Owner: Diary of a Heretic URL:www.diaryofaheretic.blogs.com Join Date: Sat, 11 Aug 2007 15:42:16 -0500 Rating:0 Site Description: Original, online fiction posted daily, except when non-fiction intrudes.
Motto: Reckless fun and wanton disregard Site statistics:Click here
You're No Al Capone 2007-10-14 22:04:13 Tuesday, December 11 (continued)*
“You’re not going to jail over a run-of-the-mill bankruptcy and a couple of tax mistakes,” Carlos says. “It’s not like you’re Al Capone
.”“If you say so.”And though it’s nuts, we’re in desperate straits, we end up giggling. He’s still saying, “Do more meetings. Make more videos. Push the merchandise. And above all—have faith!” And we’re so disoriented, everything blends into its opposite. Love, hate, light, dark, are all the same. Disaster is amusing. Life and death are equally gruesome and sublime, and in any furious moment, so real, they’re surreal. Twice today when Carlos staggered in to moan, “This is awful, terrible, disastrous!” I sputtered and he snickered. And then we howled together over the next inevitable remark which we both made in fits of tears and laughter. “Hey, it’s not funny!”--From Diary of a Heretic, a nove
Jail Would Be a Relief 2007-10-13 22:56:00 Tuesday, December 11*He really gambled on the stock market. Managing or should I say mismanaging this wildly fluctuating portfolio with the help of Herb Plochman (a broker, not an accountant; that was one of Carlos’s countless little lies) we took out second and third mortgages on four different properties. Besides our six up and running bakeries, we’re in arrears for twelve very expensive vacant places. The computers and cars, bakery and restaurant equipment, residential and commercial furnishings, Carlos bought with an appalling series of small business loans. Salaries he paid out of our cash flow, which makes me worry about the tax set-up. I think because we’re a religion—and he lied about hiring an accountant—Carlos paid the acolytes, clerks, novitiates, et cetera out of pocket! In September, when the stock market took another downturn and the Linden Street store was opening, he consolidated with a ten million dollar loan Fletcher
It's Simpler Than You Thought 2007-10-21 21:30:00 Thursday, December 13 (continued)*
For half an hour, we stroll along, two ordinary friends on an ordinary afternoon. Maggie points out a flock of crows tottering on someone’s lawn. We’re scuffling through a carpet of leaves, when a little girl skates by, holding a sheet cake with a big 9-shaped candle stuck in the frosting. “ ’Scuse me,” she says, gliding past. We watch the swing of her beaded African braids, her long legs, and the fluttering back of her velvet coat as she disappears around a corner. We cross back on to Sheridan Road and a high-speed cyclist, all muscle and Lycra, spokes, gears, plastic and chrome, spins past us. He or she rips right into the horizon, so it seems we’re a blur.We cut through the plaza of candy and jewelry stores. A man in headphones coming from the other end is waving a phantom baton. Upon noticing us, he freezes, then decides—you can see his mind working—to resume his fantasy, a notch low
Pure Jellyfish 2007-10-20 22:30:00 Thursday, December 13*
Maggie’s plane leaves in three hours, and a car is picking her up. For us, no awkward hugs in front of the metal detectors at the airport. Instead, I wait in the sun room like someone about to undergo day-long tests at the doctor’s. Flipping through a three-year-old National Geographic, I wonder if I’ll ever climb the Himalayas. A line of thought as grandiose as it is tenuous. Or wait—maybe not. Who’s to say I can’t enroll in rock climbing school once I flail out of this financial mess? I can hire a guide, join an expedition. I can begin again.
Speaking of which, here comes she comes. Maggie and I are still locked in our same little game of chicken: who’s going to say good-bye first? She plunks herself beside me with a teasing sing-song.
“Hey, sweetie, want to go on a walk?”
“Why?”
“Because that way we can walk and talk together without feeling awkward about looking or Read more:Jellyfish
Totally Babe for $500 2007-10-19 21:40:17 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Hal Finch called Jeanne the next day. She was studying for her 911 accreditation online. She half-heard Colette saying, “My mommy’s right here, Hal.” But Jeanne wasn’t totally “right there;” mostly she was busy learning how to talk to suicidal callers. Still, there her physical self sat, practically trapped.
“Hello, Hal. Have you recovered from the O’Meara’s feast?”
“Hey, if the average guy can live 11 days without water, I can certainly rebound from turkey and sweet potatoes, don’t you think?”
