New Original Fic: Leaving Scars

[tcurti3]

Hey, Kittens. Sorry for putting you through the emotional wringer & then disappearing--home repair fiasco. On a positive note, I made it through to the next round of voting in thetruthmagazine's Survival of the Lewdest contest. Check out my Christmas essay at http://www.thetruthmagazine.com/survmain.html. I think you'll recognize one or two of the characters in this essay.
I'm working on the next chapter now & hope to have it posted by Friday.
Boschi: don't worry--ascerbic gay male wit in the next chapter, as well as some more angst interspersed with some much-needed Granny lunacy. Hey, it's the denouement--angst is required by law.
Kieli: I must admit that, despite the toll it's taking on you, I'm thrilled to have written a character that evokes such strong emotions. I hope I haven't impaired your recovery. I'm putting a little something in the next chapter just for you...

[justin]

I'm still thoroughly enjoying this story.

I'm going to say something which will probably shock and surprise you. I don't like Mickey.

I'm a bit surprised that everyone seems to be blaming Lizzie for what happened between her and Mickey. Though I guess since she's an out lesbian and Mickey hasn't shown any saphic tendencies before it's understandable, if unfair, that they assume Lizzie made the first move. Still they should stop acting like Lizzie's soley to blame, it takes two to tango after all.

I think it was a good thing that it did come out. If Mickey was telling the truth about being straight then it seems her fling was nothing to do with any attraction to Lizzie and was all about sexual pleasure. She was basically using Lizzie as a living vibrator. Given this I doubt if she'll remain faithful.

Ron might not want Jimbo to know about this one affair but would he want him to be married to a woman who's constantly cuckolding him. Besides if Jimbo did find out about her string of affairs rather than ending in a ruined relationship it might go like the Tom Jones song Delilah

I.E.

She stood there laughing
I felt a knife in my hand and she laughed no more.

Looking forward to reading more. Good luck with the essay

[tcurti3]

As promised, here's an update. I'm hoping to post the last chapter by early next week. Thanks to all who have provided feedback.
Just a warning: it's going to be dark for a bit longer, but I think you'll be happy (relatively) with the ending.
Kieli: the confrontation w/Mickey is just for you. In previous versions of the story, I only referenced her through other people.
Justin: I think I know the phrase I want inscribed on my tombstone: Living Vibrator.
Same rules as above: Mine, all mine. No posting w/o my consent.

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Time for Granny

“Lizzie, can’t ya spend five Goddamn minutes with your Granny?" Granny pleaded.

“I’ve been busy," Lizzie said guiltily. “Just let me shower and I’ll spend the rest of the day with you." She slammed the bathroom door and leaned against it. Shit. She pulled a washrag and a towel from the cabinet under the sink. She turned on the hot water full blast then pulled off her shirt, waiting for the hot water to make its way through the pipes. Lizzie held the bundled shirt to her nose and inhaled deeply. Smells like Amber. She tossed the shirt to the floor where it was quickly joined by the rest of her clothes. She tested the water with her hand. Perfect. She stepped in for her second shower of the day. Lizzie closed her eyes and let the water run down her back. She shuddered, thinking about her morning with Amber. Four days. Lizzie frowned. How am I going to tell her? She put her arms forward, leaning against the wall. What am I going to do? She sighed. What am I going to do about Jimbo? She reluctantly stood upright, soaping up the washrag. I know that Ron will forgive me eventually, but what about Jimbo? She pushed all thoughts of her dilemma out of her mind, focusing on the feel of the hot needles tapping against her shoulders.


Lizzie rubbed her hair vigorously with a towel. “So what do you wanna do today, Granny?" Lizzie asked.

“Well, maybe we can go to that Old Country Buffet," Granny said. She pushed herself up from the chair and headed to her bedroom. “Let Granny get her face on and we can leave." Yes, she didn’t mention Virgie! “Call your Aunt Virgie and see if she wants to go." Shit.

Lizzie walked to the kitchen, pushing two hyperactive dogs out of the way with her foot. What does she feed them—pure cane sugar? She picked up the phone and dialed her Aunt Virgie. “What?" Virgie’s voice was, as always, an accusation.

“Granny and I are going to the,” Lizzie shuddered, “…Old Country Buffet and thought you might want to come along."

“Well, I can’t." Lizzie smiled at the prospect of a relatively peaceful dinner. “Your Uncle Bill’s home today and I can’t leave him alone.”

“Why not?" Lizzie asked. I should just say okay.

“What would he eat?" Virgie snapped.

“Did I miss something?" Lizzie said sarcastically. “Was he in an industrial accident and now he’s a quadriplegic?"

“What the Hell are you talking about?"

“I mean, why can’t he fix himself a sandwich?" Lizzie glanced up to the peeling paint on Granny’s cabinet. “Millions of people do it every day." She paused. “Doesn’t require advanced training.”

“When are you and that smartass mouth going back to Chicago?" Virgie said.

“Four days," Lizzie said, clearing her throat.

“Did you tell your grandmother yet?"

Lizzie felt the blood rise in her cheeks. “No, um, not exactly…yet.”

“Didn’t think so," Virgie said. “Well, I’m not going so you two can have fun." Lizzie closed her eyes, ashamed. “She really only wants to see you anyway.”


Lizzie tapped her foot impatiently. “Granny, aren’t you ready yet?"

“Granny’s gotta put her face on!" her grandmother snapped as she headed into the bathroom. Lizzie looked at her watch and sighed. She walked to the bedroom and dialed Jimbo’s number. “Hey, Jimbo," Lizzie said. Fucking voice mail. “I’ve tried to call you a few times, but I keep missing you." I am such a lame ass. “I, um, I know that you probably don’t want to talk to me now." Or ever. “But, I…uh…I just want you to know that I’m thinking about you." Not like I did when I fucked your fiancé. “And, um, I was talking to Amber last night about when Mom was so sick." She would kill me if she were alive. “And we were talking about how you, me, and Ron took care of her when she got so sick." Way to use your dead mother to fix your fuckup, asshole. “And I, um, well, I was just thinking about you." She hung up the phone and leaned against the cabinet, suddenly feeling very old and very tired.

“Lizzie!" Lizzie heard Granny scream. She sprinted to the back of the house to find the old woman kneeling beside a poodle. The dog was stretched out on the floor, laying on his side and breathing heavily. “Lizzie, Pete Rose is bleedin’ out his butt!"


“It’s gonna be all right, Granny," Lizzie said, flooring the Concord as they raced to the vet’s office. Liar. Lizzie glanced over at the dog on Granny’s lap. His tongue was hanging out the side of his mouth, his eyes were glazed over, and his sides were barely moving. That fucking dog is dead.

“Hurry, Lizzie," Granny said, tears streaming down her face. “We gotta save Pete Rose." She leaned her head down to the dog’s ear. “Granny loves her Pete Rose," she whispered. “Granny can’t live without her Pete Rose.”

Lizzie spun gravel as she tore into the parking lot of the vet’s office. She slammed the parking brake on and ran around to Granny’s door. She opened the door and helped the old woman stand. Lizzie looked down at the dog in Granny’s arms and noticed that there was a trail of blood down Granny’s arm onto her shirt. Lizzie grimaced as she ushered them into the vet’s office. The vet was at the front desk, typing on a PC. “Dr. Paul!" Granny cried as she rushed toward him. “We got a sick little boy!" Granny laid the dog on top of the desk. “Pete Rose’s bleedin’ out his butt."

The vet scooped up the dog and walked out from behind the desk. “Let’s get him into an exam room," he said. Granny and Lizzie followed the man into the room. The vet laid the dog on the stainless steel table. He checked the dog’s pulse and shined a light in its eyes. He turned to write something on a chart. “I need to x-ray him," the doctor said. “Is that okay?"

Granny nodded. “Just help him, Dr. Paul." Lizzie put her arm around the old woman’s shoulder. “Help my Pete Rose."

Lizzie led the old woman into the waiting room. They sat on the black vinyl chairs. Lizzie picked up a magazine. Hmmmm, ‘Dog Fancy’ from August 2000. Lizzie flipped through the pages. New, improved de-wormers. Fascinating. Lizzie looked up to see Granny rifling through her purse. “What do you need, Granny?”

“Kleenex," Granny said, sobbing loudly. She produced a napkin from the bowels of her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “Lizzie, what am I gonna do if somethin’ happens to Pete Rose?”

Well, he’s never getting into the Hall of Fame. “It’ll be okay, Granny." Lizzie patted the old woman’s knee. “He’ll pull through.”

“Why, Lizzie?" Granny wailed. “Why my Pete Rose?”

Jesus. “Granny, it’s just a dog," Lizzie said flatly, immediately regretting it.

“That’s my Pete Rose," Granny said, shooting Lizzie a horrified look. “My baby.”

“I’m sorry, Granny," Lizzie looked at the floor. She felt her ears burn crimson. “I didn’t mean that." She looked up at the old woman. “I know you love him.”

“I need to see you," the vet called from the exam room.

Lizzie grabbed Granny’s hand. “Do you want me to do this?" Lizzie asked. “I can take care of whatever needs to be done.”

“He’s mine, Lizzie." Lizzie could tell by the set of her jaw that Granny meant business. The pair rose and headed to the office.

“Well, it’s not good news," the vet said. The dog lay on his side on the exam table. Lizzie noticed that his breathing was more labored than when they had come in and that his tongue was a light shade of blue. “He’s got a couple of things going on," he continued. “He has a ruptured testicle," he gestured to the bloody area on the dog’s pelvis. “And he’s gone into congestive heart failure." Ouch. Lizzie put her arm around her grandmother, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to put him down.”

Lizzie felt her grandmother lean into her. “Come on, now," she whispered. “Be strong. Be strong for Pete Rose.”

“My Pete Rose," Granny cried. “My poor little Pete Rose."

“I’ll let you say goodbye to him," the vet said and ducked into the x-ray room.

Granny stooped over the dog. She gently stroked his head. “Goodbye, Pete Rose," Granny sobbed. “Granny loves you." Lizzie felt a tear roll down her cheek. Jesus, not me too. Granny turned to Lizzie. “Say your goodbyes, Lizzie.”

Lizzie half-heartedly petted the poodle’s head. “Um, see ya, Pete." She blushed. I pray there’s not a hidden camera. She turned to her grandmother. “I think it’s time to go.”


“Did you want me to drive through some place?" Lizzie asked.

“Granny just wants to go home," Granny said softly.

They drove in silence. “Virgie didn’t mention anything about that electrolyte test when I talked to her this afternoon," Lizzie said.

“What test?" Granny said.

“The electrolyte thing they found with her blood test. You were telling me about it yesterday." Lizzie glanced over at her grandmother. “Don’t you remember?”

“Well, Lizzie Gossage, she had that test six months ago." Granny stared at the road in front of them.


Lizzie called Sam as soon as they returned from the vet’s office. “I’m really worried about her," Lizzie said.

“Well, she’s getting old," Sam said.

“I just…I don’t what I’ll do when…" she felt her lip quiver. “God, Sam, she’s the only family I’ve got left.”

“You’ve still got Virgie.”

“Yeah, like I said," Lizzie laughed weakly. “It’s so hard to imagine her in a nursing home or something." Lizzie bit her lip. “She’s always been so independent.”

“You’re talking like she’s knocking on death’s door," Sam said harshly. “It just sounds like she’s got a little time dysphoria going on." He paused. “It doesn’t mean she has Alzheimer’s just because she got confused.”

“Yeah, you’re right," Lizzie sighed. “I just have this bad feeling.”

“Speaking of bad feelings, have you talked to Keith?"

“You know, I feel like shit. I haven’t talked to him since he ripped me a new one for wanting to tell Jimbo about me and Mickey.”

“You mean you and the cunt," Sam said cattily.

“Yes, me and the cunt," she laughed. “Still, Keith had a point." Lizzie paused. “Not that it matters." She winced, thinking about Jimbo. “I should call him since I’m flying back in a few days.”

“But you won’t," Sam said.

“You’re probably right," Lizzie sighed. “I am the shittiest friend of all." She paused. “You’re supposed to disagree." Silence. “Ha ha, smart ass.”


Lizzie hung up with Sam and immediately dialed Amber’s number. “Hey, it’s me," Lizzie said into the receiver. “Lizzie, that is. Just calling to say that I had every intention of taking you out to dinner tonight," Lizzie bit her lip. “But Granny’s really upset because Pete Rose--that's one of her dogs--died and, um, I should probably stay with her." Shit. She started to hang up then jerked the receiver back. “Hey, still me. Why don’t you come out here and I’ll…I’ll get us a pizza or something." She smiled, pleased with herself for coming up with a solution. “Call me at Granny’s.”


Lizzie hung up the phone and grabbed her grandmother’s keys from the living room table. “I’ve got to go to Butler. Don’t you wanna go with me?" Lizzie asked.

Granny sat in her rocking chair, gazing out the front window. “Granny don’t feel like it." The poodle on her lap raised its hackles, growling low at Lizzie. “Coochee!" Granny snapped. “Now, you know that’s Lizzie."

“How’s pizza sound?" Granny nodded. “My…um…friend, Amber, might be coming out here tonight for dinner.”

Granny looked up at her. “Well, is she or ain’t she?”

