Diary of a Heretic

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Articles: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Dominus Nabisco
2007-10-29 03:29:00
Monday, December 17* (continued) At the intersection of Green Bay Road and Maple, a show-off-y couple (mink coats, silver Mercedes) blatantly ran a red light.  The driver behind them, inching forward in a Dodge plastered with Jesus stickers, was singing at the top of his lungs.  Hands on the steering wheel, head back, mouth open, his chest was heaving, his eyes shut.  As the light changed, a cigarette-smoking young woman behind him leaned on her horn, making me jump.  A simultaneous gust of cold lashed at my skin.  I felt it pierce my bones, and on the outside, push things, so that I stumbled and shuddered and oh, I don’t know:  This business of us each being separate, fixed creatures struck me as slim hope and nonstop neediness, no matter what.I crossed onto Washington Avenue, away from the wind, toward, I hoped, normalcy with its little shops and single-family homes.  For a while I encountered no one.  Then a blotchy faced man in outdoor ...
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A Bulbous Quivery Thing
2007-10-28 05:10:00
Monday, December 17*After that, my recollection produces a wispy haze and a dearth of signs of life.  I know I ambled for hours, in the dark—during the day—as if in shock.  If I treaded on grass or asphalt, beneath trees and birds, above worms and bugs;  if, in transit, I passed people on limb-flapping power walks, crossing guards, school kids—nothing penetrated. I remember feeling suspended, adrift, as if my soul were holding its breath.  My goal was to keep moving.  Please God, let a path form, a door open, as long as I stay on my feet.  If I act natural. . .  If I behave scrupulously, a clean and perfect way out might—might—appear out of nowhere.  As Maggie’s adieus ebbed into history, a crest of admonitions—don’t worry, never fear—buoyed me along.  Hopping from foot to foot, I decided my existence was not marginal as I’ve always feared;  it’s grotesque!  It’s glaring and conspicuous!  There’s n...
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Dental Persuasion
2007-10-26 05:46:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Hal Finch suddenly stopped calling. The first night he didn’t phone Jeanne just happened to mark the third anniversary of her husband Paul’s fatal car accident. Despite her discomfort with Hal, she missed the phone calls, which from June 28th on, ceased altogether. Instead, he sent her “Thinking of You” greeting cards once a week. Inside, he scribbled a signature factoid, like: six people turn 17 every minute in the US. Or, guess what? Maine is the toothpick capital of the world. He always added hello to little Colette. And once, claimed that the typical four-year old asks 436 questions a day, which made Jeanne smile.  In August, Jeanne acquired her 911 accreditation and quickly joined the hi-tech security dispatch center, where she worked overnight with a seasoned co-worker—Margie who didn’t need or appreciate the help. The job was just waiting for her thanks...
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My Pal Hal
2007-10-25 04:08:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. When I talk to Jeanne on the phone, she gets behind my shit like no one else. I rattle off my usual patter, whether inventing on the spot, memorized from my Trivial Pursuit collection, or learned from watching Jeopardy on TV. Even inside myself, I wouldn’t know a thing if it weren’t for Jeanne. That’s how much talking to her has transformed me, even if it doesn’t show. She listens to my usual act, you know, stuff like how it’s impossible to kill yourself with weed; you lose the motor skill to ingest enough—or, how men with hormonal abnormalities can actually breastfeed a baby. Oh man, did that one freak her out! But then in the middle of it, Jeanne asks a question I answer without thinking. Later I discover that just from one tidbit she’s deduced half my history. So, possibly she knows exactly how much she means to me: And that my only goal has changed from nothin...

The Opposite Sex
2007-10-23 04:47:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Hal put his arm around Jeanne, pulling her close as they hurried into the Lied Center at KU. She recoiled involuntarily, even though his timing and touch were casual. So casual and nice that Jeanne worried the icky feeling he gave her was prompting her to act like a lout. When he didn’t give up but remained gentle and discreet she had to wonder: Was he politely ignoring her doltish squeamishness? Choosing graciousness, obliviousness, or stubbornness?  The Japanese Warriors wore big black wigs, opaque make-up of white and black, and red and gold outfits that swirled in streams with every calculated gesture. A dozen or so warriors spun and kicked in shifting patterns. They executed marvelous, fluid sword-work on shadow figures, and the rhythm and spectacle excited Jeanne more than any show she could recall. After intermission, during the finale, Hal laid a wide palm on her t...