“Indubitably.” Jeanne blushed at her affectation, but what was the alternative? Yes, Hal, you certainly know left from right.
“My mom used to love that word—she used it incessantly. Have you ever played Balderdash? It’s a vocabulary game, kind of like Trivial Pursuit, but with bluffing.”
“Well, ordinarily I don’t go in for board games, Hal. Or card
Thanksgiving 1993 2007-10-18 21:00:00 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Jeanne made the pies. Her grandmother had taught her how when she was seven, and ever since, Jeanne had made pies instead of cakes for celebrations. She told Patrice, “Pumpkin, of course, and maybe apple.”
“One pumpkin pie should do it, don’t you think?”
“No. No way. Thanksgiving
’s all about the left-overs.”
Apple sounded good to Patrice but Kevin liked old-fashioned mincemeat baked with a lattice crust.
“The last time I made a mincemeat pie, I lived with my parents. My dad liked it.”
“The Hy-Vee still stocks the stuff. But Kevin can survive with a piece of pumpkin.”
At first Jeanne thought it better if she ignored Kevin’s preference. His particular magnetism altered her breath. And his sweet energy so overwhelmed any space he occupied that she staggered from it. But despite her intentions, a jar of Cross & Blackwell’s appeared beside the canned pu
Dental Persuasion 2007-10-25 22:46:36 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Hal Finch suddenly stopped calling. The first night he didn’t phone Jeanne just happened to mark the third anniversary of her husband Paul’s fatal car accident.
Despite her discomfort with Hal, she missed the phone calls, which from June 28th on, ceased altogether.
Instead, he sent her “Thinking of You” greeting cards once a week. Inside, he scribbled a signature factoid, like: six people turn 17 every minute in the US. Or, guess what? Maine is the toothpick capital of the world. He always added hello to little Colette. And once, claimed that the typical four-year old asks 436 questions a day, which made Jeanne smile.
In August, Jeanne acquired her 911 accreditation and quickly joined the hi-tech security dispatch center, where she worked overnight with a seasoned co-worker—Margie who didn’t need or appreciate the help. The job was just waiting for her thanks,
My Pal Hal 2007-10-24 21:08:11 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
When I talk to Jeanne on the phone, she gets behind my shit like no one else. I rattle off my usual patter, whether inventing on the spot, memorized from my Trivial Pursuit collection, or learned from watching Jeopardy on TV.
Even inside myself, I wouldn’t know a thing if it weren’t for Jeanne. That’s how much talking to her has transformed me, even if it doesn’t show. She listens to my usual act, you know, stuff like how it’s impossible to kill yourself with weed; you lose the motor skill to ingest enough—or, how men with hormonal abnormalities can actually breastfeed a baby. Oh man, did that one freak her out! But then in the middle of it, Jeanne asks a question I answer without thinking. Later I discover that just from one tidbit she’s deduced half my history.
So, possibly she knows exactly how much she means to me: And that my only goal has changed from nothing
The Opposite Sex 2007-10-22 21:47:05 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Hal put his arm around Jeanne, pulling her close as they hurried into the Lied Center at KU. She recoiled involuntarily, even though his timing and touch were casual. So casual and nice that Jeanne worried the icky feeling he gave her was prompting her to act like a lout. When he didn’t give up but remained gentle and discreet she had to wonder: Was he politely ignoring her doltish squeamishness? Choosing graciousness, obliviousness, or stubbornness?
The Japanese Warriors wore big black wigs, opaque make-up of white and black, and red and gold outfits that swirled in streams with every calculated gesture. A dozen or so warriors spun and kicked in shifting patterns. They executed marvelous, fluid sword-work on shadow figures, and the rhythm and spectacle excited Jeanne more than any show she could recall.
After intermission, during the finale, Hal laid a wide palm on her thi
Worse Than Grief 2007-10-29 21:28:13 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
After her encounter with Kevin O’Meara, Jeanne’s grief for her lost husband changed into something worse.
When Dr. Kevin O’Meara issued her into his private little chamber to chastise her for letting the tooth go so long, and then for no good reason stood up and gently pressed his fingers along the slope running from the base of her neck, Jeanne’s daydreams conflated with the arguments that had dominated her raggedy sleep since she’d first met the man.
