We wrap up one crazy year and plunge straight into another. Hopefully, you all had time to catch your breath before making the leap.

We now have five platforms we publish to: Rue Scribe, Underwood, The Purpled Nail, True Chili and Black Works. And, on January 6, we started accepting submissions for Baker Street, our take on mystery, suspense, and crime stories.

Think Sherlock Holmes and Arthur Conan Doyle, Hercule Poirot, and yes, The Maltese Falcon. Think of these and you won’t go wrong.

And, yes we will look at poetry, too.

Why January 6? Because it is Sherlock Holmes’ birthday, of course.

Dedicated to Arianna and Sabrina

Chapter One

The coffee was cold and tasteless.  I sat in this dim room for nearly 45 minutes before the detective arrived.  He wanted answers.  I wanted answers.  However, I was not one to be forthcoming when treated as a criminal.

The door opened and in walked Detective Finch.  We met, briefly, at the farmer’s market sharing our fondness of fresh fish and exotic recipes.  Had this not happened, we might have shared more.

He sat across from me and opened the conversation with his aw-shucks boyish charm he had on display the other day.  He did it for me and it completely disarmed me of all of the apprehensions I collected since the morning.

“Can I call you Gillian, Miss Adler?”  So formal for a man he knew I found charming.  I would prefer a more casual attitude, but under the circumstances, I can understand his by-the-book procedures.

“Yes, please call me Gillian.”

“Alright, for the record, Gillian, please tell me again what you believe happened to your sister.”  The clock on the wall indicated it was just past 8pm. 

This was going to take time.

“My sister, Kaylee Ann, is two years younger than me and ten times more adventurous.  She is prone to serendipity, stunts, capers, romps, and escapades, the nature of which, even I would not disclose to her if I were today’s protagonist and the situation was reversed.  Kaylee Ann only recently graduated from college and managed to schedule an interview with her dream company, in television production, in New York City by the end of the month.  She told me of her plans for her cross country journey during the month of time she had prior to the interview.  She debated between a picturesque train ride or renting a car.  I insisted she rent the car to remain free from scheduling and layovers.  I even offered to pay for it.  She pouted during my insistence, but eventually acquiesced.  I chose one of those dependable hybrids.  A canary yellow one.  The man behind the counter gave me a great deal and said Kaylee Ann could return the rental in a variety of nationwide locations.  She seemed more excited about the interview than the 3000 mile solo drive.”

Here I began tearing for I was the insistent sister who might have engendered Kaylee Ann’s disappearance.   “It has been a week since my sister checked in with me or any of her social media accounts.  I left message after message without a single response.  This was typical of Kaylee Ann when she is so deeply involved in her own world that she forgets there are others in it that care about her.”

Now I began crying.  I informed Detective Finch that the car rental company found the Leaf abandoned in the parking lot of the rental company in Reno, Nevada.  “The handwritten note she left gave instructions to cancel the contract.”  Detective Finch took the copy I had.

“Is this common for your sister?  To abruptly change plans without consulting with you?” 

From what little bit I know of him, the detective is a most unusual man.  He spells his first name with two d’s and asks leading questions with ease.  Normally, I would continue with the narrative myself, but, between my tears and the trouble my sister is putting me through, I decided to follow his lead.

“Yes to both questions.”

“Miss Adler, Gillian, do you believe your sister is missing?”  Sidd (Detective Finch) was a good ten years older than me.  His concern was the concern of a father with a missing child.  Kaylee Ann was always this way, but never for this long.  I told him no.

“Do you believe she is in trouble or dire circumstances?” 

Once again, I had to say no.

“Then, Gillian, how can the Sacramento Police Department help you?”

Considering her past, I did not have an answer to his question.

Chapter Two

Gillian is uptight.  Always has been, always will.  I kept reminding myself of how she became this way, this motherly way, when our parents died right after the end of my sophomore year in college.  I was drowning and she kept me afloat.  For that, Gillian receives perfect 10’s from me.  However, now that I am out of college, Gillian should understand that if she wants to continue being a mother, maybe should find a guy and have a few kids of her own. 

Such was the excuse for all of my sudden adventures into the great unknown.  Today was no different.  Here I am, on I-80, in a hybrid car, with a map, leading me to my future.  I could wow them at the interview and work in production studios for the next 50 years if everything goes well.

Fifty years of New York City is also a double edged sword.  I would have the pulse of the nation but also be a victim by keeping that pulse.  Others would see the world, live out their dreams, visit exotic locales, and meet exotic people.  I would know about such lives, but would I have one of my own?

Reno, Nevada is the Biggest Little City in the World.  If I cannot find an adventure there, I don’t deserve one of those coveted lives I hope to one day acquire.

I thought the entirety of my thoughts, over and over again, as I began walking away from the Nissan and the car rental place.  I left written directions in the car.  The dealer can refund the unused time back to Gillian.  A Nissan will not create adventure.  I have one backpack and one suitcase.  I also have 29 days to make it to the Big Apple to fight for the job of my dreams.

Nevada is too dry, too hot, and too far to walk for too long.  I put up a thumb to hitch a ride into Reno.  Four cars passed without slowing down.  The fifth, an old tow truck came to a halt.

The driver looked out of place behind the wheel.  His cowboy hat and farmer tan lines gave away his occupation instantly.  I told him I wanted to find a hotel for the night, maybe get a bite to eat, maybe hit a few slots. 

He didn’t believe me.

“The way I see things, you look like you were just dumped or are running away from someone who needs to be dumped.”  The straw in his mouth added another level to his desert cowboy mystique.

“If you want a ride, it is only three more miles to the edge of Reno.  I could use the company.”

I gave him my best pout. 

“OK, you got me.  I will even pay for dinner for both of us.”

I can read a man and get what I want.  I always have.

It took a minute to climb up into the cab with my luggage.  Eventually, I place them both on the floor and rode with my feet up on the dash.  He didn’t speak, but he was looking.  I decided to break the ice instead of waiting.

“My name is Kaylee Ann.  What say you cowboy?”

Normally, a man this interested, and also interesting, stumbles across his words as they leave his mouth.  Not this cowboy.  He took his time.  The gears of the truck responded to his touch as he accelerated on the interstate.  Eventually, he chose his words carefully.

“That is a right pretty name you have Miss Kaylee Ann.  They call me Josh, Josh Wallerp.  You can call me Josh.  I am glad to make your acquaintance.”  I do believe under a different set of circumstances, this Mr. Wallerp might have accepted my hand, following with a small kiss, had I extended it.

We spent the next two hours at Jorge’s BBQ at the intersection of 659 and 647.  This was not by accident.  Upon arriving, Josh gave his truck keys to Jorge’s son, Miguel.  Then we sat down to a dish of flauta encantada with chile verde in tomatillo sauce, the house special.  I told Josh I was heading to New York City.  He told me he had never been there.  I think the term he used was “crowded”.  I expected something worse and applauded him with “discretion is the better part of valor.”  He returned my parry with Falstaff’s original quote, “Caution is preferable to rash bravery.”

I sat there dumbfounded as Josh Wallerp transformed from a desert cowboy to a Shakespearean quote master.  Then he kept eating again bringing me back to his cowboy reality.

The margaritas and the music came stronger than expected.  Josh ate with gusto, but drank very little.  I saw advantages in the reverse.

By the time we left, Josh, ever the gentleman, escorted me to the truck.  Or shall I say, trucks.  Now I had to ask.  “Josh, when we arrived, were you hauling a pickup truck?  I don’t remember a pickup truck attached.”

I do not remember anything after that.

Chapter Three

I do remember when I awoke.  I was in the passenger seat of the tow truck, Josh remained at the wheel.  A quick look backwards and we had the pickup truck in tow. 

The sun had already set.

Mr. Wallerp didn’t take his eyes off the road when he addressed me.

“Miss Kaylee Ann, we are still on I-80, heading east, making somewhat poor time.  You told me you no longer had a car and you desired to head east to New York.  Well, ma’am, we are just past Winnemucca and state route 95 in Humboldt county.  There is a fine ration of reasonably priced hotels and a rental car company up ahead.  I know the first are open and the second will by 9am.  This is my drop point for the truck, so we will be stopping soon.”

I could have screamed, but I chose against such measures.  I had been in worse predicaments and Josh was correct as he exited the interstate and pulled into a hotel next to the car rental.

“It has been an honor riding with you Miss Kaylee Ann.  I trust the county accommodations are to your liking.  Ask for Rita, she is the proprietor and she will fix you right up.”

I wanted to ask Josh a few questions, but he seemed more interested in making the delivery of the pickup truck than engaging in further conversation.

“Perhaps we will see each other again?”  I kept my question light so as to avoid delaying him.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I should say good night til it be morrow.”

“Since when did you discover Juliet as your muse?”  I had to inquire as I walked backwards to the hotel.  Over the sound of the tow truck’s engine, I do not believe Josh heard my voice.  However, given his unusual nature, I wouldn’t put highly honed lip reading skills past him.

Within thirty minutes, I was asleep, with a fully charged cell phone, no bars for reception, and few worries about tomorrow.

