to keep it away from you two."

Jenny frowned. "I know she loved him. I don't think she ever stopped."

A sorrowful look came over Viv's face. "No. You're right on that. She never did. Kinda wished she had to be honest."

"Why?"

"Time can do funny things to a person's memory, if they let it. It erases all the bad, and leaves only the good. Or vice versa I suppose. In your mother's case she forgot everything except the very best in him. She made him into an idol, someone near about perfect. Ain't been but one perfect man on this earth and Travis wasn't him. Travis was a good man, make no mistake. But even he had his faults. Your mother went and forgot all about that though. The problem with that, the reason it's so dangerous, is it makes it impossible to get on with your own life when they're gone. That's what happened with her. I figure to a large extent that's also why she held onto Tom so tight, because it was like trying to hold onto him."

Jenny looked down to the carpet flooring, not wanting to look at Viv at that moment, or more accurately not wanting to be seen by her. There were things she wanted to say, and yet could not say, and she was terrified that one sharp glance and it would all tumble forth in a flood.

"Now Tom...He's his mother through and through. I suppose that's why I worry so much about him. He's got that same impulse streak she had. Just like with that little stunt he pulled this afternoon after the funeral. Always jumps first, don't give a thought in the world to where he might land till it's too late. I'm afraid if he don't learn how to control it, that'll get him in a heap of trouble some day. I just hope it's not a case of 'like mother, like son'."

Tom

"You know, you're going to ruin some perfectly good clothes this way." Beverly leaned her head out the window, calling out to Tom as if it was the most natural thing in the world to come across him straggling down the road on foot.

Tom approached the car, reflexively glancing down the road in both directions as though there was any possibility that another car might be on the road. "Hi there yourself."

"You just going to stand there? Or are you going to hop in? Make up your mind fast. I don't have all night."

Tom hurriedly ran around to the other side, hearing the door lock softly click open as his hand grasped the handle. He hopped in, momentarily out of breath from just that little burst of exertion. "Thank you."

"Not a problem. Glad to help. Seems like lately I've become Bertie's competition around here."

"What?"

Beverly smiled that little impish grin he remembered so well. "Oh, nothing." Once his door was shut, she swung the car around in a wide, lazy arc. The tires rolled gently off the pavement at one point before the car's nose could be properly pointed in the desired direction. Despite her words it was clear she was in no great hurry, she accelerated the car gently forward to a respectable but still quite sedate speed. "Your apartment?"

"Yes, please."

"Still in that dump on Parker Street?"

"That's my home you're talking about."

Beverly looked over at him, the grin more apparent than ever. "Please! Save that for someone that doesn't know any better. It's a dump. Call it what it is."

"Ok then, yes. To my humble dump. Please."

She shook her head ruefully. "You could do so much better than that place Tom. If only you really wanted."

Tom's jaw clenched. "Let's not start that, ok? Not today."

Her grin vanished instantly. "Ok, you're right. I'm sorry."

"How did you know I'd be here?"

"Frank." It was a one word explanation that told all he needed to hear.

Does that man ever pass up a chance to run his mouth?

"I suppose that just this once I owe him, and you also."

"Never thought I'd ever see you wearing anything but jeans. I'm just sorry that it had to be for this."

Tom tried to think of something to say in reply but could not. The words failed to come for him. He turned to look out the window instead, trying to think of some other subject matter capable of steering the conversation to safer ground.

It was Beverly that broke the impasse. "That girl at the cafe, Anne...Are you two...?"

"No." It came out harsher and more emphatic than he had intended. "We're just friends."

"Friends?" She sounded doubtful.

"Ok, I like her. But I'm really not sure that's in the cards."

"Why is that?"

"Call it bad timing if you want. Right now I just don't think it's the best time to try to start anything."

"Because of your mother?"

"Yes. That's a big part of it. There's a lot of crap that I need to work out and I don't think she needs that in her life."

Beverly nodded, "Maybe she doesn't, but maybe you do."

"Come again?"

"I'm just saying that maybe you could use the distraction."

"I don't know. I'll think on it." Tom chuckled lightly.

"What's so funny?"

"Just the thought that you, of all people, would say that to me. Not the sort of thing I would've expected you to say."

Beverly gave him an enigmatic smile. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"Apparently not."

"I was at the church service today."

He looked over at her, surprised by her statement, and the suddenness with which she had changed topics again. He had never seen her there. Then again, it was not as though he had truly seen anyone, so wrapped up in his own thoughts at the time.

"Didn't go to the funeral itself of course. I wasn't sure you'd want me there."

"I appreciate that you came. I know she would've too." He was not so sure about that in his heart, but it sounded like the right thing to say.

"So what now Tom?"

"I don't understand."

The car passed through the intersection with Ray Avenue. The local high school passed by on his right. A gigantic painting of a stingray was plastered across the width of a billboard sized sign, proudly proclaiming the school's mascot for all the world to see. Tom absently noticed that the sign appeared to be badly flaking, in desperate need of replacement.

"Now that she's gone. What's next for you?"

"I don't know. I can't really say I've thought about it."

"I'm not surprised there."

He turned his head back to her. "What does that mean?"

"It means what I said. I'm not surprised. It's been a hard week on you, and let's face it, thinking ahead isn't your strongest point."

She's got me on that one.

"Have you considered leaving yet?"

"Why? Are you wanting me to leave?"

Beverly cut her eyes at him before returning her attention to the road ahead. "You should know better than that."

"Ok, then. Why did you ask?"

"What I want isn't the issue here. Frankly, I'm not even sure that what you want is the issue, assuming you even knew what that might be."

"What is the issue then?" Tom could not help noting a bit of irritation in his own voice.

"The issue is; what is it that you need."

"What I need?"

"Tom, look out that window. Take a really good, hard look. Then tell me with all honesty what you see."

Tom turned back to the window. Houses were flashing by one by one, each lit from within, an indication that their occupants were all settling in for the evening. It was the same scene he might witness on any night he driving through town. There was something about it that gave an impression of timelessness, that quality of small town Americana that Norman Rockwell had tried so many times to capture on canvas. Except this was not Americana, not entirely. It was a particular scene unique to Isabella, as all small towns are unique in their own subtle way. Still, the essential point was its sense of timelessness, that feeling you got deep down in your gut that it would look the same a year from now or fifty years from now. It was a lie of course, but a comforting one.

"I see Isabella. I see the town I grew up in."

"No Tom. What you see are your prison bars."

"I think that's putting it a bit strongly."

"Is it? Is it really? Do you enjoy hanging onto the back of a garbage truck and emptying in cans of trash all day long? Is that really the career path you want to follow?"

Tom bristled at the implication. "There's nothing wrong with that job. At least I'm working. I'm paying my bills."

"No, there's nothing wrong with the job. I'll give you that one...If it were anybody else doing it. It's not the job that's the problem, it's you. It's not what you're meant to do and you know it."

Tom laughed, "What was I meant to do?"

"God only knows. I don't, no more than you seem to know. I just know that what you're doing now isn't it. You could do so much better."

"Well, it's only temporary anyway."

"Oh that's right. I almost forgot, you'll quit or get yourself fired before long and then it'll be on to the next. How many more jobs do you think this town's got left for you?"

Tom stared at her, puzzled more than angered. "What is with you? I buried my mother today."

Beverly took a deep breath, "Yes, I know. It's just that..."

"Just what?"

"That day in the hospital. You said you missed me as a friend. Do you remember?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well this is me, trying very hard to be your friend. And friends tell each other the truth, even if it hurts."

"So as a friend your suggestion is to just pack it all in and leave town? Just like that?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying."

"Damnit Bev, just what are you trying to say? Because I don't have the slightest clue. First you act like you want to play matchmaker, and now you're acting like I should pack my bags and head out on the first passing bus. I'm getting mixed signals here, and frankly I don't know what you're trying to get at."

Beverly slowed the car down and made a turn to the right onto Parker Street. Tom could see the apartments only two blocks ahead.

"What I'm trying to say is that it's time for you to start considering your options. It's time for you to start thinking about what you want from your life. Because it'll happen with or without your consent. I know that thinking ahead isn't something you're all that keen on, but it's about time you gave it a try."

"What I want..." The very idea of the question stunned Tom into silence.

What do I want? It's been so long since I've even thought about it.

Beverly pulled the car over to side of the road in front of the apartment row, not bothering to enter the parking lot. He grasped the door handle and gave it a slight jerk, preparing to step out.

"Tom, if you stay here, then stay here for a reason. Not just because it's the easiest decision. Otherwise the years will go by, and some day you'll look around and you'll finally see those bars I talked about. Only then it'll be too late. Don't do that to yourself. Think about what it is you want...and then take it."

John

Time for me to leave. Fuck that! It's past time to leave. I should've left as soon as that fat bitch killed herself.

Of course there was a reason John Foster had not left town yet. There was always a reason he did everything. The reason he had not left was that he could not. He was stuck here.

It all went back to that night on the cape. He had been so careful, so methodical, and yet for some inexplicable reason it had all gone to shit anyway. The first disappointment of the night had been the unexpected absence of Miss BetterThanYou from the gallery. If only she had been at home that night with her little brat things might have turned out completely different. For whatever the reason she had not, and he had been forced to consider other alternatives. The cape was full of alternatives though, and it had not taken him long to find one to his liking.

I should've just packed it in early that night. I should've just bided my time and came back later for the one I really wanted. I still had all the time in the world then. I didn't need to rush it.

But pussy is pussy, at least that's what he told himself that night. And if he could not get the one he wanted, then what did it really matter so long as what was available to him was at least of serviceable quality? It was not as though he wanted to marry the bitch, just give her a quick fuck and then be done with it. When you put it that way it hardly made a difference if it was one slut or another. Besides, the one he did end up with did not look half bad, not at all. For one thing she was even younger than the one he had originally picked out, this one must have been barely out of high school. The way she had bled as he penetrated her made it obvious she had never had a man before.

Maybe quite some time indeed before she ever gets another. After the way I left her they'll need to bag her head to even think about touching her. Not that she'll want them to anyway. I'm willing to bet that for the rest of her life she'll run and hide her pussy away from the world any time a man touches her. I do believe she has missed out on that particular pleasure of life for good.

That part had not been intended. You might even say it was accidental. But mostly it was just her own fucking fault. To a large extent everything that happened to her, she caused herself.

What had been her name anyway? Belinda, Melinda? Something like that. I saw her name stitched on one of her shirts in her closet but I can't remember what it was. Well, not that it was important anyway. Just another cunt to me.

He had been careful. He had faithfully followed the script going in, taken the usual precautions. Shaved pubic hairs, condom, hunting knife, gloves, ski mask, chloroform, necessary binding materials...everything had been set. Trial and error for the past two years had taught him what he needed to do, and how to go about it. He had been ready. Only...

It happened while he was binding her to the bed. She was unconscious as he laid her out, a result of the chloroform. Usually that was the tricky part and so he had relaxed, believing the hardest part was behind him. He already had her right hand secured when she awoke. Her awakening came much sooner than he had expected, and so he was not prepared when she slashed out at him with her left. Her nails dug a gash right through the shirt he was wearing, leaving three angry furrows across his chest before he could recover and finish the process of binding and gagging her. The pain of that alone would have been enough to infuriate him, but that was hardly the reason he went as rough on her as he did. It was knowing that the plan had failed. For all his careful planning, an instant of inattention had nearly spoiled everything. At that point she had microscopic bits of his DNA jammed into the recesses of her fingernails and that most certainly was not according to plan.

After finishing with the business at hand, the entire reason for his being there, he had pulled out his hunting knife. He just wanted to scrape out a little under the nails, to make sure nothing of his remained behind. Then he got...well, a little carried away you might say. First it was the nails, all three of them, removed in their entirety. Then he started on the face, then to the parts of her anatomy that would normally be hidden behind modest clothing. All total he spent almost three uninterrupted hours, more than twice as long as he had planned for, with that sweet little girl and had made the most of every minute.

Time does fly when you're having fun!

He was amazed when he later learned that she had survived the night. He thought for sure she would never live to see another sunrise.

Well, actually, she won't. She might feel one as the sun warms her skin, but she'll never see one again. That much I can guarantee.

It was really all her own fault though. If she had just stayed under, or if she had simply played possum, none of that would have been necessary. She should have had the sense to know not to resist. He was only doing what anybody in his position would do given the circumstances.

John sighed and sat down on a low stone bench. Evening was passing into night and the sounds of crickets was beginning to fill the air. It had been a long day and he was eager to make an end of it.

To say that he was tired was an understatement to the point of being a flat out lie. He felt exhausted. His back was hurting him, his legs were hurting him, his feet, even his eyes were tired. He had been on foot all day long, walking from one location to another all over this little pisspot of a town. He needed money, he needed it quick, and he needed it desperately. Desperately enough to even work for it. He had walked from home to home, inquiring politely if anyone had need of his most excellent handy man services. All day of this and all he had to show for it was a measly $20. The hilarious part was that he never even had to do anything for it, they just went and gave it to him, for no good reason.

People can be so fucking stupid at times.

Unfortunately a single Jackson in his wallet was a drop in the bucket compared to his present needs. John was furious at himself for not having the presence of mind to hit that old man up for more. The gesture had come as such a shock to him that he never stopped to think things through as it was happening. Where one $20 bill came from there had to be more, it would have only required a little gentle persuasion on his part to maximize the opportunity presented.

Maybe tomorrow I'll go back and shake the tree a bit, see if anything green falls from the branches. It's looking like I'll be here still. Shit!

It was that girl's fault he was in this predicament anyway. A good thing he did not know just how much grief she would cause him at the time. If he had she would have died right there and then. It was because of her that he had needed to stay longer than planned. By the time he had finally returned to his truck it was almost dawn and the first bands of rain were sweeping across the cape. The soft ground on which he had parked had transformed into glue during his absence, holding his truck fast with an almost unbreakable grip. With the day's first light quickly approaching John had been anxious, eager to be far away. He did eventually manage to extricate the truck, but at a high cost. The rear axle was damaged in the process, bent in such a way that at best it would have maybe another fifty miles left in it before it simply disintegrated completely.

At first he thought that just maybe there might be some way to get it repaired, perhaps a friend of a friend that knew somebody. It was the sort of thing that happened in a town like this all the time. It took less than an hour to convince him that was a lost cause. You had to have a friend first to be invited to play that little game, and what few he had left had grown noticeably cooler to him in the two weeks he had been back. Even Phil Nitey, the only one in Isabella that had relented and agreed to put him up 'for a week or two', was starting to slowly turn on him. Phil had been his best friend since the two of them were only sixteen years old. John had been the best man at not one, but two of Phil's weddings (it likely would have been three, but John was serving time during the last one and thus unavailable). Now this sonofabitch was starting to give him shit every time he got back, constantly asking if John had the $50 he had promised for rent.

Yeah, it's time for me to go all right. But how?

John sighed, he would try again tomorrow to find an answer to that question. Now it was time to get back up off his ass and get moving. He was almost back to Phil's house, just one more street over and down the block. With luck he would get there before Phil finished eating dinner, giving him a decent chance at any leftovers.

As he trudged onward his mind idly drifted to his meeting with Anne earlier.

That honey pot sure is a pretty little piece of ass. I'm going to hate having to pass on her, especially now that I know about her little boyfriend. Doing her would've been a nice poke in the little bastard's eye. Just the thing to lift the spirits and put a song in my heart.

What a shock it had come to him when he saw Anne and Tom together, with the wee little munchkin between them. Five minutes before, if you had told him that the President of the US of A was coming there to personally present him with a medal John would have been less surprised than the sight of that little pseudo-family walking in the door. He did not know what Tom had that she might want but there had to be something. Women like her did not screw losers like Tom for no reason at all. Maybe she has another boyfriend she was trying to get jealous, or maybe it was a simple case of an itch in need of scratching. There had to be something there.

I bet now that his mom is safely rotting in the dirt Tom's probably over on the cape right this moment tapping that ass and having a grand old life. I knew I should have killed him that night. As soon as I left the house I knew I should've taken out him and his mother both. I even thought about going back and finishing matters. I'm still not entirely sure why I didn't. If I had, maybe my life would have turned out differently.

John came to an abrupt stop. He was within sight of Phil's house now, the porch light blazed brightly, inviting him forward. Something about the sight of it felt...wrong. John sighted his truck parked off to the side of the house, right where he had left it for the past week. Everything looked right, and yet felt wrong. He took several steps back, seeking cover in the shadow of a pine tree growing next to the sidewalk. His eyes scanned both sides of the street looking for anything out of place, anything that might have subconsciously triggered this insistent feeling he was experiencing. The night had grown quite dark, the moon was but a thin crescent, casting very little light.

After standing there for almost three minutes without seeing anything out of the ordinary John was just about to step out and resume his approach. Then there was a brief, dim flash from further down the road. At last he spotted the police car sitting there with its lights turned off. One officer sat behind the wheel, another stood near the passenger side smoking a cigarette. The flash he had seen must have been the lighting of the cigarette.

Shit! They're waiting for me.

He had no concrete evidence to back up his impression, but that made no difference to him. He knew it was true. Something, or someone had given him away. John stood rooted there, safely hidden from sight, but knowing that he could not stay hidden forever. He needed a new plan, and he needed it right now.

The truck's a lost cause. They'd pick me up before I ever reached it, not that it'd get me very far with that axle. The same goes for everything I've got stored inside the house. The only way out of town is to either hitch a ride or steal a car, either way and I'm almost guaranteed to get caught before I even get started. Shit!

He looked around him, desperately searching his surroundings for some way out. Going back to prison just was not an option. He would do whatever it took. Even death would be better than going back.

The woods! It's only two more blocks to the edge of the pines. I'll need to circle around those jacksasses and keep a low profile. That'll double the distance I'll need to walk, but if I can just make it that far I'll be good for the night at least. Hide out there for tonight, and then use the time I've bought to come up with something a little more permanent.

With plan in hand John stepped away and began walking towards his freedom.

Chapter 15

He stood in the living room, looking all about him. It was gloomy in here but not completely dark, there was a light source originating from somewhere nearby, just beyond his direct line of sight. He tried to turn in that direction, to locate the source of the illumination, but his feet refused to obey, remaining firmly planted in place facing towards a couch. He knew where he was, he had been in this house more days than he cared to count, it was the home of his childhood. Still there was something not quite right about it, a niggling feeling of wrongness that danced at the edge of his consciousness, coyly reluctant to reveal itself fully, preferring to tease him with obscure clues to its nature.

The couch was old and worn, the print pattern of its upholstery faded by time and use. The couch was located in front of a window, beyond which he could see only the pitch black darkness of night. There was something about the couch that was important, it was the reason why his body refused to honor his desire to seek out the light. Instinctively he realized there was something here that he was missing, something he was supposed to recognize.

That couch is gone now. I helped take it to the dump years ago.

At one end there was a piece of clothing hastily draped over the headrest, a leather jacket. He recognized that jacket. It had belonged to someone he vaguely knew. Tom struggled to remember who's jacket it was.

John Foster.

The name came to him suddenly, with all the force of a tidal wave. In this case it was a wave not of water, but of fear. Tom's pulse quickened, the sound of his own blood rushing through his body drowning out the steady, slower tick-tock rhythm of the clock mounted behind the television set.

Stop this! Calm down. I'm dreaming again. That's all.

The realization helped somewhat, but even armed with that knowledge he could not entirely calm his frayed nerves. John was here somewhere. That was John's jacket, a jacket that he had loved with a greater devotion than any he had ever shown a living person. He would never leave it behind willingly. He had to be near.

Why? Why am I dreaming this? Why am I here again?

Again. That was the key. When awake the dreams would quickly fade, leaving only the barest sense of unease behind. But each time he dreamt this particular scenario, and it was beginning to become quite often of late, sooner or later it would occur to him that something in his own mind was trying urgently to tell him something. Something important. He just did not know what that something was yet.

And why is that? Maybe because I don't want to know. And why would that be?

Tom turned towards the light, his body at last under his own control once more. There was a small lamp sitting on top of a bookcase near the hallway leading back towards the bedrooms. The bulb was undersized, the light it gave off feeble compared to the illumination spilling out from the hallway. The source of the light was not in the hallway itself, but rather originated from a point off to the side.

Tom started walking, irresistibly drawn towards the light as surely as any moth. When he drew near the kitchen entranceway he cautiously peered within. He was half expecting John to jump out at him at any moment even though he knew the very idea of it was preposterous. This was simply a dream, not a Hollywood inspired nightmare. Not yet at least.

The first thing he noticed as he looked around the kitchen was its state of disarray. Tom mentally cataloged everything he saw. A chair lay on the floor, turned onto its side, one of its legs cracked and hanging loosely. A pink coffee cup and a pack of cigarettes sat near the center of the rounded kitchen table. Multiple drawers had been pulled out from the cabinets and left open, much of their contents scattered on the floor below.

Mother would have a fit if she saw this.

A sound caught his attention. Tom stood perfectly still, listening intently, waiting for it to repeat. He did not have long to wait. It was muffled, but still clear enough for Tom to recognize it as a human voice. It had come from behind him, down the hallway. He turned and looked in that direction. The door to his mother's bedroom, the one she had shared with John for the past year, was closed, light seeping out from below. He hesitated briefly then began to walk towards it.

Jenny

"Why don't you go ahead and start without me? I'll join you as quick as I possibly can. It really shouldn't take me all that long."

Jenny frowned, irritated by Terri's insistence. She poked the elevator button with just a touch more force than truly necessary, causing the doors to close. She pivoted back to face Terri once more even as she felt the ever so slight lurch of the car starting its brief descent. "I just don't understand why it has to be done right this second, before we've even had breakfast. The airport isn't going anywhere."

"Because the sooner it's done the better I'll feel. I can't afford to take any chances. I've missed enough time at work as it is. If there's any problem with getting a reservation I need to know about it now so I can figure out a workaround." Terri affectionately patted the laptop she carried. "Besides I need to check my email anyway."

The elevator car came to a quick stop, even sooner than Jenny had anticipated. It had only needed to travel a single floor. When checking into the Boardwalk on Thursday night she had requested the same room as their previous stay, or barring that any room on the third floor, but none had been available. The only unoccupied rooms were located on the first and second floors and Jenny had reluctantly been forced to accept one of the later as her best alternative.

Jenny grunted her disapproval to Terri as she exited the elevator. "You know, one of these days that stupid thing is going to go missing. Don't come crying to me when it does."

"Don't you dare. Don't even joke about that. I'd be lost without it."

"You're lost with it."

"Jenny don't be like that. I should've done this last night but I waited this long because I knew you needed my full attention. Just try to..."

Jenny interrupted her, "Ok, ok!" She sighed, resigned to defeat. "Just promise me that as soon as you're done doing that you'll put it away for the rest of the day. Please."

Terri gave her a look that was part apology, part reproach. "You know I can't promise that. Not until I know what's waiting for me on email."

Jenny stamped her right foot down in frustration. "Grrr!"

Terri set the laptop on the floor, reached out and took Jenny's hands in hers. "Jenny..."

"I know. I may not like it, but I understand. Go do what you have to do. Just try to make it quick."

Terri flashed her a grateful smile, picked the laptop back up and headed off towards the front desk. "Be back before you even know it. Go ahead and get us a seat. You can even order for me. You know what I like."

Jenny called back to her, trying her very best to sound more cheerful than she actually felt, "And give you an excuse to take your time? Not a chance. The clock is ticking lady."

She followed along in Terri's wake, veering off as they approached the desk to take a seat in one of the many plush chairs set about the lobby. She watched as her partner inquired at the desk where she might be able to locate an internet connection. Within seconds Terri had her answer and was bounding off, giving her a warm smile as she passed. Jenny did her best to return the gesture but it was half-hearted at best, lacking true conviction.

Jenny's eyes found themselves wondering over to the plate glass window where a week ago she had spied her brother sprawled upon the ground. A small smile came to her lips, the first genuine smile of the morning.

So big brother has himself a new girlfriend. With all this mess going on I'd almost forgotten. It's about time. Maybe she can help straighten him out. Someone sure needs to give it a try.

"Jenny Brookes?"

She turned her head to address the questioner. "Yes?"

The woman was approximately her own age. She was a diminutive blond, pert and adorable in her flower print dress. Her hair was bobbed short, perfectly cut to frame her face which glowed with a radiance of good cheer. Her name was Mia Rivers, and she looked exactly as Jenny remembered her from high school, all the way up in Bristol. Jenny had once counted her as one of her best friends but it had been years since either had any contact with the other.

"Oh, I just knew it was you!" Mia bubbled.

Jenny stood up only to be grabbed into a tight embrace by her long absent friend.

"Whatever are you doing with yourself these days? Did you ever get yourself married? Have any kids yet? You have to tell me everything. I simply must know everything!" Mia peppered her with the questions in rapid fire fashion, leaving Jenny unable to answer any before receiving another. "Come on spill it all. Don't just stand there like a lump."

"I'm doing well." It was all she could manage to say.

"Well, that's not very informative. Details girl, I need details!" Mia sat herself down in one of the chairs and Jenny followed suit.

"Ok, well I'm in school, studying vet med."

"Where at?"

"UCF." Jenny hesitated, then added. "That's in Orlando."

"Oh. Ok....vet med? You mean like you're wanting to work on horses and cows? Or is it cats and dogs?"

Jenny smiled patiently. "Neither really. I'm hoping to eventually work overseas, maybe South America or Africa."

"Really? Why? Those places are so...dangerous. And the people there...ugh!"

Jenny could not help laughing at Mia's reaction. "That's just me I guess. Out to save the world, one critter at a time."

"I thought you would've graduated by now."

"Um, no, not yet. One more year to go for my bachelor's."

Mia leaned over in her chair and touched her arm, lowering her voice to ensure that her words would not be overheard by the idly curious. "You always were something of a late bloomer. The important thing is you're on track now. When I think back on what a mess you were when we met, I can't help but be so proud of you. You've gotten so beautiful. You're making me jealous just looking at you."

"Me, beautiful? You've always been the one with the looks. Not me."

"No, really. You've got that whole Asian mystique thing going for you. It's all the rage these days. The guys go wild for that sort of thing. You're a regular Lucy Liu. Didn't you know?"

Jenny broke eye contact and looked down towards the floor, rendered self-conscious by the unsolicited compliment. It was true that her facial features were suggestive of her Asian heritage. She was one quarter South Korean by blood on her mother's side. But whenever she looked into a mirror all Jenny saw was a very plain, ordinary young woman. She had always regarded herself as simply an American, just like everyone else, not as an Asian-American. It was not that she was embarrassed about her blood line, but rather she had never felt any significant identification with it.

"Ooooh. You're blushing aren't you? That's so cute! So are you married yet? Or are you still looking for Mr. Right?"

Jenny squirmed ever so slightly in her seat. "Um, no. I'm not married. That's kind of a complicated matter for me."

"Oh honey, isn't it always? Believe me I understand completely." Mia raised her right hand, allowing the ring on her finger to catch the lobby's light. The diamond was almost the size of a small pea, set on a ring that Jenny guessed to be made of white gold. She had never really been much into jewelry herself but even a quick glance was enough to inform even a rube like her that, if genuine, the ring had to be worth a small fortune.

"I thought Bradley would never ask me! Took the poor boy almost two years to get up the nerve. Of course I said yes right on the spot. How could I not? When he did finally ask, it was right in the middle of graduation. I had half the Georgia Tech campus watching us. You can't say no at a time like that."

"Bradley?"

"I never told you about him?"

Jenny shook her head. "It's been awhile since we've talked."

Mia laughed. "Oh girl, you ain't kidding. It's been too, too long. Let's trade numbers. I don't want to lose track of you again. Wait right here!"

Mia bounded out of her chair and fairly ran to the front desk. Within seconds she was back again, now armed with a pen and small sheet of plain stationery. She promptly tore the sheet into two halves, handing one to Jenny. Mia hurriedly jotted down a phone number and handed it and the pen over. Mia resumed talking as Jenny wrote her own phone number down.

"Bradley's daddy owns a carpet factory up in north Georgia. He's kind of the local hot shot bigwig where they're from. Who knew that making carpets could bring in so much money? Anyway Bradley's majoring in chemistry, trying to get his masters at GT. I think his daddy about had a royal conniption fit when he found out he'd proposed to me. Naturally he wanted us to wait until after Bradley finished his schooling, but we just couldn't. That's why I'm here now. This is our honeymoon. I got hitched on Monday!" Mia squealed the last sentence, her voice raising high enough to be heard by everyone within sight.

Jenny sat stunned by the sudden outburst, struggling to process everything Mia had thrown at her. "Congratulations!" She eventually managed to croak out.

"Well, this is really only a first honeymoon. When we have more time we'll do it up right and take a cruise like a real married couple. Right now he's so busy with his school work and I have a zillion things to do getting our new house ready in Marietta. You've just got to come and visit us some day, the place is so beautiful. It's like a miniature Tara from 'Gone with the Wind'." Mia leaned over in her chair and did a dreadful impersonation of a Southern belle voice. 'Why, I do declare it's just the most divine! The only thing it's missing is a passel full of niggas to order around.'"

Jenny cringed visibly at Mia's horrendous choice of words.

Mia laughed, "Oh do relax honey. There's not a one in the lobby right now. I checked first. I swear people got no sense of humor anymore. A shame you have to clear everything you say with the NAACP now. People are just way too sensitive these days. You'd think they'd just get over it by now."

"Well..." Jenny hesitantly began to interject.

"I mean they've got half the country already. What else do they want, the other half? Mark my words, the way this country is going to seed they'll have it before too long."

This isn't the Mia I remember. How could she have changed so much in so little time?

"Anyway...Where was I? I done lost my thoughts."

"Umm..."

"Oh yes, the house. You simply must come up and see it some day. It really is gorgeous! It should be, it certainly cost enough. Would you believe more than two million for a home? I suppose it's to be expected when the seller's name is Rosenblatt but still..."

"Anyway, lucky for me Bradley's folks got money to burn so it's not like he can't afford it. And of course once the baby comes I won't have a free minute to enjoy it so best to take it all in now while I have the chance."

"Baby?" Jenny glanced in confusion at Mia's midsection. There was no telltale bump to indicate pregnancy that Jenny could see.

"No, silly!" Mia swatted at her playfully. "I'm not preggo. Heaven forbid! I can't go through all that. Morning sickness, hormones up and down ten times a day, labor; ugh! Even the idea of it gives me the queasies. We're adopting. We've already got a little boy picked out and everything, just waiting for all the paperwork to finish clearing. He's out of...well, it's one of those East European places. Somewhere in Russia I think. They're practically giving away babies like they're party favors." She laughed, amused by her own crude attempt at humor.

"Here I am just taking over the conversation again, like I always do. Why didn't you stop me silly? You've hardly told me a thing about yourself. Go on now, don't be shy. Tell me all."

"Um, well, I..."

"Oh! Wait!" Mia lightly grabbed her arm again, interrupting her before she could begin. "Before you start there's something I just have to say. I was so sorry to hear about what happened. I can't imagine how devastated you must have been when you heard. I simply couldn't believe it myself when I found out. It came as such a shock!"

Jenny looked down into her lap, unable to form a reply. In all the hurly burly of her unexpected reunion with Mia she had forgotten the entire reason she was even back here. A wave of guilt washed over her at the realization.

"But you know, you can never predict these things. I want you to know it's not a reflection on you. Not at all. It's just how it is with those people."

Those people?

"What?"

"Believe me, Billy was the very last person I would've expected to be...like that. I know how easy it is to let yourself be fooled when you've got stars in your eyes. Nobody could ever blame you for not seeing it, certainly not me."

"Mia, what are you talking about?"

"Oh my God! You didn't know? Oh crap! Honey, I hate to be the one to break the news on you, but Billy came out of the closet last week. He's gay. Yeah, I know, it stunned me too. He was our quarterback for Christ's sake. But then last week he had this big scene back home with his parents in the Riverside. Can you believe it? People are in there trying to eat and he just blurts it out like that in front of everybody! He couldn't have made it more public if he'd taken out an ad in the paper."

"Now he's running around Tallahassee without a care, letting everybody know he's queer, acting like he's proud of it or something. I even hear he's got himself a black boyfriend and everything. I just assumed you knew. It's all anybody back in Bristol ever talks about lately."

Jenny could hardly believe her own ears. "Billy came out?"

"Just between us..." Mia leaned over and whispered, "The way I hear it told, Billy's not even the one wearing the pants. I got the scoop from Mary Inger that Billy is the one on the bottom, if you know what I mean." Mia gave an exaggerated shudder to express her opinion on that score.

"I can't even imagine what his folks must think about all this. I'm surprised the shock didn't kill them both outright. You'd think at the very least he'd have the decency to keep it hidden while they're still alive. Now, I've got no problem with gays, as long as they keep it to themselves...Hell, I even voted Democrat the last election. Still there's right and there's wrong. Coming out like he did and making his parents the laughing stock of Liberty County, that was just wrong!"

This is a person I used to call a friend? How could I have been so wrong about her?

"You're absolutely right Mia. You really can't tell about those people. Why, they could be anywhere. There may even be some right here in this motel."

Mia glanced around her apprehensively. "You think so? Of course, you're probably right. Seems they're everywhere you go nowadays. Well, so long as they keep their distance from me it's no skin off my nose. Live and let live they say."

Terri's cheerful voice coming from somewhere behind them startled both equally. "Jenny, honey I'm all done. I'm yours for the rest of the day. I even put away the laptop. Aren't you proud of me?" Jenny nearly bolted out of her chair, Mia rose to a stand only marginally slower.

Jenny smiled earnestly, never so happy to see Terri as she was right now. "Terri, I want you to meet Mia Rivers. She's an old classmate of mine from high school."

Terri came around to stand before them both. "Hello. Nice meeting you."

There was fleeting look of confusion on Mia's face, then a plastic smile, false as any politician's. "Hello. It's nice meeting you. Any friend of Jenny's is automatically my friend too." She leaned over and gave Terri a gingerly hand shake, a demonstration of her newfound friendship.

Jenny beamed out her brightest, most sincere smile. "Terri is so much more than just my friend. That really doesn't even begin to cover it. She's also my partner, my lover, and if those backwater bigots in Tallahassee ever come around, maybe someday she'll even be my wife."

The look of stupefaction on Mia's face was beyond priceless. Jenny positively gloried in the discomfort she knew she was causing. "On second thought Mia, I don't believe I'll be needing this." Jenny held out the piece of torn stationery with Mia's phone number written upon it. She released it from her fingers, allowing it to gently flutter to the ground at their feet. "Terri, would you mind if we had breakfast somewhere else? Maybe at the Flamingo? It's a little too...straight in here for my taste."

Tom

Tom sat on the edge of his bed, the telephone resting on the pillow at his side. In his hand he held a small scrap of paper, a pair of telephone numbers written on it. The handwriting was neat and precise, each stroke of the pen having effortlessly created the digits with the perfect combination of flair and precision.

It's easy to tell that I never wrote it. For one thing, this is actually legible.

Tom laid the paper beside the phone, careful to orient it in such a way as to make it easy to read. With his left hand he reached over and lifted the receiver piece off the phone, preparing to dial the topmost number. His finger paused over the touch buttons.

This is a bad idea. What's worse, I know it's a bad idea. The last thing she needs is for me to muck up her day before it's hardly even begun.

Tom slowly moved to replace the receiver but in the instant before it touched home quickly changed his mind once more. He pressed the buttons rapidly, willing himself to complete the call before sanity returned and directed him to abandon course again. One ring sounded loudly in his ear, then a second, and a third...on the fifth ring he closed his eyes, almost relieved by the thought that his anguished decision had been for nothing.

"Hello?" Anne's voice sounded hurried, rushed, and just a bit out of breath.

"Um...Hi again. It's me, you're friendly neighborhood car crash dummy." Tom grimaced at the stupidity of his nervously induced lame joke.

"Tom! Hi there." Surprisingly she sounded happy to hear from him. Tom had almost convinced himself that she would be angry, tempted to hang up on him as soon as she recognized his voice. A pang of guilt throbbed in his heart for not calling her at all during the past week.

"You sound like you've been running. I hope I didn't call at a bad time."

"No, oh no. It's just that. Well, Michelle and I were just about to go explore the beach. She's been nagging me to take her out on it ever since that night. You've made quite the little monster out of her."

A smile came to his lips. "If only every monster was like her, the world would be a far better place."

"Aren't you the charmer this morning? What's gotten into you?"

Tom felt his face flush red, embarrassed by his obviously clumsy attempt to keep the mood light. "Um...I don't know. I just thought...Look, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll call back later."

"Tom wait!"

He stopped, frozen in place, torn between hanging up and continuing forth. He wanted to talk to her, wanted it so badly it ached, but knowing at the same time just how unprepared he was for what he was attempting.

And just what was that by the way?

"Tom are you still there?"

He gritted his teeth, indecisively contemplating his next move. "Yes, I'm here."

"Would you..." Anne sounded unsure of herself. "Would you like to join us?"

"I..." Tom tried to formulate a polite way to beg off. "Yes. I think I would. I'd like that very much."

Jenny

Jenny opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. Normally she preferred to drive. If she were honest with herself on the matter she might allow that her preference was a form of compulsive behavior, a metaphor describing a subconscious effort to control her destiny by seizing first rights on the steering wheel. Today she had no such desire for anything of the sort. She felt light hearted for the first time in weeks, unburdened by the doubts that had plagued her ever since Terri had suggested their first foray here.

"Mind telling me what that was all about?"

Jenny turned to her left, favoring Terri with an ambiguous grin. "Hmm? What do you mean?"

"I mean that. That smile on your face for starters. What is it I'm missing? I want in on the joke."

