John Reynolds woke up, his eyes slowly adjusting to the sunlight seeping into the room through his curtains. He groaned, rolled over, and found Gorey sitting on the bed beside him, wearing sleep shorts and a long sleeved, button down shirt, sipping from a mug while she looked up something on a laptop. Reynolds smiled and just lay on his side, watching her without her knowing. With the bottom of her palm, she edged her glasses back up on her face and took another sip of her tea, before finally realizing she was being watched.
"Oh, morning," she said, "...that's really creepy." "That's how I roll," Reynolds replied, making her smirk. Despite sleeping in the same bed a lot now, they hadn't slept together yet, so things were, more or less, not awkward yet. Reynolds groaned as he sat up, then climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, then changed out his bandage from his stab wound, which still surprisingly hurt a bit despite happening about 3 months ago. Now it was the time for a new school year. The summer was over, and it was time for a fresh start, and that's exactly what he'd be getting...just not in the way he expected to. *** "What do you mean I'm benched?!" Reynolds asked, Principal Victoria sitting behind her desk. "I mean that until we can sort this mess out, you're benched," she said sternly, "Right now we don't know the specifics of what happened exactly, and yes, you were stabbed and we're all very glad you're okay, but until the reasoning for Drew's death is clarified, you should just count yourself lucky you're not under direct investigation for murder." Reynolds leaned back in his chair and buried his face in his hands. He could tell them. He could explain it all right now. But...but that had been Misty's ordeal, and he didn't want to betray her trust without her consent. It should be the sort of thing she should be open about, not him. "So what happens then? The team is just...grounded?" "Of course not," Victoria replied, "actually, I've already got a plan in motion." "Oh yeah, and what's that?" Reynolds asked. Before he knew it, he was sitting on one of the bottom bleachers as Clarissa adjusted her ponytail under her cap. He shook his head in disbelief, seemingly incapable of acknowledging how absurd this entire situation was. Clarissa stood in front of him, hands on her hips, and grinned. "How do I look?" she asked. "This is ridiculous," he said, "no judgement towards your skills, lord knows you're capable, but still." "Dad," Clarissa said, sitting down beside him, "dad you were stabbed. You could've died. You're still kind of recovering. It only makes sense for you to sit it out for a little while, alright? It's not that big a deal. I know how to play the game, I've watched you coach, I know what's going on. You always said you believed in me." "And you wouldn't imagine how often I've regretted that," Reynolds replied, making her laugh. But she was right. He did believe in her. He knew she had the skills to do what he did. She'd always actually been a baseball fan, unlike Reynolds, who couldn't really care about the sport one way or the other. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, and maybe a little break would do him well. Reynolds wasn't the only one dealing with new changes. *** Hawley wasn't really sure how to talk to her mother. After all, how do you talk to someone who'd been gone for over a year? How do you talk to someone who, as far as you know, left without any remorse or regret? Sitting in her mothers apartment on the couch while her mother made them tea, she picked at her fingernails nervously, unsure if anything she said would make any sense. When her mother finally arrived back in the room and handed her her teacup before sitting down on the couch herself beside Hawley, Hawley finally knew what she wanted to ask her, but she couldn't, not immediately. First, she'd sip some tea. She lifted the cup to her lips and took a long drink as her mother sighed. "I know it's weird," she said, "and the last few months especially have been strange. I owe you a lot of explanations." "I don't know that you do, actually," Hawley said, interrupting, surprising her mother as she continued, "cause, like...being with dad, by myself...I don't blame you at all for running away. I used to think it was because of me, but after being alone with him, it wouldn't shock me if it were because of him." "It was a lot of things, but sweetheart, you were never a reason," Courtney, her mother said, "that much I can promise you." Courtney reached out and pushed some of Hawley's silky, shiny blonde hair behind her ear, smiling as he did. "And, for what it's worth, I'm not one bit surprised to see you as you are," she continued, "because even when you were really little, you were always drawn to more feminine things. You always wanted to play with girls, and wanted girly birthday parties and toys and...it's nice. It's nice to see you just be yourself, and I'm sure your father hasn't been of any support in regards to that, but I will be. I promise." Hawley had thought, for so long, that perhaps her mother had known about her identity and been so embarrassed that she'd left because of it, but now...now here she was, saying not only had she been aware of it, but was happy to be witnessig her embracing it, nonetheless. Hawley couldn't help but smile a little as she turned her attention back to her teapcup. "So then...why did you leave?" Hawley asked, and Courtney sighed. "Well," she started, "uh...your father was a big part of that decision. It killed me to not be able to take you with me, but more often than not when a mother takes her child for safety, an amber alert is declared and the mother is made out to be a kidnapper, even in clear cut cases where the husband is the obvious abuser. So I left, and I left you, and I've felt so bad about that ever since. I came back hoping to get custody. Shouldn't be too hard, considering you're not even living with him right now." "He threatened me," Hawley whispered, looking down into her cup, feeling her mothers hand on her shoulder. "He threatened me too. That's what men like that do. That's all they know how to do," Courtney said softly, "but I promise now that I'm here, between me and your coach, nobody will ever threaten you again, especially not your so called family." Hawley wanted to sob. All she'd wanted was for her mother to come home, and now here she was, and she was as loving as she'd ever been. Hawley set her cup down on the table by the couch and hugged Courtney suddenly, taking her by surprise, making her laugh. Courtney held her daughter, rubbing her back, and whispering that it would all be okay now. Everything would finally be okay. And for the first time in her life...Hawley genuinely believed it. *** "What do you mean you're benched?" Gorey asked, and Reynolds shrugged. "How much more direct can I make that? I'm benched until the case with Drew clears up," Reynolds said, "apparently I'm 'a potential threat to minors'." "I mean, you're a threat to everyone, to be fair," Clarissa said, making her father mock laugh at her, which made her smirk. Reynolds, Clarissa and Gorey were out at their favorite diner for dinner, and Hawley was in the bathroom. After seeing her mother that afternoon, she'd gone back to Reynolds apartment and then later the four of them went out to dinner here, at Rusty Spoon. Reynolds picked up his root beer and took a long drink, then sighed, set the glass back down on the table and scratched the back of his head. "Besides, maybe it's better for me to take a break. This gash on my side still hasn't healed entirely. Last thing I wanna do is overextend myself and open it back up," Reynolds said, "as cool as blood and guts are, they're not nearly as cool when they're your blood and guts." "Recovery can take a while," Gorey said, acknowledging her own history with the subject, she continued, "when I had my fall, it took me ages before I was even remotely capable of doing much at all anymore, even simplistic things like cooking for myself. Which, granted, I'm still not able to do well, but that's besides the point. There was even a period of time where my mother had to help me get to the bathroom each day, just to pee. Before that, I wouldn't say I was athletic or anything, but I was in decent enough shape to handle everyday mundane tasks." "That was, bar none, the worst glory days story I've ever heard," Reynolds said, Clarissa and Gorey laughing as Hawley finally joined them back at the table. "So who's coaching then?" Gorey asked. "She is," Reynolds said, taking his mug by the handle and pointing it towards Clarissa, adding, "isn't that just great? My pride and joy. I can remember when she was first born, and thinking to myself 'one day, if I'm lucky, my daughter will replace me as a middle school little league coach'. I couldn't be more proud." "You're disgustingly sarcastic," Hawley said, and he ruffled her hair, making her giggle. All in all, even with his benched status, life was pretty damn good all around for everyone. Hawley had her mother back, Reynolds had his daughter, Gorey had the man of her dreams, and, on the other side of town, there was Delilah Darling, who couldn't be happier with how things had turned out the last few months. *** "Has there ever been anyone with any strange requests for their funeral or a loved ones funeral?" Jeff asked as he sat at the table while Delilah stood at the stove, making stew for dinner. She turned to him and paused, hand on her hip, thinking as she chewed her lip in contemplation. "There was one guy who wanted his dog buried with him." Delilah said. "That was a problem?" "His dog was alive," Delilah said, "and I wasn't about to Old Yeller a living animal just for the sake of this guys final requests. I'm a mortician. Not a taxidermist. Other than that, most folks come in with pretty basic ideas of what it is they want, and it's all very simplistic. What would you want if you were to die suddenly?" Jeff eyeballed the stew pot for a moment. "You're not planning anything, are you?" he asked, and she laughed; he continued, "uh, I guess like you said, nothing in particular very interesting. Just a coffin made of solid gold to be placed inside a tomb made of crystal, all while castrated choir boys sing my praises in Latin during the ceremony, and worship me as though I were a god." "Ah, a man of simple tastes," Delilah said, as her house phone rang. She stepped away from the stove and into the living room area, picking up the phone from its base and lifting it to her ear; she waited a moment, and then her face went sour, and she hung up. She came back into the kitchen to fnd Jeff stirring the stew for her, but upon seeing her face, he grimaced. "Whoa," he said, "what happened?" "Nothing," Delilah said, "wrong number." Right number. Wrong time. *** Reynolds was sitting on the bleachers, smoking a cigarette, something he rarely did, as he looked out over the field. Clarissa and Hawley had gone with Hawley's mother to do some back to school shopping, while Gorey had gone to visit with Laura, who had finally arrived back in town since her last leave. He had the whole place to himself, more or less. The lights on the field were on, illuminating the soft, semi wet grass, and he could see it shimmering. Reynolds blew smoke into the air, then waved it away with his hand and rubbed his face. Complacency. That was something his sister had once said to him. She wanted a life so boring that she was complacent within it. Reynolds, it seemed, had opted for the opposite, at least for a little while. Showbiz was anything but complacent. But now...now, being here, in this small town, coaching this middle school team...he finally understood what she'd meant. Domesticity had once eluded him as a concept - even with growing up in a fairly normal home with two parents and a sibling where nothing exciting ever happened - and now he was yearning for it. Strange how our lives could bring about such a change in our desires, he thought. Just the simple act of being somewhere else could be enough to want to change how you live, and what you enjoy. He heard the sound of the bleachers squeak, and he looked to his right to see Delilah sitting down beside him, surprising him with her presence. "Well, I never see you come down here," he said. "I try to avoid it," Delilah said, "nice as it is to see my team thriving, it just reminds me of my son." "That's fair," Reynolds said. They both sat there for a bit, in silence, until Delilah shook her head and exhaled. "You get comfortable with something," she said, "and then suddenly the illusion is shattered. It's sort of why being so close to death is perfect, because you're removed just enough to recognize the reality without participating firsthand in the events. Most people don't like to dwell on their mortality, understandably so, but I find it gives me a kind of sense of calm." "And why's that?" Reynolds asked, crossing his legs as he leaned back against the bleachers. "Because I can see what the end result is up close, so it puts into perspective what really matters while I'm here, during the time I have," Delilah said, taking his cigarette from him and taking a long drag before adding, "because when you realize we all end up in the same place, you start to question why you took everything so seriously. But I guess it's because, if you don't, you go crazy. If you let yourself fall into the belief that none of it really matters, then you start to give up on doing anything at all. Nihilism can either save you, or destroy you." Reynolds nodded, listening. He looked back out at the field, where she was looking, and his thoughts turned to Hawley. Truth be told, and he'd never admit it openly, he was scared he was going to lose her to her mother. She'd become such a staple of his life since he'd come here that the idea of her not being in his apartment anymore terrified him. But...he didn't want to keep a child away from their mother, especially when their mother was actually supportive, unlike their father had been. Reynolds thought about his sister and their father, and he grimaced as he reached to the knife wound on his side and touched it through his shirt. "You okay there, champ?" Delilah asked, and Reynolds shrugged. "It just still stings," he said through gritted teeth, "and I'm sick of changing bandages." "Could be worse, you could be Drew," Delilah said, and he smirked. "You're not wrong you know," he said as she finished his cigarette and put it out on the bleacher; Reynolds continued, "it's good to have that closeness to nothingness. I'm not saying it's good your son died, obviously, but it's good that you are capable of recognizing how fleeting existence is. Far too often do we take advantage of the people in our lives that we love, without realizing how little time we actually have with them. Is the fighting worth it? Why fight when we could just love one another? Especially when we know where it all ends." "My thoughts exactly," Delilah replied, smiling warmly. "I should get home," Reynolds said, standing up and shaking Delilah's hand as he turned to leave, but he stopped and looked back at her, adding, "ya know, you should come to more games. I think the kids like seeing you. Kids like seeing adults who support their interests, and this is your team after all." Delilah smiled and looked at her shoes, nodding. "I'll think about it," she said. Reynolds exited to the parking lot, climbed into his car and started the drive back to his apartment. He liked Delilah, and he was sad they didn't get enough of a chance to talk. She was very intelligent, and frankly, he was happy Jeff had given up his previous life in the city to be here with her. After all she'd endured, she deserved happiness, and Jeff was a good man. As Reynolds pulled into his complexes lot and parked, climbing out of the car, he hoped the girls would be home by now. He really didn't want to be alone. It was strange, he used to be okay being alone, and now he wanted nothing but company. "John," a voice said, scaring him, as he turned around violently and grabbed the roof of his car for support, then grimaced at the pain in his side. His eyes adjusted to the fuzzy lighting in the parking lot and then his eyes widened in shock as he saw a woman leaning against a car next to his. It was his sister. "Claire?" he asked.
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Delilah was sitting at her dining table, when Jeff leaned forward in front of her and poured her some more coffee. She smiled sweetly and politely thanked him as he pressed his lips against her head, making her blush. She picked up her mug by the handle and took a long sip, then rested the mug back on the table and wiped her lips on her napkin. Jeff finally took a seat at the table and poured himself a bowl of cereal, dipping his spoon in and beginning to munch while Delilah read the morning paper.