I awoke craving a good cup of coffee and a plate of anything worthy of eating.  Rita greeted me with both at her breakfast table.  She also watched me with a mischievous grin reserved for nosy aunts and ordained matchmakers who know too much and desperately wish to know more.

I could only take so much of this “I know a secret” smile of hers.

“I don’t wish to be rude, but why are you looking like that at me?”  It was my opening verbal salvo, not my invitation to join me for breakfast.

Rita sat down next to me and fixed her eyes at the window.  “Young lady, whatever you did took.”  She then nodded her head for me to fix my eyes in the parking lot.

There stood Josh, without a shirt washing his face and chest.  He must have already shaved and combed his hair.  In the morning sun, his muscles were most impressive.  Apparently, I was not the only one to admire the view.

“Rarely does one see such a spectacle return in these parts.  There must be some reason for him to be here.  Young lady, what might you think that reason could be?  Hmmm.”  Only her passion for eating her own cooking from my plate kept her from continuing her own conversation. 

With my bill paid in full, I took the hint, gathered my belongings and excused myself from Rita’s most humble quarters.  Quickly, I snatched the last sausage biscuit from Rita’s grasp.

She knew it wasn’t for me.

I snuck up on Mr. Wallerp and absconded with his flannel shirt.  Later, he informed me the aroma of the biscuit precluded my arrival.  I believe it was the shaving mirror that gave me away.  Either way, he earned the morsel.

I noticed his shirt was clean, but not pressed.  It was somewhat threadbare and could use a seamstress’s handiwork.  Before I gave it back, he noticed that I noticed and became shy about its condition.  I told him I could sew a few stitches to tie it over if I wasn’t going to rent a car that morning.

“Miss Kaylee Ann, I am going to hold you to your promise.  I came back here early to find all of the rental cars are currently reserved for the day, maybe two days.  Being so, I will offer you another day’s ride, eastward.  It just so happens that I have another vehicle to tow and we both have a reason to share a ride.” 

Now Josh was grinning.

I put the pieces together even though I didn’t for the life of me believe that story about zero rental cars.  He knew it was a whopper, but as long as he was acting, I played along.

“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”  Not my best Blanche DuBois, but he understood my point.  With that, I turned on my heel, tossed Josh’s shirt on my shoulder, grabbed my bags, and headed to the tow truck.  I saw the sedan secured, ready for its tow.  I also saw Josh finally realize that until I mended his shirt, he would have to drive topless. 

A quick look back to Rita’s only confirmed that her eyes never left the two of us.

Her smile was my smile that morning.

Chapter Four

Josh began the drive wanting to ask questions.  I held his shirt out the window and he understood.  I was going to push this cowboy gently for the duration of the ride.  I enjoy having things my way.

It didn’t take more than few hours to pass both Elko and Wells.  By then, I finished the repairs on his shirt.  I took my time to smooth the wrinkles and properly fold it.  I set the finished product on the seat between us.  Josh noticed the extent of my handiwork. 

“Aren’t you going to say thank you, Mr. Wallerp?” 

Josh kept his eyes on the road and his speed to a constant fifty miles per hour.  His driving skills never deviated.  His reply to me, did.

Josh was singing.  Not just any pop song or cliché country tune, Mr. Wallerp, Josh, began softly singing what he would later reveal to be one of his own creations.  It wasn’t finished and he cannot carry a tune, but I secretly recorded him every time his concentration drifted. 

May a sleepy head
find it’s solace in a secure home tonight
May the final bed
dissuade the pilgrim to roam not despite
The comfort of the dawn
is a comfort best shared by two.
Let no consolation
be valued as more than just true

Envision the rising sun revealing its worth
Tally each morning with a quiet sense of mirth
Take the paths no maps reveal as sincere
Challenge the forecasts declined from such fear

When he finished (there must be so much more), I wanted to ask questions.  This time, Josh took the shirt and held it out the window.  Part of me wanted to laugh.  Part of me wanted to hear more.  The last part kept my mouth shut and eyes open.

This cowboy knew he was I-80 eye candy today.  Who was I to complain?

We made the Nevada-Utah line in a few hours and pulled over, both to drop off the sedan near Wendover and to refuel.  Josh grabbed his shirt before I became mischievous.  I remained in the cab during the drop off, but not the refueling.

“Tell me about this truck.  Is it yours?”

Now Josh revealed his true nature.  He spoke as a cowboy, posed as a surfer, but his words were that of a mechanic.

“What you have been riding in is my 1971 International Heavy Duty Model 210 truck.  I  pieced together the engine and rebuilt the body, but otherwise, it is stock.  I primarily use this for freelance towing and that brings me to today’s proposition.”  He was adjusting his flannel collar with that last sentence.

“And what proposition do you have for me today?”  I know I played the coquette as I spoke each word.  Josh must enjoy the flirtation.  I know I did.

“We have an opportunity, if you are up for it.”  My eyes gave him the go-ahead to continue.  “I have a few friends who live off the grid a few miles from here.  I have an open invitation to stop by and I thought, if you have the time, that you might want to tag along.”

“Well, I appreciate the invitation if you’re sure your friends won’t mind, but it will come at a price.”

Now Josh looked a bit confused.  “You are charging me for my hospitality?”

My reply was as well thought as it was serious.  “Mr. Wallerp, for me to be your escort for display to your friends I will require you to perform three services for me.”  That caught Josh by surprise as witnessed by a single eyebrow raised almost as if he was Vulcan and would immediately respond with a “logical”.

“My first request is to hear the entirety of your song.  The beginning fascinates me.  I have high expectations for the conclusion.”

Josh interrupted, once again without his eyes leaving the road.  “What is what I was mumbling was a work in progress.”  I informed Josh that he had better get motivated, soon.

A few moments of silence before I divulged my next requirement, I wanted to hear his life story.  No cowboy drives a tow truck for a living.  No cowboy quotes Shakespeare on demand.  I know I was on shaky ground, but I possess a bit of both Scarlet O’Hara and Blanche DuBois DNA and have become accustomed to getting what I want.

It took Josh a few miles and the creation of a minute long pregnant pause before he acquiesced to my penultimate “request”.

Now I usurped Josh’s pregnant pause mandate and increased its duration exponentially.  I wanted Josh to believe I was in a state of deep reflection, cognizant of my limitations and resolved to word my final ”request” with extreme care.  I held my voice for nearly fifty miles as I watched some of the most spectacular landscape put forth as my personal eye-candy to admire and wonder if I could own.

It seemed forever before Josh took the initiative by clearing his throat.  He said we arrived at the sedan’s point of disembarkment.  He also included the necessity of a red dye diesel purchase.  I made eye contact with the only road sign on this stretch of Interstate 80.  It identified no visible roads or landmarks, not even the rundown fuel station.  The ominous sign read, “Point of No Return”.  I felt my heart sink upon reading this possible prognostication. 

I felt diametrically opposite when I witnessed Josh raise each of the proprietor’s small children as a favorite uncle might when passing through.  Greetings were exchanged.  Hugs were given.  Josh even laid a hand on the pregnant misses midsection.  His action was approved by the members of the family. 

From my window seat, I saw what Josh could be, perhaps what he already was. 

He shook hands and waived goodbye.  The 210, with a full tank of diesel, two exterior drums of diesel (strapped to both sides of the tow arm), sans a sedan load was ready to depart.  I watched the children discover a bag of treats from my side view window.  It was then that I revealed my final request.

“I want to be dazzled.”

With that, Josh removed a blindfold from the glove compartment.  He told me that his friends do enjoy company, they do not enjoy company discovering their location.

I hesitated.

Josh asked as we drove in first gear, never actually reentering the interstate, to trust him.

With the blindfold in place, I never saw where Josh began off-roading with the 210.  The truck took the bumps better than I did for all three hours both of us endured.

When the 210 came to a rest, Josh turned off the key.

“Miss Kaylee Ann Adler, you may remove the blindfold and be properly dazzled.”

Chapter Five

I was skeptical.  I was accustomed to much better treatment at the hands of those I permit to my close proximity.  But, that was then and this is now.

I am dazzled.

The night sky in Utah, if I am still in Utah, is darker than I have ever seen.  The stars, by contrast, are magnificent.  I have never been this far from civilization, this far from anywhere.  What I am witnessing can make someone believe in God.  Before me, in the night sky, I am seeing more stars than I thought possible.

“What you are viewing is the edge of the Milky Way galaxy, our galaxy.  Most people never even know you can view our place in the Universe.  Fewer still even bother to move away from the city lights that block such a spectacle.”

It was as if the entire galaxy presented itself, on edge, just for me.  I saw clusters of stars trimmed with hues of pink and purple the likes I have never witnessed previously.  Billions of lights rotating in a perfect pattern, a synchronicity of unimaginable proportions and choreographed not by the hand of man.

I stood in awe as Josh spoke.

And suddenly I had the urge to find his hand among the glow of the stars above.

“Greetings!”

That single word closed the door on a serendipitous opportunity a single day earlier I would have never believed possible.  I had an impulse, enhanced by the ambiance, now lost by the company.

