A short piece that takes place between Daughter of Deception and The Chaos Child
Back, fingers, and head aching from long hours spent finishing up the climax of his latest comic, Duke stands, eyes blinking blindly, in the doorway of a kitchen that isn’t his. Not anymore.
He doesn’t mind the new stain on the kitchen cabinets. As a matter of fact, he has several pleasant memories associated with those cabinets, crawling around on the floor, and chasing beads of sweat down his wife’s spine. Though he won’t admit it out loud, and definitely never in front of Viola, he sort of likes the dark purple floor mat and matching towels.
Though she’s gradually moved into every room of his house and merged her belongings with his, the kitchen is where she’s made the most impact. She’s replaced his inherited, utilitarian metal canisters with clear glass apothecary jars. In the small window above the sink, she’s planted three jars of herbs he can’t identify but has grown to love in marinara sauce.
The cosmetic changes she’s made don’t bother him. She’s made the kitchen feel warmer, more full of love, than it has since he was a very small child. It’s no longer just a place to grab a quick bite to eat. Nights, when they aren’t on rotation or researching or working, are spent laughing and joking around the stove while they prepare dinner. Mornings are for strong, hot cups of coffee and equally strong, hot kisses.
The changes Duke can’t abide are hidden away in the pantry, the refrigerator, and the freezer. The thin, over-processed white bread Duke’s loved since he was a kid has been permanently replaced by thick slices of multi-grain bread. There’s not a speck of white sugar left for his coffee. He still hasn’t decided which is worse: the pink packets of artificial sweetener or the fake sugar that foams up in hot liquids. Sugar, real or fake, should never foam.
He doesn’t completely hate the taste of multigrain pasta and he likes having fresh fruits available for midnight snacks, but he will never get used to drinking one-percent milk. It’s like putting flavored water into his coffee. He misses salt, too. Misses real butter and real soda. And they haven’t had fast food in weeks.
“Oh, hey. You’re done.” Viola, pink, skull-printed apron wrapped around her waist, turns from the stove. She holds out a wooden spoon to him. “Come taste dinner.”
He crosses the room in three long steps, takes a taste of her before dutifully tasting what’s on the spoon. It’s full of spicy, delicious flavors but the meat’s texture is unfamiliar. “’S good, sugar. What is it?”
“Mediterranean tofu with –.”
Duke interrupts Viola with a low, furious growl. He grabs the spoon out of her hand, tosses it in the sink. Reaching past a stunned Viola, he shuts off the stove. With jerky motions, he lifts the pan off the burner and dumps everything into the garbage disposal side of the sink.
“What the hell, Tobias? Do you know how long I spent researching that recipe?”
“I’ve cut you a lot of slack, sweetness. Mostly because I’m completely mad about you, of course.” Duke props his hip against the edge of the island, crosses his arms over his chest. “This is where I draw the line. Tofu? That’s just going too far, Vi.”
Viola’s lips compress into a thin line of displeasure. “You had one bite. That’s not enough to decide you don’t like it.”
“I don’t want to eat tofu.”
Viola blinks twice at Duke before exhaling heavily. “Fine. No tofu.”
“That’s not the point,” Duke, frustrated but glad they’re finally going to have this out, growls again.
“Then sweet mercy, Tobias, what is the flippin’ point?”
“I like whole milk. I like white bread. I like three teaspoons of sugar, real sugar, in my coffee.” Duke tosses his hands in the air. “I like big pats of butter, from cows not from a chemistry set, in my mashed potatoes.”
Viola’s face freezes, her eyes go hard and icy. Her tongue darts out to moisten suddenly dry lips. “You’re going to be thirty soon. You can’t keep eating like you’re fifteen.”
“I know. More fiber, less fat, more fruits and veggies. That doesn’t mean I need to turn into a total health nut.” He runs his hands through his hair. Tentatively reaching out through their link only tells him that Viola’s blocked herself off. There’s more to this than just a desire to be healthier. “Your eating habits used to be as bad as mine, sugar. What’s with the about-face?”
Viola reaches back, clenches the edge of the countertop so tightly her knuckles turn white. Her knees tremble. Her heart thuds loudly in her chest and tears burn her eyes. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, my taste buds don’t appreciate your sort of help.” He waits a beat, two, for her to respond to the barb. When she does nothing more than stare at him with teary, unreadable eyes, he snatches his keys off the counter. “I’m going out for burgers.”
“I have to do something.” Though her voice is weak, thready, it has Duke spinning around to face her. She drops her head, stares at her bare toes. She wraps leaden arms around her churning stomach.
“What’re you talking about, Vi?”
“I can’t protect you from the demons out there. I can’t protect you from Dad or even an ordinary person with a gun and a grudge. I can’t protect you from drunk drivers, and I can’t protect you from myself.” She lifts her head, swipes tears off her cheeks. “I just can’t. But, I can do this. I can control this. I can keep you healthy, safe, this way because I don’t want to lose you. It’d kill me.”
Duke drops his keys back on the counter. He clamps his hands on Viola’s shoulders and drags her to him. She buries her face in the curve of his neck. Hot tears slide down his neck and under the collar of his sweatshirt. He presses a reverent kiss to the top of her dark head. The way she trembles against him has him swallowing a lump in his throat.
“You’re not going to lose me, sweetness. Not to any of those things you mentioned and not to clogged arteries. You’ll be stuck with me for a good, long while.”
Viola hiccups, winds her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”
“Maybe.” Duke chuckles along with his wife. He rubs the small of her back soothingly. “You should have just said something. We’re supposed to talk about things like this.”
“Like how you stare at me while I’m sleeping? Or how you’re always checking to make sure I’m still breathing?” Viola, arms still around Duke’s waist, leans back to arch an eyebrow challengingly.
“Yeah. Something like that.” Duke swoops down for a quick kiss. “We’ll compromise, okay? We’ll keep the multigrain bread and the produce, but we’ll switch to two-percent milk and I want my sugar back.”
“And I’ll find a butter we can agree on. But you’re not getting your salt back.”
He considers it for a moment. Salt’s a small thing to lose if it means getting butter, milk, and real sugar. “Deal.”
They seal the agreement with a kiss. Duke’s attempt at stealing a fourth kiss is interrupted the by the loud growling of Viola’s stomach. Grinning broadly, he steps back and picks up his keys. “Since dinner’s ruined, how do burgers sound?”
A blinding smile lights up her face. This new diet has been nearly as hard on her as it has been on him. “Oh, sweet mercy, yes. Burger Barn?”
“Would I bring home anything less?”
“Double meat with cheese and two orders of fries?” Viola’s mouth is already watering at the prospect of greasy, salty fries. “Oh! And one of their triple-thick chocolate shakes?”
“Oh no, sweetness. You’re getting their Veggie Meal Deluxe with soy fries. And a Diet Coke.”
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Monday, March 15, 2010
Glide Like Ghosts - December 1999
December 1999
Viola perked up as headlights from an approaching car lit the front porch. A bright, anticipatory smile appeared on her pale face. Her dad was late for their traditional birthday dinner, but that was okay. She was sure he'd make up for it with an extra present or two. Or maybe a car. There was a sweet black convertible she'd had her eye on for a few months.
The cherry red minivan, most definitely not her father's black pick-up, sped past the house. Viola slumped back against the front porch swing. She brought her knees to her chest, smoothed down the skirt of her new black dress. The dress was a present from Olivia, bought during a rare sisterly bonding shopping trip earlier that afternoon. Simple and black but with a delicate black lace trim at the hem, it was a compromise between their differing tastes.
For dinner with her father, she'd even broken down and purchased a pair of black, heeled dress shoes. No scuffed boots or broken-in sneakers for this birthday dinner. She was sixteen, practically an adult, and wanted to show her parents that she wasn't a little girl any longer. Hopefully, after seeing that she'd matured, they'd let her get more involved in the Network.
"Come inside, Viola. You'll catch pneumonia sitting out there." Alicia Ashwood hovered in the doorway behind the fine mesh of the outer screen door.
"You can catch pneumonia from dust, from a virus, bacteria, fungus, parasites, and chemicals, but you cannot catch pneumonia from being a little chilly."
"Viola Melinoe!"
Viola exhaled noisily. She didn't want to fight with her mother on her birthday. They did that every other day of the year. "I'm sorry, Mom. It's just... why did Dad have to go after that demon today? He's not even on rotation until next week."
"I don't know, honey." Alicia kept her suspicions to herself. She'd had expectations for Viola's sixteenth birthday, too, but those plans had unexpectedly been scrapped. "Come wait in the living room. I'll make you a cup of peppermint tea."
"No thanks, Mom. I'm good."
Mouth screwed up in disapproval, Alicia let the front door slam shut as she retreated further inside the warm house. If her youngest child wanted to freeze to death, then so be it. She was tired of constantly battling the daughter she saw so little of herself in.
Every headlight that rounded the corner of her block lifted Viola's hopes. Every car that passed the house without slowing dashed them. She didn't dare contemplate the possibility that he wasn't going to show. Ever since she was five, the night of her birthday had been reserved for dinner with her daddy. Just the two of them. He wouldn't miss it; not without calling her first.
Long after the moon had risen, a car pulled into the driveway. Viola swallowed a lump in her throat as the joy gave way to desolation. It wasn't Daddy. Just Olivia. Mom had probably called and asked her to try and convince Viola to give up waiting.
"Hey, birthday girl." Olivia smiled gaily though she couldn't mask the concern in her bright blue eyes. A wrinkle formed between her brows as a strong wave of sadness slammed against her hastily erected shields. For a moment she'd forgotten how vibrant Viola's emotions could be.
"You're wasting your time, Liv. I'm not going inside." Viola wrapped a frozen hand around the swing's icy chain. Didn't her sister understand that she couldn't go inside? If she abandoned her post and Dad showed up, he'd be crushed to learn that she'd lost her faith in him. She wasn't like Olivia or her mother. Dad was coming. It was just a matter of when.
Olivia kept her smile in place. She pulled her heavy wool coat tighter around her shoulders as she settled onto the low, chaise lounge across from the swing. "I know, Vi. I just thought I'd wait with you. It's gotta be boring just sitting here."
"Nah, s'okay. I don't mind it." Viola paused, grinned mischievously. She knew all the best ways to needle her older sister. Grades and schoolwork topped the list of things Olivia took seriously. "I was just going over my trig homework in my head."
"I hate you sometimes." A small chuckle took the sting out of the words. Math and science never came as easily to Olivia as they seemed to come to Viola. "How long are you going to stay out here, kiddo?"