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It's Simpler Than You Thought
2007-10-22 04:30:00
Thursday, December 13 (continued)* For half an hour, we stroll along, two ordinary friends on an ordinary afternoon.  Maggie points out a flock of crows tottering on someone’s lawn.  We’re scuffling through a carpet of leaves, when a little girl skates by, holding a sheet cake with a big 9-shaped candle stuck in the frosting.  “ ’Scuse me,” she says, gliding past.  We watch the swing of her beaded African braids, her long legs, and the fluttering back of her velvet coat as she disappears around a corner.  We cross back on to Sheridan Road and a high-speed cyclist, all muscle and Lycra, spokes, gears, plastic and chrome, spins past us.  He or she rips right into the horizon, so it seems we’re a blur.We cut through the plaza of candy and jewelry stores.  A man in headphones coming from the other end is waving a phantom baton.  Upon noticing us, he freezes, then decides—you can see his mind working—to resume his fantasy, a notch ...
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Pure Jellyfish
2007-10-21 05:30:00
Thursday, December 13* Maggie’s plane leaves in three hours, and a car is picking her up.  For us, no awkward hugs in front of the metal detectors at the airport.  Instead, I wait in the sun room like someone about to undergo day-long tests at the doctor’s.  Flipping through a three-year-old National Geographic, I wonder if I’ll ever climb the Himalayas.  A line of thought as grandiose as it is tenuous.  Or wait—maybe not.  Who’s to say I can’t enroll in rock climbing school once I flail out of this financial mess?  I can hire a guide, join an expedition.  I can begin again. Speaking of which, here comes she comes.  Maggie and I are still locked in our same little game of chicken:  who’s going to say good-bye first?  She plunks herself beside me with a teasing sing-song. “Hey, sweetie, want to go on a walk?” “Why?” “Because that way we can walk and talk together without feeling awkward about looking ...
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Totally Babe for $500
2007-10-20 04:40:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Hal Finch called Jeanne the next day. She was studying for her 911 accreditation online. She half-heard Colette saying, “My mommy’s right here, Hal.” But Jeanne wasn’t totally “right there;” mostly she was busy learning how to talk to suicidal callers. Still, there her physical self sat, practically trapped. “Hello, Hal. Have you recovered from the O’Meara’s feast?” “Hey, if the average guy can live 11 days without water, I can certainly rebound from turkey and sweet potatoes, don’t you think?” “Indubitably.” Jeanne blushed at her affectation, but what was the alternative? Yes, Hal, you certainly know left from right. “My mom used to love that word—she used it incessantly. Have you ever played Balderdash? It’s a vocabulary game, kind of like Trivial Pursuit, but with bluffing.” “Well, ordinarily I don’t go in for board games, Hal. Or ca...
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Thanksgiving 1993
2007-10-19 04:00:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Jeanne made the pies. Her grandmother had taught her how when she was seven, and ever since, Jeanne had made pies instead of cakes for celebrations. She told Patrice, “Pumpkin, of course, and maybe apple.” “One pumpkin pie should do it, don’t you think?” “No. No way. Thanksgiving ’s all about the left-overs.” Apple sounded good to Patrice but Kevin liked old-fashioned mincemeat baked with a lattice crust. “The last time I made a mincemeat pie, I lived with my parents. My dad liked it.” “The Hy-Vee still stocks the stuff. But Kevin can survive with a piece of pumpkin.” At first Jeanne thought it better if she ignored Kevin’s preference. His particular magnetism altered her breath. And his sweet energy so overwhelmed any space he occupied that she staggered from it. But despite her intentions, a jar of Cross & Blackwell’s appeared beside the canned ...
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Go Ahead
2007-10-18 05:01:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Within two weeks, Jeanne counted Kevin and Patrice O’Meara as her best friends. Their daughters were inseparable at nursery school and the O’Meara family invited Jeanne and Colette over on weekends for brunch or to carve Halloween pumpkins. Jeanne had heard nothing from her sister Patti. She knew the boyfriend’s phone numbers, but not Patti’s own, if she even had one. Jeanne wanted to ask Kevin if her sister had returned to work. But whenever she encountered him, even with Patrice present, Kevin’s compelling vitality confused and embarrassed her. Near him for any reason, she trembled, afraid to ask a personal question. One evening before her night shift at the call-in center, Jeanne drove to Eudora, bracing herself to drive down the street where Patti lived with Sam. Coasting past the white brick house, she shuddered; it was obviously abandoned. The lettering on a real...