“I don’t know yet," Lizzie said, picking up her keys and fiddling with the lock on the front door. The poodle jumped off Granny’s lap to bark at her along with the other remaining canine. “If she calls, just tell her I’ll call her right back." Lizzie opened the door and stepped out. The dogs nipped at her heels. She turned back and yelled, “Actually, don’t answer the phone at all.”

Lizzie climbed into the Concord and started down the drive. I hope Amber’s ready for full-frontal Granny.


Lizzie blushed when she parked in the gravel lot of Shirley’s. This is where this whole fucking mess started. She pulled open the door and was assaulted once more by the smell of overripe bananas. Her eyes adjusted to the dark interior of the store. She saw Melva behind the cash register, reading a newspaper. Hap Baden studied the cold medication next to the meat case. Lizzie put her head down and walked straight to the freezer at the back of the store. She stooped and started shifting through the frozen pizzas. Pepperoni. Sausage. Hawaiian? Lizzie was pondering the existence of a Butler resident who would purchase a pizza covered in pineapple when she heard the door open. She twisted her head to get a better view of the door. Ow! She rubbed her neck. Oh shit. Lizzie scooted behind a sizeable dog food display, clutching the Hawaiian pizza box to her chest. She peeked around the corner. Mickey.

Lizzie leaned against a 50-pound bag of Purina and pondered her predicament. I could make a break for it. She frowned, remembering that Shirley’s was the only store in fifteen miles. She shuddered as an icy drip from the pizza box trickled down her arm. She laid the pizza box on top of the dog food. I can wait it out. She strained to listen to the muffled voices on the other side of the store. She doesn’t have a dog, does she? She released a breath she wasn’t even aware she was holding when she heard the door open. She grabbed the pizza and walked around the end of the dog food display, running directly into Mickey. “Sorry," Lizzie mumbled, stooping to retrieve the fallen pizza from the floor. She rose slowly, waiting until she stood at her full height before looking at Mickey’s face.

Mickey grabbed her arm and pushed her back behind the dog food display. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Mickey hissed.

“Granny lives right up the road,” Lizzie replied, stiffening. “This is my home.”

Mickey snorted. “This isn’t your home anymore,” she said. “Not after what you did.”

“I don’t think I was alone in what we did,” Lizzie said. “And I can’t believe you said I raped you,” Lizzie said quietly, shaking her head. “My God. Like I could do that to anyone.”

“Well, maybe that word was a little too harsh,” Mickey said. “I guess ‘seduced’ is more the word I was looking for.”

“That’s quite a fucking difference,” Lizzie said. “And are you really that delusional? Do you honestly believe that you had no part in what we did?” Mickey glared at her. “I told you how I felt about you,” Lizzie said, swallowing hard. “Seeing you after all those years was just…
overwhelming.” Lizzie looked at the pizza. “And I know that was wrong because you were…” she trailed off. “But then you took me to that hotel and we…”

“There was no we,” Mickey snapped. “You got me drunk and then you fucked me.”

“What?” Lizzie raised her voice. “Are you insane? You got the hotel room while I was at the surgeon’s office.”

“Whatever,” Mickey said, turning away. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“No,” Lizzie said, grabbing Mickey’s arm. “You don’t get off that easy.” Mickey turned to face her. “Why did you…pursue me? Did you really remember me from high school?”

Mickey sighed, then looked up to meet Lizzie’s gaze. “Tammy Hastings and Beth Hull used to tease me in Home Ec." Mickey’s jaw was tight. “Calling me Mrs. Gossage." Her eyes were cold. “Everyone knew," she sneered. “About you.”

Jesus. Everyone? Lizzie noticed that the pizza was starting to thaw, drops of water falling from the corner of the box to the floor. “Are you still…have you, um, talked to him?”

“No,” Mickey said, lowering her eyes.

“So, I take it the engagement is off then,” Lizzie said

“Well, he hasn’t actually said that,” Mickey said.

“Does he really need to?” Lizzie asked.

“I don’t have to take this,” Mickey said huffily. “Not from you.” She pushed past Lizzie, heading toward the front of the store.

What a fucking bitch. Melva looked up from her newspaper as Mickey pulled open the door. “You might want to tell your next fiancé of your penchant for pussy!” Lizzie yelled. She smiled as Mickey stormed out the door. Melva shrugged then returned to her newspaper.

Lizzie shuffled back to the freezer and grabbed the topmost pizza, which happened to be a cheese pizza. She took the pizzas up to the counter. Melva looked up briefly from her newspaper. “$10," she said and held out her hand. Don’t feel like making change, huh? Lizzie gathered her pizzas and walked out to the Concord.

She drove up the hill towards her grandmother’s house. What the fuck am I going to do with a Hawaiian pizza? She laughed, thinking of Granny’s reaction to a pizza with pineapple and ham toppings. Lizzie pulled over to the shoulder of the road. She grabbed the pizza, opened the door, and walked to the other side of the road. Lizzie stared down into the ravine. She could make out the rusted hulk of a pickup truck, a portion of a flatbed trailer, and at least 50 tires scattered across the hillside. She heard the roar of the creek below. Looking up the hill, she saw a gravel truck barreling toward her. She stepped further onto the shoulder, closing her eyes as the truck roared past, the asphalt vibrating beneath her feet. She crouched, holding the pizza box like a discus then tossed it as hard as she could. Lizzie laughed as the box flew end-over-end into the trees below.


“Did she call?" Lizzie asked as she shut the door. Granny perched in her rocking chair, staring out the window and tapping her foot.

“Ain’t nobody called here," she said, continuing to stare out the window.
Lizzie shrugged and walked to the kitchen, ignoring the dogs jumping at either side of her. She pulled a pizza pan from the cabinet and stretched aluminum foil over it. She set the oven to pre-heat for 375. It’ll take at least 20 minutes for this old piece of shit to get to 375. She rifled through Granny’s cabinet. Would it be too much to hope for a container of basil? She smiled when she found a container of oregano. Close enough. She examined the label, which consisted of the gray letters A&P against a faded red background. Oh my God. Lizzie unscrewed the top of the container and inhaled. This is at least 20 years old. Lizzie remembered going to the A&P in Newport with her parents. That store closed in 1981. She shuddered at the thought of actually consuming the spice then tossed the jar in the garbage. She stared at the oven, so involved in her memories of the A&P that she jumped when the phone rang. “I’ve got it!" Please let it be her. “Hello?”
“Um, Lizzie?"

Lizzie smiled. “Nope.” She paused. “It’s Batman." She felt her heart beat faster. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I got your message," Amber said. “Now, where does your grandmother live?"

“Go straight down 27 until you get to Butler," she explained. “You’ll go about 30 miles, then take a right on, um…" Lizzie stumbled, trying to remember the name of the road. “I think, at that point, it’s Flour Creek Road." She closed her eyes, trying to envision the intersection. “Route 3185, I think. There are two gas stations and an elementary school and a church. If you hit Hogback Ridge Road, you’ve gone too far." I shouldn’t have done all those drugs in college. “Then take that road until you get to 177. Make a right, go up the hill and we’re in the house at the top." She looked at her watch. “Just look for the Concord out front.”

“Okay." Lizzie could tell that Amber was copying down the directions. “I’ll leave now, so I should be there in, what, 40 minutes?”

“About that," Lizzie replied.

“Do you need me to pick up anything? Does your Granny need anything?”

“I think we’re good," Lizzie said. Just bring my Batgirl.

“Oh, and Lizzie?” Amber said. “Hogback Ridge Road?”

“I swear to you it exists,” Lizzie chuckled. “Play your cards right and I may even take you for a midnight drive up there.” She hung up the phone and walked back to the living room. “Well, we’re gonna have company.”

Granny turned to look at her. “Who? That therapuss girl?"

“Amber," Lizzie said. “Her name is Amber. She’s not my therapist any more." Lizzie paused. “We’re, um, kind of dating." Granny grunted then turned to resume staring out the window. Who pissed in her Cheerios?


Lizzie glanced around her bedroom in an effort to identify the most embarrassing items. God, it’s all humiliating. She sighed, shutting the door on the Fangoria posters and childhood photos. We just won’t mention that room to Amber. She recounted the cleaning tasks that had occupied her for the past 35 minutes. Bathroom, kitchen, living room. Lizzie shut the door to Granny’s room, locking in the dogs. No sense in Amber getting mauled by anything but me. She grinned. She sprinted toward the door when she heard a knock. “I’ll get it!" she yelled as she ran into the living room. She noticed that Granny had not even risen from her chair. Lizzie jerked open the front door, fumbled briefly with the screen door lock, and finally opened the door. Amber smiled at Lizzie as she stepped through the door. “For me?" Lizzie asked, reaching for the bouquet of daisies.

“Not for you," Amber batted Lizzie’s hand away from the flowers. She walked to Granny’s rocking chair and held out the flowers. “Nice to see you again.”

Granny looked up. Lizzie stifled a laugh as she noticed the old woman start to blush. My God, we really are related. “Oh, you didn’t need to do that," Granny said as she took the flowers. She pushed herself up from the chair. “Get me some water and a vase, Lizzie," Granny said.

“Anything else, your highness?" Lizzie mumbled as she walked to the kitchen. She opened the oven door to check on the pizza. Satisfied the pizza was not yet ready, she rifled through a cabinet, finally producing a coffee can. She filled the can up halfway with water and returned to the living room.

“Granny said to get a vase!" Granny snapped. “Stupid," Granny said, snatching the can out of Lizzie’s hand and heading toward the kitchen.
Lizzie gaped at her grandmother then turned to face Amber. “She just called me stupid," she whispered. She shook her head and moved to embrace Amber. Lizzie tilted her head upward to kiss the blonde. She felt Amber’s arms slip around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Goddamn it, Lizzie!" Lizzie broke the kiss. “Granny didn’t raise no sex fiend!" Granny pushed past the pair to place the flowers, now housed in a hideous orange plastic vase, on top of the old console TV. Granny shot Lizzie an indignant look as the old woman made her way back to the kitchen.

“Feisty," Amber whispered, pulling away from Lizzie.

“You don’t know the half of it," Lizzie said as she grabbed Amber’s hand. “Want the grand tour?”

“Sure," Amber smiled at her. “One thing, though." Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Does that thing still work?" She indicated the console TV.

“Oh God, no," Lizzie laughed. “That thing hasn’t worked since I was about ten years old." She tried to remember the last time she had watched anything on that television. “I think the last show I saw on that was ‘WKRP in Cincinnati.’" She looked at Amber. “It wasn’t a rerun."

“I used to have the biggest crush on Bailey,” Amber said.

“Me, too.” Lizzie smiled then grabbed Amber’s hand and led her down the hallway toward the bedrooms. She felt Amber jump in response to two howling poodles.

“Are they okay?" Amber asked. She glanced nervously at the closed bedroom door. Soft thuds sounded as the dogs hurled themselves against the door.

“No," Lizzie said. “They have never been okay." She smiled at Amber. “All of Granny’s pets have bizarre medical problems and deep-seated psychological problems.”

“Oh, okay," Amber said uncomfortably. She stopped in front of one of the photos lining the wall in the hallway. “Who’s this?"

“That’s my mom," she said quietly. “Ruthie.”

Amber looked from the picture to Lizzie’s face. “She’s pretty," she declared. She leaned over and kissed Lizzie on the cheek. “Like you.”

Lizzie blushed. “Most people say I look like my Dad.”

“I can see her in you," Amber said. She squeezed Lizzie’s hand. “Where’s your room?"

Oh God. “Um, are you sure you want to see that?" Lizzie asked nervously. “I didn’t really have time to clean it or anything.”

Amber leaned to whisper in Lizzie’s ear. “I’ve seen every other part of you." She pulled back, looking into Lizzie’s eyes. “But I don’t have to see it if you don’t want me to."

Lizzie paused then shook her head. “No, it's okay," she sighed. “Brace yourself. This room has been suspended in time since 1986." Lizzie pushed open the door to her bedroom and turned on the overhead light.

“Wow," Amber said, looking around the room. “You, um, you really liked horror movies.”

Lizzie blushed as she followed Amber’s gaze. “Yeah, I was really into that in high school." Shit. Now she thinks I’m a freak.

“Is this you?" Amber asked, indicating a framed picture on Lizzie’s dresser.

Lizzie picked up the picture. “That’s me and my Dad," she said. “Christmas when I was seven." She traced the frame with her finger. “My parents got me my first model train and we spent all day setting it up." Lizzie smiled. “I think this may have been the happiest moment of my life." She looked over to Amber. “I need to tell…”

“Dinner’s ready!" Granny screeched from the kitchen.

“I, um, I guess that the pizza’s done." Lizzie smiled weakly and headed back to the kitchen.

Granny had cut the pizza into three slabs and placed them on plastic plates. Lizzie picked up one of the plates and turned toward the living room. “Get ya some airplane salad, Lizzie." Amber looked at her quizzically.

“It’s gazpacho," Lizzie said to Amber. “I have no idea why she calls it that.”

“They’s leftover squirrel, too," Granny said as she returned to her rocking chair with her plate.

“Did she just say squirrel?" Amber asked Lizzie quietly as they stood in the door between the kitchen and living room.

“Remember—you’re in Pendleton County," Lizzie replied. “It’s an event if there’s not a rodent in the fridge." She leaned up and gave Amber a quick kiss. “Just eat your pizza and try not to think about it." Lizzie joined her grandmother in the living room. She plopped down on the yellow and orange couch. She motioned for Amber to sit beside her.