Jenny took her time answering, carefully formulating her words. "It's just that I finally came to realize what it is I've been afraid of all this time. I saw it on display back there in a way I've never seen it before."

Terri's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "And?..."

"And I'm not afraid of it anymore."

"Just like that?"

Jenny laughed lightly, amazed by the indescribable sensation of liberation that accompanied her epiphany. "Yes, just like that."

"Because of something she said?"

"No. Not exactly. More like because of what she is. I saw it. For the first time I really saw it, not just what she wanted me to see, but who she really is behind the mask. She's only a petty person, with petty little thoughts. That's all she ever was. That's all that any of them ever are. All the people I've been afraid of my whole life. Just petty people, with petty thoughts. How could I have been afraid of that?"

Terri sat there staring at her silently, then slowly shook her head. "I have no idea what happened back there. I'm not even sure I want to know. But whatever happened, damn skippy! It's about friggen time."

Jenny just smiled back at her, happy to share the experience of the moment with her.

"Um. By the way, did you..." Terri sounded hesitant to continue.

"Did I what?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong Jenny. I think you sort of proposed to me back in there."

Jenny laughed. "You're right. I think I sort of did."

Terri turned to face out the front windshield, gently biting her lower lip. "Did you mean it?"

Jenny took a few seconds to think the question through. "I think I did...Yes, I definitely did. I can't honestly conceive of anybody I'd rather share my life with more than you."

Terri was nervous in a way that Jenny had never seen her before. "Somehow it's not how I pictured it would be. It might be silly to say, but I always thought it would be me that did the proposing. I couldn't though. I was afraid to even let myself think about it."

"You're not going to make me get out of the car and go down on a knee are you?"

"It wouldn't even be legal here. Hell, I'm not sure where it would be. As I said, I never let myself think about it much. I didn't want...I didn't want to hope for something that wouldn't, that couldn't happen."

Jenny reached over and cupped Terri's chin in her hand, turning it back towards her. "Details. Just details. We can work that out later. You still haven't given me an answer."

Tears formed at the corners of Terri's eyes. "Yes! Oh God, yes!"

Tom

Tom reached down, rifled through the discarded pile of clothes and extracted a brightly colored t-shirt. He held it up to his nose and took a deep whiff.

This'll do.

He casually tossed the shirt on top of the dresser and resumed his search. He only needed his pair of shorts now and he would be ready to move on to the next phase of his preparations.

His hand seized the pair of shorts. He held them up and repeated the process, going through the motion without any real thought. A faint odor caught some small remnant of his attention. The shorts had failed the test.

Jeans then, it would just have to be jeans today. He still had a pair of clean, freshly washed jeans hanging within his closet. It was the last pair remaining and they were his least favorite pair at that. The fit on them was slightly too tight around the waist and a half inch too high on the hems but they would do in a pinch like today.

I've got to get down to the laundry mat tomorrow, come hell or high water.

Tom paused, tomorrow was Sunday. They would be closed on Sunday.

Then I'll just have to stop by mom's and...

Tom stood up straight and took a step back, surveying the pile in its entirety. The days when his mother would be there to help with daily life's little unplanned emergencies were over now. Never again would he be able to rely on her to bail him out of a jam whenever he got in over his head.

She's dead, and here I am missing her because of what? Because she's not available to help me with laundry? What the fuck? What does that say about me?

A loud knock sounded from the front of the apartment. Someone was at the front door.

Tom quickly traversed the distance and opened the door, never pausing to ponder who it might be calling on him on a Saturday morning.

It was not a person, but rather two people, two cops to be exact. Standing on the left was Chad Morris, dressed as usual in his uniform. Chad smiled nervously, appearing ill-at-ease with his presence there, but saying nothing. The other man was dressed in civilian clothes, but no less apparent a police officer nonetheless. He wore a set of pressed slacks with a white button down shirt, a pager hung on one hip and a set of expensive looking sunglasses loosely clipped to his shirt pocket. In his left hand he held an accordion manila folder, a string binding it together closed. He was of medium height, his body stocky and powerful. His face was stern, though not unfriendly, merely professional and detached. His hair was cut short, in military style. Everything about his appearance, from his clothing to his physique, even the manner in which he held himself, it all shouted police.

The man extended his hand forward. "Good morning Mr. Brookes. My name is Henry Peebo. I'm the..."

"I know who you are. It's a small town." Tom interrupted, more abruptly than he had actually intended. He could not help feeling a touch of resentment at their presence, their intrusion on his privacy. Why that should be the case he did not entirely understand but something about just seeing the two of them on his front step this morning irritated him. Peebo was not just any cop, he was Isabella's top cop, the one individual in charge of all the rest.

If Chief Peebo took offense at the reception he hid it well. He deftly closed the extended hand into a fist and silently extended a single finger to point at the outside of Tom's door. There was a note taped to the door. Tom knew as soon as he saw it who had left the note and why.

It was a notice from the apartment management, informing him that he was two weeks late with his rent. This was not the first time he had received such notice. During the past year he had become quite accustomed to the monthly dance. If there was anything remarkable about this time it was that he actually had the money on hand in the bank for once. Yesterday had been payday for him. They would have their due on Monday and the cycle would be reset to its starting point once again.

Tom reached out and plucked the note from its place, folding it tightly and stuffing it into his pants pocket without hesitation. "Yes?" He asked, softening his tone.

"Mr. Brookes I was hoping we could come inside for a few minutes to speak with you privately."

"About?..."

Peebo smiled. It was a professional smile, every bit the mark of a policeman as the clothes he wore or the manner in which he wore them. "Officer Morris was the one responsible for informing you of your mother's passing and also for taking your initial statement. I just need to ask you a few questions regarding that statement. I'm only here to have a few points clarified if you will. I assure you it shouldn't take us long at all. May we enter?"

Tom considered the request briefly before stepping back, silently inviting them inside. Once everyone was inside, Chad quietly closed the door behind them.

"Please, take a seat if you'd like." Tom pointed in the direction of the kitchenette bar stools. "As you can probably gather, I don't entertain many guests here."

Chief Peebo glanced around at the apartment. Tom could see that he was taking it all in, noting every detail. Tom suspected that it was probably second nature for the man, most likely an occupational response so deeply rooted that he was no longer even aware of it. "No, that's quite ok. We'll stand. As I said outside, this won't take but a few minutes."

"Can I offer you something to drink then? Soda or water? I have Dr. Pepper in the fridge."

Chad seemed about to answer in the affirmative, but his boss beat him to it, answering for them both. "No. Thank you."

Tom smiled then turned towards the kitchen, speaking as he walked. "Well, I hope you don't think it rude of me if I pour myself something." He really was not that thirsty. However pouring himself a glass of water would force them to wait a bit longer before beginning, and Tom was in no mood to make this any easier than necessary for them.

"You reported that you arrived at your mother's residence at 10:30 that evening. Is that correct?"

Tom frowned as he extracted a glass from the overhead cabinets, any hope he had of delaying the questioning gone.

Why are you here Peebo? What is it you're hoping to get from me?

"More or less. I didn't have a watch handy at the time. I was just estimating when I gave my statement. I could be off as much as half an hour either way."

"I see."

Tom finished pouring the water and returned to the living room. The police chief said nothing further until Tom had settled down into the only comfortable chair available.

"You also reported that when you did arrive she was already in a state of advanced intoxication."

Tom set aside the water without taking so much as a sip. He reached down to his side and lifted up the ashtray, sitting it squarely in his lap. "That's one way to say it I suppose. She had already finished one bottle of wine and was almost done with a second."

"One way to say it? How would you say it then? How intoxicated was she? In your own words."

Tom placed a cigarette between his lips, pulled out a lighter and lit it. He took a deep drag on the cigarette before answering. "In my own words, I'd say she was pretty well plastered."

Peebo nodded, indicating to Tom that he had merely confirmed a fact already known. "You told Officer Morris that she mumbled something but that you were unable to understand her. Is that correct also?"

Tom nodded, "It is."

No fucking way I'm going to tell you what she really said. That's between me, her and that bastard when I see him next.

Peebo looked at him sternly. "Now that you've had a little time to reflect on that night, is there anything you would care to add? Any additions or revisions to your statement?"

Tom hesitated. There was something about the way the question was phrased that sounded suspiciously like a trap. "Nothing comes to mind. No."

"She didn't say anything that would give you a reason to suspect she might be suicidal?"

"She was incoherent. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me."

"What was her apparent emotional state at the time?"

The question infuriated Tom. Before he could stop himself he lashed out verbally. "Pretty fucking bad I'd say. She took her own life that night. So what do you think it was like?"

The look on Peebo's face softened ever so slightly. "Mr. Brookes, I understand you're upset. I know very well why you're upset. We're almost done here. If you'll just be patient a little longer."

Tom struggled to keep his emotions in check. The last thing he needed now was to do anything that would get him hauled down to the station in cuffs. He took another long drag from the cigarette, motioning silently with his hands for Peebo to continue. He watched as the man took his time mulling over his next question.

"I'm curious about something. Why were you there that night?"

"She's my...I mean she was my mother."

"Yes, I know. What I meant was; why were you there that particular night?"

Tom turned his gaze to Chad. The younger man shifted his stance nervously, obviously wishing to be anywhere except for where he was.

He turned back to Peebo, looking directly at the man's eyes. "Should I be contacting a lawyer for this?"

Peebo returned his gaze steadily, "I can't really advise you on that. Is there any reason you would require one?"

"Chief Peebo," Tom's voice was icy cold, "I would appreciate knowing why you're here."

Peebo was silent for a long moment, then apparently coming to some inner decision began undoing the string on the accordion folder he carried. He pulled out a single item from within, it was a sheet of white paper enclosed in plastic. It was easy to see the paper had been crumbled up at some point, the chaotic pattern of haphazard fold lines readily visible.

"Do you recognize this?"

Tom received the missive from Peebo's hands and examined it more closely before passing it back. It was the note he had posted on his mother's door earlier that day.

"Yes. I wrote it."

"So that last line, 'Will come by to talk later', that references you?"

"Yes, it does."

"So...This wasn't just a matter of dropping in on your mother unannounced was it? You were there for a specific reason. My reason for being here today is to find out what your reason might have been that night."

Chapter 16

John

Sunlight filtered down through multiple levels of foliage, dappling the ground in scattered patches of various sizes, in some places as large as an over-sized dinner plate, but in most cases the area of effect being much smaller. The particular ray of sunshine that affected John Foster was one of the smaller varieties, the beam striking his face having a diameter approximately the size of a quarter. It danced from chin to brow erratically as a light breeze gently stirred the branches of the trees above, its warmth tickling him an inch at a time. The sensation irritated and annoyed him, causing him to raise a hand in an attempt to ward off the intruding light. He was sleeping, or trying to sleep at any rate, but nature's alarm clock was proving far too insistent to allow that this morning.

The sunlight flashed across his eyes, causing him to grunt in frustration as he raised his upper torso off his improvised bed of pine needles. He lifted his head, scanning the skies, hoping to see a bank of clouds above that might give him temporary respite, but what little sky he could see among the tree tops was blue in every direction. It was clear to him that he would receive no more sleep so long as the sun remained overhead to torture his existence. He had slept poorly during the night, hardly able to claim an entire, uninterrupted hour of sweet oblivion for himself.

For one thing it had been too cold for his taste. A heavy fog had developed around midnight, condensing into a light mist during the early morning hours. The damp, cool air had clung tenaciously to his skin, seeping into every nook and cranny of his body and causing him to shake and shiver throughout the long night. The temperature had not been freezing, or even remotely close to that mark, but that provided little consolation to John. Fifty degrees might be tolerable under other conditions, even welcomed at times depending on your level of activity, but when you are attempting to sleep among the pine nettles, and you are wearing nothing more substantial than a t-shirt it can quickly become quite troublesome indeed.

Not that the cold had been his only source of torment, far from it. No fewer than four times he had jumped up during the night convinced that some form of wildlife was intent on ending his life. And he had been correct in a fashion, though not necessarily in the way he had envisioned it at the time. In each case the wildlife had proven to be in miniature form, complete with an exoskeleton, pincers, and multiple sets of legs. It would be difficult to find any location in the continental United States with a greater population density or a greater variety of insects than the woodlands of northern Florida. They were quite literally everywhere one looked. Ants, spiders, beetles, palmetto bugs,...the list was endless.

In the end though it had been the dreams that had done the most to deny him the sanctuary of sleep. These had not just been any run-of-the-mill, garden variety sort of dreams though. Oh no. Not last night. Last night the red dreams had returned again.

The last time he had a red dream was more than a year ago, right after that cute little black gal at Hampton Roads, Virginia. She had not fit so tidily into his profile of what a proper target should be. It had mostly been a case of opportunity versus any real desire, and on that occasion he had taken the easy road. For one thing she had been a fair sight younger than most of the girls he went after, perhaps as young as fourteen or fifteen. More importantly however was the fact that she obviously had not come from any background of wealth and privilege as his other victims had. She was merely a girl that had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and on that basis alone he had chosen her. For that reason his conscience had bothered him just a smidge afterwards, raising up out of the darkness in which it normally hid quiescent. It had taunted him for days afterwards, mocking his rationale for his actions, persistently nagging at him to abandon his mission.

John hated having a conscience, it was never any good for anything. All it did was introduce self doubts, doubts that a man like him could ill afford to harbor. For the most part he was usually quite successful in keeping that useless beast chained up and locked away in the deepest dungeon of his mind, but every once in a blue moon it would howl its disapproval. It was that howl that would awaken the red dreams; dreams of death and blood, and always at the end would come an appearance by his father.

John shook his head, trying in vain to clear it of any such useless thoughts. Best to concentrate on the here and now. Let the past stay past. His father was long since dead and gone anyway, and good riddance to the old sanctimonious bastard. His father might even be happy being dead. He was always going on and on about joining Jesus in the afterlife. If so then fine, John would just as soon stay with the devil if that was the case. True hell, would be an eternity spent in heaven side-by-side with that man, having to spend each and every day listening to yet another one of his sermons, not a lake of fire with demons poking at him with pitchforks.

I don't know why you ever took to Jesus so much anyway pappy. About the only thing he ever did that you actually would've approved of is to flog the moneychangers. You always were an Old Testament kind of guy deep down in your soul. I imagine you're up there right now egging God on, telling him he needs to send us another flood to wash the world clean again. Only you'd be telling him to do the job right, no arks necessary this time around.

John backpedaled across the ground, setting his back up against the trunk of a towering pine tree, the rough bark dug into his backside but he did not care, it was a small price to pay for his continuing freedom. If he had to stay out in these woods all spring that was what he would do. Whatever it might take to stay out of prison he would happily do without a word of complaint. Not that it was in any way his intention to do so. One benefit of having a fitful night's rest was that he had had plenty of time to contemplate his next course of action. For the time being he was stuck here, but opportunities to escape his present surroundings would arise, he knew that deep in his heart as surely as day followed night. All he needed to do was to be patient and bide his time.

Well patience was one thing he needed, but not the only thing. He would need food, water, and some form of shelter as well. In his younger days he had hunted frequently in the woods surrounding Isabella, all across the county in fact, but most especially in the vicinity of where he was at this very moment. But hunting for an afternoon, or even camping out overnight with the usual assortment of gear and supplies typical for such an excursion, was a far cry indeed from actually having to survive out here for any length of time with little more than the clothes on your back.

Water would be the most critical need. The irony was that it was all around him. He knew there would be a creek not very far from here, in truth it was only a glorified ditch with water weeds choking it nearly dry, but that was hardly a potential source of good drinking water. Drinking any of the water found naturally nearby would pose a far greater threat to his life than anything, or anyone, that walked on legs, whether that was two legs, four, or even eight.

The cemetery! I'll bet they have a spigot or two out there, and it's isolated enough that I'll be able to come and go as I please without anyone being the wiser. The woods around there might actually have a little game in them too, if it hasn't all been hunted out already. At the very least I should be able to catch myself a coon or a possum, not exactly a meal fit for a king perhaps, but in a day or two I won't be in a position to give a damn.

John reached reflexively to his right hip, comforted when his fingers found the familiar bump at his side and felt the hardened object within, his hunting knife.

Good. I may not have much but at least I've got that. Not like I'm gonna run an animal down with it, but if I get my hands on one I can slit it's throat easy enough.

He struggled to his feet, there was no reason to delay, the faster he got on his feet and got going the sooner he would be able to drink his fill. After only three steps he stopped, there was a nagging feeling coming from below his right arm. He lifted his arm and with his left hand felt the skin immediately below the armpit, locating the source of his discomfort right away. There was a bump there, in a place hidden from sight but easily felt by his fingers. He took a second to feel it out before isolating it with his fingernails and giving a quick sharp tug. John winced as the offending insect was plucked from his side.

A tick. A fucking tick. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if I had more on me somewhere. I forgot just how much I hate this Grizzly Adams shit.

He hastily wiped the insect body off onto the trunk of the tree he had previously leaned against and then resumed walking in the direction that he believed the cemetery would lie. Less than five minutes later the tick was forgotten. He would not give it a second thought for the remainder of the day.

Tom

Tom was aghast at the implied suggestion. "You think I had something to do with her death? You think I killed my own mother?"

Chief Peebo shook his head, "No Mr. Brookes. That is not what I think, and I certainly did not intend to suggest anything of the sort. The ME report on your mother's death is pretty well cut and dried. Everything is perfectly consistent with your statement and there is nothing to suggest that it was anything other than what it appears to be."

"Intentional or not, your mother died by her own hand. If I thought otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation here. We'd be down at the station instead, and you would be talking into a tape recorder right now. It's not the manner of her death that concerns me, it's her motivation for doing it that does." Peebo took a deep breath and sighed, then looked behind him at the pair of bar stools. Selecting the nearest one he sat down heavily and collected his thoughts before continuing. "You're familiar with a man named John Foster?"

"Yes."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He used to be my mother's boyfriend, a very long time ago."

"How long ago?"

"He left town ten years ago."

"Has she had any contact with him since that time?"

Tom searched his memory, then shook his head. "Not that I'm aware of."

"That night, when you last saw your mother, did she mention him in any way?"

Tom glanced down at the floor, taking a deep breath before uttering the lie. "No. As I said, she was incoherent. Nothing she said was recognizable."

The room went silent for several long seconds.

"And your reason for being there that night?"

"Because of Jenny, my sister."

"Jenny?" Peebo glanced down at the plastic covered paper in his hands.

"Jenny is my sister. She and my mother had an argument a couple of nights previous. It was a private matter between the two of them. The reason I went to mother's was to play diplomat, they weren't exactly on the best of speaking terms with each other. If you really have to know more about it then you'll need to speak with her. All I can say is that it had nothing to do with John."

Peebo nodded, "Fair enough...In your opinion, what sort of man is Mr. Foster?"

"In my opinion? I think he's a fucking asshole. But that's just my opinion."

Chad broke out with a strangled burst of laughter. "I'm sorry." He muttered, as he took a seat on the remaining stool.

Peebo ignored Chad, keeping his focus firmly on Tom. "When they were together he resided here. Correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever observe any use of violence? Was he abusive in any way? Either to your mother or to anyone else?"

Tom raised his head to look directly at Peebo. "No. I never saw that. He was an ass, but I never saw him do anything violent."

Doubt and suspicion seemed to flash across Peebo's face for an instant. He paused momentarily before continuing. "Ok, last question and then we're done. Were you aware that on the day she died your mother met with Mr. Foster?"

"What?!" Tom was completely stunned by the question.

She never told me that. It makes sense though now that I think on it. I should've figured that out myself. Idiot!

"Earlier that afternoon she talked with him. We have credible reports that she had a conversation with him outside the Shop N' Save. Afterwards your mother appeared to be emotionally distressed, distressed enough that she left work two hours early. I'd very much like to know what was said during that conversation."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't say. I didn't know about that." It was perhaps the most truthful response he had given yet.

Peebo tapped the folder against his leg. He looked to Tom like a man desperately trying to come up with one last question to ask. Finally he stopped and said, "Ok Mr. Brookes, I think that about covers it. I know this hasn't been easy for you. I appreciate your help, especially considering the circumstances. I understand what it is you're going through right now, more than you can realize."

"Really? How so?"

"Tom...May I call you that?"

Tom nodded his head, giving assent without speaking.

"Tom, you're not the only person who's lost a family member to suicide. In my case it was a sister, when I was just a little younger than you are now."

Stay calm. Stay focused. Don't lose it. Not now.

Tom looked down at the ashtray sitting in his lap. The cigarette he had lit earlier had completely burned to the filter. Tom could not recall having smoked it. He pulled another from the pack and lit it.

Both of his visitors stood up as one, preparing to leave.

"Before you go, I have a question for you now."

"Yes?"

"Why the questions about John? What did he do?"

Peebo began tapping the folder against his leg once more, hesitating before answering. "I'm very sorry. I can't discuss that with you, not yet. All I can say is that he is a person of interest to us."

"So, you come here and ask me all these questions, but you won't answer one of mine? Is that how it works?"

Peebo's face was a stone mask.

Tom had a flash of desperate inspiration. "What if I had something? Something I haven't told you yet?"

"What would that be?"

Tom gave a bitter laugh in reply. "You've got to be kidding me. You've had all the free answers you're going to get out of me. The next one is going to cost you. An answer for an answer."

Peebo stared at him indecisively, then tapped Chad on the shoulder. "Why don't you go take a walk outside and wait for me there?"

Chad looked from one face to another and then back again. Without a word he walked to the door, opened it and stepped outside. The sound of the door closing again resonated loudly in the small apartment.

Chief Peebo sat back down on his stool. "Don't get cute Tom. I'm not here to play games with you."

Tom's voice hardened, stiffened by resentment, "My mother's dead. You're here asking about someone I haven't seen in ten years. Don't you think I have a right to know why? You said you knew how I felt. If it were you sitting here wouldn't you want to know?"

Peebo locked eyes with him, "Ok then...An answer for an answer."

"Why are you after John?"

"You heard about what happened on the cape last week?"

"The only thing that rings a bell is that some guy beat up his girlfriend pretty bad. I think somebody said she was a spring break girl."

Peebo shook his head, "No, we know where the boyfriend was and he wasn't even close. And she wasn't just beat either. She was raped, mutilated, and left for dead."

"You think John did it?"

"I'm not saying that. We'd just like to speak with him is all."

"So you don't know where he is right now."

Peebo glanced at the door, avoiding Tom's gaze. "That's right. We don't, but we'd sure like to."

Tom eased back in his chair, thinking over everything he had just learned.

"My turn now. What is this something you haven't said yet?"

"I saw him. The night my mother died. He was at BurgerMeister. He recognized me. I could tell by the way he was looking at me, but I didn't recognize him at the time. It was only later that I made the match in my head. He's changed a lot in ten years."

"What time that night?"

"Maybe 9:30, maybe 10:00. It was before I went to mother's."

"Have you seen him since then?"

"No." Tom anticipated the next question. "Believe me I've got no reason to cover for him. If I knew where he was I'd tell you."

"That's it then? That's all you had?" Peebo shook his head disgustedly. Whatever he had been hoping to get, that clearly was not it. "Ok. Your turn again. Make this one good though, it'll be your last."

"What do you have on him that makes you think he did this thing?"

"No. I won't go there. Any questions pertaining to evidentiary material are strictly off limits. No way I want this coming back on me for that shit. Try again."

Make it good he said. What question do I need answered more than any other?

"You said that you didn't know where he is. Make a guess. Where do you think he might be?"

Peebo glared back at him suspiciously. "Why do you need to know that?"

"You told me to make it good. That's the best I've got left."

"Tom, stay away from him. Don't look for him. Don't talk to him. Don't even think about him. If you see this guy you back away as fast as you can and you call us. You have no idea just how dangerous he could be. This is a man who has spent six out of the last ten years in prison. He has warrants for his arrest in two different states. We have reason to think that wherever he is he's armed, and if he did do this thing on the cape...Well, whoever did it is one sick fucker."

Tom was far from satisfied. "You can use the word 'allegedly' if you want. The truth is, you think he did it. Don't you? You wouldn't have told me as much as you have if you didn't. You need something from me still, something that you think will nail him."

"Did he do it?...I don't really know Tom. You know him better than me. Is John the kind of guy that could do something like that? Is he capable of rape?"

Tom nodded. "Yes." The answer came softly, under other circumstances the word may have been lost in the air. That morning, in that apartment, it sounded out in the still air with a deafening thud.

"You're right though. There is one last thing I need from you, then I'll be on my way. What did she really say to you that night?"

"I told you..."

"Cut the bullshit Tom. There's a reason your buddy Chad is cooling his heels outside and I'm the one in here talking to you. I've been at this job a bit longer and I've had enough experience to know when someone is covering. I wouldn't plan any trips to Vegas if I were you. Frankly, you've got a lousy poker face. So...Let's try again. What did she tell you?"

"You never answered my last question. I'm still one up on you."

"Tom...I like you, but you're starting to piss me off right now. This is no time for games, I already told you that. So cut the crap!"

"You said earlier that you think he's armed. How so?" Tom did not actually expect an answer. The question was an attempt to stall for time and nothing else.

Peebo surprised him though, "On Monday your uncle reported the theft of a semi-automatic firearm from his shop. We believe John may have it. If anybody asks, you got that from Nate, not from me. Do you understand? Are we clear on that?"

Tom nodded dumbly.

"Good, now you know what I want. Time to pay up."

If I tell, everyone will know. She's gone now. Can I do that to her? Can I do that to myself. Even if I did tell him what good would it do anyway? It happened ten years ago, there's no way they can prosecute now. The only thing it might do is convince him he's on the right track, but I think he already knows that.

"I..."

Peebo waited for him to continue but Tom could not. His tongue felt numbed as though he had just returned from the dentist's office.

"Ok...Still not convinced huh? Take a look at this."

Peebo reached back into his accordion folder and pulled out a glossy photograph. It was a beautiful young girl of Hispanic descent, her smile was bright and joyous, a twinkle lit her eyes. "Her name is Melina Menendez. She graduated with honors from high school and she's enrolled at the University of Georgia as a sociology major. She's eighteen, and a freshman this year. That picture was taken six months ago. Whereas this picture..." He pulled another photo out from the folder. This one showed what Tom could only assume was the same girl, bandaged and unconscious, laying upon a hospital bed. A breathing tube was taped into her mouth, an IV line plugged into her left arm, "...was taken three days ago."

"Take a good look. You might notice that her eyes are bandaged over. That's because someone took them out." Peebo's voice shook with emotion, his detached professionalism all but lost. "He pulled them out of her head with his fingers one by one...His fucking fingers Tom! That's who we're dealing with here. If there's something you know that'll help me, let me know right now. I don't have any more time to dick around with you."

Tom felt the bile rising in his throat. His skin paled and he felt a chill racing through his entire being.

"What did your mother say to you? Last chance, then I'm gone."

"You won't be able to use it anyway."

"Let me be the judge of that. If you're right then it'll stay here in this room. If you're wrong though, and someone else turns up like her..." Peebo gestured at the photos.

Tom looked up at Peebo, the photos fell from his fingers, across his lap, and onto the floor. "John raped her...ten years ago. That's what she said."

Anne

"Michelle Arianne Roche! You march your little fanny down here right this instant!...I'm not fooling around. Right now! I mean it!" Anne counted down slowly in her own head, slowly ticking off each digit between 10 and 0. The only sound that could be heard was the steady pounding of surf coming from the open patio doors behind her. From above there was only silence.

3...2...1..."NOW!"

At last Anne heard the soft click of a door opening and the almost inaudible creak of feet hesitantly treading across the second story's wooden floors. It took her daughter the better half of a minute to traverse a distance that under ordinary circumstances she would have bounded across in less than five seconds. Eventually Michelle arrived at the head of the staircase, her head hanging down, eyes cast firmly down at her own feet. Whatever residual anger Anne may have harbored dissipated upon first sight, not that there had really been much true anger there in the first place, her voice had mostly been amplified by fear and anxiety, not anger.

"Come on down." Anne did her best to modulate her tone, trying to sound firm without crossing over the line into terrifying. She took several deep breaths to steady herself as she waited patiently for her child to descend the stairs.

"Michelle, explain this." Anne held up the deformed mass of plastic that had once been a Tupperware container, small drops of brown liquid pooled at its base before falling to the tile floor below.

"I was hungry." Her daughter's voice was timid and frightened. Something deep inside Anne's heart broke at the sound of it.

"Go sit down on the sofa. I'll be right back. We're going to have a little talk." Anne stalked off to the kitchen and tossed the plastic slag into the trash can. Without actually intending to she cast her gaze back towards the microwave. Well, it had been a microwave this morning. The description 'scrap metal' seemed more appropriate now. Even with the kitchen windows opened wide and a steady breeze blowing into the room, there was the strong, distinctive odor of melted plastic permeating the air. Black scorch marks marred the counter where it sat, running up the wall behind it, and terminating in a large charred circle painted on the ceiling directly above.

Fortunately the flames had all been contained within the oven itself, but the fire had resulted in billowing clouds of black smoke pouring forth, thick acrid smoke that had nearly caused her to retch immediately upon racing into the room. The oven was a total loss to be sure, and the counter section it had sat on would need to be replaced. As to the rest...perhaps a repainting would suffice.

It really could've been worse, much worse. If I had been even a minute slower getting here the whole house might've gone up. The fire may have been contained when I got here but that doesn't mean it would've stayed that way. If those curtains over the windows had caught that would've been all she wrote. Besides, smoke can kill just as surely as open flame. Any way you slice it this was way too close for comfort.

Anne returned to the living room. Michelle sat on the sofa, her head downcast, quietly awaiting her mother's judgment. Anne flopped down into a matching tan colored, plush chair without saying a word. She sat there, giving herself time to compose herself before she spoke. The suspense of waiting appeared to unnerve her daughter almost as much as anything Anne could have said to her. Michelle raised her head and furtively glanced over at her mother before quickly lowering her face again.

"Come here, stand in front of me."

Michelle rose from the sofa and reluctantly complied. Anne reached out and took her hands in her own, flipping them both over to examine the palms. She twirled her daughter around slowly in place, her eyes making a quick inventory to assure herself that there was no sign of injury. Once Michelle was once again facing her, Anne tugged on her arms, gently bringing her forward. Anne wrapped her arms around her, embracing her in a bear hug, in this case a she-bear hug.

"Oh baby, you scared me so much. Don't ever, ever do that again. Do you hear me?"

"Yes mommy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't. I know. But you did anyway. Whenever you're hungry come tell me, and maybe I'll make something for you. Don't ever go messing around with the kitchen stuff without me being there to watch."

"I'm sorry."

Anne released her daughter and stood up. "Ok, well hmmm. We've got quite a mess in there now. Want to help me try to clean it up a little?"

Michelle silently nodded her head.

"Ok, first things first. Go to the bathroom and get me a towel and a couple of wash rags and then meet me in the kitchen. Ok?"

The phone rang. Anne's first instinct was to ignore it, but curiosity got the better of her and she leaned over to read the caller ID number flashing across the screen. "Michelle wait...sit back down on the sofa for a minute. Mommy needs to take this."

Anne picked up the receiver. "Hi Dad." She tried, with only minimal success, to keep her exasperation out of her voice.

"Gramps?" Michelle looked up in eager anticipation, her scolding already a receding memory.

"Shh..." Anne held a single finger to her mouth calling for quiet.

"Hey there princess. How are you two getting along down there?"

"Well, other than Michelle scaring about twenty years off my life we're doing fine. Um...I'm glad to hear from you, would absolutely love to talk, but do you think I could possibly call you back a little later? We have a bit of mess that needs attending to."

"Sure, sure, but before you hang up I have a very quick question for you. Has Bob called or contacted you in any way down there?"

Anne frowned. His father knew Robert hated the shortened moniker, and thus was always sure to call him by it. Her father had hardly ever allowed an opportunity to antagonize him to pass without taking full advantage, and that had been true from the very beginning when Robert was still just another prospective boyfriend.

Why would Robert be calling me now? For that matter how would he be calling me? He has no idea where I am.

"Um...no. As far as I know he doesn't have this number."

"Ok, good. Call me back as soon as you get a chance. You can reach me at this number for the rest of the day."

"Dad, what's this about?"

"It's nothing really. It can wait until later. Just...don't wait too long."

"Dad, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"You know what. If you have something to say just spill it. I'm not up for playing guessing games today."

Her father hesitated before answering back. "It's just that...his lawyer has filed a motion attempting to set aside the divorce settlement. Now, don't worry, there's nothing to it. He knows it, I know it, and his lawyer knows it. They're just trying to go back to the honey pot after the lid's been closed. That's all this is."

"He can't do that. The divorce is already final."

"No, he can't. This is all just grandstanding. They're just hoping I'll throw money at them to go away. "

"He wants more money?! I thought divorce was supposed to go the other way, with the wife leeching the husband. I was more than fair with him."

"Well, women's liberation and all...You wanted equality, and now you've got it. It's an equal opportunity leeching game now."

"That's not funny."

"Anne, don't get yourself in a tizzy over this. I've already contacted Ben Overstein. Between the two of us we'll get this taken care of without you needing to worry about it. In fact, I've got a copy of your settlement in front of me right now. It's airtight solid. Ben did good by you. Of course I knew he would, he's one of the best in the state. I wouldn't have sent you to him otherwise. I just wanted you to hear about this from me before Bob could track you down and try to scare you with this. If he does contact you say nothing. You tell him to do his talking to Ben. Got it?"

Anger rose up from deep within. "On what basis is he filing?"

"They're claiming you misrepresented your wealth potential, that you deliberately falsified your asset disclosure."

"That's bull..." Anne stopped, mindful of her daughter's presence. "...that's a crock. I listed everything, even that stupid little moosehead he just had to have."

"It's a portfolio of stocks and bonds they're talking about here."

What stocks and bonds? I listed all of those I owned. Unless...

"You don't mean Michelle's trust do you?"

Her father was slow to reply, "Yes. That's his excuse of the hour."

"That's not mine. It's Michelle's. That's her college fund he's talking about."

"Yes, but you are named as executor for it."

Anne cursed silently, "Ok, whatever. So what is it he's asking for now?"

Again there was a long pause before her father answered. His next words threatened to freeze her blood. "They're requesting joint custody of Michelle, along with attendant child support payments."

Chapter 17

Tom

Tom lay nearly prone on the beach. His legs, crossed at the knees, stretched out before him. His torso was propped up at an angle and supported by his arms, the elbows digging twin furrows in the sand at his sides. The sun hung motionless, high in the sky above him, reflecting brightly off the sugar white sand. There was a strong, steady wind coming in off the Gulf of Mexico, almost approaching gale force strength. The water foamed and churned, the waves angrily beating against the shore sending periodic bursts of spray into the air. Tom could taste the salt on his lips carried there by the gusty winds.

Approximately fifteen yards ahead of him Michelle also sat on the beach, though she was engaged in a far more industrious task. The small girl was building a sand castle, or at least he assumed she was attempting to build one. From his current vantage point it looked a good deal more like a sand mountain than a castle, or perhaps if you allowed your imagination to take hold you might even be able to say it resembled a sand tower. She was piling on fresh material energetically, striving in vain to keep pace with the rate at which the winds blew away the upper most granules. A particularly ambitious wave crested and broke near the shore, sending a burst of moisture airborne that quickly atomized before raining back down as a diffuse shower of sea spray. Michelle looked up and stared out to sea, a puzzled expression on her face.

If the tide starts coming in I'll need to go fetch her back. She's still a fair piece inland, but that water is looking nasty today.

"Sorry Tom, but she's still a little too young for you to start dating yet."

Tom turned and stared at Anne, hardly comprehending what she had said. "What?"

Anne sat nearby on a large beach towel, her knees spread widely apart, the legs crossing at the ankles. She was dressed in a pink t-shirt with the words 'Pink Power Pawns!' boldly printed down the back along with matching pink colored shorts. Her legs were well toned, her calves sculpted to perfection by recreational exercise of one variety or another.

"You've been watching her like a hawk ever since we sat down. I think I'm starting to get a little jealous here."

Tom smiled apologetically. "I've never spent much time around children. Not even when I was one myself. I guess I just find her fascinating to watch."

"Great. The next time I need a babysitter I'll give you a call and you can fascinate yourself all evening long. Just don't let her get anywhere near your microwave."

Tom turned his head back towards Michelle. "I wouldn't know the first thing about being a babysitter."

Anne laughed, "Relax Tom. I'm just kidding you."

"Oh. Ok." For some strange, inexplicable reason he felt a small pang of disappointment.

Of course she was kidding. I'm hardly babysitter material. Don't be stupid.

"You never babysat Jenny when you were growing up? You're a little older than her right?"

"Maybe a few times, but never when she was as young as Michelle. We're only two years apart."

"I see. Anyway, I wouldn't want to inflict that kind of torture on you. I like you too much for that. Wait till you do something to really tick me off and then ask me if you want the gig."

"I would you know...Want the gig that is."

"Really?" Anne cocked her head in a pose expressing skepticism. "Tom you're a strange man. Most guys would run away screaming at the idea."

"Never claimed to be normal."

"Well now, that's comforting. Any other job qualifications in addition to your abnormality?"

Tom turned back to her and flashed a winning smile. "I make a mean skillet of burger beans."

"Burger beans? What's that? Sounds...a little disgusting actually."

"Oh, now I'm insulted. It's my own little concoction. It's really pretty good, if I do say so myself."

"Is that so?"

"Oh definitely, come over some time and I'll prove it for you. I just hope you don't have a weak stomach. I like to spice it up Cajun style."

Anne winced. "How spicy are we talking here? We Ohio gals aren't known for our culinary daring. Cleveland is strictly meat and potatoes territory."

