Amber Laura's Blog, page 10

North of Happenstance: Chapter Fifty-Five

Groaning quietly, Penny woke up slowly. Agonized. Eyes tightly closed, her brain felt like it was ricocheting madly around her head—even just breathing seemed to be sending the thing unraveling, bouncing painfully from left to right, unhinged. Parched. That’s how she felt. Her mouth was dry. Impossibly dry. Smacking her lips together, she tried to get some moisture inside the dessert coating her teeth, her tongue…

Stretching, Penny let her eyes slowly slip open.

Wait. Her arms raised up over her head, Penny felt confused, disorientated.

This wasn’t her duvet.

This wasn’t her bed.

This wasn’t her house.

It was only by sheer will that Penny kept herself from shrieking—alarm bells jangled unerringly in her bleating brain.

What happened last night—?!

Then, almost as quickly as the question popped into her head, Penny remembered, the night before slapping itself across her memories.

She and Jake had gone out for drinks, one round quickly following another. She wasn’t even sure how many beers—urgh, how many shots?—she’d consumed. Five? Six? God…

She’d told him about how lonely she’d been feeling lately, how insecure—. “…I mean, what is it about me? The everyman friend.” She’d laughed humorlessly.

Jake had jerked his head back. “Don’t say that…”

“Why not? It’s true. No one looks at me. Well,” Penny considered with a wicked grin. “Not unless their pointing at the freak show down the road.”

“Penny—” Jake growled warningly.

“I want to be look at,” Penny pleaded. “Really looked at, you know? Desired. Sought-after. I want to be the fantasy.” Flapping her hands dramatically, she said: “I want what comes so naturally for other women.” Women like Kate, she thought, but she didn’t speak that last bit out loud.

“Well, from where I’m sitting, the view across the way doesn’t look to bad,” Jake joked with a wink in her direction.

Penny made a face. “I’m being serious here.”

“So am I.”

Confused, flustered, Penny hadn’t been sure how to interpret that. So she laughed, took it for the light-hearted comment it was most likely supposed to be. “Okay. Whatever.”

Jake sighed. Reaching forward, his hand hovering over hers, he said: “Penny, you have to know—”

She shook her head. “I mean, what do you look for in a woman?”

Jake reared back, his chair scraping against the tiled floor. “What?”

Penny persisted. “What makes a woman attractive to you? What’s your type?”

Jake looked uncomfortable. Taken aback.

Penny had waved her hand dismissively. “I’m looking for a little perspective here, and who better to ask than a man? You know what it is that makes one woman cute and another gorgeous; what makes one woman a good friend as opposed to a good…well, bedmate?”

“Bedmate?” Jake grinned.

Penny made a gesture. “You know what I mean.”

“Okay.” Jake took a deep breath, his hand dropping back down to the table. His eyes watched Penny’s hands as they ripped and shred the paper coaster before her. “I like a woman who has a great sense of humor.”

Penny stuck out her tongue. “Everyone says that.”

Jake shrugged. “It’s true. If she makes me laugh…that’s huge. Bantering back and forth. Wit. It’s so important.”

“Okay?”

“And someone who’s kind. Considerate. Someone who can be a good friend as well as a good, what was it you said?” Jake teased. “Oh, yeah. Bedmate.”

Penny gave him a look. “Really?”

“What?”

“Vague character traits? That’s what you’re giving me here? Sweet and funny? Really. What’s next: intelligent and driven? Adventurous and daring?” Penny shook her head vehemently. “No. I want specifics. What makes you tick?” Penny leaned in close.

Jaw swallowed hard.

Penny raised an expectant eyebrow.

A second passed in silence. Then another.

“Jake?”

“Brunettes.” He cleared his throat. “I like brunettes.”

“Since when?” Penny asked with a pfft of sound. “Pretty much every girl you’ve ever dated was blonde.”

“Preferences change.”

Penny considered this for a moment. “Okay. Well. What else?”

Jake held her gaze. “Dark eyes,” he offered softly. “Mysterious, exotic eyes.”

Penny nodded eagerly. “Go on.”

“A woman who isn’t afraid to take risks. Someone who believes in what she believes and who isn’t afraid to be herself, even if that makes her different from everyone else.”

“Different how—?”

But Jake was on a roll by then:

“…a woman who I know I can always go to for advice; who I want to go to for advice. Even when it’s zany or crazy. Especially then.”

Penny’s head tilted to one side. That sounded suspiciously like—

“—someone who’ll wait up for me when I ask, who’ll climb out windows for me without a second thought…”

“Jake?”

He rushed on ahead: “…a woman who is strong and independent but who I want to protect anyway, who I can’t help trying to protect.”

Penny’s voice was thin. “But-but, you’ve always done that for me,” she pointed out hesitantly. “Shielded me from a world of ugly gossips and rumors….”

Jake smiled sadly. “And I always will. That’s my point.”

Penny looked down nervously. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but something definitely was— it was there in his voice, in the gaze he leveled her way. Frantically, she tore a new chunk off her coaster.

“Penny.”

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.”

Slowly, she raised her eyes.

“Do you know what else I like?”

Penny shook her head slowly. “No.”

“Curly hair. Bangles and scarves and flowing skirts.” Jake dropped his eyes down to her mouth. “And red lipstick.”

Penny’s hands flittered up to her lips. “Oh.”

Reaching forward, his hand came to rest over hers, stopping her fingers mid-motion from their shredding. “Penny. Don’t you know?”

“Know?” Her voice came out like a squeak.

“How beautiful you are?”

“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head hard. “Don’t say stuff you don’t mean.”

Jake grinned. It was lopsided. “Why are you so sure I don’t mean it?”

Penny throat convulsed. “I don’t want to be your charity case, Jake,” she insisted. “Saying stuff just because—well, it’s almost worse, you know. People telling you the things they think you want to hear, regardless of whether or not they’re true. It’s so clichéd and humiliating.” She made a face. “The comforting friend telling the ugly, fat one she’s actually gorgeous and skinny—or what have you.”

Jake had whistled then. Long and low. “You’re way off. That’s not it at all.”

“No?”

“No.”

Penny hardly dared to breathe. There it was again—that note in his voice that she wasn’t quite sure how to read. Intense. Emotional. Heated. Breathy, pitchy, she risked her pride: “Then why are you saying it?”

He’d given her a meaningful look. “I think you know why. At least, I hope you do. That you feel the same.”

As the previous evening’s conversation floated over Penny’s consciousness she felt her stomach getting tight, her palms sweating…

They’d paid out after that. Neither of them had brought the conversation back up again, but it remained there, between them …

Closing her eyes, Penny watched the rest of the night through her mind’s eye, the events parading past like the reels on a feature movie presentation.

They’d stood up to leave, Jake helping Penny shrug into her light jean coat.

Jake reaching for her hand as they walked outside.

“Don’t worry,” He’d assured her as they marched up to the curb. “I had the bartender call us a cab. They should be here any minute.”

Then she was sliding inside the crummy, unclean vehicle, sitting demurely beside Jake as he raddled off the address.

They were huddled together at the steps leading up to Jake’s apartment. It was misty outside. Penny was snuggled in her jacket, teetering unsteadily on her four inch heels, the faint sound of the taxi pulling away echoing in her ears—and then he was kissing her. Just as she’d expected him to do. Just as she’d been hoping he’d do. (After all, with a telling look sent her way, he’d only proffered his address to the cabbie, hadn’t he? It wasn’t like she was so drunk she hadn’t understood that look in his eyes when he’d done it, the unspoken question mark hanging in the air, her subtle but unmistakable answer. She hadn’t offered up a second address.)

Right there, at the base of the steps, his arms winding themselves around her back, hauling her body up close to his, Jake kissed Penny.

The feel of his belt digging against her stomach; the graze of his fingers at her waist, pulling her impossibly closer; the scent of his aftershave wafting up in the still night air; the taste of whiskey where his lips clung to hers…

Penny didn’t remember going upstairs but then, somehow they were, his arms steering her toward the bedroom, her shirt falling off one shoulder as the back of her knee bumped up against the living room end table, upending her balance…his hands guiding her as she walked backward, her thoughts too consumed by his lips, his hands, those roaming fingers, to be bothered overmuch with walking. Then she felt the world dip, her body being pushed backward, her shoulders falling softly against his mattress….

Feeling her heart picking up double-time in her chest as what happened next transfixed itself upon her gaze, Penny slowly felt her head turn to the left.

And there, not five inches away from her was Jake, his black hair spiking out against his white pillow, his face expressionless in sleep, those impossibly long eyelashes resting against his high cheekbones, the beginnings of a beard shadowing across his jawline.

Oh God he was gorgeous.

Her chest shaking, quaking as the full realization of what happened settled upon her person, Penny could feel the onslaught of a panic attack take form. She was in bed with Jake. Jake.

Dammit, what had she been thinking?

What had he been thinking?

Penny felt tears crowding against her throat. Jake. And it had been glorious. Everything she’d dreamed it could be and more (and dammit, she had dreamt about this. About him and her; and, if she were honest, she’d dreamt about it pretty much since high school.)

But she and Jake were never supposed to actually happen. He was supposed to be a fantasy. Someone she could curl up to in her imagination, all the while knowing that reality would never bend so far as to allow for something so—unnatural. The cool guy and the weirdo? Yeah right. No thanks.

There is only so much disbelief the mind can handle.

Biting her lip, Penny let her eyes wander down his sleeping form. Better soak it in now, it wasn’t likely to repeat itself.

He’d been lonely; she’d been lonely. The perfect recipe for just this kind of thing. (And the copious amounts of beer probably hadn’t helped much.) More than likely, she’d been little more than his rebound from Kate.

God.

Penny closed her eyes tightly on the pain of that thought. Still, she knew she was right. Because there was absolutely no other earthly reason Jake would have jumped into bed with—well, with her.

It’s not like he loved her. It’s not like he was even interested in her that way. No. Nu-uh. No way. He’d been lonely. She’d been lonely. This had been a means to an end. A forgone conclusion to a temporary salve.

“You stupid fool,” Penny whispered harshly to herself, her arms gripping the bed sheet tightly as she quietly tiptoed out of bed. “You stupid, stupid fool.”

Tears forming at the back of her throat, Penny made it soundlessly out of the bedroom, her arms snatching up scattered bits of clothing along the way. Fumbling toward the bathroom, she felt the smothered hysteria trying to claw its way up her stomach…

Quickly throwing on the clothes from the day before, Penny kept her eyes determinedly trained to the ground, refusing to meet her face in the mirror overhead. Refusing to see the red-rims of grief engulfing her as the broad light of day beat down; refusing to see the hurt and humiliation bearing down on her.

She’d slept with Jake.

The moment she’d been waiting for—

And now it was over.

Closing her eyes as the first tears fell, Penny chocked back the accompany cries scratching against her vocal chords. Well, she’d finally gotten her wish, hadn’t she? She knew what it was like to fall in love.

(It wasn’t like she hadn’t known it before. She’d been a little in love with Jake since that first day in the cafeteria when he’d sat down next to her. But she’d never had to admit it to herself, she’d never had to take those feelings seriously, because what would have been the point? He was so far out of her league, she was so far removed from his kind of girl—it’d always been safe before. Loving him. An illusion. Something to cling in the quiet of her mind. But not anymore.)

Now she knew: knew what it was to fall in love; to be in love.

Just in time to learn what it was like to have her heart broken.

Poetic.

“You deserve it,” she told herself as she slipped out of Jake’s apartment, her steps intent as she slunk down the stairs, down the sidewalk, her body pressed up tight to the building’s she passed, her feet making quick work of the distance between there and the sanctuary of her shop. Only fifteen feet…ten….five…

Bursting through the back door, her legs wobbly and unsure, Penny reached desperately for her curtained doorway, barely making it two steps inside before the sobs she’d held back finally broke loose. Sliding down to the floor, her back pressed up against her filing cabinet, knees bent up to her chin, Penny let her head fall forward, the tears spilling across yesterday’s outfit…

“You knew he could never love you back. People like Jake don’t fall for people like you.” Her lips trembled over that last word. “They just don’t.”

At last, the sobs came to a close, dwindling down to the occasional sniffle and heavily in-drawn breath. The pit in her stomach was empty now, replaced with the hollowed-out sensation that always followed a good cry.

Looking at the dark, wet patches smearing the long folds of her skirt, Penny shook her head. “Pathetic, Penny. That’s what you—”

The sudden ringing of her cell phone brought her derision up short. Heart skidding across her chest, Penny quickly fumbled the vibrating thing out of her purse. Fingers shaking, she slowly bright it up to her face, checking to see who was calling.

Please!

Please—

But it was only Kate.

Wiping away at the tracks of tears, Penny hit the ANSWER button quickly. She could actually use the distraction right now.

“Hello?” Her voice came out soft, uneven. But it didn’t matter. The woman on the other end of the line was far too preoccupied to notice the quavering tone of voice anyway.

“Penny—Oh my god…” A scratching sound muffled Kate’s words, making them garbled.

“Hello? Kate?”

“Penny? Penny! Are you there?”

“Yes. Yeah. What’s up?”

“Where are you?”

Penny’s brow furrowed.  “Uh. I’m at my office. Why? What’s—?”

“Can you get away?”

“Now?”

“Yes now!”

Penny’s hand went up to touch her puffy eyes. “Uh. Well—”

“Please Penny!” Kate’s voice shifted, lined with panic. “I need you…”

That decided it. “Yes. Okay. Just tell me where—” Penny heard a thunk on the other end of the line, followed by a quiet groan. “Kate, what’s going on?” Penny demanded again, straightening from her position on the floor. She’d been right. Kate was proving a mighty good distraction. “You sound weird.”

A slight pause. “They found me.”

“Who found you?”

“My parents. Phil.”

“What?!” Penny jack-knifed to her feet. “Where are you?”

“The LitLiber. In Jake’s office. Hiding.”

“I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Hurry Penny.”

 

Carnival Lights: Chapter Twenty-Seven

With unseeing eyes, Christina watched the lacrosse teams enter the field. Jason was wrong. She wasn’t backing away. She was just…nervous. Scared of what it meant, scared of Jason’s feelings for her.

It felt altogether too real.

And she wanted that. Desperately. Because she was in love with him. But on the other hand… she was also suddenly altogether too aware of how much she could get hurt.

“It was only partly because of you, so get out of your own head space,” Jason muttered then. He wasn’t looking at her, but the grim set of his lips told her he wasn’t really watching the game either.

At the challenge, she felt her own lips pull down in a contrary sort of disappointment. “Oh no?”

“No,” he assured her, and this time his head did turn in her direction. The slightest smile tugged up at the corners of his mouth. “We went on a couple of dates but that was it. There was no chemistry. I would have ended it regardless.”

Christina nodded silently, chewing on that thought.

Jason nudged her with his shoulder. “What can I say, I like women who glare at me.”

She felt her lips twitch a little at that. “So she was too nice?”

He nodded with mock seriousness. “Way too nice. Hell, she even laughed at all my jokes.”

“You tell terrible jokes.”

He winked. “Now that’s what a man likes to hear.”

“Oh shut it.”

He only laughed—but just then his hand reached out, taking hold of hers again. For the second time in as many minutes, Christina felt her stomach react to the contact. Her breath skittered up her throat, and a sort of electric buzz set off inside her body, a crazy sort of unraveling with anticipation.

Without thinking, she pressed her palm more closely to his.

“If that’s all it takes, I’ll never smile at you again.”

Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, Christina regretted them. She’d sort of given the show away there, hadn’t she?

“Well now, hey there,” Jason said, and those green eyes were staring down at hers. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Christina was still recovering from her foolish error to respond.

“Making you laugh when you absolutely do not want to,” he added just a little too mischievously: “well, that’s what I live for when you’re around.”

She laughed in a watery kind of way. “Yeah? Well, you do it well.”

“I know. I’ve had years of practice.”

She considered that for moment. “Even when you thought I hated you?”

“Didn’t matter,” he said, his eyes darting back periodically to watch the game. “Because I knew I liked you.”

“So you were determined to win me over.”

“Yup.”

“And now that you know you have?” She hated herself for fishing, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

He didn’t answer right away. “And now, nothing’s changed. Now I’m determined to keep you impressed.”

Biting back a smile, Christina had no quick comeback to that. And really, she wasn’t sure she wanted to say anything, anyway. Turning her attention back to the game, she was content to let those last words settle in the very air between them.

And so, for the next hour they watched the game—and the better part of any sort of conversation was directed entirely to the lacrosse teams: yell and whoops of support and cheer, grumbles and moans and missed plays. Christina felt the minutes spinning by too fast, and soon enough, the game was over.