“What’s your people do, Amy?" Granny asked.

“It’s Amber," Lizzie corrected her grandmother.

“My what?" Amber said. “Oh, you mean my family." She sighed. “Honestly, it’s just me and I’m a physical therapist. But you know that already.”

“Just you?" Granny said sharply. “You a orphan?”

“No," Amber replied. “Well, I guess I am. My mother died last year and my father was, um, never really part of the picture.”

Granny nodded. “Lizzie’s a orphan, too." Granny took a bite of pizza. “Everybody up here on the hill’s long gone ‘cept me and Virgie."

“Amber grew up in Covington, Granny," Lizzie tried desperately to change the subject. “I showed her the old rail yards where Dad used to work."

“Your uncle Earl worked there, too," Granny said with a mouthful of pizza. “Worked there when he came back from Vietnam.”

“I never knew that," Lizzie said. “I only remember him working in construction when I was little.”

“Yeah, worked there for two weeks," Granny mused. “Got into a fistfight with some jackass what called him a baby killer." Granny shook her head. “People’s just stupid.”

“Well, speaking of stupid, I seem to have forgotten that we might need something to drink." She turned to Amber. “What would you like? I think Granny has Big Red, Barq’s, and bottled water."

“Bottled water would be nice," Amber said. “Or just tap water.”

“Oh, you don't want water from the tap," Lizzie said then shuddered. “Cistern." She stood and walked to Granny’s bedroom. She stooped to pick up two bottled waters from the mini-fridge in the corner by the bed. Son of a bitch! Grimacing, she reached for the mini-fridge with her right hand to balance herself. Her left hand rose to massage the spasm in her neck. She felt tears sting her eyes from the sharp pain. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Lizzie leaned against the wall for several minutes until the pain subsided. She then grabbed two waters from the fridge and walked back toward the living room.

“Goddamn it, Granny," Lizzie said as she walked into the living room. “You are not showing her that." Lizzie indicated the photo album spread on the coffee table in front of Amber. Amber shot her a pained look, confirming Lizzie’s fears. Lizzie placed the water bottles on the table and grabbed the book, spilling several of the pictures on the ground. Lizzie knelt to retrieve the photos. Granddad, Aunt Ethel, Uncle George, Grandpa Gossage, Grandma Gossage. Lizzie felt her chest tighten as she picked up the final photo. “How could you?" she asked her grandmother accusingly. “You swore that you wouldn’t and you fucking did it anyway." Lizzie’s voice trembled with anger. She crumpled the photo and threw it on the table. “How can you want to remember her like that?" Lizzie gestured to the photo of her mother in a coffin. She felt the tears run down her cheeks. “It’s fucking disgusting.”

“I never promised you no such thing," Granny said indignantly. “She was my little girl, Lizzie. Mine.”

“And she was my mother," Lizzie tried to keep her hands from shaking. “And the last fucking thing she wanted was to be remembered like that." She tried to blink away the images of her mother’s last moments. “She was…that wasn’t her.”

“It was her, Lizzie," Granny said. “It was her and we was the only ones there for her when she took her last breath." Lizzie saw the tears well up in Granny’s eyes. “She didn’t go alone.”

Lizzie tried to regain her composure. She shoved the pictures back into the album then hastily pushed it under the coffee table. She looked up at Amber and noticed that she was staring uncomfortably toward the kitchen. Lizzie rose and sat beside her on the couch. “I’m so sorry," Lizzie whispered.

Amber took Lizzie’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “It’s okay," she said.

“It’s not," Lizzie said as she glared at her grandmother. “You did promise me you wouldn’t and then…" Lizzie trailed off. “It’s just so…morbid.”

Granny pushed herself up from her chair and walked toward her bedroom. “Well, you don’t have to put up with old morbid Granny for much longer." Oh shit. “Your Aunt Virgie called when you was out," Granny called over her shoulder. “Said you was leavin’ at the end of this week." Her voice faded as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom. “Old morbid Granny gonna be all alone on the hill again.”

Lizzie closed her eyes. She felt Amber pull her hand away. No, not like this. “I need to leave," Amber stood.

Lizzie felt dizzy and numb. “I…" she started. “I was going to tell you." Amber was already across the room at the front door. “Wait," Lizzie pleaded.

Amber pulled at the broken latch. She frowned as she manipulated the latch in each direction. “Please help me with this," she said, not looking at Lizzie.

Lizzie walked to the door. Amber dropped her hands to her sides. “I was going to tell you earlier," Lizzie started. “In my bedroom." She reached for Amber’s hand. Amber jerked away, shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I just…I didn’t know how to tell you." Lizzie tried to make Amber look at her. “Will you say something?”

“Let me go," Amber said quietly.

Lizzie felt hot tears course down her face. She turned and pulled up then out on the latch, opening the door. She followed Amber out the door. “I don’t want to go back," Lizzie said. Because of you.

Amber turned to face her. “But you are going, aren’t you?" Lizzie lowered her head. Amber opened the door to her Taurus. She turned toward Lizzie. “Did you ever wonder why I risked my job to come to the Dock that night?”

“Because you liked me?" Lizzie asked innocently.

Amber laughed bitterly. “Because I knew…" she paused. “I knew that you would go back to Chicago." She looked up at Lizzie, her eyes brimming with tears. “I just didn’t want to be alone," she said. “Just for a little while. Just, right now, this time of year, with my mother…" She leaned against the car for a moment then slid into the car seat. “I just can’t believe I allowed myself to…" she trailed off. Amber turned the key in the starter then reached for her door.

“Allowed yourself to what?" Lizzie asked. She watched as Amber pulled the door shut and drove off into the night. “What?" Lizzie felt the wave of exhaustion consume her. She stumbled back in the front door and walked straight to her bedroom. She extended her middle finger as she walked past Granny’s door. “Hateful old bat," she mumbled.

[tcurti3]

Hello again, Kittens. Just wanted to say that a lot of rural Southern families (and I mean those that have been in the area for hundreds of years, not recent migrants from the North) maintain those 'death albums.' I think it's a holdover from Victorian times. My Granny actually still displays a 'death portrait' of my great-great Auntie taken around 1884. I remember stumbling across the 'death album' when I was about seven and very nearly going into cardiac arrest. Uniquely disturbing.

--------------------------------------
Flight Plans

“Sam?" Lizzie held the receiver to one ear and rubbed her eyes with the other. “Sam, you need to call me at Granny’s." She yawned. “My flight gets in Sunday and I need a ride from the airport." Lizzie hung up the phone. She stared at Granny’s mini-fridge. If I hadn’t come in here, it wouldn’t have gotten so bad. She picked up the phone and re-dialed Sam’s number. Come on. “It’s me again," she started. “I really need to talk to someone who’s not in Pendleton County." She hesitated. “Someone who’s someplace sane." She started to hang up the phone then pulled the receiver back. “Cunty whore." She smiled and hung up the phone.


Failing to get in touch with Sam, she immediately called Keith. “Hey, stranger," Lizzie said. Please don’t hang up.

“Oh, decided to call me before you go running back to Chicago, huh?" Keith asked, his tone caustic.

“Yeah," Lizzie mumbled. “Still mad at me?”

“I wasn’t mad at you," Keith said. Lizzie heard him take a drag on his cigarette. “I just gave you the hard truth and you couldn’t take it. To be honest, I didn’t expect to hear from you for another two years.”

“You know, Keith, I give myself a hard enough time without my friends helping." Lizzie rolled her eyes. “I feel like shit but there’s not a Goddamned thing I can do to change the past, so I just have to live with what I did." To Jimbo and to Amber.

“Is he talking to you yet?"

“No," Lizzie frowned. “Won’t return my calls." She sighed. “Ron’s at least talking to me, but he hasn’t forgiven me."

“Not surprising."

“I, um, I ran into Mickey,” Lizzie said, biting her lip.

“Oh, do tell,” he said.

“Well, I was at Shirley’s to get a pizza…” Lizzie started.

“That is the most disturbing sentence I’ve ever heard,” Keith interjected.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lizzie shook her head. “Anyway, so that’s what I was doing and she walked in.”

“And?” Keith urged. “Was there a cat fight?”

“Not exactly,” Lizzie said. “But, I did get off a comment about her penchant for pussy.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Keith said. “Please tell me that Melva didn’t hear.”

“Of course she heard—she’s always there,” Lizzie said. “I think she might actually live there.”

“Well, you may as well have broadcast it on Channel 5,” he snapped. “That bitch thinks she’s the town crier.”

“It serves that bitch right,” Lizzie said. “She’s telling everybody that I raped her.”

Keith coughed. “Are you kidding me?”

“Do you really think I could make that shit up?” Lizzie sighed. “Besides, Melva probably doesn’t even know what the word ‘penchant’ means.”

“So, when do you go back?”

“Sunday," she said. “Want to go out Friday night? I’d say Saturday, but the flight out is fuckin’ early." She twirled the phone cord around her wrist. “Only flight that wasn’t booked full." She paused. “Hey, today’s Friday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s Friday, idiot. As for tonight, let me check my social calendar," Keith joked. “Oh, lucky you. My date with Brad Pitt is Saturday."

Lizzie chuckled. “Brad Pitt, huh?" She paused. “Is he tending bar at the Dock now?”

“God, I wish," Keith sighed. “So I could add to my strike out record."

“Poor Keithie," Lizzie whined. “Haven’t shivered the timber in a while?”

Keith laughed. “What about you? How’s it going with…oh, what was her name?" He paused. “Amber!”

“It’s not," Lizzie said glumly. “Granny kind of fucked that up royally for me."

“You brought somebody home to meet that crazy old bitch?" Keith snapped. “Didn’t you learn your lesson with that girl in college?" Keith laughed. “Trying to feed squirrel to a city girl!"

“Well, Granny was upset because Pete Rose died, so I thought I’d be nice and stay here with her," Lizzie said. “Guess that’ll teach me to be nice.”

“Pete Rose died?" Keith asked. “And why the fuck did your grandmother care?”

“Not the baseball player," Lizzie said. “That fucked-up poodle Granny had. The one that her friend bathed in Pine-Sol.”

“Pine-Sol?" Keith took another drag on his cigarette. “What kind of people does your Granny hang out with?”

“Anyway," she started. “Amber came over here and I, um, I hadn’t quite told her that I was going back so soon.”

“Jesus Christ, Lizzie," Keith said. Lizzie visualized him shaking his head at her. “Do you ever think about anyone other than yourself?”


Still stinging from Keith’s criticism, Lizzie dialed Amber’s number. Lizzie felt herself blush as she dialed the phone. She listened to the first ring. Please answer. Second ring. Please. Third ring. I really need to talk to you. Voice mail picked up on the fourth. Fuck! Lizzie closed her eyes, relishing the sound of the woman’s voice. She was startled to realize that the message had ended and she was now being recorded. “I, um, hi," she stumbled over her words. “I guess you probably don’t want to talk to me but, um, I really wanted to talk to you before I leave." Save me. “I’ll, um, I’ll try to call you again later." Lizzie started to hyperventilate when she hung up the receiver.


Lizzie pulled the suitcase from under her bed and unzipped it. She sighed as she formed her clothing into tight rolls and placed them in the case. She picked up her Batman shirt. She stroked the logo and closed her eyes, remembering her first time with Amber. “Lizzie!" Lizzie jumped at the sound of Granny’s voice, dropping the shirt on the floor. She looked up at her grandmother. “Granny’s got a bunch a’ your socks and underclothes in the dryer."

Lizzie looked at the pile of clothing on the bed. “I think I’ve got pretty much everything here, Granny." Granny waved her hand dismissively at Lizzie and turned to leave the room. Lizzie shrugged then bent to retrieve the t-shirt. She grimaced as a pain shot through her neck. Goddamn, when will that stop? She straightened, rolled the shirt, and placed it in the suitcase just as her grandmother walked in carrying a basket of laundry. Granny placed the basket on Lizzie’s bed and walked back into the hallway. What the fuck? Lizzie lifted a pair of worn white briefs, noting the elastic strings that sprouted from the band. These aren’t mine. She frowned and bit her lip. These are Granny’s.


Lizzie hesitated then dialed Jimbo’s number. “Hey, Jimbo," Lizzie said. “It’s me again." Shit. “I, um, I really want to talk to you before I, um, go back to Chicago." She sighed. “I’m going back on Sunday, so I really hope I can talk to you before then." Can I have just one relationship in my life without fucking it up? She slammed down the receiver.


“I’m going out with Keith, Granny," Lizzie said. “Are you gonna be okay by yourself?"

“Granny’s always here by herself," Granny snapped. She sat on the couch, trying to force a pet grooming brush through Coochee’s tangled fur. “Goddamn it, Coochee," she murmured. “Gotta go and get yourself caught up in a bunch of thistle bushes." The dog snapped at the brush. “Stupid.”

“I won’t be out late," she said, fumbling with the screen door lock. “If Amber calls," she started. Who am I fucking kidding? “Never mind.”


Lizzie tried to think only about driving as she drove to Keith’s house. She picked him up then they drove to the Dock. Lizzie ordered a Rolling Rock for herself and a Grey Goose martini for Keith. “What happened to Steve?" Lizzie asked, taking a drink of her beer.

“Who?" Keith eyed the blonde bartender.

“The other bartender," she said. “The guy we saw the last time we were here. You know, the guy you were in love with."

“Oh, him," Ray sighed. “He got a job in Baltimore."