I quickly collected my thoughts in time for Josh to introduce me to la familia Gonzales. 

First up was Pedro, then his esposa, Guadalupe (Lupita for short), and their eight children.

Considering my intentions just moments before, such an introduction seemed overwhelming.

Josh tossed the keys to the 210 to Pedro’s oldest sons so they could move it under a shelter and  (from what I heard) remove the two large drums of diesel.  The other children smiled as Pedro moved Josh from my near proximity.  The stars, once inviting, seemed as distant as scientific reality.  My face showed my disappointment.

“Mira”, Lupita spoke now as an old friend than a new acquaintance.  “The stars hold their magic every night.  You will find that moment again with Señor Wallerp.”

With that, the galaxy, if it were looking my way, might see another radiated glow.  Lupita obviously did.

The rest of the night was a cacophony of unrehearsed eating, drinking, (poor) singing, story telling, and feeling more welcome in a stranger’s home than I ever had before.  The children took turns attending to the pregnant cow or washing and drying the dishes.  Lupita orchestrated each as a maestro would.  The food was delicious, Josh exchanged a few presents, Pedro spoke of high taxes, all the while the little girls giggled and waved at me.  Lupita took up knitting as a ruse for listening that would rival the best skills of a spy.  It was obvious Lupita ran the house and the contents.

Eventually, it was time to retire.  Pedro assumed Josh and I were together.  Lupita planned otherwise.  Her oldest daughter, Maria, offered her bed in a gesture of good will and avoidance of impropriety.  Pedro understood and offered no complaint.  Josh sensing the mood of the moment, took up with the oldest sons for the night.  The little girls continued to giggle, aware of too much for children their age.

One last look at the heavens, one last thought of what could be.  Some could call this reflection a dream.  I would argue a wish might be more appropriate.

I still have time before my interview to resolve my doubts on events so far.

But tonight, Josh was correct.  I am dazzled.

Chapter Six

Maria aggressively awakes me from my slumber.  Looking out the window, the night sky defaults from the wonderment of ago to the bland of the norm I am so accustomed.  I would enjoy spending the night watching its full performance.  I would enjoy having someone watch with me.

Maria has other ideas.

“Corre!”  It was the full extent of Maria’s voice.  Her pull on my shirt emphasized my lack of translation skills and urgency of voice.  One more “Corre!” and I was upright and mobile.

Lupita met Maria and I at the “barn” where we found Pedro and Josh attending to the pregnant cow.  Pedro informed us that it was going to be a difficult birth, possibly breech, and the mother’s life was in danger.  Josh said I was there to help in the birth.  Pedro said his sons went looking for the vet.  They might return in two hours.  The cow did not have that long.

“What do you want me to do?”  It was all I could ask.  Unless Josh spoke, I was going to remain paralyzed, almost catatonic.

“Pedro will glove you up while I keep the cow as calm as I can.  You are the only person here with arms long enough and shoulders narrow enough to reach in and turn the calf.  You might have to feel for the umbilical cord.  If it is wrapped around the calf’s neck, you will have to untangle her first, before you turn her.”

Josh might have told me to save the world.  I could not do any of what he asked.  Lupita and Pedro began removing my shirt (I had on a t-shirt) and placing my hands and arms into the longest gloves I ever saw.  They reached up to my shoulder blades.  Pedro connected them with duct tape across my back to hold them in place.  Lupita placed an old pair of painter’s goggles across my widened eyes. 

It did not help.

It was all Josh could do to hold the cow in place.  She was suffering.  I clearly heard her cries from an impending birth and more than associated pains.  I understood the necessity of the painter’s goggles to obscure my view of the discharges from the cow.

Neither forms of protection helped against the foul odors of trouble.

I could not move.  I heard Josh’s instructions, but I could not move.  Pedro began forcing me to move, but I struggled against his will.  This was beyond my comprehension and capability.

If it were not for Lupita, I would have never acted.  She took my gloved arms and told me to look at the cow’s eyes.  “The cow knows you are here to help.  She wants you to help.  She will take the pain all mothers will endure for the health of their children.”

I looked at the cow’s eyes.  I found truth in what Lupita said.  Don’t ask me how, but I did what Josh asked.  I knelt down to where Pedro directed, and for the first time in my life, said a prayer.

It took all I had to force both of my arms into the fully dilated cow.  It took all Josh, Lupita, Pedro, and Maria had to hold her down during the process.

Time seemed to stand still.

By morning, the veterinarian informed all of us that the birth was a combination of breach and nuchal cord.  While the latter is usually harmless for humans, the combination of both is usually fatal for bovines.

Such was the case for both mother and calf.

Dawn brought the silence of grief for the family.  Today was an unrecoverable loss for the family.  The joy of the night before could not permeate the sorrow hanging like a plague today.

The giggling girls avoided me foretelling of my immediate departure.  Lupita told me otherwise, but the look from Pedro confirmed what I knew for certain.

The wildcard in this disaster was Josh.  I found him at the 210, on his CB radio, speaking to a woman he called Lucy.  While not oblivious to my remorse, Josh was unusually elated in hearing this woman’s voice.  She spoke of meeting him at the airport in Salt Lake City.  His face revealed the smile of duplicity.  How can he make a date on a day like today?  How could Josh not feel anything?

I declined breakfast and urged Josh to return to the interstate with due haste.  I slept the entire way ignoring his pleas for me to wear the blindfold.  He did his best to double back a few times, but I didn’t care.  All I wanted was for Josh to arrive in Salt Lake City.  I was sure, by then, I could call Gillian and explain my misfortune.

By dusk, the 210 puttered into Utah’s capital and the end of the line for both us.  Ironically, only I knew why.  During the trip, Josh attempted to pry any emotion expression from me.  He never pressed, but given the duration of the trip, he never relented.  I might have been able to engage in the conversation, had I not heard her voice over the CB radio.  She could not be a casual acquaintance nor a recent acquisition for how many people know how to find each other  with a CB?  This must have been prearranged.  I must have been some sort of trial run, discarded when I could not perform to expectations.  The cow was my litmus test and I failed miserably.  To think how close I came made me not want to think at all.

I just wanted the day to end.

Chapter Seven

The lights of all large cities are visible before their skylines.  Salt Lake was no different in that regard.  While I have never visited in person, I made the best of a bad encounter.  A glimpse at my phone ensured a full charge and all five bars.

Josh found truck parking for the 210 at the edge of the airport’s lot.

“Miss Adler, if you have the time, there is someone here I would like you to meet.”

So indignant was Mr. Wallerp, he could not just set me free, he had to rub my face in his sordid life.  I was almost willing to grab my bags and walk away, when I ventured further into territory unknown, even for me.

“Why yes, Mr. Wallerp, I would be eager to meet one of your friends.”  Gillian, my sister, who should be worried sick by now, and would later have to pick up the remnants of my shattered life, would be screaming for me to take the high road.  She would urge a peaceful exit avoiding the ugliness such a situation would bring.

I will take Gillian’s sage advice on any other day.  Just not today.

For today will be a reckoning both of promises not made and promises intended.  I would publicly have it out with Josh with his harlot Lucy.  I would give him an earful and make sure the two of them never forgot the name, Kaylee Ann Adler.

So I walked with Josh, close enough to be a couple, far enough apart to be a serious couple.  Josh did not detect the full extent of my body language.  For while I am not a scorned woman, I could be.

That alone was my impetus for action.

It is funny that in such a large airport, we located Lucy in such a short time.  She sat at one of those small cafe tables, alone, waiting.  Her hair was perfect.  Her smile was perfect.  She was probably one of those brainless models who get paid to wave her hand and toss her hair.  When Josh and Lucy made eye contact, she rose and ran, as did Josh into each other’s arms like two long lost lovers.

My blood was already boiling.

Still in each other’s arms, Josh turned as Lucy gave him a kiss on the cheek.  Now it was his turn to turn rosy red.

“Kaylee Ann, I would like to introduce you to . . .”

I cut him off when I said, “Lucy”.  This disdain in my voice did not go unnoticed with her.

During the next five minutes of accusations and intolerable levels of yelling, I never gave Lucy a word edgewise.  I never stopped my accusations until airport security escorted me and my bags away from Josh and Lucy. 

Josh turned to grab me, but Lucy took his hand and pulled him back to her.  Josh was as paralyzed as I the night before.

He made his choice an it didn’t include me.

Fortunately for me, no one pressed any charges, but I was under house arrest at a nearby hotel.  I was not to leave until Gillian, my sister, arrived to sign for me.  Her new boyfriend, Detective Sidd Finch of the Sacramento PD brokered the deal.  Gillian would arrive by morning.  She would have as much explaining as I for the week.

Chapter Eight

I attended Gillian’s wedding (elopement) with Detective Finch.  She kept the affair small but the available pool of available groomsmen large for obvious reasons.  Yes, I flirted with most, gave my phone number to a few, but found none of the candidates anything more than a substitute, not a solution, to my broken heart.

Gillian, on the other hand, began a full-steam-ahead mission to move Detective Finch and her into the realm of parenthood ASAP.  And she accuses me of impetuous behavior!