"Just until Dad gets home."
Olivia tried to engage Viola in conversation. All of her questions were answered with monosyllabic responses or biting, sarcastic remarks. Rather than take the bait and lose her temper, Olivia kept up a running monologue on her college classes and her kinesiology-major roommate’s strange personality quirks.
After an hour of sitting in the bitter, cold wind, Olivia pleaded for Viola to go inside one last time. When Viola did nothing more than turn her face back to the street and tighten her grasp on the chain, Olivia rose to her numb feet. She pressed a kiss to the top of Viola's head, trailed a knuckle across her sister's frosty cheek, and slipped inside to find a something warm to drink.
Alone again, Viola leaned her head against the back of the swing. Her aching, dry eyes drifted shut. With one foot planted on the porch, she lazily pushed the swing back and forth. She shouldn't have been so short with Olivia. Her sister was just trying to help. She'd apologize in the morning.
Anxiety gnawed at her stomach. What if he wasn't coming because he couldn't? What if a demon had seriously injured or killed him? What if he was lying broken and bleeding on the side of the road somewhere with no way to call for help?
What if she seriously needed to lay off the grisly horror movies? Her father was one of the best in the region, and he'd gone off with Mike Cahill, an extremely experienced Tracker. Even if her father was hurt, Mike would take care of him or call for help. Dad was just delayed.
When the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine reached her ears, Viola sat straight up. She quickly rearranged the short fringe of her bangs. The wind had absolutely destroyed the hairstyle she’d spent twenty minutes perfecting. It was late and they’d have a hard time finding any nice place to eat, but she didn’t care if they ended up eating pancakes at Denny’s. Dinner with Dad was dinner with Dad no matter where they ate.
The truck that parked behind Olivia’s car wasn’t Gerard Ashwood’s. Viola’s older brother Sebastian and his best friend Toby Duke emerged from Duke’s truck. Sebastian, like Olivia, was all smiles and cheerful greetings. Duke wished her a happy birthday while something that looked a lot like pity shone in his eyes. She didn’t want fake joviality, didn’t want pity.
“There’s a Aamand loose in the Galleria area. Duke pulled some strings and got the assignment. Want to come with?” Sebastian playfully ruffled Viola’s hair. He’d heard all about Viola stubbornly insisting to wait for their no-show Dad from both his mother and sister. Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken much for him to convince Duke to help come up with a plan to help.
She was tempted. So very, very tempted. There were few things she loved more than chasing down demons. It would only take ten minutes to change out of her dress and into more appropriate Tracking clothes. Not to mention more comfortable shoes.
An enthusiastic agreement withered on her tongue. She couldn’t go. She’d waited for so long. She couldn’t just give up now. There were a few hours left of her birthday. Still plenty of time for Dad to show up.
“It’s a great offer, Bas, but I think I’m just going to stay here.”
Sebastian blew out an impatient sigh. He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Vi, he’s not going to magically appear. You need to face facts. Dad’s not coming.”
Viola surged to her feet. Anger warmed her from the inside out. Hot tears burned her tired eyes. “Yes he is! Dad wouldn’t miss this. He would never miss my birthday!”
Sebastian’s heart broke at the sight of two fat tears coursing down her cheek. He hated his father for what he’d done to Viola. Dad had allowed Viola to have such unwavering faith in him and then let her down as cruelly as possible. Couldn’t he have just left a note for Viola rescheduling their dinner? Did he know that she was sitting, waiting for him like a devoted pet?
“Vi, honey – .”
“No!” Viola shoved Sebastian off the porch. “He’s coming, okay? Just go away and leave me alone!”
When Sebastian took a step towards his sister, Duke grabbed him by the shoulder. Duke smiled gently at his friend’s little sister. “Okay, Via-mia. You don’t have to come with us. I bet you haven’t eaten yet, though. Want us to pick you up a burger or something? You know, in honor of your birthday, I bet I could even be persuaded to swing by Burger Barn.”
Viola’s stomach growled at the thought of greasy, hot fries. Mouth pursed, she shook her head slowly. She didn’t want to ruin her appetite and seem ungrateful when Dad showed up for their dinner. “No thanks.”
She waited until Sebastian and Duke disappeared around the corner to drop back onto the swing. Waiting was hard. She was cold, hungry, and tired. A glance down at her watch and a quick mental calculation confirmed that she’d been on the porch for five hours. It didn’t matter. She’d wait another five if she had to. She wasn’t going to let Dad think she’d given up on him.
Viola ignored the churning in her empty belly and the throbbing in her head. She toed off her shoes, curled up on her side on the swing. She kept her eyes fixed on the stars twinkling overhead while the tick-tick of her watch kept time with the tears dripping from her eyes.
The bright pinks and yellows of the sunrise woke Viola from a restless sleep. She stretched stiff knees and massaged the hand that had fallen asleep hours earlier. An unfamiliar heavy warmth covered her from shoulder to knee. Sitting up, she clutched Duke’s jacket to her chest and blinked back a fresh wave of tears. At her feet was a Burger Barn sack.
It was the beginning of a new birthday tradition: disappointment, pain, and Duke.
Viola perked up as headlights from an approaching car lit the front porch. A bright, anticipatory smile appeared on her pale face. Her dad was late for their traditional birthday dinner, but that was okay. She was sure he'd make up for it with an extra present or two. Or maybe a car. There was a sweet black convertible she'd had her eye on for a few months.
The cherry red minivan, most definitely not her father's black pick-up, sped past the house. Viola slumped back against the front porch swing. She brought her knees to her chest, smoothed down the skirt of her new black dress. The dress was a present from Olivia, bought during a rare sisterly bonding shopping trip earlier that afternoon. Simple and black but with a delicate black lace trim at the hem, it was a compromise between their differing tastes.
For dinner with her father, she'd even broken down and purchased a pair of black, heeled dress shoes. No scuffed boots or broken-in sneakers for this birthday dinner. She was sixteen, practically an adult, and wanted to show her parents that she wasn't a little girl any longer. Hopefully, after seeing that she'd matured, they'd let her get more involved in the Network.
"Come inside, Viola. You'll catch pneumonia sitting out there." Alicia Ashwood hovered in the doorway behind the fine mesh of the outer screen door.
"You can catch pneumonia from dust, from a virus, bacteria, fungus, parasites, and chemicals, but you cannot catch pneumonia from being a little chilly."
"Viola Melinoe!"
Viola exhaled noisily. She didn't want to fight with her mother on her birthday. They did that every other day of the year. "I'm sorry, Mom. It's just... why did Dad have to go after that demon today? He's not even on rotation until next week."
"I don't know, honey." Alicia kept her suspicions to herself. She'd had expectations for Viola's sixteenth birthday, too, but those plans had unexpectedly been scrapped. "Come wait in the living room. I'll make you a cup of peppermint tea."
"No thanks, Mom. I'm good."
Mouth screwed up in disapproval, Alicia let the front door slam shut as she retreated further inside the warm house. If her youngest child wanted to freeze to death, then so be it. She was tired of constantly battling the daughter she saw so little of herself in.
Every headlight that rounded the corner of her block lifted Viola's hopes. Every car that passed the house without slowing dashed them. She didn't dare contemplate the possibility that he wasn't going to show. Ever since she was five, the night of her birthday had been reserved for dinner with her daddy. Just the two of them. He wouldn't miss it; not without calling her first.
Long after the moon had risen, a car pulled into the driveway. Viola swallowed a lump in her throat as the joy gave way to desolation. It wasn't Daddy. Just Olivia. Mom had probably called and asked her to try and convince Viola to give up waiting.
"Hey, birthday girl." Olivia smiled gaily though she couldn't mask the concern in her bright blue eyes. A wrinkle formed between her brows as a strong wave of sadness slammed against her hastily erected shields. For a moment she'd forgotten how vibrant Viola's emotions could be.
"You're wasting your time, Liv. I'm not going inside." Viola wrapped a frozen hand around the swing's icy chain. Didn't her sister understand that she couldn't go inside? If she abandoned her post and Dad showed up, he'd be crushed to learn that she'd lost her faith in him. She wasn't like Olivia or her mother. Dad was coming. It was just a matter of when.
Olivia kept her smile in place. She pulled her heavy wool coat tighter around her shoulders as she settled onto the low, chaise lounge across from the swing. "I know, Vi. I just thought I'd wait with you. It's gotta be boring just sitting here."
"Nah, s'okay. I don't mind it." Viola paused, grinned mischievously. She knew all the best ways to needle her older sister. Grades and schoolwork topped the list of things Olivia took seriously. "I was just going over my trig homework in my head."
"I hate you sometimes." A small chuckle took the sting out of the words. Math and science never came as easily to Olivia as they seemed to come to Viola. "How long are you going to stay out here, kiddo?"
"Just until Dad gets home."
Olivia tried to engage Viola in conversation. All of her questions were answered with monosyllabic responses or biting, sarcastic remarks. Rather than take the bait and lose her temper, Olivia kept up a running monologue on her college classes and her kinesiology-major roommate’s strange personality quirks.
After an hour of sitting in the bitter, cold wind, Olivia pleaded for Viola to go inside one last time. When Viola did nothing more than turn her face back to the street and tighten her grasp on the chain, Olivia rose to her numb feet. She pressed a kiss to the top of Viola's head, trailed a knuckle across her sister's frosty cheek, and slipped inside to find a something warm to drink.
Alone again, Viola leaned her head against the back of the swing. Her aching, dry eyes drifted shut. With one foot planted on the porch, she lazily pushed the swing back and forth. She shouldn't have been so short with Olivia. Her sister was just trying to help. She'd apologize in the morning.
Anxiety gnawed at her stomach. What if he wasn't coming because he couldn't? What if a demon had seriously injured or killed him? What if he was lying broken and bleeding on the side of the road somewhere with no way to call for help?
What if she seriously needed to lay off the grisly horror movies? Her father was one of the best in the region, and he'd gone off with Mike Cahill, an extremely experienced Tracker. Even if her father was hurt, Mike would take care of him or call for help. Dad was just delayed.
When the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine reached her ears, Viola sat straight up. She quickly rearranged the short fringe of her bangs. The wind had absolutely destroyed the hairstyle she’d spent twenty minutes perfecting. It was late and they’d have a hard time finding any nice place to eat, but she didn’t care if they ended up eating pancakes at Denny’s. Dinner with Dad was dinner with Dad no matter where they ate.