"Ya know, there's a small, quiet comfort in routine," Jeff said, "I think that's something a lot of people seem to lose track of. Especially people where I'm from. They think everything needs to be fast paced at all times, nothing but excitement. But there's something nice about knowing that every morning will be the same, having breakfast with someone you love, that's nice." Delilah blushed, nodding, lifting the mug back to her lips and drinking more. It had been ages since she'd had a nice breakfast with a man she loved, and she insisted on savoring the moment. She started to let her thoughts drift away to how strange the last year of her life had been, and how much she herself had changed. When she'd started this team, if she'd known where things would end up, she likely wouldn't have believed it. But now, to be sitting here, she was thrilled with where it had led. Her adoration for her sons interest had, in return, spawned new joy for her as well. "What do you wanna do today?" Jeff asked. "I have a body to deal with downstairs, but after the embalming, I'm free and up for anything," Delilah said. "God you're creepy and I love it," Jeff replied, making her blush again. *** Hawley had worn dresses before. She had stolen some from her mother, she had worn some stuff that Reynolds had gotten her, she had worn the one that belonged to Gorey for the concert, but this was the first time she was wearing a dress solely designated for a rite of passage; a school dance. A dress created for a specific purpose, for a girl her age, and she was so happy. Happier than she'd likely ever been. The dress was emerald green, which mixed well with her beautiful blonde hair, and had a black waistband with a large bow in the back. Standing in front of the mirror of the dress shop, Clarissa and Misty beside her, she couldn't contain the infectious grin on her face. "It looks fantastic, honestly," Clarissa said, folding her arms, "I think you found the one." "You really think so?" Hawley asked, turning in front of the mirror to admire every angle, "You really think it looks good?" "It looks perfect on you," Misty chimed in, "seriously. You look so pretty." Hawley wanted to cry. The last half a year had felt like she was living in a dream come true. Ever since moving in with Reynolds, getting to be who she wanted, who she was, it didn't seem real. She was so lucky, and she loved that. Clarissa's phone buzzed, and she walked off to text someone back, leaving Hawley and Misty alone. "Thank you for helping me pick something," Hawley said, "I don't know that I have much fashion sense." "Well, it's a learned trait, you'll get there," Misty replied, "but it's the least I could do considering you're going to the dance with me." Hawley nodded, blushing, smiling. She'd never in her life imagined one day she'd be going to a dance, with a girl, in a dress. Sometimes your dreams do come true. This was a realization that was also dawning on Janice Gorey at this very moment. *** Gorey was sitting in Reynolds kitchen, Reynolds sitting with her. Neither one wanted to speak, because to speak would be to break the magic of the moment. Gorey chewed on her lip and crossed her legs as Reynolds opened a new bag of shrimp chips and started crunching away. Ever since that admittance in the street, neither one knew how to proceed. They were both simply happy things were as they were now. "She's probably pissed," Reynolds finally said, "Laura." "Oh," Gorey said, waving her hand, "Nah. I called her, she understands. Apparently she was waiting for it to happen." "So was your mom," Reynolds said, "...are we just that oblivious?" "Well, speak for yourself," Gorey replied, smirking. The last few weeks, since he had stopped her from leaving, had been just spectacular. The kind of happiness one generally attributes to the hormonal changes one has when getting their first real crush as a teenager. They were at that level of joy, and it felt nice. Reynolds checked his watch. "I guess I should start heading to the school," he said, "Chaperoning the dance. You going?" "Well I'm custodial, so I'm kind of expected," Gorey remarked. "Do you wanna go with me?" Reynolds asked, and Gorey smiled, looking down at her shoes. "...okay," she whispered. He laughed, stood up and walked by her to head to his bedroom, kissing the top of her head as he passed by. Gorey had never been on dates, she'd never had any romance, though to be honest she'd also never really tried at any of that stuff. She just sort of assumed that, because of who she was and how she was, nobody would be remotely interested in her. She had regularly weighed her own pros and cons and always come away with more cons than pros when it came to being girlfriend material. After a few minutes, Reynolds returned from the bedroom, pulling his jacket on. Gorey stood up and adjusted his tie, the both of them smiling meekly. After she finished she stepped back to admire her handiwork, and Reynolds put his hands on her face, then pushed some of her hair back behind her ear and made her blush even deeper. Reynolds then leaned in and pushed his lips against Gorey's, surprising her, which was weird because they'd kissed so much by now that she shouldn't be surprised anymore. She shut her eyes and happily kissed him back. "I'll see you at the school," Reynolds whispered, before planting a kiss on her forehead. As she watched him leave, she couldn't help but feel like a stupid happy idiot. This was all she'd wanted for so long, and now she finally had it, and she didn't know how that had happened. All she knew was that she was overjoyed with this turn of events, and couldn't believe how close she'd come to losing this possibility. Maybe for the dance she would get dressed up. Just cause she was a janitor didn't mean she couldn't be pretty once in a while. *** The dance was, to put it bluntly, surprisingly magnificent. The gym had been transformed into a ballroom, and everyone looked their best. Hawley and Misty entered, in their respective dresses (Misty's was a tight black dress, strapless, with black matching heels and a black ribbon in her hair), holding hands. And while they might've gotten a few odd looks, they didn't care, and eventually the onlookers turned their attention elsewhere. They approached the snack table and got themselves each a soda, before turning and just people watching, looking at their fellow dancing students. "Hey, don't you two look great," Reynolds said, coming up beside them. "Are you wearing a suit?" Hawley asked. "Well, it's a formal affair, after all," Reynolds said, "it's actually one of my nicest suits from my gameshow days." "You look like you're presenting at an awards show," Misty said, "and not one of the good ones." "Well that's uncalled for," Reynolds said, "...wait, is it the adult video awards? Cause that'd be okay." "Please, you're not prestigious enough for that," Hawley remarked. Misty laughed, then spotted some friends and walked off to talk to them, excusing herself momentarily, leaving Hawley and Reynolds alone. Hawley looked up at Reynolds and asked, "...is Gorey coming?" "She is, she's my date," Reynolds said, "I'm surprised you came with Misty." "She's had a bad year," Hawley said, "after what Drew did to her." This got Reynolds attention. He lowered the cup in his hands from his lips, wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve and eyeballed her. "...what did he do?" he asked. *** Delilah and Jeff had gone out to dinner after her work was finished. She insisted on seafood, and he wasn't about to suggest something else, he was just happy to still be given the chance to be with her. Sitting inside, opening crabs open with their shell crackers, Jeff honestly couldn't imagine anywhere else he'd rather be or anything else he'd rather be doing, which said a lot considering he wasn't particularly a fan of cracking open seafood. "It's one of those situations where you have to question whether the effort is worth it," Delilah said, "in the instance of crab, I would argue it is. But for as expensive and difficult as lobster is...I'd have to go with no. It's vastly overrated, and honestly, it tastes the same as any other shellfish." "That's a dangerous opinion to have," Jeff replied, pulling a crab claw apart, adding, "you better watch who you say that around, there's some purists out there who would crucify you for not extolling the virtues of lobster." "Let them crucify me, I'd rather be killed for my correct beliefs than spend another day living a lie about a wildly overhyped wet bug," Delilah remarked, "don't get me wrong, I'll eat it, but I'm not about to spend my life savings on an idiot that couldn't avoid a net when it lives in the vastest space imaginable." Jeff cackled as he cracked open another leg. Delilah had a way with words, and a way with tickling him with her vocabulary and humor. He couldn't believe she'd opted to give him another chance, but god was he oh so grateful for the opportunity. "Afterwards," Delilah said, "there's this frozen yogurt place you should see." "I'll go anywhere with you so long as it is with you," Jeff replied, making her blush. It seemed like everywhere people looked, love was blooming. Love of all kinds, platonic and romantic. And yet...nobody could've suspected the hatred that was about to be unleashed that night. *** Drew was walking across the Founders Bridge, the largest and tallest bridge in town, that overlooked the only river around for miles. He had his headphones in, and was just trying to take his mind off things. He knew Misty had likely told someone what he'd done, and he knew that, just as before, he soon would have to pack up his things and head on out of town once again. He wanted so badly to be able to control himself, but it just didn't seem possible. He stopped and let the cool night wind waft by him, blowing his short hair, until his playlist came to an end and he heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching him from behind. Drew turned, and saw John Reynolds standing there. "Oh," he said, "hey coach." "Did you do it?" Reynolds asked. A cold chill blew by, making Drew shiver. "Did I do...what, exactly? You're gonna have to be more specific than that," he said. "You know goddamn well what," Reynolds said, his hands clenching into tight fists. "Yeah, I figured she said something," Drew said, sighing, "listen, for what it's worth, I'm disgusted with myself too. I don't take any pride in what I do. I hate it. I wish I could not do it. But I...I can't control it, and it's such a sick impulse that it's impossible to get help for without being thrown directly into jail." "Oh, where I'm gonna send you is far fuckin' worse than jail," Reynolds said, grabbing Drew by his shirt collar and pulling him towards him until their faces were an inch apart; Reynolds glared into Drews eyes, his breaths heavy, as he asked, "do you have any kind of idea the damage you have done? You think you suffer, with your impulses? Do you ever think about the victims? How much they suffer for a lifetime afterwards? Often never able to trust anyone fully again, especially romantically. You've decimated a young girls innocence." "I know, and I...I take full responsibility for that and-" "No you don't," Reynolds said, "if you did, you would've come forward yourself. You would've snitched on your own misdeeds, gotten her the help she needed, instead of hiding out here in the shadows until you could slink away unnoticed and forgotten. You don't get to walk into MY town, coach MY team, and hurt MY girls. That isn't how this shakes out. So here's the situation, I'm gonna let you leave. I am. But I'm gonna send someone after you a day after you've gone. Figure 24 hour head start is enough to have you running scared, feeling like they do, about to be caught." Drew nodded. His hand ran down to the waist of his jeans and he gripped the handle of a small switchblade, then pulled it out without John noticing. "Whatever you say, coach," Drew whispered, jamming it into Reynolds side, making him scream in agony. In a direct response, Reynolds stumbled back, as Drew approached him, and he instinctually shoved. He didn't even think about it. He just did it because his brain had entered fight or flight mode. And it was a good thing he did, because the moment Drew stumbled backward into the street, off the inner walkway of the bridge, was the moment he was struck by the car. Reynolds leaned against the cold metal of the bridge, trying not to lose consciousness, as the car doors opened and he heard a man and a woman get out. "Oh my god, oh my god," the woman muttered. He recognized that voice. Delilah. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, his eyesight growing blurry, to see Jeff standing over him. "Hey buddy, we're gonna, we're gonna get you some help, okay? Just stay awake for me," Jeff said. Reynolds laughed, coughing as he did. Just a few weeks prior, he himself had been hit by a car, as he approached Gorey's from behind. That goddamned hearing aid. It'd finally won him over. *** Hawley was sitting out on the school fountain, fidgeting with the long gloves she'd worn with her dress. She heard the sound of heels, and looked up to see Gorey coming up, dressed in a beautiful dark blue dress with black frills, her hair pulled up. Hawley smiled. "Wow, I've never seen you look so girly," Hawley said. "I have my feminine ways," Gorey replied, "Is Reynolds here?" "He was, but I haven't seen him for a while," Hawley replied. Gorey sat herself down on the fountain by Hawley and started stroking her back. "Are you okay? What are you doing out here?" Gorey asked. "...I don't know," Hawley said, "I guess...I spent my whole life wanting to be a girl, to be seen as a girl, and now here I am, in a dress, at a dance, and everyone accepts me, but...I still feel like I don't fit in and I'm starting to worry that that's never going to go away. That no matter what amount of medications I take or surgeries I may have or whatever efforts I put in...I'm always gonna be different, and I don't wanna be different. I just wanna be one of them." "Sweetheart," Gorey said, "you are one of them. Trust me on that. Nobody can ever take that away from you. And if, god forbid, someone tries, you've got me and Reynolds and Clarissa and even Misty to stand up for you. We've got your back, kiddo, okay? But trust me when I tell you that, of all the girls at this school, you're the girliest." "That's easy for you to say, you're a janitor," Hawley replied. Hawley and Gorey started to laugh, and Hawley hugged Gorey, who happily hugged her back. "It's nice," Hawley whispered, "having you and Reynolds, having, like...a surrogate family. A new dad, and a...mom?" "Awww, well, you can call me that if you like, but-" Gorey started, but Hawley pulled away and pointed. "No, my mom," Hawley said. Gorey looked behind her, and there, standing in the walkway, was Ellie Hawley's mother. She smiled and waved politely, leaving the girls completely confused as to what was going on. When had she gotten back in town? How had she known to come here to find her? What was she even DOING back home? "Oh," Gorey muttered, "oh this is awkward." John Reynolds was lying on the couch of his dressing room, staring at the ceiling, when he felt the couch shift slightly and he glanced behind him to spot his intern, 21 year old Asa Butterman, seating herself on the arm of the couch and lighting a joint, which she promptly handed him after she took a long drag. He took it and took a long drag himself, both of them exhaling smoke together and laughing about it.
"Hollywood is probably the only place you can get away with smoking pot on the job," Asa said. "Not if you work at a dispensary," Reynolds remarked, the both of them laughing again. The door to the room opened, and the shows intern, David, stepped in and, after momentarily adjusting his headset, looked at them while furrowing his brow, as if judging their smoking decisions. "They need you back on set in fifteen," David said, before just as quickly exiting. "God what a weiner," Reynolds said, handing the joint back to Asa. "He's alright if you actually talk to him," she said, taking a drag, "but yeah, for all intents and purposes, he's pretty much a weiner." After a few more drags, they put the joint out and Asa tucked it into her pocketbook before they each got up and got ready for being back on set. Asa stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair, while Reynolds redid his tie and ran his hand down his face, making sure he didn't look completely high. "Though, admittedly, I think he's jealous," Asa said as she dragged the brush through her hair. "David? Why's he jealous?" Reynolds asked. "Cause we're fucking," Asa said. "You make it sound so casual," Reynolds replied, "I like to think what we have is a bit more than that." Asa turned and looked at him, leaning back against the vanity table, biting her lip. "Are you saying you love me?" she asked, and Reynolds chuckled, approaching her, putting his hands on her firm young waist. "I'm saying that we're having fun, and who cares what some weiner thinks about it," Reynolds said, burying his face in her neck, his stubble tickling her, making her laugh as he kissed her skin, whispering, "besides, the only opinion that matters in this industry is the opinion of public court. So long as nobody ever knows, who cares if some dork gets his underwear in a bunch." Reynolds picked up Asa by the thighs and plopped her on the vanity table before unbuckling his pants. After they finished, he pulled his blazer on, she fixed her hair, and together they headed out onto the stage before a live studio audience and he began the show the same way he started every episode. "Hello folks, I'm John Reynolds, joined as always by my lovely assistant Asa Butterman, and welcome to another episode of Go For Broke!" He flashed his teeth at the camera and winked. Always the charmer. But one day he'd be in a situation he couldn't charm his way out of. And that day was fast approaching. *** To say Asa Butterman had always wanted to be on TV was just factually inaccurate. She wanted, specifically, to be a showgirl. To be one of those women who got to wear high end fashions and look beautiful and turn letters over, ala Vanna White. Some would call her vain, shallow, edgeless, even say she was selling out her gender by perpetuating such stereotypes. But Asa didn't care. The allure was much too strong, and by the time she was in her 2nd year of college, she dropped out and looked to the LA skyline for guidance instead. She knew what she was destined to do. Getting work wasn't hard. She started as a model for catalogues before moving onto car shows, using her natural beauty and winning personality to beat out all the competition, which was no easy feat even in spite of her assets. And then, one afternoon, after weeks of failing auditions, her manager sent her a listing for a game show called "Go For Broke", in which contestants are given a million dollars and then meant to guess what combined items cost a million dollars, and if they get it right, they get to keep the money. Asa, after being hired, started to suspect Reynolds himself had a hand in her being chosen. He was the host, after all, he likely had a significant amount of pull around the studio. He was, essentially, the face of the show. And for that, she felt oddly appreciative. Out of all the gorgeous women (and she knew firsthand they were gorgeous because she'd been in the audition waiting room with them), he had chosen her. That had to mean something. The more time they began spending together, during the shows production and sometimes off production, the more she started to realize that her inclination had been correct, and he had, in fact, been a deciding factor in her employment. But the thing was...he clearly felt more for her than she did for him, and she felt somewhat bad about this. Oh, sure, she cared about him very much. But much more as a friend, and certainly not as an actual romantic prospect. That wasn't to say she didn't enjoy their time together, or that the sex was bad because, frankly, it was anything but, but she just...she didn't like him in that kind of way. And the longer they worked together, the more his feelings for her grew, and the more hers stagnated. He'd even started sending her flowers every now and then, and while she appreciated the interest shown in her, and his general sweetness, she also felt uncomfortable. After all, this was just a job. *** Clarissa was eating in the living room, watching some horror movie on mute as Reynolds entered and looked over the couch at her before bending over the back of the couch and planting a kiss on her head. She smiled at him as he set his jacket and other belongings down on the table nearby, loosening his tie. "Where's your mother?" he asked. "In the bedroom," Clarissa said, "she's mad at you." "Oh, wow, how shocking," Reynolds replied flatly. Seemed these days all he and Amber did was argue now. He sighed, ran his hands over his face and up into his hair before heading down the hall towards their bedroom. He opened the door, only to find Amber lying on the bed in pajamas eating dinner as well. Apparently she had ordered in multiple pizzas, one for Claire, one for herself and one for Reynolds. His was, in fact, sitting on the bed beside her. He slowly approached the bed and climbed onto it, then nuzzled up to her side and kissed her on the cheek, which did make her blush a little. "I got you dinner," Amber said quietly. "I noticed," Reynolds remarked, glancing towards the grease soaked box, "I always wanted a woman to have dinner for me when I got home." Amber laughed, and Reynolds smirked. Even when they weren't getting along, he found ways to make her laugh, as was his gift. He flipped open the lid to his box and reached inside, grabbing a slice and peeling it away from the rest. He raised it to his mouth and started chomping as Amber redirected her attention back to the television, which was also on mute. "What is it with you and Clarissa watching stuff on mute?" Reynolds asked. "It's nice to have something on, even if you aren't paying attention to it," Amber said, "Comforting to have the company." "Fair enough," Reynolds said. "I wanna do something special with you," Amber said, surprising him as she added, "I wanna go away somewhere, if that sounds okay with you. We could leave Clarissa with my sister, and we could go somewhere, just the two of us, for like two weeks or so. I think getting away from the city, being together, would be really good for us." Reynolds smiled and nodded. He figured she was about done with his ass, so this was a welcome change of pace. Especially with the way things had been lately, and the way Clarissa had told him Amber was mad at him, he figured he was on borrowed time. He figured he could take some time off away from production, he rarely took vacation or used his sick days, so he had spare time in excess to pull from. He figured later that night, they'd pull out the laptop and find out where to go, but, in the meantime... ...he had a pizza to eat, and a wife to eat it with. *** A few months into her hiring, Asa was already questioning if she was worthy of the job. She'd been told to lose weight, she'd been told to let someone else do her makeup, she'd been told to, essentially, not be herself in any way, shape or form. And on this particular day, she was sitting in her dressing room, cross legged on her chair in front of her vanity mirror, crying. She didn't even recognize herself anymore, and she hated that. She'd spent her whole life being in love with who she was, growing up with a very supportive mother who got her to appreciate herself just as she was, flaws and all, and she was happy with how beautiful she was, simply because she was herself. But now she was being molded into this vision of starlet that the industry had in mind. The door opened and John entered, shutting it behind him. "You know, we're on set in..." he started, before seeing her hiding her face and sniffling, "...are you alright?" "Why would I be alright?" Asa asked, "...who don't they make guys stick to the same standards?" "You think I don't have to live up to their preconceived beauty standards?" John asked, "Seriously? I have to stay in shape, I have to keep dying my hair, despite it turning grey early, I have to wear uncomfortable suits. The industry isn't shameful just to women, for what it's worth. Yeah, you guys get it way worse, I won't deny that, but to not think men don't deal with it too is outright inaccurate." "Sorry..." Asa said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "For what it's worth, whatever they're telling you, keep in mind they'd be telling any woman they'd hired that, so it's not personal," John said, "you're beautiful exactly as you are." Asa smiled, blushing, looking away. It was shortly after that that she and John started having lunch together, and shortly after that that the affair began in earnest. See, Asa had never really had a relationship before, despite her beauty and charming wholesome attitude, so she'd always fantasized about what being in a genuine relationship would be. At first, it was everything she thought she wanted. She liked being given small gifts, taken to nice places