"I'll go easy on you then. You'll only need one pitcher of beer to wash it down."

Anne reached to her side and scooped up a handful of sand. "I knew it. You just want an excuse to get me drunk so you can have your way with me." She tried to throw the sand at Tom, but the wind picked up the fine grains in midair and rained them back down on her. Anne shrieked in dismay as she was coated with the gritty textured substance.

"Serves you right." Tom stuck his tongue out at her like a child on a playground.

"Oh...You've done it now! This means war buddy!" Anne jumped to her feet, quickly reached down and scooped up two more large handfuls of sand and dashed at Tom, grinning crazily as she charged him. He never stood a chance. Before he could even begin to react she was on him, hurling the sand down at him with mock fury.

Tom rolled over, simultaneously rising to his knees so that now he was crawling across the beach on all fours. Anne refused to let up her assault, continually grabbing handfuls of sand and dumping them on his backside. Tom raised his right hand and waved it behind him in a gesture of submission. "I give, I give. Uncle!"

Anne sneered, "Too easy! Come on, fight like a girl!"

Tom made a sudden lunge forward. With a combination of speed and grace he would never have thought himself capable of, he rose to his feet as he barreled forward, outracing her poorly aimed handfuls of sand. He sprinted several feet forward and spun around to face her, his mouth opened wide in a joyful grin. The two of them faced off against each other, their arms at their sides, their legs spaced widely apart in classic Sumo wrestler stance. Anne made a feint to her left before plunging to her right, squealing in glee as Tom pursued. At first she easily outdistanced him, but after running only a dozen yards or so she turned and attempted to run past him. This time he was prepared for her sudden change of direction and perfectly timed his interception trajectory, his arms coming around her at the waist. He gave a heave and lifted her off the beach with ease, placing her over his right shoulder as if he were a Viking raider preparing to claim his prize. She squirmed and struggled in vain, pinioned in place by his right arm.

"Let me go! Let me go!" She cried, but her protest was no more persuasive than her flailing.

"Me Tarzan, you Jane. Me strong!" Tom took one step forward...and tripped. His right foot failed to fully clear the sand as it moved forward and both of them tumbled clumsily to the sand below. Despite the soft ground, the unexpectedness of their impact briefly knocked the wind out of both of them. They were breathing heavily by now, their exertions starting to take its toll on them. With one final surge of strength Tom flipped Anne over onto her back, climbed over to straddle her with his knees on either side of her chest, and pinned her arms behind her head with his hands. She looked up at him and grinned in triumph, as though it were she that had been victorious, not him.

Tom lowered his head, intending to kiss her when his peripheral vision detected movement on his right. He snapped his head up and came face to face with Michelle. Her hands clenched at her sides in tiny fists. Tom had just enough warning to enable him to close his eyes before the powdery sand struck him square in the face. The sound of laughter rang in his ears. No music ever sounded half so beautiful.

Anne

"I don't want to..." Michelle was forced to stop speaking long enough to emit an extended involuntary yawn, "...go to sleep. I want to watch tv with Tom. Cosby show is coming on next."

"No more arguments from you. Remember you're still on probation for that little stunt in the kitchen earlier." Seeing the look of recognition slowly coming across her daughter's face Anne nodded. "Yeah, that."

"I forgot."

"Yeah right, sure you did. Hoping that I'd forgot is more like it."

Michelle started to head up the stairs when she stopped and turned around. "What does pro...proba..." She struggled to pronounce the unfamiliar new word.

"Pro-ba-tion. It means you need to be on your very, very best behavior until I do forget."

A pouty look came over the girl's face but she nevertheless resumed her upward march towards her bedroom. Anne had little doubt she would be asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, Cosby show be damned. Anne stood at the foot of the stairs long enough to satisfy herself that Michelle really had gone to her bedroom and was not merely loitering in the upstairs hallway awaiting a moment of inattention to slip back down.

Anne raised her right hand and lightly rubbed her left arm. The skin was noticeably warm to the touch, in perfect harmony with the slight reddening that had already become visible. Anne had insisted before going out that her daughter make liberal use of sunscreen but she herself had neglected to heed her own advice. It was an oversight that she knew she would come to regret over the course of the next few days.

We were only out there for two hours, and it wasn't even that warm today. How on earth did I burn in only two hours?

Anne yawned.

I guess you're not the only one that could use a nap little munchkin. Mommy's tired too. All that sunlight makes a body sleepy.

She glanced back at the doorway leading out onto the sundeck.

One little detail to take care of first though. I hate to send a guest packing so early in the evening but what must be done, must be done.

Anne retraced her steps back to the deck. The sight that awaited her brought her up short. Tom stood with his back to her about five or six feet away. He had taken off his shirt and was lazily shaking the sand out of it. The muscles of his lightly tanned, bare back flexed and rippled in tune with his movements, the motion of his body possessing a hypnotizing quality that stifled the words she had intended to speak. Tom was thinner, more wiry than her usual taste in men, but as she stood there watching it mattered not a whit to her. He was a man, young and virile, and Anne was a woman too long without a mate. Those two facts combined to form a powerful pull of physical attraction demanding her attention.

Having finished shaking the sand out to his satisfaction he lifted the shirt up and began to redress himself. Anne cleared her throat, announcing her presence. Tom turned to face her even as the shirt settled back into place.

"Oh, hello there again." The smile on his face was one of mild embarrassment.

"Um hi. Would you like something to drink? Water, pop, grape juice maybe?" Her earlier plan to send him on his way was completely forgotten by this point. "I think I even have a few Corona's in the fridge if you'd prefer."

"Pop?"

"Yeah, I've got Coke and Sprite."

"Oh...um...I guess Sprite then. Thanks."

"No problem. Grab yourself a seat..." Anne pointed to a trio of deck chairs at the far end of the patio, "I'll be right back."

Within a span of only a couple of minutes she had returned holding a glass of the clear, fizzy soda for him, and one of the three remaining bottles of Corona Gold for herself. Tom sat back in the reclining chair, his eyes searching the far horizon.

"What are you looking at?" Anne placed the drinks down onto the deck and turned to stare out at the open waters, shielding her eyes from the lowering sun with her right hand.

"Oh, nothing really. I was just looking, but at nothing in particular."

"Hmmm...." Anne settled down in the neighboring chair. "Perhaps you're looking for your ship to come sailing in."

Tom laughed. "With my luck it'd be more like a dinghy."

"Maybe that's your problem then. You're on the lookout for the wrong boat."

Tom shrugged his shoulders as though it made little difference to him what form 'his ship' might take, if indeed it came at all. He reached down and plucked his glass off the deck, draining much of its contents in one long steady gulp.

"Thirsty much?"

"Yeah, guess I was at that."

"Need a refill?"

He shook his head negatively. "No, that's ok. I'm good now."

He set his glass back down and once again turned his attention back to the turbulent gulf shore. This far from the water's edge the wind had diminished greatly, becoming little more than a zephyr.

"Penny for your thoughts."

A slow smile crossed his face. "I wouldn't want to cheat you. My thoughts aren't worth that much."

"Let me be the judge of that. Try me."

Tom gave a small sigh, his chin dipped a fraction of an inch. "Ok then. I was thinking of her."

"Who?..."

"Mom."

"Oh...I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..."

"It's ok. You didn't."

"Do you want to talk about it then?"

He turned to face her. At first Anne had the sense that he did want to do just that, but he merely shook his head. "No. I really don't. I don't even want to be thinking about it. I guess that's why I came here today...I'm sorry. That didn't come out sounding the way I meant it to sound."

"Not at all. I think I understand what you meant."

"You know how she died?"

The word 'suicide' came instantly to her mind but she checked herself before uttering the dreadful word. "Yes." Was all she allowed for an answer.

He looked out over the water. He was silent for almost a full minute before his next words came. "I could have saved her you know. If I'd just stayed there that night. I could've saved her."

Anne reached a hand out and laid it gently on his arm. "Tom don't think like that. There's nothing good down that road."

"Yes, I know that. It's hard not to think it though, because it's true."

"Tom there's no way you could have known..."

"But I did." He interrupted her before she could finish. "Or, at least I should have. You're right I didn't know at the time, but looking back on it now, it was all as plain as day. I should have known. I should've stayed."

"Tom, no. Don't do that. Don't judge yourself with might have beens or should have beens."

Tom pulled his arm away from her. "It's fine. I'm dealing with it. You can't change what's been done so you have to learn to deal with it. Right?" He stood up from his chair and took two steps forward before leaning across the deck rail, his hands dangling over the far side.

What do I say now? Nothing I say is going to change what he thinks. Only time will do that.

So instead of saying anything she only waited, listening for whatever might come next.

"Mind if we switch to another topic? The last thing I want is to be the resident downer. Let's try something a bit more upbeat." Tom was trying hard to sound cheerful, but the tone beneath the words came out sounding weary and tired.

"Sure, whatever you want to talk about."

"Hmmm...What about you then? I still hardly know a thing about you."

Anne gave a small laugh in reply. "That's a dangerous subject to bring up. Are you sure you want me to start talking about myself?"

"Absolutely positive."

"Ok. What would you like to know?"

"Surprise me. Lady's choice."

"Well, I've already told you about Robert, and how I met him at Kent..."

"What was your major?"

"Art history...Please don't give me the look."

Tom laughed lightly. "What look?"

Anne stood and crossed the deck to stand beside him. "That look that everybody gives me whenever I tell them. I've seen it way too many times already. That look that says 'Why on earth would you waste your time with that?'"

"Nothing could have been further from my mind. I don't think that's a waste of time at all. If anything, I envy you for it."

"Really?"

"Honest. Cross my heart and hope..."

"No!" Anne grabbed his hand before he could complete the gesture. "Don't do that! Don't ever do that."

Tom froze in place, puzzlement written plainly on his face.

"Sorry. I'm normally not superstitious. It's just that one thing. Please never do that around me. Ok?"

A small nod of the head served as his assent to her request. "Anyway, my point was that I don't think it's a waste. At least you went to college and got yourself a degree."

"You never went?"

"Me? You're kidding right? Do I look like college material to you?"

"Why not? And yes, to be honest, you do...to me at least."

"Oh no. Not me. I wasn't smart enough for that sort of thing."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"You're always putting yourself down. You seem plenty smart enough to me. Way smarter than a lot of the people I went to Kent with."

Tom shifted his stance, nervously edging off to his right, away from her. "Well, I didn't. We'll leave it at that then."

"Hmm...If you had gone, what would you have been your major? Tell me that."

"I don't know. It doesn't really matter anyway."

"If it doesn't matter then why not tell me? What do you have to lose?"

"I thought we were supposed to be talking about you. How did we get turned around on this?"

Anne moved a step closer to him. "We did talk about me. I told you my major, now I want to know what yours would have been. Fair is fair. Your turn to share."

"Nice little rhyme. May I steal it some time?"

"Ooooh...Nice comeback! I'm impressed. Still not off the hook though. Major please!"

"Damn woman, but you're a persistent little thing aren't you?"

"And you're evasive. Why don't you want to tell me?"

"Because!" Tom's voice rose in frustration, a hint of anger lurking below. "Because it doesn't matter anymore what I would have done. Like that night, it's done. There's no use thinking about it now."

Shit! Not where I wanted to steer this. I need to get this train back on the tracks.

"Tom, listen to me. There are some things in life that can't be changed, but you need to stop and ask yourself is this really one of them? If there's something you wanted to do, something that you were passionate about. If there was some dream you're allowing to go unfulfilled. That can change. It's not too late. You're in your twenties, not your nineties."

"That was an idle wish, not my dream. My dream has always been something else entirely."

"What then? What's your dream?"

"You don't want me to answer that."

"Why not?"

"Just please believe me. You might think you do, but you really don't."

"Geez Tom. Try to make it sound more ominous if you can. Try it with a spooky voice or something next time."

"I'm being serious."

Anne sighed, "Ok Tom...I'm forewarned now. You've done the disclaimer. Now what's the deep, dark secret of your life's ambition?"

Tom turned to her, his eyes filled with an intense longing. "To meet someone like you. To be with someone just like you. Someone that I could love. Someone that maybe I could spend my life with."

Anne's heart lurched.

"You ask me what I want...There's your answer. I want you."

I can't believe what he's saying. We barely know each other. I mean sure I like him, but...

He's wanting more than I can give. To use an old analogy; first base, ok, I'd be down for that. Maybe even go so far as a home run with the right prep work. But this...He's talking the whole series here and not even at bat yet.

And Michelle...If we did start a relationship, how would I explain that to her? Out with the old, in with the new? No. I can't do that to her. I won't.

Her eyes flicked upwards, centering on the window for Michelle's room.

Tom followed her gaze and seemed to intuit her concern. A sad smile crossed his face. "Then again, maybe I still need to wait a bit longer for that ship to come into port. I've been waiting quite awhile now, a little longer won't kill me. If you'll excuse me it's starting to get a bit late in the day. I should be on my way home."

He strode over to the walkway leading back to the driveway.

"Tom I..." Anne stopped, not knowing exactly what it was she wanted to say, only knowing that she needed to say something before he walked away. He halted in place and waited for her to continue, his back still turned to her. After several seconds passed without her being able to find the words to express herself he lowered his head.

"It's ok Anne. I understand."

With that he resumed his walk, the heavy tread of his footsteps on the wooden planking sounding out with every step as the distance between them grew.

Tom

The sun was only minutes away from setting when Tom's jeep eased into the parking spot in front of Rosie's.

It's been awhile since I've been in here, at least two years I think.

The bar's outside appearance had not changed in even the smallest way during that time. From the outside it remained the same old, dependable Rosie's; refuge and sanctuary for the downtrodden and broken hearted. In a town where many of the local businesses catered more to the passing tourists than the needs of the locals, Rosie's was that rare exception that proved the rule. There were at least four other bars within Isabella's city limits, all of which had been extensively remodeled within the past five years in hopes of attracting their share of the tourist trade. Their patrons more often than not mostly came from places like Atlanta, Birmingham, or points still further north. Within a few hours each of them would be crowded to capacity, the music blaring loudly from within, proclaiming that they were 'the' place to party. By contrast the music coming out of Rosie's had less than half the decibel level, and what there was of it was more along the lines of Johnny Cash or Hank Williams rather than the techno pop or Jimmy Buffet issuing forth from the competing bars.

In short, it was exactly what Tom wanted right now.

The bar's interior was dim, almost dark in comparison to the fading light outside. Tom waited after entering, giving his eyes time to adjust to the reduced light. His first impression was that Rosie's was completely deserted, but the impression was false as he knew it must be. Two men sat at the bar, engrossed in a conversation between themselves. He listened in only long enough to determine that it concerned politics of some sort before he tuned them out. He was not here to talk politics, he was here for a different reason entirely.

"Well hey there stranger!"

Rosie herself came out from behind the counter, her arms stretched out wide, a happy grin dominating her face. It was the same old, dependable Rosie's on the inside as well, complete with the same old, dependable Rosie. Tom gave a return smile and stooped over slightly, allowing Rosie to wrap her arms around him and give him a welcoming hug.

"How have you been? I haven't seen you in a coon's age!"

"I'm doing good. What about you? That boy of yours still giving you fits?"

The boy was actually her grandson, not her son, but Tom knew it was generally best not to mention her son's name around her. It was the grandson she pinned all her hopes and dreams on now. For as long as he could remember that had been the way of things and he felt safe that the assumption would continue to hold true.

"Oh, let me tell you...Jimmy got himself a scholarship. He'll be going down to Gainesville next year. Something to do with computers I think. I don't know where he got his brains from. Sure as hell wasn't from me. Thank God."

"Congrats on that. That's something to be proud of for sure."

"I am. I am indeed. Oh, you meant him. Ooops." She cackled in laughter at her own faux pas.

"That's all right. I think you earned it every bit as much as him."

Rosie leaned forward and whispered, "Just between you and me. I think you're right." Then she took a good natured swipe at him, hitting him lovingly on the shoulder.

Tom scanned the room. "Where is everybody tonight? It's Saturday night. Shouldn't you have more people in here than this?"

Rosie shrugged, "We don't get the out of towners like the other places do. You know that. As for the locals...I don't know. We might get busier later, might not. You never can tell. There's a few back in the pool room with little Frankie too."

"Little Frankie still work for you? I would've thought he'd be kicked to the curb by now."

Rosie laughed, "I would if I could. He spends more time in front of the bar than behind it. But he's my nephew, so I put up with a lot of his shit to keep the peace. Besides, one thing he's good for around here: the drunks get a little nicer after they've seen him."

Tom knew exactly what she meant. The only thing little about Frank Harp Jr. was his nickname. He was a great big, hulking man, likely at least six and a half feet tall with a build to match. Tom would be the last one to want to be escorted out of here by him.

"So stranger...What brings you here tonight? Her?"

"Her?"

Rosie pointed down towards the end of the bar. Tom pivoted in place to see who Rosie was referring to. Sitting in the corner, where the light was at its dimmest, and the music at its lowest, was Beverly Dyer.

Jenny

Three blocks east in the Laughing Mermaid the music was booming out at full blast in syncopated rhythm with the flashing overhead strobe lights. Jenny moved along with the beat, her arms sawing back and forth freely as the vocalist extorted the crowded dance floor to 'Whip It, and whip it good!'. She had passed the buzzed state at least half an hour ago and was well on her way towards the state of 'feeling no pain'.

All too soon the music came to an end forcing Jenny to wait impatiently for the next song to begin. She wanted something equally fast paced and energetic, something to help her burn off all this energy burning brightly within her. Terri was being no help in that department tonight. Her partner had mostly spent her time standing near the wall, watching but not participating, content with her role as a wallflower.

Speaking of Terri, where is she?

It was not until the next song began, a slow dance song that Jenny did not recognize, that she at last spotted Terri sitting down at the bar. Jenny ran over to her and grabbed her hands in her own, urging her to follow her back onto the dance floor.

"Come dance with me."

"Not tonight Jenny. I'm getting really tired. It's been a long day and we need to get up early tomorrow. Don't you think it's about time we started heading back?"

"I'm not tired. I'm alive. Come on, don't be such a party pooper! I want to feel you out there."

Jenny let go of Terri's hands and moved in closer. She ran her right hand down along the outside of Terri's thigh then reversed direction, bringing it back up along the inside. Her hand stopped at the point where thigh met thigh and gently rubbed back and forth eager to feel a warm dampness on her fingertips.

"Don't you want to feel me too?"

Terri grabbed her wrist and held it fast. "Let's go Jenny. You've had enough party for one night."

Out of the corner of her eye Jenny saw a heavy-set girl lean forward and whisper something in her boyfriend's ear. The guy turned to look at her, a leering grin on his face.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Jenny spat at him.

The whispering girl whipped her head around, her fury aroused instantly. She stood up from her seat and took a step forward, thrusting her chest out aggressively. She was younger than Jenny, but stood at least two inches taller, and had to have out-weighed her by a minimum of 75 pounds. "Why don't you take your queer little bitch ass out of here and get back home where you belong...bitch!"

"Oh fuck!"

It was the last thing Jenny heard Terri mutter before the rage consumed her and she propelled herself forward.

Tom

Tom sat down on the bar stool next to Beverly, settling his mug of beer down on a bar coaster. She watched him approach and take a seat without saying a word.

"Fancy meeting you here. You seem to keep showing up all over the place lately."

Beverly smiled back at him. "That's me all right. The proverbial bad penny. Can't get rid of me no matter how hard you try."

"So what's up? I never knew you to be much of a barfly back in our days."

"A barfly? Is that what I am now? Sounds disgusting."

"Seriously Bev, what gives here? You're not drinking are you?"

She swiveled on her stool to face him. "Oh no. Can't drink now. Not with little Isaac on the way."

"So it's a boy is it? With a name picked out and everything."

Beverly nodded her head, her smile energized by the mention of her unborn child. "I'm not here alone. Tim is back in the pool room shooting a few rounds with his buddies. He had kind of a rough week at work. Yesterday he had a buyer back out of deal he's been working on for the last two months. He's not saying much about it, but I can tell it upsets him a lot more than he'll admit. He needed a chance to relax and blow off a little steam. I'm just here as the designated driver."

"Ahh, I see."

"So what about you? What brings you here?"

"Hmmm...I guess I'm here for the same reason more or less. Had some steam of my own that needed blowing off."

"You know Tom, if I said anything the other night to upset you I'm really sorry. I know that right now things are rough for you. I really should've kept my opinions to myself."

"No Bev. If anybody needs to apologize for anything it's me. Not just about that, but for a whole lot of things. It's taken me a long time, way too long, but I think I'm finally beginning to understand some things that I just couldn't before."

Beverly cocked her head to the side questioningly. "Such as?"

"Like, why you made the choice you did. I..."

Beverly reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Stop Tom. Don't do that."

"I'm just trying to explain that I understand now, that's all."

"I know what you're trying to do Tom. But don't, please. Just...Let it go. Ok?"

Tom stared back at her, confused by her reaction. "I thought you wanted this. To get the air cleared between us."

"I did Tom. I still do, but maybe it's best if we just accept that it happened and move on, without anybody having to apologize for what they did. It's done, it's been done for a long time now."

Since when did it get so hard to give out an apology?

"Um...Ok, well, I'll let you be then. Give Tim my best." He started to rise from his seat.

"Tom..." Conflicting emotions played across her face.

"Yes?"

"Why tonight?"

"Why I'm here? I told you."

Beverly shook her head negatively. "No, I mean why did you want to talk about it now, tonight?"

"I don't know. I guess I just wasn't ready until now."

"Oh, ok." She sounded disappointed, as though there was some particular answer she had sought and failed to receive. "You never asked me why you know."

Her words were confusing him. "Why what?"

"You never asked me why I did it, the abortion. Not then, and not now. You just made your assumptions and stuck by them. I know you were hurt and angry, and I'm sorry about that. But didn't you ever wonder? Did it ever even occur to you to simply ask me why?"

"I..."

I never did. That's the one thing I never thought to ask. The most important question I could've asked and I never stopped to ask the obvious.

"Hey asshole! That's my wife!"

Tom's head came up suddenly at the sound of Tim Dyer's slurred voice. Tim filled the doorway leading back to the pool tables, two of his friends stood behind him exchanging an uneasy look between them. From the slur in his voice and the unsteady manner in which Tim seemed to sway back and forth it was easy to see that Tim was already quite into his cups for the evening.

"Hey Tim." Tom tried to keep his own tone light and friendly even as he took a half step backward, away from Beverly.

"'Hey Tim.' he says. Don't you fucking tell me hey."

Tom raised both hands out in front of him. "Whoa there now. I'm not trying to start anything. Guys why don't you see if you can settle him down a bit and I'll be on my way." He turned and began walking for the door, eager to put the situation as far behind him as possible.

"That's right asswipe, just walk away. Walk away, and you keep walking mutherfucker!"

That was one word too much for Tom to ignore. He stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around to face the trio. Unconsciously his hands flexed, balling into fists, then uncurling, then repeating the process again.

"Tim please! Don't do this!" Beverly rose from her own stool and walked briskly up to her husband, interposing herself between the two antagonists.

Tom was only dimly aware of Rosie behind the bar calling for Frankie to 'get his ass out here pronto' as she put it. Tom struggled to contain his own emotions. He wanted to rip the man's throat out but knew that once he started down that path the problem would only get worse from there.

"Beverly I am sick and fucking tired of this shit. Maybe you didn't get the memo baby, but he don't need you anymore. He's got a new piece of ass." The focus of Tim's anger seemed to be shifting away from him and onto her. "You need to make up your mind for once and for all who you really want to be with. You married me, not him. It's about fucking time you remembered that and why."

Beverly stood up to him, not backing down in the slightest. "Tim stop it! Stop it right now!"

Tim sneered down at her. "Maybe I can make things a little easier for you baby. Hey Tom...ever wonder why she aborted?"

Beverly's hand came up but Tim caught her by the wrist before she could complete the intended slap. Tom noted that Tim's reflexes were remarkably good for someone in his condition. Tim pushed Beverly aside as if she were a rag doll into the arms of one of his two friends.

"What about it Tom? You got to be curious right? After all, I know you wanted it so much. Hell, I can see it all over your face right now. You're just dying to know why."

Tom took one step forward, no longer even aware of his own actions. He was reacting on pure instinct now, slowly making his approach without the need for conscious thought. "Tim your drunk. The smart thing to do is..."

"The smart thing?!" Tim bellowed back. "That's right tell poor ol', stupid Tim here what's the smart thing. You always been itching to do that haven't you?"

"C'mon Tim let's go shoot another round." One of Tim's friends tried to pull him back only to be shrugged off with ease.

"You haven't changed a bit you little shit. Always thinking you're so damn smart, so much better than anybody else. Maybe you never say it out loud, but that's what you really think isn't it? Tell me genius, if you're so fucking smart, how is it that you never knew that the baby she aborted was never yours?"

Tom stole a glance at Beverly, her face turned away, unwilling to meet his gaze.

"You heard me. Not yours. Take a guess who's it really was. Go on, make a guess."

Tim's. It was Tim's baby. Never mine.

"You know who's don't you? What a dumbass. Never even knew she was playing you. Your little angel here was playing both sides of the fence. Hedging her bets as they say."

Tom kept his eyes firmly on Beverly. At last she raised her head...and he saw the truth. Saw it clearly for the first time. What he was saying was true, every bit of it.

"Tom it wasn't like that. Not like that." Her voice and her eyes pleaded with him, begging for understanding. "I made a mistake. I wanted to tell you, to explain, but you wouldn't..."

"Oh sure it was Tom...Just like that. Why do you think she never told you until after it was done? She wanted it all, my dick and your...well, whatever it is you have down there. Don't let her tell you any different. She's just playing you again. She's good at that, I'll have to admit. She even had me believing in her and I should've known better."

"Fuck man, she was hoping she'd never have to tell you at all. She wouldn't have either, but then I found out. I guess she figured that if I could find out you could too, you being oh so smart and all. Looks to me like maybe she gave you a bit too much credit."

"You bastard!" Beverly screamed the word, putting every ounce of meaning into the word. Her hand shot out and grabbed at the back of Tim's head. Her fingers pulled at whatever clump of hair she could grasp and yanked it back towards her. With Tim and his friends distracted, it gave Tom this one perfect opportunity.

"Goddamn Rufus, get her off me..."

Tom's fist came swinging forward, connecting on the jaw with a bone crunching force. That was when all hell broke loose in Rosie's.

Chapter 18

Jenny

"Rise and shine baby!"

Jenny opened her eyes and squinted against the light. Morning sunlight bathed the room in multiple shades of yellow and orange. "What time is it?" She croaked the question out, her throat feeling raw and constricted.

"Almost nine o'clock. I let you sleep as long as I could. Now it's time to get your rear in gear."

"Water...please."

Jenny rolled over onto her back and struggled to sit up, scooting backwards against the pillows and headboard. She blinked her eyes, attempting to acclimate them to the room's lighting. She tilted her head first one way and then the other until she was rewarded with a sharp cracking sound. The final element of her morning pre-get out of bed, routine was a long, deep yawn complete with a full body stretch from head to toes. It was in the course of this stretch that her nervous system first began to report in on the consequences for her previous night's activities. Her body felt as though she had been left in one of those large industrial size clothes dryers you might see at a laundromat and set to tumble dry. Jenny flipped the covers off her and peered down at her legs, a large, purplish bruise mottled the outside of her right thigh just below the buttocks.

"Ewww." Was Terri's only comment as she returned from the bathroom with a plastic cup filled with water.

"Not as bad as it looks." Jenny said, probing the bruise with her fingers. Then she hit an especially sore spot and winced as the pain raced up from the leg to her brain.

"Yeah, right. I can see that." Terri handed off the cup and sat on the edge of the bed. "She kicked you pretty hard there. If it's any consolation I noticed her limping after. I think she may have broken her foot doing it."

Jenny's dry chuckle shook the bed. "A little bit, yeah it is."

"Just be glad she was wearing open toed sandals and not heels."

Jenny turned her attention away from her leg. "You know, you could have helped out."

"I did help. That's why you woke up this morning in a nice, comfy motel bed instead of in a holding cell."

"That's not what I meant. Why didn't you help during?"

"Why would I? You were doing pretty well on your own. You've only got one black eye this morning. She has two. Her friends will be calling her Ricky Raccoon all week long thanks to you...And you're quite welcome on the bed."

"I'm sorry, thank you." Jenny drained the small cup in two quick gulps and set it aside. "How did you manage that anyway? I don't remember much after the kicking stopped."

"She was under aged. I suggested that it might be better for everybody if we just let bygones be bygones and let the whole matter drop. Lucky for me they went for it. You're my ride to the airport. We're already running behind on that by the way. I need to be there in three hours or less."

Jenny grunted and swung her legs around, placing her bare feet upon the carpeted floor. She began to rub the sleep out of her eyes but was forced to stop as soon as her hand touched the left socket. "Ouch!"

"Tell me that one looks worse than it feels. That one I might believe."

"How bad does it look? The eye."

Terri leaned forward, studying Jenny's eye. "Well, you might want to call Revlon back and tell them to cancel that photo shoot, but it could be a lot worse."

"You're just chock full of funny this morning aren't you?"

Terri patted her leg, thankfully the unblemished one, and rose from the bed. "Somebody's got to keep their sense of humor. You sure didn't seem to have one last night."

"After what she said? You expect me to just laugh that off?"

"I'm surprised you can even remember what she said...Or do you?"

"Yeah, of course I do..." Jenny pondered the matter for a bit. "Well, it wasn't good. I know that."

Terri shook her head disgustedly, "Thought so." She leaned over an open travel bag placed on a table, busily making a last minute check to ensure nothing of hers was being left behind. "Jenny honey, I hate to say this, I really do, but...You sort of asked for it last night."

"What? You're joking right?"

Terri stood up and faced her, any trace of humor vanishing from her face. "No. I'm quite serious. You can't do what you did in a setting like that and not expect to get comments or dirty looks. And when you do get them, you can't go off on people for doing exactly what you knew they'd do. You want to shock people, to get a rise out of them? Fine. Just don't act all wounded, hurt, and pissed off when they call you on it. There are times when it's best to just smile and ignore."

Jenny shook her head in disbelief. "What the hell Terri? You're supposed to be on my side. You know very well that if we were a straight couple nobody would've said a thing. You see that sort of thing on dance floors all the time and nobody says boo."

Terri smiled patiently, "But baby, we're not straight. And this isn't Orlando. Remember?"

"I never would've expected to hear this coming out of you. Didn't you spend the last two weeks telling me to just chill out and not worry about it here?"

"Exactly right, I told you to chill out and relax. I never told you to raise a rainbow banner and march it down the street."

"That's a load of crap. I didn't do anything of the sort."

Terri shrugged, "In this town, it was close enough."

"I was drunk...and it was you that suggested a Long Island tea as I recall."

Terri laughed, "I suggested the first one, the second one was all on you."

"It tasted good. What can I say?"

Terri zipped up the bag, walked over and sat back down on the bed. "Jenny, I'm on your side. I'll always be on your side, whatever happens, but when it's just the two of us together I have to tell it like it is. And like it or not, this is how it is."

"That's not fair."

Terri sighed sadly, "Maybe it's not. But for now at least it's reality. You've got to play the game by the rules and hope you get the chance to change one here or there along the way...How does that phrase go in the Declaration of Independence? 'A more perfect union'...not a perfect one, just a more perfect one. Things are never perfect, they knew that. You just do what you can to make it better as you go."

"Really, you're going to give me a civics lesson now?"

Terri leaned over, her face now only inches away, "Nope. Lesson over for today."

"I still think tha..."

Jenny never completed the sentence. Terri closed the distance and kissed her. Any thought as to what Jenny was going to say disappeared as she began to feel her partner's tongue entering her mouth.

Tom

"You ready to go home yet Tom?"

Tom rose up from the cot and walked over to the cell door. "More than ready."

Chad Morris rounded the corner, a set of keys jangling out a merry tune in his hands. Following behind in Chad's wake was the shrunken form of Gramma Viv. Tom watched silently as Chad inserted the key and slid the door open wide.

"Officer Morris, if you would be so kind as to allow me a little time alone with my grandson before you set him free I would most appreciate it."

A look of consternation came over Chad's face. "I don't know. I'm not sure it'd be proper to just leave you here like that. There's protocols on that sort of thing and we've already bent the rules aplenty. If Chief Peebo finds out..." He nervously glanced down the hallway.

Viv placed a frail hand on Chad's arm and smiled up at him with her best motherly smile. "I'm quite sure nobody would mind. There doesn't seem to be anyone else in here this morning to raise a fuss. Besides, it's Sunday, and it'd be the Christian thing to do to grant an old woman's wish. Now wouldn't it?"

"Well, seeing as how he's officially free to go any time, I suppose there'd be no harm in it. I'll just leave the door open. You can close it behind you as you leave."

"Thank you so much. Tell Agnes I said hello if you would. Also tell her I'll be emailing that recipe for Key Lime just as soon as I get back home."

"Yes ma'am. I know she'll be happy to get it too. Mom always mentions it whenever your name comes up."

With that Chad quickly made his retreat back the way he had came, the sound of the jangling keys marking his progress well after visual sight of him was lost.

Viv stood at the cell doorway, any trace of the smile she had given Chad completely erased from her face. She glanced around at the surroundings disapprovingly while issuing a low clucking sound of scorn. Realizing what was coming Tom merely walked back to the cot and sat down on one end, leaving a spot open for her.

"Do I have your Key Lime Pie to thank for my freedom?"

Viv entered the cell and took advantage of the space he had reserved for her. "Oh no. I'm rather proud of that pie, but no recipe could spring you out of here. The pie wasn't to get you out, it was to keep you in, at least for the night."

"Thanks a heap!"

"You're welcome a heap. How else was I going to get a sit down with you? You never showed up at Nate's after the funeral."

"So if I don't have you to thank..."

"That girl at the bar."

"Beverly?"

Viv nodded, "The impression I had was she'd just as soon have her husband take your place in here. I think she settled for getting him to drop the charges instead."

Without thinking about it Tom raised a hand and touched his face near his right eye, wincing slightly as his finger gingerly probed the area of bruising.

"Nice little shiner you got there. Now you and Jenny are a matching pair."

"Jenny?"

Viv chuckled lightly, "Between the two of you, you managed to keep Isabella's police busy last night. She started a row over at the Mermaid about the same time as your little tiff. I heard that her's is on the other eye though."

"If you're here to ask why..."

Viv shook her head, "No, not at all. I imagine I know full well what started it. She finally told you didn't she?"

Tom stared at his grandmother, "Told me what?"

"About the abortion, that it was never yours to begin with. That your girlfriend was playing the field while you two were still together."

"How the hell did you know about that? Did Beverly tell you?"

"No, never met the girl. Janet told me, more than two years ago."

Tom jumped up from the cot and began pacing the cell. "Wait, I can't believe that. Mom knew?"

"She did. When she found out she came up to see me and asked me for advice on what to do about it. Then she totally ignored it, as always. I should've told her to keep her mouth shut instead. If I had you wouldn't have been able to stop her from saying something and this whole nonsense would've been over and done with already."

This just doesn't make any sense, no sense at all. If she knew...

"Why would she keep it a secret? She hated Beverly, always had. If she had anything at all on Bev to split us apart she would've used it."

Viv leaned back and looked up at him. "Because...Well shit, I told your sister. May as well tell you too. I reckon Janet kept it tight because a little after John left she had one of her own."

"Her own? Mom had an abortion?"

"That's what I said ain't it?"

Tom stopped pacing and lowered his eyes to the floor, his mind working furiously to absorb what he was being told.

Mom had an abortion? How could I have not known?

"...Anyway, maybe she was willing to cut your girl a little slack because she had some idea of what she was going through, or maybe she was just afraid of throwing rocks from the window of her glass house. I never really knew what was going through her head."

Something's not right.

"You ain't gonna faint like your sister are you? You too damn heavy for an old woman like me to pick off the floor."

If it was after John left, who's baby was it? I think I would've known if she was seeing anybody else. Unless...

"How long after?"

"What?"

"How long after he left? Was she showing?"

"About four months, and yeah a little. Not enough for most people to notice but I could see it."

"So it could have been from the night he left, right?"

Viv thought on it for a bit and nodded, "I suppose so. Are you thinking it's why he left? She was cheating and he caught her?"

Tom resumed his pacing, his head shaking negatively as he walked. "No, that wasn't it. It was..." He stopped in place and looked back at his grandmother.

"It was what? If you got something to say then get it out."

"It was John's. That night he left...He raped her."

"Oh sweet Jesus!"

Anne

"I want Sugar Puffs! Sugar Puffs!"

Anne fixed her daughter with a stern eye and repeated herself for the third time, "We're not getting them and that is final. I don't care how much you pout and scream. Mess with me and I'll put back that Disney movie too. You want that?"

"No."

"Then I suggest you hush up until I get us checked out and back to the car."

Michelle crossed her arms and glared back at her from her seat in the shopping buggy, but at least she was doing it quietly now. Anne might not be entirely happy about her daughter's attitude but at this point she was willing to settle for a touch of the silent treatment.

Relax. I can't let her provoke me. She's only a child, acting like every other child, like I acted when I was her age. Besides, it's not exactly like I'm in the best of moods this morning either. And standing in this line waiting for checkout sure as hell isn't helping to make mine any better.

Anne craned her neck, trying to see past the woman directly ahead of her. There were two other people in front of her, all three of them with buggies at least three quarters full. Anne turned and peered down the row at the other registers, hoping that perhaps one of them might be emptying out faster, or even better that a cashier might be opening a new lane altogether. Luck did not seem to be with her this morning though, the other two open lanes appeared to be moving at the same glacial pace as this one.