Jason’s team had won. The spectators exploded with glory, the bleachers a stomp of excitement and friendly good spirits. But when Christina would have gotten to her feet, following the throng of audience members heading out to the parking lot, Jason’s hand pulled her back to her seat.

With questioning eyes, she turned toward him.

“It’ll be a mad rush out there,” he informed her. “Might as well wait here as in the line-up of cars.”

So Christina sat back down promptly. Perhaps too promptly. “Good point.”

“Give it ten minutes and it’ll clear out.”

“You know,” Christina said, searching for something to say. Now that the game was done, she wasn’t sure where to start. “I’ve never actually been to a lacrosse game before.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Her brows wrinkled. “You do?”

“You have an expressive face sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“When you’re not on guard.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay.”

“You know what it’s telling me right now?” He asked, his voice lowering. By now, they were alone on the stands, with only the game lights casting a shadowing glow down on them.

“What’s that?” She asked drolly.

“This,” he whispered, and bending forward, brushed his lips against hers. At the contact, a mere touch of lips, he growled under his throat. “And this,” he added, his teeth pulling at her lower lip.

Left in a sort of shocked silence, Christina didn’t offer up a single protest. Her body leaned bonelessly against his as she opened her mouth to him. She moaned when his tongue swept inside, tangling with her own. Her stomach muscles tightened reflexively and then relaxed in a shiver of need.

Without thought, her hands moved up his shoulders under they were locked behind his neck. “God,” he whispered, leaning back just far enough to breath. “I’ve been wanting to do this all night.”

“I know,” she murmured breathlessly, her lips unconsciously following after his. “I thought those people would never leave.”

Feeling some of the tension slide out of his body, Christina found her body relaxing in kind. “So I’ve been told. Of course, the adjective changes from time to time, depending on the situation, but…”

With a wink, he slowly pulled his body away from hers, returning back to his seat. He shuddered a little. “Dangerous. That’s the adjective I’m talking about. You’re dangerous. A heady cocktail.”

“Thank you,” she said pertly.

He laughed, throwing his head back with the sound. “Brat.”

She smiled vaguely, her eyes roaming over the abandoned playing field, the stale smell of popcorn already permeating the air; the parking lot was less than half-full by now. In minutes, she and Jason would have the place to themselves. Caught up in the fantasy of it all, she admitted softly: “I’ve always wondered what this would be like?”

“A lacrosse game?”

She elbowed him playfully. “No,” she said. “Being on a date with you.”

He looks shocked.

“What?” She asked defensively.

He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just—you’re such a conundrum.” He scratched the underside of his chin. “One minute you’re the most confident woman I’ve ever met. Stunningly so. And then in the next, you say something like that…” He shrugged.

She shrugged, her eyes averted. “Yeah, well. I don’t date much.”

“I got that.”

“I see.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” He insisted, reaching forward to guide her face toward his.

She bit the insides of her cheeks. “Okay.”

He let her chin go and she dropped her eyes. For a moment, silence swarmed around them.

“So how was it?”

She blushed. “Nice.”

“Nice, huh?” He didn’t sound convinced.

She nudged him with her shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Nice enough to do it again?”

She lifted her eyes, letting them peek up at him through her dark fringe of lashes. She felt her top teeth pull at her bottom lip. “Yes.”

 

North of Happenstance: Chapter Twenty

Kate closed her eyes as the memories washed across her consciousness. The utility closet Penny lovingly referred to as her shop, was shrouded in shadows, with only the lamp sitting atop her filing cabinet casting light upon the room. Seated around psychic’s worktable, leaning heavily against the ladder-backing of the proffered chair, Kate tried to breathe normally. The smell of freshly brewed coffee made her nose twitch. It was almost midnight but Penny had assured Kate that coffee wasn’t just for early morning…and hell, it was almost early morning anyway. Really early morning.

“Phil and I met our junior year in college,” Kate whispered, the words harsh, uncomfortable as they echoed across the room. She didn’t want to go back to that place—she didn’t want to revisit it, to dredge up any part of her former life. The wounds were still too fresh, the guilt too new. But Penny was probably right, and if she didn’t talk about it, if she didn’t exercise the ghosts, Kate would never truly let it go.

“His father is a lawyer,” Kate said, recognizing that a little background info would go a long way here. “And anyway, his firm had recently signed a retainer agreement with my father, who is a venture capitalist. Negotiations, investments, money, they hit it off right away—two man cut from the same cloth: out for blood and victory, and just for the sport of it, too.” Kate’s voice was rough, critical.

“I was living at college during this time, so I was only vaguely aware of their newfound partnership. It wasn’t until the New Year that it had any direct effect on my life. My mother called to inform me…” Kate’s voice droned on over her consciousness as she remembered that fateful conversation.

“Kate darling, our family has been invited to dinner with the Sheller’s…” Calida McDonald’s voice had held a note of expectation upon delivering this news, imparted almost immediately after her daughter answered the phone.

For a moment, Kate racked her brain, trying to place the name—wait, that’s right! The Sheller’s: Henry and Margaret. AKA: Father’s attorney and his wife.

“Is father being sued?” Kate asked quickly, fearfully. Why else would she be told about it…?

“Of course not,” Calida spoke impatiently. “Don’t be so suspicious darling. It’s just a dinner party between friends. They’ve asked us over for Saturday evening. I’ll expect you to attend, as well….” Kate was soon to discover that the couples had, in fact, grown quite close in recent weeks, her father and Henry playing a weekly golf game at the country club, her mother left entertaining Margaret in their absence—a dowdy woman who Calida found sadly lacking in fashion (but then, according to Calida, Margaret was also a woman of rather unfortunate curves anyhow…almost as unfortunate as her conversation.)

Kate chocked out an initial denial. “Saturday? I’m not sure I can—”

“Nonsense, of course you’ll come,” Calida went on, cutting Kate off ruthlessly. No one said no to Calida McDonald. It was practically a law somewhere. Kate should have known better. “It would be rude not to accept. The Sheller’s are fast becoming firm friends, and so naturally they want to meet you. Besides, you father and I already agreed to it on your behalf.”

Kate let out a soundless sigh. This was why she’d insisted upon moving into the dormitory on campus this year. It was always the same: Kate would be dressed up and made over, resembling the likes of a life-size doll. She’d be told when to eat, how to seat, when to speak…she was nothing more than a puppet pulled by a string. Her mother was a magnificent puppeteer.

“Don’t tell me you have classes during the weekends too?” Calida challenged.

“No,” Kate agreed, knowing it was pointless to explain further. To tell Calida the weekends saw Kate still studying for classes, finishing the last of her homework assignments, stressing out about her grades…well, that would have been an affront to her mother’s nerves: why couldn’t Kate get that done during regular workday hours? Had she become lazy? She wasn’t likely to get ahead with work ethic like that. To be a McDonald, failure wasn’t an option, mediocrity was an insult, leaving perfection as the only option.

Besides, the Sheller’s son would be present for the evening’s little soiree—and he was prelaw! If he could find the time in his undoubtedly hectic schedule, was it really asking so much for Kate to do the same? And anyway, Calida wheedled: Kate would have someone her own age to talk to. Wouldn’t that be nice?

There was really no response to this nonsense other than acceptance. Kate knew that. Calida would not abide by untoward embarrassment, certainly not the kind inflicted by her own flesh-and-blood. These people represented her father. They were business associates after all.

“What time would you like me there?” Kate submitted wearily.

“You can ride over with your father and me. Be to our house at five o’clock,” Calida instructed, gleeful now. “Oh, and Kate?” she warned in parting, “it will be a formal affair. Do dress appropriately dear. I was thinking maybe that black cocktail dress I bought you earlier this autumn? The one with the lace edging?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “Sure Mom.”

“And for goodness sake Kate don’t wear your grandmother’s pearls with it,” Calida added. Kate frowned. She loved that necklace. It had sentimental value. Her mother’s voice rose over these thoughts: “You looked cheap the last time you wore them together.”

….

Saturday evening descended naturally enough, Kate arriving at her parent’s house promptly on time, wearing the black dress. Her hair, she’d tied into a tight chignon, and low-slung satin pumps cradled her feet. Her irritation at the forced invitation was nicely disguised under the blank face of polite society; her mother met her at the door for a quick once-over, her eyes hawks, vultures…looking for faux pas, looking for the damned pearl necklace. She needn’t have bothered though; Kate had left it obediently at home. Satisfied at last, Calida gave Kate’s appearance her personal stamp of approval, and soon, swathed in couture coats, the family headed out the door.

Arriving at the Sheller’s house, Kate’s first impression had been one of awe: their familial estate was four-story, honey-yellow brick, and curtained on each side with tall shrubbery. An inlaid stone walkway circled to the front door, which, in turn, was flanked on either side by massive stained-glass windows. And that was just in one quick glance! If anything, the Sheller’s were even higher up on the social ranking scale than Kate’s own parents.

That must’ve rankled for poor Calida.

“Phil was the first person I saw upon entering the house.” Kate recited to a captive Penny. “He was standing a little ways back from the door, which had been answered by their houseman—Thomas.” Her eyes glossy in memory, Kate could put herself back in that moment as easily as if it were happening for the first time again, history literally repeating itself.

Phil had looked splendid in his three-piece suit, the dove-gray of the fine material striking an attractive contrast to his olive complexion. His wavy brown hair, cut nicely short, was styled off his face, allowing prominent exposure to his high cheekbones. He had a crooked grin. Kate had always loved that most about him. It was the only obvious imperfection he owned.

Advancing toward Kate and her parents, his right arm extended in greeting, Phil introduced himself, inquired about any pre-dinner drinks, and excused his parents for their tardiness. His father had an urgent call and his mother was going over last minute details of the night’s menu.

“I’m sure you understand, Mrs. McDonald, how stressful these parties can be on the hostess. The planning must be just right, the execution perfectly timed to achieve a satisfactory experience—or so I’m told,” he said, ribbing Kate’s father at the teasing remark.

Mr. McDonald laughed good-naturedly: “Oh, she knows all right!”

Calida smiled, but it was forced, frozen. She hadn’t appreciated the ‘little woman’ joke. Kate hadn’t found it very kind, either. But then again, anyone who annoyed her mother…well, that was just fine by Kate.

The first and second course of the meal went by uneventfully, the men talking shop, the women gossiping idly, generous compliments supplied on the food and wine. It was when the dessert was laid down before everyone’s plate, however, that Kate noticed a distinct change in the atmosphere. The father’s had grown ominously quiet, Calida and Margaret repeatedly locking eyes, communicating silently across the table to one another. Kate watched them watching her.

“Kathryn, your mother tells me that you’re quite the tennis player—the number one seed at college currently?” Margaret voice, consciously loud now, deliberately carrying, roused the table’s attention easily.

A forkful of some chocolate dipped mouse poised halfway to her mouth, Kate paused. “Yes. Though I should admit…”

“How marvelous,” Margaret said, speaking over her. She’d heard all she needed to hear. “Phil is also quite taken with the sport, aren’t you?” she said, a pointed look sent her son’s way.

“I am,” Phil agreed drily, with only the slightest of wobbles in his voice to convey amusement.

Kate had a sinking suspicion she knew where this was going….

“I know he’d love to get in a game or two before heading back to college,” she continued unashamedly, her voice conversational as she let her eyes span over the guests sitting across the mahogany dining set, gaining nodded approvals along the way. “He’s home for another week, then it’s off to the East coast for Spring Semester,” she said, her gaze shifting again, settling on Kate once more.

Kate wasn’t sure how to respond. It was only too evident that Margaret had said all of this for her benefit, but she unwilling to meekly play along. Being Calida’s yes-girl was more than enough. “Oh. Well, plenty of time then,” she invented noncommittally.

Margaret sighed theatrically, contriving to sound fatalistic as she addressed the room at large: “Only, of course, I’m lousy at the game myself and Henry’s work keeps him awfully busy lately. I’d be such a shame for Phil to miss out on the practice…” she hinted heavily, leaving the sentence to dangle there suggestively.

Before Kate took the opportunity to officially shut Margaret down—explaining that she had no interest in being set-up with a mama’s boy, who hadn’t even bothered to assert his own opinion or resistance to such ridiculous, obvious matchmaking—Calida’s voice broke against the wallpapered decor of the formal room: “I’m sure Kate would be delighted to arrange a court date with Phil.” The look she sent Kate was clear: Do. Not. Disobey. Me. “The country club has a wonderful, state-of-the-art indoor facility,” she went on to say.

“Oh, Kate that would be marvelous! Are you sure you can spare the time?” Margaret asked and then, before Kate could possibly be given the chance to actually speak: “Say tomorrow, one o’clock in the afternoon?”

There was a conspiracy afoot; Calida and Margaret were a little too adamant, a little too pushy…it was all a little too staged, too perfectly rehearsed.

“Sure,” Kate said tightly, dejected conformity dripping off the chopped syllable.

Calida clapped her hands together in finality. “Perfect! We’ll call and get everything reserved today.”

Neither Kate nor Phil had spoken a single word. Kate helpless in the face of her mother’s instance, Phil too busy looking bored to have apparently even noticed. Their parents had just arranged a play date for the two of them, as though they were still small children. Worse, they’d both quietly allowed it to happen. If Kate thought Phil was a dandy boy, she dared not think too hard about what her acquiescence made her?

 

 

 

“Our coupling could hardly be called happenstance,” Kate told Penny, her shoulders rising and falling listlessly. She felt exhausted suddenly, and not because of the hour of night.

Penny took a sip of from her coffee. From the bluish tint cornering the edges of her eyes, the caffeine would be required for the duration of this story. “He was from your social circle,” she stated simply.

“Yes, exactly. That was important to both of our mothers—that we associate with the right crowd,” Kate agreed softly. “I don’t mean to make them sound snobbish but…”

Penny shrugged: “Parents always mean well, regardless of how it’s perceived.”

Kate nodded. “Yeah, and to give them credit, Phil and I did mesh well….”

Because despite her reservations, Kate had enjoyed their tennis match the next afternoon; Phil had a nice serve, a graceful topspin, though his backhand didn’t even compare to her own…. They’d played for a solid two hours that afternoon, and even with Phil ultimately winning in straight sets, Kate had rarely felt the time slip by. (Of course, she’d made sure to let him win. Her mother would have been horrified at such a mean competitive streak if Kate had allowed herself to beat him; men should always been led to believe they are the stronger sex. Calida’s conservative views had often confused Kate.) He’d been a gracious winner, even offering to buy her lunch afterward….

“We went out two more times that week,” Kate told Penny.

She probably wouldn’t have if, when she’d returned home from that first outing, it hadn’t been her father who’d met Kate at the door, her father who’d anxiously wanted to know if she’d had a good time, if she had plans to meet up with Phil again. Calida was one thing, but Russell McDonald…. Her whole life, he’d been only ever vaguely involved in Kate’s life, absently agreeing with her mother on discipline and child-rearing, frequently absent…and yet, on the rare occasions when he chose to be present, when he remembered he had one, Russell McDonald doted unashamedly on his only child. His excited questions, the quiet hope in his eyes had done Kate in. She couldn’t disappoint him.

“Where did you go?” Penny prompted gently.

Shaking herself free of this melancholy thought, Kate brought herself back to point: “A musical one night, tickets to an art exhibit the next.”

Shifting, one leg crossed over the other, Penny tried to make herself more comfortable. “You enjoyed yourself?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of fact. Such entertainment would have been right up Kate’s alley.

Kate nodded. “Phil has this dry sense of humor. It’s completely deadpan and not a lot of people get it but…but he always made me laugh. There was this painting at the art show we went to,” Kate remembered. “It was a three-dimensional piece, abstract in design, sloshed everywhere in red and gold with sticks of driftwood glued on it, and here and there, an odd penny….” Kate shook her head. “Anyway, as we were coming up to view it, Phil stopped suddenly, as though frozen, his body seizing dramatically at the sight. Then he turned to look at me and said: ‘My God, suddenly it all makes sense!’” Kate smiled even at the memory. “He bought the painting that evening and gave it to me as a present, a token to remember him by, he’d said.”

“He sounds likes…he sounds memorable all on his own,” Penny said, her voice gentle, prodding Kate along. “So what happened after that week, when he went back to college?”