As far as my interview goes, this time, I flew to NYC, and booked a room in an affordable hotel within walking distance of the interview.  I prepped more than any candidate should and became confident that my, and only my ability, would prevail.

On the morning of the interview, I walked the block to the rendezvous, assured I would be seeing more of this great city in the decades to come.

I entered the Plaza and greeted the concierge.  He had my name on his list and asked to wait in the preassigned room, for I was not the only one considered for the position.  I thanked him and remained standing awaiting my destiny.

Then she entered.

She being Lucy.

“Lucy Wallerp, sister to Josh Wallerp” is how she introduced herself as she extended her hand.

When I awoke, I found myself on the upholstered chair, the concierge and his first-aid kit in attendance, with Miss Wallerp biding her time until I revived.

“Miss Adler, it seems you have had a very exciting month.  Is there anything you want to say?”

I lost it right then and there.  I apologized for my airport spectacle.  I apologized for my verbal tirade.  I apologized for hurricanes and earthquakes.

It didn’t help.

“Miss Adler, let me have the floor for a moment.  After your departure, I had a long talk with Josh.  It took all of a few seconds to understand your position and your emotional outburst.  In fact, I had to explain to my brother why you did what you did.  I do believe he is most clueless about certain aspects of life.”

I tried to hold back a tear welling prior to its eventually release.

“What you did was impressive.  It shows courage in the face of impending disaster.  For that I commend your assistance to Pedro and Lupita.”

“However,” 

Now I began to cringe and by the look on my face, Lucy knew it.

“However, coupled with the entirety of your time with my brother, I find you are not the best candidate for the position in television production.  You are impulsive and careless, almost reckless, in the chances you take.  Do you often accept rides from strangers on a whim?”

I knew I should answer, but I couldn’t.  Gillian had been tough on me in Salt Lake City, but not this tough.  I felt as if I was in the Principal’s office.

“However,”

Now I felt nausea rising up, ready to overtake whatever decorum I had remaining upon hearing Lucy utter that word again.

“However, if you are interested, I can offer you the opportunity to interview for another position.  A position I do believe would be better suited for your skill set and temperament.”

My inquiry was as brief as Lucy’s remaining time with me that day.  I accepted the file she offered and book contained within.

I had to make quick work of its contents.

Chapter Nine

Within a week, I scoured all of Sacramento (and surrounding areas) for an authentic (factory) front axle with a 1 and 39/64 inch large end diameter knuckle pin; one of the last of its kind.  This was my insurance, my hole card.

Then, I contacted Miss Rita of Winnemucca, Nevada.  We talked for an hour or so about my previous stay and how we could work together in a mutually beneficial manner.  She asked just how “mutually beneficial” this arrangement could be.  I asked if she had an internet connection and a money transfer account.  Within minutes, she adopted my reasoning.

Then, with the assistance of my new brother-in-law and his access to vehicular databases, all I had to do was wait.  I did take a week of CDL driving lessons in the interim.

It took four days of planning, two days of purchasing, and eight days of waiting before I lured my catch with my bait.  Sidd told me of a small town in Beowawe, Nevada, near the Homboldt River with a garage awaiting a delivery of a singular item.  Gillian asked if I knew how to drive a vehicle large enough to make the delivery.

I informed my soon to be showing sister, if I couldn’t, it wouldn’t be for trying.

One call to Miss Rita to confirm the package will arrive.

One call to the local car rental to confirm the delivery vehicle was available.

Three days to make the trip.

In the 72 hours I had at my disposal, thoughts on both sides of the emotional spectrum danced in my head.  Sidd told me I was crazy.  Gillian agreed.  I rebutted with the lack of statistics concerning two week romances prior to marriage.  They both blushed for they both knew, in my family, impulsiveness is hereditary.

I arrived on time at Rita’s, checked in, as she made the phone call.  I even had time to freshen up while I waited.

He did come as he promised.  Josh was shirtless and driving a canary yellow Nissan Leaf.  He wasn’t surprised at the hoops he had to jump through to acquire the only forty-nine year old factory axle available anywhere in the free world he needed to get back on the road.  He was a bit shocked with the hoops I had to jump through to make it all happen.

“Got yourself a rather large tow truck there Miss Kaylee Ann.  Am I to assume the crate holds my axle?”

“It could be your axle if you meet my price.  What say you cowboy?”

He began moving closer to me. 

“You may say I am not much for Jasmine Perfume.”

“My dear Josh, are you quoting Blanche DuBois again?”

He placed his hands on my waist.

“Maybe I am.”  Now he leaned in to kiss me.  “But whoever you are, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”  Now Josh kissed me as he should have many weeks ago.

When he finished, he still kept me close, still looking at me as intently dazzled as I was with the stars that singular night.  He didn’t want to break the mood, neither did I.

However, there was the matter of a business deal to conclude and I have yet to establish my price.

“Josh, Mr. Wallerp, how long do you think it would take to tow that hybrid of yours to Beowawe and repair that front axle on the 210?”

“Kaylee Ann, Miss Adler, would that be with skills of one person or two?”

“Mr. Wallerp, for the sake of argument, since I am no longer wanted in New York City, but have a standing invitation to Thanksgiving Dinner from my future sister-in-law (I pinched his arm while saying that), let’s think about two people always keeping the 210 in good repair.”

“Miss Adler, or should I say, Mrs. Wallerp, then it might take a lifetime for two people to keep the 210 in such a state of repair.”

“Well, I am now capable of acquiring parts, parts I would exchange at this very moment, if you could acquire a single part, perhaps consisting of gold and a solitaire diamond?”

Few people have that boyish charm.  Fewer still can pull it off upon demand.  Josh was neither of these choices.  His charm was sincere.  It was I that hoped to emulate all he possessed. 

I didn’t have to wait long for his answer.

It was one word to my proposition and four words for his proposition.

My answer was also “Yes”.

A quick look back to Rita’s only confirmed that her eyes never left the two of us.

Her smile was my smile that morning.

Andy Betz has tutored and taught in excess of 30 years. He lives in 1974, and has been married for 28 years. His works are found everywhere a search engine operates.

The rooster crows to awaken those who slumber
or to make the rest of us take note,
but at this spot, no one will rise from his call.

How long has he been practicing this futile routine?
Still, he ascends to the roof of a hut and crows once more
while a circling hen below thinks him a fool for trying to rouse the dead.

Corporals Mumford and Spence from World War I
are joined by vets from the Second, Korea, and Nam.
All rest here and none will stand at attention.

Lucy and Malcolm were greeted at the pearlies in the fifties,
and now, a shiny white railing, two chairs and the Virgin await guests.
I wonder how often their children, now old too, came around.

I sigh at the spot where Lisa and Casey are identified with Gone to be an Angel.
I say a prayer for friends whose babes also earned their wings early
and for another whose teen daughter departed by choice.

A new, sparkly section of recent arrivals shows evidence of visitors.
Balloons, flags, figurines, small vases with flowers…
But the residents will not react to the sweet gestures.

The rooster crows a third time, but I do not see him.
Did he slip through the black steel-barred fence to alert others?
Some who’ll deny like Peter and others who might awaken.

I must also be on my way to start anew or muddle through.
Will I rise and ramble or wait for a fourth squawk?

Adela M. Brito was raised in Miami, spent sixteen years in NYC, and now resides in Nashville, where she teaches composition. She holds an MFA in Fiction from the University of Memphis and is a professional editor of fiction and memoir. Her work has appeared in Hieroglyph, StoryBoard Memphis, Moko Magazine, and The Acentos Review.

Amaryllis

The scaly brown mass rests just over
the water, its roots submerged
like the tentacles of a jellyfish afloat
in a shapely tank of ruby glass.
I observe it closely, hoping for a hint,
some secret of transformation,
but Hippeastrum does not yield.
Then, suddenly, one day there is green,
and it rises ever so slowly over days
and weeks. I watch the tip, which seems
about to burst, but it, too, takes its time,
opening just as slowly, revealing one
tightly clasped blossom at a time,
until one day, there is a burst of fireworks—
deep ruby or ghostly white, a Monet mix
of pastels, or a giant peppermint candy
of red and white. It is nature at its showiest,
but it is also a kind of miracle, the brightest,
most festive display of color emerging
from something drab and seemingly
impenetrable. I do not know the secret,
but I keep my heart open, and wait
for its slowly rising green to emerge
and show me colors I can only imagine.

Development

Perched on a lamp post outside my office,
a hawk stares at the vacant lot
that, just days before, was its home.
Pines and oaks came down to make way
for the latest clinic, and the hawk
sits for hours—for days—with nowhere
to go. We watch it as long as we can,
and join in staring at the space
that once held masses of black-eyed
Susans and tangles of blackberry bushes.
The hawk, the squirrels, the rabbits,
the cardinals, the finches— all displaced
without benefit of notice or court date.

Days pass, and finally, the hawk leaves.
We wonder where it went, and as
we wait for machines to mow down
the last vestige of forest, a stand
of monarda bursts forth like violet
fireworks–nature’s last defiant show.