"...I'm telling you the God's own truth Earline! It was Tom Brookes that tore the place up."

Anne's ears perked up at the name being mentioned from the next lane over. She stood on her tiptoes and looked over the intervening candy racks to see a man in farmer's overalls gesturing animatedly before the cashier.

"He took down all three of them folks. Little Frankie told me himself. He was there and saw it with his own eyes. He said it was just like a Chuck Norris movie, fists flying all over the place, broken chairs, a broke table or two, and in the middle of it all that boy raging like a madman. He done put that Dyer fella in the hospital with a broke jaw. Frankie said if he hadn't pulled him off of him he might've killed the man."

"I've known Tom since he was in diapers. That boy wouldn't hurt nobody." The cashier's voice was rough and gravelly. "Why on earth would Tom start something like that?"

"Well hell, I don't know woman. Maybe he was doped up on drugs or something. Maybe he's one of them methhead junkies. All I know is it was him."

"Frank you think everybody's doped up on drugs."

"It's Florida. Open your eyes and look around you."

"I never seen a man so intent on spreading gossip as you. You beat any woman I ever knew."

"Hmmphf...If you don't believe what I'm telling you then just wait and ask her yourself when she comes through the line."

"Who?"

"The Dyer woman, she's in the store right now. I saw her near the veggies not more than fifteen minutes ago. When she gets up here you ask her what happened and she'll tell you."

Anne had heard enough. She hastily backed the cart out of it's place in line and briskly walked it towards the produce section, her eyes cutting down each aisle as she passed just in case.

"Mommy?"

Anne declined to answer her daughter. Truthfully she had only barely heard her. Anne's mind was too occupied by other matters to even note the confused look on Michelle's face. Her focus right now was on locating the one person in this store who might be able to answer some much needed questions. It was as they passed the third aisle, with only two more remaining, that she spotted her quarry. Anne stopped and cut a hard left, intent on closing the distance as rapidly as possible.

"Mrs. Dyer!" She called out, a little more loudly than she had intended. The woman's head rose and swiveled in her direction.

"Mommy?!" The call from Michelle carried a note of urgency now that finally broke through. Anne stopped the buggy and looked down.

"What is it?"

"Cereal aisle."

Anne followed the line of her daughter's sight to its destination. With no further word of admonition Anne reached out and plucked up a large box of Sugar Puffs and handed them down. "Now are you happy?"

The smile on Michelle's face gave her all the answer she needed. With that issue resolved she once again returned her attention to the woman standing before her. "Mrs. Dyer may I have a word with you?"

"Beverly...please. Just call me Beverly." Her voice was tired and thin.

"Beverly then...I think we need to have a talk."

Beverly nodded back to her, "I think you're right."

Tom

"Is there anything else?"

Tom thought the question through before answering. "No...I think we've pretty much talked it all to death by now. Don't you think?"

Viv chuckled, "Not the choice of words I would have picked."

Tom groaned inwardly as he realized just how badly his words had been chosen. Poor choice or not, the sentiment behind them was true enough. The two of them had spent the better part of two hours sitting side-by-side on that cot talking about that night when he had left his mother's house, unaware that it would be the last time he would ever see her alive. He had told her how if only he had stayed behind she would still be here and his grandmother patiently listened to every word before doing her best to assure him that if it was not that night it would have simply been another. They had discussed the night John left, and Tom had shared what little information he knew. They had talked about all that and as much more as each could think to talk about. Talk, talk, talk. It had all gone on as long as Tom could stand.

"If we don't get moving Chad is going to come back here again, and this time he's liable to lock that door on us." Tom pointed at the open cell door for emphasis. Chad had already been back once to check up on the pair, the look on his face a mix of puzzlement and anxiety at their desire to stay in place.

Viv lightly placed her hand on Tom's arm. "In a bit. Have some patience Tom."

I just want a cigarette right now. Haven't had one yet this morning and it's starting to drive me batty.

"I'm leaving today. I'll be driving back up to Bristol this afternoon soon as we're done here. I don't know when I'll get a chance to talk to you again so I want to make sure we get it all out now."

"I've told you everything I know about it. There's nothing else for me to say on the matter."

Viv smiled back at him, "I'm not talking about your mother now. I'm talking about you."

"I really don't have anything to say on that either."

"Tom, when you get to my age you'll realize how important it is to take every opportunity to say what needs to be said. Because there's never any guarantees you'll get another."

"Ok then. What is it you want to say?"

"Your sister, Jenny."

Tom eased backwards, setting his back against the cell wall. "Ok, what about her?"

"You two ain't talking to each other much I take it."

Tom shrugged, "I won't argue the point."

"Why?"

"Don't really know to be honest. You need to ask her."

"I did, at Nate's. Now I'm here asking you...Why?"

"Granny, if I knew I'd tell you. I just don't know. Every time I see her it's like she looks at me and she sees someone else, someone that I don't recognize. She's been away for so long that I hardly recognize her either. But in her case it's like there's something else going on. Like it's...I just can't explain it. I wish I could."

Viv sighed deeply, "Ok."

"I did talk to her, for a few minutes at least. The first time she was in town, before mother...died."

"She told me that. Told me something else about that night I thought was kind of interesting too."

"What?"

"Jenny told me she spied you kissing someone outside the motel."

Tom grinned, "Yeah, that would be Anne she's talking about."

"Anne? Tell me about her."

"There's really not much to say."

"Tom, you're starting to frustrate me again."

He could not help but laugh in reply. "Ok, ok. Tell me what you want to know. I'll do my best."

"Is it serious?"

"No...well...no."

"That's a straight answer if I ever heard one."

Tom retracted his legs off the floor and pulled his knees in close to his chest. "I...There was a moment there when I thought it might be. She's smart, she's kind, she's funny; even when she doesn't try to be. Mostly I just feel good when I'm around her, like nothing else even matters. But...the timing's shit. She has a little girl named Michelle. I think Anne is afraid to get involved with anybody because of her. Can't say I really blame her."

Tom looked up and saw his grandmother watching him intently. "You're in love with her aren't you?"

"No, oh no. Definitely not." Tom got back off the cot and started pacing. "I met her less than two weeks ago. I barely know her. People don't just fall in love that fast. That's fairy tale stuff you tell in bedtime stories."

"Tom, stop that and sit your ass back down please."

Reluctantly, he did as instructed.

"You know, the Greeks had this guy named Prometheus..."

"I've heard that story."

"Then shut up and let me tell it again. Ok?"

Tom put his hands up in surrender and backed up against the wall.

"Anyway Prometheus was one of their gods or somesuch. I can't hardly keep them all straight anymore. And he loved people, loved all the puny little people like you and me, more than his own kind. So one day he decides he's going to give us all a gift to show just how much he loves us. He gives us fire. The only problem is that it's something that all the other gods have already decided is theirs, and way too precious to just give it away, especially to a bunch of ingrates like us. So he's punished for breaking the rules. I won't go into the details, but it's pretty bad."

"As I recall it had something to do with an eagle ripping out his liver every day." Tom piped in.

"Hush! I'm the one telling this story. Not you."

"Ok, geez. I'm just trying to help you get to the point."

"The point is, I think the ability to love is God's real gift to us, not fire. I think he took something of his, and his alone, and gave it to us. I think that's what love is Tom. It's something you can't see, or hear, or smell. You can't really describe it. Hell, you can't even understand it. The people in the white lab coats with the pointy heads will talk about chemical reactions in the brain all day long till they're blue in the face, but they don't know anymore about it than you or me. It's a piece of God. That's why it's unexplainable. You can't understand it anymore than you can him, because they're one and the same. Love isn't just from God, it's of God, a small piece of his divinity that he shared with all of us. When it's all said and done it's really not so important to understand why we love the people that we do, only that we do."

"Granny...I'm sorry, but I have to interrupt here. There's something you need to know about me."

"I already know what you're going to say Tom, that you don't believe in him. Now there are some that might get their feathers in a ruffle over that, but I'm not one of them, and I don't think he is either. We love our children even when we think they're wrong. I can't imagine he's any different. I think in the end it matters less what you believe or what you might call yourself than how you live your live your life. You don't honor him by listening to pious sermons one day a week, you honor him by being the best person you can be every day. You honor him by sharing his gift to you with others. I can't rightly think of any better way to show our appreciation for his gift than to emulate him...At least that's one old woman's point of view."

"You knew I didn't believe? How? I've never told anybody. Not mom, not Jenny, not even Beverly."

"Give me some credit please. You've always been a bright kid, but the thing about smart people is that they tend to forget other people can be smart too. That's always been your problem."

"Yeah, well, it's been a long time since I've felt particularly smart. I look around at my life and all I see is the result of a whole lot of stupid."

"So change it. If you're not happy with what you see, change it."

"How do I go about that? I have no friggen clue."

Viv shrugged, "That part is up to you to decide. I can't tell you what to do. But...I suppose if it were me. I might start by deciding just what it is I wanted in my life and start with that."

Tom shook his head. "Tried that already."

"And?..."

"It didn't go so well. Pretty much blew up in my face to be honest."

"So try again. Ain't nobody gonna get things right on the first try all the time."

"I..."

"Oh hush! Look boy, is it something you really want? Because if it is it's worth the effort, no matter how many tries you have to make. Or would you rather just sit here and whine to the walls about matters? Just how badly do you want it?"

Jenny

Jenny stiffened as she listened to the airport public announcement voice reading off the latest departure calls.

Not yet. I still have a little time.

A young couple rose from their seats at an adjoining table in the small lounge area. They embraced each other tightly and whispered their goodbyes to each other lovingly. As they separated the woman was bravely wiping away tears at the corners of her eyes. Her partner stepped back, and for several seconds his eyes fixed on the woman as if he were collecting and storing away a mental image. Without any further words he picked up his luggage and walked out onto the concourse. Jenny's eyes remained on the woman as she sat back down at the table. The woman was fighting back her tears, clearly distressed by the parting and torn by the urge to run after him.

I understand how you're feeling. I feel the same way about Terri. Gay, straight...do two words make what we're feeling in any way different?

"You're tense."

Jenny looked across the small table at Terri and smiled nervously. "That obvious huh?"

Terri put up her right hand and held her thumb and forefinger only millimeters apart, "Maybe just by that much."

"I don't know why. It's not me hopping on a plane and jetting across the state. You're the one that should be tense, not me."

"You've got your brother to face when you get back. I can understand if you're feeling a bit anxious. All I have to deal with is an office full of screaming advertising guys in the midst of their daily meltdown crisis. I wouldn't trade spots with you for a million dollars right now."

"Two million?"

Terri leaned back in her chair pretending to ponder the offer seriously. "You have the cash on you?"

"My credit's good for it."

"Not a chance."

"I thought the vows for marriage covered this sort of thing. You're supposed to help me out in situations like this."

"First of all, we're not married yet. Second, this state wouldn't recognize it if we were. And third...this particular situation really is a bit unique, so I'm doubtful it would be covered. Sorry baby, but he's your brother."

"Fat load of good you are."

Terri took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. "Do you need me to stay?"

"Would you?"

"If you need me to, yes."

Jenny smiled and reached across, placing her hand on top of Terri's own. "No. All I really needed was for you to say you would."

"You're a strange person Jenny Brookes."

Jenny laughed, "Must be why you love me."

"Must be. Can't figure out any other reason I would."

"That hurts. Really."

"You'll live. You're a lot tougher than you look. If you don't believe me there's a certain girl from last night who, I'm sure, will back me up on that."

"Don't remind me. I'd almost forgotten the eye she gave me."

The woman at the other table, the one Jenny had been watching off and on out of the corner of her eye ever since her lover had walked away, rose to her feet. She glanced about and briefly their eyes met. Jenny could clearly see the anguish painted on her face.

I'm so sorry. Sorry that he had to leave. Sorry that you have to feel this way.

Jenny willed the unspoken thoughts across that small space between them, hoping without reason that she could say or do something to comfort this perfect stranger. Then the woman averted her eyes and hurried for the lounge exit. Jenny watched as she stepped out onto the concourse, turned in the opposite direction from that taken by her partner, and walked out of sight. Jenny fought to suppress the image of the woman's face, she had her own worries.

"So, have you made a final decision yet?"

"Decision on what?"

Terri leaned forward, "On the question you've been pondering ever since we left the motel. How much you're going to tell him."

"All of it."

"All of it? Really?" Terri sounded skeptical.

"It needs to be done."

"I agree, but..."

"You think that's a mistake. Don't you?" Jenny interrupted.

"I didn't say that."

"But it's what you're thinking. I can see it on your face."

"This has to be your decision Jenny. I can't make it for you."

"Oh come on Terri, don't do this. Just spit it out and tell me what you're really thinking."

Terri took a deep sigh and leaned back in her chair. "Ok, then. I have certain reservations about it if you want the truth. That's an awful big load to dump on your brother, especially now."

"He'll survive."

"Are you sure about that? Your mother didn't."

The implication behind Terri's question left Jenny dumbstruck.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Terri reached a hand out across the table but Jenny flinched away from it. "Jenny, listen to me very carefully...Your mother made her own choice. She made that choice, not you."

"Because of me though. That's what you're thinking isn't it? And I don't know, maybe you're right. Maybe if I had kept quiet..."

"That's crap Jenny and you know it. She did it because she was too weak to face the truth. That's not on you. That's entirely on her. I never meant anything different. That's not why I said it."

"Why did you say it then?"

Terri made a second attempt to take her hand. This time Jenny made no effort to draw back. "I agree with you. He needs to be told. I only want to make sure that when you're doing it that it's for the right reasons. More importantly, I want you to know that."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I know there's still some anger there."

"You think I'm doing this to hurt him?"

"Are you?"

"No! Oh God Terri! How could you think that? He's my brother!" Jenny stopped and looked about the lounge, alarmed that her outburst might have drawn someone's attention. She need not have worried. Besides the bartender, who was busily cleaning up a table on the far side, they were the only ones left.

"You are angry at him though. Aren't you? Just as you were with your mother."

"You don't understand."

"Then tell me. Make me understand."

"When it happened, for a long time afterwards I thought...I was sure that they were both just faking it."

"Faking?"

"I guess that's really not the right word for it. I thought that they were both pretending. They both acted so normal afterwards, as if it just been another boring night at the Brookes' family home. Then I even started thinking; what if they're not pretending? What if it was me that was going crazy? What if everything I saw was just my own imagination? It took months for me to realize the truth."

"Which was?"

"Mother was pretending, that was easy enough to see. Things were different with Tom though. For him it was real. I don't know how, but somehow he just managed to erase it all from his head, like it never happened. You have no idea how much I wanted to be able to do the same, to just wish it all away. I think...I think I started to hate him for that."

"So you're saying it's not because...?"

"No, Terri. It's not because of what happened that night, if that's what you thought. It never was. I couldn't hate them for that. I was young, confused, and scared, but even I knew that much. John is the one to blame, not them. I hope to God that he finally got everything he deserves. If there's any real justice in this universe he's rotting in hell this very minute."

"No, if I was angry at either of them it was only because I had to deal with what I knew on my own, without anybody's help. I couldn't talk with either of them. I couldn't go to anybody else about it. I had all of this stuff bottled up inside me with no way to get it out. It was only a matter of time before it broke me, and when it did I was sent away. If I resented him that's why. Because to me, it was like he was getting off too easy. Knowing what I knew almost killed me, and he was able to just forget it."

"And now?"

"Now...I'm not sure how I feel about him anymore. I think he purged it because he had to. Because it might have killed him if he couldn't. How can I stay angry at him for doing what I wanted to do?"

"So, now you're going to take that away from him. You're planning to rip the blindfold off and shove him into the light. Are you sure you want to do that?"

"I have to. I need to get past this. We both do, even if he doesn't know it yet."

"But the timing..."

"I don't know. Maybe you're right on that. All I know is that it's been ten years and it's not like it's getting any easier. Do you really think waiting another ten years will help?"

"I didn't mean that long."

"I know what you meant, but I'm afraid that's what would happen if I went home now without getting this out in the open."

"And if he doesn't believe you?"

Jenny laughed, "Ok. I have to admit that's something I never considered. Well, I guess if that's the case, I'll just have to make him believe me."

"How?"

That's a really good question.

Chapter 19

John

John felt as though he were rotting in his own personal hell. The day was unseasonably warm for March, made all the worse by the stillness of the air among the towering pine trees. Sweat dampened his clothes and clung to his skin, the warm, moist air of his surroundings refusing to accept its return in the form of evaporation.

He lifted his head and looked to the sky. Higher altitude clouds were moving in, carried along slowly from out of the northwest as though loaded on an invisible treadmill. They were not the low, soft, and puffy clouds that had dotted the skies yesterday, but rather dominated the upper reaches in broken bands of scales.

Mackerel skies. Tomorrow is going to be an ugly one if I'm not mistaken. I may have to change my plans a mite bit. Don't much care for the notion of riding out what's coming under a roof of pine needles.

John shuffled to his left an inch or two in an attempt to relieve the pressure exerted on his back by an errant knot extending from the trunk of a tree against which he sat. It was a magnolia tree, the only one of its kind within sight. The soil in the surrounding area was primarily a mix of sand and dirt, too dry for magnolias. But the ground here was just moist enough for its growth due to a shallow, foot wide ditch that ran along its base.

The broad, thick leaves of the tree gave the best shade, the only shade actually, that he had seen yet today. He had sat down at his present location an hour ago, intending to rest for only a few minutes, but now he found himself lethargically rooted to the spot.

That's alright. I got time. Nuthin but time really. Cemetery shouldn't be more than a mile or two away I'd think.

Still, even so...

He reached up for a low hanging limb, intending to use it for leverage in hoisting himself to his feet. A sharp, lightning quick flash of pain lanced the right side of his body, originating from a point just under the right armpit.

Oh fuck Christ! What the bloody fuck?!

He sagged back against the tree once more, his energy spent by the brief exertion of his attempt to rise. His breath came in great, ragged gulps followed by a gradual reduction to shallower, yet still rapid exhalations.

He softly probed the offending site with his left hand, quickly determining its general size as roughly a hand's width in diameter. He carefully lifted the collar of his shirt on that side, softly wincing in response to the sensations of tenderness, to peer down into the shadows that hid the site in question. Angry red streaks radiated outward from a small central point, tatooing the skin there in shades of crimson.

Fucking tick! I pulled it out yesterday and now it's gotten infected. Just wonderfuckingtastic!

John closed his eyes and leaned back into the base of the tree. Gradually his breathing rate slowed down to its more customary pace.

Fuck I'm tired. So tired.

John I'm disappointed in you.

He knew that voice. He had been expecting it all morning, dreading its arrival. The dreams had foretold it, the red dreams.

No, no, no. Not now. Please. Just go away!

You've been bad John. Very bad.

It was the voice of the only man he had ever known capable of striking fear in his heart. It was his father's voice.

And bad boys have to be punished.

Anne

Anne checked her cellphone for the third time since arriving at the waterside park. It was 1:20 pm a mere five minutes since the last time she had checked with still another ten minutes to go until the expected arrival of Beverly Dyer. She looked over at the jungle gym bars where her daughter was alternatively chasing or being chased by a young boy, perhaps a year or two older than herself, named Josh.

Josh's own mother sat on a bench identical to the one on which Anne sat, though located on the far side of the play area. Anne struggled to make out the title of the book she was holding but eventually had to abandon the futile effort. Josh's mother looked hardly more than a child herself, maybe all of nineteen or twenty if that much. The mother was white, but her son had that mocha cream complexion and curly hair suggestive of a multi-racial heritage.

It's funny. I always kind of pictured the south as being segregated. A part of my mind had this image of a place barely out of the Jim Crow era, and maybe there's still some truth in that, but in other respects it's way ahead of the curve compared with Ohio. I don't remember having a single African-American friend until I started at Kent, and even then we weren't exactly close. Everyone had their neighborhoods where they spent most of their time, only making what forays were deemed necessary for daily life. It was easy, natural even to stick to your own kind. Segregation by nature, not law.

Here it's like everybody mixes by day, then separates by night. They work and play together and it's almost like there's no difference. Then at the end of the day, the coach turns back into a pumpkin and the horses become mice again. That's when they all divide back up and return to their separate homes. Weird how that works.

"Hi there."

Anne jumped ever so slightly in her seat, she had been so focused on the scene in front of her that she had completely missed the arrival of Beverly's car in the parking lot behind her. Anne rose to her feet and turned to face the woman she was here to meet.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle." Beverly looked and sounded tired. No, that description fell far below the mark, she looked exhausted.

"Long day?"

Beverly tried to smile but the effort seemed perilously close to draining what little reserve of energy she had left to her. "You could say that. Yes."

Anne waited until Beverly had seated herself on the bench before joining her. "Thank you for meeting with me then. I'll try to make this brief."

"It's ok. If you hadn't found me I probably would've had to come looking for you."

"Looking for me?"

"I need a small favor, if you wouldn't mind." Beverly handed over a plain white envelope with the words 'To Tom' handwritten on the front. "I'm leaving at the end of the week. Sometime afterwards, when the time seems right to you, I'd appreciate it if you gave him this."

Anne turned the letter over in her hands, noting that the back was unsealed.

"I thought you might want to read it yourself before you handed it over, I know I would if I were in your position. Just...Please don't until I've already left is all I ask. I've done my best to explain and apologize to him. He may not even read it, but I had to try."

Anne stared at the letter for a few seconds more than lifted her purse from its place at the side of the bench and carefully inserted it within.

"Where are you going?"

Beverly gave a weary shrug of the shoulders. "Maybe Atlanta. There's a job offer on the table for me there, and even if that doesn't work out there'll be other jobs nearby."

"Because of the fight at Rosie's?"

"Partly. It's not just that though. There's a hundred different reasons for me to go. It's something I've been thinking about for awhile now to tell the truth, but Tim would never budge from Isabella. Now I'm done waiting for him. If he wants to follow me there and start over fine, if not fine again. I'm almost hoping he doesn't to tell the truth." Beverly sniffed back unshed tears causing Anne's heart to go out to her. "I'm so tired of being the hen. It's time for me to fly this coop."

"What really happened between you and Tom?"

Beverly pointed down at Anne's purse, "It's all in there, as best as I could explain it. If you want the short version; I lost the faith. I think that pretty much sums it up."

"But you never stopped loving him. Did you?"

"No. I never did, and Tim knows it. That's why I have to leave. I can't change how I feel. I tried, I really did, but every time I see Tom it starts all over again. That's not fair to Tim. It's driving him crazy, and it's tearing me apart. All that jealousy and suspicion has changed Tim, made him someone he doesn't want to be, and someone I can't be around any longer. It's time to end it."

"That night in the car, when you gave me the ride to the motel, I thought you were to trying to warn me away from Tom. You weren't though, were you?"

Beverly turned and lifted her eyes to meet Anne's for the first time. She tightened her jaw and then looked away. For the space of a heartbeat Anne was convinced she would refuse to answer. "No. I wasn't." She sighed, releasing the tension. "It wasn't a warning to make you go away, it was a warning to prepare you. There's a difference."

"You wanted us together."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he needs you."

"But you didn't know anything about me. You still don't. What made you think we'd be any good for each other."

"Call it a hunch, women's intuition, whatever name you want to put on it. I just knew he needed somebody and you were what I had available. Tom's lost. He needs someone to shine a light for him, so that he can see his path. I'm just hoping that you can be that person. I knew I couldn't, not after what I'd done."

Anne looked back over to the jungle gym where her daughter was still at play. "I'm not sure I can either."

"I'm sorry to hear that." From the sound of her voice Anne knew with a certainty that she spoke the truth. "You do care about him though. I wasn't wrong about that was I?"

"No, you weren't wrong. It's not that simple though."

Beverly gave a bitter laugh, "It never is."

"I do like him, but I think he wants a lot more from me than just that."

Beverly nodded, "That's Tom sure enough. You can grow old waiting on him to make up his mind on something, but once he does he'll turn on a dime with nine cents to spare. And he never goes half-way, its always dead stop or full steam ahead. I always hated that about him...or loved it about him. You take your pick."

"I don't think I can go through all that, not again. And this time it wouldn't just be me." Anne lifted her hand and pointed to her daughter. "I'd be taking her along for the ride with me."

"You're worried he'll break your heart aren't you?"

"Yes...I thought I was in love before, but it wasn't real. He never really loved me, and as much as I hate to say it, I'm not sure I ever loved him either. Like all illusions it faded, but the pain afterwards was real enough."

Beverly's voice came out barely above a whisper, "You know, people talk about eternal love, forever love. All of that is crap, there's no such thing. People change, or they leave, or they eventually just up and die. One way or the other there's an end to it somewhere. And when it's over the pain is always there, waiting on the other side for somebody."

"Makes you wonder why anybody would choose to go through it. Right?"

"No, not really. I know why."

"Why then?"

"Because while it does last none of that matters. Whether it lasts a day, a year, or a lifetime all that matters is how it makes you feel right then. When you're in love, and it's returned to you, it makes you feel safe, wanted, and needed. Love may not be eternal any more than we are, but...if you're really lucky you'll have an instant of eternity. When you experience that moment of perfect clarity for yourself, nothing else will matter to you. Whatever fear and doubt you may have will just melt away and the only thing left behind is the peace. Then you'll understand why people choose to risk the pain. Maybe it's only a dream, but it's a damn good one."

Beverly rose up from her place on the bench and started walking slowly back towards her car. Before she had taken more than a half dozen steps she stopped and turned back around. "He's worth it you know. There's some work to be done, and he might drive you crazy in the process, but in the end he'll be worth every minute of it. He's a good man, with a good and decent heart. Think about that before you walk away from the job."

Tom

Hmmm...'Shrek' or 'Saw'?

Tom stood there, indecisively weighing the dvds, one in each hand. He had already seen both before, so it was not exactly as if either of them would be groundbreaking material for him. It basically came down to a choice based on what he was in the mood for at the moment. Should he go with the comedy to lift his spirits? Or perhaps it would be better to go with a nice little horror flick instead.

Oh the hell with it. Get both. I can sort them out later when I get home.

Tom plopped both discs into his carry basket before giving the movie carousel one final spin to ensure that there were no new releases hiding among the usual suspects. Something in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he looked up, only to lock eyes with Earline Baird. She was standing behind the counter at the customer service desk, her attention focused solely on him with the intensity of a cat watching a mouse. Something about the way she was looking at him was inexplicably unnerving.

Tom gave her a forced grin, and a perfunctory wave. Earline ignored both, she just stood there watching him with a completely unreadable expression on her face. The closest he could possibly come to describing her visage was that of an interrogator, not the sort that actually asked the questions, but rather someone that simply watched and evaluated the verity of any answers given.

Geez. It's not like I'm out to steal a lousy movie disc Earline. You know better than that. Or you should at least.

Tom spun around in place and took a step away...and right into the side of a moving grocery cart.

"Oh, I'm sorry." The man's voice was a rich, deep baritone, yet somehow at the same time incongruously mellow and relaxed.

Tom looked up, and then needed to look up even more, at last recognizing Dr. Gregory Aster.

"Oh, hi there doc. My fault, I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Tom right?"

"Yeah. I'm surprised you remember."

"Of course I remember, it was only last week. You were the one with the appendectomy right?"

"Um...No. I was the..." Tom allowed the words to trail off into silence as he saw the wide, easy grin crossing the doctor's face.

"Sorry, little joke on my part. How's the head been feeling? Any more headaches?"

"Nary a one. Thanks for asking."

Dr. Aster leaned down over his cart and took a closer look at Tom's face. "That eye wasn't like that when I saw you was it?"

Reflexively Tom raised a hand to his eye, regretting it on contact. "Um, no. That's new. I got it last night over at Rosie's."

"You were in that too huh? I treated somebody else from that little fracas. His name was Dyer. He a friend of yours?"

"I'm not sure that friend is really the best word to describe our relationship."

The doctor laughed at that, "He said something to upset you then I take it."

Tom nodded affirmatively, "That would be accurate. Yes."

"Well, that's a mistake he won't be repeating any time soon, I can assure you. He won't be saying much of anything for awhile at least. You really did a number on his jaw. What about your hand? You didn't break it hitting him did you?"

Tom looked down to his right hand.

So, that's why it's been sore all day long. Doh!

"I don't think so. It's a bit sore, but I would think it'd hurt a lot more if it was broken."

"You're lucky then. That much force in a punch could just as easily break your hand as it did his jaw."

"I suppose I'm tougher than I thought."

"It's starting to look that way to me. Getting back to the head trauma though...Has there been anything in the past week? Anything at all that might concern you?"

"Um...Like what?"

"I don't know. The head can be a funny thing. Whenever you take a shot to it like you did it's best to pay special attention to anything out of the ordinary that might possibly relate."

"No, I can't think of anything in particular...Except maybe the dreams."

"Dreams?"

"Well, more like nightmares actually."

"What sort of nightmares?"

Tom took a deep breath, looking nervously to both sides of him. "I'm sure it's nothing important. It's just about me back in the old homestead, back when I was living with my mother."

The towering doctor pursed his mouth thoughtfully. "Are the dreams consistent? Or do they vary from episode to episode?"

"Consistent. Remarkably consistent. Always the same place, always at night. I even think they're all from the same night. It's like..."

"Like what?"

"It's like I'm trying to remember something. And I can't, but when I'm dreaming I come close. Then of course I wake up and soon I forget it all over again, until the next one."

"Hmmm...More likely than not it's probably stress related. I'll be honest Tom, that sort of thing really isn't my bread and butter. I'm really just a glorified sawbones. Has there been anything especially stressful in your surroundings lately?"

"Yes...My mother passed away. Not too long after the accident."

"Oh, I see."

Tom thankfully noted the absence of the obligatory condolence.

"Tom, I want to give you a number to call..." Dr. Aster dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a pen. Then he strode over to the nearby service desk where Earline still stood, apparently having monitored their conversation without comment the entire time. "Miss, could I please get a piece of paper? Any little scrap will do." Earline pointed to the end of the counter without speaking a word. "Ah, thank you. Maybe I should be seeing an ophthalmologist myself." He flashed her a smile, but it was wasted effort, her stone mask never slipped a notch. The doctor spied a small stack of post-its at the end of the counter and ripped off the top sheet.

"Doc, you really don't need to do that. I'm sure that whatever it is, it'll just go away on its own soon enough. Besides, it's not really like I can afford to see anybody about it anyway. I don't have medical."

Dr. Aster nevertheless completed his task and handed off the transcribed number to Tom. "Rogers' office works on a sliding scale basis. I'm sure you can come to some sort of arrangement easily enough."

"Sliding scale?"

"Fancy way of saying he won't charge you more than you can afford."

Tom laughed, "Will he work for free?"

The doctor declined to laugh at Tom's little joke, answering candidly instead. "Sometimes, yes he will. It all depends on the patient's ability to pay."

Tom looked down at the paper in his hand, "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I recommend you give him a call first thing tomorrow morning. It might take a week or two for him to pencil you in."

"What kind of a doctor is he?"

Dr. Aster moved his head to the side slightly, "He's not a MD, so not actually a doctor. He's a clinical psychologist. But he's good, very good. And he has prior experience with both head trauma and post stress disorder cases. I really hope you'll take advantage and go see him."

"Post stress? You mean like with war veterans?"

"That's usually what most people think when they hear the term. But PTSD isn't just limited to veterans, it can be caused by any event that's sufficiently traumatic enough." He held a hand up before him. "And before you ask, no. That's not what I'm saying. I'm not saying or implying anything, except that it wouldn't hurt to give him a call."

"But there had to be something..."

"Tom, don't go jumping to conclusions. I'm not an expert in the field, and even if I were, I'd need a lot more to go on than a five minute conversation in the middle of the Shop N' Save before I could even begin to give you a definitive diagnosis."

Tom nodded and folded the paper over, slipping it into his pocket.

"Oh and Tom...Try not to read too much into your dreams. They lie more often than not."

"What do you mean?"

"When you're asleep your brain is like a food processor. Everything goes into the mix, fact and fiction together, then your subconscious hits the switch and it all gets blended together until you can't tell one from the other. So it's best not to take them too literally."

"Oh. Gotcha."

"Good luck Tom. Try to keep out of my ER will you?" He clapped him on the shoulder and steered his buggy off towards the dairy aisle, leaving Tom behind to contemplate their conversation. Tom instinctively lifted his head and turned it towards the service desk. Earline was occupied with a customer but she seemed to sense Tom's scrutiny. She paused in mid-sentence and turned her head back towards him. Tom gave one final wave, expecting no reaction in return. Surprisingly she dipped her head slightly, and he believed that as she did so he could detect the barest trace of a smile on her lips, the complete effect being so subtle and brief that once she had turned back away from him he was left wondering whether in fact it had happened at all or if it was merely the result of his own imagination. He pondered the matter for a second, coming to no firm conclusion as he walked towards the nearest checkout lane.

John

He's coming. He's coming for you.

You're not real. You're just my imagination is all. Go away.

You know it's true. God will take his due. Can't run from him.

Go away!

He did, it did, whatever pronoun was appropriate to describe it. John felt the absence just as quickly and surely as he had heard his/its words. He refused to believe that it was actually his father speaking out from the grave.

It's just my mind fucking with me. That's all it is. I'm sick from that fucking tick bite. There ain't no more to it than that.

It had been a long time since he had last heard that voice, though not nearly so long enough.

The last time had been...was it Virginia? Yes, it was there. I'm sure of it. It followed the red dreams then too. It likes them for some reason, feeds on them. Like flies on day-old dogshit.

And before that it had been with him at La Tollete, not so affectionately nick-named by its inmates as 'the crapper'. It had been with him often there, some days spending hours at a time with him. John had managed to keep its presence a secret for the most part, only breaking down and revealing its presence on a single occasion. The prison doctor had patiently listened as John had described the voice. He patiently listened, politely asked his questions, and quietly jotted down his notes, but all the while John could see what he was really thinking behind those wire-framed glasses. The doctor was convinced it was all just an act, that he was just laying the ground work for some sort of insanity plea.

Bullshit! They're the crazy ones, not me. Running through the rat maze day after day as if there's ever an end to it. There's not. You never get to the exit, and there's never any cheese. All there ever is is another dead end, one after the other. I'm the sane one. I quit playing the game. Fuck their cheese!

La Tollete, what a joke that place was. Only thing is, the joke was all on me. I never should've been there in the first place, and it was all because of that bitch in Lafayette. That lying, fucking whore of a girl.

He had a good paying job before La Tollete, best money he had ever made his entire life, working the rotation on one of the gulf rigs. It was not the hardest work he had ever had either, though there were more than a few nights when he wondered if perhaps the trade-offs of the job might make it worth his time to look for something a little less lucrative financially. Money in the back pocket means a lot less when you have nobody to spend it with.

Then there had come a blow in from the south, a tropical storm bouncing off the Texas coast, aimlessly loitering over the Gulf of Mexico while Mother Nature took her own sweet time picking her target with care. As a precaution everyone had been evacuated off the rig and put into a mid-priced motel in Lafayette within sight of Interstate 10, there to wait in relative ease for the all clear to sound and work to resume.

She was willing when he first met her there, more than willing. She was the one that approached him, not the other way around as she would claim later. She sashayed right up to him, batted her eyes, and within minutes had gone so far as to sit on his lap; laughing at his stammering attempts to sound charming and winning. She was still willing when they got back to his room. There she lied to him, telling him that this was the first time she had ever done anything like this, that she would not be there now except...Well, she just needed a little money. Not much, mind you, just enough to get a fix or two, just enough to get by for a little while. John did not mind, truthfully he was relieved to hear it. It meant he was off the hook as far as the charm went. When you start paying for it in cold hard cash it takes a bit of the pressure off. She was still willing right up until the moment she had the money in her hands. Then she stopped and stared at it like she had never seen the stuff before and had no idea how it had even gotten into her hands.

Suddenly she wanted to change her mind, but it was way too late for that. You have to expect that once terms have been settled and payment rendered that you have to do your part. Those are the rules of the game. So, what was he to do? She had her payment, he took his.

Wish I'd known her daddy was a sheriff for the next parish over though. That would've been good info to have had at the time. Wouldn't have hurt to have known she was still a minor too.

Six years that cunt cost me. Most expensive pussy I ever paid for. I do have to admit it was maybe the sweetest I ever had too, nice and tight, just the way I like it. But six years is just too much for any piece of ass, even hers.

Another bolt of pain struck his right side, they were coming more frequent by the hour, though their intensity seemed to be subsiding somewhat. Perhaps he was just becoming more used to them, his brain anticipating and compensating for them ahead of time.

Ain't nuthin but pain. I've dealt with pain before, lot's worse than this.

It's a message. Past time you listened. God's talking to you.

Yeah, well...fuck him and his message, and fuck you too pappy!

Chapter 20

Anne

"...and that, my friends, is why there will never, never be a playoff system instituted in NCAA college football. Do you hear me? Never!"

That's quite enough from you!

Anne leaned forward and punched the button to turn the radio off, ending the commentator's opinionating before he could restate it for the fourth time with little changed from the previous three incarnations.

"I see you made a new friend today."

Anne's daughter turned in her seat and looked back at her, a quizzical look on her face. "Huh?"

"Josh. That's his name, right?"

Michelle turned her attention back to the passenger side window, watching the scenery whizz by as they drove along the lonely rural highway leading towards their home on False Cape. "Yeah, I guess. He's ok enough, for a boy."

Anne smiled to herself.

It won't be long before your attitude changes baby. Maybe as early as seven or eight years from now and you'll be singing another tune entirely. Those years may feel like forever to you, but for me I'm betting they'll flash by in a blink.