“What the Hell is in Baltimore?" Lizzie gazed at the horse head on the label.

“Hannibal Lecter?" Keith laughed.

“My point precisely." Lizzie finished her beer and placed it on the table.

“So, how were things going with your doctor before you fucked it up?" Keith asked.

“Physical therapist. And surprisingly well," Lizzie admitted. “At least, until she told me why she went out with me to start with."

Keith raised his eyebrows as he took a drag on his cigarette. “Spill," he said while exhaling.

“She, um," Lizzie felt herself blush. Even with him? “She thought I was easy.”

“Hit that nail on the head.”

“Hey!" Lizzie feigned indignation. “Yeah, I guess she did."

“Now, you’re forgetting that I actually met this girl," Keith said, depositing his cigarette in the ashtray. “So, I know that’s not the whole story.”

“She said she wanted to be with me because she knew I’d end up going back to Chicago," Lizzie said. She shook her head. “I’m not sure what it means.”

“Hmmmm," Keith mused. “Why are you going back?”

“My whole life’s there," Lizzie said, almost believing it. “My job, my apartment, Sam…" she trailed off. “Plus, it’s just a great city. Lots of stuff to do.”

“A job you hate, a city you can visit, and a friend who is in desperate need of getting his own life," Keith cocked his eyebrow.

“Goddamn, you are just fuckin’ mean," Lizzie said. “And Sam’s got a life. He’s still dating WGN guy.”

“How special," Keith said dismissively. “So, there’s got to be something else up with this Amber."

“Her, um, her mother died this time last year," Lizzie said. “Actually, she committed suicide." Lizzie frowned. “I think maybe that had something to do with it.”

“Well, no shit," Keith said sarcastically. “The anniversary of your mother’s suicide might make you want some distraction." He frowned. “I just still don’t think that’s the whole story, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean," he leaned forward. “She hauled her ass all the way to fuckin’ Butler without ANY chance of, well, anything except meeting your crazy ass grandmother." He grabbed his cigarette from the ashtray. “Sounds like she wasn’t just in it for a piece of ass." He took a drag.

“I don’t know," Lizzie sighed. She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “It just all gives me a fuckin’ headache." She paused. “So, do you like the new bartender?"

“Eh," Keith said dismissively. “He’s okay. Now, him," he indicated a man sitting at a barstool near their table. “He is really something.”

“Really?" Lizzie studied the man. He had close-cropped brown hair and a goatee. He wore black-rimmed glasses and seemed to be alone. “I never would have thought you’d be all about the facial hair.”

“I’m not usually," Keith said. “It just looks really fuckin’ good on him." Keith stood. “I’ve gotta take a piss.”

“Thanks for sharing," Lizzie replied. “You want another martini?" she called. Keith gave her a thumbs up as he made his way to the bathroom. Lizzie walked to the bar and hailed the new bartender. She placed her order and turned to the man with the goatee. “How’s it goin’?”
He shrugged. “Okay," he said noncommittally.

“My, um, my friend thinks that you’re…" Lizzie considered her options…can’t say ‘cute’ if you’re over 16… “…that you could have a conversation about something other than reality TV." The man looked up from his drink. Take the bait.

“Really?"

Lizzie shook her head. “Want to hear a secret?" she whispered conspiratorially as she spotted Keith returning from the bathroom. The man nodded his head. “His nickname in high school was Tripod." She gave the man a knowing look. The bartender returned with her drinks. She paid then made her way back to their table. He never needs to know it was because Keith took pictures for Yearbook.


Lizzie dropped off Keith at his apartment. She pondered driving back to Pendleton County, but found herself driving South on York Street. This is crazy. Lizzie drove slowly through the streets of Newport. She looked at her watch. 1:45. This is crazy. She bit her lip and headed East on 10th Street. She reviewed her last conversation with Amber. What did she mean? Lizzie blinked hard, pushing back the urge to sleep. What did she allow herself to do? She wound through the back streets, watching the buildings progress: crumbling Victorians, abandoned factories, post WWII prefabs. What a shit hole. Lizzie grinned. Home. She guided the Concord into a parking spot in front of Amber’s house. She scanned the house for any sign of movement. She sighed, disappointed at the utter lack of activity. Shit. She gazed at the curtains in the bedroom window. What did you mean? She looked back to the house. Wake up. Get a drink of water. Watch TV. Her heart hammered against her chest when a light appeared in the bedroom window. Oh, fuck! Lizzie scooted down in the driver’s seat. Shit, shit, fuck. She peeked through the driver’s side window at the house. Lizzie smacked her head with her open palm. Like she won’t recognize this fuckin’ car! She squinted at the light. I should just go knock on the door. She shook her head. Too stalker. She released her breath when she saw the light in the window extinguished. Without turning on the headlights, she pulled the car back into the street and drove off.


Lizzie slept fitfully, her dreams filled with visions of dilapidated houses and abandoned buildings. “Lizzie!" Her grandmother’s voice, sharp with fear, cut through the early morning air. Lizzie sprang out of bed and rushed through the hallway into the living room.

“What?" she asked, glancing around the room. She saw her grandmother standing at the front door, tears streaming down her face. “What’s wrong?"

“It’s Pete Rose," Granny sniffed. “I’ve lost Pete Rose.”

Lizzie raked her fingers through her hair. “He’s dead, Granny. Remember?" She moved toward her grandmother. “Did you have a dream he was alive or something?”

“He’s not dead, Lizzie," Granny insisted. “I let him out with Coochee and Murph this mornin’ and only these two came back." Granny indicated the two poodles nipping at Lizzie’s feet.

Lizzie sighed. “Granny," she started. “We took him to the vet and he died. He had congestive heart failure." Lizzie looked into her grandmother’s eyes. “Don’t you remember?"

“Inventin’ bugs," Granny said.

“What?"

“Inventin’ bugs," Granny said, her tone more forceful. “You’re just makin’ up stuff.”

“I’m not making anything up," Lizzie said. Now you’re starting to worry me. “We can call the vet." She paused. “We can call Virgie. They’ll both tell you that I’m telling the truth."

“Can’t be," Granny whispered, looking out the door. “Can’t be gone.”

Lizzie winced at the words. “You still have these two," she pointed at the dogs now stretched out on the couch. “They need you."

Granny turned and, with surprising speed, pushed Lizzie out of the way as she walked to the kitchen. “Who needs a treat?" she asked. The dogs leapt up from the couch and ran to her side.

Lizzie shook her head. “What the fuck?" she said then turned back to her bedroom.


Lizzie twisted the phone cord around her wrist. Come on. Answer. She sighed as Amber’s answering machine message played. “Hey, it’s Lizzie." Your friendly neighborhood stalker. “Just hoping I’d get a chance to talk to you before I, um, go back to Chicago tomorrow." And never talk to you again and regret this for the rest of my life. “I’m still at Granny’s until tomorrow morning. So, um, give me a call if you can." She placed the receiver back on its base. Shit.

“Who was that, Lizzie?" Granny asked from the bedroom doorway.

“I was, uh, trying to call Amber," Lizzie said. “Before I have to leave.”

Granny nodded. “Huh," she said simply. “I liked that girl." She turned back to the hallway. “Too bad you had to be so stupid and show your ass over them pictures.”

Too bad, indeed.


Lizzie stared at the phone, still disappointed that Amber hadn’t called. One strike. She picked up the phone and dialed Jimbo’s number. There’s no fucking way he’s going to answer. Lizzie listened as the phone rang. Should I grovel? She frowned. “Hello?" Jimbo’s voice crackled over the line. Oh, fuck!

“Um, hi, Jimbo. It’s me," Lizzie stumbled over her words. “I was kind of surprised that…that you picked up.”

“Huh," Jimbo said, his voice flat. “What’d you want?”

“Just…uh…" Forgiveness? Unconditional love? Penance? “Just wanted to talk to you before I fly back tomorrow.”

“So," Jimbo spat the word. “Talk.”

“How’s, um, how’s your truck?" I am so fucking lame.

“Runs," Jimbo said noncommittally.

“Uh…" Lizzie stalled. “How’s work?" I am really so fucking lame.

“Okay," Jimbo replied. “Got a new guy startin’ on Monday."

“Well, that’s good," Lizzie said. “Are you still in Dicker’s old garage?”

“Yeah," he said. Lizzie waited anxiously for another syllable, but none were offered.

Shit. Guess I’ll have to do it. “I’m guessing that you’re still upset," she said.

“Good guess.”

“I just," she sighed. “I just wanted you to know that I’ll never forgive myself." She paused. “For what I did to you." She waited for a response. “And, um, I don’t really expect you to forgive me anytime soon." She gnawed at her lip. “I just…you should just know that I’d take it all back if I could."

“Well," he said slowly. “I’d better get goin’. Got to tow a Dakota. Wrecked somewhere way the Hell up in Berry last night.”

“I love you," Lizzie blurted out. Please forgive me. Or hate me. Anything but this.
“Uh huh," Jimbo said. Lizzie didn’t realize she was crying until the line clicked dead.


Lizzie debated calling Amber once more. She heard a car door slam. Too late. “Ready to go?" Ron called from the living room. He was accompanied by a disconcertingly harmonious howl from the poodles.
Lizzie looked around her old room once more, ensuring she had packed all relics of her adult life. She checked her hair in the mirror. Still looks like shit. She pulled down the Reds hat until it touched the tops of her ears. She paused to look at the picture on her dresser. What happened to us? She silently questioned her father, suspended in his youth. How could you do that to her? She scanned the face of her younger self, looking for anything other than adoration. How much did you make yourself forget?

“Ready?" Ron asked from the doorway.

Lizzie jumped a little, startled. “Yeah," she mumbled. “Sorry." Ron walked past her, grabbing her suitcase from the bed. She looked down at the photo once more then headed out to the living room.

“Lizzie," Granny drew out her name to three syllables. She leaned down a little so the old woman could wrap her arms around her neck. “Granny just loves her Lizzie so much," her grandmother sobbed.

Lizzie patted her grandmother’s back. “I know," she said quietly. “I love you too, Granny." Lizzie felt tears well up in her eyes. “I’ve got to go, though.”

“Granny knows," Granny growled. “Granny knows ain’t nothin’ round here for ya."

Lizzie pulled away from the hug. “Gotta get going," she said. “I’ll be back in a few months," she promised.

“Whatever," Granny said.

Ron took her suitcase out to the car. Lizzie walked out the door and around to the passenger door. She looked back up at her grandmother. She was holding Murph in one arm, manipulating his paw into a wave. Lizzie laughed and waved back. She opened the door and sat down, buckling her seat belt. She tried to catch her stepfather’s gaze as he slid behind the driver’s seat and gunned the ancient Subaru. He rolled down the drive and pulled out onto the road without glancing at her. “Thanks for taking me to the airport," she said. He nodded, continuing to stare at the highway. I thought we were okay. Lizzie turned to look at the passing scenery. She shuddered as they passed the Frosted Mug. I can’t believe the grass is still green in December. Lizzie toyed with the zipper on her jacket, staring out the passenger window. She spied a white, hand-painted sign nailed to a tree. “What’s a cornhole tournament?"

“What?" Ron glanced over at her.

“I mean, I know what it would entail in Boystown," she laughed. “But I really can’t see that happening out here in the country."

“It’s a game," he said. “Kind of like horseshoes but with little bags filled with dried corn instead of horseshoes.”

“Seriously?" Lizzie asked. “I guess one too many drunken horseshoe incidents led to that, huh?”

Ron smiled. “Guess so." He signaled and merged with highway traffic. “I’m sorry," he said quietly.

“For what?"

“For telling you about your Dad," he said, blushing. “I had no right to do that.”

“It’s okay." Lizzie crossed her arms and looked back out the window. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

“Still don’t make it right," he said. “I know how much he meant to you and I…I had no right to talk about him like that.”

Lizzie placed her hand on his shoulder. “Really," she emphasized the word. “It’s okay." He glanced at her. “After you told me that, I actually kind of remembered when it happened." She brought her hand back to rest in her lap. “I’d just, kind of, blocked it out, I guess." She sighed. “I talked to Jimbo yesterday," Lizzie said.

“I know," Ron looked back to her. “He called me last night.”

Lizzie frowned. “How was he?"

“Not great," he said. “But not terrible." He braked the car as they spiraled around the exit. “I think he’s gonna be okay.”

“I still can’t believe…" Lizzie trailed off. “I can’t believe that I did that." She paused. “Especially to him."

“We’ve all done things we’re not proud of," Ron said. “Usually not that bad, though." He pulled into the airport hourly parking lot. “Did he tell you about Jack?”

“What about him?" Lizzie frowned. “Jimbo said that a new guy was starting, but I assumed Jack was still there.”

“Jimbo fired him," Ron said. He turned off the ignition. “When he found out about him and Mickey.”

“What?" Lizzie felt her heart rate increase. “When?"

“Been goin' on about six months," Ron shook his head. “Still can’t believe it.”

“Jesus Christ," Lizzie murmured. Lizzie numbly got out of the car and slammed the door. She winced at the sharp pain in her neck. “Son of a bitch," she said, fingering her scar. They walked in silence to the terminal. Ron lugged her bag to the Concordia check-in line. Only five people? No wonder we’re goin’ down. Ron walked with her as far as the security gate. Lizzie felt the tears roll down her face as she hugged him tightly, locking her arms around his neck. “I love you," she whispered.