More About: Ahead

Look Up
2007-10-17 03:46:00
See my new banner? During the past forty-eight hours I’ve taken one wrong turn after another in the maddening and fabulous labyrinth known as PhotoShop. After hundreds of false steps, I finally devised a banner that works better than the old one. Of course, were I willing to devote more time and patience, more trial and error, and study more attentively the many free on-line tutorials, workshops, and discussion groups, I no doubt could create a much better one. But this one looks good enough to me for now. I’ve escaped Photoshop’s tilt-a-whirl and have landed intact on the solid ground that gives root to my stories.   Thank you to the countless skillful Photoshop bloggers I found on various directories, and on Google, and StumbleUpon. All the Photoshop pros answered my questions promptly. They patiently laid out various methods to get me back on track. Helpful YouTube presentations delved down to the basics a neophyte really like me needed. Still: Good thin...

Beginning of the End
2007-10-16 05:34:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. When Kevin brought his extra TV to Jeanne, the man’s presence in his own rented, furnished house caused her heart to beat so that it sounded outside her chest, and she stepped back. Aiming for normalcy, she thought to offer Kevin lunch, because Colette needed to eat. The three sat at the little pine table before bowls of homemade minestrone and the last of the cornbread Jeanne had cooked the night before. She didn’t ask if he’d heard from her battered sister; Kevin would tell her first, she harbored no doubt. They drank tap water. Jeanne kept leaning far forward and then backward, trying to find the right distance from  Kevin’s face. Colette distracted them, spilling a spoonful that needed wiping up and prattling about her birthday party. She kept asking what turning three meant. Jeanne couldn’t guess whether her daughter was projecting Jeanne’s own anxiety or whe...

You're No Al Capone
2007-10-15 05:04:00
Tuesday, December 11 (continued)* “You’re not going to jail over a run-of-the-mill bankruptcy and a couple of tax mistakes,” Carlos says.  “It’s not like you’re Al Capone.”“If you say so.”And though it’s nuts, we’re in desperate straits, we end up giggling.  He’s still saying,  “Do more meetings.  Make more videos.  Push the merchandise.  And above all—have faith!”  And we’re so disoriented, everything blends into its opposite.  Love, hate, light, dark, are all the same.  Disaster is amusing.  Life and death are equally gruesome and sublime, and in any furious moment, so real, they’re surreal.  Twice today when Carlos staggered in to moan, “This is awful, terrible, disastrous!”  I sputtered and he snickered.  And then we howled together over the next inevitable remark which we both made in fits of tears and laughter.  “Hey, it’s not funny!”--From Diary of a Heretic, a n...

Jail Would Be a Relief
2007-10-14 05:56:00
Tuesday, December 11*He really gambled on the stock market.  Managing or should I say mismanaging this wildly fluctuating portfolio with the help of Herb Plochman (a broker, not an accountant;  that was one of Carlos’s countless little lies) we took out second and third mortgages on four different properties.  Besides our six up and running bakeries, we’re in arrears for twelve very expensive vacant places.  The computers and cars, bakery and restaurant equipment, residential and commercial furnishings, Carlos bought with an appalling series of small business loans.  Salaries he paid out of our cash flow, which makes me worry about the tax set-up.  I think because we’re a religion—and he lied about hiring an accountant—Carlos paid the acolytes, clerks, novitiates, et cetera out of pocket!  In September, when the stock market took another downturn and the Linden Street store was opening, he consolidated with a ten million dollar loan Fletc...
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Time Is Unreal
2007-10-13 03:52:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Jeanne dreamed about a rapper named Butterfly singing, “we’re just babies, man.” The music paused. And after a heartbeat of static she heard Paul talking: “It’s not that I don’t like your sister, sweetheart. It’s that she doesn’t like herself.” Jeanne heard her own voice, faint with distance and time, “So what should I do?” She wasn’t sure she had heard Paul’s every word—or her own—but she was definitely awake now. And it was distinctly his voice. He sounded faraway, as did she. In Colette’s room, the cassette player resumed the refrain, “we’re just babies.” Colette had climbed out of her portable crib. And sitting by the audio cassette player, she switched it off and smiled. “Did you hear Daddy, Mommy? He thinks we’re just babies.” Jeanne sank to her knees and hugged her daughter. “We’re just babies compared to the moon and sun,...