Since moving to Kansas, Jeanne worked nights and in the morning drove her child to nursery school. There she handed Colette to Patrice, Jeanne’s one friend—and Kevin’s wife. Then she went home—to a house that Kevin owned. She lay down in the rented bedroom, an eye mask reinforcing a darkness dependent on closed blinds and heavy curtains. Slipping free of all vigilance, Jeanne’s mind turned into two voices, which s Read more:Grief
Dominus Nabisco 2007-10-28 21:29:51 Monday, December 17* (continued)
At the intersection of Green Bay Road and Maple, a show-off-y couple (mink coats, silver Mercedes) blatantly ran a red light. The driver behind them, inching forward in a Dodge plastered with Jesus stickers, was singing at the top of his lungs. Hands on the steering wheel, head back, mouth open, his chest was heaving, his eyes shut. As the light changed, a cigarette-smoking young woman behind him leaned on her horn, making me jump. A simultaneous gust of cold lashed at my skin. I felt it pierce my bones, and on the outside, push things, so that I stumbled and shuddered and oh, I don’t know: This business of us each being separate, fixed creatures struck me as slim hope and nonstop neediness, no matter what.I crossed onto Washington Avenue, away from the wind, toward, I hoped, normalcy with its little shops and single-family homes. For a while I encountered no one. Then a blotchy faced man in outdoor cov
A Bulbous Quivery Thing 2007-10-27 23:10:03 Monday, December 17*After that, my recollection produces a wispy haze and a dearth of signs of life. I know I ambled for hours, in the dark—during the day—as if in shock. If I treaded on grass or asphalt, beneath trees and birds, above worms and bugs; if, in transit, I passed people on limb-flapping power walks, crossing guards, school kids—nothing penetrated. I remember feeling suspended, adrift, as if my soul were holding its breath. My goal was to keep moving. Please God, let a path form, a door open, as long as I stay on my feet. If I act natural. . . If I behave scrupulously, a clean and perfect way out might—might—appear out of nowhere. As Maggie’s adieus ebbed into history, a crest of admonitions—don’t worry, never fear—buoyed me along. Hopping from foot to foot, I decided my existence was not marginal as I’ve always feared; it’s grotesque! It’s glaring and conspicuous! There’s no d Read more:Thing
You Be Me and I'll Be You 2007-11-03 23:10:22 Monday, December 17* (continued)
I turned and ran until, sweating and shaking, I ended up in a grove of birch trees between Northwestern and the beach. Something about the low invisible sun, the stark white branches and the imperceptibly changing sky set off in me a desperate grief. Shadows shifted and I realized that Colin and I in our brief, hectic comings and goings had come here. Once? Twice? The significance was the same either way. We’d taken turns pressing each other up against the slender, white-barked trees, me on him, him on me. It was a game; there was a rhythm: first be serious, for real, the lover and his beloved.
Pinning my beloved to a tree, I clasped his two wrists in my one hand, and stared into his infinitely deep-lit eyes, half-stunned, half-searching: Where was Colin? In there? Out here, in me? And then, mystified, I leaned back and noticed his mouth, which as soon as I saw it, I had to have
Now And Now And Now Again 2007-11-02 23:39:27 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Exhausted and overcome, after twenty hours awake and upright, Jeanne hurried to her car and drove home. She draped her coat over a chair and pulled off the clothes she had put on after showering an hour ago. For a second time, she brushed her teeth and lightly made up her eyes and mouth. She fluffed and smoothed her long hair and slipped inside her silkiest, prettiest nightgown. But removing the slouchy suede boots she’d worn taking Colette to nursery school never occurred to her.
Almost nothing did. She had paid close attention to the road while driving, but that’s all.
With so much sympathy and guilt worrying her all night on one level, and so many impossible yet probable decisions confounding her on another, her mind flipped into automatic mode and set her free.
Instead of preparing to sleep during these, her usual dream hours, her body hummed from its core, her toes keepi Read more:Again
The Ugliest Thing 2007-11-01 21:00:00 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Jeanne waved goodbye to Hal and unlocked the front door at two-thirty a.m. On her night off, she usually watched TV until midnight. Then she read either Tolstoy or Proust or Nabokov or Henry James. They helped her sleep. She enjoyed the books, but no matter how thick the plot, after an hour or two of great literature, her eyelids fluttered, unable to stay open.
But tonight she couldn’t sit still. Her meanness shocked her so much that electricity buzzed all through her. She changed into sweats and scoured the tub.