Diane Elayne Dees is the author of the chapbook, ‘Coronary Truth’ (Kelsay Books), and the forthcoming chapbook, ‘I Can’t Recall Exactly When I Died.’ Diane, who lives in Covington, Louisiana, publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world.

“Hey, Dad.” Sam found his father working the grill. A basket of french fries hissed as they were lowered into the deep fryer, and identical slabs of “chicken breast” sizzled in neat ranks on the grease-slick cooking surface. “I think there’s something wrong with my paycheck.”

            “Something wrong?” Old Mule sounded skeptical, as though he were receiving news the Swiss army had just pulled up in the restaurant’s parking lot and demanded the surrender of their complete stock of shaved ham. “Doubtful,” he said.

            “It looks a little low. Less than what we agreed on.”

            “Uncle Sam has to take his cut, remember.”

            “I’m familiar with taxes, Dad. I mean the gross pay is low. Look.”

            Mule wiped his hands on the grease-mottled apron that languished around his neck, then squinted at the pay stub. “That’s right,” he said. “At least for the time being. Remember you totaled my car before you disappeared.”

            “My car.”

            “That we paid for. And your mother, God bless her, made me hire a damned private investigator to go look for you at the end of that first year. Like on television. That didn’t come cheap.” Mule took a deep breath. “Since you’ve borrowed gas money from Mom twice since you’ve been back, I assume you’re in no position to reimburse me for these losses, so I’ll deduct installments from your check until we’re square.”

            “Couldn’t we have discussed the payment plan first?”

            “Like you talked to us before you left? No. This isn’t about getting reimbursed. I just want you to understand the hurt you put on us when you left. The money was the least of it.”

            Sam’s back sweated under the radiant heat of the pizza oven. “They didn’t find me? The investigators?”

            “Do you recall getting found?” Mule returned to flipping chicken patties. “I figure you owe me about $9,600 in total, plus a whole lot of explaining. You’d have known if we’d found you.” He pulled the next order ticket down from above the grill. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge you interest. Since you’re family and all.”

            Sam gritted his teeth and tried to remember the things he’d learned in counseling. Tried to acknowledge his father’s anger. Tried to be patient. “Can we revisit this next month? The farm needs a lot–”

            “The farm. Funny you only show up when you’re about to get something. Wouldn’t be surprised if you sold it before your Gran’s even cold in her grave.” The older man turned back to his assembly line of sandwiches. He slipped the patties onto a queue of waiting buns, then dealt each a translucent, paper thin slice of tomato as if from a deck of cards. “You better get changed. I need you tonight.” Mule closed the sandwiches. “There’s a clean Lily Bee’s shirt in my office.”

            The  basement was just as creepy as Sam remembered it, with shelves of dry goods, dark corners, and an earthy smell to the air. A 10×10 office was framed out of the back corner, with harsh fluorescent lights and a battleship of a steel desk. Sam found the shirt and changed into it, folding the one he’d taken off on top of his father’s desk calendar. He turned the sleeves toward the center with a neat crease, revealing the words “Lily MRI”on the gridded white sheet beneath. He paused mid-fold, reading the names of several doctors he did not recognize. He thumbed through a pile of  bills and invoices on the credenza, several marked “Past Due.” Growing up, his father had always considered lateness to be the eighth deadly sin. Sam’s concern for his parents increased with each tri-folded bit of evidence that times were hard.

            Back upstairs, the first of the dinner crowd settled into the worn wooden booths and creaking chairs of the dining room. Model ships they had built together as a family sat displayed on shelves alongside seashells and woven nets even though they were hundreds of miles from the nearest beach. The bright blue walls stood in contrast to the gray day outside.

            “Hey, waiter,” his former classmate Oliver Erwin called.

            “Hey, Ollie. What’ll you have to drink?”

            If Ollie was interested in something to drink, it didn’t seem to be at the top of his mind. “So it’s true. Sammy Bonzo, back from the dead. Jonas said he’d seen someone coming and going out at your grandmother’s farm – sorry about her passing, by the way. It was a nice funeral.”

            “Thank you. You want coffee, tea? We’ve got Pepsi products.”

            “Make it a diet. And a steak hoagie, plain. Baked chips instead of the home fries – watching my cholesterol.” He patted his stomach as though demonstrating where his cholesterol was located. “And some of that land from you if you’re selling.”

            Nothing would have been easier than to sell the place to Ollie and have it out of his hands, to get back to his old life. Yet, standing in the Bee with his dad’s words fresh in his ears, Sam said to Ollie, “That’s not on the menu.”

            “You going to farm it?”

            “Yep. Garlic.”

            “Garlic?”

            “Gotta settle down sometime.”

            “And you’re settling with garlic?”

            “Wholesale organic brings in a good profit margin.” Sam didn’t know if it was true, but it sounded good.

            He slipped out back by the dumpsters to check his messages. A light rain fell on his neck. One text. Julie Haydn. He tapped the message, ready for a long, angry diatribe, but the message said only, “I miss you.”

            You too, Julie, he thought. He scrolled through the contacts, took a breath, and hit the call button. The phone rang into the parentheses between when he’d left and when he’d returned to this little town – into the space that might have been, with a restaurant of his own, and a wife, and obligations of his own making. The rain fell more steadily now. The phone rang three times before he lobbed it into the dumpster.

Janie Kronk is an architect, college instructor, and adult literacy tutor living in South Carolina with her husband and daughter. She is a fair bread-maker but a terrible gardner.

To the one who looks in broken mirrors –
you can stare at yourself for days.
Looking for a battle of imperfections
that you fight in so many ways.
You find your own body broken
your face you line with scars,
and yet you continue your own game,
even when you’re putting yourself behind bars.
I know that you’re tired and empty.
You feel that you’ll never win,
but I’m here to tell you
that this is the place to begin.
It’s okay to be lost and at bottom;
and to find yourself cut from your skin,
because your truth will always reveal you,
your essence from deep within.
You need not to be perfect,
in your struggle to find your space
You need only to forgive yourself
for doubting your inner grace.
Set yourself from burden,
Let your soul be where you can rest,
Let no one define your journey,
Because only you know yourself best.
And if you find yourself wondering,
if you can be all you can be
To the broken behind the mirror –
Don’t worry, I’ll set you free.

Dr. Chelsea Elizabeth Samson works in the field of health management and technology in the Philippines and advocates for human connections in the healthcare system. Alongside her primary functions, she pursues civic advocacies as a brand ambassador of Kandama indigenous weaves and as a Global Shaper under the World Economic Forum. She has been writing poetry since the age of 12 and has continued a love affair with arts through her painting and poetry.

Tyler peered under the sofa and checked below the bed, two dressers, a desk, an end table and a nightstand— all the furniture in his mom’s assisted living studio apartment. “I don’t see it Mom.” Her left hearing aid had fallen out and disappeared into the clutter of the room, the compressed vestiges of what remained of her and her deceased husband’s suburban house.

“It’s got to be there somewhere.”

Tyler pulled his iPhone from the back pocket of his jeans and directed the flashlight beam under the sofa. “No luck, Mom.”

She patted his arm from her wheelchair. “Thanks for looking, honey. Did I tell you that Mrs. Nelson is here now?”

She actually had mentioned it several times in the last two days. Since he arrived on his monthly visit from western Pennsylvania, he was introduced to the same people on multiple occasions. He also found the stick of deodorant in her desk drawer that had been “stolen” by the health aides. At first, these things bothered him and his frustration spilled over towards his mom, as if it was her fault. Can’t she just pull it together? Now he knew there was not going to be any “pulling it together” and a saddened kindness settled over him. He still saw her dancing with his dad at their wedding, cooking Thanksgiving dinners for 20, and dressing in her finery to see Broadway plays. She was doing the best she could in a 370-square foot room, eating tasteless institutional meals, and going to bingo just to avoid another empty day in her room. “Mrs. Nelson is here?” He played along. “When did that happen?”

“A few months ago. A bunch of us were sitting in the lounge when she came in with her daughter—what’s her name? The one who was in all the plays. I got her number for you in case you wanted to call her.”

That would probably be Lauren. Call her? He hadn’t seen her since they graduated from high school forty-one years ago. They attended the same middle school and Mr. DelNegro’s Algebra II class in high school.

“I have to tell you something.” His mom leaned over from her wheelchair and in a confessional tone said, “Mrs. Nelson’s a little loopy.” She made the universal ‘kooky’ sign by pointing her finger to her head and spinning it. “She’s not all there a lot of the time.”

Tyler was thankful that despite his mom’s short-term memory loss and frailty, she still always recognized him and was capable of a normal conversation—when she could hear him.

“Anyway,” his mom continued, “She comes down from north Jersey almost every weekend to visit her mother.” She patted Tyler’s hand and he saw her battered veins, and constellation of liver spots. She left her hand on top of his and said, “Maybe you’ll run into her.”

***

Tyler shut the rear door of his Honda CRV and carried two cloth bags of groceries towards the front door of Golden Meadows Senior Living. Each visit he stocked his mom’s refrigerator with special treats. He passed a row of rocking chairs in front of Golden Meadows where three people had nodded off, heads either on their chests or awkwardly to the side. Another stared far away as if there was something fascinating going on at the apartment complex across the street. The last two quietly conversed, nodding to each other. “Good morning,” said Tyler.