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Poison Blood
2007-10-12 04:00:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Jeanne spent her first night in her new home wrapped in a quilted flowered coverlet, Wal-Mart’s best. Curled up tightly on the wrought-iron single bed, she peeked out through the small window and its airy, dimity curtains. She had fixed corn-bread for dinner, and the baking smell lingered everywhere. Her sister Patti had smoked marijuana in the kitchen, which added a not unpleasant top-note. The house smelled and felt like home. The September Kansas sky bestowed the night with a brisk chill, intensifying the blanket coziness inside. Still, every passing car startled her awake, since she was listening with her whole mind and hoping against all reason that Patti might return; her mind changed; ready to escape from her bad boyfriend. Jeanne heard rustling leaves trying to shake loose from the trees and Colette’s soft baby snore. For once, being on her own with Colette didn’t ...
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Drowning in Memory
2007-10-11 03:55:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Exasperated, Patti shook her fist and sputtered her mouth angrily enough to bring fresh blood to her split lip. Jeanne handed her sister the handkerchief damp from her own frustrated tears. Patti spit into it, dropped it to the floor, and announced for the third time that if Jeanne really wasn’t going to accommodate Patti’s boyfriend then she never wanted to see or hear from Jeanne again. “We’re no longer sisters, Jeanne. We’re strangers. And how can you let your stupid selfish prudishness cut off Colette from her only living blood relative except you? Think about that, Jeanne. Who wants to know no one but her damn mother?” Patti, who had helped Jeanne get here, to start a new life, lifted her middle finger, cursed at her own lame gesture, and left—for good. Jeanne locked the door. She checked on Colette, who was sleeping, despite the disruption, in her portable crib. ...
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He Wants You
2007-10-09 03:30:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Patti sighed and sat at a small pale wood table and Jeanne took the seat opposite, faint and anxious when two minutes earlier she had felt calmer than she had since early June before her husband had died in a car crash that defied explanation. A white ceiling fan churned the September air and a lamp, fixed to the fan like the center of a daisy, poured out yellow light. Patti insisted Jeanne wake her toddler, Colette, and return with Patti to her angry boyfriend and his house in nearby Eudora. “He wants you there, Jeanne. He said you knew that and you didn’t say no.” “I didn’t say, ‘no!’ Jesus! I didn’t say yes, either. I didn’t say supercalifragilistic-whatever.” “You think this is funny.” Jeanne tugged at her long, fly-away hair, dropping her forehead to the little kitchen table. “Patti, you’ve got to get away from him. He’s dangerous.” “He’s...

For All My Righteousness
2007-10-08 04:44:00
Monday, December 10 (continued)* “You won’t get anywhere,” Maggie says as I reach the threshold. And, much as I hate to, I stop to hear what else she has to say.  Because for all my righteousness, I don’t know where I’m going.  My  plan is just to walk and keep walking. “You’ll still be you,” Maggie says, “and for a long time everyone who sees or hears or knows of you, will recognize you.” In bewilderment, I shake my head.  “So it’s like I’m paralyzed?” “It’s like that for everybody,” she says. Which can’t be true but never mind. Carlos butts in with, “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself, Malcolm.”  And I laugh.  “Me?  You think I’m doing it, Carlos?  You’re the one that’s got me looking at bankruptcy!  And probably tax evasion. ‘I know what I’m doing, Malcolm.  I’ve wanted this all my life.’  You know shit!” A paragon of level-headedness, he says,  “I...

As If It Were That Simple
2007-10-07 04:11:00
Monday, December 10*Maggie is leaving in three days, but she says, “Don’t for a second think I won’t stay totally, totally involved.”  She taps her chest and purses her mouth in a please-oh-please expression.  “You know I believe in you, Malcolm.”  I glance at her sidelong.  “Has the day has finally come?  I’m ‘Malkie’ no more?”She grins and gives me a little shove.  “It’s not my fault you’re so cute.”  And then, hurt and baffled as I am, I still have to ask, where would I be without Maggie?  Why, even as she’s packing her bags, she intervenes on my behalf, insisting to Carlos they lighten my schedule.  Too many meetings, with suddenly small, touristy audiences.  The NANM, I’m afraid, is fast becoming a curiosity.  Last night there were only about twenty people.  Mostly dentists was my impression, who’d come from an association dinner at the Hyatt.“Give him a break,” Maggie says. ...