It was a beautiful spring day, though a touch on the warm side. It was little wonder that Michelle seemed so engrossed with the passing view. Wildflowers were going into full bloom along the highway shoulder, painting the curb in varied hues of yellow, orange and purple.

I can't believe how warm it's already getting down here. There's probably still patches of snow on the ground back home.

"Can Tom come over again tomorrow?"

The smile on Anne's face evaporated at the mention of his name. "No honey, tomorrow's Monday. He has to work, I'm sure."

"Oh."

Almost a minute passed by without either saying another word. Anne had almost convinced herself that her simple explanation had sufficed to close that line of conversation before it could begin when Michelle spoke again, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why does he have to work?"

"Because that's what grown ups do. We work, so we can get paid money."

"Why?"

"Well if we didn't get paid how would we take care of inquisitive little girls like yourself?"

"In..."

"In-quis-i-tive. It means that you're nosy and you ask a lot of questions."

Michelle scrunched up her face and poked her tongue out impudently.

"Don't do that. It's not nice."

"You called me nosy." Her daughter's voice was pouty and wounded.

"It's not always bad being nosy. You have to ask questions to learn anything. You just have to know what to ask, and when."

"Oh..."

Again there was a long stretch of near silence, the only sound being that of the car's wheels in contact with the pavement below. Anne sighed, feeling unaccountably disturbed by the quiet, wishing she could think of some new topic to discuss that would break it.

"When he doesn't have to work, then can he come over?"

Anne hesitated before answering, unsure how to reply. "I don't know honey. Maybe it's really not such a good idea."

"Why?"

Oh boy. How do I answer that one? Do I even know the answer to that one myself?

"Don't you like him anymore?" Michelle asked, not waiting for her to properly frame a response to her previous question.

"Of course I do."

"Did he do something bad? Are you mad at him?"

"No baby, it's nothing like that. It's not that simple."

"Then why?"

"You wouldn't understand. It's a grown up thing." Anne cringed, recognizing that tired old argument coming from her own lips. It was a phrase she had often sworn to herself that she would never resort to using as a parent. "Why do you want him to come over so bad anyway? We can explore the beach together, just you and me. Two girls out there in search of adventure. Wouldn't you like that?"

"I guess...It's just that..."

"Just what?"

"He's fun, and he makes you laugh."

"What?"

"He makes you laugh." Michelle repeated, as though it should be the most obvious of facts. "You don't laugh enough, but when he's around you do."

"What are you talking about? I laugh all the time."

"Sure, when there's people watching but it's not like it's real. When nobody's looking you get all sad and stuff."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do. 'Specially when you're thinking of daddy."

Her daughter's blunt statement of contradiction stunned Anne into silence.

Am I really like that?

"How would you know? What makes you say that?"

Michelle only shrugged her shoulders, as though the answer should be self evident and not worth her effort.

"How old are you again?"

Michelle held up one hand with all it's fingers spread wide. "Almost five!"

"You're a very precocious little girl. Do you know that?" Then seeing the look on her daughter's face added, "That's pre-co-cious. It means that you're a lot smarter than you ought to be."

Her daughter had a smug little smile crossing her face from ear to ear. "I know."

Jenny

Jenny noisily slurped down the last dregs of her strawberry milkshake as she stared out the front window of her car. The Maxi-Mini convenience store directly ahead was brightly lit from within. It was going on mid-afternoon now, and from her vantage point the sun had already lowered enough to slip behind the top-most edge of the store casting a shadow that enclosed her car, and her within it.

Her eyes darted to the right, her attention snagged by the motion of a man exiting the front of the store and walking directly away from her current position. She absently tracked him as he approached a news crew van, slid open the side door, and briefly conversed with another man already seated inside. Then he closed the side door, opened the driver's side, and hopped in. Within seconds the van was gone, having pulled onto the main highway, its nose pointed west towards Panama City. It was the second news crew van she had spotted in the five minutes she had sat there sipping down her milkshake.

Curious. Since when did anything happen in Isabella that would rate two news crew vans?

Jenny shook the cup trying to collect the last iota of her drink. Finally she had to admit that it was well and truly exhausted. It was time to go inside, make her purchases, and return at last to the Boardwalk.

Three minutes later, having made her selections, she approached the front counter and emptied her arms; a small bag of Doritos, a 20 ounce Diet Coke, and a microwaveable mini-sub (contents unrecognizable, though the package said ham and cheese).

Now this is what I call dinner? That's really, really sad.

"So...What's with the tv crew? Somebody in town get robbed or something?"

"Hmm?" The cashier looked up, temporarily distracted from her task of ringing up the items.

Jenny hooked her thumb out towards the spot in the parking lot where minutes before the van had sat. "The tv news crew van that was just out there. What happened to bring them all the way out here?"

"Oh, them. They were just coming back from the cape. Nothing happened today that I know about. I think they were just doing a follow up story on the murder out there."

"Murder? On the cape?"

"Well, not today. That girl that was raped last week. She died this morning at the hospital. That's what I heard."

Anne

"Hop to it girl!"

Michelle gave her mother one final look of sullen defiance then turned and stomped off up the stairway.

"And no ice cream dessert for you if the job's not done right. That means behind the ears and everything!"

Anne received no indication that her daughter had heard her last directive, but she had little doubt that she had. On the whole Michelle was, up to this point at least, a fairly well disciplined child compared to what Anne had seen of other people's children. Whether that would remain true or not over time she had no idea, but she was thankful of the blessing while it lasted. The one area where her daughter proved the exception to the rule was at bath time. She hated them, quite thoroughly, and tended to endure them only under the direst of threats.

Anne waited to hear the bathroom door slam shut, as she knew it would, then trudged off to the kitchen. She sat the first of four grocery bags upon the kitchen counter, the remaining three bags were still wedged into the back seat of the car and would need to be carried up the wooden stairway and into the house one-by-one.

Good thing I never got any refrigerated groceries this time around. Anything frozen would've thawed by now for sure.

Correction; I did get one thing that needs to go into the fridge, but there's no hurry on that. It'll keep just fine as it is for as long as it needs.

She turned around, retracing her steps back towards the front door, pointedly refusing to allow herself to stop and stare at the scorch marks from yesterday's fiasco. What she was not able to ignore quite so easily was the small, blinking red light on the telephone informing her that she had a recorded message waiting for her attention. She stopped, considering which was the higher priority of the two; groceries sitting contentedly in the car or a message from persons unknown. Having stopped, the choice was mostly already made though.

Might as well hear what they've got to say. Whoever they are.

Anne stabbed the playback button and stood back.

"Anne, I've got good news for you." It was her father's voice, and it sounded upbeat. "That issue with Bob won't be an issue anymore. I took care of it. I seriously doubt you'll hear from him for a very long time. If you're wanting to return the call, if you have any questions, then please wait until the morning. Your mother and I are headed out for the evening. I thought I might take her out for dinner, and maybe even a spot of dancing afterwards. I only hope my hips can still handle it. I love you princess. Give my best to the munchkin."

Well now, that certainly trumps a bag or three of groceries any day.

Anne's first reaction was relief leading into a sense of elation. She had done her best to not allow Robert's posturing to affect her mood. But despite her father's earlier assurances to the contrary, it had been impossible to completely ignore its effects on her. With this last message of his, she felt the lifting of a huge, invisible weight off of her shoulders, a weight so subtly insidious in nature that she had not even been aware of its existence until it was gone. Now she wanted to celebrate, to share her elation with someone, but not just with anyone. She had one person in particular in mind.

Anne stared at the telephone for a long moment before coming to a fateful decision. She picked up the receiver and hit the speed dial number.

"Hello?" The woman's voice, answering on the second ring, was rich and buttery.

"Mrs. Sheppard, hi there. This is Anne Roche calling. I know this is super short notice, but I was wondering..."

Tom

Tom hit the eject button and waited for the disk to slide out on its tray. He had enjoyed the first half of the movie, even going so far as to laugh hilariously in a few places here and there, truly an achievement given his mood of the day. Then the hero had rescued the fair damsel in distress from the dragon and everything had gone downhill from there. From that point on the story was essentially a romance story, and if there was anything he was definitely not in the mood for, that was it. So, with almost a third of the movie left to play he had stopped and ejected it. It was time to see if a movie about a sadistic maniac that enjoyed torturing people for kicks might brighten his day.

The phone rang.

Well, whoever it is, it's not likely they'll make things worse. Is it?

Tom picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hi Tom."

"Jenny? Is that you?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I guess I'm just tired. It's been a bit of a long day for me."

Tom sat down on the bar stool, the receiver pressed hard against his ear. She sounded faint and faraway. "I can barely hear you Jenny."

"I just called to ask you if you'd meet me tomorrow. We need to sit down and talk about some things."

"Tomorrow? What time tomorrow? I work from seven until three."

"Oh...um five then I guess. Would that work for you?"

Hmm...Tomorrow's my first day back since mother died. I'm likely to be worn out and exhausted by the end of the work day. Not really ideal conditions for dealing with her.

"Tom...Are you still there?"

"Would morning or noon work better for you?"

Jenny sounded surprised by his question, "Well yeah, it would, but I'll understand if you can't."

"How about ten o'clock then? At mom's house."

"What about work?" His sister sounded dubious.

"Don't worry about that. I've blown off work for worse reasons before."

A light knocking sound came from the front door.

What the hell? Before last week I had one visitor in here all of last year, now this place is getting to be like Grand Central Station.

"Jenny, I've got someone at the front door. I'll see you there tomorrow at ten. Ok? Gotta go." Tom replaced the phone receiver without waiting for her response.

If there was anyone that Tom did not expect to be calling on him this evening it was the woman waiting in his doorway. Anne smiled at him and extended forth a hand, in its grip was the handle of a six pack carton of Corona Gold. "I heard this was the place to come to get a wicked serving of burger beans."

Anne

A light haze of smoke hung near the ceiling, giving the air of the small apartment a faint bluish tint. Anne breathed in the aroma of ground chuck frying. It was a scent that was, if not exactly foreign to her, was something of a rarity in her experience. She had been raised on a diet that was most often centered around fish, pork and chicken. Beef had been served sparingly during her upbringing and almost never in the form of ground hamburger. It was a dietary habit that had been tacitly passed down from generation to generation within her family line, through her mother and now practiced by Anne in her own meal preparations.

She stood in the center of the forward third of the apartment. Her attention skimmed briefly over each and every item of note within the cramped space. There was not much there to keep her attention for long. What space was available was mostly dominated by the presence of a large, older-model television, especially as it was accompanied by a recliner chair positioned a few yards before it. The chair was at least as old as the television it faced, the cloth upholstery faded and fraying. Besides those and three bar stools facing the breakfast bar, the only other piece of furniture to be seen was a single bookcase along the wall, all but the topmost of its shelves crammed to capacity with an eclectic mix of paper and hard backed books.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" She called out loudly, unsure if her host would be able to hear her over the clattering sounds his efforts were generating in the kitchen.

"No. No, I've got this. Just make yourself at home in there. I won't be much longer."

Anne considered turning on the television set but then rejected the idea. It was music, not television, that she was in the mood for presently. She crossed over to where the bookcase sat and quickly ran her fingers over the spines of the paperbacks on the second shelf.

Poe, Shelley, Hemingway, Twain, Vonnegut, Doyle, Wouk...Hmmm interesting, not the most contemporary of tastes. Ahh, now there's a Tom Clancy and a few Stephen King and Dean Koontz works.

Anne continued on, moving downward to the hardbacks.

What's this now? Hawking, Feynman, Glashow, Sagan, Weinberg. I certainly wouldn't have expected this.

"Um, I forgot to ask you. Do you like broccoli?" The unexpected question startled her, causing her to turn around quickly. Tom stood just beyond where the kitchen exited out into the small hallway leading backwards.

"Love it." She answered, feeling the smallest bit of guilt at having been caught in the act of perusing his shelves.

Well, he did say to make myself at home.

"Great!" He flashed her a quick smile seemingly unconcerned with her curious snooping.

"Do you mind if I turn the stereo on? It's a bit quiet in here."

"Oh, um, sure. Knock yourself out. It's on the top shelf...oh um...but you already knew that of course." Tom's face was lit with embarrassment at the awkward response.

"Yeah., I'm guessing it's that big metallic box right there with all the dials, knobs, and buttons." She teased as she pointed at the object of their joint attention.

After Tom had reentered the kitchen Anne clicked the radio on. She had expected music to begin issuing forth, instead it was the dry, even tones of an older female voice, her words delivered with proud patrician precision.

"Welcome to 'Global View'. I'm your host Carol Dugard and today we're talking with Megan Tyler, activist and advocate of the rape prevention organization 'Speak Up America'."

Anne bent over to get a closer view of the radio dial, intending to change the channel to something of a more musical nature, but with every spoken word she was finding herself more and more transfixed by the subject of the discussion.

"Ms. Tyler is also the acclaimed author of the New York Times bestseller Semple, Grace, a fictional account of the trials and tribulations of a young woman in the wake of a brutal rape by her own father. A warning to any parents out there, tonight's show will of course touch on issues that may be inappropriate for our younger listeners."

"Good evening Carol. I'm very glad to be here."

The counter voice was that of a much younger woman, perhaps her own age give or take a few years.

"Good evening Ms. Tyler. Thank you very much for coming on tonight's show and agreeing to speak about an issue as personal as our evening's subject."

"My pleasure Ms Dugard. In this country rape is all too often regarded as a private matter, hidden away behind closed doors. It's my opinion that society will never effectively deal with the issue until we learn how to discuss it openly and honestly. And rape is far too serious a problem to allow it to continue festering below the surface as it has."

"You yourself were a victim of rape, were you not?"

"That's correct, although in my case it was by my ex-husband, not by a family member as I portray in the book."

"I'm curious, why the need to fictionalize the event when you already had a true and factual basis for your own story? Why not just tell it the way it actually happened?"

"Well, for me I suppose it was a way to gain some distance from my own life. Speaking as a former journalist I felt that it was essential to at least attempt some small measure of objectivity. As you can imagine that's much easier said than done in this kind of situation. Besides, it's really everything that occurs after the rape that I wanted to keep as my primary focus, not necessarily the rape itself. In my opinion, I could do that more successfully with a fictional account that held true to the emotional experience than by delving into my own past history."

"Let's talk about that for a bit, if you wouldn't mind."

"Certainly, it's the reason I'm here today. To encourage other young women out there to speak out about their experiences with this awful subject. As a collective gender we've kept our silence far too long as it is."

"Your main protagonist, Grace Semple, is raped by her father..."

"Correct."

"As an author, how do you envision that differing from your own experience?"

"I don't really to be honest."

"Really? Not at all?"

"Carol, the experience of being raped is perhaps not only one of, if not the most, traumatic events that a woman go through, it's also one of the most personal. The horrible irony about rape is that for all the universal truths behind the experience; the sense of violation, of helplessness, of guilt and isolation; in effect all the things that give the very meaning to the word rape, despite all these commonalities with other victims, when it happens to you it feels very much as though it's all your own. We all cope, or fail to cope, in our own very personal way. There is no set pattern of response, no definitive list of symptoms to fit each act into one category or another. In one sense I'm here to speak in behalf of the millions that have been victimized, but in a truer sense I can really only speak for myself. Yes, I've changed the names and some of the details, but where it really counts in the book I was compelled to tell my own story as best I could, because it's the only one I had to share."

"Ok then. Talk about that please, if you would."

"Certainly. In my own case, I went through a long period, almost a year, of extreme denial. I couldn't accept what had happened to me, so psychologically I blocked the entire episode completely out of my mind, as though it had not."

"Amnesia?"

"Yes, it was a form of amnesia, a very selective form in my case. It was as though that day never existed for me. Everything was still there, locked away somewhere in the back of my mind, but it was as if it were physically locked within an actual vault. I could no more remember the details of that lost day than I could have flapped my arms and flew. So long as I was conscious it was completely walled off. I wasn't even aware that there was a memory of anything amiss, much less any of the details of it. It was only while I slept that bits and pieces would seep out around the edges in my dreams, in my nightmares."

"But there were other indicators?"

"Oh yes, definitely, depression chiefly. There was also poor impulse control on my part, anger management issues, and an inability to form and maintain personal relationships. All of those of course were just the outward symptoms of what was going on inside me at the time."

"Which was?"

"A complete and total lack of any self esteem. If you've never experienced it for yourself you can't know just how debilitating that can be. To have every day filled from sunrise to sunset with constant fear, anxiety, and self doubt. Granted almost everyone has had their own personal moments here and there, but this...This was constant and ever present. Somehow, virtually over night, it had suddenly become my new normal, and the baffling part was that I had no idea why."

"Did you seek help?"

"That's the most insidious aspect of depression, your every instinct is to turn away from anyone and everyone that might care about you. I was functional enough to hold on to my job, my parents had their own set of problems at the time, and my friends all seemed to drift away. I was cutting the ties that bound me to the world one-by-one, but as long as I was still earning a living and paying the bills nobody appeared to even notice. As incredible as it may sound it took an almost equally traumatic event to bring everything back into the light."

"The death of your own father?"

"Yes, he passed away in 1999 from lymphatic cancer..."

That's enough of that. If I keep listening to this I'll be the one that's depressed. Time to find that music, something funky and fun to lighten the mood and grease the groove.

With that thought in mind Anne bent back down to the radio and began twirling the dial in search of funky and fun.

Tom

"Where's your music collection?"

Tom replaced the lid on the skillet and flipped the knob on the stove burner to the off position before answering back. "I don't have one. What's the matter? Can't find anything decent on the radio?"

Tom emerged to find Anne standing near the recliner, her hands on her hips, glowering down at the stereo in disapproval. "Not really. The selection of radio stations in this town seems a little limited. You've got your choice of country, golden oldies, or gospel. None of which is what I was really in the mood for. There sounded like there was a pop station coming out of Panama City, but there was so much static on the air that it wasn't worth the aggravation."

"Oh well, guess we'll just have to make do without tonight." Tom answered, trying to sound more disappointed than he actually felt.

"Seriously, you don't have any music CDs at all? None?" She gave him a look of disbelief. "Nope, not a single one."

"So what do you listen to when you're in the mood for music? Please don't tell me it's the gospel station."

Tom laughed at the very idea, "Me? Not hardly." He backed up and sat upon one of the bar stools. "Actually I rarely listen to music. I prefer silence most of the time, and if the radio is on it's only to get the news and that's pretty much it."

"No music? What kind of person doesn't like music?"

"Most of the stuff people call 'music' is really just noise that I can do without."

Anne acted perplexed. "I can't imagine a life without music. How would you ever dance without music?"

"Um, yeah. That's something else I don't do."

"Oh, is that right?" She asked with a devilish grin.

Anne crossed the room, her hips swaying suggestively with each step as she approached. "Are you absolutely certain of that?"

Tom did his best to hide his sudden, unaccountable nervousness. "Well..."

Anne reached down and took his hands into her own, "You don't sound certain." She tugged gently, bringing him to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Tom knew it was a stupid question, but it was the only thing he could think to say given the circumstances.

Anne lifted a finger and placed it on his lips as she made a soft shrrring noise. She took a second to position his hands on her hips before locking her own hands together at the back of his neck.

"We have no music, remember?" Tom made one last protest, knowing full well that nothing so useless as logic would serve to dissuade her.

"Just this once, use your imagination." She whispered softly into his ear as she pulled him closer to her.

Anne began to sway softly from side to side, moving her feet in time with a soundless, slow beat. Tom's own movements were stiff and disjointed in comparison, an all too crude attempt to follow her lead.

"Relax Tom, just let yourself enjoy it. Think of it as making out, except standing up."

"Foreplay?" He croaked.

"Something like that." She murmured.

It took a little while, but eventually he found himself slowly unwinding. He could feel the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away, his body moving in a more natural fashion, his feet shuffling in a subtly more graceful manner. With each passing second he felt his awareness steadily shifting its attention away from his own movements and onto her presence.

"You see there. You do dance." She was looking straight into his eyes now, a knowing smile across her lips. "Now, just think how much better this would be with the right music."

"I might be able to get used to this." He admitted. "Dinner's ready by the way."

"That's ok. Not that hungry."

As much as he was enjoying the company, there was a little something that nagged incessantly at the back of Tom's mind.

"Anne?"

"Hmm?"

"I have to ask: What changed?"

"What?"

"I didn't think that I would be seeing you again, not here at any rate. I thought for sure that I had scared you away for good."

"You did scare me, a little."

"A little?" He probed.

"Ok, a lot." She pulled back, took his hands in her own and stood before him, a sober tone in her voice. "Tom, I'm going to be up front with you. I do like you, but I'm not sure I'm ready to go full throttle on a relationship just yet. For now, can we...just work on getting to know each other a little better. No expectations and no commitments."

Sounds perfect!

Chapter 21

Anne

"More?"

Anne slugged down another gulp of her beer while shaking her head to indicate she had had her fill already.

When he said it'd be spicy he wasn't kidding.

"No, that's enough. I surrender. It was good, but maybe just a bit too...zesty for me."

"Zesty huh?" Tom was grinning widely, enjoying her predicament just a little too much. "That's a nice way of saying it. Lucky for you I only made it half as potent as usual. You Yankee girls are real wimps. You know that?"

"You're going to pay for that the next time we have a sand fight."

Tom exited the kitchen and took a seat on the adjoining bar stool, "Bah, You don't fight fair. Two vicious girls versus one hapless boy. It's just not fair I tell you."

"Tell it to the Marines buddy!"

Tom was still smiling, but something subtle changed in his posture, signaling a change of mood from the playful to something a bit more thoughtful.

"I'm really glad you came over tonight."

"I am too. I've really enjoyed it."

Tom winced.

"What? What is it?" She asked, thinking that maybe he had stubbed his toe on the breakfast bar.

"You said 'enjoyed', past tense. I don't want the night to be over already."

Anne chuckled, "Me either, but..."

"Then don't go. Stay."

"I really can't. I'll need to pick Michelle back up from Mrs. Sheppard's soon. Otherwise it'll get too late and I'll have to leave her there overnight."

"She just might enjoy that. From what Michelle said, Mrs. Sheppard's granddaughter is her life-long, best bud."

Anne smiled, "I'm sure Michelle would. It's Mrs. Sheppard that I'm more concerned with. Good babysitters are way too precious a commodity to abuse that way."

Without intending it, she found her gaze drawn to his right eye. Any swelling he might have experienced had pretty much dissipated, but there still remained an angry reddish half moon beneath.

"I heard about Rosie's."

Tom shrugged, "The way this town is, I'd be surprised if you hadn't."

"Mind telling me what happened there?"

"There's really not that much to tell. Rosie's is a bar, it was Saturday night, and this is a small town. I think that about sums it all up."

"Just that simple huh?"

"Yup."

"And Beverly...?"

"Was there." He admitted grudgingly.

Anne waited for more but there was none. Finally she could wait no more. "She's leaving. Did you know that?"

She asked me not to hand the letter over until after she'd left town. She never said the leaving itself was a secret. I may be playing semantics here, but I think she'd understand why.

"No, I didn't." If he was caught off guard he hid it well. "How do you know that?"

"She told me, today."

Now came the look of surprise on his face that she had been expecting.

"I didn't realize you two knew each other that well."

What do I say to that? They say honesty is the best policy. Let's start with that.

"We've talked a couple of times since that morning at the cafe. Mostly about you."

"That's interesting. Anything she told you about me, she must've lied." The bitterness in his voice caught Anne off guard.

"Why do you say that?"

"For one thing, you're here anyway." He was trying to make it sound like a joke, but there was no humor in his eyes.

"Don't worry. She only told me the good things."

"See there. I told you she lied. Don't sweat it though, she does that a lot. I'm just now realizing how much...and how well she does it."

"Wow! Angry much?"

He looked up and for a flash she could see an ugly hint of that anger welling up behind his eyes. Then just as quickly it was gone again, replaced by a sadness that was painful to watch.

"I'm sorry Anne. That was wrong of me to say. She didn't deserve that, no more than you needed to hear it."

"Did you know shes still in love with you?"

"She tell you that too?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. She did."

"Excuse me for a moment."

Tom raised up off his stool and briskly strode towards the back of his apartment. In less than a minute he was back, now standing near the recliner with a newly lit cigarette clenched in his right hand.

"Why would she tell you that? For that matter, why are you telling me now?"

"You're a smart guy. Think about it for a second and I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"Damn it! I wish people would lay off that smart guy shit."

"Sorry."

"Just humor me please and give me a straight answer. Why?"

His growing agitation was infectious, she felt a surge of irritation rising up within her to match.

"She's hoping we'll hit it off and become a couple or something."

Tom took a deep hit on the cigarette. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"No joke. I'm paraphrasing here, but that's the gist of it."

"Is that why you're here? Is this all her little setup in play?"

"I'm here...I came here tonight because I wanted to be here. Now I'm beginning to think that maybe it wasn't such a hot idea after all."

Anne watched as an angry retort died on his lips. He turned away and started pacing the room slowly.

"Try to see it from where I stand."

"How can I? When I have no idea where it is you do stand."

"What are you talking about?"

She sighed in frustration.

Time to go for broke.

"I think she's leaving Tim. I know she still loves you... All it would take is one word from you and she's back in your life again."

Jenny

Arrrghh!

Jenny sat up straight in bed and violently threw off the covers, an admission of her defeat. For over an hour she had lain there, trying without success to get some much needed sleep, but even as tired as she was it simply would not come. For hours her mind had been an endlessly rotating hamster wheel; spinning, spinning, spinning...and going exactly nowhere. With the slightest bit of imagination she expected she would even be able to make out the tinny squeak of the metal as it continued onward on its futile mission of motion.

This is pure bullshit! I've already made my decision, time to accept that and move on. Nothing left for it but the deed itself.

But that was the rub. As the old adage preached, 'the Devil's in the details'. Deciding to do a thing and actually doing it were two very, very different things.

Do I start with the easy stuff first? Stuff like; who gets what from mom's estate, how's life been treating you, or maybe just the price of tea in fucking China. Or do I just go straight for the juggler as he walks in the door? "Hey bro, guess what? I know something you don't know."

What if Terri's right? Mother's barely cold and the secret I hold could crush him. Can I really do that? And for what? So I can sleep better when it's done?

After it's told I'll be heading back to Orlando, with school to occupy me and someone that loves me at my side. What will he have? Who will be there for him? Is he strong enough to handle it? What if he's not? What then? Oh God, I don't want to have to come back here again just to watch them put him in the ground too. I don't think I could handle that.

Jenny swung her bare legs out over the side of the bed.

I might as well face it. No sleep for me anytime soon. Get up, get dressed, and get out the door. Right now doing anything, going anywhere, sounds better to me than laying here staring at the ceiling.

Jenny rose to her feet and began doing just that.

Tom

She's still in love with me. Just one word...

Tom stared down at the carpet, visually tracing out the patterns as they looped over and over again, repeating themselves seemingly at random. "And what word would that be?"

"Stay." Anne provided the answer softly. "If you asked her she would. I know it."

Tom bent down and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray beside the recliner, then raised his head and looked directly into her eyes. A look came over her face, some strange hybrid of hope and dread. "No."

"No?"

"No, I won't do that. Whatever we had is over, it's been over."

"Are you certain about that?"

Tom nodded, "There's not many things I'm certain about, but that's one of them."

"You're not..." Anne fumbled for the exact words. "You're not just saying that now? You're not just saying it because you think it's what I want to hear?"

"Anne, whatever happens with us, or doesn't happen, has no bearing. If you walk out that door and I never see you again it wouldn't change a thing. Me and her are over. End of story."

The relief on Anne's face was palpable. She stood and crossed over to him. "What happened between you?"

Tom shook his head, "Later. If you still want to know I'll tell you. I'll answer any questions you ask. But I'm done talking about her tonight. I'm all talked out about everything. I'm pure sick of talking and I don't want to do it anymore."

She took one last step forward, their bodies separated by mere inches. "Then don't talk..." Her eyes locked with his. "Just do."

Jenny

It was only by the narrowest of margins that Jenny managed to avoid a head-on collision as she stepped out of the elevator and entered the lobby. The person standing there in her exit path was an attractive, auburn haired woman approximately her own age, perhaps only a year or two older than herself. A trio of mid-sized luggage bags lay scattered about at her feet. Under other circumstances, namely if Jenny were not already in a relationship, the woman before her likely would have been just the sort that would have demanded a second, longer look from Jenny.

Things being what they were though, Jenny only muttered a quick half-hearted apology for the near miss and stepped around her. It was not until she had taken several steps forward that she came to a dead stop.

There's something very, very familiar about her. I know her from somewhere.

Jenny heard from behind her the sound of the bags being dragged into the elevator. She twirled around just in time to see the doors close. As she caught that one last glimpse of the woman blankly staring back in her direction she finally managed to snatch a name out of the misty recesses of her mind.

Beverly Hayes. Tom's old flame. Imagine that.

Anne

Anne lay on her back, her arms outstretched above her. Her hands grasped hungrily at Tom's shoulders, pulling him downwards with every thrust, further into herself. The fullness of him filled her emptiness, an emptiness unknown to herself until this night, and only now suddenly revealing itself with such vivid clarity. Anne stole a glance at Tom's face, his eyes were closed, his face contorted by an ecstatic mix of concentration and physical exertion.

If only...

Anne shifted her weight ever so slightly in an effort to spread her legs even further apart. Her leg muscles screamed in delicious agony, the strain of it would tell over time if held in this position for very long, but...

Oh yes! That's it!

His member was making full contact with her clitoris now, massaging it in alternating directions at a steady rhythmic pace. Time seemed to bend and warp for her. What came next took less than a minute by any clock, but she was now beyond the measurement of time in any conventional sense. As with a person in mortal danger, time seemed to stretch and expand, making seconds feel like minutes and minutes like hours. Pleasure, raw and primal, filled her entire universe, there was nothing beyond it.

A cascade of energy sparked within her at the point of contact between them, racing upwards and outwards until it saturated her completely. She cried out, not with a word per se, but in an inarticulate scream of pleasure. She could feel her muscles involuntarily seizing and contracting. They were working on their own now, without further need nor want of conscious direction. The hands on her lover's shoulders gripped him so tightly that her nails dug into his skin leaving angry, red marks that would remain for hours to come. As the orgasmic explosion neared its height she felt a new gush of warmth spurting out of him, coating the insides of her sex. His outcry joined hers as she pulled downwards with renewed force, overcoming his ability to resist. His weight collapsed onto her, threatening to force the air from her lungs, and yet she continued to hold on with all her strength, pulling him into her. If it were possible to merge their bodies into a fused mass she would have, and damn the consequences afterwards.

Her orgasm had burst upon her like a supernova, and like a supernova it left behind an afterglow to mark its passing. Ripples of pleasure, ever fainter remnants of the initial explosion, spread throughout her and bounced back upon themselves. Slowly, though all too soon for her taste, the sensation faded allowing reality to seep back into her awareness.

"...love you."

The words he spoke were barely audible, so quietly spoken she half believed herself imagining them. Then Tom weakly twitched and spasmed one final time before coming to rest, with only his breathing to show he still lived. Even without the ability to see into his eyes, his head now rested on the pillow behind her right shoulder, she knew instinctively that he had lost his hold on consciousness with that last utterance.

What am I getting myself into here? Do I really know? Worse yet, do I even care anymore?

That is when she realized a profound new truth, she no longer did care. No, that was wrong. It was not that she had stop caring, but rather that she had ceased to fear.

Perhaps being here was a mistake. Perhaps this, whatever it was she had stumbled into, might not work out in the end. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

If she put her mind to it she was sure she could come up with a thousand different reasons not to be here tonight. Who knows, some of them might actually be good, valid reasons. In contrast there was only one for being here. It was what she wanted. He was what she wanted, and he wanted her in return. As she lay there, listening to the sound of his breathing she knew with complete certainty, that for now at least, that singular reason was enough.

So instead of reacting with panic she allowed the memory of those two whispered words to wash over her like a warm, gentle mist. The sentiment expressed warmed and protected her as she drifted off to sleep, following him into the darkness. Tom was still inside of her as she drifted away.

Act III

On the Edge of Ugly

Chapter 22

A sound caught his attention. Tom stood perfectly still, listening intently, waiting for it to repeat. He did not have long to wait. It was muffled, but still clear enough for Tom to recognize it as a human voice. It had come from behind him, down the hallway. He turned and looked in that direction. The door to his mother's bedroom, the one she had shared with John for the past year, was closed, light seeping out from below. He hesitated briefly then began to walk towards it.

It was John's voice he was hearing, his words unrecognizable but the tone was angry and harsh. Tom stopped to listen at the door, expecting to hear his mother's voice in reply to John's. There was no reply however, only John's invective.

Maybe he's in there alone, just swearing his heart out to an empty room. He could just be letting off a bit of steam harmlessly.

Yet somehow, by no application of known logic, Tom knew that was wrong. John was not alone, Tom's mother was in there with him, and whatever was occurring beyond that door was anything but harmless.

Tom placed his hand on the doorknob and gave it a light twist to see if it might be locked from within. It was not.

I don't have to go in there. I can turn around right now, or better yet, I could just wake up. I don't really need to know what's happening in there do I? Or...do I? I've gone this long without knowing, why the sudden need now? Be honest here; why the curiosity now?

Tom could not answer that one. He stood there paralyzed by indecision.

Of course I can't answer that, because there is no reason. Just wake yourself up and let it go. Whatever is happening in there I don't want to know. I've never wanted to know.

A click, the sound of a door opening, but not the door before him. He still had his hand on the knob and it remained shut. He turned to see...

Tom

"Wake up Tom. C'mon now, wake up."

Tom opened his eyes. Newly awakened sensations from his conscious mind mingled with the lingering images of his dream and for the span of several seconds he found it impossible to distinguish between the two. The overhead light was on, the harsh glare of the bulb's light stabbing into his eyes. A dull, persistent pounding hammered his brain.

It was Anne that was standing over him, not...

Who? I saw someone. Someone in the dream. That's right, it was a dream. That's all it was, nothing more than that. I'm at home. My home. My apartment.

Tom's pulse and breathing rate peaked and slowly began to subside.

"What time is it?" Tom mumbled out the question, still unable to fully enunciate the words properly.

"Um..." Anne turned her head in order to read the bedside alarm clock. "Just a little after 5 am."

Tom raised himself up to a sitting position. His head continued its throbbing. A steady pulsation of pressure spread outwards from a point at the base of his skull, tormenting him with its clockwork regularity. "Had a bad dream."

"Gee, you think? You were thrashing about like a fish on a dock." Despite the sarcastic nature of her reply Tom readily detected a clear note of worry within her voice. He looked over at her, saying nothing. Anne's face softened, "Sorry, it's just that you scared me there."

Tom nodded silently, not in apology, but in simple acknowledgment. Noticing her attire for the first time he smiled, "Looks good on you."

Anne was wearing Tom's blue t-shirt, the same shirt he had been wearing earlier in the evening before she had peeled it off of him. She reached down near her feet and scooped up her panties from the floor, shimmying them up her legs as he continued to watch unabashed. Tom had a brief glimpse of a small tattoo, located on her inner right thigh just below the telltale strip of pale flesh that marked her bikini line.

"Oh my, what big eyes you have sir."

"What's this?" He asked as he reached out a hand to lift the bottom of the t-shirt. He half expected her to pull away or to reply evasively.

To his mild surprise she did neither. Instead Anne stood perfectly still, patiently allowing him to lightly run a finger over the lines of ink. The tattoo was about four inches by three inches, but was incredibly detailed despite its relatively small size. Now that he was able to study it in greater detail he saw that it was an empty birdcage, the door swung wide open, a single yellow bird feather lay at the bottom of the cage.

"Did Sylvester finally catch Tweetie?"

Anne grinned back at him. "Just the opposite. Tweetie's safe and sound back here..." She turned around and patted the back of her left shoulder blade with her right hand. Tom edged himself off the bed and stood up. Anne pulled the collar of the shirt away from her neck, inviting him to inspect the second tattoo as he had the first. It was not the iconic image of Tweetie that she bore, but rather a beautifully detailed yellow canary in song, the notes of music shown drifting away several inches before slowly fading to nothingness.

"There's a story here isn't there?"

"That's what tattoos are; stories in pictorial form. This one is mine. I got those the week that my divorce finalized, to remind me to never let it happen again."

Tom turned her around to face him. "I'm not like him. Heaven knows I have my own faults, and plenty of them, but not that."

"I know that. I wouldn't be here if you were."

Please, never let me make her regret that decision.

Anne lifted her head, her eyes seeking his. Tom said nothing, determined to keep any meddlesome doubts he might possess to himself.

"What? What are you thinking?"

Tom tenderly caressed the left side of her face. "The same thing I always think whenever I look at you. I was thinking how beautiful you are, and how so very lucky I am to have met you."

A light flush of embarrassment came over her face. Tom leaned forward, intending to kiss her again, but just before their lips could touch there was a low rumbling sound from below. Anne's eyes went wide in surprise, then the blush on her face deepened to a rich shade of crimson as they both came to realize the source of the offending sound. "Oh my God!" was all she managed to say before they both erupted in laughter.

"Give me a few minutes to get dressed and make a really quick phone call. I feel a flu coming on." He coughed dramatically then gave her a good natured wink. "When I'm done with that I'll whip you up a little something to quiet the grumble monster."

"Tom, no..." She started to admonish him.

"Before you start...I planned to do that anyway. I've business that needs attending to later this morning."

"Oh, ok." Anne said meekly, then as he turned for the closet she delivered a playful slap to his rear. "Call me a monster will you? You haven't seen the monster yet."