for dinner and lunch, she even enjoyed the sexual chemistry. But...after a while, she started to realize that - and it wasn't entirely just John - she didn't really want to be in a relationship. In fact, she found it stressful and anxiety inducing, having expectations placed on her (even if John himself never placed them). She just didn't have the strength to deal with what she thought was necessary to keep a relationship going, and it took its toll on her. She didn't even know if, frankly, she enjoyed sex all that much. Again, she'd not had a lot of it before coming to LA, so this being her first real foray into an ongoing sexual relationship, it made her re-evaluate the things she once thought she wanted. She didn't mind it, exactly, but the longer it went on, the more she started to realize that John was far more attached to the idea of it than she was. Sex she could take or leave, in all honestly. But she did appreciate the fact that the first, and likely only, person she would ever have something like this with had turned out to be such a decent guy. Sure, he was cheating on his wife, but...by Renolds admission...that marriage had ended a long time ago. Not that that was a proper excuse, but it at least explained his thought process. And then the news broke, and while John held his head high and grin and beared the fallout, Asa vanished. She quit her job shortly after the news broke, and she holed herself up in her apartment, living off her residual checks and her parents money that they regularly sent. Reynolds called her, e-mailed her, texted, even stopped by a few times, but she never replied to any of his attempts at communication, and the times he stopped by her apartment she simply turned all the lights off, locked the door and hid until he went away. She was considered a homewrecker now, because it's always the womans fault in societies eyes, and the men were just seen as "giving into the natural instincts." Asa no longer wanted to work in the industry. She just wanted to go home. The one home she hadn't wrecked, but in fact had been the glue of. *** "I just...I don't get how you could do this," Amber said quietly. When she spoke softly, that was when John knew she was really damaged. When she was yelling, sure, she was mad, but it was just anger boiling over as a normal reaction. But when she got quiet...that was when she was really mad, because she lacked any and all emotions. She was so devestated she couldn't even muster the energy to be angry. John, sitting across from her in the living room - Clarissa was at school - didn't really know what to say. He sighed and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "It wasn't...we haven't been happy in so long," John said, "and don't say it's just me, because you haven't either. We both know it. We both work too much, we barely spend time together as a couple, and on the instances we try, like when we went on vacation, we just spend most of the time ignoring one another or fighting." Amber opened her mouth, wanting to respond, but she knew deep down he was right. She also wasn't happy. They'd been best friends for so long, married for so long, how had things come to this? How had they allowed this to happen? "It's nobodies fault," John said, "I mean, the affair thing was my fault, obviously, but I mean the whole drifting apart thing. It just happens. You don't even realize it. You become comfortable, complacent, thinking you no longer have to put in effort cause you're already so comfortable and settled in with someone. I think that's where I got stuck. I thought that, for some reason, I didn't have to try anymore cause we've already been married so long, have a teenage daughter. It just...it was easy. I think I'm addicted to that rush you get from the start of something new. I'm so fucking sorry, Amber." Amber nodded, but still didn't speak. She figured her silence said more than any words she could find ever would. "I'll pack my stuff," Reynolds said, "Don't know where I'll go, but...but you deserve some space." As he stood up and headed for the hallway, Amber finally spoke. "Did you love her more than me?" she asked, and John stopped. "...no," he said, "No, I really didn't. I don't think I ever could love someone the way I loved you. I think I love every woman in a different way, for different reasons. But nobody is ever replacing anyone. She isn't you, she's herself. You'll always be my first love. The mother of my child. You're tied to me for life, regardless of how this all turns out, and that's comforting to know. I'll always love you." Amber smiled weakly, and looked back at the floor as John finally exited the room and headed to the bedroom. Once in the bedroom, he lugged a large suitcase from the nearby closet and plopped it on the bed, then stood over it and, silently, started finally crying. He wasn't sad his marriage was over, or that he'd been the one to ruin it, but moreso that he'd hurt Amber in the way that he had. But she deserved better than this, he wanted her to be happy. He was mad at himself for putting his wife, and especially his daughter, through such a traumatic experience. If only he could've seen the future a few years from now, when his daughter would be living with him again. Maybe that would've eased the pain. That was the last night John and Amber spoke for about 5 months. *** Asa opened her front door, spoon stuck in her lips, as she saw John standing on her porch. She sighed and stepped aside, letting him enter the apartment. As he did, he noticed just how messy and disorganized and disheveled the place had become. What once had been a bastion of cleanliness was now a hoarded nightmare. He stopped and looked at her, as she sat back down with force on the couch and continued to eat from her ice cream pint. "I'm leaving town," he said. "Yeah, me too," she said. "You are?" "Yeah. Going home. Quitting all this," Asa said, waving her spoon around haphazardly at the apartment, "this city, this place, it's ruined me. I don't wanna be a part of this fake bullshit. I'm going home to my folks." "Asa, I'm so sorry," John said, sitting on the ottoman near the couch, "Please know that I'm so sorry and-" "I don't really blame you," she said, interrupting, "I don't. You were obviously searching for something, and I just happened to be receptive enough to allow it. Plus it wasn't like I didn't have fun or enjoy myself. It was nice. What we had was nice. But...I don't think I can stand the pressure the industry and relationships put on me. The expectations. I left college to do this, but I think I know now that I'd rather be in college. Maybe if I recover, I can go back, find something that really fulfills me. I used to think this was what I wanted, but it's so not." "You never know until you try," John said, smirking, making her smile weakly. "Anyway John, you're not fully to blame. I was just as guilty," Asa said, "and I forgive you, if that's what you want." "Asa, you're much younger than me, vulnerable, and it was despicable of me to take advantage of you the way I did. Not that...not that I meant to do that, like, I didn't set out to do it. I really did, do, like you. Care about you. But I can't ignore the power differential. You don't deserve that." "Well, thank you, that's very mature of you, for a man of your age," Asa said, making him genuinely laugh. He stood back up and exhaled, and Asa did the same, setting the now empty container on the couch as she followed him back to the door. Once in the doorway, he turned and faced her. She had pulled a quilt around her, even covering her head. John reached out and tugged the quilt down gently from her head, revealing her face to the sun, and he smiled at her. "You're beautiful as you are, don't let this place or me or anyone change that fact of yourself," he said, "don't hide your face in shame, show it in pride." Asa hugged him, and he kissed the top of her head, and then he headed down the stairs towards the parking lot. For a while, from time to time - especially in the start of his new life as a little league coach - he would think about Asa, and how he might've managed to salvage what they had, but in the end did he really want to do that to her? Really, he'd done enough damage. And that was why, after meeting Gorey, he kept his distance romantically, because he didn't want to do that again to yet another woman. But now, sitting in the car with Gorey that night she was supposed to leave town, he couldn't be happier that he'd finally given in. This time he knew he could do it right. They had driven a bit aways from town, to a nearby hill, and parked in a place that overlooked the town, admiring the small specks of light, all while sharing some gas station tacos and drinks. The following morning, when they'd awake to the sunlight trickling slowly in through the cars windows, and Gorey resting her head on his chest, he would smile and shut his eyes again. Screw work for the day. He wanted to stay here, spend it with her, and finally get some joy from some kind of romance again. Besides, just like before... ...he had a lot of saved up time off to use. Janice Gorey stood in her bedroom, dead center, looking at how empty it was now.
She never thought she'd leave this bedroom, and now here she was, about to do that very thing. She sighed and looked over at the wall, the one covered in her scholastic achievements prior to the accident. All the ribbons, awards, sashes, and more, indicating her intelligence. She walked towards it, reaching out, and ran her fingertips over it gently. She smiled. Janice felt like she was finally getting back to what she'd once been, and she liked that. Her bedroom door opened and her mother stood there, causing Janice to turn and look at her, smiling at one another. "You leaving soon?" her mother asked, and Janice nodded. "Yeah, just a few minutes. I'm going to meet Laura at the train station and we're going to map out our route driving from there." "Okay," her mother said, walking in and opening her arms; Janice hesitated momentarily, then smiled and hugged her mother as she whispered in Janice's ear, "I'm so proud of you. I'm sorry I did so much so wrong, but I was just trying to protect you. There's no excuse for it though. You're a grown woman. I'm proud of you. You've come so far recently." After the hug broken, her mother left the room to pack her some snacks, leaving Janice alone once more. She looked back at the board and noticed that, along with all the awards, she'd also pinned the ticket to the show she and Reynolds had taken Hawley to. She smiled, plucked the pushpin from it and stuffed the ticket in her pocket. She wanted to remember this place, the time she'd spent here. She wanted to remember John Reynolds. *** Delilah was up early, but she was never used to guests, which was why, perhaps, when she opened her front door to John Reynolds, she was surprised, but not put off. John, standing there, leaning against a porch banister, trying to catch his breath, looked like he'd been up all night. Delilah waited a bit for him to finally speak, and when he did finally glance up at her, their eyes meeting, they both chuckled. "I didn't think you'd be up," he said. "Well," Delilah replied, "I actually prefer to get as early a headstart on embalming and whatnot as I can, considering that I'd rather have the day proper to myself, you know? What are you doing here, John?" "I need flowers," Reynolds said, pushing his way past her and into the house. "Flowers? What makes you think I-" "Don't bullshit me, Delilah," Reynolds replied, turning on his heel in her living room, before rubbing his eyes, "Ugh, I'm sorry, that was rude, I've...I've been up all night, it's been a rough evening, I just...I don't want to do this cat and mouse crap, okay? You're a mortician, you run a funeral home, you have flowers. It's a simple process of elimination when it comes right down to it." Delilah nodded, setting her mug of tea down and walking past him, downstairs. Reynolds followed swiftly behind her. "I do keep a small selection of bouquets down here, often for people interested in what they'd like to see at the funeral," Delilah said, "so yes, I have things you can choose from. Hell, pick one from each group and create a totally unique bouquet from it if you so desire. Get artsy with it, I don't care. I get a discount on all my floral work because of my field, so." Reynolds slid open the glass case and looked inside, admiring each of the options before doing exactly what Delilah suggested. He picked a few roses, some tulips, some posies and more, bundling them all together into one singular bouquet. When he finished, he turned around and presented it to Delilah, who just smiled and nodded, arms crossed. "I think that'll work," she said, "so what is this for anyway?" "...I made a mistake that lasted months, and I have to undo it, or at the very least apologize for it," Reynolds said, "but I can't do it without flowers." As Reynolds headed past her and up the stairs, he stopped midway and looked down at the bouquet, Delilah stopped behind him, waiting, confused. "...you know how sometimes you'll lay in bed at night and you'll replay a singular moment that you wish you could go back and relive, if only for the chance to make it go differently? That's what I'm trying to avoid. I don't want to lay in bed ten years from now and think about how I could've had something else, something I wanted, if I'd just not been so stupid when the chips were down." Delilah nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. Reynolds continued. "So I'm doing something about it now, so that that doesn't happen," Reynolds said, smiling weakly, "because if I don't, I won't only feel bad in the future, but I'll also hate myself in the past for not working to prevent said future." They continued back up to the main floor and headed for the front door. Delilah, watching him head down the front steps, watched him leave and thought about her son, and about her ex-husband, and, of course, about Jeff. How, even after what had happened, she'd done exactly what Reynolds was doing now. She'd gone to seek him out again, and break the cycle of believing she didn't deserve to be happy, and that, instead, she could have something she wanted. She only hoped Reynolds would get the same outcome she had gotten so lucky to get. *** Hawley and Misty were sitting on the bed in Hawley's room; Misty was too scared to go to sleep, terrified of closing her eyes only to open them to a sight she didn't want to see again, and Hawley was doing her best to stay up and keep her company as a result. Hawley had a spread of magazines on the bed, still trying to complete her fashion board, using Misty as help to achieve this goal. As Hawley started to clip out a new dress and glue it to the board, Misty leaned in and looked at it. "That one's really pretty," Misty said, and Hawley nodded, smiling. "I thought so!" she said, "I always wanted to wear pretty dresses, and it's honestly so nice to be able to now without shame or judgement. And now, when I think of my future, all I see are all the dresses I'll get to wear. Prom dress. Wedding dress. Bridesmaid dresses. So much of a womans life is made up of dresses, and as someone who loves dresses that makes me very happy." "Speaking of dresses," Misty said, starting to cut out a nice pair of bootcut jeans, "are you going to the dance? The one in a few weeks? Just curious what you might be doing." "I've never actually been to a school dance," Hawley said, "so maybe, I'd like to yeah. It all just depends on if I'm asked or not." "I thought maybe we could go together," Misty said meekly, causing Hawley to look up; Misty fumbled with her gluestick and continued speaking softly, "I mean, if you want to. I just don't know how much I trust anyone else right now, and...and I feel safe with you, so I thought maybe you wouldn't mind going with me." Hawley smiled and, after pasting the dress to the board, reached across the bed and held Misty's hand, squeezing gently. "I'd like to do that, that'd be really fun!" she said calmly, "I know that you feel bad right now, but we can be friends and help one another feel more comfortable, and after what you went through, I don't blame you for not wanting to go to something that crowded alone." Misty felt her eyes tear up, and she suddenly got on her knees and crawled over the board on the bed, hugging Hawley tightly. Hawley, surprised, happily hugged her back and felt like crying herself. All she'd ever wanted was to be a girl, and have girl friends, and be as open and affectionate as she'd always she was - something her father had shamed her for numerous times - and now that she had all of that, she felt so lucky. She was strong, and she was ready to be there for other girls who might need some strength in their corner. If there was one thing she'd managed to gleam from her sistely bond with Clarissa over the last few months, it was that women need other women, and there was no shame in that. And for the first time in her life, Hawley had no shame of herself either. And it felt great. *** Gorey pulled her car up to Laura's, parking right behind on the curb as Laura Lee was finishing packing her car and shutting the trunk. As she turned to see Gorey, she smiled, and came around the drivers side. Gorey exited the car and the two hugged tightly, Laura squeezing Gorey to her tightly, whispering in her ear. "Thank you so much for being such a good friend," Laura said quietly, "thank you for coming." "Are you about ready?" Gorey asked, pulling away after the hug and, brushing her bangs from her eyes, looked at Laura's car. Laura turned and looked with her, hands on her hips. "I think so, yeah," Laura said, scratching the side of her nose, "my mom is going to meet us at the first rest stop, she left much earlier than we are. She said she wanted to get her thoughts in order, so I figured I should just let her go. I thought maybe we could get breakfast with her when we finally catch up, unless you've already eaten." "I haven't eaten, no, I was up almost all night packing," Gorey said, "honestly, it feels so good to finally be getting the hell out of this town. I've never left, and I'm scared to do so, but I think I need to do it." Laura nodded, patting Gorey on the back before heading back into her mothers house to gather the last of her bags, leaving Gorey out there in the early morning cold to process it all. Standing there, fog filling the street and a few lights starting to turn on in peoples surrounding homes, Gorey tugged her old ratty sweater tighter around her, amazed at what she was about to do. She was actually going to leave this town. To leave the place she'd been born, raised and damaged in. She was going to prove to everyone that she wasn't as broken as they all assumed she'd been, and that she was capable of doing amazing things. And yet... ...yet this itch inside of her wasn't going away. This itch that told her that what she really wanted - not that she didn't want to help her friend, because she did - was to stay here, and be with the people she wanted to be with. But she knew it wasn't going to happen. It was never going to happen. Gorey opened the drivers side door once again and looked back down the road, sighing. Girls like her, she knew, didn't get the love they wanted, and it was time to settle for something new. *** Alice Gorey pulled open the front door to find John Reynolds standing there. Surprised, she pulled her robe shut a little closer and cleared her throat. "What are you doing here, Mr. Reynolds?" she asked. "I need to see Janice, is she-" "She left already," Alice said, sipping her tea, "she left about an hour ago, I wouldn't be surprised if they're already on the road. I know she was heading to Laura's place, but it wouldn't shock me if they were already on their way out of town. Is something wrong?" "...everything's wrong," Reynolds remarked, and it was then that Alice noticed the bouquet in his hand and smirked. "You know, John," she said, "when you came to dinner that night, I could see how much she cared for you. It was nice knowing she had a friend who only wanted the best for her. But I could see it. The way she looked at you. She hadn't looked at anyone like that in years, maybe ever really. When she was in school she had a few crushes but nothing serious. But you...you treated her like an equal, and I think she appreciated that. I know I do. I was so scared after her accident that the world was going to hate her. The world already hates women, but women with a disability? Forget about it. You've got a double target on your back now. But then, seeing how well you treated her...it gave me faith, and let me tell you, faith isn't an easy thing to come by these days." Reynolds nodded and turned to head back down the steps, when he heard Alice talking after him. He stopped and turned back to face her. "I can give you directions," Alice said, smirking, "you're gonna need to know where you're going if you're gonna catch her." Reynolds nodded, grinning. *** Gorey was waiting in the car, waiting for Laura to be ready. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Laura said she was going to get coffee for them, and they would meet up at the gas station at the edge of town before embarking on their exit. Gorey agreed to this, and Laura went on her way. Gorey started her car and exhaled. She glanced at Laura Lee's once more and shrugged. So this was it? This was what growing up felt like? She'd been an adult for years, why only now did she feel like one? Was it because she was finally taking her future in her own hands, making a decision for herself? Terrifying. She put the car in drive and started to pull away, only to back into something. She groaned and climbed out of the car, expecting to find a garbage can, instead finding John Reynolds on his back. "Oh my god, where did you learn to drive?" he asked as he laid on the road. "You're the one coming up behind a parked car!" Gorey retorted, reaching down and helping him up, "didn't you hear it start?" "The battery on my hearing aide is dying, I haven't been hearing so well lately and given everything that's going on I keep forgetting to replace it," Reynolds said, wiping himself down before bending back over and picking up the bouquet, handing it to her. Gorey took it hesitantly and looked at it, before looking back up at John. "What is this?" she asked. "They're flowers, Janice," he replied flatly, the both of them laughing. "Idiot, I know that," she said, "I mean why are you-" "Because you can't go, and I was stupid to think I'd be able to let you, and I'm stupid now to try and stop you from doing something so clearly good for you, but I...I can't let you leave," Reynolds said, looking at the ground, sniffling, wiping his face on his coat sleeve, "I can't let you leave." "I can't do this anymore," Gorey replied quietly, "this bullshit will they won't they Sam and Diane nonsense, I just...I can't. It's killing me." "I broke up with Rebecca," Reynolds said, Gorey's eyes widening at this admission. "WHAT?" she asked. "Yeah," Reynolds said, "even she could see what we have. Hell, your goddamn mom could see it. I saw it, I just tried to ignore it, because the last time I loved someone, everything went to shit. I didn't want everything to go to shit. You deserve better than shit, Janice, and I'm shit. So I tried to ignore it, and hoped it would go away but it didn't, it only...it only got stronger. The further apart we became the closer I wanted to be to you. If that isn't love then what is?" "That could be infatuation," Gorey said, making him chuckle. "Alright, you're not helping my heartfelt romcom speech here," Reynolds replied, both of them laughing now; he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, before reaching out and putting his hand on her face, looking at her, "...all I know is this. Last time I loved somebody...it cost me everything, and it wasn't worth it. This time, it could cost me everything, but it would be worth it, and I think there's value in that difference. I understand if you need to go, I do. But I hope I'm not too late." Gorey looked back down at the flowers, touching their soft petals with her fingertips. "...nobody's ever gotten me flowers before," she said quietly, "Everyone on stage got flowers when we put on shows, but nobody ever gives flowers to the set builders or the lighting crew. Nobody ever gave me flowers." She lifted her face back up, her eyes locking with John's, and she smiled. "Why would you want me?" Janice asked. "You spend your life picking up trash," Reynolds said, "I'm trash, so I was hoping you'd pick me up." Gorey laughed, which in turn made him laugh. She leaned up, putting her arms around his shoulders, her lips close to his. "You ARE trash," she said softly, as his hands found their way to her lower back. "Baby," he replied, "I'm a whole damn landfill." And he kissed her. Finally, on this empty, quiet, foggy street in the morning, they gave in to something they'd both been fighting for so long...and for the first time in his career as a little league coach, John Reynolds felt like he'd hit a home run. "We've been here for hours," Little said, "and all you've done is talk in circles. It's 4am, John, you feel like wrapping it up anytime soon?"