Kate shifted. “We kept in touch, and when we went too long without talking, our mother’s took over in the interim. I visited him during Spring Break; he attended my sororities annual May Wall Ball as my personal guest.” He’d shown up in a fitted tuxedo, perfectly turned out, and Kate had never felt so proud as when all her friends sidled up to him, jealous when they found out he was spoken for…jealous because their dates were the same old campus frat boys. Phil had wowed them with his intellect, his ambition. And everyone had wanted to be Kate. It was heady, intoxicating. Basking in the glow of having what everyone else wanted, she deluded herself in believing that it was what she wanted, as well. The picture-perfect life. The height of societal success. She hadn’t stopped to analyze further than that.

“Even when we weren’t together, we managed to stay in each other’s lives. He’d spend Sunday afternoons on the phone, quizzing me on my statistics homework,” Kate heard herself say, “and I sent him a picture of me standing in front of that hideous painting he’d bought—this time I wanted him to remember me.” Kate lifted one shoulder. “And by then, it was summer and he was coming back home.”

The first thing he’d done when his plane landed was seek Kate out. When she’d opened the door to see him standing there, his travel bags lying on the ground at his feet, she’d felt—she’d felt so special. They spent every day together that summer; they made love together that summer. It had been Kate’s first real taste of intimacy, and Phil had been so gentle and kind, so selfless. Kate would always love him for that generosity of spirit. For the first time in her life, she hadn’t felt alone. She’d wanted so badly for things to work. Between Calida and Margaret, resistance would have been futile anyway, so she imagined herself in love with him. It was easy at first. After all, it was the only experience she’d ever had of it, the only time she’d been allowed to ‘feel’ it.

“I was so desperate to be loved that I was ready to fool even myself into believing it was real,” Kate said, hating herself for how pathetic that sounded. She was so much damaged goods. “But deep down, I knew.”

Penny patted Kate on the knee. “That’s a hard lesson to learn.”

“It took six years to figure it out,” Kate said.

By the end of that summer Kate and Phil were an established item. She’d sent him off to his senior year of college that fall with tears rolling down her cheeks, and only a montage of desperation, dependency, and despondency to keep her company. She couldn’t focus at school, she hardly ate. Her friends had grown banal in her eyes, pedestrian, tiring… She missed Phil.  If only he were here…!

“I let Phil become my whole world. I’m not even sure how it happened. I was so independent before I met him. I enjoyed being single, hanging out with my friends and then, suddenly, I couldn’t make a single decision without first discussing it with him.

“It was like, I lost my ability to be me when I was around him. Phil wasn’t—he isn’t a bad man. He never pushed his opinions on me. I just, instead, I did that. I made myself in his mold.”

Calida McDonald had finally accepted her daughter. Her daughter had done well for herself, the family name shone because of it. She was moving in the right circles. For the first time, she found no reason to nit-pick about Kate’s affairs. If Phil approved than Calida could find no fault either. Kate loved him all the more, if for no other reason than that.

“What a joke,” Kate spat, her hands gripping the edges of the table, “I was accepted as long as I wasn’t really being me. Even I was guilty of it, of lying to myself.”

“Is that why you left?” Penny asked, “because you didn’t belong?”

“Yes. No…” Kate shook her head, trying to understand it herself. “In a way, I suppose. But, it wasn’t until I moved here that I realized how far gone I’d been. It wasn’t until I was forced to make a choice on my own, that I realized I’d forgotten how to do that, that I’d lost faith in my ability to have an answer on my own.” The confession was filled with self-loathing.

“Hey, we can’t grow as people if we don’t make mistakes,” Penny reminded her. “And, whether you were ready to admit it or not then, you knew something was off—you wouldn’t have moved here, you wouldn’t have figured out just how lost you’d been, if not.”

Kate crinkled her nose; tears weren’t far from the surface. “When Phil asked me to marry him that’s when things first started to change.”

Some part of Kate had known in that very instant that she wouldn’t marry him. When she’d seen him get up from the table of the restaurant they were dining at, nodding conspiratorially at the proprietor, Kate had known what was coming next.

No! No, no, no, no, no!

But he hadn’t heard her silent pleading in the moments that passed, as he bent his left leg to the floor, gathering the attention of the rest of the patrons at the establishment. He hadn’t felt her stomach drop despairingly in that unguarded beat of time, before well-drummed decorum had taken over, convincing her that what she’d experienced was nerves of excitement, not dread. This was the man of her dreams! How many times had people told her that? Of course it was excitement! Silly Kate. That’s all it was.

(Except, except it all felt too real suddenly, the truth exposed in that first reaction, and covered-up in the next. And, despite years of training, Kate found she could no longer completely hush that small voice in the back of her head, the one which defied societal imposition, the one which openly rebelled against all things Calida McDonald…. Of course, years of training weren’t easily undone either. Calling it a fit of fancy, Kate nonetheless kept trying, vigorously suppressing its growing influence, tuning out is noisy insistence.)

Phil hadn’t known any of this when his eyes met hers across the linen tablecloth a red-velvet ring box held delicately in the palm of his left hand.

….

“But you still said yes,” Penny reminded Kate.

“Yeah, I did,” Kate said, pushing her chair back. Standing up, she moved over to the window at the back of Penny’s shop. With the flick of her finger, she pulled two blinds apart, her non-seeing eyes looking out at the empty roadway. “I was in so deep…I had gotten so good at pretending to be someone I wasn’t, I didn’t know how to be anyone else. So I said yes, but I didn’t mean it.”

“When did you—what made you…you know, leave?” Penny pushed expectantly.

“I wasn’t the right woman for him,” Kate said simply, pausing here to take a deep breath, the maneuver a deliberate stall. “I didn’t want to see what was right under my nose at first but then…this thing happens! and suddenly there are no more lies left to protect me, nothing to disguise the truth of what’s happening: the late nights at work, the desperate lovemaking, the empty promises…” Kate smiled emptily. “It’s the same old story, I suppose: romance gone awry, needless heartache and betrayal.”

Penny recoiled sharply at the involuntary words, her elbow crashing against the side of her porcelain cup, and almost overturning its contents, in the haste of her movements. “Kate, are you telling me—did Phil? Did he cheat on you?”

North of Happenstance: Chapter Nineteen

“I think you should wear this.”

Kate looked over to where Madame Penny was standing half-inside her closet.

“Just that, huh?” Kate asked incredulously. The psychic held in her hand a black lacy camisole. She knew what Madame Penny was doing, but it wasn’t going to work. Kate was not going to blush, she was not going to giggle nervously. She was not going to give her friend any more ammunition then she’d already done. “It might be a little too breezy. It is winter after all.” Kate was proud when her voice came out dry, unruffled.

Penny rolled her eyes, hanging the silky garment back in the closet. “Whatever. Fine. But at least promise you won’t wear that bulky fisherman’s sweater you seem so fond of.”

Kate frowned. She liked that sweater. “What’s wrong with that?”

Penny gave her a look. “I don’t have time to get into that right now.”

Kate gave up. Penny wasn’t going to allow Kate to leave the house without being dressed to the nines, and honestly, Kate wasn’t fighting her on that. She wanted to look good…she just didn’t want to be so obvious about it.

In three hours, Kate would head over to Whestleigh High School where she would participate as one of the judges in the school’s third annual writing contest. Jackson would, of course, also be in attendance (hence Penny’s wardrobe interference). The force behind Kate’s impromptu involvement, he’d bushwhacked her, stopping in at the LitLiber a couple of weeks ago with the favor…

“I would really love to get Janessa Cooper involved in the event,” he’d told her, knowing exactly which button to push to gain her interest. Jackson was a member at Good Sheppard Church; he knew of Kate and Janessa’s arrangement (and, of course, Penny being his only neighbor, Kate could only imagine how much he knew of her life). “She’s a very talented writer, but I don’t think she’ll enter without a little encouragement. She can be a bit of a resister, withdrawn…” a common coping mechanism for teenagers to reject before they can be rejected.

“Yeah, she’s pretty good at that,” Kate had admitted drily.

“It’s important not to allow them to completely alienate themselves. Not only do the students isolate them, but teachers will too.  They give up on bright kids like Janessa because they don’t know how to reach them, breech that distance.”

That’s why he wanted Janessa in the competition: it would force her to put herself out there, to live in the same world as her peers. It would teach her how to handle risks: the failure of losing, the possibility of winning. Such things were important life lessons, he preached. They enabled social skills, autonomy, humility….

“I think I can convince Janessa to enter the contest, but in order to do that, I need to create an environment in which she feels safe and secure, accepted….”

In other words, Jackson wanted Kate to sign up as one of the judges—make it seem less personal, less scary. How Kate could walk away from that?

“And you think for some reason my presence will do that?” Kate asked on a half-laugh.

Jackson nodded gravely. “I do. I think you mean a lot to her Kate. More than you know, more than she’s willing to admit. I’ve seen it. She’s less antagonistic, less destructive since you’ve entered her life. She’s opening up a little bit—just here and there—she’s expressing herself, exposing some of her vulnerabilities. You are the only accountable change in her life.”

Well, Jackson’s plan worked. At least, Kate wasn’t sure if it was because of her participation or not, but regardless, Janessa had submitted an original piece into the competition. And though she didn’t want to admit it, Kate was actually pretty excited about tonight, when the judges would assemble to decide upon the winning entries. She wasn’t sure how many judges there would be, or even who any of them were. She only knew Jackson would be there. A smile Kate couldn’t quite fight back flash across her lips. Jackson would be there.

 

 

 

In the end, Kate dressed in a pair of tight blue jeans and a white button down shirt with long sleeves which flared slightly at the ends. A dark blue scarf dotted with silver stars adorned her neck. Her hair she’d left down, in a long blonde tangle midway down her back. Cool, casual, and Penny-approved.

Walking into the community education room, where the judging would commence, Kate spied a large oval table stretched out across the middle of the space, a pad of notebook paper and two pens sitting before each of the five chairs spanning its length. Besides Jackson and Kate, there were three other volunteers: Mr. Thompson, the 8th grade social studies teachers at Whestleigh, Mrs. Talley the town librarian, and Ms. Beckstrom a retired nurse known for her multiple book clubs.

A small refreshment table and had been constructed nearby, replete with a stack of Styrofoam cups and a plastic sugar caddy wrestling for space between a tray of doughnuts and a hotplate housing the coffee carafes. Kate poured herself a drink—the liquid was thick, a dark brown that required an extra packet of creamer to pacify Kate’s taste. Nabbing the nearest chair, Kate sat down, her eyes glancing nervously across the table as she did so. Directly across the way was a rather stern looking woman with a wobbling chin: Ms. Beckstrom.

Smiling tightly in greeting, Kate felt like a fraud. She wasn’t really the literary type and old nursey over there didn’t look any too welcoming.

Jackson’s here, Kate reminded herself, as the other two panel members arrived, claiming the seats on either side of Ms. Beckstom. That left only the chair beside Kate open for Jackson. Thank God. He wouldn’t make her feel inferior, think lesser of her opinion.

Kate took a generous sip from her coffee….

 

 

Two hours later, she would learn to regret the consumption of that beverage. Kate’s bladder was damn near bursting at the seams, and it didn’t look promising for a session rap anytime soon. Passing in a flurry of nerves, tension, and hot debate, the evening progressed slowly, building tumultuously as it alternated from one minute to the next:

An agitated sigh, the tap-tap-tapping of someone’s eraser drumming against the laminate table, the room creaking in heavy silence as Jackson tallied up the votes from the latest series of eliminations….

Voices’ rising animatedly as each judge was given the opportunity to defend their choices, arguing merit versus creativity versus potential ejection:

“It’s obvious to me that ‘Winter Memories’ should be handed the first place prize,” Ms. Beckstrom prattled on at one memorable juncture, her nose twitched in irritation at any who dared disagree. “The writing is clear, the imagery striking and the red thread tying it together—a young woman on the verge of entering college, scared to leave home while simultaneously scared of failing to live out her dreams, is so relatable to these students.”

Mr. Thompson shook his head exhaustively. “While I agree with its relatablility, I think the message is a little trite, a story that’s be said before. The trap of indecision…Change is scary, the familiar is comfortable, yet change is necessary for growth, yada, yada, yada. Back and forth and back and forth. Been there, read that.”

Deliberations like these dominated as nightfall rapidly approached.

Kate sat silent throughout most of it, her eyes growing ever wider in her face. The criticisms being flung about were a little over-the-top for her taste. They were talking about high school students here, not professional authors. To mark their work as ‘trite’ seemed a bit pompous and, well self-serving. These students had put their necks out there, really bared themselves. To overlook that seemed not only insensitive, but debilitating to the purpose of the contest.

“You’d think we were discussing a PEN Award for all the literary terms being tossed around,” Jackson whispered, leaning down close to Kate, the words tripping softly from the corner of his mouth so as not to be overheard by the others.

Kate swallowed a laugh, “The atmosphere is getting a little weighty.” Even if she’d had something to say, Kate probably wouldn’t have, out of fear of looking like a buffoon. The way these guys were talking, they’d probably call her out on it too.

“The headiness of power—everyone’s a critic, even if only an armchair one,” he answered, his voice low in her ear. Kate doubted anyone was likely to notice their side conversation. By this point, Mr. Thompson and Ms. Beckstrom were interrupting each other so ruthlessly, they didn’t have time to gauge anyone else’s reactions.

“So you think ‘Dark Trials and Thatched Roofs’ should win because why? Because of its odd stream-of-consciousness writing style? Trendy perhaps, but personally I found it hard to understand,” Ms. Beckstrom argued.

Mrs. Talley, a mousey woman of an uncertain age, nodded her head, shooting Mr. Thompson a reluctant smile as she did so. “I must confess, I found it a bit hard to follow myself.”

“Well, that’s the point of it. It’s a microcosmic view into the rambling thoughts, ideas, the ideology of a high school student. It’s unstructured but true. This girl is trying to find the words to a write an essay for a writing contest and instead her mind wanders…what’s for dinner? Is mom making her lasagna again? It’s frozen and she hate’s frozen food. Is the ground frozen outside yet? She’d like to go skating. It’s the only part of winter she likes. She wonders if he’s ever noticed her out on the ice-rink at Strikers Pond? He probably isn’t that into her, she’s not his type anyway…” Mr. Thompson rambled on, nicely paraphrasing the work. He shook his head. “It’s brilliant. It’s real. It felt personal, like a diary, yet the drama wasn’t forced, the secrets weren’t disproportionate.”

Ms. Beckstrom looked ready to bite…

“I should probably step in here soon,” Jackson murmured to a highly amused Kate. He raised his voice above the din “Okay, let’s take a break here for a second, and put these two pieces aside. We still have four other works that need to be considered for evaluation. Let’s take a look at those, huh?”

“Personally, I really enjoyed ‘Summer Vacation’,” Mrs. Talley said. Mr. Thompson groaned; Ms. Beckstrom rolled her eyes. It would appear for the first time that night they agreed upon something.

“Really, I found the organizational pattern far inferior to the rest…”

“The transitions between points were poorly executed, and the story arc anti-climatic.”

‘Summer Vacation’ didn’t stand a chance.

 

By nine o’clock the finalists were chosen. Kate could have wept. All that was left was awarding first, second, and third place.

“Well, I think it’s clear to all of us at this point that ‘Curdled Milk’ will finish in the rear,” Ms. Beckstrom stated tactlessly, her voice high.

“Kathy,” Jackson said, his voice gentle but firm, “you can’t push your opinion on everyone else.”

“I wasn’t pushing my opinion on anyone. Was I pushing my opinion on any of you?” she asked, her eyes skipping over the faces before her.

No one dared answer.

Jackson just shook his head. “Let’s take a quick break here,” he called instead. “Stretch your legs, hit up the bathroom, grab a last cup of coffee…”

Shooting Kate a sidelong glance, Jackson’s face was only too readable in that moment. The night was far from over yet. They still had to reopen the dreaded argument of ‘Winter Memories’ vs. ‘Dark Trials and Thatched Roofs.’

 

 

 

It was almost ten o’clock when the judging finally concluded. In the end, Jackson had had to call for a majority rule on first and second place, when it became only too obvious that neither Beckstrom nor Thompson had any intention of budging on their views. ‘Dark Trials and Thatched Roofs’ had won. Kate had been the deciding vote. She had a feeling Ms. Beckstrom had it out for her.

Whatever. It was done.

“Oh my God, I’m so tired,” Kate complained softly now, the door to the community ed. room closing in finality behind the retreating figure of Ms. Talley. She and Jackson were alone, with everyone else having barely stopped to toss their empty coffee cups in the trash before skipping out of the building, throwing hurried goodbyes over their shoulders at the evening’s close; it was late, and they needed to get home. Ms. Beckstrom had her gardening circle bright and early at ten tomorrow morning.