John

John felt the pre-dawn air growing noticeably cooler by the minute. The sun would be rising shortly, already the night's pitch black surroundings had begun the oh-so-slow transformation to shades of blue and gray. In less than an hour the greens, yellows, and reds would one-by-one appear and take their rightful places in the forested landscape. Ordinarily the coming of the day's light could be expected to bring with it the welcome warmth of the sun's rays. But not today.

It's going to rain today, and not just any rain mind you. It's going to pour, and once the rain is finally over it's going to get very, very cold. I don't need any slick haired, movie star wannabee standing in front of a weather map to tell me that. It's as plain as the nose on my face. Just look up at the sky and it'll show all that anyone needs to see.

I can't stay out here much longer. When I was younger it would've been a different story, but I'm not that invincible young man any longer. I've got to face the facts. Somewhere along the way I've gotten old. I can't handle these woods the way I could've back in the day. That tick bite is infected and has me burning up with fever, it even has me hearing shit that ain't really there. The way things are going it probably won't be long before it has me seeing as well as hearing. When that happens it's only a matter of time before I'm running around in circles and barking at the moon. Cops or no cops I've gotta scoot.

They'll be waiting for you. You know that, don't you?

"Of course I do pappy. You didn't raise no idjit."

The jury's still out on that one. So far I ain't too impressed.

"Ain't nothing new there. You never were. Not by me at least. Why should I expect anything different from you now that you're dead?"

John had gotten tired of asking, demanding, and finally begging the intrusive voice into silence. It showed no inclination to obey in any case, so at last he had finally bowed down to the practical solution, talk back to it. Maybe it was not his first choice for a companion out here, but in its own way it provided a twisted brand of comfort. When one has nothing to listen to but birdsong and the rustling of wind blown branches any voice, even an imaginary one, can be better than nothing at all.

It'll go away in time, it always does eventually. I hardly even dreamed at all last night. Ok, so I didn't sleep much either, but that's beside the point. First the dreams will go away, soon after pappy will shut his yap, and then all will be right with the world once more. I just have to put up with his yammering in the meantime.

You really think it's just that easy do you? Just wait me out and I'll go away?

"Yes I do. You ain't nuthin but a fever dream. Sooner or later I'll wake up and you'll be gone, and then I'll be right on about my business again."

You in the fever in Virginia too? What about Tennessee? Was it the fever that brought me to you in Louisiana? You know it wasn't, not any of those times.

John kept his retort to himself, mainly because he had little to say on the matter. The same question had nagged him throughout most of the past day and as yet he still had no good answer for it.

It don't matter. I know what's real, and what ain't. I ain't crazy. No matter what anybody says.

Jury's still out on that one too.

"I do wish you'd just shut up and give me some peace. You'd think being dead would be enough to keep a body quiet, but oh no. Not with my pappy."

Peace? What've you done to earn any peace? You think that poor girl has any peace? You think she'll ever have any peace now? After what you did? Do you think any of them will ever know peace?

"She brought that on herself. Ain't none of that is my fault. Every one of them got what they had coming to them."

John, John, John...You can't really believe that.

"Sure I do, because it's the God's honest truth."

The God's honest truth? What would you know of God's truth? Time for you to wake up and look around John. Time for you to see his real truth, not just your own personal notion of it. You've got the Devil in you. I did my best to rid you of it, but I failed. For that, I'm sorry.

Mark this day. I had to wait till he was rotting in the ground, but I finally heard him say the word 'sorry'.

Yes, I'm sorry. But not half so much as you'll be before this race is run. Won't be much longer either I'm thinking.

"Oh yeah? That just shows how much you know old man. I ain't done yet, not by a long shot. I ain't the sort of man to just lay down and die because you want me to. I'm not even close to giving up yet."

You think that's what I want from you? To lay down and die?

"Of course it is. That's why you're here ain't it?"

No, John. That's not what I want from you. You say you're not about to give up, but I say you already gave up, a very long time ago. I'm here to ask you to try again. Even now, after all you've done, it's still not too late. But soon it will be. Don't let your last chance slip away.

"My last chance? What sort of chance do you think I have? You expect me to just walk out of these woods with my hands up and all will be forgiven? Hell pappy, even you weren't that stupid."

Oh you'll have to pay a price. No doubt about that. But better to spend your last years in a cell praying for forgiveness than an eternity where it'll never come. Once those eyes of yours close for the last time the choice will have been made and your fate set. Until then it's never too late. Turn away John. Come back to your senses.

John snorted in derision, "You ain't my pappy. My pappy wasn't so big into forgiveness."

Never said I was.

"You ain't the voice of God neither, so don't play that card on me."

I'm not saying that either.

"Then just who the fuck are you?"

I ain't nuthin but a fever dream. Remember?

"Fucking right!"

That don't change the truth of what I say though. Time is running short for you John. He's waiting for your answer, but he won't wait much longer.

John looked up at the sky. Clouds, dark and heavy with moisture, had moved in during the night and seemed ripe for the bursting at any moment.

Well, one way or another, I've gotta move. The shape I'm in now, a good heavy soaking is likely to finish me off as surely as I'm standing here. I ain't coming out just to trade my freedom for a warm cot behind bars though, oh no. If I gotta come out, I'll do it fighting, just as I've always done. I ain't no quitter.

"You waiting on my answer are you? Well here it is." John raised his right arm into the air, ignoring the pain that resulted. He held his hand up in the form of a fist. Then slowly and deliberately he rotated the hand at the wrist, extending out a single finger pointing obscenely to the heavens. "There's my answer you old fuck! Now leave me be."

Anne

"There, I'm completely decent again."

Anne looked up from her place on the bar stool to see Tom walking into the room wearing a pair of jeans and another t-shirt, this one a badly faded shirt that may once have been some variant of red.

She answered back at him mockingly, "Boo! I preferred you indecent."

"I'm only decent on the outside. I'm still the same ol' Tom beneath."

She gave him a coy smile in return, "I'm glad to hear that. I rather enjoyed the same ol' Tom last night."

Tom came over to stand next to her. "Well, it was getting a bit drafty in here for poor ol' Tom, and he doesn't respond well to cold."

"Aww, poor ol' Tom. We certainly wouldn't want him cold." Anne reached a hand out and began running the tips of her fingers lightly over the front of his jeans. "Maybe I can help warm him back up again."

Tom touched the side of her face, his fingers gently brushing her cheek. Anne leaned her head over to that side, immensely enjoying the sensual caress on her skin. Muscles throughout her body began to relax and unwind themselves like loosened rubber bands.

If I were a cat I'd be purring right now.

"I can't tell you how much I've missed this." His voice drifted down to her ears softly, gently, and full of reverence.

"How long has it been for you?" Anne asked.

"If you're asking how long it's been since I last had sex, the answer is three years, but that's not what I was talking about."

"What then?"

"I mean this; to just touch and feel. To be so comfortable with a woman that I...I'm sorry. I can't really explain it. I just don't have the right words."

"I think it's called intimacy." It was not until the word escaped her own lips that Anne fully realized how desperately she too had hungered for it as well. To experience it now, after all this time of denial, was like seeing a flame being kindled in a cold, dark room.

It's been a lot longer than three years for me Tom. Robert was never that sort of man.

"Yes, that." There was a new bittersweet quality to his voice now. Tom dropped his hand back down to his side and backed away until he was just out of arm's reach. "I'd better get that breakfast going before you starve to death."

Tom hesitated in place, a war of conflicting emotions and desires played across his face in that split-second before he turned and walked around the end of the counter, entering the kitchen.

Huh? He had me practically melting in his hands, and then all of a sudden he just turns and walks away. What's up with that?

"I hope you like your eggs scrambled. I'm afraid I never learned how to make them any other way." He called to her from over the bar.

"When you said you were going to get me something to eat, I just thought you'd throw a box of cereal at me or something. I didn't think you'd actually cook anything."

"I do have Sugar Puffs if you'd prefer."

"No wonder Michelle likes you so much." She muttered.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

"I said, 'Would you like some help in there?'" She replied, raising her voice just enough to make sure she would be heard.

"No, no. That's ok. There's really not a whole lot of room in here. I'm afraid you'd just be in the way. No offense."

"None taken."

Well, maybe just the slightest bit.

Tom finished loading and prepping the automatic coffee brewer. Then he flipped the button to the 'on' position. The rich fragrance of freshly percolating coffee began wafting across the bar, filling Anne's nostrils with the welcome scent of morning.

"Don't expect too much from me. I'm just keeping it simple here; eggs, grits, and toast. Sorry, used up all my bacon already, or I'd throw that in there too."

"I guess I'll finally find out what grits are."

Tom stopped what he was doing and looked at her. "You are kidding...Right?"

"Well, it's not like it's a staple of life where I'm from."

He shook his head in evident disbelief before returning to his task. "It is here."

"This is a new experience for me."

"What is?"

"Waiting while someone else does the cooking. I'm not used to that. I can't remember the last time someone actually cooked for me."

"What are you talking about? You eat out, don't you?"

"That's not what I meant. I meant like this. Like what you did for me last night, what you're doing now. It feels a bit freaky honestly. I feel like I should be doing something."

"You are doing something. You're talking to me."

Anne watched as Tom adjusted the setting for a burner beneath a small pot. "Yeah, but still..."

Apparently satisfied with his progress he turned his full attention back to her. "Anne, that might seem like a small thing to you, but it means something to me. I don't cook often. Most nights I just throw something in the microwave and nuke the hell out of it. Cooking for one gets really old, really fast, and I'm not just talking about the leftovers that go into the fridge to die either. I'm talking about this, having someone here to share the time with, someone to make it more than just a chore that has to be done. So, even if you don't think you're doing much, you really are. I just want you to know how much I appreciate that fact."

I do believe that's the nicest way that anyone's ever put me in my place before.

Jenny

Jenny sat alone at a table intended to seat four. She refolded her newspaper and placed it back upon the table surface. The headline article of the day was a horribly dull story concerning some possible shady dealings concerning the approval of tax credits given to a large real estate development near Panama City. She had spent almost a full ten minutes reading article, doing her utmost to focus her mind on the printed page. Now, only seconds later, she could not recall a solitary detail.

I'm just tired is all. I slept like shit last night.

Maybe I'll be able to get some much needed sleep after my meeting with Tom. Once the worst is behind me, as tired as I am, it ought to be a cinch.

Yeah, right.

Jenny raised a small glass of orange juice to her lips and sipped from it slowly, enjoying the tart sensation on her tongue. Her eyes came to rest on the empty chair opposite her.

Wish you were here Terri. This would be so much easier with you here.

Her peripheral vision captured a flash of movement to her left. Two tables away was a woman taking a seat, her back turned towards Jenny. Last night it had taken a few seconds for her to register the woman's identity. This time it came instantly.

Jenny rose from her seat and approached.

"Beverly right? Beverly Hayes?"

Beverly looked up, astonishment in clear evidence on her face. "Jenny?!"

"It's been awhile. I'm surprised you recognize me."

"Actually I saw you just a few days ago at your mother's service. I just never expected to see you here."

"Oh, of course. Sorry to say that I must have missed you there."

"Given the situation, I wouldn't expect you to have noticed. Please, pull up a chair."

"Oh, no I..." Jenny looked back at her own table. Suddenly the idea of going back to it, to sit all alone waiting for the time to slowly pass, seemed too terrible to bear. "Ok, thank you. I'll take you up on that."

Jenny reached back to her table, picked up the half glass of orange juice and the newspaper, transferring both over to her new place at Beverly's table.

"I'm so sorry about your mother. I can't imagine what you must be going through."

No, you really can't.

"Thank you."

"So how long are you back in town?"

"I'm not really sure. I still have some unfinished business here. Hopefully not long though."

"And then back to Orlando?"

"How did you know?...Oh, from Tom."

Beverly smiled enigmatically, "No, not from him. I got that off the town grapevine. A word to the wise; anything you say to Chad goes right to little Frankie. After that it's pretty much public domain."

Jenny's face soured. "I'd almost forgotten how that works here. Just one more reason to make my stay here as brief as possible."

"Oh, it's not all so bad as that. It makes it a snap to advertise yard sales."

"You're not staying here at the Boardwalk are you?"

Beverly seemed hesitant to answer, "Just for a few days, until the end of the week."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's ok. It's just that Tim and I are going through a rough patch right now..."

"Tim?"

"My husband, Tim Dyer. You didn't know I'd married?"

"No, I didn't. I guess I'm more out of the loop than I realized."

"Well, Tom always was tight lipped. I guess I really shouldn't be surprised."

I am. I know we haven't been that close but still...

"I didn't even know you and Tom had broken up until recently. You two were pretty serious there for awhile weren't you?"

"Wow. You really are out of the loop then."

What else don't I know about him?

"Beverly...Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Um...Sure. What?"

"This might sound strange, but could you help put me back in the loop? It's just dawned on me how little I know about him. I've been away quite awhile, and I'm sorry to say that I'm just beginning to realize how little I know my own brother. This may sound odd, but would you help me fill in the gaps?"

Beverly gave her a long look before answering. "What do you need to know?"

Chapter 23

Anne

Anne sat quietly, trying to enjoy her coffee as Tom ate, but within minutes her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she could no longer resist the urge to speak her mind. "What was it about?"

Tom barely paused long enough between bites to ask back, "What was what about?"

"Whatever it was that you were dreaming about. It had to be something pretty awful."

That got his attention. He stopped eating, pushed the plate away from him, and seemed to consider the matter seriously. "I don't remember. I never remember afterwards."

"You get a lot of nightmares then?"

"Only recently." He looked at her and then attempted to smile, as if he were trying to dismiss the matter as trivial. He took a sip of his coffee, wincing as the hot liquid touched his lips. "Only the last couple of weeks."

"The last couple of weeks?" That sounded out of place to Anne. "It started before your mother..."

"Died. Yes." He completed the question for her. "They started right after I met you actually."

"The accident then? Don't you think you should get that checked out?"

"They're just dreams Anne. They'll go away. And besides, I already have. Dr. Aster told me not to worry about it."

"How many nightmares have you had lately?"

Tom took another, longer sip on his coffee. This time there was no wincing. She had difficulty believing it had cooled that much in such a short span of time. Anne noted with surprise that he had drained more than half his cup as he sat it back down again.

"Two or three, I guess. I can't really say I've counted." He started to lift his cup once more, paused, then added, "It's nothing to be worried about though. They're just dreams. They'll go away."

"That didn't look like just a dream to me. Dreams are rainbows and pink unicorns, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't anything like that you were seeing in your sleep."

"Ok, nightmares then. Whatever you want to call them. They'll go away." Irritation laced every syllable.

"And you don't remember anything from the one you had this morning?" She persisted, returning back to the beginning, unable to let the matter drop.

"No, nothing at all."

That's a lie...No, that's too strong a word. It feels more like a half-truth. He remembers something, even if he's not sure what it means.

"Excuse me please." Tom stood up and exited the room, his partially drained cup still tightly clutched in his right hand.

It came as no surprise to Anne when he returned sans the cup, but with a lit cigarette.

"Why didn't you just bring the entire pack with you? It'd save you the trouble of having to fetch another one whenever I ask you a question you don't like."

Tom shot her a disgruntled look in response to the gibe. "I'm trying to cut back."

"Why not just quit?"

"It's not so easy as all that. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"You're wrong. I used to smoke too. I quit when I was carrying Michelle."

"Well congratulations to you."

Anne, taken aback by Tom's sarcasm, stifled the urge to respond in kind. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to sound preachy about it."

Tom sighed before gracing her with a contrite smile, "You didn't, and I shouldn't have said that like I did. I guess I've just had a little too much coffee this morning. It's got me a bit jumpy I suppose."

After half a cup? No, it's not coffee that's got you wound up Tom. And it wasn't coffee that had you tossing and turning in your sleep either. The easy answer would be that it's your mother you're thinking about, but that doesn't seem to cut it. There's something else here isn't there? Just wish I knew what that something was.

"Anyway...Tom continued, don't know about you, but I could use a shower. So if you want first dibs better speak your peace now."

Anne ran the towel over the steam covered surface of the bathroom mirror, clarifying the image looking back at her with only limited success. Her clothes hung damp and limp upon her body, moistened by their brief exposure to the saturated air of the small room.

Heavens! I look a fright this morning. If I step out looking like this I'm liable to turn Tom into stone. No makeup, no fresh clothes, and my hair is all stringy and poking out in a million different directions at once. If I'd known I was going to end up spending the night I would have...

Who am I trying to kid here? I knew exactly what could happen. Ok, so maybe I didn't think it all the way through before I walked in that door, but somewhere deep down inside I knew.

Anne glanced down to the shelf supporting an odd assortment of men's toiletry items; among other things were an opened pack of disposable razors, a bottle of cheap after shave, a mangled tube of toothpaste. Her eyes roved over the items one by one, subconsciously taking inventory, and thereby attempting to glean some small shred of information regarding the man who's bed she had shared during the night.

She picked up the bottle of after shave and unscrewed the cap, taking a deep whiff of the aroma arising from within. The scent instantly called forth a mental image of him holding her in his arms, his arms strong and steady. Just the thought of it brought an easy smile to her lips.

Ok, ok. Time to get ahold of myself here. I'm not some love addled teenager. I've been there and done that already, and look at what it got me. So, just grow up already. Stop acting like you're still 16.

"It's all yours now." Anne cheerfully called out as she exited the bathroom.

Tom flashed her a grateful smile and began to edge his way past her toward the open door. Then he stopped directly behind her, gently reached out, and pulled her back into him. He began to nuzzle her neck, his lips moving slowly downwards in a meandering line from her earlobes to her neckline.

Damn that feels good.

"Mmmm...If you keep doing that I'll need another shower soon, and then you'll never get your turn in there."

"We all have to make sacrifices."

Anne allowed herself to be spun around. His eyes bored into her, burning with a renewed flame of desire that promised to rekindle her own. He leaned forward for a kiss.

Taking every ounce of self control she still possessed, Anne interposed a hand, gently pushing back on his chest. "Down tiger. Enough for now. Don't wear yourself out in the first inning. We've got time enough for that later."

"You promise on that?"

"There's no promises in this world, but that at least is a pretty safe bet."

"My, you're a slippery one. I'm going to hold you to it anyway."

"You do that." Anne gave him a gentle nudge towards the bathroom door. "Now, go get your shower. I've got a couple of calls to make while you're doing that."

Tom pointed behind her, "Phone's on a wall mount near the breakfast bar."

Anne turned her head in that direction, taking only a second to spy the telephone. "Oh, ok. Thanks, but I have my cellphone." She was already speaking to a closed door though, with Tom on the other side.

Hmmm...Who first? Dad or Mrs. Sheppard?...Let's see if I can catch Dad before he gets out the door.

Anne quickly located her purse and pulled her phone out from within. A single bar flickered intermittently on the reception line.

What is it with this town and cellphones? You'd think this place was in the middle of the Gobi or something. Oh well, plan B then.

Anne snatched the ear unit of Tom's phone off it's base and hurriedly punched in the numbers from memory. After the fifth ring she was almost resigned to the likelihood of having missed her target when she heard the click of the line opening on the other end.

"Hello?" It was her father's voice.

"Good morning. Guess who."

"I was hoping you'd call. Feeling better now?"

"You have no idea." Anne smiled to herself, enjoying the private joke.

"I thought you might like that news. I hated having to worry you with that mess. I knew I'd be able to get it all sorted out on this end. I never had any doubt. Still I had to let you know, just in case."

"How did you get him to back down?"

"Never you mind about that. The important thing is, he did. That's all you need to know."

Anne groaned, "Tell me you didn't pay him off. He'll just be back for more later."

"No, not a dime. He's gotten the last out of this family."

"So...?"

"Honey, you've always been a girl to ask questions. You're a digger, and I love you for it. You got that from me. This one time though, don't. Just trust me please."

"Oh dad...What did you do? You know I can't just let it go."

"I'm a lawyer. It's my job to make convincing arguments. That's what I did. I convinced him."

He found something on Robert, something bad enough to make him turn tail and run for the hills.

"Did this 'convincing' require the services of an investigator?"

"That's not something you'd really want to know. Now is it?"

That's as close to an admission as I'm going to get out of him. He's not about to say anything more, not over the phone at least. Frankly, I'm ok with that. When it comes to protecting Michelle, whatever works is fine with me.

Jenny

Jenny sat there, completely nonplussed by Beverly's admission. Her table companion sat opposite of her, unshed tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Jenny knew that Beverly was waiting for some sort of reaction out of her, hoping for atonement while expecting condemnation. The only problem was that Jenny had no idea what to think, feel, or say.

What can I say? It's obvious she's a wreck over this, and I can't help feeling pity for her, at least on some level. But damn, she really screwed the pooch on this one.

"All of this came out when?" Jenny asked.

"Saturday night, at Rosie's."

"Wait...This past Saturday night?"

"Yes." Beverly had stopped looking at her and was now keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the tabletop. "I never meant for any of this to happen. You have to believe that. I never wanted to hurt him. I'd do anything for a chance to take back that night, but I can't. I know because I tried, and it only made everything so much worse."

"How did he take it when you told him?" Jenny suspected she already knew the answer to that one.

"I didn't. I tried, but I never got the chance. It was Tim that told him. Naturally it started a fight, right there in front of everybody. The whole thing was about as ugly as you might imagine."

"Shit!" Jenny muttered under her breath. "Goddamn shit!" A bit louder this time.

This changes everything.

Beverly flinched in reaction to her expletive, but Jenny had almost exhausted her compassionate patience. She took a deep breath, grappling with her own anger, trying to contain it. She knew that lashing out at this woman would serve no purpose, no matter how well earned it might be.

Tom has to be a total mess after this. First mother, and now this. There's absolutely no way I can go through with what I had planned now. That whole idea just got completely blown out of the water. Damn!

"Beverly, I want to thank you."

Beverly looked up, a look of confused expectation on her face.

"I know this couldn't have been easy for you to tell me, but I'm very glad you did. It was something that I needed to know. So, for that reason, thank you."

Tom

Tom sat on the bar stool, anxiously awaiting Anne's verdict concerning the printed pages she held clutched in her hands.

I don't know why I ever let her talk me into this.

The recliner creaked loudly as Anne reached down by her side and placed a third sheet face-down on the carpeted floor. That left only a single page left in her hands and he knew that would be a short one. She nibbled on her lower lip as she read, so focused on her task that she was likely oblivious of the act.

Oh, that can't be a good sign.

The fourth and final page was completed and placed atop the others. Anne held her silence, lost in contemplative thought.

"Well?"

"Not what I expected."

Tom felt his heart sinking in his chest. "I told you not to expect much, but you insisted."

"It's good. It's real good, but that's not what I meant."

"You liked it?"

"Yes. I liked it, but that isn't what surprised me. What surprises me is just how personal it is. You really reached for it on that didn't you? It's only four short pages but...you laid yourself wide open on that."

She liked it.

"It's just a little something I rattled off one night when I was feeling a bit low. It doesn't really mean anything."

Anne fixed him with a stern look. "Tom don't do that. Don't write yourself off like that. I said it was good because it was good, not because I'm trying to spare your feelings. If I were trying to let you down easy I'd pick out the best parts and focus on that. I wouldn't lie by telling you that I liked it when I really didn't. Do yourself a favor and accept the compliment. It was earned."

Tom smiled, at last daring to take her at her word. "Thank you."

"I have a question though. Why did you stop? Why did you really stop?"

"I told you that already."

"No. You told me that you stopped because you couldn't get published. If your other stuff is anything like that, then that's a crock. What's your real reason?"

Don't make me say it.

"I..."

"Just relax and spit it out Tom."

"It wasn't good enough, not for me. You're right about what you read. I reached for it on that piece. I couldn't do that consistently though. I would try and try but it was never good enough. I could never reach for it again like I did with that."

"So you're saying that this..." She pointed down at the overturned pages. "was inspired but the inspiration left you?"

"That's as good an explanation as any I can give. Yes."

"Do you enjoy writing?"

"I did at first, but then I got frustrated with the whole thing."

"So you quit?"

"I stopped wasting my time trying to do something I couldn't. If you want to call that quitting, then yes."

"Did I tell you that I paint?"

Tom tried to remember if she had. "I don't think so. You told me you were an art major, but I don't recall anything about painting."

"Well, I do."

"Any good at it?"

"Nope. I suck at it. I can appreciate art, but I can't produce it worth a tinker's damn. Everything looks like a grotesque melding of Picasso, Van Gogh, and Dali...only without any of their talent. That's not the point though. I paint because I enjoy it, not because I'm any good at it. It relaxes me."

"It's not the same though."

"Why not?"

Why not? Because...

He couldn't answer. He had no answer.

A low rumble of thunder sounded from far in the distance, filling in the silence his inability to respond had left open.

"Is it raining?" He asked, eager to shift attention away from the current topic. Tom raised up and walked over to the front window, opening the blinds with one smooth pull of the cord. Dark clouds covered the sky, casting the landscape in twilight hues. "On the edge of ugly."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just a phrase I heard recently. Kind of catchy though and it fits the bill."

"Doesn't even look like morning out there it's so dark." Anne was standing also, peering out the window from her place several feet behind him.

"Oh crap! What time is it?"

"Almost nine o'clock. Why?"

"I'm supposed to meet my sister at mother's place at ten."

"Ok. Just let me grab my purse real quick and I'll get out of your hair. Call me whenever you're up for it."

Tom barely paused to think on the question before he asked it. "Would you like to come with me?"

Anne hesitated. "I don't know."

"Unless of course there's someplace you need to be. You have to work?"

"No, not today. My week at the gallery runs Tuesday through Friday. I'm only part time for now."

"So, you're free then?"

"Yes, but..."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. It's just that...I wouldn't mind having the company."

Anne seemed torn by her options. Finally she came to a decision. "Your jeep, or my car?"

"What are you kidding? The 'Stang of course. It's way cooler than my wheels...Besides, the roof on the jeep leaks."

The phone began ringing, the sudden intrusion startling them both.

"You going to answer that?" Anne asked as the second ring rang out.

A third ring...then a fourth.

"No. Whoever it is, they're too late. I want to get out of here before those clouds open up. Grab your purse and let's scoot."

Jenny

Jenny left the elevator at a pace just short of a run. She was headed back to her room and intent on wasting no time in the process. Her extended conversation downstairs, though extremely informative, had lasted far longer than she had ever intended. Now it was getting close to nine o'clock, little more than an hour away from her arranged meeting with Tom. The problem was that she no longer wanted that meeting at all. Her primary purpose for going in the first place was now at a complete loss.

Terri was right. I can't do this now. Give it a few months to let the dust settle and come back at it again. He'll be curious why I've suddenly changed my mind, but let him. Better to leave him a little confused then take that kind of risk.

She slammed down the card key into the door lock slot and impatiently waited for that quiet clicking sound of the door unlocking. Nothing. She tried again, and again for a third time. Not until the fourth attempt did she finally gain entry.

I hope I'm not too late. Please don't let me be too late.

Jenny threw the door closed behind her and fairly sprinted towards the phone. She punched in the numbers even as she sat down heavily on the side of the bed. She counted the rings as they went by; one, two, three,...

John

I'm lost. Shit!

John would have sworn that he had been walking in the direction to intersect with the state highway leading north but if that were the case he should have come across it by now. He stopped and stood completely still, trying to listen for the comforting sound of traffic. There was none. There was only the sound of a steady, omnipresent drip-drip as the first drops of rain began to lightly pelt the upper reaches of the forest canopy, slowly filtering down to ground level.

At least the voice is gone.

Not gone, just resting a spell.

"I'm not going to listen to you."

Yes, I know.

The voice sounded sad and weary. It sounded...defeated. For the first time John felt a strange sense of exultation at the hearing of it.

"You're beaten ain't you?"

Not beaten. Not yet. Just tired is all.

"What are you tired for old man? I'm the one that's hauling my ass all over creation. I'm the one that ought to be worn out."

Silence was it's only reply.

"What? You ain't got anything to say to that? You sure had plenty to say earlier."

Somewhere, miles away and mostly hidden by the intervening trees a lightning strike scorched the air. John counted the seconds as he awaited the accompanying thunder, attempting to gauge the distance.

Three miles, not terribly close yet, but they're coming this way. Won't be long either.

If only I could see the sun, just for a second. Then I'd know which way was which.

West is to your left.

"Why would you want to help me now?" John queried the surrounding air, but there was no answer forthcoming.

"Answer me old man!"

Why shouldn't I? You won't listen to me anyway. You said it yourself.

He's fucking with me, trying to lead me deeper into the woods.

John peered off to his left, west if the voice was to be believed. It was the direction the lightning had appeared in. There was nothing to prove or disprove that claim. The woods surrounding him looked remarkably similar in every direction.

One pine tree looks pretty much like any other. So, let's take stock here. No traffic sounds, no sun, no forest features to mark my way. All I have to go on is it's word on which way to go. If it wants me lost it'd point me north or northeast, away from town or the highways. Which means that west is really behind me and to my right.

John turned in that direction and resumed walking, carefully picking his way through the low bramble brush.

See? Told you.

"Yeah, you're a fucking genius alright. You don't know a damn thing."

I know right and wrong. That's more than you can say.

"That's where you're wrong old man. I know the difference. I just don't give a fuck anymore."

Really? Let's test that.

"What?"

You said you knew the difference. I'm saying we should test that. Give me your take on which is which.

"Go back to sleep old man. I don't much feel like playing games with you. You're just trying to screw with me, drive me crazy."

Oh you're already there John. Nothing I say could make you any worse.

"I'm not crazy!" John shouted. Off to his left a mockingbird flushed off its perch and rose into the air.

You're a serial rapist, tramping along in the forest, talking to voices. And you think you're not crazy?

"Those girls had it coming, every one of them. Fuck! What I do is a public service. They needed to be taught a lesson."

A service? Oh John, you're worse than I thought. You really don't know the difference anymore.

"They're all nothing but prick teasers. Riding around in their fancy cars, flashing their cash, and their tits all over the place. They deserved what they got."

Seems to me you're forgetting a detail or two. What about Randall? Was he a prick teaser too?

"Shut up. I ain't talking about him."

And he wasn't the only one was he?

"I'm no faggot."

I'm sure they'll be glad to hear that.

"I'm not, no matter what you think. I'm not."

Did I say you were? When you couldn't get what you wanted you settled for what you could get. Let's stop kidding ourselves about this public service crap though. You're a rapist John. That's a sickness, not a public service.

"Fuck you old man! That's all I have to say to you. I'm done talking about this."

How did I ever lose so much control? How did things ever go so wrong with you?

"Control? You don't have any control over me."

Now I don't. Now all I am is a voice you don't listen to anymore. It wasn't always that way though. You weren't always like this.

"You never had any control over me pappy. Never!"

I'm not your pappy. Thought we'd already settled that. Come on John, a little consistency please.

"Who the fuck are you then? Stop playing games with me."

Don't be dense John, you know who I am. I'm you.

"Bullshit!"

I'm what's left of the man you used to be. I'm you from before the hate warped and twisted you into the monster you've become. You think I'm trying to drive you crazy? Hellfire John, I'm all that's left of you that's still sane.

Chapter 24

Tom

The rain had drastically quickened its tempo during the short ride over. The initial light drizzle had given way to a heavy drenching rain that beat upon the car's windshield, reducing visibility to a matter of yards.

Tom leaned forward in the passenger seat, his face nearly pressed against the glass as he focused on the road ahead, searching for some sign of their destination.

We're close. I know it. I just can't see it.

Then he did. A dark squat shape, gradually came into view, only distinguishable as a man made structure by its horizontal construction contrasting with the vertical lines of the surrounding pine trees.

"There it is, up on the right. About another fifty yards or so. See it?"

"I can't see anything in this...Oh wait, now I do."

"Make sure you park on the driveway." Tom pointed to the narrow asphalt strip extending out to the road. "The ground here is soft, if you park on the grass we might be stuck here awhile."

Anne guided the car to a gentle stop directly behind a cream colored Ford Taurus occupying the forward portion of the drive. The house stood dark, made darker still in the morning, rain shrouded, gloom. Rivers of water poured down off the roof in two funneled torrents off to either side of the entryway shelter.

Tom craned his head around, checking to make sure that his initial impression was correct. "Good, we're the first to arrive. I was hoping we would be. I don't even know if Jenny has a key."

"We're going to get soaked just getting to the door." Her voice sounded apprehensive at the prospect of disembarking from the relative comfort of the car for a dash through the torrential rain.

"Just hold here for right now. If we're lucky we might catch a lull between bands."

Lightning streaked across the sky overhead, its purplish brilliance searing Tom's vision momentarily. The associated thunder rattled the car almost instantly. Anne reflexively shrieked, only adding to the effect.

Tom looked over at Anne. She sat trembling, badly affected by the closeness of the strike and the deafening roar that had accompanied it.

Soaked or not, I'd better get her inside now.

"Ok then. Plan B. You wait here long enough for me to get to the door and get it opened, and then follow me inside."

She nodded her assent, too shaken by proximity of the strike to speak.

Tom grasped the door handle and took a deep breath as though he were planning to plunge into a pool. Then before he could rethink his plan of action, he swung the door open and dashed for the house. The rain beat down on him furiously as he sprinted for the front door, the cumulative force of the drops pressing down on him like an invisible sodden blanket. His fingers clumsily fumbled for the required key, nearly dropping the set twice before he could manage to isolate the desired key and insert it into the lock. At last the door was opened, swinging inward with a loud creak, and revealing a dark interior devoid of life. A musty smell washed over him.

It's been only a week, and already the house has that quality to it that comes only from disuse. It's more tomb than home now.

He turned back just in time to see Anne run from the car, her head lowered like a battering ram. Again lightning flashed, further away this time, but still more than close enough to spur her to redouble her speed. She barreled into his outstretched arms and for the briefest of instants struggled against his hold, her eyes opened wide with an unreasoning fear.

"Whoa there Anne. I've got you. You're safe. Come on inside."

Tom guided her in the door, holding her close to him, and whispering soft words of comfort to help calm her jangled nerves. She clutched back at him fiercely, the pressure of her arms wrapped around him squeezing him like a python constricting its prey. Tom nudged the door shut with his foot while simultaneously flipping on the light switch.

Anne buried her face in his chest. Her body shivered and shook, though from fear or cold he could not say.

Probably equal parts both.

"Shhh shhh, It's ok. You're safe now. You're inside." He continued his ministrations, his attention focused solely on her. The two of them stood like that for several minutes as little by little her heart rate slowed down to something more closely resembling normal activity.

"I should have told you. I don't like lightning. It scares the crap out of me. Always has."

Tom chuckled lightly, then seeing the effect it was having, stopped himself short. "It's ok. It's out there. We're in here. You're safe now."

Her only response was a renewed tightness in her embrace.

"Come on, let's get you dry before you catch pneumonia."

Anne

Anne looked at herself in the full-length mirror and grimaced. The black and white, polka dotted dress was a poor fit indeed. It had been one of only two dresses hanging within the closet, the remaining wardrobe consisting of a variety of slacks and shirts, none of which were anywhere close to her size.

Too tight in the bust, too short in the length. I look like a Daisy Mae hooker. All that's missing is the Tammy Faye makeup treatment.

Anne went back to the closet and gave a wistful glance at the second dress hanging within. It was a flower print, its gaily colored motif fairly shouting out with joy, or it had at one point at any rate. Those areas of the dress that had once been white had gradually yellowed with age, the kaleidoscope splotches of color muted and dulled. Anne extended a hand and ran her fingertips over the fabric. The cotton blend material had long since lost its softness, there was now a thin, brittle quality to the feel of it.

It's been waiting there unused for a very long time. Just looking at it now saddens me, like picking up a sentimental photograph of a scene that exists only in broken snatches of memory and nowhere else.

Why wouldn't she have thrown it out I wonder? If my discovering it has this powerful of an effect on me how much more potent would her reaction have been?

On a whim, she began to sweep the neighboring shirts back and away from the print in order to give her on unobstructed view of the dress in its entire. As the hangers for the shirts bounced and jangled along on their track one of them snagged a low hanging strap of a purse resting on a shelf above. In the blink of an eye a host of packages and bundles had tumbled down to the floor of the closet, their impact producing a startling clatter of noise.

"Oh crap!"

Anne bent down and began collecting the jumbled items and setting them back upon the shelf one-by-one. The last remaining was an overturned shoe box, a men's shoe box, not a ladies as might be expected given its location. The lid separated as she lifted the box and out spilled a dull finished, black handgun.

Anne's breath caught in her throat at the sight of it.

Oh shit!

"How are you getting along in there? Almost done?"

Anne heard Tom's footfalls proceeding down the hallway. Instinctively she grabbed the box, and using the lid scooped the gun back up and inside, avoiding the necessity of having to touch the deadly weapon with her hands. At the last possible instant she slid the box into the deepest corner of the closet's floorspace.

Tom walked into the bedroom, oblivious to any possible breach of etiquette. Anne twirled around to face him as he entered the room. Her heart raced crazily in her chest, beads of perspiration dotted her brow.

"Hey there. Whoa!" He threw up his hands before him. "Relax there, I'm a friendly!"

"What?! Oh sorry, guess I'm still a little jumpy."

"I'll say! I thought for a moment there that you were going to pick something up and beat me to death with it."

For a split second she considered confessing her unexpected discovery to him.

He'll think I was snooping, and for a change I wasn't.

"Lightning really does a number on you, doesn't it?"

"Yes it does. I can't help it. I think everybody has at least one thing that absolutely scares the bejeebers out of them and that's mine."

Tom approached and pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her lovingly. "It's passed for now. You can relax. We're safe."

He had likewise changed from out of his wet clothes but was far more fortunate in his choice of options. Unlike the dress she wore, his replacement jeans and plaid flannel shirt were a perfect fit.