The babysitter woke up and they drank lemon grass tea. Jeanne asked about Giselle’s classes, but found it impossible to listen. She carried the tea with her as she polished the sink, counters, and stove. When she was emptying the refrigerator to clean that, she said, “Sorry not to behave more graciously, Giselle. But if I don’t do this now, it’ll never get done. Read more:Thing
Foreclosure 2007-10-31 21:43:03 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Kill me now because life can’t get better. In the place where Jeanne just took me? No laws of nature apply. It’s supernatural. So, I take it back: Don’t kill me. Because Jeanne can take me there anytime she wants. I guess from being married she’s an expert. Don’t laugh. I mean, from being a mother and a former wife, her instincts must provide her with spontaneous ways for creating and expressing love.
Jeanne’s way too good for me, and anyone who’s met us, no matter how briefly, recognizes this, and always will. Kevin, my only friend at this point, told me before he even introduced me to her that she was way out of my league. I’d have a better shot at a movie star. “Someone,” Kevin said, “like Uma Thurman.” Who cares about her?
Jeanne’s out of any man’s league. But she’s still the only woman for me. We communicate in the most profound way two people can. Read more:Foreclosure
You Look Wonderful Tonight 2007-10-30 22:10:26 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Jeanne slipped on an everyday skirt and blouse, and Colette said for the first time what daughters always tell mothers and vice versa.
“Don’t wear that, Mommy.”
Jeanne swooped her up, and kissed her head. “Why not? Don’t I look nice?”
“You can look nicer.”
Colette squirmed free and promptly tugged on Jeanne’s new dress. Dark blue silk, beautifully fitted, a deep pink slash started low on one hip and wrapped sinuously up to encircle her waist. A snowy rectangular panel zipped up her back and small bright blue diamonds decorated the sleeves.
Jeanne blushed, changing clothes. She had bought that dress two weeks ago, after Kevin had filled her cavity. It cost almost a week’s salary but Jeanne didn’t doubt how special it was. The graceful way it moved when she moved, made her feel light on her feet. Hal had invited her to a nice restaurant, so Colette was righ Read more:Wonderful
, Tonight
Escape To Chicago 2007-11-07 21:06:25 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
The American Dental Association held its annual session late that year, in mid-November. The session took three days, leaving the weekend free. Last year, Kevin had given a presentation on insurance strategies and earned accreditation in several new techniques. This year, with the seminar in Chicago
, he had booked a suite at the Grand Hyatt, which would be his and Jeanne’s alone.
Having long wrestled with his attraction to this woman, only to have his passion rebound and multiply, he now accepted it without guilt. Especially since his and Jeanne’s love in no way related to his marriage—on this they agreed. It existed between them alone.
Still, she presented him with twenty good reasons she couldn’t go, but Kevin discounted each of them. When Jeanne pointed out she wasn’t eligible for time off until next year, Kevin telephoned the police chief and the 911 Read more:Escape
Heartland 2007-11-06 22:45:46 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Their first time drew to a close, and Jeanne panicked about facing Patrice in a few minutes. She and Kevin had dressed and she was hurrying, unreasonably anxious about picking up Colette. Kevin swept her onto his lap so that she faced him.
“Please, don’t be ashamed. What you and I do here has nothing to do with anything else. You need to remain steady for Patrice, the girls, for everyone’s sake. Especially our own.”
He held her face lightly, so that she concentrated on his gaze. After a few beats, though, Jeanne shut her eyes. “We can’t do this again. We just can’t. Because it’s the stupidest, oldest story in the world.”
“For anyone else that might be true. But Jeanne?” He took her wrists and swung her arms a little. “You and me? It’s extraordinary.”
“We’re not supernatural, no matter what it feels like, Kevin. And this story always end Read more:Heartland
Lady Heretic Falls to Her Knees 2007-11-05 16:33:37 Heretic
s pray, too. The worst one prays to herself.
I would have posted sooner about the 2007 Weblog Awards, and in all decency, I should have. So many beneficent bloggers, whether lucky enough to vie with their brother and sister bloggers this year or not, have jumped into the fray and fought for this odd blog as if it mattered. To all of you: a big Facebook kiss, cocktails, hugs, and, of course, the force. Or if you’d rather, a sincere thank you.
I’m late expressing my gratitude because I’m superstitious about pulling out of a story just as it seems to reach momentum. If I imagine it’s taking me someplace new, I tend to hone in on that new place with wanton disregard for everything else. But today’s my husband Manny’s birthday. The family’s coming to celebrate in a few hours and I’ve hardly started the pie, let alone thought about the main meal in any more detail than, “We’ll need food.”