He saw a flicker of eye movement in The Starer, glad to see some cognition and the other two returned his greeting, “Isn’t it a lovely day?”

“Yes, it certainly is.” It hurt him to see these withered husks of humans, like the dried, tilting corn stalks he passed on his way to Golden Meadows. Tyler turned to admire the fresh green leaves, catching the scent of the lawn’s first mowing of the year. He passed the massive lobby with its faux brass chandelier, and the baby grand nobody ever played. Just beyond the guest sign-in area was the downstairs sitting area, an array of armchairs and sofas parked around an electric fireplace. It was unnerving to think he might be occupying one of those chairs in twenty years.

 His mom looked up from chatting with a woman and waved to him. He bent over to kiss his mom on the forehead and held the overflowing bags up, “I brought you some goodies. I’ll put them in your room.”

Tyler’s mom tapped his arm and pointed with her head in the direction towards a woman sleeping upright on the next sofa. “That’s her.”

“Who?” Tyler’s arms were aching so he put the bags down.

She whispered, “Mrs. Nelson” as if her normal volume would awaken her when nothing short of a bone-rattling earthquake was going to rouse Mrs. Nelson.

“Mom, I’m gonna put this stuff in your fridge so I’ll be back down in a bit.” He went up the stairwell with its antiseptic odor and opened the door to his mom’s room. Tyler cleared space in the refrigerator for the items he bought, pulled out a sheath of papers wedged in the back, and saw it was the missing doctor’s bills he had spent fifteen minutes looking for the previous night. He set them aside and then tossed a jar of expired mayo along with a limp salad in a plastic container with a clunk in the garbage.

Tyler headed down the stairs and saw a woman his age wearing leggings and a striped top talking to the now-awake Mrs. Nelson. The woman with Mrs. Nelson stopped and looked around before spotting Tyler. The faint glimmer of recognition set in, like a shape appearing through a lifting fog. 

“Lauren, is that you?”

The woman leaned forward as if a few inches closer might help her decide who she was looking at. “Tyler Diggins, you haven’t changed a bit.”

She was charitable; he had gained twenty-five pounds and his hairline was in steady retreat. They maneuvered through a maze of wheelchairs and walkers and hugged. He didn’t know why; it was more like a reflex. They never knew each other well in high school or kept in touch over the past four decades. The embrace ended and they stood looking at each other, smiling, followed by a quick reassessment to see who they really just hugged.

They exchanged pleasantries: where each other lived (him Pennsylvania, her north Jersey), did they have kids (him two, her none), and who they had been in touch with from their graduation class. Her shoulder length blonde hair was now cut shorter, with some frosted highlights in it.

“Do you remember when Mr. DelNegro caught Vinny Castillo sleeping and whipped the eraser at him?” Tyler said.

“Hit him right in the head!” Lauren put her hand over her mouth but was unable to stifle laughing. “I guess I should probably get back to my mom. This was fun.” She hesitated for a moment. “How often do you get back here to visit your mom?”

“Oh, probably once a month or so. Since it’s a long drive and I’m retired, I stay in that hotel across the parking lot from here for a couple of days at a time. It’s just on the other side of the trees.” He pointed in the direction of the hotel. “I come and go around my mom’s schedule that way. How about you?”

Lauren turned towards him as if she was passing along a secret. “I love my mom, but I don’t have much of a life since I’m here almost every weekend.” She looked to see if anyone heard her but everyone was either engaged in their own conversation or had dozed off. “I don’t want to sound like a complainer but it does wear me down a bit.”

“I remember you had an older brother. Is he still around?” Tyler asked.

“He lives out in California now and comes to visit about twice a year so I’m pretty much ‘it,’ although he helps out financially.”

Tyler wished he had a brother or sister to back him up. His mom had a good pension from thirty years as an elementary school teacher but it would be nice to have a sibling to share the tracking of medical bills, prescriptions, doctor appointments, and shopping for Depend adult diapers.

“Anyway, the biggest help is Donna Delvecchio—remember her? She lives about three miles from here. We were friends in school so she lets me stay at her place whenever I’m in town. Her kids are all grown up, she’s divorced, and I think she likes the company. And a drinking buddy. It’s a bit of a wine-fest over there at times.” Lauren looked in her mom’s direction. “Anyway, I better check in with my mom. I’m going to help her with Sudoku. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again.”

***

Tyler kissed his mom good night and headed down the stairs. He stopped in the café, used the tongs to grab a few leftover banana muffins from the display case and wrapped them in a napkin, ready to head back to his hotel room. He realized the woman with her back to him reading her iPad was Lauren. “Hey, you’re here late.”

“Oh hi, Tyler.” She set the iPad on the table. “I usually stay until after the front doors shut, usually just hanging out with my mom in her room but the wireless connection is way better in this cafe.”

“Okay if I sit down? Tyler shoved the muffins in his jacket pocket and wondered what she thought of a guy taking day-old muffins from an assisted living home.

“Of course, sure.”

Tyler pulled up a chair. “How’d your day go?”

Lauren took a deep breath and tilted her head up before exhaling. “I kind of fibbed about coming down here for the wireless. My mom is so sweet but I really needed a break—she exhausts me at times.”

Tyler could relate; he’d just spent an hour with his mom putting together a list of her medications and searching for a Netflix DVD.

Lauren closed the iPad cover. “I’m really worried about her dementia. It’s hard to watch her deteriorate—she was such a vibrant woman—and I’m praying she doesn’t wind up on the Alzheimer’s floor.”

She teared up. Tyler wasn’t very good at this kind of thing, but took her hand and laid his hand over it. A few shiny drops edged down her face, curling around her mouth, so Tyler pulled the napkin off the muffins in his pocket and handed it to her.

“Thanks.” She wiped her tears and blew her nose. “What a load to drop on you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. My mom doesn’t have Alzheimer’s, but I’m kind of in the same boat. We can be shipmates.”

“Shipmates. I’d like that.”

***

A month had passed since Lauren cried about her mom going to the Alzheimer’s floor and they were back in the Golden Meadows café after normal visiting hours. After meeting for the first time, Lauren had slipped Tyler her cell phone number and email address offering to help bring items to his mom on her weekly trips to Golden Meadows, and their online and FaceTime friendship had blossomed. She was showing Tyler how to set up a Facebook profile.

“I don’t mean to intrude but you never mentioned what happened with your ex-wife,” Lauren said. “Did you know the guy who your wife took off with?” She sat back in the padded wooden chair. “I’ve read that ninety percent of people have affairs with someone the spouse knows.”

Tyler played with the zipper of his pullover. “Yeah, I knew the person. Kind of. But it wasn’t a guy, it was a woman. She was a co-worker at the downtown branch office so I’d met her at a few Christmas parties, potlucks, birthdays.” One of the several therapists they’d been to characterized their marriage as “mutual ambivalence.” Tyler still felt like the air had been knocked out of him when his wife told him she was leaving him. And for a woman. It was all so bewildering; he had collapsed into their green leaf-print armchair, unable to move.

“Wow, I’m sorry.” Lauren closed Facebook and sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

“I guess I’m kind of over the shock. Funny how our kids wound up helping us understand the whole situation better.” Tyler knew he was fortunate to have two wonderful, resilient kids who had grown up to recognize their parent’s flaws but managed to adjust to the divorce better than he did.

“Your kids sound lovely—I’d like to meet them some time. You know, I do feel like I’ve missed out on something in life by not having kids. My husband was in the Peace Corps in Ghana before we met and got some kind of nasty bug that left him, as he liked to joke—seedless. He didn’t know it at the time but it kind of took that option off the table. The flip side was we traveled and did things we wouldn’t have been able to do.”

Tylor swirled his decaf with the little wooden stirring stick.

“When Daniel got diagnosed with cancer several years ago—” Lauren deliberated, waiting for the words to come to her. “Time seemed to stand still at first and then it just sped ahead and he was dead. Just like that.”

“I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories.”

“No, no. It’s okay. Sometimes it’s good to be out with it. I couldn’t have said that until the last year or so.”

Tyler sat back and realized he hadn’t had a deep conversation like this in years. He was sitting in a cheesy little café with just four tables at an assisted living home and feeling more comfortable with the person across the table from him than he had been in a long time.

Lauren blew her nose and stuffed the Kleenex in her empty cup. “Would you be up for getting a drink? There are a few places close to here we could check out.”

“That would be fun,” Tyler said. “How about I drive—that way you can have a wine-fest without getting a DUI.”

Lauren made a small fist and gently punched him in the shoulder. “Now you’re talking.”

***

Tyler was under his sink fixing a leak at his house when the text message from Lauren arrived with a bing.

 “Visiting my mom this weekend, want me to bring flowers for your mom?”

Tyler wiped his hands on his shirt before texting, “Great. Thx!”

“What kind of flowers does she like?”

He’d never really given much thought to the kind of flowers she liked. He just knew she liked them. “Lots of color.”