Reynolds paced, scratching the back of his head. "That's just the thing, I...I don't know that I can," Reynolds said, "because...because there's so much that has to be talked about. Like...like how lately I haven't been enjoying myself and how hard it's been and I know that relationships take effort, hell I was married and had a child for god sakes, but...but it shouldn't take so much effort that it feels like another job, you know? And right now it feels like another job, and it isn't you, and it isn't me, sometimes people are just incompatible, right? You're amazing, and you're intelligent and gorgeous and compassionate, and so very interesting. But I'm none of those things. I'm very bland, very...not mature. I'm certainly gorgeous, but that's beside the point." Little laughed at this, and Reynolds smiled a bit. He always had a way of cracking jokes it seemed even in the worst of times. "Then what is the point, John?" Little asked, sitting on the back of the couch and watching him pace. "I...I don't know," Reynolds said, "all I know is that with you, it's become difficult, and yet I've been hanging out with Janice, specifically making time to see her, and that - which takes effort - doesn't feel difficult at all, and..." He didn't want to say it. He didn't. He'd fought so hard from saying it for so long. Reynolds lifted his eyes up at Little, and he sighed. Whether he wanted it to or not, the truth was finally going to come out in this apartment, and he was so upset about that. *** Hawley was asleep on the couch with Clarissa, having ordered in pizza and fallen asleep watching TV, when she heard a knock at the front door. Hawley, in her state of half awake, noticed that Clarissa had put headphones on, and that was why she hadn't stirred at the knocking. Hawley groaned as another knock came through, and she slowly rolled herself off the couch, seeing the clock on the wall read '4:15 am'. Who would be knocking at the door at this time of night? Hawley yawned as she reached out for the doorknob and turned it, opening the door before realizing the chain was still on for good measure, surprised to find, of all people, Misty standing on the other side. "...what are you doing here?" Hawley asked, and Misty, her eyes bloodshot, looked so scared. "I...I need to talk about something, and...and I...I didn't know where else to go," she muttered quietly. Hawley nodded, pulled the chain off the door, and allowed Misty to enter. Once inside, Hawley, yawning again, shut the door and relocked it, chain and all. Hawley looked at Misty, who had noticed Clarissa asleep on the couch, and then approached her, taking her hand and leading her down the hall to her bedroom. Once inside, light flipped on and door shut tight so as not to make more noise, Misty sat on the bed as Hawley pulled her desk chair away from the table and seated herself on it, facing Misty. "You look awful," Hawley said. "To be fair, nobody looks good at 4 am," Misty said, making Hawley laugh a little. "True, true." "...I need help," Misty finally said, looking at her shoes, "...it's about Drew." For weeks now, Misty had been living with this secret, and it had been killing her. Lately she hadn't even been sleeping much, and she'd been showering so much more than she ordinarily would've. She'd begun dressing worse, in the misguided hopes that it would deter his advances, but it did no such thing, and it didn't matter, and ultimately he didn't care about her clothes, just what was under them, which made her feel all the stupider. Misty shook her head, exhaled long and then shut her eyes tight, trying not to cry again. Felt like crying was all she did anymore, and her eyes had begun to hurt a lot lately. "Drew has...he's been..." she started, but she just couldn't bring herself to say it, so instead she stood up, pulled her large sweatshirt off and then, after that, pulled her shirt down by her shoulders and Hawley gasped, noticing the red marks; teeth imprints, nail scratchings, and immediately Hawley understood. After that, Misty sat back down and started crying on her shoes. "...how did...how did this.." "I don't know, he just started coming into the equipment shed while I was putting things away after practice, and he would..." Misty started, but she could never bring herself to finish the sentence, and frankly, she didn't need to. The context was clear enough. "What can we do about it?" Hawley asked, "should we go to Reynolds?" Even asking this, she knew that wasn't an option at the moment, given all he was tied up with, but it was the only thing she could offer aside from her understanding. Sadly though, she wasn't wrong. Reynolds was already busy destroying something, and trying to build something new. *** "I kind of always figured," Little said as she sat cross legged on the couch, watching him continue to pace in front of her, trying to think of how to say it without saying it. He stopped near a bookshelf and looked at it, chewing on his lip, groaning in his throat. "I don't want to say it, you know? Saying it makes it real, means I'll have to deal with it, and I don't want to deal with it," he said. "Why don't you want to deal with it?" Little asked, confused. "Because if I deal with it, it could end," Reynolds said, "I already lost my family once, I can't...I can't do that again. I've worked so hard to build a new life here, my daughter is here, I have Hawley to look after, I can't blow all that up just for the possibility of something with Gorey. That isn't...that isn't fair to those who might suffer the consequences of my actions if my actions don't work out." Little shifted on the couch, letting one of her legs out and dangle off the couch as she shrugged. "But you tried to make something happen here," Little said, "you and me, I mean. You didn't seem to hesitate at that." Reynolds wanted to argue this, but he knew she was right. "So what makes me different from Gorey?" Little asked, "and I'm not asking because I'm upset, I'm just genuinely curious what would make that all the more dangerous to deal with that wasn't in the same way with me." Reynolds put a hand on his hip as he leaned on the bookshelf and thought about this, and the thing was...he couldn't come up with an answer. For some reason, there just was marked inherent difference. One he couldn't explain. He finally turned and looked at Little, who just smiled at him. "You ever meet someone you just...got? It felt like you'd known them your whole life, and you have a rapport with them instantly, as if you've been talking for years and you're best friends, despite having only met scant minutes ago at this disgusting bar on the worst street in town at 2 am?" Reynolds asked. "That's an extremely specific example," Little said, chuckling, "but sure." "That's what it's like with her. That's what it was like with my ex wife. Before she and I separated, or more appropriately before I blew our lives up with my misguided and poorly managed decisions, we were like that too. And I don't know how to explain it, but with you it hasn't been like that. With you I've had to work at communication. It hasn't come easily. Especially in regards to similar interests. Not that that is a bad thing, often times it causes growth and that's great, but...sometimes it can be a warning sign too, you know?" "I know," Little said, nodding. "I like you, Becca, I do. You're a good person, but you deserve someone who's just as good as you, and I'm just not it," Reynolds said, walking to the couch and sitting beside her, hand on her knee, "I'm not it. Not the same kind of good, anyway. I need someone like me, someone who's...who's aloof and has well placed intentions but can't help but also be kind of a fuck up. Someone...someone like..." "Like Janice?" Little asked, and Reynolds looked away, down to his shoes; Little smiled and sat forward, her hand on his arm, adding, "you don't have to be afraid to say it, John. It's so obvious you two are so right for eachother. Hell, I saw it from the get go, I just...I guess I hoped it might dissipate after a while, but it hasn't, and that alone is proof of how right you are. We had some fun, but ultimately we aren't meant to be, and that's okay, not every relationship is meant to end in longevity." Reynolds continued looking down at his shoes, his eyes shutting tight, tears spilling. "You don't get it," Reynolds said, "...she...she's...she's...unexplainable. One could say she's like me, but I don't think that's fair because she's far more driven and, despite what she'll tell you to the contrary, far more intelligent than I could ever hope to be. Hell, she survived serious brain damage and look at her, renovating a theatre to try to bring culture back to the town. All I did was...well, what I did doesn't matter. What matters is that she's inspirational, and yet, she doesn't mind taking the piss out of myself and herself to boot." "Taking the piss? Are you British?" Little asked, chuckling. "...I didn't want to acknowledge it. I thought maybe if I ignored it, it'd eventually go away, you know? But it hasn't. Now she's talking about leaving town, and all it's done is scare me, far worse than when my life went to shit, even. But the chips are down and I...I can't let her leave." "What if leaving is what's best for her?" "No, no, see...that's the thing, she's made what's best for her clear, and leaving was the alternative, because what was best for her was too scary to try and make it work," Reynolds said, fighting back more tears as Little rubbed his back; he groaned and cleared his throat, running his hands through his scruffy black hair as he said, "fuck, I didn't wanna do this to you. I really did like you. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. You're just..." Reynolds glanced over at Little, who smiled and cocked her head, waiting for him to finish. "...not her." *** Clarissa could feel herself being nudged, gently, as her eyes fluttered open and she slowly reached up, pulling the headphones down around her neck. Hawley was kneeling in front of the couch, and Clarissa reached up, rubbing her eyes as she leaned up on her free elbow. "What...what's going on?" she asked. "I don't...I need your help, I don't know how to handle this, but you're from a big city, you're older, you might know," Hawley said, "um...my friend is here and she...she's been..." Even Hawley couldn't bring herself to say it. Instead, she grabbed Clarissa's wrist and tugged at it, pulling her to her feet and leading her down the hall to the bathroom. Once she opened the bathroom door, Clarissa gasped, her hands over her mouth, as standing there in a towel, her eyes red and watery, bruises all over her body, was Misty. Misty locked eyes with Clarissa, and Clarissa immediately knew. Hawley had done the right thing coming to her for this. Clarissa entered the bathroom and approached Misty, who sat down on the side of the tub while Clarissa dropped to her knees in front of her. "Who did this to you?" Clarissa asked quietly. "Drew," Misty whispered, barely audible, "our...our as...assistant co...coach." "Well, he's not gonna get to do it anymore, that much I promise you, okay?" Clarissa asked, and Misty nodded, before finally collapsing into her, sobbing. Clarissa reached up and held her, rubbing her back. She'd grown up in LA. She'd seen this happen more times than she could count. She knew how to handle it, but wished she never had to. Hawley, still standing at the door, didn't know how to react quite frankly to the entire ordeal. All she knew was that she wouldn't send Misty home, and she sure as hell wouldn't let her be alone with Drew ever again. Hawley turned and headed back to her bedroom. She began to dig through her dresser, looking for an extra pair of pajamas that Misty could wear for the night; something soft, something comforting. While doing so, however, Hawley couldn't help but think of her father. Sure their abuse was vastly different, but it was still abuse regardless of specifics. She just hoped that, someday, men would stop hurting the women they claimed to love, or women in general. But she wasn't holding her fucking breath about it. *** Reynolds was looking out the window of Little's apartment. He glanced down at his watch. It was almost 5 in the morning, and he groaned. He felt Little's hand on his shoulder and turned to face her as she shoved a mug of coffee in his palms and smirked. "John," Little said, "for what it's worth, despite everything, I think it's safe to say you're easily the best man I've ever dated." "That's kinda sad actually," Reynolds remarked, lifting the mug to his lips and sipping carefully, as she laughed. "It is, you're not wrong!" she said, "but, it's also kinda perfect. On the surface you seem like a wreck. I mean, you were essentially shamed out of Hollywood, had a major drinking problem and wound up as the coach of a middle school little league team. I think that's about as bottom of the barrel as one can get. And yet look at who you actually are. You took in a scared young girl to save her from abuse. You stopped drinking. You're admitting your feelings. If ever there's an example of 'don't judge a book by its cover', then you're it, and I can make that analogy because I'm a librarian." "Why are you saying this?" Reynolds asked. "Because, John, you're able to see who Janice is beyond her outer shell. All the world sees when they look at her is how broken and damaged she is. A lost hopeless cause. A girl who had so much potential who had it ripped away thanks to one accident. But what you see when you look at her...you see beyond that. You see how driven and determined and intelligent she is in spite of what happened. You see the good in everyone, and you do what you can to help it bloom and blossom. You're a good man, John Reynolds, and you deserve the right woman, and I think we both know she's it." Reynolds smiled, tears slowly rolling down his face. He nodded, finished the coffee and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before leaning in and kissing Little, who happily kissed him back. After it broke, he nodded, then turned and headed for the door. His hand on the knob, he turned and looked back at her, as she watched him, grinning. "...thank you," he said. "Thank you," Little replied, making him confused. "For WHAT?" he asked, half laughing, as she shrugged. "For just being you," she said, "for being someone who saw that I deserved better, that you wanted different, and not dragging this out. Most men wouldn't do that. But you're not most men. Where are gonna go?" Reynolds pulled the door open and smiled, looking from the barely lit outdoors back at Rebecca. "I've gotta go find Janice," he said. Delilah was sitting at her dining table, small and compact but when sat at primarily by herself it seemed enormous, as she dipped her teabag into her mug a few times, sighing. Why did she let herself believe she could be happy again? Why did she so easily let her naivety take hold? She dealt with something serious - death - on a day to day basis, and yet, despite being so close to logic and reason almost every waking moment, she still let her hopefulness get the better of her, and she hated herself for it. Delilah lifted the cup to her lips and took a long sip, when she heard a knock at the door and sighed, rolling her eyes. Probably Jeff, trying to explain his situation more, and frankly she didn't want to hear it. Delilah stood and walked through the kitchen, to the small foyer and opened the front door, surprised instead to see this unexpected visitor wasn't Jeff at all, but Ellie Hawley. Hawley's bike was leaning against the front porch steps, and she was unstrapped her helmet when Delilah had yanked the door open.