“I love you, too," he said quietly. He pulled out of the hug. “Take care of yourself, prodigal daughter.”

Lizzie smiled and moved into the security line. “See you in a few months," she called as he walked away. He threw up his arm in a wave.


Lizzie stared out the window of the jet. Wing seat. Fucking wonderful. She dug through her carry-on for reading material, producing a worn paperback. The Christine Jorgensen Story? She puzzled over the book for a moment before remembering that her stepfather had given it to her. She opened the book’s cover and traced her finger over her mother’s labored script. She saw an elderly man sit down to her. She turned the book so its front cover was in full view, flapping the cover a bit to draw attention to it. One more thing that my mother gave me: a silent flight.


Despite her initial misgivings, Lizzie found the book engrossing. She was startled to hear the captain’s voice crackling over the speaker to inform the passengers that they had started their descent into Chicago. Lizzie sighed as she saw the city come into view. Chicago in December. Anything but green. She smiled bitterly at the Sears Tower. Were you really the third target? She leaned back in her seat, having read the entire book during the 50-minute flight. She shoved the book back into her bag and settled back in her seat, closing her eyes in preparation for the descent.

[Boschi]

you did not.
you did not fly her ass back to Chicago.

fix this.



- Boschi

[tcurti3]

Well, it's been a wild ride, Kittens, but we are at last to the final planned posting in my story. I've thought about writing one more epilogue-y chapter, but haven't really decided so let me know what you think. Again, thanks to all who have read the story & provided feedback--especially Kieli, Boschi, and Justin. You guys rock.
I may expose you to one of my two works in progress: a histfic set in 1958 and a story set in 1985. I've been referring rather pretentiously to these three novels as my 'Newport Trilogy,' as they all take place in my beloved hometown.

Same rules as above: Mine, all mine. No posting w/o my consent.
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Welcome to Chicago

“Sam?" Lizzie said into the payphone. I have to get a fucking cellphone. “Sam, where the fuck are you?" She was becoming annoyed. “I thought you were coming to pick me up, cock-knocker." She hung up the phone then looked to the phone next to her. Her elderly seat-mate from the plane stared at her, wide-eyed. “It’s okay," she said to him. “He’s just my chauffeur." She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “He’s a turd burglar." She chuckled as she dragged her luggage toward the escalator leading to the L platform.


Lizzie opened the front door, expecting to find Sam curled up asleep on the couch. She looked around the room. Exactly as I left it, minus the dirty dishes. She walked to her bedroom then set her suitcase on the floor next to her bed. She turned to her desk and booted up her computer. She walked back into the living room and knocked on Sam’s bedroom door. Receiving no answer, she pushed the door open to find no one at home. Unnervingly tidy, as always. She turned and made her way back to her bedroom. Her laptop was booted up, ready for her to login. She typed her password and pulled up her e-mail. 375 unread messages. Can’t say I wasn’t missed. She scrolled through the mass of Viagra ads and online petitions. At least not by advertisers. She opened a message from her college buddy currently residing in a remote village in Ivory Coast. It was a doctored photo of a Filipino man being eaten by a python. ‘Come visit,’ read the text. ‘I swear this will not happen.’ Lizzie chuckled. Unfortunately, my days of cheap airfare are probably at an end.

She sighed and started typing a response to her friend, detailing the surgery and recovery. I’ll just leave out the love triangle and ethical misconduct. Satisfied with her facile response, she hit ‘send.’ She glanced around her room. What a shithole. The building had been a luxury hotel in the 1920s, but had fallen into disrepair during the 1950s, only to be rehabbed and made into apartments in the late 1970s. Lizzie stood and walked to the window. Best thing about this place--the view. She looked across the street at the bare trees lining the edge of Winnemac Park. Lizzie sighed then walked over to her phone, momentarily confused by the fact that the phone wasn’t rotary. She dialed Sam’s cell. Voice mail picked up on the fifth ring.

“Hey, cunt face," she said sharply. “Just a message to let you know you’re an asshole for letting your best friend take the fucking L home from O’Hare." Lizzie smiled as she clicked off the phone.

Lizzie pulled on her jacket, checked to make sure she had her key, and walked out the front door. She wandered a few blocks, grinning when she saw the giant hot dog impaled on a meat fork. Al’s Fun in the Bun—second best hot dogs in Chicago. She walked into the restaurant and ordered a Polish with everything and a Cherry Coke. Sugar and nitrates—the two basic Chicago food groups. Lizzie got her lunch to go and walked back to the park. She sat in the dugout and watched two Labs play on the baseball diamond. She smiled as a woman hurled a yellow Frisbee into the outfield. The dogs chased after it, nipping playfully at each other. “Beautiful dogs," she said to the owner. The woman ignored her and walked toward the outfield. “Cunt," Lizzie said under her breath. Guess I forgot I’m back in the big city. Lizzie finished her sausage then walked around the park’s perimeter. She sat on a swing in the abandoned playground, sipping her Cherry Coke. She sighed and looked up into the trees. A single snowbird sat amongst the gnarled branches. She saw a flock of geese flying in a loose V formation overhead. She rattled her cup, surprised to find it empty already. She sighed and stood from the swing. Guess I’ll see if Sam’s around.


“You motherfucker," Lizzie said softly as she walked through the front door, spying Sam’s coat on the couch. “Leaving me to ride the L.” She tiptoed over to his room, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboards, and slammed open his bedroom door. Lizzie felt the blood rush up her neck as she realized that Sam was in the process of receiving a blowjob. “Oh fuck," she shielded her eyes and backed out of the room. “I’m sorry, man!" She turned and stumbled toward her room. “I’ll just be in my room," she called over her shoulder.

Lizzie shut the door quickly and leaned her back against it. Shit. She had never walked in on Sam in flagrante dilecto. Sam had happened upon her fingering an old girlfriend once, but that had been in the kitchen pantry and he hadn’t really seen anything except Lizzie's red face as she hastily smoothed the girl's skirt. What am I going to say to him? She gulped. What am I going to say to his boyfriend? Lizzie heard a tapping at her door.

“Lizzie?" Sam’s voice called tentatively. “Are you okay?”

Lizzie took a deep breath then turned to open the door. “I’m fine, whore," she said. “But I’m guessing you’re better."

Sam laughed. “Probably." He gestured toward his bedroom. “Guess I should invest in a lock.”

“Probably a good idea," she replied. “So, that’s, um, Joel?"

“Yes," Sam replied indignantly. “Who did you think it was?”

“I’ve never met him, remember?" Lizzie said. She frowned slightly. “He didn’t look burly. Well, from what I saw of him, at least.”

“I never said he was burly," Sam pointed out. “You are the one who decided he was burly.”

“Never met a cameraman who wasn’t burly," Lizzie mused.

“And how many cameramen do you know, cunty?"

“Kiss my ass, bitch!" Lizzie said, slapping him on the arm. “I missed you, you big cunt."

Sam awkwardly hugged her. “I missed you, too."

Lizzie saw a bearded man walk out of Sam’s bedroom, hastily buttoning his shirt. She stepped away from Sam and extended her hand toward the man. “You must be Joel," she said warmly. “Nice to see you.” She grinned. “Well, see the rest of you, at least.”

“Um, nice to meet you," the man said, averting his gaze after locking hands with Lizzie.

He’s shy. How adorable. “So, you’re the one who’s stealing my little Sammy away from me," she joked.

“Oh, no. Nothing like that," he said, blushing.

“Just kidding," she said. “If you can put up with him, you can have him.”

“Hey!" Sam said sharply. “Don’t be so cunty.”

“Oh, for God’s sake," Lizzie dropped Joel’s hand and turned back to Sam. “I’m just kidding, whore bag." She turned back to Joel. “This is just how we talk to each other. We don’t mean anything by it.” She looked suspiciously at Sam. “Well, I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Oh, I know," Joel said. He smiled at Lizzie. “Sam told me all about it.”

“I’m sure Chatty Cathy did just that," Lizzie said. She turned back to Sam. “So, where the Hell were you, whore? And have you taken a solemn vow never to answer your phone again?”

“We went up to Saugatuck for the weekend," Sam said. “I forgot that you were coming in today. I’m sorry."

“That’s fine, douche bag," Lizzie replied. “Nothing I missed more than the smell of the blue line. Unless it was the brown line." She giggled. “The poop line."

Sam laughed. “Oh my God. Remember that first night I was here and we were riding the brown line and we called everybody we knew and told them we were riding the poop line?”

“Oh, no one will ever forget that. After all, it was 2:30 in the morning," Lizzie laughed. “So, what are we doing to celebrate my arrival and my impending layoff?”

“You’ve been laid off?" Joel asked.

“Not yet," Lizzie said, turning to face him. “But I fully expect to be laid off tomorrow." She sighed. “So, let’s have some fun tonight.”

“How about Atmosphere?" Sam suggested.

“All right, but I want to hit Star Gaze, too," Lizzie insisted. “I want to see some hotties." She paused. “Female hotties," she clarified.

“Can we go see gay porn later?" Sam asked hopefully. “Remember—Clark’s on Clark is open til 4:00.”

“I am always up for some late night gay porn," Lizzie said. “And what better way to celebrate my departure from Concordia than watching some leather daddy plowing a twink’s ass.”


After some debate, they took a cab to Star Gaze. “Kind of dead tonight," Sam said.

Lizzie looked around the bar, counting five people including themselves. Not one goddamned hottie. “Yeah, you know that Star Gaze never gets rockin’ until after midnight."

“Well," Sam said, checking his watch. “It’s 9:45, so I say we go to Atmosphere." He winced as a Shakira song started playing. “At least they’ve got better music.”

“What about you, Joel?" Lizzie asked, tapping the man’s arm.

“Whatever you guys want to do," Joel said passively. “It’s your night, Lizzie.”

Lizzie smiled at him, taking in his appearance. Dark hair, beard, slight frame, not an asshole. He’s not Sam’s usual type. She looked over at Sam. Lizzie swallowed the rest of her beer. “Let’s hit Atmosphere," she proclaimed. “It can’t be much worse than this.”

The three rose and made their way out of the bar and down the street. Sam pulled open the door to Atmosphere and froze. “Oh my God," he said, turning to Lizzie. “It’s Fish Fest 2002."

Lizzie peeked around Sam’s shoulder. She grinned broadly when she realized that all of the people in the bar were female, with the exception of a single male bartender. “Yes!" she yelped.

They made their way to a table. Lizzie scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face. Of course she won’t be here, idiot. “Black and Tan?" Sam asked. Lizzie nodded.

“So, how long have you been at WGN?" Lizzie asked Joel.

“About six years," he said. “It’s an okay place to work."

“Meet any celebrities?" Lizzie said.

“Just Mayor Daley," Joel replied. “Does he count?”

“Barely," Lizzie said laughing. “And only in Chicagoland.”

“How was Kentucky?" Joel asked.

“Good," Lizzie said. “And bad.”

Joel nodded. “Sam told me about that thing with, um, your brother’s fiancé." Lizzie blushed. Joel put his hand over hers. “Don’t worry," he said. “I’m not big on the judgment thing."

“Thank you," Lizzie smiled. I can see why Sammie’s so smitten.

“He said you met somebody else," Joel continued. “Somebody you really like.”

Oh my God, I never told Sam. “Yeah, I did," Lizzie said, leaning closer. “But I, um, I fucked it all up." Lizzie relayed the story of her last encounter with Amber to Joel. She looked up to see where Sam was with her beer. She saw him trying to push his way to the bar through a sea of lesbians.

“So," Joel leaned back in his chair. “What does that mean?" He stroked his beard. “I mean, it sounds like…I don’t know…like maybe she really started to like you." He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know," Lizzie said honestly. “For a few days there, everything just seemed like maybe it would work out okay." She smiled weakly. “I just know that I miss her," she said hoarsely.

“Jesus fucking Christ," Sam said as he placed Lizzie’s Black and Tan on the table in front of her. “I cannot believe these rude-ass lesbians." He slid Joel’s Bass across the table. “Your people need some manners," he flipped the brim of Lizzie’s Reds hat. “Where in the fuck did you get that ugly-ass hat?"

“Gosh, it’s the retro Mr. Red logo," Lizzie said sarcastically. “I must have gotten it the last time I was in Phoenix." She took off the hat and studied the logo. “Jimbo gave it to me before…" she trailed off.

“So, what were you two talking about while I was standing in line for fucking ever?" Sam smiled at Joel. “My stunning ass, I hope.”

“I told him about that time you ate the undercooked brat and got the shits for three days," Lizzie whispered to Sam. He looked at her in horror. “Oh, I didn’t really," she smirked at Sam. “It’s just fun to fuck with you."

“Slut," Sam said jokingly.

“That seems to be the consensus," Lizzie sighed. She scanned the bar once again. She noticed a blonde at the far end of the bar. That could almost be her. She frowned. If I squint. Lizzie felt tears sting her eyes. “I’ll be right back," she said to Sam, rising from her chair and walking toward the bathroom.

Lizzie debated with herself for a moment, finally deciding to approach the woman. “Don’t I know you?" Lizzie asked the blonde. Yeah, that's a fresh line.

“I don’t think so," the woman said. “I’m Maggie,” she said, extending her hand. Lizzie clasped the offered hand and shook it lightly. “So, I guess now you do.”

“I guess I do,” Lizzie replied. She found it difficult to pull her eyes away from the woman’s face. “You look so much like someone I knew.”