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A Good Man Found
2007-10-06 04:06:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Kevin O’Meara relished his natural good and generous nature. He liked smart, quick, Patti Carpenter just fine, but that was all. Still, because he liked her, he kindly cleared his schedule to help her older sister Jeanne and Jeanne’s little daughter start a new life after their loss. Under the awning outside his offices, he watched the sisters and the toddler cross the two streets and three small parking lots. Patti was explaining to Jeanne about the suddenly perfect arrangements. The rental house that Kevin owned was walking distance from The Petite Academy, the best pre-school in the state. “It’s got three bedrooms and a nice big yard. Kevin has a three-month trial lease, no deposit, no extras, ready for you to sign. Wait till you see it, Jeanne. $200 a month. And, Kevin’s wife even knows a college girl who’ll sleep over with Colette while you work.” Jeanne smiled...
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Ready Set Go
2007-10-05 04:19:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Jeanne feared that Patti would say, “Nonsense!” She and Sam had expected her to stay a week, at least. Long enough to find a comfortable apartment, Jeanne imagined her sister saying. “Wait until you find a job. Find a babysitter for Colette. Attend a meeting for ‘Parents without Partners.’” Driving west on 23rd Street, Jeanne even dreamed up excuses. “You’re such good hosts, but this motel has a swimming pool for Colette.” After a few miles, she spotted a little strip mall set back from the road. Turning at a grassy dividing island, she cruised to the northern end, past the regular shops, and up to a separate, cinderblock building, with a medical plaque in front, listing Kevin O’Meara, DDS and Patti Carpenter, hygienist and assistant. Patti was waiting for them under an awning, wearing a white uniform, matching clogs, and big mirror-blue sunglasses.  She s...
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Terribly Gently
2007-10-04 04:04:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. The instant Sam released Colette from his bare, vividly tattooed arms, Jeanne hoisted her daughter to her hip and hurried back into the downstairs bathroom, which was opposite the front door to the house. Colette needed washing and Jeanne had fresh clothing in the satchel she had brought downstairs upon emerging from the bedroom. No way Jeanne dared going upstairs now. Rather than bathe her toddler in the upstairs bathtub, which was easier, she would re-enter the shower and clean her blonde, curly-headed little girl with no further encounter with Sam, her sister’s boyfriend, who owned the house. Quickly she locked the door. Just after the click, thin bar lock fitting in place, Sam banged on the hollow-core door. Jeanne assumed, though she couldn’t be sure, Sam wouldn’t damage his own downstairs bathroom door. Even hollow doors were expensive. Even more definitely, she believ...
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You Smell Alike
2007-10-03 02:43:00
This is a serialized story. Click here to read the previous post or here to start at the beginning. Jeanne sat across from Sam, who was taking immense pleasure at having pegged Jeanne’s discreet vocabulary as typical of someone from New England. To Jeanne’s mind, whatever vulgar word he preferred regarding her almost three-year old daughter’s vagina represented the least of her objections to her sister’s boyfriend. Yes, what he said was disgusting, but Jeanne knew other people who took naked pictures of their babies, thinking their babyness required no respect, since their very young selves were oblivious. Her late husband’s friends, in fact, new fathers of newborn sons, would express surprised delight at how well endowed their infant boy was. The absurd topic always irked her. A baby’s innocence and helplessness, to Jeanne if no one else, demanded more careful regard, not less. He was still laughing and trying to catch Colette who was running past him, a giggly l...
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Periodically Speaking
2007-10-02 04:52:00
…but first a preliminary: A miserable cold, and the distracting uncertainty and fervent hope that overwhelm me while my loved-ones somersault through space—Oh, I know they’ll land on their feet; they’re quick and flexible, and know how to make the best of their luck, but still, I’m a natural worrier—have all conspired to interpret my saga about Jeanne, a fictional young mother, whose husband died suddenly and has now moved to Kansas where her sister lives. Not writing about her frustrates me, but she requires my best and brightest energies. So, maybe tomorrow, though on Wednesday I have promised to meet a friend undergoing medical tests at Mount Sinai hospital. Still, if you’re at all interested in Jeanne, her two-year old daughter Colette, her sister and boyfriend, I now know the whole tale inside out, because of so much sliding from waking to sleeping to waking—I’ve dreamed of them every other hour. Meanwhile, listen to what’s coming up—for free—at The ...