The truck that parked behind Olivia’s car wasn’t Gerard Ashwood’s. Viola’s older brother Sebastian and his best friend Toby Duke emerged from Duke’s truck. Sebastian, like Olivia, was all smiles and cheerful greetings. Duke wished her a happy birthday while something that looked a lot like pity shone in his eyes. She didn’t want fake joviality, didn’t want pity.
“There’s a Aamand loose in the Galleria area. Duke pulled some strings and got the assignment. Want to come with?” Sebastian playfully ruffled Viola’s hair. He’d heard all about Viola stubbornly insisting to wait for their no-show Dad from both his mother and sister. Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken much for him to convince Duke to help come up with a plan to help.
She was tempted. So very, very tempted. There were few things she loved more than chasing down demons. It would only take ten minutes to change out of her dress and into more appropriate Tracking clothes. Not to mention more comfortable shoes.
An enthusiastic agreement withered on her tongue. She couldn’t go. She’d waited for so long. She couldn’t just give up now. There were a few hours left of her birthday. Still plenty of time for Dad to show up.
“It’s a great offer, Bas, but I think I’m just going to stay here.”
Sebastian blew out an impatient sigh. He ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. “Vi, he’s not going to magically appear. You need to face facts. Dad’s not coming.”
Viola surged to her feet. Anger warmed her from the inside out. Hot tears burned her tired eyes. “Yes he is! Dad wouldn’t miss this. He would never miss my birthday!”
Sebastian’s heart broke at the sight of two fat tears coursing down her cheek. He hated his father for what he’d done to Viola. Dad had allowed Viola to have such unwavering faith in him and then let her down as cruelly as possible. Couldn’t he have just left a note for Viola rescheduling their dinner? Did he know that she was sitting, waiting for him like a devoted pet?
“Vi, honey – .”
“No!” Viola shoved Sebastian off the porch. “He’s coming, okay? Just go away and leave me alone!”
When Sebastian took a step towards his sister, Duke grabbed him by the shoulder. Duke smiled gently at his friend’s little sister. “Okay, Via-mia. You don’t have to come with us. I bet you haven’t eaten yet, though. Want us to pick you up a burger or something? You know, in honor of your birthday, I bet I could even be persuaded to swing by Burger Barn.”
Viola’s stomach growled at the thought of greasy, hot fries. Mouth pursed, she shook her head slowly. She didn’t want to ruin her appetite and seem ungrateful when Dad showed up for their dinner. “No thanks.”
She waited until Sebastian and Duke disappeared around the corner to drop back onto the swing. Waiting was hard. She was cold, hungry, and tired. A glance down at her watch and a quick mental calculation confirmed that she’d been on the porch for five hours. It didn’t matter. She’d wait another five if she had to. She wasn’t going to let Dad think she’d given up on him.
Viola ignored the churning in her empty belly and the throbbing in her head. She toed off her shoes, curled up on her side on the swing. She kept her eyes fixed on the stars twinkling overhead while the tick-tick of her watch kept time with the tears dripping from her eyes.
The bright pinks and yellows of the sunrise woke Viola from a restless sleep. She stretched stiff knees and massaged the hand that had fallen asleep hours earlier. An unfamiliar heavy warmth covered her from shoulder to knee. Sitting up, she clutched Duke’s jacket to her chest and blinked back a fresh wave of tears. At her feet was a Burger Barn sack.
It was the beginning of a new birthday tradition: disappointment, pain, and Duke.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Glide Like Ghosts - October 2001
October 2001
Toby Duke rapped once on the Ashwood front door before testing the doorknob. It was unlocked. He leaned around the short wall to get a good look at the driveway. There were no cars parked there, but the garage door was closed so it was impossible to tell just who was home or if there even was anyone home.
He retrieved his gun from its ankle holster before carefully twisting the knob. He pushed the door open gently so that the hinges didn’t squeak. The thick carpet muffled his footsteps. He silently moved from the entry to the living room.
The television was on. He recognized both the musical number starting and the actors on the screen. He rounded the corner fully, spotted a thin hand with metallic purple polished fingernails dangling from the couch. If the movie selection hadn’t been enough to clue him in, the hand would have given it away.
“’Lo, Toby” Viola Ashwood greeted, tone heavy with amusement.
“Oh, it would be you.” Duke shoved his gun back in the holster. He’d come over hoping to vent a little steam with his best friend Sebastian or even get a bit of warm sympathy from Olivia, but all he got was the often exasperating baby Ashwood.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Viola. Most of the time, he got along with her better than he did with the others. She was good for jokes, research, and demon hunting. She wasn’t usually his go-to for more serious matters. Not only did she tend to make light of most everything, he knew she had enough of her own problems to deal with. Plus, she had the maddening habit of using whatever she learned for blackmail.
“Funny how that works, considering I live here and all.”
“You left the front door unlocked. Anyone could have come in and robbed the place. Anything could have come in here and killed you.”
Duke pushed off the wall and headed for the kitchen. If Sebastian wasn’t going to be around for Duke to talk to, Duke would have to settle for drinking his friend’s beer. He snagged two bottles of beer and, at the last minute, grabbed a small bottle of fruit juice before nudging the refrigerator door closed with his hip. He snatched both an unopened bag of corn chips and a bag of chocolate sandwich cookies off the counter on his way back to the living room.
Viola paused the movie when Duke re-entered the living room. She shifted the melting icepack so that it covered more of her left eye. If Duke couldn’t see how bad the bruising was, hopefully he wouldn’t say anything about it. Or narc on her.
“I’ve got a weapon handy for any demon stupid enough to try and attack me. The wards would have gone off had that been the case. As for robbers? Yeah right. We’re the biggest freaks in the neighborhood. Even criminals are afraid of us.” Viola tried to stealthily reach for the thin blanket draped over the back of the couch, but her arms weren’t long enough to reach it.
Duke dumped the snacks and drinks onto the coffee table before shoving it closer to the couch. He had to concede to her logic. Demons usually weren’t brave, or suicidal, enough to go after Trackers at home. After twisting the top off his beer bottle, he finally looked at the teenager stretched out on the couch.
“What in the hell happened to you?”
Viola’s forearms were littered with tiny, red scratches. Similar scratches covered both of her legs from the knee down. Her right ankle was wrapped tightly and propped up on a throw pillow. He could see a good-sized bruise forming on her chin.
Viola shrugged, winced when the motion pulled sore back muscles. “Had a Graca shove me in to a thorny bush, remember?”
Duke’s brow furrowed. He and the Ashwoods had spent the better part of the morning chasing down a pack of stray Gracas. He’d had Olivia with him while Sebastian partnered up with Viola. Sebastian had mentioned Viola’s encounter with a bush, but hadn’t said anything about her being injured.
“Your brother said you were fine.”
“I am fine.” Viola wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. She’d have rolled her eyes for good measure, but didn’t think her swollen eye would appreciate it. “Really.”
“Where’s Bas?” Duke set his beer on the table, knelt beside Viola. He lifted one of her arms, sniffed it to make sure she’d applied antiseptic on the scratches. He found it hard to believe overprotective-to-a-fault Sebastian would leave an injured Viola home alone.
“He’s got a date with that elementary school teacher again. What’s her name? Amy, I think.” Viola ripped her arm out of Duke’s gentle grasp. She flopped back against the couch. “Before you ask, Olivia had to meet some friends for a study group. Which is, of course, nerd-speak for group date.”
“And they just left you all by yourself?” Duke arched an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth curved up in a smile when Viola squirmed guiltily. She could be so easy to read sometimes. “Let me guess, you threw a fit, told them you were fine, and shoved them out the door, right?”
Viola’s lower lip puffed out in a truly spectacular pout. She tilted her head back against the soft cushion and let the icepack slide off her face. She heard his sharp gasp. Not surprising considering her eye was nearly swollen shut.
“They hover. Do you have any idea how absolutely annoying that is? Olivia would keep me drugged out of my mind if she could because my pain makes her head hurt. Sebastian’s worse. Blood makes him squeamish so he sucks as a nurse, and then all he wants to do is hold my hand and ask me if I need anything. I just wanted to be left alone.”
“They care about you, Vi,” Duke reminded her sternly. He knew how suffocating the older two Ashwoods could be, but Viola took them for granted at times. Most people would give anything for such a close-knit family.
“I know they care. I know.” Viola huffed angrily. She batted Duke’s hands away from her face when he tried to inspect her eye. She patted the pocket of her shorts to make sure the prescription bottle hadn’t fallen out. She had a few painkillers left over from the last time she’d been injured. As soon as Duke left, she was going to take two. “They just drive me crazy. And, I guess I’m a little grouchy because I had plans for the weekend.”
“It’s only Friday night. Olivia should be able to help cover that shiner up tomorrow. Besides, the places you hang out, Via-mia, you could wear a ski mask and fit in.”
Viola playfully punched Duke in the arm. She was glad he was teasing her already; it meant lecture-time had come to an end. “I can’t. I’ve got to rest. I cannot go to school on Monday bruised up or with a sprained ankle. One more injury and the school’s going to call a social worker.”
Duke frowned. He knew Sebastian had run into a few problems with the school regarding his custody of Viola, but he wasn’t aware it had gotten as far as that. Was there something he, as quasi regional Network head, could do to help his friend out? All of Viola’s injuries were Network-related, after all.
“Oh, stop scowling like that. You look like Bas and that’d just be a shame, wouldn’t it?” Viola grinned impishly. She pointed to the juice bottle and held out her hand expectantly. “It’ll be okay. We should only have to deal with this for another couple of months. Hopefully they’ll leave us alone once I turn eighteen.”
Duke handed over the juice as well as the bag of cookies. Beer and chips in hand, he rose to his feet. “Shove over, kiddo.”
Viola popped a cookie in her mouth. She sat up long enough for Duke to sit on the couch. Duke’s shoulder occasionally made a good pillow, but his thigh was hard as a rock. The sweatshirt she’d taken off hours earlier was quickly rolled up. Fortunately, his knee made a good resting area for her drink.
“What’re you doing here?” Viola didn’t bother reaching for the remote. If Duke wanted to talk, she could put off watching Rocky Horror Picture Show for the fifth time in a week. She really wanted a pain pill, though. It looked like Duke was settling in for a long visit, and her entire body was starting to ache.
Duke absently ran his fingertip along Viola’s temple. Without meaning to, he dipped into her mind. Pain, sharp and throbbing, was the first thing he encountered. She wasn’t as fine as she made out to be. Underneath the pain was impatience as well as a few jumbled thoughts centered on her shorts’ pocket.
“What drugs have you got, Vi?”