“Really?” Maggie said. “I have a sister.”

“No,” Lizzie shook her head. “My, um, friend isn’t from around here.”

“Oh,” Maggie looked down at the bar. “Sorry.”

“Eh,” Lizzie said, rubbing her eye. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers,” Maggie said. Lizzie smiled at her. Maggie gestured to the glass before her. “Rum and Diet Coke.”

Lizzie nodded then hailed the bartender and ordered another drink for the blonde. “So, I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“That’s because I’ve never been here before,” Maggie replied quickly. “What are you—the bouncer?”

Lizzie chuckled. “No, nothing like that. But I do spend an inordinate amount of time here.” She gestured toward Sam and Joel. “Thanks to them.”

“Oh, I see,” Maggie waved at the table. “They won’t go to Star Gaze with you?”

“Not for more than 15 minutes,” Lizzie said. “And all my friends are, oddly enough, gay men.”

“That is a little odd.”

“Oh, I know,” Lizzie said. “I’m the lesbian ambassador to the gay community.” Maggie chuckled. “So, are you new to Chicago?”

“No,” Maggie said. “We, um, I’ve lived here for ten years.”

“Your Freudian slip is showing,” Lizzie said, smirking. “When was the break up?”

“Two months ago,” Maggie sighed. “God, I never thought I’d be forced to date again.”

“Are you on a date?” Lizzie asked. “I didn’t mean to intrude…”

“She didn’t show,” Maggie said quietly. “I…um…God, I hate this.”

“I’m sorry,” Lizzie said, placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Maggie said then took a sip of her drink. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

“I, um, I was,” Lizzie said.

“So, you’re not now?” Maggie asked.

Lizzie shook her head. “No,” she started. “I don’t know that I’d want anyone to get involved with this train wreck,” Lizzie said, gesturing to herself.

“Oh,” Maggie said uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry,” Lizzie said. “I think you’re…well, I wish I had met you six months ago.”

“You, still have feelings for her?” Maggie asked.

“Yes,” Lizzie said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Maggie said then raised her glass to Lizzie. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Um, sure,” Lizzie said then made her way back to the table.

“I’m ready to go," Lizzie said, grabbing her jacket from the chair.

“But, you haven’t even finished your drink," Sam said. He grabbed her wrist. “We’re not ready to leave.”

“No, let’s go," Joel said, rising from his chair.

“No, you guys stay," Lizzie said. “I’m just feeling really tired and I’m dreading tomorrow." She smiled at Sam. “Enjoy your gay porn, fuck face."


Lizzie pushed open the door to her bedroom. She looked at the suitcase in the middle of the floor. I cannot even fucking deal with that tonight. She took off her jacket and tossed it across a chair then kicked off her shoes. She stretched out across her bed, inhaling the musty scent of sheets that hadn’t been changed in four months. Fuck it. She fell into a dreamless sleep.




Lizzie awoke to sunlight streaming in on her. Fucking useless curtain. Lizzie grimaced and rolled over to look at her clock. 7:30. She groaned and sat up, rubbing her throbbing neck. She sighed then stood up slowly. She made her way to her closet and pulled out a pair of brown corduroys and a green sweater. Fuck them. If they’re going to can me, I can at least be comfy while they do it. She shuffled toward the bathroom and turned on the water for her shower.


Lizzie ran her fingers through her slowly drying hair as she drove up I-90 toward Concordia headquarters. She had a brief moment of panic, thinking she had left her badge at home. With considerable effort, she recalled her actions three months prior and remembered shoving the badge in the glove compartment. After parking in the visitor’s lot, she retrieved the badge then walked to the front entrance. The guard nodded at her as she walked to the elevator bank. Lizzie looked around the foyer, noting the peeling paint and yellowing posters. She took the elevator to the third floor and walked to her office. She chose to ignore the flashing voice mail light on her phone. She threw her coat on her chair then walked to Janet’s office. “So, has anything happened since I talked to you?" Lizzie asked.

"Let's get coffee and I'll tell you what I've heard," Janet whispered. She and Janet walked to the atrium for their morning coffee and complaint session. It was a ritual they had done every weekday morning for five years, going for coffee before logging in to the system.

“Nothing concrete, just more rumors," Janet said. “Conflicting rumors." She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I heard one that everyone in development is gone," a worried look crossed her face. “Which means both you and I would both go." She sipped her coffee. “And then I heard that they were going to schedule meetings today and, depending on whether or not you had a meeting, you’d be gone by end of day."

“So, which is it?" Lizzie asked. “If you have a meeting you’re gone, or the other way around?”

“That’s just it," Janet said. “I heard it both ways.”

Lizzie laughed. “That’s just fucking classic." She took a drink of her coffee. “Fucking company probably planted both rumors just to confuse us.”

“I don’t know, Lizzie," Janet said, glancing around. “I have a real bad feeling.”

Lizzie placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine," she said. “No matter what happens." She dropped her hand and laughed.
“What?”

“It’s just so…" Lizzie trailed off. “It’s just that, I thought I’d be really dreading this and be nervous as Hell," Lizzie said. “But, honestly, and I swear I am telling the truth, I could not give two shits whether or not I have a meeting." She shrugged. “I just really can’t even think this place is important anymore."

“What happened to you in Kentucky?" Janet asked, putting the lid back on her cup.

“Not sure," Lizzie said. “But I don’t think it was necessarily bad." She paused. “Well, not all of it, at least.” They walked back to Janet’s office, chatting casually about office politics. “Okay," Lizzie said. “Let’s do it."

“What?" Janet asked nervously.

“Let’s log in to the HR calendar and see who has meetings scheduled," Lizzie replied. She looked up to see Janet staring at her. “What? Like you don’t know that trick?”

“Never really thought about it," Janet said. She sat in her chair and logged on to the LAN. She pulled up her Lotus Notes and accessed the HR calendar. It appeared that the names were in alphabetical order. They stopped counting at 400 names. They saw Lizzie’s name on the list alongside a meeting time of 11:30AM. They found Janet’s name on the list with a meeting time of 1:15PM. “It could be that a meeting means you’re still here," Janet said quietly.

Lizzie shook her head. “Good thing I drove to work today.”


Lizzie walked back to her office. She pulled the trashcan out from under her desk and started dumping drawers into it. She set aside the pictures she kept on her desk, as well as two figurines: Batman and the Infant of Prague. When she finished cleaning out her desk, she took the small box of papers and pictures to her car. She walked through the deserted atrium, looking at the worn holiday decorations. She smirked as she passed the fountains that had been shut down on 9/11. No one ever bothered to turn them on again. She shuddered against the cold wind as she walked out to the parking lot. She placed the box in the passenger seat of her Jeep and turned to look at the building. The day was overcast, making the lit windows stand in sharp contrast. Lizzie stared at the building for a few minutes then sighed and walked back toward the main entrance. She ran through potential revenge scenarios as she trudged back. I could buy a bunch of bean burritos and plant them in managers’ desk drawers. She smiled at the thought of an overly ripe burrito smell permeating the complex. Or I could just go into rehab and they couldn’t fire me. She shook her head. They’d probably give me a blood test and I haven’t had any pain medication in days. She pulled open the door. I could just swing through the trees in the atrium acting like a monkey. She smiled at the thought. In the nude. Her grin broadened. Slinging feces.


Lizzie looked at her watch. 11:15. The meeting notice popped up on her screen. She sighed. Too late to do anything now. She surfed the Web, checking out the ‘Chicago Tribune’ online edition and the stock quotes. She looked at her watch again. 11:25. She made her way to the HR department for her meeting. She tapped on the door. “Come in," a voice called from inside the meeting room. Lizzie walked in. She saw her manager and an HR representative seated at a round table. Janet and I had a name for him. I think we called him Wally the Weasel. “Have a seat," the HR rep said. Lizzie looked passively at her manager, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze.

“So," the rep opened the manila envelope in front of him and pulled out a sheet of paper. “You probably heard about the bankruptcy filing.”

“Been on medical leave," Lizzie said. “Nobody kept me informed.”

“Hmmmm," the rep adjusted his glasses and pushed the sheet of paper toward her. “Well, be that as it may," he continued. “The, um, company has decided to halt all development." He paused as Lizzie picked up the document. “Which means that, um, most of the department personnel will be immediately terminated." Lizzie closed her eyes. “But we’re extending you an offer to stay.”

“What?" Lizzie opened her eyes. “Is this a joke?”

“You’ll have to agree to a 20% pay cut," her manager continued. “But at least you’ll have a job.”

Lizzie blinked. “How many people are staying?”

“We’re keeping on a skeleton crew," the HR rep replied. “Just 75 people.”

“75?" Lizzie said incredulously. “75 out of 700?" She shook her head. “How can we even function?”

“As I said before," the HR rep continued. “All development will be immediately halted. The company will be in maintenance mode.”

Lizzie shifted in her chair. She ran her hands through her hair. “Can I take the severance package instead?”

“What?" The HR rep glanced nervously at her manager. “Are you serious?”

Lizzie bit her lip. “Yeah," she said quietly. “I really don’t think I can handle the responsibilities with my, um, injury." She gestured to the scar on her neck.

“I’m not sure you can do that," the HR rep toyed nervously with his pen.

“So what would I get?" Lizzie asked. “I mean, if you can give me the package."

“Well, um, again I am not sure that we can do this," her manager said. “But, assuming that we can, you’ll get six months severance pay and one year of health insurance fully paid.”

“So, when will you know?" Lizzie said.

“We’ll, um, we’ll try to have an answer for you by COB today,” the HR rep said testily.

“Well, I’m still on sick leave, so can you call me at home and let me know?" Lizzie stood. “I think I’m going to leave now."

“Okay," her manager turned to the HR rep and shrugged his shoulders. “I guess that’s okay.”

“Thanks, guys." Lizzie grinned broadly as she strode out the door.


Lizzie found it hard to contain her excitement as she drove away from the building. Six months! She didn’t quite grasp why she was so elated, but she decided it was best not to question the phenomenon. She drove down I-90 East, exiting at Nagle and continuing to the corner of Milwaukee and Devon. She pulled into the parking lot of Superdawg and rolled down her window to look at the menu. Lizzie pressed the button next to the speaker. “Can I get a Whoopskidawg and a chocolate malt to go?" A voice crackled back her order. She confirmed and pulled some money from her pocket. Now, THIS is the best hot dog in Chicago. She smiled in anticipation as the carhop walked out the delivery door carrying a small bag. Lizzie gave him her money then rolled up her window. She tore into the dog ravenously, devouring it in six bites. She gnawed on the French fries that were wrapped up with the dog, intermittently sipping from the thick malt. Food of the Gods. When she finished the fries, she placed the remainder of the malt in her cup holder and started up the Jeep. Sated, she drove down Milwaukee to Touhy, eventually turning on Foster. She pulled into a space across from the park.

She ran up the stairs to her apartment, giddy with excitement. She unlocked the door and ran into her room, plopping down on her bed. Looking around, she was struck by a single thought. Oh my God, I’m going to be unemployed.


She leapt up from her bed and grabbed the cordless phone from its perch beside the couch. She dialed Sam’s cell phone number. It rang six times then went to voice mail. “Sam, what the fuck?" she intoned. “Why do you even have a cellphone if you’re never going to answer the Goddamned thing?" She sighed. “Call me as soon as you get this." Lizzie clicked off the phone. Son of a bitch. She bit her lip. I could call her. She grimaced. She wouldn’t be at home. Plus she wouldn't talk to me even if she were there. She placed the phone back on its charger and sat down on the couch. She looked with disdain at the discolorations on the arms of the couch. One too many wild-ass parties. She felt behind the cushion for the remote, finally locating it. She clicked on the TV. Infomercial. Soap opera. Infomercial. Lifetime. She shuddered. Baywatch.

She tried one final channel and smiled in recognition at the familiar theme. They sure are playing this a lot. She smiled as the episode title flashed across the screen: ‘Minerva, Mayhem, and Millionaires’. Oh, yes! Lizzie grinned. The final episode of the series. With Zsa Zsa Gabor, no less. Lizzie settled back into the couch cushions. I love this show. She watched with rapt attention as the first scene played out. Zsa Zsa’s Deepest Secret Extractor looks almost as fake as the computer on ‘Wonder Woman.’ She stood slowly as the animated opening credits played. I never noticed that the noise Batgirl’s kick makes is ‘Bong!’ She walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Hmmmm, beer, water, or beer? She grabbed a Rolling Rock and walked back to the couch. She laughed at Zsa Zsa’s efforts to pronounce the word ‘persimmon’. She frowned when she looked at the clock above the TV. It’s almost over and there’s no Batgirl. She looked back to the screen just in time to see Batgirl’s TV alter ego, Barbara Gordon, walk on screen. She took a sip of her beer. “Holy astringent plum-like fruit!" Robin exclaimed. Lizzie laughed, spitting her beer across the coffee table. She sighed as the show went to commercial break. Shit, what am I going to do for a living? She bit her lip. I could get some lame-ass job. Maybe at Borders--at least I'd get a discount on movies. She happily abandoned all thought of the future as the show came back on. May as well enjoy my last few days of cable. Real inconspicuous in your mink coat and silver flapper dress, Zsa Zsa. Lizzie glanced at the clock again. She picked up the phone, preparing to dial Sam.