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As Stupid As They Come
2007-10-01 03:32:00
Wednesday, December 5*Real time, real life, real debt:  those things don’t disappear.  Sex, love, even prayer have zero impact on financial ruin.  But what can I do?  I love Carlos and hate him—and can not leave him alone.  I mean:  long before the NANM, I understood he was dangerous, and basically, cruel.  And if pressed, I’d probably admit:  that was part of his allure:  I have a thing for megalomaniacs!  But never once, never in all the world, did it occur to me Carlos was an idiot!  That for all his miracles with sugar and flour, and his clever, relentless manipulation of people—he was nonetheless as stupid as they come!Yes, it crossed my mind that beneath his very convincing monastic mask, Carlos was secretly profligate.  And no, I never trusted him.  But from that first New C. of C. meeting, Carlos assumed behind-the-scenes control so perfectly he seemed entitled, even destined, for the role.  But oh...
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Warm, Sweet, Surging
2007-09-30 04:33:00
This excerpt continues the serialization of Diary of a Heretic, the novel, which portrays the rise and fall of a contemporary spiritual movement that blossoms suddenly, and briefly, around Malcolm Tully, the owner of a coffee shop/donut house across the street from a terminal of Chicago’™s El tracks. Click here  to read the previous excerpt. Tuesday, December 4 (continued) For all my shock, I can’t shake this little voice insisting that of course I knew all along—I saw the handwriting everywhere.  Carlos would say, “We’re overextended,” and I’d shrug, “Oh well.”  He’d ask if I could pull in ten thousand a show, and I’d say, “Gee, what do you think?”  And every time he sidled up to me, panting and begging, he wanted me so bad, I’d think:  Deep, deep shit if Carlos is crawling to lay his head on my lap.  Except—except: I just couldn’t give up on a primary, nameless belief.  More than anything I longed to believe tha...
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Going Bankrupt
2007-09-29 04:44:00
This excerpt continues the serialization of Diary of a Heretic, the novel, which portrays the rise and fall of a contemporary spiritual movement that blossoms suddenly, and briefly, around Malcolm Tully, the owner of a coffee shop/donut house across the street from a terminal of Chicago’™s El tracks. Click here to read the previous excerpt. Tuesday, December 4All at once, banks are calling!  (Actually, they’ve been calling for months, without me knowing it.  Or, more properly, without me knowing beyond doubt.)  But now—no percentage in Carlos hiding it anymore, no point in me pretending imperturbable faith—they’re claiming ownership! “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Carlos tries to explain.  “I was going to lay out the sequence for you in a few days, when, believe me, the terms will be much improved.  In fact, with any luck, they could turn out for the best.”  His jasmine-scented hand presses my shoulder.  What a shame I even h...
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The Bad Boyfriend
2007-09-28 04:20:00
This is the seventh post in a serialized story. Click here if you want to read the previous post or here if you want to start from the beginning. Jeanne woke hearing her sister Patti screaming from the front door at what a monster her boyfriend was, though “monster” wasn’t the word she used. The door slammed. Jeanne and Colette had plans to meet Patti for lunch across the street from the dentist’s office where Patti worked. Jeanne dressed and woke her Colette who still wore diapers, but only at night. Worried by Patti’s yelling, Jeanne tossed her and Colette’s things into a satchel and hurried downstairs to the first floor bathroom. But Sam waylaid her from the kitchen, holding half a pot of coffee. “Hold on. Drink a cup with me.” Colette squirmed free and Sam opened the basement door for her. “Let her watch TV. You and me can talk a bit.” Jeanne raced down the stairs after her child, and Sam called out, “Relax, honey. No moldering corpses tied to chair...
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Beneath the Rainbow
2007-09-27 03:50:00
This is the sixth post in a serialized story. Click here if you want to read the previous post or here if you want to start from the beginning. Jeanne started down the top step, carrying Colette, who had just been called a bitch for the first time her in short life. Before she closed the car door, her sister Patti flew from the house as Sam disappeared back into it. “Jeanne, Colette! Don’t mind, Sam. He’s just surly. His football team is losing, that’s all.” Patti hugged Jeanne and squished Colette, who balked, slapping at Patti’s hand. “Oh sweetie!” Patti pouted the same pout as her niece. “Don’t you remember me?” “She’s cranky. It’s no fun for her sitting strapped in the car seat for hours.” “Come in,” Patti said. “I made fettuccini, with cheese sauce.” Jeanne had already strapped Colette into her seat. “We’ll find a hotel for tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow.” “Sam’s already eaten and is drinking in the basement. No way h...
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