Recognizing that no-nonsense tone of voice, Viola slipped her hand into her pocket. She pulled out the bottle and rattled it. Duke took it from her grasp and popped off the top. He tapped two pills into her hand, watched closely as she swallowed them with a mouthful of juice. After twisting the lid back on the bottle, he put the bottle into his pocket. Viola wouldn’t be self-medicating while he was around.
“Going to tell me why you’re crashing my pity party, Toby?”
Duke tore open the bag of chips. He didn’t have to be here, didn’t have to answer her question. There were places where the beer was colder and the entertainment better than a campy musical. He’d even made tentative plans to meet up with one of his old girlfriends. Just as he was deciding to push Viola’s head off his leg, his cell phone rang.
Viola jerked upright when the loud, shrill ring came from right beneath her ear. She scowled and rubbed her ear while Duke fished the phone out of his pocket. To her confusion, he glanced at the display and rejected the call. As soon as he set the phone on the coffee table, Viola darted forward and grabbed it.
Before Duke could rip it out of her hands, she checked his call log. If he was avoiding one of his vapid, shallow ex-girlfriends, she was never going to let him hear the end of it. Which one was stalking him this time? Bambi? Candy? Lynda with a ‘y’?
The last four calls were from ‘Mom.’ Oh. Viola quietly returned the phone to the coffee table. She swung her legs back on the couch and rested her head on her makeshift pillow. No wonder Duke was looking for Sebastian.
Isabel Duke Carrolton only called her son when she was drunk and angry at her husband, the step-father Duke had never met. Those phone calls usually deteriorated into long rants against Duke’s father. She hated the Network and constantly berated Duke for wasting his life and his artistic talent by following in his father’s footsteps and taking over as regional head. The phone calls left Duke pissed off and, more often than not, drunk off his ass.
She didn’t press Duke for details. She restarted her movie and held up the bag of cookies for him. Halfway through the movie, she could feel the pills starting to work. Her mind started to drift and she felt disconnected from the rest of her body. It was a nice change from the nearly unbearable pain.
Duke glanced down at Viola when the remote slipped from her hand. He scooped it off the floor and turned the VCR off. He polished off his second beer, wished he’d brought more than two with him. He didn’t want to disturb Viola by moving her. He sank further into the couch cushions and slowly ran his fingers through her short, dark hair.
“Mom doesn’t get it. Every time she blasts the Network, she blasts me. Whenever she says that she hates Dad for putting her second or for ‘ruining’ her life, it feels like she’s saying that she hates me, too. She’s rejecting me again and again and again. I’m tired of hearing it. She just needs to get over it or leave me the hell alone.”
Duke paused when Viola muttered something that sounded very much like “bitch” but could have been “Ipswich” for all he knew. Apparently the drugs were sending her to dreamland via the goofiness detour. He smiled to himself and massaged the back of her skull.
“It just reminds me of why I’m never getting married. I don’t like knowing that I’ve got nothing to look forward to but a life of one-night stands, you know. I’ve tried to explain it to Granny, but she doesn’t get it. I can’t drag anyone into this life. It worked out for Granny and Grandpa, but I sure as hell don’t want to take the risk and end up like my parents. The Network’s gotta come first, and no girl’s going to understand that.
And half the time, I’m not even sure I can handle the Network. I see what Bert has to deal with; I remember all the crap Dad put up with. It’s a hell of a lot of responsibility. I’m starting to doubt whether or not I’m cut out for the job.”
Duke’s fingers delicately traced the swollen, darkened skin near Viola’s eye. It was a hell of a shiner. “I can’t even keep you three idiots from getting hurt in the field. How am I supposed to watch out for an entire region? Why would anyone in their right mind allow me to take over?”
“’s cause you’re th’ best, silly,” Viola slurred without opening her eyes. She clumsily patted his knee in what Duke took to be reassurance.
“I’m really not, sweetness. Thinking like that, relying on me like that is dangerous. I’ve just gotten lucky, that’s all.”
“Don’ be stupid, Toby.” Viola rolled forward just enough to press a kiss to the top of Duke’s knee. She couldn’t work up the energy to roll back. She let one of her arms dangle off the couch and her nose rest against the worn denim of Duke’s jeans.
“Maybe you’re right. I sure as hell wouldn’t want someone like your brother in charge. It’ll just mean I have to push myself harder. Spend more time shadowing Bert and Abelardo and less time babysitting you Ashwoods.”
Viola didn’t respond. Duke blew out a long sigh. He actually felt a little better after getting all that off his chest. Viola was a better listener than he’d given her credit for, though the medication probably played a big role in that.
He couldn’t leave her with all that knowledge, though. Even if she only knew half of it, she still had plenty to use as ammunition against him. With only a small twinge of guilt, Duke pressed his fingers against her temples and deliberately slid inside her mind. Thanks to the painkillers having already fogged her brain, it didn’t take much effort to alter her memories of the evening. When she finally woke, all she’d remember was watching a movie with Duke and falling asleep on the couch.
Duke pulled out of her mind and smoothed the hair off her forehead, small, indulgent smile on his lips. She really wasn’t bad at all. He never would have felt comfortable enough around Olivia or Sebastian to say as much as he had. He really needed to stop being so hard on her.
It took several minutes for it to register that his knee was warm and wet. Duke jiggled his knee just enough to shift Viola’s head. Sure enough, the material where her mouth had been was damp. She’d drooled. On him.
On second thought, she deserved every bit of the teasing he dished out.
Toby Duke rapped once on the Ashwood front door before testing the doorknob. It was unlocked. He leaned around the short wall to get a good look at the driveway. There were no cars parked there, but the garage door was closed so it was impossible to tell just who was home or if there even was anyone home.
He retrieved his gun from its ankle holster before carefully twisting the knob. He pushed the door open gently so that the hinges didn’t squeak. The thick carpet muffled his footsteps. He silently moved from the entry to the living room.
The television was on. He recognized both the musical number starting and the actors on the screen. He rounded the corner fully, spotted a thin hand with metallic purple polished fingernails dangling from the couch. If the movie selection hadn’t been enough to clue him in, the hand would have given it away.
“’Lo, Toby” Viola Ashwood greeted, tone heavy with amusement.
“Oh, it would be you.” Duke shoved his gun back in the holster. He’d come over hoping to vent a little steam with his best friend Sebastian or even get a bit of warm sympathy from Olivia, but all he got was the often exasperating baby Ashwood.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Viola. Most of the time, he got along with her better than he did with the others. She was good for jokes, research, and demon hunting. She wasn’t usually his go-to for more serious matters. Not only did she tend to make light of most everything, he knew she had enough of her own problems to deal with. Plus, she had the maddening habit of using whatever she learned for blackmail.
“Funny how that works, considering I live here and all.”
“You left the front door unlocked. Anyone could have come in and robbed the place. Anything could have come in here and killed you.”
Duke pushed off the wall and headed for the kitchen. If Sebastian wasn’t going to be around for Duke to talk to, Duke would have to settle for drinking his friend’s beer. He snagged two bottles of beer and, at the last minute, grabbed a small bottle of fruit juice before nudging the refrigerator door closed with his hip. He snatched both an unopened bag of corn chips and a bag of chocolate sandwich cookies off the counter on his way back to the living room.
Viola paused the movie when Duke re-entered the living room. She shifted the melting icepack so that it covered more of her left eye. If Duke couldn’t see how bad the bruising was, hopefully he wouldn’t say anything about it. Or narc on her.
“I’ve got a weapon handy for any demon stupid enough to try and attack me. The wards would have gone off had that been the case. As for robbers? Yeah right. We’re the biggest freaks in the neighborhood. Even criminals are afraid of us.” Viola tried to stealthily reach for the thin blanket draped over the back of the couch, but her arms weren’t long enough to reach it.
Duke dumped the snacks and drinks onto the coffee table before shoving it closer to the couch. He had to concede to her logic. Demons usually weren’t brave, or suicidal, enough to go after Trackers at home. After twisting the top off his beer bottle, he finally looked at the teenager stretched out on the couch.
“What in the hell happened to you?”
Viola’s forearms were littered with tiny, red scratches. Similar scratches covered both of her legs from the knee down. Her right ankle was wrapped tightly and propped up on a throw pillow. He could see a good-sized bruise forming on her chin.
Viola shrugged, winced when the motion pulled sore back muscles. “Had a Graca shove me in to a thorny bush, remember?”
Duke’s brow furrowed. He and the Ashwoods had spent the better part of the morning chasing down a pack of stray Gracas. He’d had Olivia with him while Sebastian partnered up with Viola. Sebastian had mentioned Viola’s encounter with a bush, but hadn’t said anything about her being injured.
“Your brother said you were fine.”
“I am fine.” Viola wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. She’d have rolled her eyes for good measure, but didn’t think her swollen eye would appreciate it. “Really.”
“Where’s Bas?” Duke set his beer on the table, knelt beside Viola. He lifted one of her arms, sniffed it to make sure she’d applied antiseptic on the scratches. He found it hard to believe overprotective-to-a-fault Sebastian would leave an injured Viola home alone.
“He’s got a date with that elementary school teacher again. What’s her name? Amy, I think.” Viola ripped her arm out of Duke’s gentle grasp. She flopped back against the couch. “Before you ask, Olivia had to meet some friends for a study group. Which is, of course, nerd-speak for group date.”
“And they just left you all by yourself?” Duke arched an eyebrow. The corner of his mouth curved up in a smile when Viola squirmed guiltily. She could be so easy to read sometimes. “Let me guess, you threw a fit, told them you were fine, and shoved them out the door, right?”
Viola’s lower lip puffed out in a truly spectacular pout. She tilted her head back against the soft cushion and let the icepack slide off her face. She heard his sharp gasp. Not surprising considering her eye was nearly swollen shut.
“They hover. Do you have any idea how absolutely annoying that is? Olivia would keep me drugged out of my mind if she could because my pain makes her head hurt. Sebastian’s worse. Blood makes him squeamish so he sucks as a nurse, and then all he wants to do is hold my hand and ask me if I need anything. I just wanted to be left alone.”
“They care about you, Vi,” Duke reminded her sternly. He knew how suffocating the older two Ashwoods could be, but Viola took them for granted at times. Most people would give anything for such a close-knit family.
“I know they care. I know.” Viola huffed angrily. She batted Duke’s hands away from her face when he tried to inspect her eye. She patted the pocket of her shorts to make sure the prescription bottle hadn’t fallen out. She had a few painkillers left over from the last time she’d been injured. As soon as Duke left, she was going to take two. “They just drive me crazy. And, I guess I’m a little grouchy because I had plans for the weekend.”