“What happened to Batgirl?" Robin asked. Lizzie looked up to the screen.

“Who knows, Robin? Who knows?" Batman shook his head.

Lizzie fought the urge to cry. With the phone in her left hand, she picked up the beer bottle in her right and took a long drink. She started to choke a little when the phone rang. “Yeah?" she asked.

“Lizzie?" Virgie’s voice was harsher than it usually was. “Is that you?”
Lizzie debated responding with a sarcastic comment but decided against that tactic. “Yeah, it’s me." Virgie’s calling me in the middle of a weekday? Oh my God, could she be using that prehistoric cellphone? “What’s wrong?"

“It’s your grandmother," she said. “She’s had a stroke.”

Lizzie felt her mouth go dry. “What?" she squeaked. “What did you say?”

“She called me this morning," Virgie started. “And said she felt sick to her stomach but she thought it was because she had this bad headache. So, I went up to check on her and," Virgie paused. “And when I walked in, she was layin’ in the middle of the living room floor.”

“Where is she?" Lizzie looked around frantically for her keys. “Is she in the hospital?”

“Yeah, she is now," Virgie replied. “She’s at St. Luke in Newport."

“What did the doctor say?" Lizzie tried to breathe normally.

“He said that she had a stroke," Virgie said. “That’s all. He hasn’t been back.”

“What’s the doctor’s name?" Lizzie raked her fingers through her hair.

“Hazzlefeff or somethin’ like that," Virgie sighed. “At least, I think it started with an ‘H’.”

Oh, for Christ’s sake. “Okay, I’ll drive down now," Lizzie said. “I’ll be there in about six hours.”

“Oh, and Lizzie," Virgie lowered her voice. “She puked all over the living room floor."

“So?" Lizzie said, her tone impatient.

“Well, just somebody’s gotta clean up that mess," her aunt snapped.

“I’ll take care of it," Lizzie sighed. Since Mom’s not here to do it.


Lizzie flew around the apartment, gathering clothing and essentials for the trip back to Kentucky. She dialed Sam’s cell phone number and felt tears swell as it went to voice mail. “Sam, for fuck’s sake, why don’t you ever answer your fuckin’ phone?" Lizzie yelled into the receiver. “I’m driving to Kentucky right now. Granny had a stroke." She choked on the words. “I’ll call you when I get there." She hung up the phone and looked around. Lizzie shut down her computer then unhooked the adapter and mouse, packing everything into the laptop case. She shouldered the bag, grabbed her suitcase, jammed her Reds cap on her head, and headed out the front door toward her Jeep.


“Shit," she said sharply. The gas gauge read less than 1/8 of a tank. “Not even to 80 yet." She glanced to either side of I-90, but failed to spot any gas stations. She considered getting off the nearest exit, but shuddered when she saw the burned-out building looming next to the off-ramp. I can make it to Calumet City. Maybe even Valparaiso. She switched on the radio and hit the scan button. She paused when she heard the opening bars of Coldplay’s “The Scientist." Oh God. Amber. Our first dance. She choked back tears, paying close attention to the movement of the delivery truck careening along in the next lane. She bit her lip and floored the Wrangler as she roared down the I-80 East on-ramp.

What if she’s an invalid? She tried to push the thought out of her mind. What if she’s a paraplegic? That’s a little less scary. She tried to remember if she had ever known anyone who had a stroke. Goddamn it. Fuck! Lizzie swerved into the middle lane, nervously glancing down at her gas gauge. No pile-ups, no slow-downs, no whammies. She frowned at the radio as ‘Oops I Did It Again’ started playing. What kind of maniac plays Britney Spears right after Coldplay? She hit scan again. The radio stopped on a sports station. “Yeah, I think that Brett Favre is a big jag-bagger," a voice droned in a thick Chicago accent. Perfect. Lizzie settled in her seat and let her senses be assaulted by the mildly annoying call-in sports show.


Lizzie veered into the far right lane as she turned off I-80 East onto I-65 South. She maneuvered the Jeep into the exit lane for Valparaiso as soon as the lane appeared. She pulled into the first gas station on the right then hopped out of the car and started gassing up. Lizzie leaned against the Jeep as the tank filled. Five more hours. She sighed. When the tank was filled, she replaced the nozzle on the island and walked inside to pay. She walked to the freezers in the back of the store and debated what kind of drink to purchase. Cherry Coke or Yoo-Hoo? She debated briefly before grabbing a Yoo-Hoo and heading to the counter. It has to be Yoo-Hoo if I’m heading South. She paid for her purchases and headed back to the Jeep.

Getting colder. Lizzie fumbled for her keys before sliding behind the wheel. She propped up her Yoo-Hoo in the passenger seat and put the key in the ignition. I have got to buy a grown-up car. She gunned the car out of the parking lot, turning against traffic to get to the I-65 on-ramp. Lizzie saw the Yoo-Hoo tipping over in her peripheral vision. She lunged to grab the drink and briefly lost control of the car, coming dangerously close to ramming a beat-up Ford pickup. 1975 F-250 Hi-boy. Just like Dad’s.


“I don’t know what to do with it," Ruth sighed. “I guess we’ll have to sell it.”
“I want it," Lizzie insisted. She toyed with the tail of her coonskin cap. “Dad said it would be mine one day and I want it.”
“Lizzie," Ruth pulled the girl onto her lap. Lizzie shifted uncomfortably. “There’s no way we can keep two cars now." Ruth hugged her awkwardly. “And I can’t get rid of the Datsun. We owe less on it and it gets better gas mileage."
Lizzie pushed away from her mother and turned to face the wall. She examined the wallpaper, emblazoned with a print of red bricks and white mortar. She had helped her father meticulously line up the seams six months ago when he papered the walls. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t care. It’s mine." She turned back to face her mother. “He wanted me to have it."
Ruth bit her lip and looked at the ground. “It can’t be helped." She stood and walked toward the kitchen. She turned to look at Lizzie. “We need the money.”
“I hate you," Lizzie whispered as her mother left the room. “I wish it was you that died.”


Lizzie winced from the pain in her neck. “Son of a bitch," she said. She checked the side mirror then gunned the Jeep, swerving around the Ford.


Indiana is so fucking boring. Lizzie sighed and hit scan on the radio. The sports station had long since lost its numbing effect. She found an oldies station. Lizzie smiled as she recognized the chorus of Ray Charles’ “I Can’t Stop Loving You." One of Ron’s favorites. She pictured him walking away from her in the airport. He’s been as much a Dad to me as I would allow. She frowned. But I could never call him Dad. She blushed, embarrassed at the revelation. I am such an asshole.

Lizzie glanced up at the exit sign. Lafayette? She envisioned the foppish Revolutionary War general. I wonder what Frenchie would think of having some shithole in Indiana named after him? She smiled. Thanks for fighting in our war of independence—here’s your legacy.

Lizzie noticed that the oldies station had started to fade out. She hit the scan button. The next station was playing “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." Seriously? Does it get more hillbilly than this? She looked at the pro-life billboard on the hill to her right. No, I guess not. The scan mercifully moved on to the next station. Lizzie winced as Faith Hill’s “Breathe" filled the air. She turned down the volume on the radio then lifted her right hand to massage her neck. Fuckin’ sore. She willed the scan to skip ahead. Fuckin’ annoying song’s not helping. The radio remained silent for several seconds, settling back on the Christmas song. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Lizzie looked around at the flat farmlands surrounding the highway. I am now officially in Hell. She snapped off the radio and cracked the window. Lizzie leaned into the chilly breeze. She was startled to feel a few flakes of snow hit her face.


“There’s been an accident," Ruth said.
Lizzie looked up from her Matchbox cars. “Huh?”
“We need to go to the hospital," she turned and walked towards the living room. Lizzie turned back to her cars. “Now," her mother said forcefully. “Your grandparents will be here in a few minutes to pick us up."
Lizzie sighed and stood up. She gingerly stepped over the elaborate construction site she had made. She walked into the kitchen and shoved her feet into her tennis shoes. She grabbed her winter coat off the back of the kitchen chair and slipped into it, being careful to keep the tail of her coonskin cap from under the coat. “Ready!" she called to her mother. She fiddled with the zipper on her coat. “Stupid zipper," she murmured. She walked into the living room searching for her mother. Lizzie heard crying coming from the bedroom. She walked in and found her mother stretched across the bed, clutching a pair of men’s pajama pants. “What are you doing with Dad’s pants?" Lizzie asked.
Her mother sat up, dropping the pants on the bed. “Nothing," she said flatly. She wiped her tears. She looked down at Lizzie’s unzipped jacket. “Come here," Ruth said. She zipped up the girl’s coat then stood from the bed. Lizzie followed her as she walked to the kitchen. Ruth grabbed her coat and pulled it loosely over her shoulders. Her hands shaking, she lit a cigarette. A car pulled into the gravel driveway, spewing rocks. “Ready?”
Lizzie nodded. Ruth opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. “Mom," Lizzie said. Ruth turned around. “You forgot your shoes." Ruth nodded and walked back in the kitchen, slipping on her moccasins. “Those’ll get wet in the snow," Lizzie said. Ruth ushered her out the door then turned to lock it behind them.


25 miles to Indianapolis. Lizzie sighed and rubbed her neck. She turned on the radio, praying for a decent station with a strong signal. She hit scan and prepared for the worst. She smiled when she heard Pink’s “Don’t Let Me Get Me" playing. Thank God it’s not country music. She shifted in her seat, flexing her left ankle. She floored the accelerator, passing an 18-wheeler. Flori-Fun? What the Hell is that? She glanced at the side of the truck. Two 6-foot tall dancing anthropomorphic oranges comprised the logo. Oh my God. She closed her eyes to block out the image. Her mind was flooded with images of Amber, head thrown back and moaning. Big mistake. Lizzie opened her eyes and noticed that she had allowed the Jeep to drift dangerously close to the truck. She corrected the car’s path and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her hands shaking, she pulled into the right lane when she had passed the truck. She veered on to the next exit and pulled into the parking lot of a furniture store. Jesus fucking Christ. She felt the tears coming. Why, God? Why is it every fucking thing at once? She pounded her fist on the steering wheel. She leaned back in her seat and let the tears flow. She wiped her face with her coat sleeve then blew her nose using a napkin. “By the Way" by Red Hot Chili Peppers started playing. She sat for a few minutes, listening to the song and breathing steadily, then pulled out of the parking lot and headed for the interstate.


Lizzie swerved to avoid a garbage bag in the middle of I-465. She made a quick jog back to her lane and cut onto the I-74 East on-ramp. She rolled up her window and turned up the heater. She flexed her left hand to stimulate circulation. Cincinnati 88 miles. “Not much further," Lizzie mumbled. She felt along her cervical vertebrae. She shuddered as she thought about the cadaver bone that had been used to replace her discs. Dead girl walking. She looked in her rearview mirror and sighed. I wonder if Granny’s okay. She cursed herself for not having a cell phone.

“I like being out of communication range," Lizzie said to Sam.
“But we can get this deal where we get two phones for the price of one," Sam explained. “And we can call each other as much as we want.”
“Don’t you see me enough?" Lizzie asked. “We fucking live together, cock knocker." Lizzie gasped. “Oh my God," she said playfully. “Are you trying to tell me you’re in love with me?”
“Yes, that’s it," Sam said sarcastically. “God, how have I been able to hide it these…" He lifted his fingers as if he were counting, “twenty years?"

Lizzie laughed. Me and Sammy together. Creepy. She grimaced when she felt a sharp pain in her trapezius. “Son of a bitch!" she cried. She pulled off at the next exit then pulled the car into the first lot on the right. She breathed steadily until the spasm passed. She looked up to see a giant ice cream cone perched atop a building. Dairy Queen! She used the door to steady herself as she climbed out of the Wrangler. When she felt steady, she made her way into the building and walked to the counter. “Can I have…" She perused the menu. “…A small vanilla soft-serve and a large coffee with cream?"

The counter girl looked at her warily. “That’ll be $2.07."

Lizzie handed her the money. “Thanks," Lizzie said as she took the items from the girl. Lizzie wandered over to a table. She placed her coffee on the table and stood eating her ice cream and stretching the muscles in her back. 88 miles. She looked around and saw a pay phone. I could call Virgie. She grimaced. No, I can’t. She didn’t give anybody the number for her fucking prehistoric cellphone. Lizzie finished her cone then took the lid off her coffee and poured in the creamers. She walked over to the pay phone and dialed 1-800-COLLECT. She keyed in the numbers from her credit card then listened as the call rang through. “Sam?" Lizzie said incredulously. “Is that really you? Did you actually answer your fucking phone?"

“All right, smart ass," Sam said. “How’s Granny?”

“Don’t know yet," Lizzie said. “That’s why I’m calling you." She bit her lip. “Can you call St. Luke for me and find out what her condition is? Just tell them you’re her grandson." It’s close enough to the truth. “Can you do that for me?”

“Sure," Sam said. “Let me call information first.”

“Cool, then I’ll call you back in," Lizzie looked at her watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

“This would be so much easier if you had just listened to me and bought that God damned cellphone," Sam said sharply.

“Yeah, yeah, I know," Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Just do this for me and I’ll get one tomorrow.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it," Sam said then hung up. Lizzie put the receiver back on its cradle. She took a sip of her coffee. Lizzie sighed and walked back to the counter. “Can I get another small vanilla cone?”