But all that’s ephemeral. The 2007 Weblog Awards can count on my Read more:Falls
, Knees
The Lover Risks Everything 2007-11-04 22:00:37 Monday, December 17* (continued)
Shivering in this isolated birch grove, I am beside myself where once upon a time—to Colin and me together—everything was a miracle!
(So how were we to know when we were over the edge?)
There’s a pause and a click.
(The lover risks everything to pursue the beloved. He does not turn back. Or call out, Wait, don’t jump! He just jumps head first, whole heart. )
I’m blind for second until I discover I’ve involuntarily shut my eyes, that’s all. Opening them, I think, oh yeah, cause and effect! Is there anything more steadfast than that? And then. . . here it comes—I start to see what’s been in the offing all day. At the edge of the trees, along with far-off voices, I catch a glimpse of red, someone’s ski jacket. My gaze tracks the curve of another’s arm (purple jacket and black mitten). Head back, I stretch and spin, competing with the treetops. We’re swaying for positi Read more:Risks
, Everything
Honest Mistakes 2007-11-12 21:19:46
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Unpacking in their hotel room, Kevin told Jeanne that the last time he visited Chicago, the undergarments on a mannequin had reappeared in his dreams. The tantalizing lace and elastic had glistened from the darkness on a living woman whose hand on his chest so alarmed and arrested him, he had woken gasping, but overjoyed.
He tried to give Jeanne his credit card. “The place is called Wolford’s. Buy whatever you like.”
Jeanne refused. She held up her navy dress with the arresting pink spiral. “Won’t this do?”
Kevin admitted he couldn’t imagine a better dress, but handed her the card again. “Please, Jeanne.”
She asked him to describe the kind of thing he had in mind. But Kevin shrugged, not knowing the details, just the allure. “Buy what you like,” he said.
So while Kevin worked the convention, Jeanne bought a deceptively simple but beautiful bra
Whatever We Once Fantasized 2007-11-11 22:06:20 Tuesday, December 18 (continued)*
Carlos and I have battled telepathically for so long that next time we find ourselves in the same room, he’ll know. Let the young guy know—the offer of any paid position was a mistake. Even the biggest, savviest corporations do this to potential employees all the time: a person applies for work, sees half a dozen corporate-title men and/or women in serious, time consuming interviews. One or more business directors may say, “The job is yours. Can you start next month? The human resources department moves slowly.” And then, a week or so later, someone phones to say, “Sorry. We made a mistake. We have your resume on file. Perhaps the right position will become available before long. Because otherwise we’re sure you’ll soon be so far out of our league…”Maybe only publicity agents and marketing people add that last bit. Or maybe no one does. I heard it before, though. So the next time Carlos and I are within spitting distance, he’ll kno
Being My Friend Is a Job Description 2007-11-10 21:31:26 Tuesday, December 18*Expecting to collapse any second, I burst through walls and plunge through black holes. Finally, in the shadow of the garage across the street, I bend to catch my breath. In a minute I will storm the compound. I’ll hoist the boy over my shoulders and race him to safety.The frightening thing is how suddenly, perfectly easy it is. I saunter through the massive shop—no boy in sight!—knowing just what to do. “Yes, hello! It’s so good to see you.” Gamely, I pat a stolid man’s shoulder. He’s eating a sticky pecan roll and his beleaguered face with its puffed, almost shut eyes elicits more tenderness than despair. Not that I’m not heartsick: Who knows what’s ahead? And what Carlos is capable of?But the stolid, dejected man stops chewing. And I say, “Hang in there. In the end, it will be okay.” We exchange honest, timid smiles—that’s all he wants—and I’m on t
Finish Line 2007-11-09 22:11:42
Ordinarily, I'm quick with fulsome praise and thanks to anyone who helps me in any way, from pushing me away from a speeding bus or signaling that I’ve got lipstick on my teeth. Let me eat the last hors d’oeuvre at a party and I’ll express my gratitude until you make a desperate excuse: “Gotta run.”
But I’ve never finished in the top three of anything, and have certainly never been graced by such an outpouring of communal support. This blog just won third place in the 2007 Weblog Awards “Best Literature” category, and I can thank BlogCatalog, MyBlogLog, and Cre8buzz friends, the Kula Yoga community, close and long-lost friends, and my far-flung family. That’s for starters.
Some people refused to vote for me or, so they said, anyone else. Awards were silly and they weren’t participating on principle.