“It’s only Friday night. Olivia should be able to help cover that shiner up tomorrow. Besides, the places you hang out, Via-mia, you could wear a ski mask and fit in.”
Viola playfully punched Duke in the arm. She was glad he was teasing her already; it meant lecture-time had come to an end. “I can’t. I’ve got to rest. I cannot go to school on Monday bruised up or with a sprained ankle. One more injury and the school’s going to call a social worker.”
Duke frowned. He knew Sebastian had run into a few problems with the school regarding his custody of Viola, but he wasn’t aware it had gotten as far as that. Was there something he, as quasi regional Network head, could do to help his friend out? All of Viola’s injuries were Network-related, after all.
“Oh, stop scowling like that. You look like Bas and that’d just be a shame, wouldn’t it?” Viola grinned impishly. She pointed to the juice bottle and held out her hand expectantly. “It’ll be okay. We should only have to deal with this for another couple of months. Hopefully they’ll leave us alone once I turn eighteen.”
Duke handed over the juice as well as the bag of cookies. Beer and chips in hand, he rose to his feet. “Shove over, kiddo.”
Viola popped a cookie in her mouth. She sat up long enough for Duke to sit on the couch. Duke’s shoulder occasionally made a good pillow, but his thigh was hard as a rock. The sweatshirt she’d taken off hours earlier was quickly rolled up. Fortunately, his knee made a good resting area for her drink.
“What’re you doing here?” Viola didn’t bother reaching for the remote. If Duke wanted to talk, she could put off watching Rocky Horror Picture Show for the fifth time in a week. She really wanted a pain pill, though. It looked like Duke was settling in for a long visit, and her entire body was starting to ache.
Duke absently ran his fingertip along Viola’s temple. Without meaning to, he dipped into her mind. Pain, sharp and throbbing, was the first thing he encountered. She wasn’t as fine as she made out to be. Underneath the pain was impatience as well as a few jumbled thoughts centered on her shorts’ pocket.
“What drugs have you got, Vi?”
Recognizing that no-nonsense tone of voice, Viola slipped her hand into her pocket. She pulled out the bottle and rattled it. Duke took it from her grasp and popped off the top. He tapped two pills into her hand, watched closely as she swallowed them with a mouthful of juice. After twisting the lid back on the bottle, he put the bottle into his pocket. Viola wouldn’t be self-medicating while he was around.
“Going to tell me why you’re crashing my pity party, Toby?”
Duke tore open the bag of chips. He didn’t have to be here, didn’t have to answer her question. There were places where the beer was colder and the entertainment better than a campy musical. He’d even made tentative plans to meet up with one of his old girlfriends. Just as he was deciding to push Viola’s head off his leg, his cell phone rang.
Viola jerked upright when the loud, shrill ring came from right beneath her ear. She scowled and rubbed her ear while Duke fished the phone out of his pocket. To her confusion, he glanced at the display and rejected the call. As soon as he set the phone on the coffee table, Viola darted forward and grabbed it.
Before Duke could rip it out of her hands, she checked his call log. If he was avoiding one of his vapid, shallow ex-girlfriends, she was never going to let him hear the end of it. Which one was stalking him this time? Bambi? Candy? Lynda with a ‘y’?
The last four calls were from ‘Mom.’ Oh. Viola quietly returned the phone to the coffee table. She swung her legs back on the couch and rested her head on her makeshift pillow. No wonder Duke was looking for Sebastian.
Isabel Duke Carrolton only called her son when she was drunk and angry at her husband, the step-father Duke had never met. Those phone calls usually deteriorated into long rants against Duke’s father. She hated the Network and constantly berated Duke for wasting his life and his artistic talent by following in his father’s footsteps and taking over as regional head. The phone calls left Duke pissed off and, more often than not, drunk off his ass.
She didn’t press Duke for details. She restarted her movie and held up the bag of cookies for him. Halfway through the movie, she could feel the pills starting to work. Her mind started to drift and she felt disconnected from the rest of her body. It was a nice change from the nearly unbearable pain.
Duke glanced down at Viola when the remote slipped from her hand. He scooped it off the floor and turned the VCR off. He polished off his second beer, wished he’d brought more than two with him. He didn’t want to disturb Viola by moving her. He sank further into the couch cushions and slowly ran his fingers through her short, dark hair.
“Mom doesn’t get it. Every time she blasts the Network, she blasts me. Whenever she says that she hates Dad for putting her second or for ‘ruining’ her life, it feels like she’s saying that she hates me, too. She’s rejecting me again and again and again. I’m tired of hearing it. She just needs to get over it or leave me the hell alone.”
Duke paused when Viola muttered something that sounded very much like “bitch” but could have been “Ipswich” for all he knew. Apparently the drugs were sending her to dreamland via the goofiness detour. He smiled to himself and massaged the back of her skull.
“It just reminds me of why I’m never getting married. I don’t like knowing that I’ve got nothing to look forward to but a life of one-night stands, you know. I’ve tried to explain it to Granny, but she doesn’t get it. I can’t drag anyone into this life. It worked out for Granny and Grandpa, but I sure as hell don’t want to take the risk and end up like my parents. The Network’s gotta come first, and no girl’s going to understand that.
And half the time, I’m not even sure I can handle the Network. I see what Bert has to deal with; I remember all the crap Dad put up with. It’s a hell of a lot of responsibility. I’m starting to doubt whether or not I’m cut out for the job.”
Duke’s fingers delicately traced the swollen, darkened skin near Viola’s eye. It was a hell of a shiner. “I can’t even keep you three idiots from getting hurt in the field. How am I supposed to watch out for an entire region? Why would anyone in their right mind allow me to take over?”
“’s cause you’re th’ best, silly,” Viola slurred without opening her eyes. She clumsily patted his knee in what Duke took to be reassurance.
“I’m really not, sweetness. Thinking like that, relying on me like that is dangerous. I’ve just gotten lucky, that’s all.”
“Don’ be stupid, Toby.” Viola rolled forward just enough to press a kiss to the top of Duke’s knee. She couldn’t work up the energy to roll back. She let one of her arms dangle off the couch and her nose rest against the worn denim of Duke’s jeans.
“Maybe you’re right. I sure as hell wouldn’t want someone like your brother in charge. It’ll just mean I have to push myself harder. Spend more time shadowing Bert and Abelardo and less time babysitting you Ashwoods.”
Viola didn’t respond. Duke blew out a long sigh. He actually felt a little better after getting all that off his chest. Viola was a better listener than he’d given her credit for, though the medication probably played a big role in that.
He couldn’t leave her with all that knowledge, though. Even if she only knew half of it, she still had plenty to use as ammunition against him. With only a small twinge of guilt, Duke pressed his fingers against her temples and deliberately slid inside her mind. Thanks to the painkillers having already fogged her brain, it didn’t take much effort to alter her memories of the evening. When she finally woke, all she’d remember was watching a movie with Duke and falling asleep on the couch.
Duke pulled out of her mind and smoothed the hair off her forehead, small, indulgent smile on his lips. She really wasn’t bad at all. He never would have felt comfortable enough around Olivia or Sebastian to say as much as he had. He really needed to stop being so hard on her.
It took several minutes for it to register that his knee was warm and wet. Duke jiggled his knee just enough to shift Viola’s head. Sure enough, the material where her mouth had been was damp. She’d drooled. On him.
On second thought, she deserved every bit of the teasing he dished out.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Prompts: The Final Three
I didn't actually forget about these (again). Just... temporarily misplaced my file (between a sudden upswing at work, a surprise (to me) TCEQ inspection, and TCC craziness, it's not that much of a shock).
These are the final parts of the prompt.
9: Patience
It isn’t until Pete’s actually arrived that Micah regrets inviting him to the island. He knows the other man needs to unwind after over a year in Afghanistan, but Micah’s rapidly running out of patience.
“Sorry, man. This is your last beer.” Pete twists off the cap and drops it to the ground. Micah immediately scoops it up. It’s a weekday so the pool area isn’t crowded, but Micah’s learned to respect the home owner’s association’s rules. Sitting through two extremely boring board meetings will do that to a person.
“That’s okay.” It’s not, but Micah can drink soda until he can make a run to the corner store.
“Oh, man. She’s a little on the small side, but that girl’s hot.”
Micah’s eyes follow Pete’s. He chokes on a mouthful of soda and hits Pete. “That’s my daughter!”
“Sorry, man.” Pete doesn’t sound apologetic. “You shouldn’t let her run around in that bathing suit.”
Whatever Micah wants to say is cut off when Pete practically shouts, in rather crude detail, his appreciation for the ‘smokin’ hot babe’ that catches his attention next. This time, Micah doesn’t hold back when he elbows Pete in the gut.
“That one’s my wife.”
27: Pink
Callie’s legs give out just as she reaches the edge of the bathtub. She blows out a shaky breath and bends so that her head is between her knees. The blood rushing to her face does little for her headache, though it does help with the dizziness.
“Mom?” Jenna knocks sharply on the door. She turns the handle but the door is locked. “Are you okay, Mom? Should I get Dad?”
Callie opens her mouth to respond, to tell Jenna that she’s just fine, but all that comes out is a small squeak. The hurried pounding of bare feet on hardwood is followed shortly by heavier footfalls. Great. Micah won’t let a little thing like a door keep him out.
“Jenn says you’ve been in there a while. She’s really worried. I’m coming in, sweetheart.”
Callie hears Micah pick the lock, but can’t move. She looks up when the door swings open and offers up a watery smile.
Micah starts towards his wife, but something on the vanity catches his eye. The three white sticks lined up are familiar. So are the pink plus signs.
Jenna hovers uncertainly in the doorway, vase of pink roses in hand. “Happy Mothers’ Day?”
20: Imagination
“It’s one of those tests shrinks give, isn’t it? Where the picture you see tells them if you’re a psycho or not, right?” Blake Schmitt, Jenna’s oldest friend, holds the small picture up to the light to try and get a better look.
“Nah,” Jenna grabs the picture from Blake’s hand and sets it back on the table. “I don’t think so, at least. Maybe Mom was trying to print a picture and ran out of ink. I can see a few shapes. It might be a person.”
“Dude, your mom’s got weird taste in artwork.”
Jenna slugs Blake’s shoulder. “No she doesn’t. And don’t call me ‘dude.’”
“I think I heard her car pull up. We can always just ask her.” Blake’s always liked his best friend’s step-mother. Callie doesn’t mind that he spends more time at their house than his. “I bet it’s one of those 3-D pictures where the image comes out if you stare at it long enough.”