"Um, hello," Hawley said, waving politely as she tucked her helmet under one arm, her long blonde hair falling around her shoulders, "um...do you...do you know who I am? I play, well I don't play but, I'm on The Sixxers, the team you sponsored?" A thin smile broke on Delilah's face, her door opening wider now. "Would you like to come in? I just made some tea," Delilah asked. "Um, that would be nice, thank you, yes," Hawley said, walking past Delilah and into the funeral home. Delilah shut the door behind them as they headed back into the kitchen so she could prepare Hawley a cup. Hawley, standing nervously in the doorway to the kitchen as she watched, couldn't help but feel strange about being here. Delilah, as she pulled another mug from the cabinet, looked over and smiled warmly. "You can have a seat, dear, it's okay," she said, so Hawley sat down at the table; Delilah continued as she started to heat more water on the stove, "so...what brings you here of all places?" "Well," Hawley said, placing her helmet on the table and anxiously tapping her fingernails on it, "actually...I wanted to go to my coach about this, cause we're friends and...and he's letting me live with him, but he's not really around lately, and I don't know many other adults except the janitor at my school and she's busy too, so I...I came here. I..." Hawley looked down at the table as Delilah finished making the tea and set the mug down in front of Hawley before seating herself. "You can talk to me, I'll listen," Delilah said. "...my mother called last night," Hawley said. "And this is unusual?" "Well, I haven't spoken to her in over a year, so...yeah," Hawley replied, "it's unusual." *** "This coffee is awful," Reynolds said, pulling the cup from his lips and furrowing his brow at it. He and Gorey were sitting on the hood of his car in the school parking lot, both cross legged, as they drank coffee and shared a sub sandwich he'd split for them. "Well, to be fair, it did come from a place called 'Bean There, Done That' so I don't expect quality from a name that favors puns over neutrality," Gorey remarked, making Reynolds chuckle. Reynolds lifted his half of the sandwich to his lips and took a big bite, chewing as he watched Gorey continue to drink her coffee in large gulps. "So," Reynolds said while he chewed, "how's the theatre work going? Should I prepared to wowed, dazzled, in awe?" "John, it's local community theatre, we don't wow, dazzle or awe anybody, it's actually in our contract," Gorey remarked, "but it's going okay enough, yeah. Laura Lee is finally kind of feeling more confident in herself, and work on the place is going really well, so it's all looking pretty promising at the moment. How about you?" "...I had a date with Rebecca that went a little south," Reynolds said, sighing, scratching his forehead while Gorey took a bite of her half of the sandwich now. "Like, sexually, or?" "Why is that automatically what you go to?" Reynolds asked, laughing, "no, not sexually. I mean that did happen to, I am a master at...ya know what, that's a different topic for a different time, alright? No, I meant, like, emotionally. Like...we had to 'talk' about things." "Ew," Gorey said, screwing her face up. "I know, right?" "Women, always with the feelings," Gorey said, making him smirk. "Anyway, it...it didn't go well, exactly, and we haven't had a date since," Reynolds said, "I feel bad. I want to call her, I wanna talk more about it, but I'm afraid I'll just exacerbate the issue if I do that, and then I'll really feel bad. Regardless, I know at some point we're gonna have to reconnect and discuss all of this." Gorey finished chewing and put her sandwich back down on her napkin, looking up at Reynolds who took another long sip of coffee. Gorey sighed and tossed her head, her extremely bushy hair, pulled back in a large bun, jiggled behind her. Reynolds smiled at the sight, loving her hair so much. Gorey then adjusted her oversized frames and leaned back on the hood on her palms. "I have to go to the theatre today actually," she said, "Laura Lee needs help with replacing the seats, and so we're gonna go over, ya know, chair material and stuff. Should be fun. You should talk to her, John, I think communication is the most important part of a relationship. The minute you stop being honest about things with eachother, whether those things are minor or major, is when it all starts going to shit." Reynolds nodded. "I know, I know, and you're right, it's just so hard, I don't wanna be an adult. I wanna just be a kid and play in the sandbox and poop myself," Reynolds said, comedically whining. "Well, you can do those things right now, you'll just probably be arrested for them because, let's face it, it's creepy for a grown ass adult to do that," Gorey replied, the both of them laughing. It was nice, she realized, that they were able to still be fairly cordial despite the differences in their lives lately. They still made time for one another. This was, to her, what a relationship, platonic or otherwise, should be. It somewhat eased the pain of it not being more than that, in many ways. "Well," Reynolds said, wiping his hands on his jeans and then adjusting his tie, "I guess I better get to it then. Gonna go home, get cleaned up and then head on over. If it doesn't work out, honestly, I don't know that I'd be that upset. Lately it feels like we haven't really been interested in the same things, and I haven't really been enjoying myself when we go out." "Oh that's key," Gorey said, spinning on her butt and throwing her legs off the front of the car, standing up, "you need to be able to do things you enjoy together. Why do you think so many couples become serial killing teams? Because it's just good bonding time, frankly." "Why do almost all your fictional examples have to do with serial killers?" Reynolds asked, also hopping off the car and wiping crumbs off his pants. "I'm a woman in my late twenties who lives at her with her mother, you dig?" Gorey remarked, and Reynolds cracked up, which made her smile. Yes, they had to make the effort to see one another now, but if nothing else, that made the time they got together all the more special, and frankly...each was gonna miss it when it was gone. *** "I just...I don't know how to feel about it all," Hawley said, sitting in the kitchen, carefully sipping her tea while Delilah listened carefully; Hawley continued, "she's been gone for over a year, and all of a sudden she calls me, and...and I don't even know how to react to it. All I wanted was my mother to come home, and now she's talking to me again, and I should be excited but-" "Can I tell you a story, Ellie?" Delilah asked, crossing her legs and leaning forward, Hawley nodding slowly as she sipped from her teacup; Delilah smiled and cleared her throat, "when I was first getting into this job, I had a mentor, her name was Hailey, and she was at least twenty years older than me when I started training. Hailey used to tell me that the number one thing people often say when they come to her is 'I just wish they were still here', or some variation of that. 'I wish they could come back' or 'I wish we had more time'. Really though, in the end, what they aren't realizing is the time they got was the time that's important. They always want more without treasuring what they were given. But then, one year, we got a client who had never met her mother, and yet was still responsible for funeral services upon her death." "Really?" Hawley asked, sounding surprised. "Mhm, it happens quite often actually, more often than you'd think," Delilah said, chuckling, "and the funniest part is, she had the exact opposite reaction. Instead of wishing she could've gotten to know her, she instead said 'Why would I want to now? She made the decision not to be around, so why should I want her around?', and I've always thought that was a fascinating insight. Why should you actively put in work for people who didn't actively put in effort for you? That being said...you don't know why she left in the first place, do you?" Hawley shook her head, grimacing. "Well," Delilah said, "maybe she has a good reason. Who knows. Did she say anything else?" "She just wanted to talk to me," Hawley said, "and I would like to see her again, but at the same time I'm worried it'll be just as bad as having my dad around. What if she hates me the way he does?" Delilah nodded, chewing on her lip. "Ellie," Delilah said, "...I know that society often tries to guilt you into loving your parents, regardless of how awful they are towards you. But the truth is, you have every right to reject them, just as you would anyone else, if they treat you lower than you feel you deserve. There's nothing wrong with setting boundaries for oneself. I used to have a son, and I loved him to the ends of the earth and back. But if I ever had screwed up, had he not died, I would've accepted full responsibility for the way he felt towards me and done better after the fact to make sure I didn't do it again." "Do you wish you'd had more time with him?" Hawley asked, and Delilah leaned back in her chair, thinking about it for a moment. "Well doesn't everyone?" she replied, "I'd be a hypocrite to say you should appreciate the time you got with someone only to reverse on it when it comes to my own feelings, but I'm a hypocrite I suppose. I wanted to see everything he would've become, and not just as a career, but moreso as a person. But yeah, I do. The thing is, my son is gone, your mother isn't. You don't want to see her, that's fine, it's understandable, but you have a choice. I don't. There is a difference there." Hawley nodded slowly, looking down into her near empty teacup. She did want to know why her mother had left. Had her father been abusive to her as well? Had she just not wanted to be a mom that much? Or, as Hawley had always suspected, had her mother somehow known she was queer, and was embarrassed and left as a result? Maybe, Hawley thought... ...maybe it was time for some answers. *** Gorey excused herself as she passed by some of the workers heading through the theatre interior doors that led to the auditorium proper, when she looked up from her paperwork and saw Laura Lee sitting on the stage, crying. Gorey sighed, set the clipboard down on a nearby armrest and headed towards the stage, hopping up on it and sitting beside Laura, who wouldn't even look at her. "Worrying about another aspect of this endeavor?" Gorey asked. "No, uh...my grandmother died," Laura said softly, wiping her eyes with her knitted sweater sleeve, "and um...and I need to help my mom go settle her estate and stuff, and it could take a while, so this project has to shut down for an indefinite hiatus. We have to go out of state and everything." "I'm sorry," Gorey whispered, putting her hand on Laura's back and rubbing gently before asking, "...were you close?" "Grandma's the reason I love theatre," Laura said, smiling weakly, "yeah, she's...she was amazing. When I was a very little girl, she used to take me to the theatre where she lived, all the time too, not just for special occasions, and it was always such a magical experience. Nothing since has ever come remotely close to capturing that same sense of majesty that childhood seems intimately capable of capturing. But the feeling never left, and it made me want to work in theatre. I guess, in a way, I was doing this for grandma." "Well, when you come back we can honor her somehow, put a little memorial spot for her in the theatre," Gorey said. "...that would be nice, actually, thank you," Laura said, wiping at her eyes again and smiling before hopping off the stage, "I guess I should go fix my makeup and start getting packed. We're supposed to leave tomorrow." As she watched Laura Lee start to walk away, Gorey felt something itching inside her ribs, and she suddenly shouted after her. "Take me with you!" she yelled, stopping Laura in her tracks and making her turn back around to face her, a look of both confusion and laughter on her face. "What?" Laura asked. "Yeah," Gorey said, sliding off the stage and walking up to Laura, "I'm your friend, you're gonna need support, and it'll give us a chance to see how well we get along if we decide to continue to be business partners and leave town later. Take me with you." "I might be gone for months, it could take a while to-" "So? What do I have to stay here for?" Gorey asked, shrugging, "look at my life, I live with my mother and my best friend is an alcoholic little league coach. What would I really be walking away from? Honestly, it could do me some good to get away for a bit." Laura smiled and nodded, pulling Gorey into her and hugging her tight. "You're such a good friend," Laura whispered, "thank you." "You came and checked on me in the hospital," Gorey replied quietly, "this is the least I could do." *** Hawley, standing back on the porch and adjusting her helmet on her head before clipping its bands together tightly, looked up at Delilah, who was leaning in the doorway, just smiling at her sweetly. Once she was sure her helmet was on good enough, Hawley turned and looked at Delilah directly. "Thank you for the tea, and for letting me talk to you," Hawley said, "I guess I'll probably talk to my mom, because if she were to die, I would be forever haunted by what could've been if I hadn't tried at least, you know? I'm sorry about your son. You shouldn't have lost him." Delilah smiled and looked down at her shoes, her arms crossed. "Loss is just a part of life, goodness knows that's why I'm even in this industry," Delilah said, "because I recognize, understand and accept that fact. But that doesn't make the loss hurt any less. It might make it slightly more manageable, because in this line of work you develop coping mechanisms for working with the dead, learning to be slightly detached, but when it really hits home...yeah, it still hurts, even if the coping mechanisms work well. I made your team in his honor, you know? He loved baseball so much." "I guess we should try harder then," Hawley said, pulling her bike upright and climbing onto it, Delilah laughing. "I think he'd be happy just knowing others were enjoying themselves, quite frankly," Delilah said, "You just keep doing what you do, and you'll honor him regardless of how well you do." Hawley smiled, got off her bike and raced back up the stairs, throwing her arms around Delilah and hugging her tightly. Delilah, surprised by this sudden show of affection, slowly hugged her back after getting over the shock and smiled. Delilah shut her eyes and, for just a moment, enjoyed hugging a child again. "Thanks for being here," Hawley said, "...you're a good mom." "And you're a wonderful daughter, and I hope your mother recognizes that," Delilah said back. The hug broke seconds later and Hawley ran back down the stairs, climbed on her bike and, waving, began to peddle off. Delilah, watching her go, could only think of one thing. Her naivety. Her penchent for hope in even the dumbest of moments. How she so desperately needed that again. Her thoughts turned to the last person she had wanted to think about, but now, having discussed the idea of loss and regret, of wanting someone back, she couldn't help but think of them and smirk. Maybe she'd been too rash. Maybe she needed to think it over again. Delilah went back into the house and her thoughts turned to the woman she'd been preparing for burial in the downstairs. The dead have no regrets, and maybe regrets are how you know you're still alive. Delilah needed to find her shoes. *** Jeff opened the hotel door, surprised to see Delilah standing there, and she wasn't even dressed super nicely. She instead was wearing a very casual outfit - she was wearing a turtleneck and brown slacks with her black loafers - and her hair was pulled up into a quickly braided bun. Jeff stepped aside and allowed Delilah to come in. As she entered, she noticed his bags were on the bed, half packed. She turned and faced him, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. "...are you going somewhere?" she asked. "Well," Jeff said, "I was going to go home, get ready for this wedding, cause I may as well, right? Millions of others have survived unhappy marriages, why not add myself to the list." Jeff walked past her and spit into the sink, putting his toothbrush back in the plastic cup on the sink counter. "What if...you didn't have to?" Delilah asked, and Jeff looked up in the mirror at her. "What's that mean?" he asked. "...I spent a long time believing I wasn't good enough to be loved," Delilah said, "like...like my marriage dying was a direct punishment for my son dying, and that, as a result, it meant I myself wasn't good enough or worthy of love. But...what if I am? You love me. You seem to anyway, and that-" "I seem to? I do. Yeah," Jeff said, turning away from the sink and facing her now, "Yeah I really do. At first when I heard from John and learned where he'd landed after exile, I thought to myself how could he possibly be happy there, and then when I came here I thought to myself it's not that bad, but still, how could he be content with such mediocrity? But...after being here a bit, after meeting you, mediocrity IS the dream." "Wow, thank you," Delilah said, laughing, causing Jeff to laugh. "No, please, you misunderstand," Jeff said. "Enlighten my small female brain, sir," Delilah remarked. "It's like...people like John and I...we spend our whole lives chasing something that is either unattainable or once attained unsatisfying. Big cliche thing to say, right? Oh no, Hollywood and fame isn't all it's cracked up to! What a shocker! I'm so original! But you buy into it regardless because it's so alluring. It's...it's like gambling. I've talked to so many actors trying to land something and they all inevitably say the same thing, that if they just stick it out, get one more audition, then maybe they'll hit it big. But the chances are so slim, and so many others are trying to beat you to the same thing, and in the end, why struggle for something you're so unlikely to achieve when you could achieve so much more with so much less effort and pain? You're not mediocre, Del, hell, you're anything but. You're exceptional-" Jeff said, approaching her, making her blush as he continued, "-but even then there's nothing wrong with mediocrity. It's just that everyone's been so brainwashed into thinking they need more. But they don't. They need just enough. You are just enough." Delilah smiled, sniffling, as Jeff reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "You're more than enough, for me, but just enough in general, and you know why? Cause you're here. Cause we exist at the same time. Cause you exist AT ALL. So yeah, I love you, and if you tell me not to go, I won't, and I'll stay, and we'll make it work, and I promise I'll never want more, because you are more." Delilah slowly nodded, and leaned up, pressing her lips to his and kissing him. They didn't leave the hotel room for hours. Meanwhile, Reynolds himself was standing in front of a door, anxious and waiting or it to be answered; when it finally was, Rebecca Little was surprised to see him, but smiled at the sight regardless. She stepped aside and allowed him to enter her apartment. Once inside, Reynolds turned to look at her, and she walked to him, put her hands on his chest and tried to kiss him, but he pulled away a bit, leaving her confused. "...what is it?" she asked. "...we need to talk," Reynolds said. "You know I never had a library card growing up?" Reynolds asked, leaning against the front desk of the school library while Little continued to do check ins, preparing to reshelve recently returned books; he continued, "is that wrong? Is having a library card a right of passage for childhood?"