I respect that. It’s a valid perspective. But when the Weblog Awards named my online fiction as a finalist, it blew my mind. I’ve wanted to “be a writer” Read more:Finish
, Finish Line
Missing Persons 2007-11-08 22:05:17 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Lawyers and realtors and banks, Oh my!
Years ago, my mother yelled at me. “Lose the ‘oh my!’ Hal. It’s effeminate.” How I’d love to hear her bitch at me like that now. Her mind’s regressed to its infancy.
I’m living at the Econo-Lodge while I wait out this nightmare. Tuesday I’m moving back to Lawrence, back to living with my mother. My home in KC stands empty, ready for the auction block, and I need to sign a good chunk of my future away on Monday.
A week ago, Bill Logan, my mother’s chief nurse, called about the month’s pay I owe him. “Mailed the check yesterday,” I said. What else can you do? Stall.
Since then, I haven’t even reached his voice mail. So Saturday I’m driving to Lawrence, just for the day—to see what’s happening. With my mother, it can’t be good. I would leave today except the university dental clinic offered me two nig Read more:Missing
, Persons
Boxed In 2007-11-16 21:43:22 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Marjorie at the 911 center had always resented Jeanne working with her, but after Jeanne’s long weekend away, she announced she was taking the week off, including Thanksgiving.
“After last night? Enough tragedy. And don’t you dare get your dentist-boyfriend involved. I’ve worked here twice as long as you and you’ve had twice as many vacations.”
Jeanne stood watching as Marjorie collected a few things from her desk. Neither of them had yet taken off her coat or scarf or gloves. Before she left, her body braced against the door, Marjorie said, “You don’t give a fuck, do you? You’re not even going to ask? A sixteen-year old boy hanged himself last night. The police chief said it wasn’t suicide. Some kind of sex thing kids read about on the internet.”
“I’ve heard about that, I think.”
“You think. You’ve heard about it, you think.” Marjorie shudd
Wrong Number 2007-11-15 21:40:26 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
After Jeanne’s trip with Kevin to Chicago, following her usual patterns felt truer; her life’s orbit set. The pleasures: getting Colette ready for nursery school; she and Kevin sailing together through their vast, lucid dream-life; afternoons playing with Colette and marveling as she delighted in cooking, eating, bathing, and dressing.
The price, while high, was nonetheless minuscule compared to its wonders. Her job was hard, directing emergencies, deaths, and disasters to one authority or another night after night. Her co-worker was resentful. But it paid well and allowed her to share her life with Colette, and secretly, with Kevin.
Hal Finch, however, presented an unfamiliar and confusing obstacle. When she thought of him, she sometimes saw him as dangerous and other times not. But now that he had waylaid her before daybreak, he frightened her.
Entering the house, she f Read more:Wrong
, Number
Accidentally on Purpose 2007-11-14 21:12:42
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Jeanne won’t answer her phone. Or should I say, Colette won’t answer it. When a five-year old screens calls, it’s because her mother’s standing there, telling her to listen to the message on tape.
Any time I mention Jeanne, even casually, Kevin clears his throat and insists I forget about her. His proprietary air morphs into an attitude bordering on righteous indignation. It’s happened a few times so I know I’m not imagining it. Before I can finish telling him about leaving multiple messages, Kevin holds up his hands like: Stop right there.
I wouldn’t stop, except that he looks so out of his mind. The expression on his face lasts a second, but when I say, “Jeanne,” Kevin, who’s saved my butt since we were kids and this time has even propped me up and dusted me off, glares like a homicidal maniac. You can see the muscles clench. He recovers quickly, into g Read more:Accidentally
, Purpose
Obsessive Tendencies 2007-11-13 21:15:00 This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning.
Kevin gathered Jeanne in a protective embrace. She murmured into his chest. “We’ve got to help him.”
Kevin stroked her hair and shoulders. “I’ll help Hal, Jeanne. Not you. Terrible as this is, his life will get easier without his mother; she always treated him like shit. And the cost of her at-home care was unbelievable.”
Kevin carried her to the bed, soothing her at first and then exciting her. He smelled vaguely spicy, but his skin also gave off an exotic, unnameable flowery scent.
“We’ll miss our plane, Kevin.”
“So we’ll take a later one.”
She shook her head. “It looks bad enough without us staggering home at midnight. And who knows what’s happening to Hal?”
On the plane home, Kevin reiterated that he would help Hal; if Jeanne wanted to do the right thing, she should leave Hal alone. “I’ve helped him before; Hal’s a hard luck case. The guy
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