Jackson yawned. “Me too,” he agreed, gathering scraps of leftover paper together and tossing them in the garbage. He looked over at Kate. “Listen, you don’t have to stay and help me clean this up. Go home. I’m sure you have school in the morning.”

Kate threw him a pert look. “And you don’t?”

Jackson laughed. “Fair enough.”

“Besides,” Kate assured him, “I helped make this mess, I can help clean it.”

That was the explanation Kate was going with anyway. Unlike everyone else, she’d stalled at the signaled intent to leave, throwing out deliberately protracted farewells, in no apparent rush to throw her coat on. Jackson had been busy, stacking up the chairs, gathering the remnants of creamer packets strewn throughout the place.

“Do you need help with anything?” Kate had asked him politely. That’s when she’d stumbled upon this motive: that it would be rude to leave him to clean up all on his own—a perfectly viable excuse to stay. Never mind the fact that beside thirteen sheets of notebook paper, one leaking pen, and four cups of Styrofoam, the room had been left in pristine condition. Rude was still rude.

“No, no. I just have to move the conference table and bring the coffeemaker back to the lounge and I’ll be good,” Jackson had said, waving her words away.

Deciding there had been enough arguing already that day, Kate hadn’t verbally responded to this. Instead, she’d just walked over to the table in question, her hands curling around its edges to grip the sides. With a raised eyebrow, she looked at Jackson meaningfully, stubbornly. It was answer enough.

Smiling in appreciation, Jackson had quickly skirted over to the other end, taking hold….

“Lift on three.”

The table back where it belonged once more, the room put to rights, Jackson reached for the cumbersome coffeemaker, waiting while Kate hoisted the garbage in her left hand. Hitting the lights, he steered a path out the door. “Hey, thanks again for helping out with this tonight,” he said, once they were out in the hallway.

Kate smiled. “I can’t believe it it’s over already. I thought the night would bleed into tomorrow the way Kathy and Mr. Thompson were going at it,” she admitted while he locked up.

“I know.”

“But it was fun. Long but fun,” she assured him as they started moving again, walking down the hall to where the Lounge was located.

“Well, you sure showed a lot of patience.” Motioning to the room coming up on their right, Jackson slowed to a stop before it. “Especially Ms. Beckstrom. She-uh, she has a strong personality,” Jackson said, inserting another key from his seemingly endless supply into the latch and pushing it open.

Kate snorted. “Yeah, that’s one definition,” she drawled, tagging along when he advanced into the dimly lit room. Jutting her hip up against the edge of an empty table, Kate watched absently while he disposed himself of the antiqued appliance in his arms, setting it down on the counter running the entire length at the back of the room.

Jackson laughed softly. “They’re a tough crowd, that’s for sure. I should have warned you but I thought maybe it would scare you off. Hell, the thought of those guys in the same room together scares me!”

Kate pursed her lips. “So I was reinforcement?”

“Just in case.”

Kate giggled, “I shiver to think what they’d have to say about my writing.”

Jackson nodded knowingly. “Been there, done that. They tore me to pieces.” Kate smirked at the mental imagine.

“I’d like to see how they rate,” Kate returned coyly. “It’s a whole different perspective when you’re the one being judged.”

Jackson faked a look of shock at her teasing rejoinder. “Revenge Kate?”

“Karma baby,” she returned.

Turning fully in her direction now, Jackson smiled down at her, a chuckle still rolling off his lips: “See, I knew there was a reason I needed you here tonight.”

“For Janessa, you mean?” Kate asked, but she didn’t sound so sure of that answer, of his intentions.

Jackson winked, “Make that two reasons.”

Taken aback, Kate’s mouth moved soundlessly, the room turning heavy on the unfinished implication of those words, at the unanswered comeback. Was Jackson flirting with her? Did Kate want him to be flirting with her? The industrial wall clock tick-ticked loudly in the background….

Clearing his throat nosily, Jackson gestured toward the garbage bag still held loosely at Kate’s side. “Here let me…I can take that off your hands,” he said fumblingly, the rich timbre of his voice betraying the innocence of the remark, his eyes looking anywhere but directly at her.

Taking a step forward, he slowly closed the gap between them, his right arm extended, reaching for her left. The tips of his fingers skimmed just over her knuckles at the contact. It was light, barely-there, but heady nonetheless. Instinctively, Kate sucked in her breath at the touch—how long had she wanted him to do that? All that teasing, that foreplay…

The sound of her indrawn breath distracted Jackson. His eyes lowered, her lips parted. Kate felt her stomach muscles tighten, her feet press firmly against the flooring, her calves arch in expectation.

Only nothing happened. That is, something happened, just not what Kate had been anticipating. She hadn’t made it up, she couldn’t have made it up, misread that look in his eyes so completely, that silvered haze which had descended there, living in his gaze…she’d seen it, she’d read the attraction on his face, but then, as quickly as it’d come it had left, replaced, disappearing behind a bland expression leaving nothing bare.

Jackson pushed backward, the garbage bag slipping out of Kate’s fingers at the movement. A lopsided smile came to rest against his lips, masking its former countenance. “It’s late. Have a good night Kate,” he said. There was no mistaking the finality of those words.

Kate nodded jerkily. She couldn’t manage words, so she just turned and walked away, her knees threatening to buckle underneath her at any moment. It wasn’t until she was rounding the hallway, the front entrance to the school shining like a beacon, behind which doors her car was parked, that Kate felt her body react: her chest heaved, her throat constricted, her pulse spasmed… Fingers shaking violently, she dug through her purse, pulling out her keys and her cell phone simultaneously.

She needed to talk to someone. Now.

Dialing Penny’s number, she waited impatiently for the psychic to pick up on the other end.

“Hello?”  Penny sounded groggy, sluggish, like she’d been sleeping….

“Penny! I just…listen, I know it’s late but—”

“How’d the judging go?” Penny asked over a yawn. “Wait, is that just getting over with now?”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” Kate started to say, her feet skipping over the cold cement of the parking lot.

 

 

 

Kate pulled up the curb outside Madame Penny’s House of Intuition. Killing the engine, she jumped out, relieved to see the lights were already on inside. Penny was there. Kate knew it was asking a lot, but she needed to talk to her friend—it couldn’t wait, and this wasn’t a conversation she relished having over the phone, nor was it one she could have taken to Penny’s house. There, her car would have been too out in the open, clear to see for any prying eyes…

“All right, what happened?” Penny asked as soon as Kate stepped through the curtained doorway and into her office. With only one lamp turned on for illumination, the room jumped in shadows.

Now that she was here, facing Penny, Kate wasn’t sure what to say, how to begin. She felt jittery, anxious…confused. “I almost kissed Jackson,” she said settled on, taking the direct approach.

Penny’s eyebrows shot up at the words. “Almost?” she asked.

Kate paced the length of her shop, a hand running absently through her thin blonde hair. She shrugged. “At least, I think we almost kissed.”

Head tilted to the side, lips pressed together, Penny didn’t remark on that.

Spinning around, Kate leveled Penny a direct look. “I wanted to kiss him,” she wailed, her forehead creased, a look of dismay, of defeat crossing her features.

“And that’s a bad thing?” Penny guessed.

“Yes. No. It’s just—”

“Jackson reminds you of Phil,” Penny filled in. She remembered Kat saying that once, and judging by the exasperated look on her face, she hated herself for wanting him despite it—for wanting a man so similar to the one she’d recently jilted. Kate wasn’t a woman to abide by personal weaknesses.

“Yeah,” Kate confessed, her shoulders sagging with the confession.

Penny took a seat at the round table and, waving a hand expressly, invited Kate to do the same. Folding her arms across its surface, it was Penny’s turn to be frank. “I think perhaps it’s time you told me about Phil, don’t you agree?”

 

 

North of Happenstance: Chapter Eighteen

“Bless me father for I have sinned,” Kate’s voice came out soft, questioning…

The metal lattice separating her from the priest on the other side of the confessional was foreign looking, something she’d prior only witnessed in movies—the structure divided into two separate compartments.  She tried to get comfortable but the wooden abode was small, stuffy, her knees jutted up against the door in her seated position. The padding on the chair was thin, no doubt to keep the sinner’s declaration to a minimum.

She wasn’t sure how to begin a confession. Was there a certain prayer or a recitation required in the introductory statement of such a sacrament—a manual for dummies? Closing her eyes, she tried to remember what her Catholic friend’s had said about it.

Something about how long it had been since their last confession…?

“I’m not technically Catholic,” Kate said instead, opting for truth over subterfuge, “so I guess this is my first confession. You see, I’m actually Lutheran but I can’t go to my pastor because, well because she’s a part of the reason I’m here today…I’ve got to talk to someone and Penny would think I was betraying her if I talked to M.T., disbelieving in her psychic abilities—” Kate was babbling. Taking a deep breath, she paused here, taking the moment to regroup. She was probably doing this all wrong.

“Go on, my child,” she heard from the other end of the booth, the voice soothing, non-judgmental, even slightly amused.

Kate sighed, “Perhaps I should begin at the beginning. It all started yesterday. There’s this girl—Janessa. I mentor her through my church. Anyway, she wanted to go to a high school hockey game…”

 

 

 

Janessa had practically begged Kate to bring her to the sporting event. It wasn’t that she was any huge fan of hockey, rather one of the players. She had a crush. But Janessa being Janessa, it wasn’t on one of the players for her hometown team, rather the rival school.

That’s why it was so important Kate take her to this particular game; Janessa would have a viable reason of running into said player, a perfect excuse for drooling all over him—under the guise of school pride. This way she was safe to check him out without making her intentions obvious. Not that it mattered. Kate would have taken Janessa regardless. One, it was the first time her charge had reached out to her and two, Kate loved hockey.

It was only when they walked into the arena that things got weird. They’d no sooner found a spot to sit in the packed stands then Kate spotted them: Jake and Ashley, sitting together. They were two rows over, perfectly within Kate’s peripheral vision (if she craned her neck just so). Jake’s arm was stretched casually across her shoulders, Ashley’s head resting ever-so-trustingly against the side of his jaw. The sight of their canoodling about set Kate over the edge.

Standing up abruptly, Kate motioned Janessa to follow suit. She could not watch this all night.

“What are you doing?” Janessa whined, her mouth twisted into a sneer as she was led back down the steps and around the back of the rink to the bleachers on the other side.

Kate plopped down at the only abandoned spot there—shrouded in shadows from the overhanging balcony above them. Patting the space next to hers, inviting Janessa to join her, Kate scrambled for something to say, not sure how much she should confide in a sixteen year old girl. Secrets were reasons to gossip at that age.

Think, think, why did you insist upon moving…?

“Well, I thought, if you want to cheer for Zack, it would look less conspicuous from over here, in the visitors section,” she settled on, pleased with her quick recovery.

 

 

 

“But, I lied to Janessa,” Kate told the priest now, cringing even in memory. “Jake is my boss. He and I—well, we had a moment. Once,” she clarified, careful to emphasize that last part. “I moved seats because I didn’t want to have to be around him, didn’t want to see him with her—not knowing what I do.” Kate was being cryptic, she knew that, but despite her presence at Holy Cross Catholic Church, she wasn’t ready for a tell-all; the Father didn’t need to know everything and the details surrounding the Halloween Party were decidedly off-limits.

When Kate remained silent for too long, the priest prodded her gently: “What happened next?”

“I tried to hide my discomfort from Janessa but she could tell something was up. According to her, I was acting super weird.”

 

 

 

Jake’s arm, the one flung across Ashley’s shoulder, was fully occupied now, his hand caressing her shoulders, his fingers running lingering touches down to her elbow—

“There he is,” Janessa squealed, her fist connecting softly against Kate’s arm. The players were entering the ice.

Jerking her eyes back to the topic at hand, Kate tried to look interested, “Exciting,” she returned lamely. She tried to think of something to say in connection with this. As of yet, conversation with Janessa was anything but natural. “He-he skates well,” she tried, nodding toward the figure circling the perimeter of the rink.

“No, not him,” Janessa snapped. “That’s Ben Johnson. I don’t like him.” There was no mistaking the condemnation in that remark.

“Oh. Sorry,” Kate mumbled, confused. “Well, which one is he again?”

Janessa’s sigh could have been heard a block away. “Number 18. Right there,” she said pointing at one of the boys standing at the starting lineup.

Kate nodded. “And, how did the two of you meet?” she questioned.

“He showed up at one of Cassie Murray’s parties,” Janessa told her matter-of-factly.

Kate had to forcibly keep herself from a lecture on the dangers of high school parties. Drinking, sex, gossip…

With the slightest flick of her eyes she caught Jake laughing at something Ashley said, his head turned down, smiling at her. A distraction, Kate needed a distraction. Angling her own body toward Janessa, she asked: “So he’s pretty cool, huh? What did you two talk about at the party? What grade is he in? Does he live close by?” The words popped out of her mouth without apparent control or censor.

Janessa’s faced folded up at the inquisition, unintentional though it was. “Don’t third-degree me,” she said mutinously.

“Oh-no, I wasn’t…” Kate floundered. She wasn’t sure how she did it, but she always seemed to say the wrong thing.

“Whatever. The game is about to start,” Janessa interrupted her ruthlessly. Girl bonding was over.

“Okay,” Kate said slowly. Silence descended on the two of them after that, with Janessa cheering and booing alongside the other bystanders—with simultaneously ignoring Kate.

The entire first period was spent in this fashion, Kate going through the motions of watching the game, all the while surreptitiously glancing at the bleachers across the way. With Janessa’s patent rejection, Kate was left with little opportunity to keep her thoughts at bay, her eyes on task.

It wasn’t until intermission that Janessa even seemed to remember Kate existed—or chose to acknowledge it. It wasn’t until intermission that Kate felt the slightest disruption in her twisted version of hide-and-seek.

“Can I get something from the concession stand?” Janessa asked coolly.

At the sound of the girl’s voice, Kate jumped to attention: “Oh! Of course.” Kate quickly dug her wallet out of her purse. She knew, without having to ask, that Janessa didn’t have any spare cash on her. Kate handed her a twenty dollar bill.

The players were no longer on the ice, the ref’s huddled together in a small section on the rink talking shop, and multiple fans were on their feet: the restrooms and cups of hot chocolate calling…. A new fixation took root in Kate’s mind.

“Do you want anything?” The teenager asked begrudgingly, half-turning in her direction at the inquiry.

But Kate was too busy taking up her favorite pastime of spying on Jake and Ashley to notice. Please don’t get up, don’t grab a snack, do not mingle with the other parents inside the warming house…please do not get up, she silently pleaded. Because, if they rose to their feet, stretched their limbs, it would be only too plausible for their eyes to search around the building, idly taking in their surrounding, their concentration freed from the game. It would be only too possible for their eyes to meet…

“Okay, whatever. I guess not,” Janessa mumbled at Kate’s lack of response. With a shrug, she made her way down the stadium steps.

Crouched low in her seat, hair falling deliberately over her face, thankful of the bodies walking past, blocking her behind a sea of legs and jackets, Kate readjusted. The knit-hat she’d worn to cover her ears from the cold temperature of the arena was now pulled low on her head. She needed to remain incognito, well-disguised. Once everyone had moved beyond Kate, she’d be even more conspicuous, alone against an empty backdrop. Scurrying, she buried her nose behind the event program; no more than the brown of her eyes poked over the thick paper cutout announcing each team, their players, and accompanying advertisements.

She’d seen them and that was bad enough. If it were reciprocated, then something would actually have to do something about it.

 

 

 

“I keep fantasying about him,” Kate continued, her voice shaking over the confession. She was probably going to hell. The priest was going to tell her any minute now. “It’s hard enough to face him, but now whenever I do I can’t help imagining what would happen if…” shrugging, Kate let the sentence dangle; no need to paint the man a picture.

“It’s not just my mental state either,” Kate admitted. “This unfortunate attraction is spreading, affecting my job—infecting Jake and my professional relationship” When the religious figure on the other side of the partition remained silent she explained further:  “I made a mistake at work because of it, because I was too distracted. It was a pretty big mistake,” she revised. Her desire to avoid Jake had been unquestionably two-fold.

 

 

 

It was the press release. Kate had written down the wrong date—she’d sent it out to the media with the wrong date! Jake hadn’t noticed it until the following day when the newspaper sent him a copy of what they intended to print, a formality really, awaiting his approval. The good news: no damage had been done—both the radio station and the newspaper were quickly apprised of the blunder, and corrections were made before any public announcements had been made. Still…

“Kate, can I see you for a minute?” Jake’s question, its clipped quality, was the first thing she’d heard upon showing up for her shift that very afternoon. Fighting back a wave of nervousness, she’d nonetheless nodded her acquiescence. What now, she’d wondered as she made her way to Jake’s office.