Anne lifted up the hem of her borrowed attire. "I'm not sure your mother would appreciate this if she could see us now."

Tom stepped back, looked at her sympathetically. "If she were here she'd tell you the same thing I'm going to tell you now. Better that than catching your death from cold. It's only temporary anyway." He bent over and scooped up her jeans and blouse from off the floor. "I'll throw these in the dryer along with mine. They'll be done before we leave and nobody outside this house need ever know."

"Your sister will know. That's bad enough."

"Don't you worry about her. That's my job."

Anne glanced past the large brass bed towards the bedside table where sat a small alarm clock. The clock hands read a quarter past ten. "Wasn't she supposed to be here already?"

"Yes. Probably just running a little late is all. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about." The look on his face belied his words however.

"Hello? Anybody here?" The voice called out uncertainly from the living room.

Now that's what I call perfect timing.

"We're back here. Coming out." Tom shouted back. He turned and exited the room, leaving Anne with no choice but to follow behind, her gaze flicking back to the closet one last time as she left the room.

"We? Oh!" Tom's sister stood in the center of the living room. Her clothes were slightly damp, but not drenched as their own were. Not until then did Anne notice the volume of the falling rain had diminished substantially from its earlier cacophonous roar.

Jenny's eyes darted back and forth between Tom and herself, her face exhibiting a classic example of confused bewilderment.

Tom stepped forward raising his arms as though to offer her a brotherly hug, but then realizing with embarrassment that his right hand still gripped an assortment of sodden clothes he halted in place. He slowly lowered his arms back down, suddenly unsure of himself. "Um...This is Anne Roche." He dipped his head in her direction. "You've met already if you'll recall."

"Yes. I remember." Jenny's voice was icily distant. "Hello Ms. Roche."

Anne forced a smile, took a step, and extended her hand. "Please, call me Anne."

Jenny hesitated an awkward moment before she finally accepted the gesture and returned the handshake. Her eyes showed no warmth though, only a cautious sense of distrust. "Is that mother's?"

"The dress?" Tom prompted.

Jenny nodded without speaking.

"Her own clothes got quite the drenching on our way in. I didn't want her getting sick so I told her to pick something out of mom's closet."

"I see." Jenny's demeanor said anything but however.

"It's just a temp loaner until her own clothes dry out. Speaking of which, if you'll both excuse me for just a minute I'll get started on that." and with no further ado Tom strode out of the room.

Gee, thanks Tom. Throw me to the wolves why don't you?

The two women stood, feet apart, each feeling uncomfortably out of place by the impromptu reintroduction. After a minute of uneasy silence it was Jenny that finally broke the ice. "Please, take a seat Ms....Anne." She pointed over at the couch as she claimed an adjoining chair for herself. "I hope you'll forgive me. I don't mean to be unfriendly, it's just that I was expecting to meet Tom here, alone."

"I can understand your confusion. Especially given my appearance."

"Yes, that as well."

"I meant no disrespect to your mother. Please believe that."

"Of course."

"I'm very sorry about your loss."

"Thank you." Jenny held up a hand forestalling whatever she might have said next. "Anne, I hate to sound rude, but I have to ask...Why are you here?"

The abrupt bluntness of the question took Anne aback. "In all honesty. I don't really know. All I can tell you is that Tom asked me to come here with him, and I agreed. Why he wanted me here, I couldn't say."

Jenny nodded thoughtfully, apparently satisfied with the answer given. "Have you known Tom long?"

"No, I haven't. We met only recently." Anne's initial unease was only being heightened by the questions being fired at her.

"Oh? How recently?"

"We met about a week and a half ago."

"And you were kissing him at the motel last week? Wow, you move fast. The two of you must've really hit the ground running."

Intentionally or not, that raised Anne's ire a notch. "Your brother kissed me, not the other way around."

Jenny gave a tight, joyless smile in return. "Is that so? That's interesting. A bit out of character for Tom. My brother has never been what I would call a player."

"So you're assuming that I am?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate anything."

"Really? Because it sounded like you were to me."

"I'm just curious why Tom would choose to bring you here today."

"Not to be interrogated, I'm sure."

Jenny looked down to the floor and took a breath, contemplating her reply. "Let me try to explain then. I'm really just trying to figure out where the two of you stand."

"Stand?"

"Just how close are you to him?" Jenny fixed her with a cold stare. "Are you sleeping with him?"

Anne's face flushed red in response, the boldness of her question catching her completely unawares.

Jenny watched her reaction closely. "You are, aren't you?"

Tom walked back into the room, his face smiling. "I'm back! Hope I wasn't missed too badly." He held up an ebony hued wind breaker jacket in his hand. "Look what I found hanging behind the door in the kitchen. This belong to you Jenny?" He glanced back and forth between them, his smile melting away. "Did I miss something?"

Jenny

Jenny resettled herself in her seat, taking advantage of the opportunity to collect her thoughts.

Tom draped the jacket over the corner of the television before taking a seat on the couch, prompting Anne to scoot over with a quick hand motion. The space he chose for himself was quite deliberately positioned between the two women.

This could be going a whole lot better. Better back the bus up before we're shouting at each other. The last thing I need is to start a row now.

"I think your friend and I got off on the wrong foot." Jenny said, not quite willing to make the statement a true apology.

"Your sister seems to find it curious that you invited me here. She asked me if we were sleeping together." Anne replied in turn.

"Jenny?! What the hell?" Tom's voice sounded more exasperated than truly angry.

Jenny bristled at the rebuke. "Tom, I asked you to meet me here...You. I wasn't expecting a plus one."

Tom leaned forward and glared at her sternly. "And I thought I was here to talk with my little sister, not with our mother."

His words were like a paper cut, sharp and clean, yet painful beyond reason.

"So I'm mother now? Is that how it is?"

"No, you're just acting like her. God only knows why."

"You ought to know I suppose."

"Jenny, what's with you? She's not around to fight with anymore, so now I'm the target?"

Is that it? Could it really be just that simple?

Anne began to rise from her seat. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll be going now."

Tom reached out and took her hand, preventing her from walking away. "Anne, please stay."

Jenny rose to her feet. "It's me that needs to be going. This was a mistake. I never should have asked you here."

Tom was the last to take his stand. "Why did you ask me here?"

"Mother didn't have a will. I thought we could discuss what to do with the house."

Tom sounded unconvinced, "That's all? We haven't spoken more than a dozen words with each other in years and all you wanted to talk about is what to do about her stuff?"

"It needs to be done, the sooner the better."

Tom faced her directly, anger sparking in his eyes. "Ok. All yours. Sound good to you? Whatever you want is yours. The house, the car, furniture,...anything you want. It's all yours. I don't want any of it. There, it's been discussed."

"Tom wait." Anne was pulling on his hand now, forcing him to turn around and face her. "Don't say anything now that you'll regret later."

He shook his head angrily. "No, I'm completely serious about this. Mom killed herself and all she seems to care about is this crap..." he waved his hand around at their surroundings, "If that's the case she's more than welcome to it. I don't want any part of it...or her either for that matter."

Jenny reached out and took the jacket off the television set. "I'll call you later, maybe next week. Perhaps by then you'll be calm enough that we can talk about it rationally."

Fat chance, but it sounds good.

"Why bother Jenny? My answer will be the same then."

Jenny walked over to the front door and placed her hand on the doorknob. She turned around one last time, unable to simply walk away without one last swipe. "Don't you think it's about time you grew up?"

"Grow up?!"

"Yes, grow up. Stop making excuses, and just grow up. And to think you're the oldest, but you act like a nine year old sometimes."

"Where do you get off on giving me advice? You think that just because you're in college that makes you an expert on anything? You don't know a damn thing about me. You'd actually have to be around for that, and as I remember it, you weren't."

"That wasn't my choice."

"Maybe not, but it sure as shit wasn't mine either. You want to talk about excuses? Start with yourself. How about you stop blaming me for that? Oh, and while you're at it, the next time you want to enlighten me on how to live my life, you might want to wait until you know what the fuck you're talking about."

Jenny's voice lowered. "I know more than you might think."

"Such as?"

Jenny stood frozen in indecision. If ever there was a golden opportunity, this was it. She looked behind him and saw Anne apprehensively observing their confrontation.

No. I won't. Not this way.

Jenny tightened her grip on the doorknob and pulled the door open, electing to leave without answering.

"Before you go, there's one last thing I want to ask you." Tom's own voice had moderated as well, the anger having been mostly bled out of it as a result of his last outburst.

"What?"

"That night."

"What night?" She repeated, feeling the hairs on her arms tingle and stir.

"Don't play dumb. I know what happened, and I know you know as well."

Jenny released her grip on the doorknob, unable to believe what she was hearing.

That can't be true. He knows?!

Tom continued on, "I know that John raped her, and that you saw or heard at least some of it. Mother told me on the night she died."

Jenny studied both faces staring back. The look on Anne's face made it instantly clear that she was every bit as surprised by Tom's statement as she felt herself.

You didn't see that one coming any more than I did. Did you?

"She told you that?!" Jenny asked.

Tom shrugged, "She told me enough at least to figure out the rest. There's only one part of it that I don't know. It's the part I want answered now."

Jenny hardly dared to ask, "What's that?"

"Where was I that night?"

John

John held on tightly to the low hanging limb as the force of the wracking cough swept through his entire body. Muscles between his shoulder blades and all down his back tensed unto their snapping points. Even long minutes after the cough itself had subsided its aftereffects remained in the form of painful muscle spasms.

The rain had tapered off greatly, but the clouds persisted, as black and ominous as ever.

It'll be back again soon. Too soon.

You're sounding poorly there John.

I'm sure you're just all broke up about it too.

Well, I'm not exactly rejoicing over it. If that's what you mean.

"Get out of my head. You've got no right."

Still not convinced huh?

"That you're me? Fuck no! If you're me, why do I hear you like this? Why pappy's voice?"

John, you're not that stupid. Figure it out.

"Go away! Just go away."

That's why.

John began walking again, his gait wobbling unsteadily.

I'm feverish. That's all this is. Keep it together.

You are looking a mite peaked there, that much is true enough. Though that's not the real reason I'm here. Now is it?

"Yes, it is. That's all this is."

No, John. Time to stop lying to yourself. I'm here for the same reason I came to you before, because you went too far again.

"What...what are you...talking about?" The world was rolling back and forth in front of his face.

You're crazy sure enough...but in a weird sort of way, your real problem is you're not crazy enough. You won't listen to me, but you can't get rid of me either. Not so long as you keep breathing in and out.

Need to sit down, just for a little while till my head clears.

You do that and you'll never stand back up again. You know that as well as I.

"You don't know squat." But John kept to his feet nonetheless and forced yet another step forward, and another after that. He blinked his eyes, and for a welcome change saw the world coming back into focus, at least by recent standards.

That's it John, keep it going.

"Not crazy enough?" He was mumbling the words now, without the necessary strength to expend on enunciation.

There's some people out there that don't feel a thing deep down inside. Show'm a picture of a cute puppy, or a dead dog and it's much the same to them. Them's the kind that'll cut your throat and never blink. Your problem is you ain't one of them, though you do your best to act like you are.

"Don't know what you're talking about." Though of course he did. He had met more than a few just like that while in Louisiana. They would smile, or rage, or laugh...but all the while, if you looked closely enough you would eventually see it was only an act. Behind those eyes there was only a cold, dark void where a human being ought to be.

You ain't one of them. You never will be John. That's something a person is born with, and you weren't. You got a whole 'nother kind of crazy going on.

John laughed to the wind.

You keep pretending to yourself that you're in the right.

"I am."

No John. You ain't, and you damn well know it. You just won't admit it. Can't admit it. So you just keep on trucking on, doing what you're doing, and with every new victim you violate you push me further away. But try as you might you can't kill me, any more than you can kill yourself. I'll always be there.

For perhaps the first time since the voice had begun, a small glimmer of doubt entered John's mind.

Oh God! What if it's/I'm right? What if I've really gone crazy? Could it all be true?

That's it John. That's the first step.

"NO! You're lying! You're a lie! You're not me, and I'll prove it."

How John?

"I'll prove it. I'll prove it. I'll prove it..."

John?

That's it!...That's what I have to do! I just have to prove it.

How?

But John was no longer listening to the voice, could barely hear it in any case. John had no use for a voice filled with self-doubt. Let it prattle on if it wished, he knew what he had to do now. He had a new mission, a quest to be fulfilled, and damn anyone that tried to get in his way.

Anne

What is going on here?

Somewhere in the back of Anne's mind her common sense was telling her (no, it was screaming at her) that this was none of her affair. The wise thing to do was clear; grab her things and go, just as quickly as possible. The longer she stayed, and the more she heard, the deeper her involvement would be in the drama playing out before her. If there was anything at all she had no use for, it was more drama in her life.

Despite all that Anne found herself riveted by the scene in front of her. The scene had a surreal aspect to it, as though she had somehow found herself immersed in a television soap opera, except that instead of playing out upon rectangular screen this was all happening live, in the flesh, and close enough to literally touch.

Theater in the round.

Jenny pressed lightly on the door behind her, closing it softly. "What did mom say to you? What exactly did she say?"

"She said..." Tom stopped and reconsidered, a sly smile crossed his face. "Good one sis. I almost fell for that. I tell you what she said, then you make up whatever story that fits. How about we skip that part and you just answer my question. Where was I?"

Jenny refused to be baited. The two siblings faced off like gunfighters in a hokey old western, each completely focused on the other, searching for any signs of potential weakness. In the end though it was Jenny that broke. "You were in Panama City that night."

"What was I doing there?"

"You were with a group of your friends. I think you went to a movie if I remember right. Not completely sure about that part."

"What happened here while I was away?"

"Didn't mother tell you?"

"Let's just say I'd prefer to have a second opinion."

Jenny clenched her jaw. Anne could see lines of tension etching a map on her face. "I don't know how it started. I was asleep to begin with. It was John yelling something or other that woke me up."

"Go on, please."

"I came out into the hallway...went to their door..."

"Did you open the door?"

Jenny lowered her head. "No." She spoke so softly that Anne had difficulty hearing her.

"But you listened. Didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You hear enough to know what was happening?"

Jenny's head came back up, defiance hardening her voice. "Yes."

Tom took a deep breath. Anne had the impression that his next question was one he would just as soon not have answered.

"Why didn't you..."

Jenny made no move to complete the question for him. She almost seemed to be daring him to continue.

"Why didn't you do something, tell someone? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was barely fourteen. I was scared shitless. To tell the truth, I hardly knew what to even make of it all. I was groggy when I first woke up, confused."

Anne watched as Tom struggled with all his might to keep his emotions in check. "You said you heard shouting. I imagine there was some screaming too. You knew what was happening, and you did...nothing. Is that about the right of it then?"

"Yes, but it wasn't that simple."

"Nothing at all." Tom repeated disbelievingly, then finally shook his head in disgust. "I think we're done here now."

Anne wanted to reach out to him but there was something vaguely menacing about his stance that kept her at bay, like an overtightened winch that might snap at the slightest touch.

"You don't know what it was like for me. You couldn't know..." Jenny began.

"Thank you." He interrupted. "Thank you for telling me."

"Tom..."

"Our mother was raped, while you stood there by her door and did nothing. What's more, after it was over, when all you had to do is come to me and I would've taken it from there; still you did nothing." Tom pronounced each word with cold calculation, each syllable precisely chosen for maximum effect.

Jenny stood at the door, refusing to contradict his summation.

"Is there anything else that needs...'discussing'?"

Jenny, taking that as her cue, opened the door and walked out.

Chapter 25

John

The rain's pace was beginning to pick up once again as John stumbled forth out of the wilderness. He stood on the bank of a shallow ditch, perhaps only as wide as three or four yards across at its narrowest points. On the other side ran a little used county road, its rain sickened pavement black as night.

The worst of his fever related symptoms had gone into abeyance, seeming to simply turn off like the light of a burned out bulb. His skin, which had been noticeably warm to the touch earlier, now felt cold and clammy. Still even that was an improvement. Between the two extremes this was without a doubt the preferable condition for him. Most importantly his ability to think had returned to some rough approximation of normal, with hardly a peep to be heard from his invisible companion.

It won't last though. Like the rain, it's just let up between bands, not gone for good. I have to make the most of it before things go bad again. If I want to survive I need to find warm, dry shelter, and I need it soon.

There was a sound, reminiscent of one you might hear when those last drops of ketchup are forced from out of a plastic bottle. John placed a hand over his stomach in a futile attempt to quiet its complaints.

That's something else I need to get taken care of as quickly as possible.

John moved down the embankment a short distance, coming to a stop at a location where the rain swollen ditch narrowed sufficiently to allow him to step across. He managed to plant one foot on the opposite bank without difficulty, but as he moved to swing the second his sense of balance failed him and he was forced by necessity to plunge the trailing boot into the water.

He cursed and sputtered as he fought to pull free of the water's muddy bottom, his rage quickly bursting into full conflagration. At last his leg came free with an audible 'slopp' sound. John failed to compensate rapidly enough to the sudden change in his center of gravity and down he went. His buttocks absorbed the full force of his impact upon the grassy roadside.

John sat in that position for several minutes, gazing down at his feet dazedly. The right foot was unchanged, the left however...Where minutes before it had been a boot clad, mirror image of its twin, now it was covered only by a dingy white, mud speckled sock.

John opened his mouth, preparing to renew his ranting.

No. No more time for that. I have a mission now. Leave it all here, all the anger, all the rage. The mission is all that matters now. There's no room for anything else.

"Yes, the mission. I have to prove it."

John considered retrieving the boot, but trying to dig it out hardly seemed worth the aggravation. He left the boot to the water and shuffled his way to the road. He looked both ways, not for traffic, because there was none, but in order to regain his bearings.

Yes, I know this place. Been on this road many a time. I'm close. Very close.

John smiled, a wide toothy smile. He was a man filled with new purpose, equally ignorant of both his body's aches and the growing deluge from above. They were inconsequential. All that mattered was the mission, his mission. He had something he needed to prove.

"And I will too, just watch."

Tom

Tom entered the living room and draped the clothes he carried over the back of the couch. He stood back, implicitly inviting Anne forward.

I imagine she'll be relieved to get these. The sooner we can get out of here the better.

"They're still damp, but at least they're toasty warm now. I figured you're anxious enough to get back into them that you wouldn't mind."

Anne gently touched the jeans and blouse, testing their moisture content. "Yes, thank you. This will do."

Tom watched as she lifted the clothes up and began walking towards the back. "Anne..."

"Yes?" She turned back around and tossed the clothes over her shoulder.

"I want to apologize. I never would have brought you here if I'd known things would turn out like they did."

She attempted a reassuring smile but it was all too clearly forced. "It's ok."

"No, it's not. You never should have had to see that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, "Believe me, that's the very last thing I want to do."

"It might help to..."

"No." Tom cut her off before she could complete the thought.

A thoughtful expression crossed her face. "You know, you never got around to answering my question last night."

The quick turn took Tom unawares. "What question?"

"About what happened between you and Beverly, but...I think I understand now."

Tom was dumbfounded.

Where did this come from?

"I really don't see the connection."

"No?" She stood there, patiently waiting for...what? What was it she wanted from him?

"No, I don't."

There was a profound sadness to her eyes. "Think on it while I get changed. Maybe it'll come to you."

Jenny

I hope you're happy mom! Wherever you are, I hope you're Goddamned happy!

Jenny tightened her grip on the steering wheel, feeling the imitation leather cover bending and flexing beneath her fingers. Her right foot increased its pressure on the accelerator by the barest degree. The engine whined its disagreement, but dutifully obeyed, boosting the car's speed proportionally.

Not too fast though.

Fat droplets burst upon the windshield with a ferocity she had rarely witnessed before. The wipers beat furiously back and forth, yet failing dismally in their task of dispersing the watery sheet building up before her eyes. The light of the car's headlights reflected back to her after penetrating only a short distance, displaying little more than two brightened circles of falling water.

Too fast. I'm going too fast.

Her foot relented and the car immediately complied, easing down to a sedate pace more in keeping with the weather conditions.

That'd be a real bitch. To...

Lightning flashed and for an instant the gloomy twilight was dispelled, the road illuminated in stark brilliance. A man stood in the middle of the road ahead, perfectly centered over the broken yellow line that separated lanes. Her mind had barely enough time to register his presence before the lightning completed its circuit and was gone, leaving her once again blinded by the cascading water.

Jenny's foot shifted from its place above the accelerator and stabbed downward on the brake pad. The car fishtailed violently, causing her stomach to shudder and lurch in sympathy. The wheels found new purchase and began to straighten the vehicle, but it was too late. The nose of the car was now pointed at an angle to the road. Before the brakes could complete their task, the front left wheel made contact with the rain softened roadside forcing the car to fishtail a second time. The back end swung to the right, pointing the car at a perpendicular angle to the road.

A towering pine tree loomed directly ahead. Jenny made one final desperate attempt to gain control. She turned the wheel to the right with all her strength. There was a screech, a jarring stop, and then...quiet.

Anne

I doubt this is going to be pleasant. I sincerely doubt it, but...he needs to hear it.

Anne emerged from the back, dressed in her own clothes, a small thing for which she was disproportionately grateful. Tom was at the front window, peering out between a small gap he had made in the blinds.

"It's raining cats and dogs out there again. I'm afraid we're stuck here a bit longer."

"Did you think on it like I asked?" Anne asked, refusing to be swayed from her task.

Tom sighed, "Still on that are you?"

"Did you?"

"Yes, but I still don't see what the two things have in common. Whatever point you're trying to make is completely lost on me."

"Do you want to talk about what happened with you and your sister?"

"No, of course not. You saw what happened, there's no reason to rehash it all over again."

Here goes nothing.

"That's my point."

"Ok, what...?"

Anne took a seat on the sofa and patted the open space at her side, beckoning him to join her. "Tom, I did see what happened between you and her. Whether you like or not, I was here, and I saw. In a small way that makes me a part of it now."

With a trace of hesitancy, Tom obliged and sat beside her. "I know, and believe me, if I could change that I would."

"I know you would. That's the problem."

"Please Anne, no more riddles."

"You shut Beverly out, didn't you? Kept her away from anything that was remotely personal about you. That's what happened between you. Isn't it?"

"I really don't see what that has to do with anything."

"Last night you made a promise to me. Now I'm holding you to it. What happened between you?"

Tom sighed in frustration, feeling in his shirt pocket for cigarettes that were not there.

"You shut her out of your life, giving her just enough of yourself to keep her around but no more. Does that sound about right?"

Tom refused to answer. He just sat there, staring ahead.

"Now you're trying to do the same with me. You would too, if I let you."

"Why? Why do you have to pry so damn hard?"

"Prying? Is that how you see it?"

"What would you call it then?"

"I call it caring. Yes, I saw what happened here today. And I know it's got to be tearing you up inside. I want to help, but how can I if you refuse to talk about it?"

"Why? Why do you want to go into all that? What possible good would it do anybody?"

"Because you need it Tom. That's why. You need to get it out, and I care enough about you to go through it with you. Trust me Tom. Please, trust me with this. Don't shut me out."

"I do, but..."

Anne placed a hand on his arm. "No buts on this. Either you do, or you don't."

"You're asking too much Anne. I'm sorry."

Anne looked at him for a long moment before replying. "I am too."

Jenny

Jenny's right hand fumbled with the seat belt release. Ordinarily she would have reached across with her left hand to accomplish this particular task but she had already tried that and had come to instantly regret it.

Left shoulder is dislocated. Christ, but that hurts. Don't think I've ever felt this much pain before.

Finally she succeeded at releasing the catch. The motion of the belt retracting back into place, running over the shoulder in question, gave her a brand new definition of the word 'pain' for which no words would ever approach. A scream, raw and primal, escaped her lips, filling the car's small interior with deafening intensity.

I've got to get out. I need to find help. I can't just sit here. Oh fuck, that hurts so bad!

How though? There was absolutely no way on earth that she would ever be able to open the driver's side door. That was completely out of the question. The driver's side door was bowed inward, mangled by a broadside impact with the tree she had narrowly avoided hitting directly at the last instant.

Instead Jenny crawled over the center console, pulling herself towards the passenger door inch by agonizing inch. Her good hand shot out and grabbed ahold of the door lock and pulled upward, rewarding her with a satisfying click. However, when she pushed on the door itself it stubbornly refused to move.

Oh crap, it's caught on something. Move, damn it! Open!

She sidled along another few inches, coiled all her strength together and released it into a single burst of force. Again the pain flared, again the scream, but the door did budge...just barely, perhaps as much as half an inch.

It's no good. I'll never get it open this way, but then again, maybe I don't need to.

She pressed down on the window button. The driving rain instantly pelted her full in the face, carried into the car by cold, gusty winds. Somewhere from behind her lightning flashed, fully revealing the ground beyond the window.

No wonder it won't move. The car's tilted onto that side just enough. Oh God, but this is going to hurt, hurt like I've never known.

There was no way around it though, either it was forward out the window or wait here for help. For Jenny that was no choice at all. She was almost a quarter of the way out the window when she first spotted the set of headlights coming down the road.

Oh thank you, thank you God!

Apparently he was listening to her thoughts, because as they neared blindingly bright red and blue lights were soon added into the mix.

Not just any car, a police car.

Tom

Tom stared out at a bookcase on the other side of the room. There was a small picture frame set on top, and inside that frame was a miniature sized photo. At this distance he could hardly make out a solitary detail but that did not matter, he knew that photo intimately. He had his own copy of the same, located somewhere back at his apartment, and had studied it often enough to remember each and every nuance. It showed a family of three sitting together before a gray-blue background, easy smiles on all three faces. The figure on the far right was himself, in the center was his mother, and on the left was Jenny, her hair braided in pigtails.

Anne if you only knew what you're asking of me.

Anne stood and retrieved her purse, "Call me whenever, or..."

"Or?"

She turned back to look at him, "Or don't. Your choice."

"Just like that then? You didn't get the answer you wanted so you're out of here?"

"If you just wanted to be friends that would've been fine with me. You didn't though, did you? That wasn't enough for you. And after last night...Well, now I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the idea either. Seems we overshot that mark already and I'm not sure that's something that can be undone. What I do know is that I'm not Beverly. I'm not about to wait patiently for years on end, all the while hoping for a change that will never come."

Anne took a step towards the door.

"Wait, please wait."

"Yes?"

He took in a deep breath. "Let's talk about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Hell no, I'm not sure about it, but if that's what it takes to keep you here I'll do it."

Anne's initial reaction was an inscrutable blankness.

She's going to leave anyway.

Then came a thin smile "I'll accept that for now. You start. I'll listen."

"John Foster was my mother's old boyfriend. The guy was a total asshole, drove this old, beat down, red pickup truck..."

Something buried deep inside him clicked, like a combination lock sliding a tumbler into its proper place. "...red pickup truck."

"Tom?" Anne's face was a picture of confusion. "Tom, what is it?"

"I just remembered. That truck...it was in my nightmares. I remember..."

"What Tom? What do you remember?"

"It was parked outside that night...The hood was warm."

"In your nightmares?"

"Yes...no...both."

"Both? I don't understand."

Horror filled his core as the realization struck home. "I was here. I was here that night. Jenny lied. I was here."

Jenny

Jenny did her very best to stifle the scream threatening to break free but she could not contain all of it, and what did come out was more than enough.

"Hold still, just hold still. The ambulance is on its way. It'll be here soon, any minute now."

"Shit Chad! Just get me out of this fucking window now! Hanging here is killing me. Get me on my feet and then I'll wait for the fucking ambulance!"

"Ok, ok. Jesus! Calm down."

"I'll wait for him too if you want. Just get me out first."

Chad screwed up his face but did as asked, pulling on her as gently as possible and doing his level best to avoid aggravating her shoulder injury. Still it was pure, unadulterated agony. Those few seconds were maybe the longest she would ever experience.

Finally she stood, the pain at last receding to a point just above excruciating. Chad backed away, his face pale as chalk. She looked down at her left shoulder, seeing for the first time the sickening sight of her arm dangling down at an obscenely grotesque angle.

"We need to get you sitting down."

"Screw that! I just got on my feet, the last thing I need is to sit down. Go check on the other guy."

Chad blinked and looked about at the surrounding area. "What other guy?"

"The guy...the old guy I almost hit. The idiot was standing right in the middle of the road. I know he has to be around here somewhere."

"Jenny...There's nobody else here. Just you."

Jenny straightened up and looked around. He was right. There was no sign of any other living soul, no sign that the man had ever even existed.

I know he was there though, he was standing right over there.

Anne

Anne felt the hairs on her arms rise up as she watched Tom pass into the kitchen. There was some undefinable, otherworldly aspect to both his movements and his voice. It was like he was there, and yet he was not. Oh, his physical body was there sure enough, but his mind...

Instinctively she knew that Tom was, at most, only partially present. Some deeper part of him, the part that made Tom everything he was, had hurled itself backwards in time. His eyes were seeing things her eyes could not possibly see, his ears hearing sounds she would never hear.

"There's a broken chair...a coffee cup...cigarettes. Mom doesn't smoke. Why's there cigarettes on the table?"

Tom turned and faced her again. No, he was pointed in her direction, but to say he was facing her would imply he was aware of her. One look into his eyes and she knew that was not the case. He was looking right through her, focused on a point somewhere behind where she stood.

Anne backpedaled hastily, allowing him unhindered access to the doorway. Tom followed her out and then slowly proceeded down the hallway on a direct path to his mother's room. He stopped just outside the door, his hand on the doorknob.

"Tom what do you hear?"

"Mom?" His voice came out small and frightened, a boy's voice, not a man's.

"What is she saying Tom?"

He stood there, neither turning back to her, nor daring to enter the room. He seemed frozen by indecision, a mixture of confusion and fear on his face.

"What is she saying Tom?" Anne repeated, louder this time.

"Not her...him. I hear him. He's yelling. He's real loud."

"Him?...John?"

"Yes, it's John. He's mad."

"What is he saying?"

"He's yelling, at her. Calling her things."

"Are you going inside Tom?"

"I don't know. I'm scared. He's really angry. He might...hurt us."

"Us?"

"Yes, he might."

Oh my God! That's it. Everything fits now. Ten years of this; your memory hidden and locked away from you, but still there just waiting. Janet wasn't the only one raped that night.

"It's ok Tom. He can't hurt you now. John can't hurt you anymore."

"Oh, but you're wrong on that darlin. So very, very wrong. In fact, I'm here to prove it." This new voice came not from Tom, but from behind her. Anne whirled around in place.

Standing only feet away was a tall, old, balding man with a stoop. She knew his face instantly. It was the man she had met at the gallery, the one that had known things he never should have known. This was John. The same John that had raped Tom's mother, and unless she was mistaken, perhaps Tom also. He was here. Impossibly, he was here.

His hand raised up to chest height before him, light glinted off a stainless steel, serrated blade.

"It's my mission you see, and I'm here to finish it."

Jenny

Chad was busily talking with his dispatcher, giving out information and receiving instructions, but Jenny paid no attention. It was not Chad she was interested in, nor did she care one whit what his superiors back at the station might be telling him. What she cared about was that old man. The old man that was no longer there. Like a ghost he had simply vanished.

I know he was there though. Where could he be? I didn't hit him did I? I don't think so but it happened so fast. He could be laying around here somewhere nearby, badly hurt, or...even dead.

He was not though. She had no idea why she was suddenly so certain of that, but she was. Jenny was never one to trust in gut instincts, but something inside her was screaming for attention. Something that was telling her that not only was the old man real, but that he was also very much alive, and if not exactly well, at the very least, uninjured by any act of hers. It was also telling her one more thing; that he was dangerous. Extremely dangerous.

If only I'd had a chance to get a better look at his face...That's it. I know him, or knew him at some point, but from where?

Jenny replayed that instant in her mind, winding back her memory like a tape. The lightning flashed, the man was standing in the road. He was an older guy, balding, tall, stoop shouldered. She had no idea how her mind had recorded all that in one split-second, but it had. What else?

Then it came, hitting her like an anvil.

John! It was him, I know it! What is he doing here? After all this time, why would he be here now?

Jenny turned and looked down the road, back in the direction she had come from.

Could he...?

"Chad!"

He paused in mid-sentence, "Yes?"

"Listen to me please. I need you to do me a huge favor, and you're not going to like it."

"What kind of favor?" The look he gave her made it clear to her she was wasting her breath, but she pressed on nonetheless.

"I need you to pop my shoulder back into position. I need you to do that, and then I need you to drive me home. Right now."

"You're crazy girl! Ain't no way I'm doing that. Just hold on a few more minutes and the EMTs will be here. They'll get you treated."

I don't have time for EMTs.

Jenny walked over to the passenger side of his squad car, took a breath, and before she could change her mind, slammed her shoulder against the door sill with all her might. If there was an ambulance nearby, likely it's driver heard the resulting scream even over it's own siren.

When Jenny could breathe again she turned and faced Chad. "Drive me the fuck home! NOW!" Her voice was raw and whispery, but it had the desired effect.

Chad looked at her, his face registering only pure shock. "Yes ma'am!"

Tom

"Tom!"

Anne's panicked shout cut through the fog of time and forcefully brought him back to an instant state of alertness. She stood half way down the hallway, at the far end stood John. That was all he had time to register in his mind, and it was all that he needed.

Tom reached out, and with a single hand grabbed a handful of her blouse and yanked it back towards him, little mindful of where she might land just so long as it was away from the danger before them. John swung the knife out in an arc, the air whistling as the blade swept through the space she had previously occupied.

John steadied himself, successfully compensating for his forward momentum, and regained his equilibrium before Tom could think to counterattack. He lithely took a step back from Tom, increasing the distance between them in order to maintain his advantage. "Oh, I'm going to enjoy this. You have no idea just how much."

Tom wasted no effort on a reply. His eyes were locked on the knife. His entire world had shrunk to a matter of inches, his every sense focused completely on John and the weapon he wielded.

John's smile beamed at him, his eyes shining with fevered intensity.

He might be getting older, but he hasn't gotten any slower, just a whole lot crazier.

John feinted, the knife singing its whistling song once more. Tom avoided easily enough, this time. The problem was that John could afford to miss, just so long as he continued to hold that knife before him. Tom had no such luxury of opportunities. All it would take is one successful connection.

"I should've done this ten years ago. I really should've. Oh well, 'better late, than never' as they say."

The third attempted attack was not a swipe, but a lunge, the knife extending straight out towards him. Without thought, Tom seized John's arm with both hands. He forced both it and the weapon it held downwards, at the same time throwing his body forward to get inside John's reaction space, and jerking hard to the right. John screamed in rage as the knife buried its point deep into the wall, the blade instantly held fast by its own serrations.

Tom put all his power into a quick jab at John's midsection. The air left the older man's lungs with a whoosh. Tom's second punch was to the face. It connected with devastating effect. John staggered back. Stunned and dazed, he was not down yet.

Tom took advantage of John's temporary incapacitation and ran to where the knife was rooted. He took hold and heaved, but it was no more willing to come free for him than it had been for John. He spread his legs apart, placed both hands on the knife handle, and pulled with all his might. Like Arthur with Excalibur, the knife came free.

There was a rustling sound to his rear alerting him to danger. Tom jumped back, but his reaction was too late, and too slow. The heavy cast iron skillet caught him on the side of the head, causing him to careen hard against the opposite wall. His vision, like the rest of his senses, winked out as he fell head first into the void of unconsciousness. The knife still clutched in his hand, useless.

John

John's breath came in ragged, choking, fits and starts. He stared at his handiwork on the floor and a surge of exhilaration flooded his brain.

Oh yeah! This is how it should be. Gotta love it. I was meant for this.

With his booted foot he pulled back and drove the tip as hard as he could into the small of Tom's back. John was forced to step back, his sense of balance severely compromised by Tom's earlier haymaker.

"You got a mean swing boy. I gotta give you that one. Your only problem is..." John raised the skillet high above his head. With a quick flip of the wrist he turned the skillet edgewise, wielding the utensil in an insane parody of a hatchet. "You gotta remember to follow through."

The skillet came down squarely on Tom's right arm with a most satisfying sound that could only be the snapping of bone. Tom immediately awakened, screaming in pain. The hunting knife skidded away several feet, well out of reach.

"Good, I want you awake. I don't want you to miss any of this, not even one little bit." John raised the skillet again. "First the arms..." The skillet fell once more, Tom screamed as his left arm was likewise crushed. "Then the legs..." the skillet went high, but this time he paused, holding it motionless at its zenith. "And after them...No, I'm not going to kill you if that's what you're thinking. I'm going to make you watch. Watch while I do your pretty little girlfriend in there. How does that sound to you?"

Tom thrashed about violently, unable to respond any other way.

"No? Aww! So sorry, but that's just too damn bad."

"Get the fuck away from him, you fucking piece of shit!"

John looked up to see Anne standing just before the bedroom door, a fully loaded Beretta in her hands, and aimed squarely at him.

Anne

Anne put every ounce of concentration into her stance, holding the gun in front of her with both hands just as she had seen in countless tv crime shows.

Please God, don't let him see how scared I am. He'll kill us both given even half a chance.

"I said, get the fuck away from him. Now!"

John, though initially taken by surprise was quickly adjusting to the situation, far quicker than she had hoped for. A smile spread across his lips, his eyes gleaming dangerously. It did not take psychiatric training to recognize him for what he was, psychotic.

"Now missy, you don't want to be doing that. That's how accidents happen."

"Shut the fuck up and step back!"

"Or what? You'll shoot me dead?"

"I'll do worse than that."

"Worse than dead? Don't rightly see how you can do any worse."