“That narrows it down.” A smiley face emoji appeared.

Tyler was half-ready to drive six hours to Golden Meadows. He knew he couldn’t do it this weekend because he promised a friend he’d help paint several rooms in exchange for some Thai take-out. Every time Lauren texted or FaceTimed he felt a gentle electric current thrumming inside. The sun seemed brighter, the checkout lines moved faster, and each day opened with an air of expectation—reminding him there was a lot of living still to be done. He’d even started jogging again after several years, inspired by Lauren’s regular devotion to Pilates and yoga.

***

Tyler was outside raking, meticulously working the rake between a line of rhododendrons trapping a thicket of leaves. He enjoyed the contemplative motion of sweeping the leaves towards him with a shush, shush in ever-growing piles, broken only by the sound of the tines scraping the ground.

Sweat built on his brow and he went inside the house to get water. Pulling the phone from his pocket, he noticed a text from Lauren and realized he was so engrossed in raking he missed a text she sent shortly after he started working outside.

“She’s gone.”

Ten minutes later: “I really need to talk with you.”         

Who’s gone? Tyler set his glass of water on the counter. Her mom? Did she escape from Golden Meadows?He began to tap a response, cancelled his reply and dialed.

Lauren’s voicemail came on.

Tyler leaned over the kitchen counter, plucked a stray twig from his hair, and stared at his phone, willing it to ring. When it didn’t, he gazed out the window at the tidy piles of leaves he needed to gather and bag. All forward momentum on the leaf raking ceased and he hoped the wind did not scatter his hard work to the four corners of his yard.

Lauren’s name and number suddenly appeared as the phone rang. “Tyler, where have you been? I texted you two times.” He heard several cars honking so he knew she was driving.

Before he could ask what happened or explain why he hadn’t responded to the texts, Lauren cut in. “She’s gone. Gone! I got the call from Golden Meadows a little after 8:30 this morning when they went to give her meds. She died in her sleep.”

In Tyler’s mind the conversation blurred into a jumble of words like a spinning roulette wheel waiting for the little metal ball to fall into place. Then the wheel stopped and he gained his composure. “I can leave here in an hour and meet you at Golden Meadows.”

“That’s so sweet but this is going to be too crazy. I’ve been dreading this and don’t feel ready to deal with it.”

Tyler could tell she was crying and driving and knew it was not a healthy mix. “I can help—”

“No, no, not with this you can’t. I have to deal with her body, there’s tons of paperwork to complete at Golden Meadows, then there’s social security, an obituary, notifying friends and relatives. It’s endless.  At least she didn’t want a funeral service. Just donations made to the local animal shelter. My brother’s flying in tomorrow so that will be a big help. I appreciate your offer but I’m afraid you’d be standing around while we fill out papers.” Another horn blared in the background and Lauren barked, “Alright, alright, use your signal, idiot.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Just knowing you’re out there means so much to me. Look, I gotta go, there’s some kind of accident up ahead and the lanes are merging. Okay? Bye.”

The call ended and right then, Tyler felt more alone than he had been in a long time. He could not explain it, and he felt as if he tossed a lifeline to Lauren or she tossed one to him but they had both come up short, foundering in different ways. In only three days he had planned to meet Lauren at Golden Meadows. Now, that was off with no rescheduling in sight. It was selfish to think about himself while Lauren dealt with her mom. Still, it unsettled him in a new way; their visits at Golden Meadows added a sense of excitement and comfort he did not want scattered to the winds.

Three days passed without word from Lauren, and Tyler was torn between texting her, calling, or just being patient. Nothing helped except immersing himself in home projects and exercise. He finally got around to painting the old cabinets in his garage, and took off on long runs through East Park, huffing past mothers with kids bundled up in strollers, and elderly couples feeding the ducks.

***

The thick smell of lilies, roses, and tulips filled the air in the florist shop. A gray-haired lady with a green smock stopped snipping rose stems. “May I help you?”

“A friend’s mom passed away and I’m looking for flowers. What do you recommend?

“Lilies are always appropriate for a sad occasion.” She paused by a table with several bouquets. “Any of these white lily arrangements would do nicely.”

He pointed to one.

“Good choice. Are you taking them home or do you want them delivered?”

“Delivered, please.” He opened his phone, retrieved Lauren’s address, and handed the phone to her. “Here’s where to send them.”

The saleswoman copied the address on to a piece of paper. “Thank you. Now, what about the card?”

Card? Tyler hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“We could send a standard card if you’d like.” The woman smiled kindly at him. “Or you can write one and we’ll include it.”

“I’m not good at this, but I’ll write one.” He wished he was more eloquent and was envious of people who possessed a knack with words for solemn occasions.

“Here, take this.” She handed him a scratch pad and pen. “Take your time and get the words just right on the pad, and then you can re-write them on the card and it will turn out perfectly.”

“You’ve done this before,” Tyler said.

She nodded her head. “I sense this card is for a good friend.”

He wasn’t sure how to categorize Lauren. When he wasn’t with her, he was thinking of her. When they were together, the warmth she exuded wrapped him in an embrace like a comforter around his shoulders on a winter night. “More than a good friend.” Tyler scribbled words, scratched them out, wrote more, before coming to where he signed his name. Should he sign with ‘love’? Would that seem too pushy? Too needy? Tyler loved his mom and kids but it was not a word he bandied about often. He didn’t know how else to describe the sensation, and he warmed to it.

***

The gloom of Lauren’s mom’s passing turned the collage of autumn color on Tyler’s drive into a black and white photo stretching all the way to Golden Meadows. Tyler sat with his mom, was reintroduced to all her friends, watched TV with her, and straightened up her room, all the while half-expecting to see Lauren walk in.

Tyler put the leftover pizza in the fridge, wrapping the remaining slices in aluminum foil.

“I heard about your friend’s mother, Mrs.—what’s her name?”

“Mom, my friend has a name. It’s Lauren. You always refer to her in the third person but her name is Lauren and her mother’s last name is Nelson.” As soon as the words left his mouth he knew how hurtful they were. His mother looked down at her plate.

“I’m sorry.”

“Ma,” he put his hand on her shoulder, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

She put her hand over his and rubbed the top of it. “It’s hard when the people we care about aren’t around anymore. I miss your father and wish we could all be together again as a family.”

Tyler felt a sharp stab—so much was slipping away. “I know Ma.”

His mom turned in her wheelchair. “Does this mean you won’t be seeing Lauren anymore?”

“I don’t know, Ma.”

On his way out, Tyler stopped at the café to see if there were any muffins but the case was empty and even the serving tongs were gone. The coffee machine had an ‘out of order’ sign on it and a fluorescent bulb flickered like it was trying to send an undecipherable message.

***

After a week, Tyler texted Lauren to check in. “How’s it going?”

It was several minutes before he got his reply. “At Rutgers Med School office. Mom donated body to science. Have to complete more forms—disposal of remains. Wish this was over. Not sleeping well.”

“Can I call?”

“Not a good time. 8 people in waiting room w/me. Later?”

“Ok.” Tyler felt that if she could talk to him it would calm her. He couldn’t hide the pang of needing her in a way he hadn’t known until now.

There was no call later that night or for the next two weeks. His calls went straight to voicemail.

***

At the end of his visit to Golden Meadows a week later, Tyler turned his car north instead of west. He headed to Lauren’s house even though he’d never been there before. He had her address, but all their meetings had been at Golden Meadows. Should he call first? What’s the point? She wasn’t picking up.

The forty-five-minute drive sped by in the darkness of an overcast Sunday night. Thoughts raced through his head.What if she’s not there? Maybe he should pull over and text her. Should he just stop and think this through?

He pulled into Lauren’s development and matched the townhouse number to the one on his phone’s contact list. Her silver Camry was parked out front. The doorbell chimed and he stood there, unsure how to do this. He fidgeted with his car keys in his pocket.

The deadbolt clicked and Lauren opened the door. “Tyler, what are you doing here? This is a total surprise.” Lauren was dressed in a terry cloth bathrobe with a belt knotted at the waist. “How come you didn’t call?”

“I’ve been calling. You haven’t called me back for weeks.” It came out harsher than he intended. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” Tyler was one step down from Lauren, on the stoop, so he looked right in her eyes.

“Given everything happening lately, I guess so.”

Tyler shivered, realizing he’d left his jacket in the car. “Could I come in?”

“Now’s not a good time. I hope you understand,” Lauren said.

From inside the house, a chair scuffed. A man’s voice called out, “Everything okay, Lauren?”

“Is that your brother?” Tyler asked.

“No, it’s not. But I can— “

Tyler took a step back, almost stumbling off the stoop. “Now I get it. What were all those nights we went out for drinks about?” Tyler felt heat building in his chest, his jacket no longer necessary. “We talked for hours. Laughed our asses off too. What was that all about? Was I some kind of diversion?” He stalked back to the car.

“Tyler, can we talk about this?”

Tyler stopped and turned around. “That’s what I came here for.” His hand was on the car door handle.