Kate wasn’t sure what she’d expected walking inside, but it certainly hadn’t been Jake, standing firmly erect in front of his desk, a scowl stamped across his features, the press release she’d written strangled in his left hand.

“Does anything look off to you here?” he asked, pushing the paper into her now- numb hands. Dammit. Kate felt her heart skip a beat. She knew, without knowing, that she’d made an error. They’d be no other reason for the obviously rhetorical question, delivered in such chilling tones.

It wasn’t like she was that surprised, everything considered.

“Ah?”

“The date, Kate. Look at the date.”

Shit. She got the date wrong. That had to be it.

“I—oh, my,” she sputtered, her eyes stuck on what she’d written: Sunday, December 28th

“What happened?” he asked, cutting her off. His voice was hard. The reading was on Saturday, the 27th.

Kate shook her head, “I-I don’t…I must’ve gotten confused.” As far as excuses went, Kate’s was pretty poor.

Jake racked a hand through his hair, swearing softly under his breath. “Kate, I don’t even know what to say.”

Kate nodded, tears pricking at her eyes. “I know. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I did this.”

“That’s just it, I can believe it,” he returned, his words as surprising as they were insulting. “I mean, what the hell is going on? You’ve been distant lately, strange and quiet. I thought—” Jake sneered derisively, “Kate, I asked you repeatedly…‘it’s under control’, you said.” He shook his head. “And then you pull this!”

“I don’t know what happened?” Kate tried.

Jake ripped the paper out of her hand, shaking it expressively. “That’s not good enough, Kate. If I hadn’t caught this…Jesus, do you know what they would have done to me, to this store’s reputation?”

Kate could feel her lips trembling under the harsh reprimand. She deserved it. She couldn’t deny that. “What can I do?” she pleaded, her eyes large in an ashen face. “How can I help fix this?”

“Prove to me that I was right, that you can actually be trusted.”

 

 

 

“I haven’t spoken to him since,” Kate informed the priest. Slinking out of his office, she’d run to the ladies’ room to have a good bawl. By the time she’d reemerged, her nose pink and her eyes swollen, Jake had left for the day. If any of Kate’s coworkers had noticed, they’d been too kind to saying anything. “The awful thing is, he doesn’t even know how I feel. And, all the while, I’m fully aware that he’s not available. Does that make me some kind of of wanna-be adultress? How morally corrupt is that? How pathetic?”

Kate didn’t wait for the Father to answer these questions. “I’ve tried to stop thinking these thoughts, honestly I have. But then I did something stupid…”

Despite her baser instincts, Kate knew she was going to have to tell the priest what happened that night with Jake, she was going to have to face his probable damnation. Then again she’d already blown her resolve to keep the events of that fated October night well-hidden. So what was one more person?

 

 

 

It was last Monday, after school. Kate and her Shakespeare Study Group had stayed late after class, preparing for an upcoming test. It was as they were packing up their respective books, finished for the evening, that the idea of going out for a couple of drinks was thrown out—and quickly accepted.

It wasn’t the first time the group hadn’t gotten together for a little social hour, but it was the first time Kate had decided to tag along. She was feeling the academic pressure and with Penny and M.T. at odds, she was fresh out of easeful companionship. A cold beer would be nice. One beer wouldn’t be any big thing.

Well, one beer turned into two, which turned into seven. At least, Kate thought she only had seven. She lost count somewhere along the way. Regardless…there’s a saying about ‘loose lips sinking ships.’ Kate had never understood the meaning of those words more keenly then after that night.

Sitting around a table with eight classmates, people who were otherwise anonymous strangers, faces she wouldn’t likely encounter again after that semester, Kate had come uncorked. It was as if she couldn’t hold it inside her any longer. She told them the story—what happened at that Halloween Party. She told them everything (even her residual lust-filled erotic daydreams in the aftermath).

She’d needed to tell someone about it; M.T. and Madame Penny hadn’t been enough. They were her friends, her best friends. They weren’t objective observers who could rationally evaluate how deep she was in, what she should do, how she should repair the mess she’d made. That’s what her classmates had become: bonafide analysts of her romantic entanglement.

“Holy shit, that’s dark stuff,” Becky Mellon had mused when Kate had finally managed to shut her goddamn mouth, finishing the woebegone tale.

“Kate, I never would have taken you for such a kinky type,” Phil had teased then, nudging her shoulder playfully.

Kate had giggled clumsily: “You don’t know the half of it.”

“God, your boss must be hot,” Becky had spoken up again, eyes twinkling knowingly at Kate.

“I just want to lick him,” Kate had announced idiotically. She’d had been raised to refrain from overindulgence in alcohol. The Great Calida McDonald had told her daughter more than once: she hadn’t raised a low-brow boozer, the kind who bellied-up to a grimy, germy bar surrounded by scoundrels and (god forbid) the blue-collar sort.

Well, Kate had made up for lost times that night. And, for perhaps the first time in her life, she wished she’d listened to her mother.

 

 

 

“I never said Jake’s name…I didn’t mention the LitLiber specifically,” Kate said, the words uttered more for her benefit than Father Matthews. She frowned. “At least, I don’t think so. I’ve run over that stupid conversation so many times—what was I thinking? These are the smallest towns in the universe! What if someone from Whestleigh overhears this story? It won’t be difficult to put two and two together…” Kate stopped talking, unwilling to travel down that road again. She’d told M.T. she could handle the fear that at any point Jake could find it out. She had to start living up to her word.  “And the whole time, at the stupid hockey game, I kept wondering: what would happen if Jake found out? I hoped he would, I prayed he wouldn’t. I kept going back and forth—wanting him and wanting to avoid him. My brain was spinning in some broken, tangled mess that just kept repeating itself. I did a stupid thing and I just keep reliving it.”

As it was, Jake and Ashley never did see Kate at the hockey game. Or, if they did, they chose to pretend otherwise. Either way was fine by her.  She didn’t have to talk to them, didn’t have to pretend. She was allowed to put that off a little bit longer…“I need to find some way to forgive myself of my sins with Jake, to forget about what happened and move on. I can’t have this distraction hanging over my head.  It’s not just work, either. I-it affected my time with Janessa,” Kate said.

 

 

 

Kate tried to get her to open up more about this Zack boy on the ride home. (It hadn’t been possible during the game, what with Janessa more or less pretending Kate wasn’t there).     Had she managed to talk to him after the game? Did she have a plan for meeting him again? Did she know if he was single? Kate’s questions feel on deaf ears. Janessa was shutting her out. Partly, Kate knew it was in Janessa’s very nature, as a sixteen year old, to be contrary, but there was another motive behind her sudden reticence, and it had all to do with Kate herself.

“Like you care,” Janessa snorted.

Kate’s eyes had widened at that. Momentarily taking her eyes off the road, she caught Janessa’s frankly rebellious look. “What? Of course I care. I care a lot,” she defended herself.

“You care because you think it makes you a better person. It’s about you, not me,” Janessa corrected her. Kate’s hands on the steering wheel jerked slightly.

“Whoa. Where is this coming from?” Kate asked as calmly as she could.

“I’m not an idiot, okay? I get it. I’m like some charity case you got stuck with—and it would look bad if you didn’t uphold your end of the bargain, so you play along. But really, you want to be with me about as much as I want to be with you. It’s fine. I don’t care.”

Kate pulled the car over to the side of the road. Things had turned serious suddenly. She’d thought they’d had a good time tonight…at least, as good a time as they ever had.

“Janessa, you are not some charity case,” Kate said, her voice shaking in her determination to make herself understood, “and I do want to be with you. I was so complimented that you asked me to come with you tonight, I can’t even tell you.”

Janessa turned her gaze out the passenger window. “Could have fooled me.”

“What did I do?” Kate asked, genuinely bewildered.

“I know fake listening when I see it,” Janessa said, her eyes clouding over. “My mom excels at it. You would swear, talking to her, that she’s involved and interested, absorbed in the conversation…but then you’d learn, the whole time she hadn’t heard a damn thing, hadn’t cared anyway.”

“You think I did that?” Kate asked, picking up on Janessa’s point quickly.

She shrugged. “I don’t care either way.”

 

 

 

“What do I do, Father?” Kate asked now, her face pressed against her hands. “How do I…where do I go with this?”

“What is it you want from the Lord, how are you hoping he can help guide you—heal you?”        The priest asked instead.

“I want to be free from the guilt I feel, from the wicked temptations that live within me despite that guilt. Does that even make sense? Is that possible?” Kate asked out loud.

“Yes,” he said gently. “The Lord can help free you of these bonds, but not before you act on your own contrition. You must decide to live without sin. Temptations are conscious choices, crafted by human frailty, redeemed by human grace. You must take accountability for your actions: you created this so you must put an end to it. Divine absolution does not exist for you convenience. Admitting to a sin is not enough, you must quit it. Once you do that, you will be given the forgiveness of the Lord, Our Father.”

The advice was so pure, so awesome yet…The words humbling, crushing and…Suddenly, hearing it, Kate felt like a fraud. An imitation stripped bare: her situation was no more real than she allowed it to be… blatantly self-perpetuated, theatrically premeditated.

Why had she come here? Why had she sought out such impressive counsel? She’d talked to Madame Penny and M.T. why hadn’t they been enough? Why had she talked to her classmates about Jake? If was as if she craved the attention, the shock-and-awe factor.

She’d made such a thing out of it, allowed it to have such power, such monumental importance. The whole affair—from the Halloween Party to that afternoon in Jake’s office—it seemed so trivial now, something she’d blown all-out-of-proportion. She and Jake had kissed. Yup, it was weird but now, listening to the remarkable, the esteemed priest before her, she felt foolish, look a woman obsessed.

Why hadn’t she seen it before?

“I’m lonely, and I think I’m only just learning how much,” she said suddenly. “I think I’ve built this up, this thing between Jake and myself. I’ve made this such a dramatic pursuit, such a sleepless anxiety because….well, because it’s better than nothing.”

 

 

North of Happenstance: Chapter Seventeen

Kate thought perhaps it was the loud conversation flowing around them, so she spoke up: “If we plan it on a Saturday, I think more people will be able to attend; however, if you want a reservation at the Rejuve Spa, they’re availability is booked until…” Kate’s voice trailed off. Her companion still wasn’t listening.

“Hello? Are you there?” Waving a hand in front of Penny’s face, Kate stifled a sigh. This was the third time, in the approximately fifteen minutes since they’d first nabbed a corner booth at the local diner that the psychic’s attention had so obviously wandered.

Penny’s eyes flickered at the movement, her gaze shifting slightly, latching onto to Kate. She seemed a million miles away. “Huh?” she asked and then, vaguely: “Yes…uh, what were you saying?”

Kate laughed shortly. “I’m trying to plan your birthday party. It’s coming up at the end of next month,” she supplied unnecessarily. “But it’s tough to do without a little input from you.”

“Right,” Penny mused, her lips hitching upward. Her fingers brushed against the Formica tabletop between them; it was at Penny’s insistent invitation that the women met up for lunch at Sammy’s Deli Shop. Kate had been mystified by the choice—it wasn’t exactly a known favorite. That puzzlement had only grown stronger when, as they’d sat down, Penny hadn’t so much as glanced at the greasy menu set before her,  nor seemed even slightly aware of what they offered, if they specialized in anything. They came for the food, but Penny, it seemed, couldn’t care less about eating anything.

“So?” Kate pressed.

“So what?” Penny asked.

“When do you want to throw this shin-dig?” Kate asked wearily. They were getting nowhere.

“Oh. Uh, let me think here—”

There, in midsentence, Penny stopped, side-tracked by something (yet again!)…Her head turned ever-so-slightly to the right, her stare moving beyond Kate, settling on something just behind their booth. Penny might as well have left the table for all her presence there; Kate had lost her to someplace else, someone else.

Fed up, Kate decided she wanted to know what it was that kept stealing Penny’s usually singular attention span away from her. Half-turning around in her seat, neck craned against her shoulder, Kate followed Penny’s look. Startled, her eyes landed on a man. He was sitting three tables back, a red ball-cap pulled low over his head, flannel shirt tucked into dark blue jeans. His beefy hands were cupped around a steaming mug of coffee.

Well, well, well. “Who’s that?” Kate whispered curiously.

Penny’s eyes snapped back over to Kate. The younger woman had a certain look on her face: expectant and saccharine. Pushing her body firmly against the vinyl of her seat, Penny adamantly shook her head, already in hot denial. “What? I don’t know. It’s nothing,” she answered quickly.

“I don’t know about that,” Kate teased, peeping back at him again, patently staring this time.

“Stop it Kate,” Penny said, tugging at her wrist. “Turn around before he notices.”

“Not until you spill,” Kate told her out of the side of her mouth.

“Okay, okay…just turn around,” Penny pleaded, crouching low in her seat now.

Without loss of time, Kate rotated around, resuming a normal sitting position. Plopping her elbows on the table, she leaned in close. “So, who is he?”

(Finally Kate was beginning to see the light. It wasn’t the food which had attracted Penny to this place.)

“His name is Hank. Hank Burke,” Penny mumbled, sounding just a touch grumpy at being found out.

“And?” Kate hedged. She’d never heard Penny talk about anyone in her life. This was definitely news.

“And nothing.”

Kate made a theatrical sound. “Do I have to start staring at him again?”

Penny grabbed Kate’s hand, forestalling the threatened movement. “No. I-I please don’t.” Her face was flushed, the words forceful.

A Cheshire grin split across Kate’s mouth.  “You like him.” It wasn’t a question.

Penny sucked in a breath. “Yeah, so what?”

The defensive tone didn’t fool Kate. She was nervous, edgy. She really liked him!

“So?! Does he know how you feel?” Kate inquired.

Penny snorted. “I doubt he even knows I exist,” she said in a self-deprecating manner.

“I find that hard to believe.” And Kate did. Penny made herself known wherever she went. “Have you talked to him?”

A look of chagrin crossed the psychic’s usually calm expression: “Uh, not really.”

“Okay—well what are you going to do about that?” Kate challenged, prodding gently.

“I’m doing it now.”

“You’re just staring at him,” Kate clarified.

Penny shrugged, “Like I said.”

Kate shook her head. “And how long has this been going on?”

“About two years.”

“Two years?!” Kate lowered her voice, swallowing back a chuckle. “Progress has been slow then.”

Penny glared. Kate grinned.

“You’re enjoying this!”

“Guilty as charged,” Kate confessed. “It’s not every day I see the esteemed Madame Penny out of her element.”

“Whatever. Just—let’s order something,” Penny said, firmly bringing the glossy menu up to her face, wielding it like a shield to protect against prying eyes from the blush working its way up her throat.

“I know what you’d like to order…” Kate said, her insinuation only too clearly threaded throughout the wording.

“Drop it, okay?” Penny demanded. And then: “It’s- I wouldn’t know what to say to him. We don’t have anything in common.”

“You mean, there aren’t two psychics in Whestleigh?” Kate teased.

Penny stuck out her tongue.

“Okay, all jokes aside, tell me about him: what does he do for a living? What are his hobbies? Maybe I can help you…I’m quite adept at small talk,” Kate volunteered.

“He’s a car mechanic; he owns Burke’s Brakes and Auto Body Shop,” Penny muttered. “He likes hunting and bowling and eating out.”

That wasn’t a whole lot to go off. Still, “Well, why not go to his shop to get your oil changed or have your tires rotated—regular maintenance stuff. It would be a perfectly acceptable excuse to stop in and see him.”

Tapping a long fingernail against her chin, Penny seemed to be seriously considering the idea. “Okay,” she said at last, “but what would we talk about when I got there?”

“What else—cars!”

“Cars?” Penny wailed, “but I don’t know anything about cars.”

“Exactly,” Kate told her. “Tell him just that. Lament that, as a single woman, you would love instruction on some of the simpler, inner workings of your vehicle. Number one, this will show respect for his profession and number two, it will get him talking—it’ll grab his attention. He’ll be able to show off his knowledge on the subject. Make him look and feel impressive and conversation will flow naturally.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is. Ask questions, listen carefully, and most importantly, flirt a little. No big deal.”

“Yeah, flirting has never really been my thing. Subtlety either.”

True, Penny was about as subtle as a brick in the face. Regardless….

“It’s not hard. Just, laugh when he says something clever. Don’t overdo it; a tinkle of sound is enough. Bat at his arm when he makes a joke, or teases you. Touch him, make sure your body is leaning, angled in his direction. Make eye contact—but not for too long…” Kate said, ticking the growing list off quickly.