“You are such a dork.” Jenna holds the picture up for Callie as soon as the older woman steps inside the kitchen. “Hey, Mom. Tell Blake this isn’t one of those psych test things.”
“That’s your little sister.”
These are the final parts of the prompt.
9: Patience
It isn’t until Pete’s actually arrived that Micah regrets inviting him to the island. He knows the other man needs to unwind after over a year in Afghanistan, but Micah’s rapidly running out of patience.
“Sorry, man. This is your last beer.” Pete twists off the cap and drops it to the ground. Micah immediately scoops it up. It’s a weekday so the pool area isn’t crowded, but Micah’s learned to respect the home owner’s association’s rules. Sitting through two extremely boring board meetings will do that to a person.
“That’s okay.” It’s not, but Micah can drink soda until he can make a run to the corner store.
“Oh, man. She’s a little on the small side, but that girl’s hot.”
Micah’s eyes follow Pete’s. He chokes on a mouthful of soda and hits Pete. “That’s my daughter!”
“Sorry, man.” Pete doesn’t sound apologetic. “You shouldn’t let her run around in that bathing suit.”
Whatever Micah wants to say is cut off when Pete practically shouts, in rather crude detail, his appreciation for the ‘smokin’ hot babe’ that catches his attention next. This time, Micah doesn’t hold back when he elbows Pete in the gut.
“That one’s my wife.”
27: Pink
Callie’s legs give out just as she reaches the edge of the bathtub. She blows out a shaky breath and bends so that her head is between her knees. The blood rushing to her face does little for her headache, though it does help with the dizziness.
“Mom?” Jenna knocks sharply on the door. She turns the handle but the door is locked. “Are you okay, Mom? Should I get Dad?”
Callie opens her mouth to respond, to tell Jenna that she’s just fine, but all that comes out is a small squeak. The hurried pounding of bare feet on hardwood is followed shortly by heavier footfalls. Great. Micah won’t let a little thing like a door keep him out.
“Jenn says you’ve been in there a while. She’s really worried. I’m coming in, sweetheart.”
Callie hears Micah pick the lock, but can’t move. She looks up when the door swings open and offers up a watery smile.
Micah starts towards his wife, but something on the vanity catches his eye. The three white sticks lined up are familiar. So are the pink plus signs.
Jenna hovers uncertainly in the doorway, vase of pink roses in hand. “Happy Mothers’ Day?”
20: Imagination
“It’s one of those tests shrinks give, isn’t it? Where the picture you see tells them if you’re a psycho or not, right?” Blake Schmitt, Jenna’s oldest friend, holds the small picture up to the light to try and get a better look.
“Nah,” Jenna grabs the picture from Blake’s hand and sets it back on the table. “I don’t think so, at least. Maybe Mom was trying to print a picture and ran out of ink. I can see a few shapes. It might be a person.”
“Dude, your mom’s got weird taste in artwork.”
Jenna slugs Blake’s shoulder. “No she doesn’t. And don’t call me ‘dude.’”
“I think I heard her car pull up. We can always just ask her.” Blake’s always liked his best friend’s step-mother. Callie doesn’t mind that he spends more time at their house than his. “I bet it’s one of those 3-D pictures where the image comes out if you stare at it long enough.”
“You are such a dork.” Jenna holds the picture up for Callie as soon as the older woman steps inside the kitchen. “Hey, Mom. Tell Blake this isn’t one of those psych test things.”
“That’s your little sister.”
Friday, February 5, 2010
Prompts #13 & #15
It's not that I forgot about posting this. Except, well, maybe it is. Thermal physics really, really kicks my ass. Between that, a surprisingly easy chem class, working on TCC, and work; I've pretty much given up on sleep.
On a side note, I did start up a "full-length" story featuring Micah, Callie, Jenna, and Jonas.
13: Amends
“Micah Harkness!”
Jenna grins at her father. She’s intimately acquainted with that tone of voice and is glad it’s not directed at her for once. “You’re in trouble,” she sing-songs happily.
Callie, face flushed and eyes dark with anger, appears in the doorway. She flashes Jenna a tight smile. “Scram, precious.”
Jenna scrambles to her feet. She pats her dad on the head on her way out of the room.
“Cal, honey.”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me, Micah.” Callie wags her finger. She opens her other hand so something sparkly dangles from her fingertips. “What’s this?”
Micah tilts his head to the side. Is this one of those trick questions where the answer’s wrong no matter what he says? “Bracelet?”
“And just how did this very pretty diamond and platinum bracelet find its way into my desk drawer?”
Micah tugs Callie into his arms and hooks his chin over her shoulder. “Can’t I spoil the wife I was a complete ass to for fourteen years?”
“I let you buy me the earrings. I told you to stop after the ring. I told you that I really meant it after the necklace. I’m going to tattoo it on your forehead this time!”
### So, prompt #5 was a bit of a personal challenge. It's all dialogue. Hope it isn't too confusing.
5: In The Mood
“Pizza? That place down the road makes the best super-veggie.”
“We had pizza two nights ago, Jenn. Save the pizza-every-night routine for when you’re in college. Trust me, it gets old fast.”
“What about shrimp? We’ve got some in the freezer and it wouldn’t take Dad long to fire up the grill. I’m willing to loosen my dietary morals for one night.”
“Oooh. Let’s skip dinner and go straight to dessert. How about those deluxe hot-fudge sundaes at Murray’s?”
“Ugh, Mom, did you not hear me complaining earlier about how my bikini isn’t fitting right? And shut up. You keep up that Carly Simon stuff, I’m shoving you in the pool.”
“You’re a very violent child, Jennifer Lynn. I blame your father.”
“Blame whomever you want. It’s not getting me fed.”
“Burgers are out, I suppose. You nearly got us banned from Big John’s Burger Shack last time. Shame, too. I love their mushroom Swiss burgers.”
“All that rare red meat? You’re lucky all I did was puke on the waiter’s shoes, Mom.”
“Time to admit we’re in a rut.”
“What about you, Dad?”
“Hmm? What’s that, sweetheart?”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Another day just like this.”
On a side note, I did start up a "full-length" story featuring Micah, Callie, Jenna, and Jonas.
13: Amends
“Micah Harkness!”
Jenna grins at her father. She’s intimately acquainted with that tone of voice and is glad it’s not directed at her for once. “You’re in trouble,” she sing-songs happily.
Callie, face flushed and eyes dark with anger, appears in the doorway. She flashes Jenna a tight smile. “Scram, precious.”
Jenna scrambles to her feet. She pats her dad on the head on her way out of the room.
“Cal, honey.”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me, Micah.” Callie wags her finger. She opens her other hand so something sparkly dangles from her fingertips. “What’s this?”
Micah tilts his head to the side. Is this one of those trick questions where the answer’s wrong no matter what he says? “Bracelet?”
“And just how did this very pretty diamond and platinum bracelet find its way into my desk drawer?”
Micah tugs Callie into his arms and hooks his chin over her shoulder. “Can’t I spoil the wife I was a complete ass to for fourteen years?”
“I let you buy me the earrings. I told you to stop after the ring. I told you that I really meant it after the necklace. I’m going to tattoo it on your forehead this time!”
### So, prompt #5 was a bit of a personal challenge. It's all dialogue. Hope it isn't too confusing.
5: In The Mood
“Pizza? That place down the road makes the best super-veggie.”
“We had pizza two nights ago, Jenn. Save the pizza-every-night routine for when you’re in college. Trust me, it gets old fast.”
“What about shrimp? We’ve got some in the freezer and it wouldn’t take Dad long to fire up the grill. I’m willing to loosen my dietary morals for one night.”
“Oooh. Let’s skip dinner and go straight to dessert. How about those deluxe hot-fudge sundaes at Murray’s?”
“Ugh, Mom, did you not hear me complaining earlier about how my bikini isn’t fitting right? And shut up. You keep up that Carly Simon stuff, I’m shoving you in the pool.”
“You’re a very violent child, Jennifer Lynn. I blame your father.”
“Blame whomever you want. It’s not getting me fed.”
“Burgers are out, I suppose. You nearly got us banned from Big John’s Burger Shack last time. Shame, too. I love their mushroom Swiss burgers.”
“All that rare red meat? You’re lucky all I did was puke on the waiter’s shoes, Mom.”
“Time to admit we’re in a rut.”
“What about you, Dad?”
“Hmm? What’s that, sweetheart?”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“Another day just like this.”
Monday, February 1, 2010
Prompts #28 & #7/#8
Two for one deal with prompts 7 & 8 - I combined them for a 400 word piece. Bending the rules is fun! Story, such as it is, is coming to a close.
28: Chase the Storm
Callie shivers when the wind kicks up. She can smell rain in the air. If she and Micah stay out here much longer, they're going to be drenched. She doesn’t want to go inside, though. Going inside means returning to the real world; dirty dishes, Jenna’s English homework, and back to Jonas’ house.
This is the most time she’s spent alone with Micah since her memory returned. Not that she remembers those months of amnesia. She’d like to slip back into what passes for normalcy, but none of them are on sure footing. Jenna’s clingy and constantly holds her breath as if waiting to be forgotten again.
Micah’s different, too. He’s grown more confident when it comes to dealing with Jenna. Callie would try to bow out of their marriage, but something in the way those dark eyes watch her and the way he’s constantly touching her keeps her from taking that big step. It’s as if he’s actually trying to be her husband. Things are changing. It leaves Callie itchy with anticipation.
“I should get going.”
Micah reaches over, wraps long fingers around her wrist. “Stay, Cal.”
“Storm’s coming.”
White teeth gleam in the darkness. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
7: Precious & 8: Expendable (2 prompts so total is 400 words)
"Until Jonas can tell us whether or not this was a kidnapping attempt or not, you and I are going to spend the next couple of weeks away. I'll let you choose, kiddo.”
"I want to stay here with Mom." Jenna's eyes flash angrily. She just got Callie back! How can her father ask her to give her up so soon? "Are you seriously going to make me choose between you and Mom?"
"No choice." A raspy voice interrupts before Micah can respond. "Go with your dad, presh."
Jenna carefully perches on the edge of Callie’s bed. She curls her hand around her step-mother’s. “You’re awake! Do you need anything? How’s your head? Should I call the nurse?”
“Breathe, kiddo.” Callie smiles weakly. She’s more embarrassed than anything. Back in the hospital after one little bump on the head courtesy of a home intruder. Micah must think she really is helpless.
Jenna darts forward to kiss Callie’s pale forehead. "You're not really going to make me go with Dad, are you?"