"You poor, poor uneducated man," Little said without looking up, stamping the card on the inside of a book before moving to the next, "how did you manage to read if you didn't have a library card?" "...my family bought books," Reynolds said, shrugging, "we weren't poor." "God forbid you taste poverty," Little replied, the both of them smirking. Reynolds heard the sound of the wheels to Gorey's cart rolling on the floor, coming his way. Within seconds she was stopped beside him at the front desk and snapping her fingers over the counter at Little. "Give me your trash," Gorey said, and Little did exactly as she was instructed. As Gorey took it and dumped it into the large can attached to the cart, Reynolds picked up the book he was looking through and tapped Gorey on the shoulder, pushing the book in front of her. "Look at this," he said, "look at this, this is a book about egyptology, and look at how they used to remove brains when they were doing mummification. They stuck a poker up your noise and then made your brain into scrambled eggs before pulling them out through your nose." "...can I have that done when I die?" Gorey asked, taking the book from Reynolds and admiring the oddly beautiful paintings that accompanied the text as Little turned from her task and furrowed her brow. "Why is that book even in a school library?" she asked. "What, you want the kids learning about mummification on the streets?" Reynolds asked, making them chuckle as Gorey handed the can back to Little, and then started to absentmindedly push her cart away, taking the book with her as Reynolds shouted after her, "hey! You can't just have that! I was reading it!" As Gorey disappeared from view, Reynolds turned back to Little as she finished her stamping and crossed her arms on the desk, leaning forward and smiling at him. Reynolds smiled back at her, always happy to see her smile. "So," Little said, "I was thinking that tonight, if you were interested, we could go to this new restaurant that just opened - don't freak out but it's French food, and we'll find something you'll like, I promise - and then to this poetry reading. Does that sound good to you?" Reynolds bit his lip, hesitating a bit, before nodding, smiling politely. Truth be told, the last few times he and Little had gone out, he hadn't had exactly the best time. He liked her, he really did, but they just were, as he was slowly learning by their ongoing excursions into dating, that they were very different people with not a lot in common beyond their attraction to one another. That being said, he was still willing to put effort in, just because he really did think what they had was worth it. "That sounds fine, yeah," he said, "there's no practice today, so I'll be going right home, which means I can just shower, get ready, then come get you whenever you want." Little smiled more, leaning over the desk some more and kissing him, and...for the first time since they'd started dating...he kissed her back, but he wasn't really happy about it. All he could think about was how Gorey had taken his book. *** Delilah was standing in her kitchen, making herself a sandwich and sipping from a mug of tea. It was the early afternoon, and she didn't have much planned for today; she had an embalming to do at some point, some more work on the young lady with the hole in her head, but otherwise her day was completely open. Maybe she'd finally get some reading done like she always planned to do but never seemed to get around to actually doing. Maybe she'd even give Jeff a call, see if he'd like to get dinner. She smiled to herself at the thought of that. As Delilah finished making her sandwich and plated it, someone knocked at her front door. She sighed, left her lunch for a moment and answered the door only to find a woman in her early to mid twenties standing on her porch with perfectly straight and shiny blonde hair and a checked pink and black suit on. "May I...help you?" Delilah asked, confused as to what a woman who look so perfect, so straight out of Hollywood, would be doing at her funeral home in the afternoon. "I'm looking for Jeff Harber, and someone told me they'd seen him up here," the woman said, "he didn't leave me any contact information and I came all this way to surprise him." "...you couldn't possibly be his daughter, he's not that old," Delilah said, both concerned and bemused, making the young woman laugh daintily, before shaking her head. "No no, I'm his fiance, Stacy Loach," she said, holding her hand out to be shaken; Delilah took her hand and shook it, completely taken aback by this announcement, before her eyes wandered down to Stacy's hands and she saw the ring sitting on her finger. She wasn't a liar. The jewelry was proof enough. The handshake broke and Stacy asked, "so, do you know where he's staying?" Delilah nodded slowly. "Let me...let me write down that information," she said softly, before closing the door and going to get a pen and a pad of paper. She wrote down Jeff's hotel, room included, and then gave it to Stacy, who thanked her before happily bounding off the porch and back to her car, climbing inside and speeding away, leaving Delilah in the doorway, completely incapable of processing what exactly had just happened. Scant minutes ago she'd been so happy, so full of vitality, and thinking about how nice it'd be to spend the evening with the first man she'd really gotten to know since her husband had left. And now? Now she preferred the idea of spending the night in with the dead. The dead don't disappoint you. *** "You look like a limo driver," Clarissa said, standing in her fathers bedroom, watching him comb his hair in his standing mirror, Hawley sitting on the bed also watching, the girls both snickering at her statement. Reynolds set his comb down, smoothed his hair with his fingers and grinned as he adjusted his tie. "You say that like limo drivers aren't some of the coolest people out there," Reynolds responded, turning around to face the girls, hands on his hips now, adding, "also you grew up in LA, don't badmouth limo drivers. Limo drivers are why I never got into an accident cause they kept me from driving home drunk from events." "You're right, I'll start sending them fathers day cards to thank them for their efforts," Clarissa replied, Hawley giggling. "So, that glorious compliment aside, do I look nice?" Reynolds asked and the girls nodded. Suddenly Clarissa's phone beeped and she pulled it out, exiting the room, leaving just Hawley and Reynolds in the room now. "You do, but at this point is appearance even important?" Hawley asked, chewing on her nails, "I mean, you're already in the relationship, isn't now the time to let yourself go? Let her see you for how you truly are. A digusting slob of a man. Let her love you for that." Reynolds stared at her and she grinned as he shook his head, scoffing. "You've been real catty," Reynolds said, "I like it." Hawley got off the bed and went to join Clarissa in the living room, leaving Reynolds to his own devices. He looked back at himself in the mirror and sighed, smoothing out his clothes. Why was he even putting in this much effort anymore, when he didn't feel as romantically inclined as he once had? It wasn't that she wasn't a good partner, lord knew she was exactly what anyone would want; stable, compassionate, loving, intelligent, and beautiful. But...but perfection, or whatever passed for perfection, for some reason didn't interest him in the long term. It was nice for a while, but now he found his mind wandering anytime they were together. He checked his watch, then sighed again, running a hand down the back of his neck. "...fuck," he muttered, as he thought about how Gorey had absconded with his book earlier, and he laughed a little to himself. His eyes widened. Truth be told, he'd rather be looking through it with her and cracking jokes than spending an evening eating French cuisine and listening to poetry. And that scared him. *** Janice was sitting in one of the theatre seats, her nose still deep in the egyptology book, as Laura paced and checked her watch. She sighed, tossed her hair and put her arms up in the air. She'd been expecting someone from the construction company to be here about 45 minutes ago and now they were so late she was wondering if they were going to bother showing up at all, let alone letting her know they didn't intend to if nothing else. Laura stomped her foot, getting Gorey's attention, who finally peered over the top of the book at her. "You okay there, Miss Angry?" she asked. "It feels like nobody else cares about this, not even the people I'm paying to care!" she said sternly, turning to face Gorey and asking, "do YOU even care? Because you're just reading a book about mummification!" "I do but I'm not a qualified or licensed contractor, so it's not like I can just start opening up drywall," Gorey said, shrugging, "just relax, it'll work out, and if it doesn't, you'll recoup your money, this place will get turned into something new and boring and we'll hit the road for the city. I'm trying this new thing called 'not giving a shit'." Laura smiled for the first time all day and approached the seats, where she plopped down in a chair beside Gorey, sighing, playing with the bracelet on her right hand. "I'm just frustrated," Laura said, "I'm trying so hard to provide a service here, to give this town some culture, but it doesn't seem like anyone wants it. Are the arts dying? I keep seeing headlines about people not reading the way they used to and nobody cares to go to things like ballets or stage shows and how all music is just synthesized noise now with the same repeated chorus and...and far be it from me to act like a bastion of artistic purity, to drag down those who maybe enjoy simplistic stuff, because there's a place in the world for that too, but..." Laura sighed again, shaking her head as she rested her chin in her hands. "...I don't know," she mumbled, "maybe I'm just wishing to recapture how I felt in high school, you know? You never left school, so maybe you understand." "...I actually do, yeah," Gorey said, putting the book down and sitting up more, pulling her hair into a big bushy ponytail, "that's part of why I like my job, because it keeps me in a familiar place, makes me feel as though not as much time has passed." Laura and Gorey locked eyes momentarily, and Laura started laughing gently. "...see, I knew there was a reason I missed talking to you," she finally said, "okay then, I'll try and relax, and if this doesn't pan out, then we'll go somewhere else and try it there. We'll be a team." "Definitely, we're gonna be a team," Gorey said, overjoyed but trying hard not to show it, as she'd never been part of a 'team' before meeting Reynolds and now it seemed like everyone was clamoring to recruit her; she put her hand on Laura's shoulder and said, "we're a team, and we'll make it work." This was the first time in ages that Janice Gorey had felt anything remotely close to positivity and confidence, and truth be told, she loved it. She loved how much passion Laura's own passion brought in her. It was infectious, and she didn't wanna lose that. Finally the doors to the theatre opened and two men entered, causing Laura to quickly get up and walk towards them, leaving Gorey in the seats. Gorey looked back down at the shiny gold egyptology book and sighed. But how could she just leave him? She knew they had no future. She knew that she'd never be anything more than a friend. So leaving should be easy, right? Right? *** Jeff was standing at the snack machine, waiting for his small bags of chips and cookies to come down, when he heard the sound of heels coming up behind him. He turned to apologize for taking so long, only to find Delilah was standing there, arms folded, glaring at him. Jeff didn't even reach down for his treats when they finally hit the bin. "...figured you'd turn up," he said quietly. "You're such an asshole," Delilah mumbled. "...I won't deny that," Jeff said, "in fact, in some ways, I'd even agree. But here's the thing, okay, just listen to me. Where I come from? Marriages make or break showbusiness. She's a nice girl, but she's far more invested than I am, and I was really only doing it to seal the deal between my own agency and another. Don't get me wrong, like I said, she's lovely, but she just isn't my type really." "And what is? Naive vulnerable older women who trust too easily?" Delilah asked, the ire in her voice clear as day. "I should've been upfront, but I-" "You don't even know the kind of loss I've suffered," Delilah said, interrupting, starting to cry, "the kind of pain I've endured. Grief so bad, so deep, that it kept me from moving forward. So immense that I created a little league team for a middle school just so I could feel some sort of attachment to what I had before. And maybe if I'd told you about all that, maybe then you would've realized lying to me was dumb, so maybe that's on me, but I didn't want to overload you with my trauma right off the bat, that didn't seem healthy." "Delilah," Jeff said, "look, I...I don't wanna spend my marriage being unhappy all the behest of a merger, okay? I'm gonna end it. I was gonna end it when I got home. I didn't expect her to come all the way out here. But you have to know that the way I feel about you is real, okay?" He stepped forward and took her hands, but she slowly pulled them away from him. "...please," he whispered, "please, I've never felt this attached to someone in my life. I've struggled so badly to meet somebody I genuinely liked. People think 'oh the wealth and the fame nets you all the little starlets you could want' and they're not wrong, but it's just...it's so fucking hollow. When I got here, when I saw how John was living, how happy the people here seemed with so little...it made me realize just how empty what I actually had was. I don't love her. I never really did. She's just not for me. But you? You're SO for me." Delilah smiled weakly, but still looked away from him, wiping her eyes on her sweater sleeve. "You of all people should recognize that death is far too long to wait to be happy," Jeff said quietly, inching closer to her, their faces so near, "and I don't wanna die with a regret I could've easily avoided, so let me make this right, okay, and we'll-" "I have to go," Delilah said, turning and walking away before walking back, kneeling down and grabbing the bag of cookies from the bin, shaking them in his face before adding, "consolation prize." Jeff watched her go, and he couldn't help but smile. It was things like that, like taking his cookies in the midst of a very emotional moment, that made him see just how real Delilah was, and he was so sick of the fake. He was going to make this work. He just needed to give her time. *** "This place is actually quite nice, but that's the French for you, they're all about the aesthetic," Reynolds said, making Little giggle as she sipped from her wine glass; he smirked and continued, "atmosphere is much better than food." "You haven't even tasted it yet, so don't be so harsh!" she replied, laughing lightly as she set her wine glass back down. "So what's this poetry reading gonna be like, you think?" Reynolds asked, picking up a piece of garlic bread and biting into it, speaking as he chew, saying, "god, it isn't gonna be about feelings is it? I don't think I could take something so raw. I might just break down crying." "I think it'd do you some good to feel something," Little said, "you always act like nothing bothers you." "Can I help it if I'm perfect?" Reynolds remarked, and they both laughed again. "No, seriously, you never talk about anything that's upsetting you," Little said, "that's...weird, right?" "Is it? I don't know, I don't really have a lot to talk about," Reynolds said, shrugging, "what's to bother me? My daughter's in town now, I got another kid in my place to take care of, I like what I do career wise. I'm honestly pretty happy with everything, all things considered." "Well, it's good to know that," Little said, smiling, "because I do want you to be happy. You've seemed so out of it lately, and I was just worried that maybe something was wrong." "Well, I assure you Janice, nothing is wrong," Reynolds said, continuing to eat his bread, until he realized what he'd said. He looked up, mid chew, at Rebecca, and he sighed, "...sorry, sorry, she's moving, she's been on my mind cause I don't wanna lose my friend and-" "I was wondering when we'd bring her up," Little said. "What's that supposed to mean?" Reynolds asked, confused, Little looking concerned as he sighed and added, "we're not going to the poetry reading are we? And I'd actually started looking forward to it too." But the cat was out of the bag. He'd done the inevitable. He'd called her by the wrong name, and now he had no choice but to talk about it, and talk about his feelings regarding her, feelings he'd sworn to ignore for the sake of stability. But, as he'd learned, what fun is stability without passion? He didn't want to just lose Janice as a friend. He didn't want to lose her at all. He groaned and looked at Little again, who smiled weakly at him as he sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. It was going to be a long night. Reynolds opened the door to the apartment and stumbled inside. After his talk with Gorey in the parking lot of the school earlier that evening, he was so distraught he'd gone to a bar and broken his sobriety (which had barely been sobriety as it was but still, the effort was what mattered) until he could barely see. From the bar he then took a taxi back to the complex. He was an ass, but he wasn't a drunk driver. He didn't mind hurting himself, but he drew the line at endangering others.
As he entered, all the lights were off, and as he got futher into the apartment he spotted the clock on the stove, which read 2:45 am. He groaned and headed down the hall. Reynolds opened the bedroom door to Hawley's room and peeked inside, spotting her asleep on the floor, her magazine cutouts scattered around her. He nodded, then went to check on Clarissa. Clarissa was asleep in her bed, but just on top of it, with her headphones on. Reynolds smiled, happy his girls were safe, before heading back into the living room. He flopped down into his recliner and ran his hands up his face through his hair, shaking his head. And while he was disappointed at Gorey's decision to leave town, he was happy these girls were safe, especially Hawley. He'd already failed to protect another girl that mattered to him, and he wouldn't make that mistake again. *** Reynolds came back out with the gauze and approached the curb where his sister, Claire, was sitting down, her knee scraped and bloodied, but she just grinned upon his approach. She showed no fear, and gave into no pain. Claire had always been the toughest person Reynolds had ever known, even growing up. Reynolds knelt down and handed her the gauze, which she took from him and began applying around her leg. "That was a pretty nasty spill," John said, "are you okay?" "You act as if that was the worst thing to happen to me," Claire said, "I've gotten hurt way worse playing this game. This is nothing." John smiled as he watched his sister finish wrapping herself in gauze as he looked away and into the road where their equipment still lay. In this particular suburb, high up in the LA hills, there was relatively little traffic, so he knew they didn't have to worry about their stuff getting run over. He looked back at Claire, and her long string black hair. John could remember when they were little, and people often mistook them for one another, and now she looked so feminine. He kind of missed that bond, but he knew she was more comfortable this way. Claire set the gauze down on the curb and, slapping her hands on her knees, smiled at him. "Alright, let's go, I still need to finish kicking your ass," she said, and with that they both hopped up and went back to their street hockey game. The street hockey had been a compromise of sorts. Claire had wanted to join the local female hockey team, but they wouldn't take her. She fought tooth and nail, proving she was an expert player, but to no avail. So, instead, John suggested that they just play street hockey together, as a way to not only hone her skills so she could prove herself to a professional league down the line, but also just for fun, and thankfully, Claire loved the idea. John did whatever he could to keep his sister happy, because the world so often did the opposite. It worked so hard to tear her down, and all because she loved herself enough to be herself. After the game, and a few more bruises on the both of them, John and Claire headed back inside, into the kitchen. John sat at the table while Claire dug around in the fridge for something to drink before grabbing them each root beers. Claire then seated herself and they opened their cans together, drinking, laughing. Truth be told, John looked up to his sister. He did the big brother thing and looked out for her too, of course, but he also looked up to her. She was much braver than he could ever hope to be, and that was inspiring. "So," Claire said, "we know I'm the best." "Nobody better." "And we know they won't let me in," Claire said, "so what do I do from here? Do I just wait until I'm old enough to apply for actual leagues? Because that's so long and I wanna do hockey now, not when I'm older." "We'll just play it as it comes and if need be we'll kick some asses if it comes down to it," John said, "never underestimate the surprisingly effective abilities to convey your feelings through violence." Claire and John laughed, clinking their cans together and continuing to drink. And, as it turned out, Claire would eventually get accepted into the local girls hockey league after a change in leadership, and from there she would go on to play for a college and then become a professional. The funny thing is that now John, as an adult, was somewhat following in her footsteps, now working in a sport adjacent field himself. And, once again, going above and beyond the call of duty for girls who didn't fit in. Old habits die hard. *** The crowd at the ball park was absurdly large, even for LA. As John and Claire fought their way through the sea of bodies, heading towards the concession stand, neither one could believe they'd gotten their father to agree to come. He hated crowds. This fact that this introversion was completely at odds with his decision to live in LA, however, was something he refused to ever acknowledge. Finally John and Claire got to the line that would lead them to the concession stand, and waited patiently. Claire looked at her brother. "Did you get dads wallet?" she asked, as John pulled it from his jacket pocket and wiggled it in his hand. "Indeed I did," he said, "I didn't just steal it, I mean, I asked, but I do have it." "Does he want anything?" "Yeah, to go home," John replied, the both of them snickering. Their fathers seeming hatred of any and everything social was something the two had always joked about and bonded over, because they were both so much the opposite in many ways. While John was definitely the most outgoing of them all, Claire being far more reserved, they both still found solace in making light fun of their father, if only because he never gave them any reason not to. Besides, they still loved him, regardless of their soft jabs to his character. They still weren't sure what it was they wanted, but the options were seemingly endless; pretzels, popcorn, and the ever classic staple of the ballpark cuisine, hot dogs, not that either of them ever liked those. To be frank, Claire and John could care less about the game. They just liked the experience. They didn't follow baseball teams, they didn't get excited over scored runs and they sure as shit didn't even sit in the stands most of the time, instead opting to wander around the stadium, taking in all the energy from everyone else and making fun of people to make themselves feel better. After each getting a drink for themselves and a giant pretzel to split, John and Claire found a small area in one of the lesser occupied areas of the stands near the top and watched from afar as they ate and chatted. Claire had even gotten a churro which she and John split. "I think dad likes us, he just doesn't like doing things," John said, "he prefers to sit home and watch game shows all day after work, and, ya know, I kinda get that. He comes home, he's tired, like...I wouldn't wanna do anything either. I'm glad he does make time to take us to stuff though." "Maybe you should get a job as a game show host, and then he'd finally acknowledge you," Claire said, half laughing. And it was an offhanded comment, but one that would inevitably turn out to be something John Reynolds would carry with him for the rest of his life, especially during his tenure as a game show host. It was funny, honestly, how much stuff between him and his sister would haunt the remainder of their adulthood. Little things like her game show comment made in jest or his refusal to let anyone question her identity. Yes. All these things would wind up coming back full circle in ways they never could've imagined. And ways he was always grateful for. *** Claire shut the door softly, but not softly enough, because John heard it click closed and immediately pulled himself out of bed. As quietly as one can run down a hallway, he did, and immediately burst into her bedroom before she'd even turned the light on. It was almost 4 am, and she was just sitting on the bed, in the dark, sniffling. John approached her. "Dad is gonna be SO mad if he finds out you were out this late," John whispered, sitting down on the bed next to Claire, who just looked away. John touched her shoulder, and she reached out, turning on the bedside lamp and softly illuminating a little area around them, then turned to face her brother, making him gasp. Her face was bruised, but not in the way she might get bruised from street hockey. No. This was violent; John reached out and gently touched her, but she recoiled in pain as he asked, "who...who did this to you?" "Don't know," she whispered, "just some boys in a truck downtown. I went to get tacos with Allison and Maya, and when they went to order, I was sitting outside at the tables and..." She stopped. She clearly didn't want to discuss it any further, and John acknowledged this hesitation and switched gears instead. "Was this because-" "Don't talk about me," Claire said, her voice cracking, her eyes squinting to hold back tears. "You don't have to be ashamed." "I'm not," she said sternly, "...I just wish others weren't either." John nodded. He helped Claire get cleaned up, and then said goodnight. Afterwards, lying in his bed, listening to classical music on his radio and looking up at the ceiling where he'd stuck pin up girl posters he'd stolen from his fathers magazines, John couldn't help but feel so disheartened. All he wanted to do was protect his little sister. It wasn't like it was a secret. Their entire area, peer wise especially, knew. After all they'd grown up around all the same kids, gone to schools with them for years, had been known as the Reynolds