The door to the diner swished open just then, interrupting Kate’s lecture. Out of her peripheral vision, Kate caught sight of a pink scarf blowing gently against the breeze…the pattern looked familiar, ominously familiar.

“Oh that’s just great,” Penny cut in suddenly; judging by the agitation in her voice, and direction of her glare, she’d also taken note of the newest customer to walk in the joint. “Of all places, what are the odds that she just happened to choose this one? And, of all days, when I just happened to be here myself? Coincidence my foot.”

Diverted from her original point, Kate was now entirely focused on trying to temper Penny’s overly aggressive reaction to seeing M.T. Worrying about her feminine wiles would have to wait. “The deli is close by the church,” she reasoned.

“Whatever. More likely, she saw my car out in the parking lot,” Penny decided.

Kate refrained from telling Penny how childish that sounded.

“Penny…”

“She is not sitting with us,” Penny insisted. Reaching for Kate’s menu, she quickly threw it up in front of the other woman’s face. “Here, hide behind this.”

“Aren’t you being a little ridiculous?” Kate asked, lowering the laminated sheet down to the table.

“She hounds me constantly. You have no idea what that’s like.”

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.”

“Shh! She’s coming this way,” Penny said, waving Kate’s words aside.

Sure enough, Kate watched as M.T. moved gracefully further inside the building, her steps light and sure as she passed by the scattered tables decorating the front of the store. She did seem to be heading their way.

Kate lowered her eyes, praying Penny wouldn’t make a scene. Please, please, keep it civil between them, she repeated like a mantra, as the pastor’s steps neared. She was barely one table’s length away now: Please, please keep it civil between them…

Only, to Kate’s surprise and Penny’s ego, M.T. didn’t stop as she came upon their booth, her heels clipping steadily against the laminate flooring as she walked right on by….Her eyes were locked straight ahead at some other, pre-determined, destination. Could it be, was M.T. really here by some odd coincidence? Was it possible she didn’t realize Kate and Penny were also in the building? Shamelessly watching her movements, Kate couldn’t help wondering what had brought the esteemed pastor to such a dive, if not them.

Wait a minute…Oh. God. No.

Oh. God. No. Pastor M.T.—ex-step-sister to one very hostile Madame Penny—had finally come to a halt…three tables back. Oh. God. No. Kate wanted to look away, pretend she wasn’t seeing what she was: M.T. pulling out the chair opposite Hank Burke. Oh. God. No. She couldn’t be joining him for lunch, she just couldn’t be—yet she clearly was. Oh. God. No. Worse, an almost palpable nervousness radiated between the two of them…almost as though they were on a date.

Oh. God. No.

“What the hell?” Penny asked dumbly; her eyes were also glued to the scene unfolding between M.T. and Hank. The menu fell limply out of her hands, one corner bouncing against the tabletop, causing it to fall onto the un-swept flooring.

“Uh—,” Kate had no words.

“Is she—is that?!” Penny seemed to be chocking. Her lips formed a snarl. “Of course. Of course. It would be her if it were anybody!” Penny’s rage, instantaneous as it was, proved a convenient cover disguising her pain.

“I’m sure we don’t know what is going on there,” Kate tried…

Bu it was clearly a date. Hank Burke had lost no time in leaning across the table to kiss M.T. on the cheek in greeting. Her face was flushed in effect. Under the grimy tablecloth their legs brushed up against one another, innocent yet intimate.

Still, Kate tried to be practical. They could just be old, familiar friends. They could be having a meeting of the minds about what to do with the old church van. They could be organizing a Cleaner Air Act….

M.T.’s fingers skimmed over Hank’s hand. Turning his wrist over, he quickly caught hold of them, wrapping them tightly within his own grasp.

Okay, they are definitely on a date.

Kate looked over at Penny. Her face was a picture of devastation. Her skin was pale, her eyes sunken, a blank sort of expression was taking over. Any minute now she was going to snap out of whatever self-induced trance she was in. What happened next would be anyone’s guess.

“Penny—,”

At the sound of her own name, Penny recoiled—her eyes skipping toward the exit sign. “I’ve got to go,” she said abruptly, scooting out of her seat as though it had started on fire. “I’m sorry but I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll come with you,” Kate said, hurriedly making it to her feet. She was at a loss with how to handle this situation: did she pretend ignorance and try to spare Penny’s feelings, treating her like an idiot, all the while denying what was right under their noses? Or did she boldly accept it for what it was, and expect Penny to do the same? One was kinder in the short-term, the other in the long.

Walking, her body deliberately obstructing the view of M.T. and Hank,

Kate hustled Penny out the door. She felt wretched, numb, bemused. What did she say, what did she do? Kate felt helpless, inept. She was only just learning how difficult it was to be a friend.

When they reached the dirt of the deli’s parking lot, Kate felt her anxiety rise. Say something. Do something.

“Would you like to go back to my place? I can make us some lunch, we can talk….” Kate offered. Her voice came out thin, unsure.

“No.” Her feet braking hard, Penny shook her head.

“We—”

“No. I-I need to be alone right now,” Penny insisted, her voice cracking slightly. Averting her face, she moved further away from Kate.

“Are you sure?” Wasn’t she supposed to be offering Penny support right now—comforting her, making her feel better?

“Yes. I—,” Penny stopped talking. Shaking her head, she inhaled sharply: “Yes. Please, just leave me alone Kate.”

With that, Penny started walking away; she didn’t stop.

Mouth hanging half-open, Kate could do nothing but stand there, helpless and impotent. Anger, confusion, and fear battled for supreme position in her emotional turmoil. She was mortified for Penny. She was (perhaps unreasonably) upset with M.T. She was nervous for the future of the sisters.

Kate was in the middle of something she had no business being in the middle of, and worse, she had no idea what to do about it. Penny needed Kate, but she didn’t want her. Kate loved M.T. but she wasn’t supposed to…Hearts were on the line, all the way around.

Kate had to do something.

 

 

 

With a frenzied flick of her wrist, Penny threw the curtain open to her office. The tears she’d refused to shed in front of Kate, the tears that had burned their way up her throat as she’d carefully driven the four blocks from Sammy’s Deli to her House of Intuition, the tears that only one person seemed so adept at bringing to the surface, finally fell from her eyes.

Her face crumbling, Penny stumbled down into a chair, her elbows coming to rest against the oak table before it. Her shoulders shook with the force of her pent-up feelings. How could M.T? It was just so like her: sweep in and take whatever she wanted, and then toss it aside once she’d used it up to her satisfaction. It never occurred to her that other people might be involved, that their feelings mattered too.

Penny was used to hand-me-downs, wasn’t she? That’s all she’d ever received, growing up next to someone as delightful, as beautiful, as effervescent as Margaret Thayer. Maggie was the original child, the popular girl. She’d never had to wait for anything, never had to compromise anything; she’d never had a ‘Plan B’ because she’d never needed one. Maggie got everything she wanted and everyone else just had to deal with it, stand by and watch it happen.

Isn’t that what was happening now: M.T. just taking over, unwilling to concede to Penny, unwilling put someone else above herself, to settle for anything!

Well, dammit, Penny was sick and tired of it.

She was sick and tired of Maggie. Hadn’t she taken enough from Penny without adding Hank to the pile, as well?

 

 

 

Hesitantly, Kate pulled open the door to Good Sheppard Church. It took an hour of pacing her livingroom floor before Kate knew what she had to do. It was simple actually. She would explain to M.T., as gently as possible, how Penny felt about Hank. M.T. would never want to hurt her sister. Kate knew that.

Once M.T. was apprised of the situation, she’d let Hank go and all would go back to normal. Penny could resume her silent stalking of the car mechanic without hindrance.

Kate nodded her head sharply as she entered the building’s vestibule. Yes, it was quite simple. Walking down the hallway, Kate was affronted with the soft strains of the pastor’s voice. She was singing. It sounded happy.

“Kate,” M.T. announced moments later, opening the door to her office at the other woman’s polite knock, “what a lovely surprise!”

Kate nodded, her head bobbing up and down woodenly. M.T’s genuine pleasure stabbed at Kate’s conscience guiltily.  Now that she was here, she wanted to get the whole business taken care of.

“Well, come in, come in,” M.T. invited, waving her visitor inside. Kate felt her feet move in answer to this obediently. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so righteous anymore, so correct in her decision to invade upon the pastor’s love life.  “Tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Ah.” Absently Kate watched M.T. shuffle a couple papers off the only remaining chair in the room.

“Take a seat, won’t you?” M.T. asked. She, herself, was leaning up against the side of her desk. “I apologize about the mess. It’s been a busy morning.”

That was just the line Kate needed.

“Yeah, I think I saw you earlier…at Sammy’s Deli. You were with a man?” Kate hinted, her voice deliberately inviting.

M.T.’s face went a pretty pink. “Yes. Hank,” she said. Even the way she said his name sounded girlish.

“I—is he an old acquaintance?” Kate asked, fishing.

M.T. giggled again. It sounded odd. “Not exactly.”

“Oh?” Kate asked, the vowel coming out in a squeak.

Reaching forward, M.T. locked eyes with Kate, her tone conspiratorial: “We met last week. He’s a mechanic. I was having some car trouble,” she said, as though she simply had to tell someone about it. “Anyway, we started talking—who knew we’d both have such an interest in fly-fishing—well, one thing led to the next, and before I knew it he was asking me out.” M.T.’s teeth gnawed against the side of her lip self-consciously. “I can’t remember the last time I met a man… romantically speaking. My profession isn’t exactly a turn-on for most of them.”

“Well, the thing is—”

“And he’s, oh I don’t know, he’s nice Kate. Kind and funny, down-to-earth, and…” M.T. sighed “he’s something to look forward to.”

There was a look on M.T.’s face that gave Kate pause. Nostalgic, playful, animated…remembered.

Kate couldn’t take that look away from her.

“You had a good time?” she asked instead.

“I did.” M.T. smiled. She looked youthful. “He asked me out again for Friday. We’re going to a movie.”

“You are?” Kate’s voice was soft and warm, and despite her initial intentions, it was excited.

Penny liked Hank, but clearly so did Maggie. The car mechanic was filling a large void in the pastor’s life: M.T. was lonely.

She’d just returned to town after years of absence:

She didn’t have the steadfast loyalty of a devoted congregation—not yet.

She didn’t have any family—at least, none that would claim her.

Kate was her only friend.

Was she not to be allowed a budding relationship with a man she liked, either?

 

How was that fair, that M.T. should suffer so Penny wouldn’t have to?  Looking up into those whiskey brown eyes, those eyes of such gentleness, such generosity, Kate couldn’t fathom the strength to ask it of M.T.; she knew M.T. would do it, that she’d let Hank go, that she’d stand aside and let Penny have him, and she’d do it without a second thought. She’d put Penny’s happiness before her own. But that didn’t make it right. Kate couldn’t, she wouldn’t ask it of the pastor.

She’d just have to explain it to Penny, convince her to… to what? To move on? To fight M.T. for Hank’s affection? Kate was reminded of how Penny had looked earlier at the deli: at first hopeful and infatuated and then betrayed, lost, hopeless. Kate had never hurt for someone the way she had for Penny in those moments after M.T. sat down beside Burke. Her heart lurched even in memory. Penny was also kind and gentle. She was also undeserving of heartache. Kate felt more conflicted than ever.

“I haven’t looked forward to a movie this much in years,” M.T. continued on to say, her words breaking against Kate’s internal dilemma. She laughed nervously, pressing a hand against her collarbone. “Goodness, I’ll probably have to buy a new outfit; my wardrobe mostly consists of clothing that shouts ‘I love Jesus! How ‘bout you?’ That’s a pretty far cry from the attire of a sexy siren, huh?”

Sexy siren?

“I guess so.” Kate wanted to cry. Or puke. She’d never felt so torn on an issue in her life.

“Want to go shopping with me?” M.T. asked, her words driving the last nail in the proverbial coffin for Kate.

“I-uh…if I have the time. Maybe.” Kate felt like a heel. She should have been leaping up and down for M.T. but instead she was politely if coldly reserved about the whole state of affairs. She had Penny to think about, too.

 

 

 

“So, is it serious between them?”

Kate stared across the threshold of her front entryway to the outside porch, where her friend was standing, impatient. She’d no sooner opened the door then the words exploded in the air between them. Penny’s visit was both unannounced and inevitable.

As a preamble, her words were abrupt, but then again, Kate doubted much else had occupied the psychic’s mind since lunch that afternoon. It was nearing eight p.m. now, hours since Kate and Penny had separated, since Kate had visited M.T., hours still since she’d returned home, resigned to this fated conversation, to her part in the outcome of it all.

Kate motioned Penny inside, but the other woman wouldn’t budge. Apparently, she wanted answers first.

“I know you talked with her,” Penny persevered, “I saw your car at the church.”

Kate nodded slowly.

“So?” Penny repeated, “is it serious between them?”

Kate sighed. “I don’t know.”

Penny’s face contorted. “But, they were on a date right?”

“Yes.”

“Typical,” Penny spat, “just typical. She takes what she wants, regardless of everyone else and their feelings.”

“Oh Penny…” Kate’s voice was soft, sympathetic, hurting for her friend.

“Well, not this time. This time she’s in for a fight. This time I’m not backing down.”

“Oh Penny…”

“And she is not invited to my birthday party. You hear me Kate?”

Kate heard her all right. She heard Penny’s pain—it damn near throbbed from her person. M.T. had let her down (again). And though she didn’t know it, Kate had too.

The urge to puke resurfaced.

 

North of Happenstance: Chapter Eight

Kate dropped out of her Romantic Literature class. She figured it was the lesser of two evils: that or drop out of college all together. Definitely, she couldn’t face the humiliation of that again. Not this year. She still had Art History, the Shakespeare program (so she hadn’t ditched the English language entirely) and a pottery class. Those would keep her sufficiently occupied but not overwhelmed.

Absently running her thumb over the glossy length of the novel in her hands, Kate supposed she’d been partially right. She hadn’t been overwhelmed. Not after that. In fact, she hadn’t realized just how underwhelming three classes would be. The raised letting of some up-and-coming author’s penname skipped across the pad of her thumb—it wasn’t like she got a lot of homework in pottery. Adding another, different course to her workload was out for obvious reasons (been there, done that, failed miserably) so she’d decided to get a job instead. Something part time, just enough to conquer the boredom but remain undemanding. Something which wouldn’t come between her studies…something to quell the slight regret that she’d hadn’t measured up to the challenge of it all.

The LitLiber had seemed only too obvious. It was exactly the kind of environment she craved. Low-key, chill, a job she wouldn’t take home with her. So she’d applied. Maybe her resume was the product of good timing—surely the staff looked nothing short of harassed by the ratio of patrons. Or maybe it was the look on Jake’s face when he came out to talk with her, a cross between flattery and remembrance. Maybe it was neither, maybe it was both…either way:

“The job’s yours if you want it,” he’d said after the shorted interview of her life. Sitting in the bookstore’s small café, only a small bit of table separated him from Kate. “Though I must say, looking over your credentials, it’s clear to see you’re entirely over-qualified.”

Kate had shrugged. “That’s subjective I suppose. I’ve never worked with books before, so I doubt my past experiences will be of much use.”

Jake had grinned at this, not fooled by her elusive response. “Don’t be so modest. I’m sure you’d be an asset here. So, what do you think, would you like to work with us?”

“Yes,” she’d said without reservation. “Very much.”

 

That had been five days ago. She’d since completed her training, passing her skill review with a perfect score. In fact, today marked her first solo shift. Turning the paperback over her in palm, Kate celebrated that, all-in-all, it had gone rather smoothly. Granted, she should have been done twenty minutes ago, but the arrival of a shipping order, earlier than expected, had kept her. Jake wanted those books on the shelves post-haste. Not wanting to look like a slacker, she’d volunteered to stay late.

“Would you like some help?” The words, coming unexpectedly from off to Kate’s left, gave her a start.  Immediately she recognized the voice belonging to that question, even before casting her eyes that way. Jake.

“No, no, I’ve got it,” she said quickly, nervously. Was she not going fast enough?

“Yeah, yeah. Move over,” he retorted easily, coming to stand beside her. Reaching inside the book trolley he took out a stack of novels. Quickly, mechanically he started inserting them into their appointed slots.

“Suit yourself.” Kate shrugged, returning to the pile in her own hands. Meticulous, she placed the books on the wooden panels. Out of her peripheral vision, she watched Jake—he’d managed to put away ten to her three.

“I feel ridiculously slow compared to you,” Kate joked lamely, but she wasn’t kidding. Embarrassment flared.