“85 cents," the girl said. “It would have been cheaper to buy a large.”

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t have enjoyed this scintillating exchange," Lizzie snapped. She gave her a dollar and waited for the girl to make the cone. Lizzie took the cone and her change then wandered around the front of the store again. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes. Close enough. She made her way back to the phone and placed the call. “Well?" Lizzie asked, biting her lip.

“She’s in stable condition," Sam said. “That’s all they’d tell me.”

“Fucking stupid privacy laws," Lizzie spat.

“At least you know it’s not, you know, worse," Sam said gingerly.

“Thank you for doing that," Lizzie said softly. “Cunt."

Sam laughed. “Well, now I’m not worried about you. If you’re well enough to curse, you’ll be fine.”


How much further? Lizzie had lost track of the exact number of miles a few minutes ago. She had been listening to the new song by No Doubt when the song was interrupted by a blurry broadcast of a minister extolling the wages of sin in the form of homosexuality. “And it is written," the voice blared. “That a man shall not lie with another man." Lizzie nearly dislocated her finger in a rush to hit the scan button. Fucking bleedover from some dinky ass station out here in…She was at a loss to describe exactly where she was. She hadn’t seen a mile marker or exit sign in several miles. She drove around a bend and looked up in horror. “Welcome to Batesville," the sign read.


“These is real nice," the man in the gray suit said to Ruth. “These is from Batesville up yonder in Indiana." Lizzie glared at the man. She didn’t like this place. It smelled kind of like the hospital but with an overpowering sweet smell, like flowers that had begun to rot.
“I don’t know," Ruth said, biting her lip. “These are pretty expensive.”
“Well, I like to think of it as the last nice thing you can do for them," he said. Lizzie saw her mother fidgeting uncomfortably. She repressed the urge to kick him in the shin. “That’s a nice way to think of it.”
“I, um, oh God, I just don’t know." Ruth leaned against Lizzie. “What do you think?”
“I, um, I think he would’ve liked that one," she said, pointing to a metallic blue casket.
Ruth walked over to the casket and looked at the price sheet. “Oh Lizzie, we can’t afford this."
Lizzie looked at the floor. “He would’ve," she said quietly.
“I, um, I guess we’ll go with this one," Ruth stood in front of a wooden casket. “I think we can afford this.”
“Now you need a vault," the man said. “There’s a 200-year guarantee on this one," he indicated a photo display. “It’s guaranteed not to leak.”
“What does it matter?" Lizzie said, looking up at her mother. “He’s dead. He doesn’t care one way or the other.”
“Lizzie Mae Gossage," Granny appeared behind her and grabbed her shoulders. “You do not talk to your mother like that." Granny steered her into the lobby. “Now, you stay out here and be good," she said, turning back towards the room with the caskets. “Granny’ll be right back.”
Lizzie shrugged. She stood in the hallway for a few minutes then wandered into another room. It was empty except for a casket and several baskets of flowers. She smelled each of the bouquets, working her way to the front of the room. She backed away from the casket so she could get a better view. The body in the casket was an old man with horn-rimmed glasses propped unevenly on his face. “He’s dead," she said aloud. “He’s not comin’ back." She finished smelling the bouquets then walked back into the hallway.
The door to the casket room opened and Lizzie’s grandmother walked out, cradling one arm around Ruth. “C’mon, Lizzie," Granny said. “Let’s go home.”
It’s not home without Dad. Lizzie knew better than to say the words aloud.


Thirty-five minutes later, Lizzie pulled into the parking lot of St. Luke. She looked at her watch. Five hours and forty minutes—new record. She locked the Jeep and walked to the hospital entrance. She stopped by the information desk. “I’m looking for Hannah Webbe," she said. The elderly lady gave her the room number. She walked to the elevator bank and pressed ‘2’. She got off the elevator and followed the posted signs toward the room number. 211. She walked past 224. She looked down the hallway, fixing her eyes on the room she surmised to be 211.

She paused before she reached the door, breathing slowly to prepare herself. She removed her Reds cap and raked her fingers through her hair then pulled the hat down to her ears and walked to the door. Her aunt sat at the bedside, reading a newspaper. Her grandmother was sleeping. Lizzie noted the IV and the tube looped under her nose. She looks so frail. So frail and so old. She motioned to her aunt to step out in the hallway.

“What’s the prognosis?" Lizzie asked. Her aunt stared at her blankly. “What did the doctor say?”

“Bunch a mumbo-jumbo bullshit," Virgie said. “I don’t know nothin’ other than that she had a stroke and they think that she’ll live."

“When is the doctor coming back?" Lizzie asked.

“I don’t know," Virgie replied. “I’m just…" She suddenly lunged forward, gripping Lizzie in a hug. Lizzie awkwardly returned the hug, feeling tears form. “Do you think she’ll be okay?" Virgie asked as she pulled back.

“I have no idea," Lizzie said honestly. “I can’t know without talking to a doctor." She winced as her aunt started crying. “But she’s strong," she looked through the door at her grandmother. “And stubborn."

Virgie laughed weakly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right." She walked back in the room and retrieved her purse. “I’m gonna go have a smoke," she said. “Visiting hours are over in a little bit, I think."

“Okay," Lizzie said. “I’ll stay with her." She watched her aunt walk away then turned to take her place in the chair.

Lizzie picked up the newspaper her aunt had been reading. She scanned the front page. University of Cincinnati funding crisis. Festival seating ban lifted? Is that really a good idea? She heard someone walk into the room. Lizzie looked up to see that it was a nurse. Lizzie watched as the woman checked Granny’s pulse then injected liquid into her IV. Lizzie rose from her chair and followed the woman as she left Granny’s hospital room. “Can I talk to you for a minute?" Lizzie asked.

The nurse turned around. “Sure," she said quietly.

“My, um, my aunt doesn’t really understand anything medical," she started. “Can you tell me exactly what’s going on with my grandmother?”

“Well, you’ll want to talk to the doctor about that," the nurse said.

“Please," Lizzie said, tears forming again in her eyes. “I drove all the way from Chicago this afternoon."

“Oh," the nurse seemed surprised. “Well, she's had a stroke and she seems to have stabilized," the nurse said "But she’s probably going to have some lasting effects.”

“Like what?" Lizzie asked, dreading the response.

“Well, the most common ones are some numbness or weakness on one side, some vision problems, incontinence, and slurred speech," she said.

“Jesus," Lizzie said. “When will we know how bad it is?”

“Probably the next 48 hours will tell you a lot," the woman said. “But you know that visiting hours end in 30 minutes."

“Shit," Lizzie hissed. “Can I stay tonight?”

“Sorry." The nurse shook her head. “Hospital policy.”

Lizzie nodded then walked back into the room. She pulled the chair closer to Granny’s bed then sat, cradling the old woman’s hand in her own. “Please be okay," she whispered. “Who else is going to take care of those fuckin’ dogs?" Lizzie bit her lip to keep from crying.

A few minutes later, her grandmother’s eyes fluttered open. “Lizzie?" she said weakly. She pronounced the name with a mild slur.

“I’m here, Granny," Lizzie said quietly. She stood so her grandmother could see her without straining. “You had a stroke, but you’re going to be okay.”

Granny blinked twice then fell asleep. A few minutes later, Virgie walked back into the room. Lizzie walked over to meet her by the door. “She woke up but just for a minute," Lizzie said excitedly. “The nurse said that we’d know a lot more in the next couple of days." Virgie nodded. “You’ve been here all day. Why don’t you go on home?" Lizzie nodded toward Granny. “Visiting hours will be over soon and I can stay with her until then."

“I do need to fix your uncle’s dinner," Virgie said.

“I think he can handle it tonight," Lizzie replied. “Better yet…why don’t you drive through some place?"

“That’s a good idea," Virgie agreed.

The pair hugged awkwardly. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow and bring you back here," Lizzie said.

“You can stay with us tonight if you’re afraid to be alone at your grandmother’s house," Virgie offered.

“I guarantee you that I am not afraid to stay by myself at Granny’s." Lizzie laughed. “I am 36 years old.”

“You’re still a kid to me," Virgie said, gathering her coat and walking toward the door. She turned to face Lizzie. “Don’t forget to soak that spot in the living room."

“When did you go to Las Vegas?” Lizzie asked.

“What?” Virgie said. Lizzie gestured to the shirt her aunt was wearing. It was bright pink with two huge tumbling dice rolling past the Stratosphere. Virgie looked back to her niece. “Smartass.”


Lizzie stayed until visiting hours ended. She debated driving straight to Granny’s house. Too wired to sleep. She found herself driving around the streets of Newport at 9:30PM. Is it too late? She headed East from Monmouth and found herself driving down Amber’s street. Lizzie parked the Jeep in a space across from Amber’s house. Will she even talk to me? Lizzie pulled the key out of the ignition then pushed it back in. She’s just gonna slam the door in my face. She sighed. And I can’t say that I really blame her. She pulled out the key. Never gonna know unless I talk to her. She pushed in the key. Maybe she really did only want me for a little comfort. She sighed and pulled out the key. Fuck it. Life's too short. She slid out of the car and walked across the street. Lights are on. Lizzie swallowed hard. What if she’s not alone? The thought made her freeze in the middle of her stride. Oh God, what do I do then? She smiled nervously. Run.

Lizzie estimated that the journey from the car to the front door took about 28 minutes. It took another five to ring the doorbell. Her heart thumped inside her chest when she heard footsteps coming toward the door. Oh God. She looked around frantically. I could dive behind the bushes. She wouldn’t recognize the Jeep. She was estimating the distance to the bushes when the door opened. Amber was wearing her robe, a towel wrapped around her head. My God, she’s so beautiful.

“I thought you were in Chicago," Amber said coldly.

“I, um, I was," Lizzie stumbled over her words. “I was, but I had to come back." She looked into Amber’s eyes. So blue. “Granny had a stroke.”

“Oh my God," Amber exclaimed. “I’m so sorry," she reached out to touch Lizzie’s arm. “Really.”

Lizzie looked down at the hand on her arm. “I, um, yeah," she felt the blood rising through her neck. “I was hoping that, if you’re not too busy, maybe we could talk?" Lizzie looked back to Amber’s face. “I mean, just for a few minutes.”

Amber crossed her arms. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Us," Lizzie said. “Well, if there still is an us." If there ever was. “I, um, just wanted to tell you that I’m really sorry for being such a coward," she continued. “I mean, by not telling you that I was going back to Chicago." She bit her lip. “I just, I, um, couldn’t bring myself to tell you." She took a deep breath. “Because I was feeling something for you that I…I never expected." Not here, at least. She looked at the ground, mentally counting off long seconds of silence. “I’m sorry," Lizzie said, panicking at the blonde’s silence. “I shouldn’t have bothered you." She looked back up to Amber. “I just thought maybe we could…" she trailed off. “Never mind," Lizzie said as she turned and started walking back to her car. Idiot. God, you are such a fucking idiot, Lizzie Gossage.

“Wait," Amber said as Lizzie reached the street. Lizzie turned and looked back to the house. Amber moved back in the doorway, holding the door open.

A grin spread across Lizzie’s face as she walked back to the house. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel.







- The End -

[Kieli]

you did not.
you did not fly her ass back to Chicago.

fix this.



- Boschi

ROTFLMFAO!! I love you, Bosch. I really do. You just made me laugh so damned hard! But I agree with you. Lizzie screwed this up every which way but loose. And she's still making excuses. Honestly, if she was going to be such a damned wuss, she doesn't deserve to have anybody forgive her. I wanted to slap her ass silly for letting Amber go. What...a...moron! God if I ever get that way, someone slap me. Hard.

My relatives are all from the deep South and let me tell you, we have books of the dead for anyone and everyone that's ever died in this family. I shudder every time my mother hauls out the camera to take a picture of another dead body. What IS it that makes family so freakin' morbid? Ugh, suffice it to say, I've stopped going to family funerals. I get disgusted and enraged all that the same time. And I haven't eaten rabbit or squirrel in years, thank the damn Lord. Tcuri3, you are one evil wench putting us through this roller coaster ride of a fic.

But, despite our wanting to kill various members of the cast, it's too short. There's so much more and I keep wanting you not to end it here. Alas, I know other works call but this one has so much more life left to it. Now have Granny kick Lizzie in the ass and get her back on paper.

[Boschi]

Well. Okay - that was awesome. Many updates, quickly posted. But the whole ending it here thing I am still mulling over.

On one hand it was frankly refreshing to see a character that was appealing and flawed - and stayed that way - no huge alterations, epiphanies, etc. (crap, did I spell that right?...).
Because W/T fic often has this looming inevitability of neat, tidy, happy ending I sometimes get out of the habit of expecting anything else on this site - which, now that I type it, sounds absolutely horrible.

On the other hand there was an awful lot of emotional hand wringing without any definitive character development. Don't get me wrong - the story ends with Lizzie teetering on the cusp of something. Which I like - I like the not knowing. I'm just trying to decide if I wouldn't like her teetering a bit closer to a particular revelation/change. Hmmm....

Well. Sure as hell made me think a bit. And left me wanting more

Thanks much for writing and posting this. May I just take a moment to say thanks particularly for some of those drool-worthy, I-need-a-cold-shower moments and for (on an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT note) Granny - who kicks ass. Was thrilled to see your Dec. entry in Survival of the Lewdest.

Looking forward to reading more of your stuff - hope you post it.

- Boschi