"You know how precious you are to me, don't you Jenn-Lynn?"
Jenna shrugs her shoulders uncomfortably. That’s just a nickname, isn't it? Looking back on how she'd treated Callie the past couple of years, she feels pretty un-precious.
Callie squeezes Jenna's fingers. "You are the most important thing in the world to me. If something were to happen to you, it would kill me. Faster than a bullet through the heart, precious."
Micah clears a lump from his throat and places a warm hand on Callie’s shoulder. He still hasn’t recovered from seeing Callie crumpled on the floor with a masked man standing over her and his gun in Jenna’s shaking hand. He and Jenna have already had a long discussion about weapons.
“That’s twice now, Cal.” He’s angry at her for being so quick to put her life in jeopardy and angry at himself for ever making her think she’s expendable.
Callie frowns. “Forgive the girl with the concussion, but what are you talking about?”
“I know you love, Jenna. You’re the best mother a kid could ask for. You keep both of us in line.” Micah’s hand reflexively clenches around her shoulder. “That means you can’t just jump in front of flying bullets, damn it.”
“What Dad’s trying to say,” Jenna interrupts smoothly, “is that all that precious stuff you were saying earlier? It goes both ways.”
28: Chase the Storm
Callie shivers when the wind kicks up. She can smell rain in the air. If she and Micah stay out here much longer, they're going to be drenched. She doesn’t want to go inside, though. Going inside means returning to the real world; dirty dishes, Jenna’s English homework, and back to Jonas’ house.
This is the most time she’s spent alone with Micah since her memory returned. Not that she remembers those months of amnesia. She’d like to slip back into what passes for normalcy, but none of them are on sure footing. Jenna’s clingy and constantly holds her breath as if waiting to be forgotten again.
Micah’s different, too. He’s grown more confident when it comes to dealing with Jenna. Callie would try to bow out of their marriage, but something in the way those dark eyes watch her and the way he’s constantly touching her keeps her from taking that big step. It’s as if he’s actually trying to be her husband. Things are changing. It leaves Callie itchy with anticipation.
“I should get going.”
Micah reaches over, wraps long fingers around her wrist. “Stay, Cal.”
“Storm’s coming.”
White teeth gleam in the darkness. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
7: Precious & 8: Expendable (2 prompts so total is 400 words)
"Until Jonas can tell us whether or not this was a kidnapping attempt or not, you and I are going to spend the next couple of weeks away. I'll let you choose, kiddo.”
"I want to stay here with Mom." Jenna's eyes flash angrily. She just got Callie back! How can her father ask her to give her up so soon? "Are you seriously going to make me choose between you and Mom?"
"No choice." A raspy voice interrupts before Micah can respond. "Go with your dad, presh."
Jenna carefully perches on the edge of Callie’s bed. She curls her hand around her step-mother’s. “You’re awake! Do you need anything? How’s your head? Should I call the nurse?”
“Breathe, kiddo.” Callie smiles weakly. She’s more embarrassed than anything. Back in the hospital after one little bump on the head courtesy of a home intruder. Micah must think she really is helpless.
Jenna darts forward to kiss Callie’s pale forehead. "You're not really going to make me go with Dad, are you?"
"You know how precious you are to me, don't you Jenn-Lynn?"
Jenna shrugs her shoulders uncomfortably. That’s just a nickname, isn't it? Looking back on how she'd treated Callie the past couple of years, she feels pretty un-precious.
Callie squeezes Jenna's fingers. "You are the most important thing in the world to me. If something were to happen to you, it would kill me. Faster than a bullet through the heart, precious."
Micah clears a lump from his throat and places a warm hand on Callie’s shoulder. He still hasn’t recovered from seeing Callie crumpled on the floor with a masked man standing over her and his gun in Jenna’s shaking hand. He and Jenna have already had a long discussion about weapons.
“That’s twice now, Cal.” He’s angry at her for being so quick to put her life in jeopardy and angry at himself for ever making her think she’s expendable.
Callie frowns. “Forgive the girl with the concussion, but what are you talking about?”
“I know you love, Jenna. You’re the best mother a kid could ask for. You keep both of us in line.” Micah’s hand reflexively clenches around her shoulder. “That means you can’t just jump in front of flying bullets, damn it.”
“What Dad’s trying to say,” Jenna interrupts smoothly, “is that all that precious stuff you were saying earlier? It goes both ways.”
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Prompts #31 & #19
31: Karma
When Micah doesn’t come home in time for their first wedding anniversary, Callie laughs off her foolishness and eats by herself. For the next three anniversaries, Callie takes Jenna out for ice cream. The fifth anniversary, Callie buys a bottle of champagne and toasts the empty dinner plate beside her.
Jonas takes her out for the sixth anniversary. On the seventh, he gets smart and keeps Callie away from the tequila. He hires a babysitter for the eighth, and flies Callie to California so that sunshine and merlot can lift her spirits. For her ninth anniversary, Callie stays up all night with a sick Jenna and a pot of coffee.
Jonas purposely arranges Micah’s assignments so that his Micah is home for their tenth anniversary. When Callie shows up on his doorstep, heartbroken and crying, it takes all of Jonas’ restraint to keep from killing the other man.
Callie learns her lesson, though. She doesn’t mark their anniversary on her calendar. When the day rolls around, she indulges in retail therapy and leaves her phone off.
Micah buys flowers, candy, and a card for their fourteenth anniversary. He’d leave them for Callie, but for once she’s the one who forgets.
19: Reawakening
It starts with a fall in the shower and a bump on the head. Callie laughs it off, takes aspirin for the pain, and rides to the office with Jonas. She can’t ignore how secretive he and Micah Harkness have been lately or the niggling in the back of her head like she’s forgotten something.
The morning is spent on boring fiscal reports in her bland office. Around noon, head still aching, she pops two more pills then turns out the lights. A quick nap is all she needs to make the pain stop. She dreams of a sunny parking lot, bullets and blood, a screaming girl, and fear and sorrow.
Callie wakes disoriented. She stumbles into a familiar hallway. She must have fallen asleep in an empty office. Hers is two doors down. She flicks on the lights, surprised at the dust on her monitor and desk phone.
A quick glance at her phone, the wall calendar’s still on November, has her dashing down the hallway. She’s going to miss Jenna’s choir concert! She gets to the auditorium on time, manages to find Micah, and slips into the seat beside him. She doesn’t see the wonder in his eyes.
When Micah doesn’t come home in time for their first wedding anniversary, Callie laughs off her foolishness and eats by herself. For the next three anniversaries, Callie takes Jenna out for ice cream. The fifth anniversary, Callie buys a bottle of champagne and toasts the empty dinner plate beside her.
Jonas takes her out for the sixth anniversary. On the seventh, he gets smart and keeps Callie away from the tequila. He hires a babysitter for the eighth, and flies Callie to California so that sunshine and merlot can lift her spirits. For her ninth anniversary, Callie stays up all night with a sick Jenna and a pot of coffee.
Jonas purposely arranges Micah’s assignments so that his Micah is home for their tenth anniversary. When Callie shows up on his doorstep, heartbroken and crying, it takes all of Jonas’ restraint to keep from killing the other man.
Callie learns her lesson, though. She doesn’t mark their anniversary on her calendar. When the day rolls around, she indulges in retail therapy and leaves her phone off.
Micah buys flowers, candy, and a card for their fourteenth anniversary. He’d leave them for Callie, but for once she’s the one who forgets.
19: Reawakening
It starts with a fall in the shower and a bump on the head. Callie laughs it off, takes aspirin for the pain, and rides to the office with Jonas. She can’t ignore how secretive he and Micah Harkness have been lately or the niggling in the back of her head like she’s forgotten something.
The morning is spent on boring fiscal reports in her bland office. Around noon, head still aching, she pops two more pills then turns out the lights. A quick nap is all she needs to make the pain stop. She dreams of a sunny parking lot, bullets and blood, a screaming girl, and fear and sorrow.
Callie wakes disoriented. She stumbles into a familiar hallway. She must have fallen asleep in an empty office. Hers is two doors down. She flicks on the lights, surprised at the dust on her monitor and desk phone.
A quick glance at her phone, the wall calendar’s still on November, has her dashing down the hallway. She’s going to miss Jenna’s choir concert! She gets to the auditorium on time, manages to find Micah, and slips into the seat beside him. She doesn’t see the wonder in his eyes.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Prompts #16 & #29
16: Alterations
Almost as soon as the neurologist has finished his report, Jonas Quinn’s brain kicks in to high gear. The overprotective big-brother part of him is still aching over seeing his baby sister so frail and lifeless both back in the parking lot and here in the hospital. Thinking like the hard-ass owner of one of the world’s leading soldier-for-hire agencies is easier.
He’s lost, hopefully only temporarily, a senior analyst. As Callie doesn’t remember anything from the past fourteen years, he’ll have to reassign all her current projects. She can’t take on any new projects because politics and regimes have changed since her last clear memory. She’s still absolutely brilliant, though, and he’d be a fool to not find a place for her.
He’s lost a field merc, too. Micah won’t go anywhere until the threat against his daughter’s been contained. Not that Jonas blames him any for that. His sister was the one shot, after all. The assignments Jonas has scheduled for Micah will have to be reassigned.
Head aching at the thought of all the extra work this shooter’s suddenly given him, Jonas wouldn’t mind be locked in a small room with him for an hour or two.
29: Forsaken
Jenna listens to her father and Uncle Jonas talk about traumatic brain injuries, temporary amnesia, and swelling, but all she hears is “forgot.” As in, Callie’s forgotten ever being her mother. This is her fault, isn’t it? It’s punishment for all the times she argued with Callie and told her that she wasn’t her real mother.
“W-w-will her memory come back?” Jenna squeezes her father’s hand though her eyes are on her uncle. She knows that her father will lie to her if he thinks it will protect her, but Uncle Joe isn’t like that. He understands that the truth hurts, but it’s better than lies.
“No one knows, kiddo. Could come back tomorrow, next week, or never. We just need to be patient and give Callie time.”
Jenna nods. She can do that. Though she really wants to barge into Callie’s room with a photo album to remind Callie of their summer vacations at South Padre Island or the time Callie chaperoned the school trip to San Antonio, she’ll wait.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll be okay.” Micah affectionately ruffles his daughter’s hair.
“I know, Dad.” Jenna smiles back, proving that she can lie just as well as her father.
Almost as soon as the neurologist has finished his report, Jonas Quinn’s brain kicks in to high gear. The overprotective big-brother part of him is still aching over seeing his baby sister so frail and lifeless both back in the parking lot and here in the hospital. Thinking like the hard-ass owner of one of the world’s leading soldier-for-hire agencies is easier.