“Well, to be fair, I’ve been stocking books here since I was fourteen years old. Probably even earlier,” he confessed, reaching inside the cart yet again. Showoff. “Nepotism had nothing to do with it, I assure you.”

“Oh? Is this a family business?” Kate asked, momentarily distracted from proving what a hard worker she was, distracted from trying to compete with his deft maneuvering.

Jake laughed. “I forget sometimes that you’re new to town,” he said. “Yes, this store was founded by my grandfather. I took it over when he passed away.”

Kate nodded, mumbling her condolences awkwardly, unsure what to say.

“Thank you. It’s been almost four years now,” he said softly and it was obvious Jake had been very fond of him.

Kate nodded her head, not sure what to say back. Instead, a strange sort of silence fell between them. Kneeling down, Kate shuffled some books around, making room for a new addition in the ‘P’ section.

“Psst.” The sudden sound, emerging through a gap in the orderly row of books, and coming from the other side of the shelving-rack, startled Kate. She knocked over a couple titles.

“Sorry,” she muttered to Jake, grabbing for the books anxiously. She decided not to comment on the hissing sound one aisle over. Hopefully he hadn’t heard it anyway. Closing her eyes, she prayed that Madame Penny, who she was downright positive had perpetrated the noise, would go away. This was not the time to be caught fraternizing with the customers. Not with her boss right there.

“Psst.” It was louder this time. “Kate?”

That sealed it. Jake heard it. Raising an eyebrow, he appeared to be fighting back a grin. “I think someone’s trying to get a hold of you,” he whispered at her, mimicking Penny’s urgent undertone.

“It would seem so,” she said apologetically, but she didn’t make any move in response. Ducking her head, she resumed her work, wedging a piece of work forcefully into a spot too narrow to fit its hefty breadth.

“Kate? Kate! It’s me, Penny.”

“Aren’t you going to find out what she needs?” Jake asked Kate, who was doing her level best to pretend she couldn’t hear the one-sided conversation playing out on the other side of the bookshelf.

Smiling up at him tightly, she nodded her head. What else could she do? If she didn’t, he might think she wasn’t a very good customer service agent. Not to mention, she doubted Madame Penny was going to shut up anytime soon. With a soundless sigh, she stood up, the remaining inventory left, abandoned at her feet, as she preceded down that aisle, onto the next.

Rounding the corner, her lips pressed into a tight line, Kate had little trouble spotting her intruder. Penny was crouched down, her face shoved against a line of paperbacks, her eyes searching for Kate’s outline….

“Penny, come here,” Kate demanded in a hushed tone.

For once, Penny did as requested. “Oh, I’m so glad I found you,” she started to say.

“Penny, I’m at work. My boss is right over there,” she said in an outraged whisper.

“I know, I know. I wouldn’t bug you normally.” Kate had some doubts about that. “But this is an emergency.”

With anyone else, Kate would have taken that at face value but what Penny considered an emergency, heaven only knew.

“What happened?” Kate asked.

“My sister just called me. It would appear she’s back in town—for the moment, at any rate,” Penny said drily.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Kate said, latching onto what she thought was most pertinent in the previous sentence.

“Well, actually, she’s my step-sister. My ex-step-sister,” Penny clarified. “We aren’t close.”

Kate was fast losing her patience. “Okay?”

“Listen, I need you to do me a favor. She wants to get together tonight and have like a “family dinner” or something. Hah! More likely, a sadistic reunion of dysfunction,” she said, her face contorted. “Like we were ever actually a family.”

“What do you need me to do?” Kate asked, concerned now, especially after the delivery of Penny’s last line. It held a mixture of resentment and pain. Besides, after all Penny had done for Kate in recent weeks, there was little she wasn’t entitled to.

“Join us.”

“What?”

“We haven’t seen each other in fifteen years—her choice—not since our parents divorced,” Penny explained hoarsely. This time there was no mistaking the hurt that echoed. “She just up, you know, and left. No note, no nothing. I haven’t heard or seen from her since then. And now, she just causally informs me that she’s here and she wants to get together. Like it’s nothing,” Penny scoffed.”

“I see,” Kate said, though she doubted she saw anything.

“If you ask me, she should have just stayed gone. I, for one, have nothing to say to her. But then my feelings don’t count for a whole lot, not with her.” The last part was said under Penny’s breath. “Please Kate. I need you. You’d be a natural buffer, a conversation piece. I don’t think I could stomach it alone.”

“Yeah, yeah of course I’ll come,” Kate assured her. This ex-step-sister must mean a lot to Penny if she was willing to go through with this get-together. Regardless of her demonstrations to the contrary, Kate doubted Penny would have ever agreed to it, if some small part of her hadn’t truly wanted to.

“You will? Oh! Thank you,” Penny said, her fingers reaching out to grab hold of Kate’s wrist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Sure. No problem. But uh, listen, I’ve got to get back to my job now,” Kate told her, with a speaking glance over her shoulder, remembering suddenly that they were still at the LitLiber, that Jake had probably heard every word they’d just said, and that she was still on the clock.

“Yeah, yeah. Uh, show up at my place around 5pm?”

“Sounds good,” Kate agreed, gently shooing Penny away.

“And dress casually!” If Penny’s voice carried over that last statement, at least Kate could reconcile herself to the fact that she—and her big mouth—were heading toward the exit finally.

Without loss of time, Kate fetched herself back to where she’d been working before Penny’s intrusion. Jake was still standing there, though, by now, the entire shipment of books had been put away. Oh no, had he been waiting for her?

“I’m so sorry about that,” Kate rushed to say, sure she was inches away from a lecture about proper use of company time. How unprofessional could she get?

Jake brushed her words aside with the swipe of his hand. “Kate, its fine. To except that people’s personal lives won’t sometimes interfere with work is entirely naïve. It’s not like sometimes we won’t, oh I don’t know, ask you to stay late,” he said meaningfully. “That runs interference in just the same way.”

“Okay,” she said ineptly, “Um, thanks for finishing the rest of this without me,” she said, indicating the fully-stocked shelves.

“No worries. Now you should have plenty of time to get ready for your evening dinner,” he said with a wink.

“Heard that, did you?” she asked.

“I did,” he confessed and then, with a more serious tone of voice, added: “I know Penny. We grew up together. You probably don’t even know what your presence tonight will mean to her—what her childhood was like, but know this: you’re doing a fine thing. It’s none of my business, of course, but I’m happy to see she’s found such a good friend in you.”

Interest piqued, Kate wondered just how much of Madame Penny she had yet to meet. “She’s been a pretty amazing friend to me.”

“She certainly has a way about her, doesn’t she?” Jake asked with such obvious affection Kate felt a moment’s envy. She doubted any of her old friends back home had ever talked so selflessly about her, without some hidden agenda. Penny was luckier than she knew.

“Have you met her step-sister? Ex-step-sister?” she asked. Forewarned is forearmed.

“Yes. I have.” Jake said guardedly. It was said without disgust or shame. Indeed, it sounded almost gentle.

 

 

Kate pulled up to Penny’s house at 4:45pm. She figured the other woman would welcome reinforcements as early as possible. After leaving the LitLiber she’d rushed home to shower, don a bright yellow sundress, coupled with a chunky necklace in the shape of a sunflower, and apply the lightest brush of mascara to her person, before heading right back out the door. Jake’s words spurring her on, she felt suddenly protective of Madame Penny.

Knocking on the door, Kate couldn’t help being aware of the house across the street. Shimmying for cover, she hoped the tall, yellow Witchhazel shrug would sufficiently hide her person from sight, from potentially prying eyes. She didn’t look forward to any more chance meetings with Penny’s neighbor, like ever again….

Lost in her musings, she was brought back to reality by the opening of the front door.

“Oh God, I’m so glad you’re here,” Penny said in preamble, her expression tight in greeting.

“I hope it’s all right that I’m early…” Kate said, her voice trailing off.

“It’s more than all right,” Penny assured her forcefully. Waving Kate forward she welcomed: “Come in, come in.”

“Do you need help with anything?” Kate asked softly, stepping inside. Penny seemed a little unhinged.

“Do you cook?” Penny asked. “I could use some help finishing up my popovers.”

“Popovers?” Kate asked disparaging. She was more of a microwave-ready type of chef. Anything more complex than that and she ordered out. It was a McDonald clan tradition.

“Nevermmind,” Penny said, leading the way to her kitchen, “At least you can keep me company.”

Kate followed behind her. The room, she saw, squeezing inside its confines, was small to the point of miniscule—undoubtedly more of a kitchenette. What with Penny’s curvy proportions, an intrusive composter, and wall-to-wall cabinets and drawers, Kate found herself wedged up against the pantry closet, her elbow resting against the room’s singular window.

“It smells delicious in here,” Kate said, wrinkling her nose. That was no lie. The air wafted out a warm, smoky scent that sent Kate’s stomach into overdrive.

“Ah—our family’s secret sauce,” Penny responded knowingly. “I basted it over the rainbow trout. You do like fish don’t you?” Troubled eyes latched onto Kate, as though the question only just occurred to be asked.

“I love fish,” Kate said. That was perhaps stretching it a bit, but Penny didn’t need any more worries. Besides, it had a heavenly aroma.

Madame Penny nodded her head in acceptance of this before placing the cornbread mixture into the oven. “That’s good because we’re also having clam chowder for starters.”

“You really went all out,” Kate said impressed.

“Hah,” Penny said, slamming the over door shut with her hip. “For all the good it’ll do me. Margaret will probably contend, in the passive-aggressive manner she perfected in childhood, that I picked it up from a restaurant somewhere. As though she’s the only person in the world who can read a recipe,” she muttered.

Kate gulped. Well, at least she knew Penny’s sister’s name now.

“You know, I really love the color of the walls in here,” Kate redirected, her eyes making a point of traveling along the peachy-hued paint running the length of the room, between jutting cupboards and appliances.

“It’s like she always needed to prove to me that she was better. She ran faster than I did, completed her homework quicker…she was always in competition with me. No doubt she’ll regale us tonight with tales of her culinary abilities!”

“You know, the last time I was here I only really saw the living room. I’d love a tour of the place,” Kate said, but she may as well have been talking to the walls…

“She’ll probably have created a meal just the same as this, only it’ll have been richer, more proportional, the cream thicker, et cetera et cetera.”

Kate gave up. Her attempts at distraction hadn’t worked anyway. “You said it’s been fifteen years,” she reminded Penny, “maybe she’s changed.”

“No. no-no,” Penny said, wagging a finger close to Kate’s nose. “You are not allowed to defend her.”

“I’m not,” Kate promised, holding up her hands in self-defense. “I just thought, maybe…I don’t know. She could be different. That’s all. I know I’ve changed from the person I was before.”

Blowing out her breath, Madame Penny dropped her hand back down at her side. “In her case, I doubt it highly.”

 

Two hours later, a bemused Kate sat looking down at the half-consumed fish on her plate. The conversation (if you could call it that) between sisters, strategically placed one on either side of Kate, went, momentarily unheard, over her head. She was too busy trying to absorb what she’d learned in the last hour to pay much attention.

Margaret Thayer, commonly referred to either Maggie or MT—something she’d invited both Kate and Penny to call her—was a pastor. Good Christ, the woman was a pastor! And that, that was only the beginning of the polarities. Maggie was tall, standing at probably five feet eight inches. Reed thin, she had ash blonde hair cut in a short bob across her chin. She had a look of porcelain grace. Of course, genetic resemblances would hardly factor into step-sisters but the contrast was startling nonetheless.

Where Penny was sarcastic, to the point of hostile, Maggie was demure, almost apologetic in her speech and manner. Try as she might, Kate couldn’t find a competitive bone in the pastor’s attitude. That seemed to be coming from Penny alone; the famous Hamlet line popping into her head, Kate wondered if Penny doth protest too much!

“I was very sorry to hear of your mother’s passing, Penny,” Maggie said, her words bringing Kate’s attention back to the present. She hadn’t realized Penny’s mother had died..

“Not sorry enough to come to her funeral though. Not that I was surprised,” Penny responded bluntly.

Kate cringed.

Maggie had the grace to look ashamed. “Unfortunately, I was holding a mission trip in Africa during that period. I couldn’t make it back to the States in time.”

“How providential. I believe mass means of travel has always been your excuse,” Penny retorted, her fork stabbing into the flaky fish with enough force to break her plate in two.

In counter, Maggie placed her fork discreetly beside her dish. “I’m so sorry Penny. I was young. I didn’t know what I was doing, how much it would hurt you. I just, I didn’t know.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve made mistakes, I won’t deny that—”

Penny snorted. “Well, don’t let me keep you from a guiltless conscience. It wasn’t your responsibility. You made that emphatically clear. I wasn’t—and still, am not— your responsibility.”

Kate had sinking suspicion they weren’t just talking about the funeral anymore.

“I’m not the same person I once was,” Maggie said urgently.

“How convenient for you,” Penny said smarmily. “Me, well, I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Maggie straightened her back at these words. “I expect I’m happy to hear that, at least.”

Pushing her plate away, Penny leaned across the table. “Why are you even here? After all this time, why now—you never seemed inspired during any of the other fifteen years spent without any form of communication. What’s changed?”

“Oh Penny, this was hardly a rash decision. I’ve wanted to see you, to talk to you, and touch you, oh, every day that’s passed since.”

“Then why didn’t you?” The words tore across the expanse between them.

“There were so many reasons, I suppose, but none of them good enough. I know that now. At first I was just so scared, so lost—I guess, I’d convinced myself I needed to find me before I could find you. I thought it would be better that way; I wanted to believe that I was saving you, but I was wrong. And by then, so much time had gone by it seemed easier somehow to stay away, to hide from the reality of what I’d done. But I never stopped missing you, I never stopped loving you. Not once.” Maggie’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry it took me so long, sorrier than you’ll ever know. But I’m here now and I have to hope—”

“You’re here now? What, am I supposed to be overwhelmed with gratitude at that?” Penny asked, cutting Maggie off.

“I just meant, I wanted you to—”

“To what? To forgive you?” Penny asked roughly. “Is that it? You came all this way, after all this time, for my forgiveness? You expect me to just forget about all that’s transpired? To be thankful instead, that you decided to grace my dining room with your presence?”

“No, Penny that’s not—”

“Newsflash: I’m not interested in what’s expedient for you. I mean, who do you think you are? ‘Please forgive me so I can feel better about myself!’” Penny’s voice was sharp in mockery. Kate sat, shocked. She’d never heard Penny so cynical, so angry. Before tonight, she wouldn’t have thought the psychic had it in her to be either. Kate knew presence here tonight had been for the sole purpose of avoiding this very confrontation, but it hadn’t been enough; the hurt went too deep.

For still, Penny wasn’t finished: “Are you kidding me with all of this? That sort of cheap, instantaneous confession may work with Catholics but around here, not so much.”

“You know I’m Lutheran, don’t you?” Maggie asked and then, before Penny could say anything to response, continued, “Never mind. I-I’m not expecting you to forgive me. At least, I pray that someday I may be given a chance to atone….”

“Humph.”

That didn’t sound promising, even to Kate’s mystified ears. Neither of the girls had directly mentioned the past but it was obviously weaved into every aspect of their dialogue and, poor friend that Kate was, she was almost desperately curious about what had happened to them. They must have been close once otherwise whatever it is that Maggie had done to Penny wouldn’t have hurt so much, the wound would’ve healed by now.

“All I’m asking for is a chance to…to get to know you again, to reintroduce you to who I am, who I’ve become,” the pastor said, her voice grabbing Kate’s attention. She had a presence about her. No doubt she was good in front of a captive audience on Sunday mornings. “I’d just like to spend time with you—if you’ll allow it.”

“And you’re hoping to accomplish all of this within, what, a week? I’m only assuming that’s the extent of your vacation here?”

Smiling nervously, Maggie spoke, “Actually, I’m not on vacation. I…well, I officially accepted a position as the Worship Pastor at Good Shepherd, only just this morning.”

Wasn’t there a Good Shepherd on Pickett Avenue? Kate’s mind whirled, picturing the small chapel she passed every morning on her way to school.

“What?” The chair scratching against the wood flooring, Penny pulled her body into an upright position.

Other than swallowing thickly, MT didn’t seem all that taken aback by this explosive response. “I’m moving back to Whestleigh, Penny.”

 

North of Happenstance: Chapter Seven

“Ohmigod, can I just say that I feel great?” Kate shouted at Penny.

Biting her lip, Penny tried not to laugh at the sight before her. It was barely five o’clock, and already Kate was, to put it politely, tanked.