brothers, so Claire coming out and transitioning publicly, even in a place as supposedly open minded and progressive as LA, still meant people were out to harm her in more ways than one. John refused to let that happen. He rolled onto his side and clenched his fist, biting his lip. He swore up and down that night that, if ever given another opportunity, he would never let another young transgirl be harmed. No matter what it meant to his life. *** Hawley couldn't fall back asleep. She'd tried. She'd lied there in bed for a bit, licking her dry lips, before finally climbing out and heading down the hallway in her black and pink pajama set. But when she got into the kitchen, she was surprised to find Reynolds sitting on the kitchen table - not at it, on it - and eating a sandwich he'd sloppily made still half drunk earlier. Hawley eyeballed him curiously, before entering the kitchen proper and getting a plastic cup with Daffy Duck on it out from the cabinet, then filling it with water from the container left on the counter. After a moment, she looked over at Reynolds, who patted the table in front of him, indicating she should sit with him. Hawley finished her water, then walked over to the table and climbed aboard. "Why are you up?" he asked. "Why are you?" she replied, making him chuckle. "I had a...a not so great evening," Reynolds said, "...I'm sorry about not being at the games, you're right. I'm gonna do better from now on. You know I have a sister, right?" Hawley nodded. "Right, I thought I'd told you that," he continued, "anyway, my sister Claire, she's a professional hockey player now. She's amazing. She was always amazing but she's...she's spectacular now. I've always been kind of envious of her, getting all the actual sporting ability in the family. It's funny cause you and I, we're more just sport adjacent, right? We just happen to be in the presence of sports." "Are you drunk?" Hawley asked, chuckling and Reynolds smirked. "Just a smidge, it's mostly worn off," he said, "but she's an honest to god athlete. She's my hero, Ellie. But for all the differences between her and I, and between you and her, there's one thing that makes you two extremely similar. She's just like you. She did exactly what you're doing, but, ya know, 20 years ago. That night in the parking lot, during the concert...when I saw you getting attacked, it just brought back all these awful memories of her dealing with the same thing. I don't want that to happen to you ever again." Hawley almost couldn't believe her ears, but this really made sense of everything that had happened between them. She'd never really understood why he'd become so protective of her, and just had chalked it up to Reynolds being a good man, but no, he wasn't just a good man, he was a truly ally. She crawled forward and climbed into his lap, making him laugh as he wrapped his arms around her and planted a kiss atop her head. "You're safe with me," he whispered, "you'll always be safe with me. I promise. You never have to see him again if you don't want, and I'll always treat you the way you should be. You are who you say you are, no more, no less, and I'll fight tooth and fucking nail for your existence." And that was it, she was crying against his shirt while he stroked her hair. Hawley could never have envisioned that, just almost a year prior, she'd be in a loving home with a loving parental figure who was letting her be her honest self. She'd lived so long in fear, in shame and denial...and now she would never have to go back to that. Freeing. So very freeing. She was sobbing uncontrollably, and didn't even feel bad about it. "I'm a girl," she whispered, and he nodded, smiling. "Goddamn fucking right you are, sweetheart," he replied softly, continuing to pet her, "you're my little girl." *** Reynolds was packing his car outside of the motel he'd been staying at, ready to leave the city. It was early, 9am, and his eyes were still barely adjusted to the blazing sunlight. He groaned and shut the trunk, shaking his head. His whole life. His whole fucking life. Blown up in an instant, and for what? For nothing. For nothing that meant anything. For one quick grasp at youth again. His public persona he'd spent years polishing now lay in tatters at the feet of an ever clamboring public who yearned for the latest in celebrity or even pseudo celebrity gossip. He'd be a magazine spread story, and not even good magazines either but the B quality ones they sell in the checkout aisles of grocery stores with names like The Fame Inquiry, for a few months at best and a few weeks at worst, until the next story came along. John sighed, twirled his keys around his finger and walked to the drivers side of his car, tugging the door open when he heard a car horn honk. He stopped and turned, looking up and smiling as Claire's beat up Bronco pulled into the lot and stopped near his car, the window rolling down, her tattooed sleeve hanging out now. "Heya stranger," she said, "heard you got yourself in some trouble." "What're you, the Lone Ranger?" John asked, the both of them laughing. Claire parked, and together they went back into the motel for its extremely poor excuse for a continental breakfast which mostly consisted of soggy eggs and day old bagels. Sitting at the table, trying to stomach this questionably edible food, John couldn't help but feel like he was being silently judged by every single person in the room. He could hear hushed whispers pointed in his direction, but he tried to do his best to ignore it. Apparently, however, Claire noticed it too. "You gotta tune it out," she said suddenly, causing him to jolt back to her presence. "Huh?" he asked as she finished buttering one half of a bagel and poured herself some more coffee. "You gotta tune it out," she repeated, "remember what you told me? Back when I was a teenager? How I just had to learn to tune it out, like a snowy TV station that you don't care about? That's what you gotta do. Now we're both in the public eye in negative ways. Well, more you than me at least. I'm somewhat respected now cause of my career on the team, but you get the idea." "How are you simultaneously being empathetic AND insulting?" John asked, grinning. "It's a gift," she said, shoving the bagel in her mouth and chomping down as she shrugged, "but it's good advice, and it got me through a lot of tough times. Now just apply it to yourself and you'll be golden. You even know what you're gonna do when you get out there?" "Clarissa helped me pick out some things," John said, "I'm thinking little league baseball coach." "That's not bad, you're just enough of a drunk to make that work," Claire said, the both of them chuckling now. He hadn't seen his sister in months, definitely before the scandal, but sitting with her now...he was glad she would be his last memory of the city. After a few moments, she noticed him staring at her, smiling warmly as she shoved the remainder of her bagel in her mouth and cocked her eyebrow at him. "What?" she asked while chewing. "You're just very pretty," John said, "nice to look at." "John, ew, I'm your sister," Claire whispered, making him howl with laughter. "You know what I mean. If you'd told me when we were kids that one day you'd be...just...this pretty, I wouldn't have believed you. But I guess that's not true, cause you DID tell me you would be, and now here we are," he replied, sipping his coffee. "You know you're my biggest cheerleader right?" she asked, smiling sweetly. "Always sports adjacent," he remarked, sighing dejectedly, making her laugh. "We'll always be the Reynolds," she said, putting her elbow on the table, her pinky out. He grinned, leaned in and gave her a pinky promise as he added, "always be the Reynolds." There wasn't much in this world John Reynolds could count on... ...but the women in his life were definitely one of them who never let him down, and he intended to do all he could to return the favor. "You ever get the feeling that sometimes you just kind of exist, and everything you do is just meant to fill up the time until you die?" Jeff asked, as he and Delilah sat on the hood of his car, looking down at the small town, all lit up in the night.
"Do you know who you're talking to?" Delilah replied, the both of them laughing as she continued, "I mean, yes, absolutely. Everything is random and the chances of even being born are so slim that you essentially have to acknowledge how bizarre existence itself is. That nothing means anything, that all these things we've assigned value to - things like money especially - are, in fact, fake and mean nothing. They only mean something because we've assigned value to them, but to the universe? Meaningless. So yeah, I think everything we do is just filling the otherwise empty vacuum called time." Jeff sipped on the straw plugged into the lid of his fast food drink and then exhaled, looking over at her. "What?" she asked, smiling. "It's just nice meet someone so down to earth," Jeff said, shrugging, smiling back, "Sometimes I forgot what you do for a living, and then you say something like that and it reminds me of how cool you are." "Nah," Delilah said, waving her hand, tossing her hair back, "I'm not that cool." "I'll be the judge of coolness, I am from LA after all," Jeff said, leaning forward and kissing Delilah, which she didn't mind one bit. Over the last few weeks, things had been very good between them. Their dates had become less planned and they'd fallen into just a routine of being together while doing things. For one "date", Jeff had even just gone with her to a laundromat so she could wash her bedding since it was much too large for her machines at home, and that wound up being one of the more memorable. But that's how it is, Delilah thought as he kissed her, the mundane and domestic...those are the moments you remember. As someone who worked with death, the greatest thing life can give you is memories. And she was happy to finally be making some new ones. *** Hawley was sitting on the bleachers, watching everyone else on the team finish up practice, chewing anxiously on her thumbnail. As she sat there, Misty seated herself on the bench, looking forelorn, her hair messy and unkempt. Hawley glanced over at her and furrowed her brow. "Are you okay?" she asked, and Misty shrugged. Just then, Reynolds walked up to the bench and seated himself as well. He pulled out a bottle of fruit juice from the paper bag in his hand and unscrewed the cap, taking a long sip until he noticed Hawley looking at him strangely as well. After a minute or so, Reynolds noticed her staring at his drink of choice and he recapped it, put it on the ground by his feet and shrugged. "It's what Rebecca wants me to think, she thinks I drink too much," he said, "And she's not exactly wrong. I've been trying to cut back for a while. Helps when you have someone willing to help you manage it." "Sounds like what she doesn't like is 'fun'," Hawley mumbled, making him laugh. "You can't even drink, so you don't even know what you're saying," he replied, "but yes, she is indeed a fun hater. Well, in the sense of what most people would consider fun. She has her own hobbies, and I like doing those with her. She's not totally devoid of the capability to enjoy things. So...how's the team?" Hawley shrugged, pulled off her hat and tossed her hair a bit before putting it back on her head. "Why don't you ask your assistant coach? He's the one who's here paying attention, he could tell you," Hawley said, causing Reynolds to turn and look at her, a look of concern on his face. "Hey, Surly, what's going on with you?" he asked, and she surprised him by turning to face him as well, clearly no longer afraid of confrontation, or at the very least not afraid of it with him. "What's going on is you're never here anymore!" she said sternly, "you go days with missing practice, and it's starting to feel like you're the assistant coach, not Drew! It's one thing to be gone when you're at home, cause you have Mrs. Little and your own life, but you're straight up missing work! We need you!" "You kids don't even care about the game!" Reynolds said back loudly, half laughing as he waved his arms at the field, "you're all just here cause your folks don't have anywhere else for you to go! I mean, let's face it, Ell, you're the last person to give two craps and a half about this game? You literally stayed after school so you didn't have to go home, remember?" Hawley wiped her arms on her sleeve, and Reynolds suddenly felt like he'd gone too far. He sighed and reached out, and put his hand on her knee. Hawley looked down and smiled weakly. She'd never have been able to fight with her father like this, because she knew he'd hurt her if she had, but she knew Reynolds would never do that sort of thing, and thusly, it gave her the bravado to stand up for what she felt was important. It gave her confidence, something she'd never had before. "I'm not mad at you," she whispered, "I'm just mad. You know that, right?" "I know, kiddo," Reynolds said, glancing away and out towards the kids on the field, "and you're right. I should be here more. My job should take precedance over my personal life. Not my health, but certainly things like relationships. And not every job should be that way, mind you, but because of what I do, working with you, with kids, I should be better balanced than I am right now." Suddenly they heard Misty yelp slightly, and cover her face with her hands, clearly trying not to cry. She looked at them, then stood up and ran off towards the equipment shed. Reynolds and Hawley exchanged a look, and Hawley shrugged. "She's been acting real weird the last few weeks," Hawley said. "She's a teenage girl, they act weird," Reynolds replied. "How do you know?" Hawley asked. "Well, I live with two of them, and also I am a teenage girl, so," Reynolds remarked, making her smile. If there was one thing Hawley liked better than being able to stand her ground, it was the ability to look past those moments and still just joke with one another. That, she thought, is what a dad should really be. *** Janice Gorey couldn't believe the spread Laura had made for their workday. Laura had really gone all out, making finger sandwiches, baked cookies, made multiple pitchers of drink (mostly varied juces, but a few other alternatives existed as well) and even had bowls of different kinds of chips. She figured, as she told Gorey when they arrived at the theatre that morning, that if workmen were going to be coming in and out of the building and doing all the heavy lifting, then the least they could do was provide them with sustenance. Standing at the table, looking at all the available treats, Gorey felt like she was overwhelmed by options, and they hadn't even started work yet. She was just overwhelmed by lunch options. "Do you still make sets?" Laura asked, putting her hand on Janice's shoulder, surprising her and making her jump a bit; Laura giggled and said, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you!" "It's...it's okay," Gorey replied, putting her hand to her chest and taking a few deep breaths, "I'll be fine, hah. Yeah, I've been known to still throw a hammer around, sure." "Please don't throw hammers," Laura said softly, the both of them chuckling; Laura cleared her throat and continued, "that's good, though, because I really need a set person." Gorey picked up a finger sandwich and put the whole thing in her mouth before turning and following Laura to the stage. Laura was holding a clipboard in her hands, jotting things down with a thick drafting pencil often used by architects. "I've calculated the perimeters of the stage, the height and width, how much space we'll have, and so I can give you those numbers to work by as a guide," Laura said, "but...I also don't want you to overwork yourself, especially since what happened and-" "I'm not handicapped in any kind of way that would keep me from doing my job," Gorey said, sounding annoyed, as she took the paper Laura was handing her and looking at it. Laura Lee sighed and leaned against the stage, setting the clipboard down on it and crossing her arms, watching Gorey. After a few minutes of examining the math on the paper, Gorey finally looked back at Laura, puzzled. "What?" she asked. "...you do know I came right?" Laura said, and Gorey lowered her voice, leaning in a bit. "You sure you wanna openly state that in front of all these men? That's a little personal," she said, making Laura laugh loudly. "No, no! God, jeez Janice. No, I came to the hospital," Laura said, and this got Gorey's full attention. "...what?" she whispered. "Mhm," Laura said, nodding, "after the accident, I came to the hospital a few times, while you were still unconscious. I just was so concerned and wanted to make sure you were going to be okay, because what happened was so horrible, and...and I just felt so bad Your mother never told you that? That I came by?" Gorey slowly shook her head, this admittance sinking in, changing her entire perception of the moment in question. No. Her mother had never told her anyone had stopped by. In fact, she'd told her quite the opposite, that nobody had ever come by, except for her, and now Gorey was wondering why that was the case. She knew she'd have to confront her mother over it, but she was terrified to do so. "No, she...she never did," Gorey finally answered, her voice barely audible even in this wide open empty space. "Well," Laura said, shrugging, "you should know that someone did at least. I always liked you. You were always so dedicated to what you did, and it was admirable. So to watch something so horrible befall someone I respected so much, I guess...I guess I felt like the only thing I could do was come by and show my support, even if you weren't capable of realizing I was there." Gorey took a moment, then walked forward and hugged Laura, before turning on her heel and exiting the auditorium briskly. She needed to have a talk with her mom, and it couldn't wait. She'd already waited so long. *** Hawley was sitting in her bedroom on the floor, looking through a fashion magazine and clipping things out, making a posterboard of sorts to help figure out what would look good together. Ever since starting transitioning socially, she took her wardrobe extremely seriously, and this was something she loved to do in her time off, to lose herself in the clothes and the fabrics and the colors. She heard a knock on her door and whistled, letting the knocker know they could enter. Clarissa opened the door, eating a candy bar, looking into the room at Hawley who turned and smiled over her shoulder. "Watcha doin'?" Clarissa asked. "Making a fashionboard," Hawley replied, "It's kind of like a visionboard but for outfits you think you might like, not ridiculously vague goals you'll never get around to." Clarissa laughed as she came in and sat down next to Hawley, pushing her hair back behind her ear and taking another bite of her Snickers as she did so. "Well, maybe this weekend dad will give us some money and we can go get some new clothes for you," Clarissa said. "Doubt that, he won't be around as usual," Hawley said coldly, and Clarissa sighed. "...yeah. Yeah he's kind of bad about that. In many ways, he's excellent, but...even when we lived in LA, he wasn't great at being around when it mattered. It often fell to me to make those pockets of time we could have together, because he was so busy or intoxicated with fame, always flirting with fame. You know it's not personal right?" Clarissa asked, putting her hand on Hawley's shoulder. Hawley nodded. "Yeah, yeah I know that," she replied, "still, it's hard not to take it personally. More than that, I'm upset that he's delegating his coaching duties to smeone else. I thought that the team mattered to him, or at the very least the time he spent with us mattered to him, if not the team proper. Like, none of us really care about the game, but...but we care about being with him. He's a fun coach." Clarissa nodded, sadly knowing all too well the things Hawley was feeling because she herself had felt them throughout her early childhood. She didn't really know what other sort of opinion or insight she could offer beyond what she'd already said, but she knew that Hawley was already aware of what a good man Reynolds was and that she shouldn't hate him for it. Clarissa sighed and stood back up, finishing her candy bar and tossing the wrapper in a nearby small garbage can. "Well," Clarissa said, "put together that fashonboard and we'll see if we can go get some new clothes. And try not to let dad get to you too much." With that, Clarissa exited the room. In the hallway now, looking at the photos Reynolds had hung up on the wall, she couldn't help but feel like he was starting to make the same mistakes he'd made previously that had sent him into exile, and she sighed, shaking her head. She was strong enough to handle his shit if he were to fuck up again, but she didn't think Hawley was, and the last thing she deserved to lose was her one sense of stability. Clarissa promised herself she wouldn't let that happen, no matter what it cost. *** Sometimes, later in the evenings, Reynolds came back to the school to do some paperwork. On this particular night, he'd just had a date with Rebecca and was now heading through the parking lot, going to his office to do exactly that, when he heard the flickering of a lighter. He glanced around, confused by the noise, when he spotted Gorey sitting on a short brick wall that surrounded some shrubbery. He grinned and turned on his heel, heading towards her and plopping himself down beside her, pulling a lighter out of his coat pocket and lighting it for her. Gorey blushed and leaned in, lighting her cigarette, their eyes never parting. "What are you doing here?" they asked in unison, then laughing. "Um," Gorey said, tossing her curly bangs from her face, "I...I was doing theatre prep work with Laura and...and she told me that she came to the hospital when I was unconscious after the accident. I went home, kind of furious, and demanded my mother tell me the truth because I was always told nobody ever came to see me, and she admitted it." "Yikes," Reynolds said, pulling his own box of cigarettes from his coat pocket, taking one out. "Yeah, yikes indeed. Anyway we got into somewhat of a screaming match, and I told her I might move out, and she swore she only did what she did because she didn't want to risk me trusting others and getting hurt more, and I told her that I was the reason for my accident and not trusting someone else and...yeah. It got ugly. Anyway now I'm here." Reynolds leaned forward, and Gorey let him light his cigarette off her, their eyes again locking. "What?" Gorey asked, blinking, her eyelashes catching the overhead lights in the parking lot, causing Reynolds to freeze. "N...nothing," he whispered, "Um, so are you gonna be okay? Or do I have to kick your moms ass? Cause I'll do it." "No," Gorey said, laughing, "No, god. You don't have to do anything like that. It'll be fine. But...I do think I'm gonna move out. I went and talked to Laura afterwards and she said if this theatre thing doesn't pan out, she's going to try and move back to the city, and she wanted me to come with her so we could be business partners and...I think I'm gonna take that offer. I need to get out of here. Away from everything." Reynolds nodded, taking a long drag, then looking at the cigarette in his fingers and exhaling. "I know it's selfish to ask you to stay," Reynolds said quietly, "but I want to ask anyway." "It's too painful," Gorey replied softly, "being here, but not being...here." "Yeah, I know," Reynolds said, scratching his nose, "uh...I'm sorry that-" "Don't apologize," Gorey said, sniffling, "If you apologize, it acknowledges it and-" "Maybe it needs to be acknowledged," Reynolds said, looking at her again, their eyes locking once more. Each knew what the other wanted, hell they wanted the same thing, but...Reynolds couldn't bring himself to risk it. She was too good a friend, and he didn't want to hurt her the way he eventually hurt everyone he was with romantically. And besides, Rebecca offered him stability, domesticity, and that was far too enticing to throw away for a woman who still lived with her mother. But sometimes, in moments like these, when neither had the words to speak and instead just stared at eachother...those quiet moments of silently shared adoration...those were the moments he had to wonder. He allowed himself to imagine. The way the light played off her eyes, the way her front teeth stuck out a little more than the others, the way her freckles covered her face all the way down her neck. He didn't want to find these things in someone else. He liked them on her. "...I'm gonna leave," Gorey said, "I'm gonna go with her. I need a change." She started to stand up but Reynolds quickly grabbed her wrist and she looked back at him. After a moment, his lips opened, but no words came out. He sighed and shook his head, letting go of her again. Gorey smiled weakly, finishing her cigarette and stomping it out on the ground. "Goodnight John," Gorey said, before turning and walking off. As soon as she was out of sight, Reynolds finally let himself crack and start to cry. He had everything he wanted. He had a little family, he had a job he enjoyed, he was even regaining respect back in LA for the work he was doing out here. He even had a stable relationship based on mutual trust and respect, with a woman who didn't even ask much of him. But all he wanted was Janice, even if it lost him everything else. *** Lying on the hood of the car, Delilah sighed as Jeff handed her his drink and she took it, taking a sip. "You know," she said afterwards, "I'm currently working with this couple who's burying their little sister. She took a shotgun to the face. I've been thinking about that a lot lately while I've been doing embalming and preparing the burial rights and stuff. How much pain one has to be in to take such a wildly violent approach to putting a stop to it. I don't blame her by any means, but...it makes me think about the pain I was in, and how low I felt after my son died." Jeff nodded, listening, not interrupting. "...and it made me realize that while that was the low point, there's yet to be a high point. Don't get me wrong, getting married and having a child was a high point, but it felt more like a high point expected to be one that one that I genuinely saw as a high point, if that makes sense? These little moments that people tell you are important in life, not the ones you choose are important. We determine a moments value and worth, you know? Individually. That's what I've come to learn overall." "Is this a high point?" Jeff asked, rolling on his side, posting his elbow on the hood and resting his head on his fist. "Yes," Delilah said, giggling, "Yes it is. Thank you for reminding me of that." She did the same and, together leaning in, they kissed. As their lips connected, Delilah never would've guessed how happy she could be, meeting another man, nor would she have guessed how awful she would feel in just a few weeks time when she discovered he that was engaged. Drew Peterson was an average looking man.