Lauren followed him down to his car in bare feet. “Jesus, Tyler, stop for a minute and I can explain.”  She stepped on a rock in the parking lot and hopped on one foot. “This isn’t what you think.”

He sat in the car and shut the door, fumbling for his keys.

Lauren knocked on the window. Her face so close she fogged it.

Tyler backed out, almost clipping a white pickup truck. In the rear view mirror, Lauren stood in the parking lot with her arms at her side. His heart surged and his breath came in short gasps.

A moment later his phone pinged with a text from Lauren. “You need to let me explain.”

He flipped the phone on the passenger’s seat and stepped on the gas. The long drive home was a blur of blame and recrimination. At 3:30 a.m. he pulled up to his house, having driven for six straight hours. No coffee, bathroom breaks, or radio. He reached behind him and rubbed his sweat-soaked, sore back. The darkened house, with only a dim kitchen light on a timer, wasn’t inviting. Tyler slumped in the seat, tempted to recline his seat and fall asleep. He retrieved his phone and saw Lauren had texted two more times before giving up.

Tyler unlocked the door, pulled his Penn State hoodie off, and it slipped from his grasp on the entry way floor. In the bedroom, he tossed his shoes into a corner and dropped on his queen bed with his clothes on. A great weight seemed to press him down; he could almost feel himself sinking into the bed. Sleep would solve things—for now—and he welcomed it as it overcame him.

***

A week went by and Tyler slogged through his daily routine. Coffee and internet surfing in the morning, a trip to get his cholesterol medicine, beer with frozen pizza at night. College football. More beer and pizza. It wasn’t healthy but he couldn’t stop himself. It was a full power failure, no brownout, no light dimming. He missed the spark of Lauren’s texts, the FaceTime banter, and the way time compressed, as if he had entered another dimension.

A visit to see his mom was coming up and he couldn’t be morose with his mom. It wouldn’t be fair and he didn’t want to burden her with his sinking love life. She lived in a different world now, and he wanted to keep it as blissful a space as possible.

***

At the Golden Meadows Holiday Gala in December, Tyler sat in the audience with his mother while a choir from the local high school sang Christmas carols. Later on, in the small theater a double feature was going to show Miracle on 34^th Street followed by White Christmas. The smell of popcorn from the theater’s little machine wafted into the main hall. Tyler sat next to his mom and looked around at the other seniors in the room. Half of them belted out carols, words on the song sheets in their hands in big, bold print. Several people nodded off, despite the din, and sheets lay scattered on the floor around them. Tyler’s mom held his hand and tapped her foot to the music.

After the carols and a movie they adjourned to her room for dinner and the evening routine of watching TV. Tyler had one eye on the TV while he washed the dishes. 

“Meet in café in 5?” flashed on his phone screen. It was Lauren. Tyler almost fumbled his phone into the sink.

 “OK”

 “Mom, something’s come up. I’m going to take off when I’m done cleaning. I put your leftovers in the fridge.”

“Okay, honey. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Right after breakfast but first I have to pick up your prescription.” Tyler kissed his mom. “Good night.” He felt like a kid sneaking out of his parent’s house late at night to meet a friend.

Lauren was dunking a doughnut in her coffee, her pocketbook on the table.

“What are you doing here? Tyler stood next to the juice dispenser.

“The staff was very kind and boxed Mom’s stuff up and put it in a storage room.” Lauren blotted a few coffee drops on the table with a napkin. “I just didn’t have time to deal with it right then with so much other stuff going on.

“Like not calling me back?”

“Tyler, you’ve got this wrong. That’s why I want to talk.” She moved her pocketbook. “Please, sit.”

Tyler pulled the chair out and sat, hands in his lap. He wasn’t sure he was ready to listen to what she had to say. Why had he left his mom’s room so fast? The mix of emotions flustered him, but here he was, so he might as well hear her out. “How long have you been here?”

“A few hours. It took me that long to get the courage to text you.”

“And?”

 “I know I’ve been a total shit lately.” She paused to wipe crumbs off the corner of her mouth. “I am so sorry. I just kind of hit a wall dealing with everything. I turned into one of those people who I never thought I’d be: numb and non-responsive. I can’t explain it any better than I guess that’s the way I grieve.”

Tyler recalled the first few months after his wife moved out. He had never been much of a drinker or TV watcher, but the TV turned into his companion. Its consoling glow and endless chatter filled the house, drowning out the stillness. His kids bought him a membership to a health club after they saw the empty beer bottles in the recycling. The membership went unused, and he made token appearances with friends badgering him to “get out more.”

“To top it off, my brother and I got into a big fight and were barely talking to each other when he left. And I miss my mom most of all.” Lauren cupped her hands over her face as if it were an oxygen mask, and took several long breaths.

“Aren’t you skipping something?” Tyler leaned forward, his hands on the table. “The guy at your place.”

“I’m getting to that.” Lauren paused, and clutched her pocketbook with one hand. “That guy—James—is a former coworker and friend. His wife asked him to move out a few days before you showed up at my door.” She let out a deep breath. “Anyway, it wasn’t the best time for me, but I’m a pretty caring person, so I said he could stay at my place for a bit since I have an extra room. Give him time to gather his thoughts.”

Tyler sat back. It sounded plausible. How could he be sure?

“James had been at my place a few days but his emotional needs were draining the little mental energy I had left. Five minutes before you arrived, I had asked him to get a hotel room starting the next day.

“Well aren’t I the jerk?” Tyler stared down at the table, fiddling with his Penn State class ring. “I don’t know what came over me—it just hurt so bad knowing you were with another guy.” He had always been the one in control of his emotions, the steady one. It was as if Lauren was removing one brick at a time from a fortification he built around himself. “I came down here assuming we were finished. I should have given you time to explain yourself.” It had been a long time since Tyler had felt the way he did about Lauren. His life had been consumed by her. Losing her so suddenly that evening was too much to bear, a wall toppling. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. I know it didn’t look good. I want to get back to where we were.” Lauren reached out and touched Tyler’s hand. “Can we do that?” He opened it and she placed hers inside and said nothing. The coffee maker gently hummed next to three stacked columns of Styrofoam cups. Thin slices of lemon floated in the water cooler, and three doughnuts sat in the display case.

Lauren looked at her half-eaten doughnut, “What do you say we go somewhere else?”

“I’m not sure we’ll be able to capture this ambience anywhere else.”

“It’ll be difficult, but let’s try.” Lauren picked up her pocket book and they walked through the main hall until she said, “Stop.”

 “What?” Scanning the entry he saw the baby grand with a large poinsettia on it, glittery decorations proclaiming Merry Christmas, and some large striped green and red candy canes hanging from a few picture frames.

“Look up,” Lauren said.

That’s when he saw it: mistletoe.

“You’re supposed to kiss me.” Lauren positioned her face towards Tyler.

This was certainly a holiday gift come early. After all they’d been through. He wasn’t expecting it, which made it all the more pleasing. He leaned over, planted a kiss on her cheek and felt the warmth rising from her.

“That’s a pretty lame kiss. Here.” Lauren grabbed Tyler’s face and kissed him deeply on the lips. “I can do better than that, too.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the cameras everywhere in the building, but immediately after the kiss, an attendant came by asking if they needed to be let out since the doors locked after 9:00 p.m.

“Sure,” said Tyler.

The doors rumbled open and as they walked out, an icy landscape greeted them. A freezing rain glazed the azalea bushes and branches tinkled in the breeze. They skirted on to the grass adjacent to the sidewalk so they didn’t fall. A half moon slipped through the clouds and reflected off the ice, as if the world was made of fine crystal, and icicles hung from the street lights. Lauren’s car was encased in ice a half-inch thick so they both hung on to the car to steady themselves.

“I’m never going to get this door open,” Lauren said.

Tyler figured he’d need a blowtorch to clear the glacier formed on it. “It doesn’t make any difference.”

“What do you mean?” Lauren’s car keys were in one hand and she clutched the side mirror with the other hand to keep upright.

The parking lot was a sheet of ice glowing like a skating rink in the incandescence of the streetlights. “Where would you go? You wouldn’t make it out of here without wrecking your car.”

Lauren peered around the lot. “I don’t really want to sleep on a Golden Meadows sofa.”

“Who said you need to do that?”

“You have a better plan?” Lauren said.

 “As a matter of fact I do.” Tyler grabbed Lauren’s gloved hand and linked arms with her. “Why don’t you spend the night at my place?” It was a bold move, partly out of necessity but more because he had wanted to ask that question and never had the confidence. Until now. Until that kiss. Tyler looked at Lauren and saw the glow of the moon in her eyes.

 “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, “Lauren said, “but I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that for the last few months.”

They shuffle-slid across the parking lot arm in arm, tottering like two wobbly Emperor penguins on an Antarctic stroll. As they entered a copse of white pines leading to Tyler’s hotel, he turned to look back and thought he saw his mom standing in the window before the light went off in her room.

Ken Post migrated from New Jersey to Alaska 40 years ago, spending many summers deep in the woods working for the Forest Service. During the dark winter nights his imagination flares like the northern lights outside his window. Ken’s fiction has previously appeared in Cirque, Red Fez, and Poor Yorick.