"Don't try me. I swear to God, I'll blast that little worm of a prick clean off. Then when you go to prison everyone will know you as the dickless wonder. How would you like that?"

John's smile was wiped clean by that.

Good, that got your full attention.

He lowered the skillet back down, but slowly this time. He was taking great pains to make sure no sudden movements would give her cause to make good on her threat.

Yes, good. Very good.

"Put down the pan."

Tom was writhing in pain on the floor, mindlessly thrashing back and forth.

"I think there's been something of a misunderstanding here darlin. I can see how this all must look to you, but..."

"I said, shut the fuck up! I don't want to hear it. Put it down, now."

John looked at the heavy iron skillet in his right hand as though surprised to see it there. "Why this little thing?" Then he looked back up into her eyes. "No, don't think so. Not while you got that gun on me."

John carefully took a step backwards.

"Stop right there. Don't move!"

"Move away from him, or don't move. Which is it darlin? Make up your mind."

"Stay right where you are."

"What makes you even think they'll send me to prison anyway? Seems to me everything I done here could be talked up as self-defense. Your boyfriend there came at me with a knife, leastwise that's what I'll say."

Anne laughed at the absurdity of his statement.

"All it takes is one you know. One little old lady on the jury that takes a liking to me and I'm free as a bird."

"Don't try that shit with me. One way or the other you're spending the last of your days in a cell. The only question is; with, or without that pecker of yours."

"For this?" John laughed back at her. "This ain't shit. Assault and battery, that's small time. I still got some years in me. More than enough to get out, even if they do convict."

"You raped his mother, and I'm thinking she wasn't the only one. How many others have you raped? Two, three...a dozen maybe? Something tells me you've got more than enough floating out there for something to stick."

"Raped who's mother?...His!?"

"Yes."

Again that laugh of his, "Who sold you that load of crap? Him, I suppose."

"Cut the bullshit. I know you raped her, and where there's one there's probably more."

"And people think I'm crazy. Darlin, I hate to bust your bubble, but I never raped Janet. I swear darlin, cross my heart and hope to die. I never did what you're thinking."

"You did. I know you did!"

He's stalling. He's planning something. What?

During their exchange Tom had tortuously pulled himself towards her along the hallway floor. Anne forced herself to ignore the distraction of his painful whimpers.

"Oh no. You got me all wrong baby." John transferred the skillet from his right hand to his left, and then back to the right again.

"I said stop moving!" she nervously shouted.

Tom groaned loudly once more, then went silent and still. Anne believed he might have passed out from the pain, but it was impossible to tell without checking more closely, and now was hardly the time.

Probably for the best if he has anyway.

"Tell you what sweetheart, you lower that piece just a smidge and I'll turn around and leave. We can call the whole thing a wash. What do you say?"

"Not a chance."

"You don't want to shoot anyway. I know you don't. Otherwise you would've already."

"Wanting and doing are totally different things. Don't test me."

"You really think you have it in you sugar, to shoot a man down? You ain't convinced me."

"Try me."

John stared at the gun in her hands, then turned his focus back to her. "Think I just might at that. Say bye-bye to your boyfriend darlin." He raised the skillet high once more.

She squeezed the trigger softly. First nothing happened, then everything happened.

John

John knew she was going to pull the trigger before she did. He could see it written all over her face. He knew something else too, something very important. Something he expected she did not know.

The safety's still on.

So when he saw her finger tighten, and her face cloud over with bewilderment, John was ready. Quick as a striking snake he hurled the skillet down the length of the hallway. His aim was poor, but in a narrow hallway, with only a handful of yards between them, he needed no accuracy. The skillet struck her a glancing blow off the left hip, not where he had wanted it to go, but plenty good enough for his needs.

Before the skillet had even left his hand he had already tensed his legs, preparing for the charge. A second, maybe two seconds, of confusion on her part and he would be upon her. Once he had his hands on her the contest would be over.

He bounded down the hallway right over Tom, closing the distance before she could react. With his left hand he deflected her aim towards the wall, with his right he delivered a quick jabbing punch to the face. The girl went stumbling backwards into the bedroom, blood already trickling from her nostrils.

John scooped the gun up off the floor where she had dropped it. His thumb switched the safety to the 'off' position.

Game over bitch!

Then two events happened in rapid succession that he did not plan.

As John was raising the gun, Tom plunged the forgotten knife down into John's left foot, the unprotected foot. The knife struck home with every iota of strength that Tom's mangled arm could manage. John looked down and saw the blade buried almost to its handle.

Just as the first waves of debilitating pain began to reach his brain he heard two loud popping sounds.

Gunfire.

He stood there rooted to the spot, unable to comprehend what was happening. He looked at the gun in his hands, now pointing aimlessly down at the floor.

It's my gun now. How?

A red bloom appeared on the front of his chest near the heart and began to spread outward.

But I won. I have the gun. How...?

Those were John's last conscious thoughts in life. He fell to his knees. What little remained of his mind shut down just prior to his face hitting the floor. His mission would go unfulfilled forever.

Anne

Anne would have screamed if she had been able. The sight of John Foster standing there, the reddish-brown patch near his heart spreading outward from the size of quarter until it was nearly as large as a dinner plate, and then his pitching over face first, all this combined to leave her in a state of utter incapacitation.

"Miss, are you ok? I'm Officer Morris, Isabella PD. Are you ok miss?"

The following minutes went by as in a dream, some horrible, twisted mockery of a dream. There was a police officer there in this dream; tall, gangly and oh so young. Then time sped up, then slowed down, and sped up again. Time itself seemed to have no relevance. She could almost imagine it stopping and reversing with but a wish.

Wonder if this is what Einstein meant about it being relative. Maybe Tom can explain it to me later. If there is a later for him, for us.

Anne giggled hysterically at the randomness of her thoughts.

"She's in shock. Get her out of here."

"Come on miss. Come with me. Yes, he'll be fine. I promise, he'll be right behind you. We just need to get you out first."

There were other people here now, some were other police, some were not. It was one of the latter that took her by the hand and tried to lead her out. She resisted, she screamed, and she cried. When at last those methods had all failed to deter, she relented.

She noticed two things immediately as she was guided out the front door.

First, the rain had stopped. Not only had the rain ceased, but she could even see spots of blue here and there among the clouds.

Second, the yard was filled to overflowing with people coming and going. Most wore uniforms of one sort or another but a few here and there did not. It was impossible for her to imagine what purpose all these people had for being here. It was over, the danger had passed. Right?

So why all the people?

She turned to look back at the house. A small group of men and women were leading a wheeled stretcher out the door. Upon this stretcher was a man, unrecognizable at first sight. His face was pale, his eyes closed, an IV line attached to one arm.

Tom!

Anne broke free of her captor's hold and sprinted towards the stretcher.

"Whoa! I've got you miss!" This one was police too, though not one of the uniformed ones.

"Let me go! Tom! Tom!" She struggled mightily, but he was simply too strong, and too much of the fight had already been wrung out of her.

"Can we let her ride with him?"

"Nope, sorry Chief. Hospital rules, immediate family only."

"Oh hell Jimmy, screw the damn rules just this once. You really think either of them is better off if she has to to wait for the next ride?"

"They'll fire my ass if I did that. You know that!"

"Tell them I made you then. I'll vouch for you. Let her in."

"Ok, but remember; it's on you! You heard the man, let her in."

Now she was in the ambulance with him, the vehicle drove down the road at a surprisingly measured pace.

Weren't ambulances supposed to go fast? And where was the siren? Didn't they use sirens too?

"Tom?"

There was no answer.

"We've got him sedated with a Morphine drip, ma'am. There's nothing better to take the edge off. I assure you, he's not feeling a thing."

"Tom?"

His eyes fluttered, but stayed closed.

"Kidney damage. Lucky for him though, God gave him a spare. So don't you fret. He'll be just fine."

"Tom...please, please. Listen to me. Can you hear me?"

His eyes opened at last. The pupils were dilated and focused on nothing in particular.

"Can you hear me Tom?"

"y..e..s."

"Don't leave me Tom. Please, don't leave me."

The edges of his mouth twitched, then curved. "Won't." He said, then closed his eyes.

...

"Anne?"

She awoke instantaneously at the mention of her name, jumping to her feet in less time than it would take to draw a breath.

"Relax, it's just me." Jenny stood several feet away, her left arm immobilized in a sling, dark circles under her eyes.

She looks every bit as bad as I must. Maybe worse.

The hospital waiting area was virtually deserted, the only other occupants an elderly couple sitting together at the far side. Anne ignored their presence, focusing her complete attention on Jenny.

"Have you heard anything yet?" Anne asked, desperate for news, but dreading it also.

"He's in ICU at one of the hospitals in Tallahassee. Stable condition. That's pretty much all they'll tell me so far."

Tallahassee? That's almost a hundred miles away.

"Why there? Why would they move him?" She fought to keep the panic out of her voice with only limited success.

Jenny reached out with her good arm and took one of Anne's hands into her own. "Calm down. That's to be expected. This place is too small for much more than broken bones and runny noses. The important thing is he's stable."

" Stable? Stable is good right?"

Jenny smiled back at her, "Yes, it's very good."

Anne looked around, searching the walls for a clock. "What time is it?"

"Almost five now...afternoon."

"You don't know which hospital they took him to? Is he able to take visitors yet?"

Jenny flicked her gaze towards the couple. "Um...That's what I came here to talk to you about. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak to you about that in private for a bit."

Anne's heart sank. "What? He's ok right? That's what you said. You said he was in stable condition."

Jenny took her by the arm and lead her out of the waiting room and down a hallway. "Come with me, please."

Five minutes later the two women had reached Jenny's intended destination. They were the sole inhabitants of the hospital chapel, not that it would have accommodated many more. The room hardly seemed more than a glorified broom closet with space enough for only a handful of chairs.

"What is it? You're worrying me. He's going to be ok, right?"

Jenny nervously licked her lips and nodded. "Physically, yes."

"Physically?"

"I don't know what all happened at the house, but something's changed in him. Tom remembers now. He remembers everything."

"So, you've talked to him?"

"Just for a couple of minutes as they were sending him out the door, but yeah. He was pretty out of it when I saw him but I could tell he knows now."

"If I drive up there tomorrow do you think they'll let me see him?"

"That's just it Anne. Before you do that we need to talk. You need to know what you're walking into."

"I think, I'm almost certain, that I already know what happened. The night when John raped his mother...She wasn't the only one he raped, was she? He...he did it to Tom also."

Jenny shook her head. "No, you got it wrong. That's not what happened. John never raped Tom."

"I don't understand, if it really was just her why would it have affected him so badly? What did John do to mess him up so much?"

"It wasn't John." Jenny cut her off before she could complete her train of thought. "Before I continue, there's something I have to ask. I know you two haven't known each other very long. Do you love him?"

Yes, I do.

Anne nodded her head without speaking, the words not able to come to her lips.

"These next few months are apt to be hell on him. He's going to need people to stand by him, to help him through it without judging him. Can you do that? Regardless of what I tell you here, can you do that?...Wait, don't answer off the cuff. Think hard before you answer, be honest."

Can I?...

"Yes. I'll be there for him."

Jenny studied her face, seeking out any sign of hesitation or doubt, "Ok...It happened in the summer of '93..."

Chapter 26

July 16, 1993

Tommy

Tommy Brookes had lied to his mother about driving to Panama City. His actual destination was somewhat closer to home, though he very much doubted his mother would have been comforted by that fact. He was on his way to a beach party, and if that was not enough to earn her vehement disapproval, its host certainly would have.

Mr. & Mrs. Hayes were on a week long trip down to the Florida keys in celebration of their 20th wedding anniversary. Before leaving, they had entrusted their eldest daughter, Sharon, with the task of watching over her younger sister, Beverly. Sharon's first act as her sibling's temporary guardian was to throw a party at her beach house in Beverly's honor.

Tommy was infatuated with Sharon. She was older than he, though he would be hard pressed to guess exactly by how much. She lived independently from her parents, earning her paychecks from the same Shop N' Save where his own mother worked. This gave her an exotic quality that no girl at his high school could match. She was a woman, not a girl.

Sharon was, in a word, beautiful. Her raven colored hair perfectly offset her lightly freckled face, making her seem neither young nor mature but rather both at once. She had beautiful green eyes that appeared to sparkle in the light and that, paired with a frequent mischievous grin, gave Tommy the impression that she somehow saw a different, more colorful world than the one he was familiar with.

Tommy knew that his mother disliked Sharon. That much was obvious from the look on his mother's face the few times he had mentioned her name. Why that was the case he was not entirely sure, though he suspected that it had something to do with Sharon's reputation around town. Rumor had it that Sharon was what the town's older residents would term a 'loose woman'. This did nothing to discourage his secret desire for her, if anything it somehow made her seem more attainable, and thus encouraged him onward. He really did not put much stock in the rumors in any case, he was positive that it was only jealous talk traded among women that wanted to be her and the men that wanted to be with her.

Of course Tommy had never told Sharon how he felt about her. How could he? He was just another geeky high school kid among many. He was convinced she would laugh at him if he had ever dared.

Tommy was neither tall nor short, neither handsome nor ugly, neither thin nor fat. He was none of these things. He was, in his own estimation, merely boringly, blandly average. He had little idea of what sort of man she might find attractive but he had a notion that whatever she was looking for, it was not likely to be someone like him.

For this reason he had very nearly passed on the party invite, which had been delivered in that informal way of most parties, through word of mouth from a 'friend of a friend'. Arriving at a party that Sharon would be hosting without the requisite courage of heart to approach her would be a cruel form of self-torture. For the past three days he had continuously told himself that he would not put himself through that agony. However in the end, he had elected to do just that. And so Tommy had lied to his mother about his plans for the evening and driven to a party that surely would have been forbidden if she had known of its existence. The lure of the possible had outweighed the fear of the probable.

Sharon's house was located on a small spit of land which jutted out into the Gulf of Mexico some twenty miles west of Isabella. The group of neighboring beach houses in which it was set was collectively called False Cape by the locals though you would never find that name on any map. Most of the houses here were new constructions, occupied for a few months out of the year by well-to-do families out of places like Atlanta or Birmingham fleeing the stresses of their fast paced lives.

Sharon's home was a rare exception. It was a small place, hardly more than a bungalow, that had been built back in the sixties at the height of one of Florida's numerous boom periods. The house sat squarely on the ground, that fact alone a testament to its age in comparison to its peers that were all set high up on hurricane proofed stilts. Its walls had once been painted a color that had been meant to resemble sea foam green but years of salt laden sea breezes had long since leached the vibrancy out.

Though he had thought himself early, the sun just now finishing its final plunge beneath the waves of the nearby gulf waters, already there were dozens of cars parked along the oyster shell lane leading up to the house. From inside some nameless tune blasted out at full throttle.

He approached the door hesitantly, unsure just why he was even here. He knew that the party within would be dominated by the popular ones, those that had always been looked up to and admired by everyone else in school. It was obvious to him that he didn't belong here.

It's not too late, nobody has seen you yet. Just turn around now and nothing is lost.

Tommy turned to leave.

"Hey, Tommy! Look it's Tommy!"

Tommy froze, immediately recognizing the voice of Tim Dyer. He turned around and sheepishly resumed his march toward the now opened doorway. As expected, Tim stood just beyond, beckoning him forward.

Tim was older than Tommy, having just graduated two months prior. Tommy was mildly surprised that he had even known his name, as Tim had been the undisputed leader of his class' in-crowd clique. Football star, prom king, whatever title there had been to indicate popularity, Tim had won it for himself.

"Hey buddy, glad to see you here. C'mon in." Tim reached out, grabbed Tommy's hand and gave it an eager pump. "Most everybody is out back on the beach right now."

"Thanks."

Tommy entered and peered around. As Tim had indicated the house seemed empty despite the loud music, or perhaps because of it.

"Ground rule before you get comfy. No alcohol or weed in the house. Ok? Of course if you happen to see something like that out on the beach, well..."

Tommy laughed nervously. He was a late starter among his classmates and had only drank wine on one occasion, at a wedding reception for one of his mother's coworkers. As for weed, he could not recall ever having seen it before, and doubted he would recognize it if he had.

"Well anyway, good to see you again. I gotta go make a run for the Citgo before they close up. I'll be back soon though."

And with that Tim was gone, leaving Tommy alone in the room with the blaring music. He briefly considered completing his earlier retreat before finally deciding to stick it out just a bit longer. He was here now. He might as well make the most of it.

As he exited onto the rear porch he noted that the night had begun in earnest. The last vestiges of pink in the sky were quickly being replaced with deeper shades of indigo and inky blackness, interspersed with pinprick points of light from the evening's first stars. There was a bonfire a short distance down the beach, surrounded by what looked to be about twenty or so revelers. Even from here he could hear the babble of happy voices laughing and joking as if in competition with the softer rhythmic shushing of the gulf's waves, the music from behind him having transitioned into a momentary lull for which he was thankful.

With all the enthusiasm of a condemned man he slowly walked towards the blaze. As he neared the outskirts of the group he became acutely aware of how over dressed he was in his jeans and pullover shirt. Everyone here was dressed in typical beach attire. The guys wore shorts and t-shirts (if they bothered with shirts at all) and the girls were mostly dressed in swimsuits. Once again he considered whether it would be wise to cut his losses now before he was noticed.

Taking a deep breath he continued on his path. He spied an open cooler some distance away from the bonfire where everyone was gathered. Tommy approached the cooler eager to find something that might help to relieve the dry cottony sensation in his mouth. Any soft drinks that the cooler might have once contained were long since gone however, leaving only a handful of beer cans of some brand of which he was not familiar.

Well, when in Rome and all that.

Tommy reached in and retrieved one of the cans, its surface cold and glistening in the fire's light. Foam spilled forth liberally upon opening it, quickly running down over his hand and dripping onto the sand below. His first sip was tentative, as if testing a beverage one might suspect of being poisoned. He was not at all sure whether he liked the taste of it or not, a rare ambivalence for him upon trying something new.

He slowly scanned the faces of the party goers as he took a second, longer drink from the can. Though he was familiar with almost everyone here, he failed to spot the one face he was searching for. Curiously, he found himself unsure if her absence was a disappointment or a relief.

Tommy milled about for several long minutes, neither approaching nor retreating from the scene, but rather circling about it in an aimless meandering fashion. As yet nobody even seemed to be aware of his existence. Everyone was clustered into tight little knots of people, eagerly engaged in conversations of one sort or another, in none of which could he discern more than a few token words.

"Hi Tommy!"

He jumped slightly, startled by the cheerful greeting and the accompanying light touch of a hand on his shoulder. He had been so intent on everyone around the fire that he had been completely unaware of her approach from behind him.

"Oh, hi Bev."

Beverly Hayes wore a red, white and blue bikini with white, five-pointed stars suggestively placed at three strategic locations.

In years to come she would be a dead ringer for her sister. They shared the same hair, the same freckles, and those same beautiful emerald eyes. Where they differed was in age. Whereas Sharon had acquired the curves of womanhood, Beverly was still angular and coltish in manner.

She would be a sophomore next year, one class behind Tommy. Other than the occasional, cheerfully delivered 'hello' they had never actually spoken to each other before.

"I wasn't sure you would come here tonight. I'm really glad you did."

"Yeah, I..." he hesitated, suddenly discovering he had no idea what to say next. Beverly grinned in amusement at his obvious discomfort. "...um, I heard your sister would be giving you this party." An awkward pause ensued as his mind searched desperately for words. "I don't see her here though."

Her grin turned downwards before returning once more, though now it seemed to have something of a forced quality to it. "I'm sure she's around here somewhere. If you'd like I'll see if I can find her."

"No, that's ok. I don't need to talk to her."

In the dimly flickering light of the bonfire he sensed rather than saw a relaxation of her stance.

"I see you found the cooler." She gestured at the now half-empty can in his hand. It was not until then that Tommy realized that, unlike most people here, she was without a drink. He thought about offering to go get her one then quickly dismissed the idea. If she did not have one already it was most likely by choice, not an oversight.

"Yes, thank you."

Again there was a pause. Whatever effects the beer was supposed to achieve it was clear that glibness of tongue was not one of them. He found his eyes drawn downward, those white stars on her suit commanding his attention in a way that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

Beverly seemed to have no such hindrance. "You mind if we sit?"

Without awaiting his response she plopped down on the sand with the same eagerness she seemed to apply to everything she did, grabbing his hand as she did and pulling him down alongside her.

"God, I'm glad it's summer now. I thought school would never get out. If I have to sit in another one of Mr. Schwan's science classes I'll just scream. I swear I will."

For the first time since arriving the ghost of a smile crossed his face. The image of Beverly Hayes screaming at the top of her lungs in the front of a classroom came front and center in his mind.

"Oh I don't know...I rather liked his class. Sure he's a bit dorky for a teacher but I liked him."

"He's ok, I guess. It's just the class I couldn't stand. Physics, ick! All those formulas and rules." Beverly seemed to spit out the words as if they were as distasteful as the subject itself.

Tommy's smile widened. Beverly had a way about her that was quickly putting him more at ease. They had barely spoken more than a dozen words to each other in the past and here she was talking to him as if they had been friends for years. The entire experience was enticingly alien for him. "Yeah, well...guess I'm weird then because I like physics, and math, and all those icky things. I was thinking of maybe majoring in something like astronomy when I go to college."

"Really?!" She cocked her head askew as she looked at him, as though she had suddenly discovered a new form of life sitting beside her.

"Um...yeah. Really."

Beverly looked up at the sky, seemingly intent on discovering for herself why the subject matter would hold any fascination for him.

"I guess I could see why you're into that. The stars are beautiful tonight. Don't you think so?"

Tommy reluctantly tore his gaze away from her and directed his eyes upwards. The stars were indeed quite beautiful this night. The night was clear and the humidity relatively low. This far away from anything resembling a town and with the bonfire's illumination at his back he could clearly make out the Milky Way as it stretched from one horizon to the other.

As he continued his stargazing he felt her hand coming to rest on his leg. He did not dare to look at it, he could not. He was fixed in place. Even through the thick material of his jeans that simple touch seemed to have a magical effect on him. All his senses sharpened in response and all of them, save sight itself, focused entirely on her. He felt her begin to lean into him. The scent of her was clean and fresh like lilacs in a field. The sound of her breathing, softly quickening, filled his ears.

Slowly her hand began to move towards his center, traveling across his lap, until it rested lightly on top of the crease where his zipper was located. He suddenly found it difficult to think clearly. His body responded where he could not. He felt his member extending in length, as though it were attempting to reach out to the hand above. The beer can he had been holding fell from his nerveless fingers, hitting the ground between them and spraying them both with the last remaining drops of its contents.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry." But something playful in her voice hinted at the lie. "Wait right here, I'll run and get you another."

With that she rose and bounded off in the direction of the cooler. Tommy saw his opportunity and took it. He rose, turned, and began walking back towards the bungalow as quickly as he dared. When she returned she would find only an empty can to mark the spot where they had sat.

John

John leered down at the torpid figure sprawled face down upon the bed.

I should've done this months ago.

Janet was just beginning to stir, her movements as yet still uncoordinated and lethargic. The majority of her clothes lay in a heap on the floor near the closet door, tossed there without a thought in his haste to undress her. Only her bra and panties remained, and those would be joining the rest soon enough.

"Now hold on there darlin." John placed a hand on her back just below the shoulder blades, and firmly pressed down, suspending her attempts to rise. "We just gettin' started now."

John, still fully dressed himself, climbed onto the bed and straddled her, using his weight to pin her in place. Her struggles became more active, her arms flailing at her sides ineffectively. John put his left hand at the back of her head and forced it into the pillow, reducing her cries to inarticulate mewling.

"Now don't you go making a fuss. We wouldn't want to disturb little Jenny's sleep. Otherwise who knows what might happen."

Still she fought and struggled to free herself. She twisted back and forth animatedly, then began bucking like one of those mechanical bulls so popular years back.

"Are you listening to me darlin? I don't think you are. Guess that's nuthin' new with you though. Now is it?"

John raised his right hand all the way back and brought it down hard with an open palm to her buttocks. The sound of the contact was like the snapping of a whip.

"Now, if I've got your attention, let me repeat. Keep quiet, or you'll wake poor lil' Jenny up, and we don't want that. You don't want that, and I'm pretty damn sure she won't want that...Then again..." John lowered his head so that his lips were inches from her ears. "Who knows about kids these days right? She just might enjoy that...Should we find out?"

Janet ceased her efforts instantly.

Raising back upright John continued, "Yeah, you're probably right. It really is better this way. Just the two of us."

Her bra was one of the sort that snapped in the back. He had always detested their kind, they were always so damn inconvenient to unhook. Now though, its design seemed a positive godsend. Even so, it was a task requiring both hands which meant he would need to relinquish his hold on her head.

"You just hold real still like there darlin. Less you squirm, quicker this'll go."

"John, stop. Please!"

He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back, lifting her upper torso off the bed.

"You ain't mindin' very good. I told you to shut up!"

With a hard shove he pushed her prone again. His fingers went back to their task, removing the unwanted garment within a matter of seconds. Janet was no longer resisting, but she was crying. Somehow he found that infinitely more irritating.

"Stop acting like you don't want this. I know you do! Quit that fucking crying!" His voice was loud and harsh, loaded with anger.

Why can't she just go with this? No, she's gotta make things difficult. Fucking bitch wants it but won't admit it!

His hands on both of her hips, John seized hold of the panties, preparing to pull them down.

"You're long past due for a good fucking and I'm gonna deliver bitch!"

Tommy

Tommy groaned inwardly to himself as soon as he saw John's F-150 truck parked in the driveway. He knew as well as his mother that John had been getting into a habit of coming home late. He had dared to hope that he might be able to slip into the house and quickly retire to his bedroom before John arrived.

The last thing Tommy wanted to do right now was to answer a series of pointed questions about his whereabouts and activities from a man intent on acting like a surrogate dad. John was not his father, and never would be. His father was dead. It was just that simple.

Maybe he if he was lucky he could still get to his room without an interrogation. Tommy had to grudgingly admit that John had backed off and given him more room this past year. Besides, it was as likely as not that John and his mother would be in the midst of another argument by now. They seemed to be doing a lot of arguing lately. At first both had tried to keep their verbal sparring private. But as time had worn on it was apparent that they were growing tired of hiding the obvious.

What Tommy really wanted to do was to privately reflect on what had happened earlier, or more accurately, on what had not happened due to his own timidity. He was awash in conflicting emotions and thoughts and it would take time to try to work them all out.

It was not as though Beverly's actions were unwelcome or that he did not find her attractive, quite the opposite, but it had been unexpected. In contrast to many of his classmates, who seemed well versed in the complicated dance between the sexes, Tommy was completely inexperienced. He was an introvert, and as such he kept to his own company more often than not. Naturally this had limited his opportunities to practice those bewildering steps. He had often fantasized about scenarios just like the one she had presented, but when the fantasy became reality his response had been to panic and flee.

His mind had churned constantly throughout the long drive home, repeatedly replaying the scene in his head. Perhaps there was still a chance to redeem the situation. He would simply try to explain to her that she had caught him by surprise. Would she understand? He certainly hoped she would.

As he walked up the driveway and past John's truck, Tommy reached out and felt the hood. A residual warmth was evidence that he had not lost the race home by much, perhaps by as little as half an hour. He continued on to the front door, mentally preparing himself along the way with false answers to the questions he expected to face.

Tommy sensed something amiss immediately upon entering. The living room was feebly lit by a single lamp, its 60 watt bulb woefully inadequate to its task. In contrast, the adjoining kitchen, though deserted, was nevertheless filled with light. His mother was fastidious about turning off lights not in use and would often scold him and his sister if they neglected to do the same.

Tommy entered the kitchen. He cataloged the room's oddities as if he were a detective encountering a crime scene. A cracked and splintered chair lay on its side, a pack of cigarettes rested in the center of the table next to a Polaroid picture, there were drawers that had been pulled out and left open. It did not require a Sherlock Holmes to know that something was very wrong here.

He heard a muffled sound coming from the direction of the bedrooms. With a rising sense of alarm he pivoted and began walking in that direction. He cautiously approached and placed a hand upon the doorknob.

"Stop acting like you don't want this. I know you do! Quit that fucking crying!" At this distance John's furious voice from the other side was clear and unmistakable.

"Tommy?" Jenny stood at her now opened door dressed in her favorite pink princess pajamas looking fearful and confused.

Tommy put a finger to his lips and made a soft 'shussing' sound, then gestured for his sister to return to her room. Obediently she took a step backward and pulled the door partially closed, continuing to peek out into the hallway like a frightened feline.

"You're long past due for a good fucking and I'm gonna deliver bitch!"

Tommy steeled himself and pushed the door open.

Janet

"You're long past due for a good fucking and I'm gonna deliver bitch!"

Janet was defeated. She sobbed her misery into the pillow, all resistance at an end.

Please...God. Please.

The bedroom door opened with a sudden rush of air.

"Mom?"

Janet managed to turn her head towards the door. For a long moment it was not her son she saw standing there, but him.

Travis. It's Travis. He's here for me. Thank you God, thank you!

"What the fuck?!" John sprang off the bed and faced off against the unexpected interloper. "Get the fuck out of here boy!"

Tommy made no immediate move. His eyes darted between Janet and John. Janet could see his hands tightening into fists at his sides.

No, don't.

"Are you fucking deaf? I said get out!" John neared her son, his hands raised as if to shove him out by force.

Tommy swung with his right hand, catching John dead center in the chest at the breast bone. The tall man staggered back, caught the edge of the bed with one of his legs, and landed hard on the floor.

Tommy came around to the bedside, looking down on her. "Are you ok? Did he hurt you?"

Out of the corner of her eye Janet spied John rising to his feet. "Behind you!" She warned. Tommy spun around, his stance making it clear he was ready to continue if John was.

John however seemed to be rethinking his position. There was a look to his eyes like that of a caged animal, no longer seeking confrontation but escape. "Fuck this! She ain't worth it." He warily edged towards the doorway, keeping his front towards Tommy the entire way. He shouted in impotent rage as he turned and fled down the hall. "You hear that cunt?! You ain't worth it!"

Janet swung her legs off the side of the bed and sat up in place as Tommy, satisfied that the danger was past, sat down by her side.

"Are you ok?"

She put her elbows on her knees, bent over, and buried her face in her hands. The sobbing that had begun with John returned in full now. Only now, what had been cries purely of despair, was inspired by a far more complicated mix of feelings. Mostly she felt relief, but that was only one among many conflicting emotions.

Janet felt Tommy's arms coming around her at the shoulders and pulling her towards him.

"It's ok. You're ok now. He's gone." The words were softly spoken, meant to be reassuring, but they only spurred her lamentations to greater intensity. Janet wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, holding tight to him.

"He...he was going..." She tried to choke the words out between sobs but quickly gave up the effort.

"He's gone now. It's over."

His arms held her with such tender strength. Even in her current state, even with all that had happened, it was that impossible fact that reached her. No, somehow it did even more, it reached into her and touched at her core. At last her tears began tapering off.

Just like Travis. He's holding me just as Travis would when I cried over some stupid thing or another.

Janet pulled back, yet continued to hold on to him, unwilling to break all contact. She looked into his face and saw the concern there, concern for her.

So much Travis in him. Too much.

"Any better now?" He asked

Janet nodded, unable to speak.

It's been so long. So very long.

Janet set her head against his chest once more. She just wanted that feeling of being held again, needed it, required it. Tommy patiently held her like that for several minutes, saying nothing, just holding her. The roles of parent and child seeming to have reversed.

The problem was that it was neither a parent nor a child she desired. It was the strong arms of a lover that she wanted. Something happened inside her then that she could not explain, would never be able to explain. Not to another, nor even to herself.

Janet thrust aside all doubts and concerns and gave herself over to that desire.

Tommy

The first subtle clue that Tommy noticed that the situation had changed was an ever so slight shift in his mother's position. She was pulling at him with a 'just so' greater intensity than previously.

"Mom?"

She gave no answer, at least no verbal answer.

Her body however, was answering in a completely unexpected fashion. The hands at his back were moving back and forth over his shoulders, feeling the play of muscles beneath his shirt with a hunger that even he could begin to recognize. Tommy tentatively began to pull away but her grip redoubled its pull, more than outmatching any meager effort he made to the contrary.

"Mom!?" He protested.

She pulled back to look at him. There was something about the way she was looking at him. Something in her eyes now that both frightened and...excited him.

He opened his mouth to speak, she thrust her head forward like a striking viper. She kissed him, not the chaste kiss of a mother on a child's cheek, but a full, passionate kiss on the lips. Her tongue entered his mouth. He could feel it there, playing over and around his own.

No...I can't. We can't. This is...

'...so right', his body was telling him. He put his own hands on her forearms, thinking to push her away, but...she felt so warm, and soft.

He felt himself stiffening down below for the second time that night. Somehow she must have sensed it, her right hand began to travel downwards even as she maintained the kiss. The sensation of her hand stroking the crotch of his jeans gave new impetus to his stirrings. He was almost lost now, very little remained of his resolve to resist.

Janet pulled her head back, relinquishing the kiss, but not her hold upon him. Her left hand began pushing him backwards now, urging him to lay back upon the bed. He felt the buckle of his belt being undone, then the snap of his jeans coming apart.

"Mother..." Tom vainly struggled for the words. She placed a hand over his lips and gently pinched them closed. She continued to say nothing, she did not need to, her eyes said everything her mouth could not. They were begging, pleading with him. 'No, not tonight.' they said. 'Tonight I need you to be someone else. Please, be someone else, for me.'

Tom felt his zipper separating. He turned his head to the side, unable to look into those eyes an instant more.

He was lost.

Jenny

Jenny stood at her door, maintaining her vigil, listening intently. She had ducked back into her room as John stormed down the hallway and flew out the front door. Now that he was gone, and she knew he was gone because she had clearly heard his truck peeling away at considerable speed, she reentered the hall and turned towards her mother's room.

Just what the hell is going on around here? First I hear John yelling and the next he's running out like he's being chased.

She could no longer just stand there. She had to know. She crept forward as silently as possible. The door to her mother's room was already ajar several inches, saving her the necessity of opening it. All she needed to do was approach and peer inside.

She did. Heaven help her, she did, and what she saw...

What she saw during the next five minutes as she continued to stand there, unobserved by either participant within, would forever change their lives.

Epilogue

March 17, 2004

Tom

"Hey there tiger! Good morning!"

Tom opened his eyes reluctantly. He was quartered within a standard hospital room, the transfer from ICU having come through in the dead of night. Dozens of flower arrangements filled every possible nook and corner.

Anne stood near the door, her hands folded before her.

"Not feeling so tigerific today."

Anne was looking not at his face, but at his arms, both immobilized within cocoons of plastic and cloth. She blanched at the sight, causing Tom to regret his words.

"Changed your hair?" He croaked the question out between cracked lips, seeking to divert her attention.

Anne reflexively reached a hand up to her head. "Oh, it's just pinned up for now."

"I like it like..." A bout of coughing prevented the rest. Pain flared throughout his body, overpowering the drugs flowing through his system. "Stupid cigarettes, gonna kill me one day."

Her smile faded then returned. "Well, good time to quit then isn't it?"

Tom groaned, then sighed. "Maybe."

Anne nervously glanced about the room. "Lots of flowers in here. You could open up your own florist shop."

Tom smiled in return. "Just between us, I think Nurse McKinney sent half of them herself."

"Really? Maybe I need to have a word with her then. I'm not sure I like the idea of some sexy young nurse sending you flowers."

Tom laughed. Pain burst upon him. The predictable pattern of cause and effect was becoming aggravating. "No need to worry about that. Trust me." He croaked out.

"I can't stay long this time. My parents flew down to take care of Michelle for a few days but I need to call and check in on them. I'll be back later this evening though."

"You drove here and had them fly in just so you could see me?"

"Of course. Anything for my hero."

Tom laughed, again the pain surged, "Some hero I am. I let an old man beat the crap out of me."

Anne stepped forward to the edge of the bed, "You're my hero. Don't let anybody tell you different."

Hero. That's a laugh.

"I'm no hero."

She placed a hand at the side of his face. With the lightest of touches she began caressing his cheek. "Maybe, maybe not. But you're close enough in my book."

"Have you talked with Jenny yet? She tell you what happened...what I did?"

"She told me. Doesn't change anything. Not for me."

"It does, for me."

"Only if you let it."

"Kind of hard for it not to. You know what I did. How can you look at me and say it changes nothing?"

"The way I heard it; it sounded more like what she did, not you."

"She did, I did. Does it really make that much of difference? I could have stopped it. I didn't."

To his surprise she nodded, "Ok then. Let's say that's true, just for argument's sake. What do you do about that?"

"What can I do about it? It's done."

"Exactly."

"That doesn't make it go away though. How am I supposed to get past something like that? It's not like I can just forget everything all over again."

Anne smiled down on him. "I guess that's where I come in."

"You?"

Anne shrugged her shoulders, "Not just me. There'll be others, your sister for one. You won't be alone on this."

"Jenny hates me, God only knows how much. The only thing that's changed is that now I finally understand why."

"That's not true. If it were, I don't believe either of us would be here right now."

"What do mean?"

"You didn't know? She brought the cops...well, a cop to your house. It's why we're alive and John's not."

"He's dead?"

"Yes."

Tom took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Good."

"Your sister loves you, even if you won't believe it. We both do."

"How can you? Even after..."

"What happened ten years ago is not who you are Tom. That happened to a boy. The man you are today almost died trying to protect me. That's why you're my hero. I love the person you've become. All I ask is that you give me...No, to give yourself a chance to do the same."

Give myself a chance?...Yes, I think I'd like that.