In every sense of the word, actually, Drew was average. He was handsome, but he wasn't model handsome. Just a nice face, nice build, nice hair, nice eyes. Great dazzling smile. He rode bikes to stay in shape, he played ball on the weekends with some friends to socialize with, and he wasn't bad with the ladies. Coming back from the bathroom that morning, brushing his teeth, standing there shirtless as his latest conquest rolled over onto her stomach and looked away from him, he sighed. "Don't be like that," he said, "I have an interview today. I can drop you off if you need." She didn't respond. She just silently shook her head, scared to leave the bed. Drew shrugged and finished getting ready. He'd used to work in a good field, as a manager of a grocery chain in another city, but after some troubles, he decided he should start fresh, so he came here and decided instead to put his focus on something else he enjoyed; sports. He'd always wanted to be a professional ball player, but when that didn't pan out, he instead turned his eye to managing, and, along with playing with his friends, he was pretty good at it. He did, in fact, have an interview that morning. At a local school, to become an assistant coach to their baseball team. And, without doing more research into him, John Reynolds hired him almost on the spot. A mistake he'd come to regret immensely in just a few short weeks. *** "Drew, they don't want to push charges," his boss said, "they don't wanna go through anything more than they've already gone through. But they are requesting, instead, for you to give resignation. They obviously can't force you to leave the area, but...you probably should. It's probably for the best." Drew sighed and shook his head, his hands running through his hair. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, "I don't know what's wrong with me. I hate this. I hate doing this. I wanna stop but I can't." "That's addiction, Drew, you need help," his boss said, "and I sincerely hope you get it." After he was dismissed, Drew sat in his car in the parking lot of a nearby fast food place. He didn't even order, he just needed somewhere to be, somewhere he could unwind. He really didn't want to be like this. But he couldn't stop himself. He craved it so so much. He sighed and looked at himself in the rearview mirror, then looked away, unable to look himself in the eye. Maybe his boss was right, maybe he should try to get help...and he should definitely leave the area. The last thing he wanted to do was rouse suspicion by sticking around. He'd never been arrested yet for it, and he had no intent on doing so. *** Standing on the field, watching the kids play, Drew looked to his side to see Misty, the bat girl, and Hawley sitting on the bench. He furrowed his brow, then shrugged and looked back at the field. Reynolds approached and patted Drew on the back as he took a bite from a large sandwich from his other hand. "You feel like you're gettin' your bearings yet, champ?" Reynolds asked, and Drew smirked, nodding. "Yeah, John, I think I'm fine," he said, "thanks for asking. Hey, I know she's a bat girl, but why's the blonde not playing?" "Cause I don't make her," Reynolds said, shrugging, "she can if she wants, but I don't force her to. We got a special thing." Drew's eyes widened. "...how so?" he asked. "Well, her father was an abusive piece of shit and her mother bailed, so she lives with me and my daughter now. She's basically my second kid. Just trying to give her a safe place to be herself, feel comfortable, you know? That kind of thing," Reynolds said, "as someone who grew up in a shaky household, I know what it's like to not have that space available to you, but at least I had my sister. Hawley doesn't have any siblings. Or, didn't. She's got my daughter now." Drew's heart dropped. He'd thought he'd maybe found someone who would understand him, but alas. "Well that's very noble of you," Drew said. "Don't boost his ego," Gorey said, grabbing John's sandwich and taking a large bite, adding while chewing, "it's not noble, he just wants people to like him." "Don't listen to her, she doesn't even work here, she actually escaped from a nearby hospital," Reynolds said, grabbing for his sandwich, yelling, "give it! I spent fifteen minutes in line for that! You're gonna eat the best part!" Drew chuckled at this display and smiled, nodding to himself. Maybe, he thought, just maybe he could be normal here. Maybe he could be alright. Maybe he could get himself together and not screw up and give into his urges again. He could see himself becoming friends with these people, and training these kids to be a good team. He looked back from John and Janice out towards the field, hands on his hips, tapping his cleat. Yes, just maybe, for once, normalcy was within grasp. *** Drew had heard the gamut of why he might have the problems he had. Not from professionals, or anyone like that, but just from his own research into the subject. He'd looked up articles online, read magazine pieces, heard radio talk shows with experts on the issue, and yet he never really agreed with most of the findings that he came across. Regardless, he stopped seeking them out after a while, and just tried his best to ignore the cravings, but he found that even harder than anything else, especially on his own. For a while he lurked on message boards and other such places online, searching for people like him, but whenever he found them, he found they didn't really connect in the same he'd hoped they would. They were a lot more...crass about what they were dealing with, and what they were doing. Drew felt shame, not pride. He so badly wanted to be better, but the craving was just too great. For a brief period of time, he'd met a man online who did feel the same way he did in regards to their specific problem, but after about half a year of communicating, the man eventually took his own life out of guilt for his actions, and ever since then Drew wondered if this was the only outcome. Was the only future possible suicide or prison? Fuck it. If he couldn't be normal, than maybe he should stop trying. It was obviously never going to be better. He accepted this, albeit reluctantly, and gave in. He didn't act on anything, he didn't approach anyone, at least until he started looking for work again, right before being hired by Reynolds. That girl in his bed the morning of his interview...she was the first one he'd been with again since the issue at his previous job, and this time...this time he didn't feel shame. This time he just accepted that, in the moment, it was nice to him, and he reveled in it. Drew was tired of feeling sick. He knew he was sick, but he was tired of feeling sick. So instead, he figured, he'd just feel fine about it instead. If all the others could be pleased with themselves, then why fight it himself? So he met this girl, he slept with her, and he didn't feel bad about it at all. Even if she was a freshman in high school. *** "How many sandwiches did you buy?" Janice asked, watching Reynolds unwrap another one at the table in the cafeteria, almost in awe. Reynolds smirked and, taking a knife, cut the sandwich in half, handing her half this time, which she graciously took. "Look," Reynolds said as he watched Janice sink her teeth into it, "a man knows his appetite. I knew I'd be extra hungry today, and I refuse to let the hunger win. Instead, I'll give into the hunger. Feed the hunger. Keep the hunger content." "You make it sound like a parasitic alien," Janice said, chewing. "Who says it isn't?" Reynolds asked, raising an eyebrow, the both of them laughing as Drew sat down at the table with them. He had a paper bag with a pasta dish - leftovers he had from dinner the previous night - and pulled the container with the pasta out from the bag, popping the lid and digging in with a plastic fork. "So," Reynolds said, glancing across the table at Drew, "how do you think you're doing so far?" "Well, to be honest," Drew said, shifting nervously as he ate, "I'm not sure. I've never worked with kids before really, and while I've always liked sports I never worked in that sort of field before either, so this is all kinda new to me and frankly I'm feeling a little overwhelmed." "That's fair," Reynolds said nodding, taking another bite and, after finished chewing, continued saying, "but the thing to remember is that you've got virtually no real responsibilities. I basically need you around for the times I'm not, and to occasionally help with extra duties I might not be able to do. The sheer fact they allowed me to even hire an assistant coach makes it feel like Victoria believes in me." "It's gross isn't it? Being trusted," Janice said, and Reynolds nodded. "It sickens me, quite frankly. I'm insulted," Reynolds replied, the both of them laughing, which made Drew chuckle too. He didn't really understand the situation at this school, and especially didn't understand the relationship this team had with one another, but he could tell it was a rather easy going relationship overall and that put him more at ease. After a moment of adding some cheese packets to his sandwich and taking another bite, Reynolds sighed and added, "you know what the worst part is is that I can't help but shake the feeling like they wanted me to pick my own replacement." "At least you'll be replaced," Gorey said, scoffing, "when janitors get retired, they just take us to a field somewhere upstate." "Well," Reynolds said, laughing, "if I did have to pick my replacement, at least it seems I picked someone who seems like a pretty decent one!" Drew smiled, but averted his eyes. He knew they were joking, yet a part of him couldn't help but feel the kernal of truth that sat inside the joke of being trusted. It did disgust him, knowing people trusted him, especially around young girls. He certainly didn't trust himself, and that scared him more than anything else. Drew glanced across the cafeteria and noticed the bat girl, Misty, talking with Hawley and Tyler, the three of them laughing. He felt a rock fall into his gut, and shook his head. He focused on his pasta for the remainder of lunch. *** That evening at home, Hawley and Clarissa sitting on the couch together painting their nails and watching TV, Reynolds was in the kitchen making lunches for the next day, his mind wandering back to Drew. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but something about the guy irked him, and he hated that he couldn't place his finger on exactly what that thing was. He shut the fridge door and approached the living room, hands on his hips, looking at the girls, who glanced up at him, muting the TV once it hit a commercial. "Yeah?" Clarissa asked. "Hawley, what do you think about the asisstant coach?" Reynolds asked. "You hired an assistant coach?" Clarissa asked. "Yeah, this guy named Drew Peterson," Reynolds said, seating himself on the arm of the couch, hands now posted on his knees, "what do you think of him, Ellie?" "I don't know," Hawley said, shrugging, "he seems alright, but I didn't really interact with him much. He was kind of quiet and kept to himself, but that could just be because he's in a new situation, and he's nervous. But whatever, none of my business. If you hired him he must've been qualified." "What gave you the impression I was hiring people based on their qualifications?" Reynolds asked, making the girls laugh as he added, "honestly, what is with everyone having faith in my skills lately? No, really, I hired him cause there weren't many applicants and he seemed like the most normal of the bunch." "Thank god a serial killer didn't show up, or you might've had to hire them instead," Clarissa said. "Yeah," Hawley chimed in, "I didn't know the real qualification was just showing up." "Alright, I don't need this sass," Reynolds said, standing back up, the girls laughing as he re-entered the kitchen, smiling to himself as he did. He loved being home with the girls. He loved...just...having a home, and a family of sorts again. It reminded him of his old life, but in a better way. Reynolds continued making lunches for the following day, listening to the girls talk as he did, knowing they didn't realize he could hear them. Listening to the girls chatter, he felt so comfortable. A family was, really, all he'd ever wanted, and he'd been lucky to somehow attain it twice. Reynolds pulled open the fridge, looked inside, the shut it hard and looked back towards the living room. "Where's the peanut butter?" he asked. "We're eating it on crackers!" Clarissa shouted back. "You're gonna spoil your dinner!" "This IS our dinner!" Hawley shouted back, the three of them laughing. *** Misty found herself in the equipment shed, still putting things away. Practice had ended two hours ago, but she had band practice after school, so she hadn't had time to put things away until just now. Gorey had stayed behind to help a little, but she had a doctors appointment and had left about fifteen minutes ago, leaving Misty all by her lonesome. As she set the net bag full of bats down on the floor and wiped her brow, she couldn't help but feel good about being part of the team. Sure, she wasn't an athlete, but it was nice to be included in something, regardless of her level of participation. The door to the equipment shed opened, and Misty turned to see Drew coming in. "Oh," she said, "I didn't know you were still here." "I didn't know anyone else was here either, I was coming by to lock up when I noticed it was ajar," he replied, chuckling nervously, "so...you're not, like on the team right?" "If you wanna get into semantics," Misty said, shrugging, picking up another netted bag, this one with baseball gloves, and tossing it into a pile in the corner; she wiped her hands on her pants and shrugged, "but I don't mind! I'm not super into athleticism anyway. I like doing this." Drew nodded, listening, as he quietly locked the equipment shed door behind him. Misty, with her back turned towards him, still putting things away, never even heard him come up behind her. When she felt his hands on her hips, she tensed up, terrified, but unable to speak. And when his hands found other places, she stayed quiet, because she didn't know what else to do. Drew had tried, he really had. He had had guilt and shame, he had wanted to get better, but he didn't know how, and this craving was too strong. So fuck it, then, he thought. He was going to have a good time with it, and that was all there was now. And Misty, unfortunately, just happened to be an easy enough target. After it was finished, after he'd left the equipment shed, promising her not to speak a word of this to anyone, Misty herself finally left. The first thing she did when she got home, understandably, was take a shower. A very, very long shower. The kind of shower one loses themselves in. She could still feel his fingerprints on him, and she hated it. And while lying in bed that night, trying to think of anything else, all she could think of was Drew, and, of course, Reynolds. He'd hired him. He'd hired him not knowing what kind of person he was. What a vile monster he could be. She wanted to be mad at Reynolds, but there was no way he could've known. Had he known he certainly wouldn't have hired him. She trusted Reynolds judgement enough to know that he did really care about the safety of his kids. And yet she couldn't help but be mad at him. Mad at Drew, mad at John, but certainly not at herself. Oh no, that was the one allowance she gave herself. No shame, no guilt, no anger, not towards herself. People blamed girls for things that happened to them enough as it was, and she refused to buy into that mindset. So sure Misty wasn't athletic, and she didn't play on the team, but there was one thing being involved with sports had taught her, and that was to never admit defeat. To always rail against your competitor. To not be a sore loser. Because she wasn't a sore loser. She wasn't a loser at all. Drew was the loser. She was the strong one, for living through it. Now she just had to find a way to live with it the next day. And the next day. And the next day. And every single day after that for the rest of her life. But that's what being a sportsman is all about, right? Refusal to quit. And she refused to quit. So she didn't give up and she didn't hate herself, but she did let herself cry herself to sleep that night. And it felt good to do so. A sort of odd reassurance that she could, in fact, still feel something other than rage. She had to give herself some leeway. She was just a teenage girl, after all. |
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GRAVE INNINGS is about A funeral home that has sponsored a local little league, the coach who is a disgraced reality show host, a young transgirl and the odd family they create for one another. Archives
May 2024
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