He’s lost, hopefully only temporarily, a senior analyst. As Callie doesn’t remember anything from the past fourteen years, he’ll have to reassign all her current projects. She can’t take on any new projects because politics and regimes have changed since her last clear memory. She’s still absolutely brilliant, though, and he’d be a fool to not find a place for her.
He’s lost a field merc, too. Micah won’t go anywhere until the threat against his daughter’s been contained. Not that Jonas blames him any for that. His sister was the one shot, after all. The assignments Jonas has scheduled for Micah will have to be reassigned.
Head aching at the thought of all the extra work this shooter’s suddenly given him, Jonas wouldn’t mind be locked in a small room with him for an hour or two.
29: Forsaken
Jenna listens to her father and Uncle Jonas talk about traumatic brain injuries, temporary amnesia, and swelling, but all she hears is “forgot.” As in, Callie’s forgotten ever being her mother. This is her fault, isn’t it? It’s punishment for all the times she argued with Callie and told her that she wasn’t her real mother.
“W-w-will her memory come back?” Jenna squeezes her father’s hand though her eyes are on her uncle. She knows that her father will lie to her if he thinks it will protect her, but Uncle Joe isn’t like that. He understands that the truth hurts, but it’s better than lies.
“No one knows, kiddo. Could come back tomorrow, next week, or never. We just need to be patient and give Callie time.”
Jenna nods. She can do that. Though she really wants to barge into Callie’s room with a photo album to remind Callie of their summer vacations at South Padre Island or the time Callie chaperoned the school trip to San Antonio, she’ll wait.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll be okay.” Micah affectionately ruffles his daughter’s hair.
“I know, Dad.” Jenna smiles back, proving that she can lie just as well as her father.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Prompts #14 & #25
14: Temptation
Callie purses her lips when the bartender sets a drink in front of her. “I didn’t order this.”
“From the gentleman over there.” The bartender discreetly points at the man in question.
Marcia and Beth, two of Callie’s old high school friends, giggle like schoolgirls once the bartender’s out of earshot. Beth nudges Callie in the ribs. “He’s cute, Cal.”
Callie’s eyes flick over the man. He is cute in a pretty-boy sort of way. Probably some big-shot corporate executive used to having women fall at his feet. “I’m married, remember?”
“Oh please,” Marcia snorts indelicately. “We’ve invaded your house, sweetie. You don’t even share a bedroom with Mister Tall, Dark, and Always Gone.”
Before Callie can respond, Pretty Boy’s at her side. He reaches for Callie’s hand. “The band’s started up. May I have this dance?”
Callie lets him lead her to the dance floor and sways with him to the smooth jazz number. His smile is friendly and the unadulterated admiration in his eyes is hypnotizing. When he offers to take her home, she hesitates for just a second.
Home, alone and angry and just a little drunk, she isn’t sure who she hates more: herself or Micah.
25: Little Black Number
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me buy that skirt.” Jenna tosses long hair over her shoulder, blue eyes glaring icily at her step-mother.
“It was a very short leather mini-skirt, precious.” Callie bites back a grin when Jenna rolls her eyes. Had she ever given her brother this much trouble?
“Missy Carlson has one just like it.”
Callie stops abruptly in the middle of the mall courtyard. She ignores the people who push past her as she stares at Jenna with mock-understanding. “Well, why didn’t you say you were competing for the Miss Tramp of Rolling Hills High? Let’s get that skirt. I think I’ve got a pair of red stilettos and a corset at home you could borrow.”
Jenna’s cheeks redden. Does Callie have to talk so loud? “God, you’re so mean!”
“Yep.” Callie tosses an arm across Jenna’s shoulders and tries not to be upset when the arm gets shrugged off. “I’m the evil step-mother all those Disney movies warned you about.”
“I hate you.”
Ten minutes later, Callie’s blood on her hands, Jenna would want nothing more than to take those words back. Five years later, she still can’t look at a miniskirt without crying.
Callie purses her lips when the bartender sets a drink in front of her. “I didn’t order this.”
“From the gentleman over there.” The bartender discreetly points at the man in question.
Marcia and Beth, two of Callie’s old high school friends, giggle like schoolgirls once the bartender’s out of earshot. Beth nudges Callie in the ribs. “He’s cute, Cal.”
Callie’s eyes flick over the man. He is cute in a pretty-boy sort of way. Probably some big-shot corporate executive used to having women fall at his feet. “I’m married, remember?”
“Oh please,” Marcia snorts indelicately. “We’ve invaded your house, sweetie. You don’t even share a bedroom with Mister Tall, Dark, and Always Gone.”
Before Callie can respond, Pretty Boy’s at her side. He reaches for Callie’s hand. “The band’s started up. May I have this dance?”
Callie lets him lead her to the dance floor and sways with him to the smooth jazz number. His smile is friendly and the unadulterated admiration in his eyes is hypnotizing. When he offers to take her home, she hesitates for just a second.
Home, alone and angry and just a little drunk, she isn’t sure who she hates more: herself or Micah.
25: Little Black Number
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me buy that skirt.” Jenna tosses long hair over her shoulder, blue eyes glaring icily at her step-mother.
“It was a very short leather mini-skirt, precious.” Callie bites back a grin when Jenna rolls her eyes. Had she ever given her brother this much trouble?
“Missy Carlson has one just like it.”
Callie stops abruptly in the middle of the mall courtyard. She ignores the people who push past her as she stares at Jenna with mock-understanding. “Well, why didn’t you say you were competing for the Miss Tramp of Rolling Hills High? Let’s get that skirt. I think I’ve got a pair of red stilettos and a corset at home you could borrow.”
Jenna’s cheeks redden. Does Callie have to talk so loud? “God, you’re so mean!”
“Yep.” Callie tosses an arm across Jenna’s shoulders and tries not to be upset when the arm gets shrugged off. “I’m the evil step-mother all those Disney movies warned you about.”
“I hate you.”
Ten minutes later, Callie’s blood on her hands, Jenna would want nothing more than to take those words back. Five years later, she still can’t look at a miniskirt without crying.
Prompts #6 & #21
6: Hero
Callie impatiently glances down at her watch. She can see Jenna’s fair head bobbing up and down. The girl is no doubt looking for her no-show father.
She knows she shouldn’t really blame Micah. He doesn’t have a traditional, nine-to-five job. The realistic part of Callie knows he can’t ask terrorists to put their plans on hold so he can attend his little girl’s school presentation. The mama bear part that hurts whenever Jenna hurts isn’t quite so logical.
Jenna’s worked so hard on this presentation. She’s spent hours practicing her speech in front of the mirror. It’ll just crush her if Micah isn’t here to hear it.
When Jenna’s teacher steps in front of the microphone and Micah still hasn’t shown, Callie’s heart sinks. Jenna’s already had her heart broken by Micah too many times to count. Jonas, the uncle Jenna adores but who makes a poor Daddy substitute, pats Callie’s hand sympathetically.
Jenna’s the first one up to speak. Her eyes dart nervously around the auditorium. Her smile widens just as a warm body slides into the seat beside Callie. “Today, I’m going to tell you about my hero. His name is Micah Harkness, and he’s my daddy.”
21: Commonality
Micah settles into the chaise lounge beside Jonas. He pops the top of his beer and sighs in contentment. It’s a beautiful late-spring afternoon, and there’s nothing pressing to worry about.
A high-pitched squeal from the vicinity of his pool catches Micah’s attention. He watches with affectionate eyes as Callie tosses a giggling, nine-year-old Jenna into the warm water. He can still remember a time when his daughter was terrified of water.
“They grow so fast.”
Jonas grunts in agreement. He’s watching the same scene as Micah, but his thoughts aren’t on Jenna. He sees Callie and flashes back to the solemn, grief-stricken thirteen-year-old he’d suddenly been responsible for. For years, he’d wondered if she’d ever laugh again. Sometimes, when Micah’s done something particularly thickheaded, he sees glimpses of that girl.
“I just want to wrap her up in cotton to protect her from the world,” Micah continues.
“Yeah, I know how that goes.”
“I think I’d kill anyone who hurt her or broke her heart.”
Jonas chuckles to himself. He’s felt that way a hundred times. If only Micah knew how many he’d come close to having an accident in the field. “Oh yes. I know that feeling well.”
Callie impatiently glances down at her watch. She can see Jenna’s fair head bobbing up and down. The girl is no doubt looking for her no-show father.
She knows she shouldn’t really blame Micah. He doesn’t have a traditional, nine-to-five job. The realistic part of Callie knows he can’t ask terrorists to put their plans on hold so he can attend his little girl’s school presentation. The mama bear part that hurts whenever Jenna hurts isn’t quite so logical.
Jenna’s worked so hard on this presentation. She’s spent hours practicing her speech in front of the mirror. It’ll just crush her if Micah isn’t here to hear it.
When Jenna’s teacher steps in front of the microphone and Micah still hasn’t shown, Callie’s heart sinks. Jenna’s already had her heart broken by Micah too many times to count. Jonas, the uncle Jenna adores but who makes a poor Daddy substitute, pats Callie’s hand sympathetically.
Jenna’s the first one up to speak. Her eyes dart nervously around the auditorium. Her smile widens just as a warm body slides into the seat beside Callie. “Today, I’m going to tell you about my hero. His name is Micah Harkness, and he’s my daddy.”
21: Commonality
Micah settles into the chaise lounge beside Jonas. He pops the top of his beer and sighs in contentment. It’s a beautiful late-spring afternoon, and there’s nothing pressing to worry about.
A high-pitched squeal from the vicinity of his pool catches Micah’s attention. He watches with affectionate eyes as Callie tosses a giggling, nine-year-old Jenna into the warm water. He can still remember a time when his daughter was terrified of water.
“They grow so fast.”
Jonas grunts in agreement. He’s watching the same scene as Micah, but his thoughts aren’t on Jenna. He sees Callie and flashes back to the solemn, grief-stricken thirteen-year-old he’d suddenly been responsible for. For years, he’d wondered if she’d ever laugh again. Sometimes, when Micah’s done something particularly thickheaded, he sees glimpses of that girl.
“I just want to wrap her up in cotton to protect her from the world,” Micah continues.
“Yeah, I know how that goes.”
“I think I’d kill anyone who hurt her or broke her heart.”
Jonas chuckles to himself. He’s felt that way a hundred times. If only Micah knew how many he’d come close to having an accident in the field. “Oh yes. I know that feeling well.”
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