It was entirely Penny’s fault. She’d demanded Kate get in the car—she’d demanded an evening of relaxation. She’d demanded this little girl’s night in.

Kate hadn’t been keen, not at first. “That’s really not necessary,” she’d stressed when Penny informed her of the plan.

“Well, I insist. Now where did you park?” Penny had thrown back, craning her neck to the left, the better to see behind her.

“Why?” Kate had tried to ask, but it was fruitless. Penny had already spotted her compact sedan. Her effects redoubled, without invitation, she’d made her way over to it, knowing good and well that Kate would inevitably follow behind; what else could she do?

“We’re going to need liquor that’s why. If this is going to happen, it’s going to happen right.”

As Penny predicted, Kate had finally relented.

“Well, why the hell not,” Penny had heard her say to herself. “I hadn’t been able to with Simon Yates, that’s for sure.”

Penny had a feeling that Phil—from the little she’d been able to glean of his character—probably hadn’t stood for such behavior either. No doubt, Kate was due for it.

They’d left only long enough to grab the essentials: a bottle of tequila, a six-pack of import beer, a bag of potato chips, and enough margarita mix to drown a person. When they returned to Penny’s place, arm’s loaded down, they were stocked-up, settled in, and ready to commence on the evening’s entertainment.

 

Now, four hours later, the snacks were long since demolished, glass bottles were strewn out about the fire pit, the scent of salt and lime remained, permeating the air, and Kate was standing chin-deep in the lake…wearing nothing but her bra and panties. Penny wouldn’t have thought the city woman had it in her to do something so, well risqué.

It had started out innocently enough—lawn chairs were perched around a cozy bonfire, a makeshift bar was constructed, well within arms span, and soft music played out over the still afternoon air. The scene was set: inviting but loose, intimate yet vague. It was exactly what Kate needed. Penny announced herself both the bartender and emcee: firmly resolved to keep the drinks coming and the conversation deliberate. So they drank and talked. Not about anything serious, Penny made sure of that. It was chill. Short anecdotes were swapped back and forth in a lively non-threatening way:

“I had a client last week ask me to get in contact with her dead cat.”

“Shut up. Did she really?”

“Yes. It was a very awkward conversation.”

“With the client or the cat?”

“Well, both really. The cat was glad to be dead. Never liked her owner.”

“I used to have a cat.”

“Really?”

“Well, no not really. It was imaginary. I named him Mr. Whiskers. I know, I know, how very original. My mother wouldn’t let me have a real one. Not the great Calida McDonald. She wouldn’t hear of owning such a filthy animal—the hair, the claws, the meowing. It was all too much. So I made one up. I think I did it to spite her.”

They sat there, laughing, reminiscing, each one content in their environment. Until…well, until what happened next. In retrospect, Penny figured it was probably the fourth beer-margarita that pushed Kate over the edge. Call it overkill. One minute she’d been calmly swaying against her chair, her speech only slightly stirred as she stared, mesmerized, into the flames of the fire, her actions depressed from the effects of the alcohol and then…boom! Kate pulled a one-eighty. Pushing herself off the chair, her glass dangling precariously in one hand, she was suddenly adamant that it was perfect weather for an evening dip. Then she’d giggled. Then she’d hiccupped. Kate’s behavior was as abrupt as it was unexpected. They hadn’t been talking about swimming—or even the lake for that matter!

Penny tried reminding Kate that she hadn’t brought her bathing suit. Did she forget that? Kate had simply shrugged off this information, telling Penny that she didn’t need swimwear. Then she hiccupped again.

Throwing her hands up in the air, Penny caved. She doubted there was much she could say or do to dissuade Kate after that. And she wasn’t about to be a killjoy. The designated sober party, Penny hadn’t allowed herself to reach even so much of a buzz. She’d been too focused piling Kate with booze to bother overmuch. She was glad for that now. Someone had to keep an eye out.

Scooting one of the chaise loungers closer to the perimeter of the lawn, Penny cautiously congratulated herself on the night’s success. Kate may be a hurting unit tomorrow morning—Lord only knows how that would bode for Tuesday’s class schedule—but tonight, well tonight she was having a damn good time.

“Are you sure you don’t want to-to come in?” Kate sputtered. Coughing, the last words came out garbled as she took in a mouthful of water.

It was the gurgle of her words—that gulp of soggy, accidental, inhalation—that did it. Penny’s body seized at the remembered sound, at its dark influence. She’d worked hard to forget it, to feign that she’d forgotten it. Hell, she’d laughed earlier when Kate jumped into the water, consciously in command of it—or so she’d thought. Not anymore. A mental paralysis, a derelict flashback, a holy nightmare; Penny no longer saw Kate dancing against the tide, she no longer heard her friend’s girlish squeals of delight as the water brushed against her skin; she was no longer mildly amused at the antics. Just like that, one innocuous, wet reverberation and it all came flooding back.

Transported to another instance, to an unwanted memory, the world around her seemed to shrink, as if rewinding back through time, stopping, sticking, and playing on repeat: she tasted bile on her tongue—she couldn’t swallow. Blinded, dots flickered spasmodically across the cornea of her eyes. Brilliantly, they expanded then burst, over and over, hindering her vision, protecting from the sight of what lay ahead.  The sound of her feet, smacking against the wooden dock, beat a hurried drum against her ears, accompanied only by the sound of her voice breaking out over the rippling waves, screaming out an echo of resounding fear….

And suddenly the water wasn’t gentle anymore, the slosh and babble of its movement no longer melodic or soothing. The dusky reflection, broken here and there by the sway and spray of the current, wasn’t picturesque. It looked angry, billowing and spitting out a blackish pit, frothing at the mouth to swallow up everything in its path….

Stop!

“Stop it,” Penny half-scolded to herself. Shaking her head, dislodging any claim of the past, she unclenched the fits she hadn’t realized she’d made down by her sides. Shakily, she let out her breath. Clearing her mind, erasing, she firmly refused its presence, disallowing herself to go back there. Not tonight. Not with company over.

With a concentrated focus, she stretched her lips outward and upward, channeling her energy, centering her spirit, to a lighter plane. She was fine. Kate was fine. Everything was fine.

Opening her mouth, she prayed for glibness: “No, no. I like to keep a dry distance from all that business,” she assured her lightly. “I’m more of a spectator than partaker.”

Kate was drunk and some fifteen yards away, Penny doubted she’d notice the slight wobble in her façade.

“Your loss,” Kate called before dunking her body underneath the darkened liquid washing gently around her.

“Kate don’t go out too far,” Penny called urgently, checking herself just in time. She hadn’t been lying. She couldn’t swim and Kate, in her current condition, couldn’t be all that much better off.  If something happened…!

“Don’t be such a sour puss,” Kate called moments later, her head rising above the glassy surface fearlessly. Madame Penny breathed a sigh of relief.

Easing back against the mesh cushion, Penny decided to follow Kate’s lead; she certainly didn’t appear worried—probably she was an ace swimmer, even while under the influence. She didn’t seem to be sinking, at any rate. Yeah, Penny would follow Kate’s lead. She was fine. She was just fine.

No sooner had Penny come to this conclusion, her body reclining comfortably, her muscles loosening under the strain, then a distinct sound, coming just left of the dock, reached her ears. It was rhythmic, swift and steadily growing nearer. Perking, her attention diverted in that direction, she decided it was the echo of repeated movement: water cresting, splicing and breaking over…over something. But what? Squinting her eyes, Penny could just make out the lines of a shadowy object hovering in the midst of this quiet commotion. Leaning forward, she studied its accent, its voluntary extension, its limber projection. And then she knew, she knew what the sound was.

Good God, it was the stroking motion of a swimmer. And that swimmer was most definitely not Kate McDonald, who was too busy treading water to do much more than simply remain afloat.

Madame Penny didn’t need to be psychic, either, to know who was in the lake with an unsuspecting Kate. It was Jackson Fischer, her one and only neighbor. His was the other house on the lane, sitting almost directly across the way from her own little cottage. Only, his was a dark grey clapboard estate—boasting three levels and 3,000 square feet of space. He’d inherited it from his late grandfather. She’d always wondered how he afforded to keep the place up. Penny had also inherited her home (about the only thing her mother had possessed of any redeeming value and worth), and even that, with its far humbler heritage—a veritable shoebox in comparison—was damn near too much house to manage and maintain for just one person. A mystery, she’d always suspected Fischer had more money than he let on.

Penny and Jackson had grown up together. She knew him almost as well as a sister knows her brother. His daily routine could be clocked to the minute: he swam the perimeter of the lake every evening, right around this time. She should have remembered that. How could she have forgotten that? Had she forgotten that? Had she really?

Maybe, and then again, maybe not. Some things were meant to be overlooked. Who knew?

Tall, broad-shouldered with sandy blond hair, cut meticulously short to compliment brown eyes, Jackson was a fine looking man. Even more, he was dependable, honest, always willing to offer a helping hand. Single, too. Penny had it on good authority that Jackson was very single. Truth be told, she would be drooling over him herself if she hadn’t know him her whole entire life. But Kate…well, that could be a different story. He was no Simon Yates. No harm in meeting someone new, right?

Of course, Kate was out there in her underwear. That gave Penny pause.

“Um, Kate I think it’s time to come out of there,” she called out, rising from her chair now to wave her drunken charge back to the shore. If her voice sounded a bit frantic, well, dammit this time she didn’t care; on second thought, they could meet some other day.

“No way, the water feels so-o nice,” she heard back.

“No really, I think it’s—,”

Too late, Kate saw what Penny had been trying so hard not to point out, what she’d been trying so hard to screen Kate from. The screech she let out at the incoming intrusion of Jackson’s breaststroke was enough to send Penny’s hands up to cover her sensitive ear buds. Unfortunately, it was also loud enough to alert Jackson, knocking him off balance.

Bobbing up out of the water, his eyes zeroed in on Kate, who was now squatting in the water, hoping to shield her scantily-clothed person from his prying eyes.

“Wha—?” His half formed question was only too well understood by Penny. No one other than she lived on that side of the lake and he knew all too well that her idea of submergence went no farther than the dip of her toes. He’d probably never run into another person here before—much less on a school night, much, much less howling like some crazed animal.

“Oh hello there,” Kate said, demure now, her alarm giving way to a correctness of manner she’d probably had beaten into her at a young age. If Penny hadn’t been so embarrassed for her, she’d have probably laughed at that. As it was, Kate’s eyes rose no higher than the water level and Penny’s heart went out to her. “Pardon me. You gave me a fright.”

“I noticed,” Jackson said drily.

“Jackson, Jackson,” Madame Penny called, waving her arms overhead to get his attention. It worked.

“Oh hey Penny,” he called back, seemingly less disoriented at the entrance of her presence. At least he wasn’t going to have to kick someone off the property now.

“So sorry to startle you,” she told him, coming up to the sandy shore. “Um, have you met Kate?” she asked dumbly. Shooting an apologetic glance her way, Penny called herself a fool; she’d meant to distract his attention away from Kate, not redirect it there. She’d panicked.

As if on cue, Jackson turned back to Kate, who was only visible from her chin up by this point. “No, I can’t say that I have,” he answered, with just a hint of mirth. “Uh, it’s nice to meet you,” he said, holding out his hand to properly introduce himself. Water dripped across the splay of his fingers. Awkwardly, he made to move closer, stopping only at her frantic half-step backward.

“Yeah. Yes. It’s, um, nice to meet you too,” Kate replied back, saluting him from the safety of the distance carefully kept between them.

Jackson noticed that too. A wicked glint entered his expression. “I’d be careful of moving back too much farther,” he cautioned her. Pointing up at the yard light situated exactly between his and Penny’s property line he added, “Pretty soon I’ll have a clear sight of what you so obviously don’t want me to see.”

Kate stopped, petrified at the words. Her eyes, hunted, wide, sought out Penny for help. It was clear the psychic would be of little assistance however, even to an inebriated Kate. She was damn near bent over double in her fit of laughter.

“Oh Jackson knock it off. You’ll give the poor girl a heart attack.” Penny guffawed out, her voice far from commanding. It seemed Kate would have to make do with that.

“Sorry,” he said to Kate, but he didn’t sound sorry. Not in the least. “But if you’re going to skinny-dip you’ve got to be prepared to be found out.”

“I am not skinny-dipping,” Kate protested, straightening her back artlessly at the accusation. The action left her shoulder’s bare. The cups of her bra could just barely be made out from the outline of water pooling around her.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, his eyes eloquent, “I see that.”

With a second screech, Kate feverishly crossed her arms over her chest, plunging her body back underneath the wet layer of protection, her knees buckled meanly. “That was a low thing to do,” she seethed.

“I didn’t do anything,” he protested, arms raised in defense. Smiling boyishly between Kate and Penny, he seemed to be looking for reinforcement on this issue.

“Oh Kate, its fine,” Madame Penny said soothingly. “You aren’t showing anything a bikini wouldn’t put on display.”

In response Kate whimpered, hugging her arms around her chest even tighter if that were possible. Jackson laughed. Kate shot him a scathing look which he ignored.

“Hey, if it bothers you so much, why don’t you just get out of the water?”

“Because—because you’re here,” Kate garbled. “I can’t—you’ll see…stuff,” she ended lamely.

“All right, all right, calm down,” Jackson chuckled. “Listen I’ll swim out away from the dock and you can escape, how ’bout that? I won’t be able to see anything that way, okay?” At Kate’s suspicious look he added, “If it’ll make you feel more comfortable I’ll even agree to remain completely underwater throughout. I can hold my breath for about forty-five seconds. That should give you enough time to reach land and cover up sufficiently.” There was nothing for it but to agree to this.

“You better not peek,” Kate said.

Jackson didn’t respond to this, which was just as well since he’d already told her he wouldn’t. “Penny have you got a something to cover her up with?” he asked instead, turning away from Kate without so much as a by-your-leave. His indifference smarted, not that Kate was about to admit it.

“Oh!” Turning in earnest, Penny wondered where she’d put the beach towel she’d brought out earlier. “Yes,” she called triumphantly, grabbing it from off the back of the lounger she’d since vacated; she’d hung it there for easy reach.

“Great. Ready?” he asked Kate now and, without further ado, dove under the water, his feet kicking out for momentum behind him.

In all Penny’s life she’d never seen anyone move as quickly as Kate did just then. She was up and out of the water and swaddled in Penny’s microfiber towel before such much as thirty-seconds had passed. They never even saw Jackson’s head rise above the water. Kate had Penny firmly inside the house, the blinds pulled, tightly closed, and the lights dimmed down before then.

“God, what a righteous jerk, making fun of me like that. So I went swimming without proper attire, so what?” Kate said, her voice infused with feeling, her wet hair dripping on Penny’s carpet. She’d barely allowed for the front door to swing shut before barging into speech.

Penny tried to be neutral. “Jackson’s just a teaser—it’s nothing personal. You’d have to know him but—”

“Pfft. Nothing personal? That was the very definition of personal out there Penny!”

“I just meant he’d do it anybody, regardless,” Penny said, but she might as well have been talking to herself for all the attention she received.

“And as for getting to know him, that’s not likely,” Kate seethed, pacing the short length of Penny’s living room. “I mean, he was just so—so, like casual about the whole thing.”

Penny shrugged, unsure how to proceed. “Well, it wasn’t a big deal Kate. You were decently covered—in your underwear. Like you said, so what?”

“It wasn’t a big deal?” Kate shouted, turning on Penny. “I was practically naked in front of the man, and…instead of being a gentleman and, you know helping me out of an uncomfortable situation, he just sat there, snickering!”

“He was caught off guard too—”

Kate was hardly listening. “Did you see the way he was looking at me?”

“Uh, I don’t know?”

“I mean, am I so unappealing? Is it ludicrous, to expect a level of deference rather than hilarity at the site of my body?”

“No, no—”

“Is his body so perfect?” Kate damn near shouted.

“Well…”

Kate’s eyes narrowed at Penny’s hesitation. “Yeah, okay, fine. He’s in great shape. He lives on the freaking water—I should hope he takes advantage of all the aquatic exercise at his disposal!”

Penny fought back a smile. Aha, so maybe there was something there, between them, after all—or at least, there could be, in time, fostered by a certain amount of pushing and prodding, here and there, of course. Without a doubt, Jackson had made an impression on Miss Kate. And it was definitely strong. Madame Penny wasn’t a conceited woman but her gift of intuition hadn’t led her astray yet. Besides, she figured, everyone needed at least a little companionship. Who better than her oldest friend and the woman fast becoming her dearest?

Silently she turned her attention back to Kate:

“I’ve never been more humiliated in my life! You don’t think he saw anything, do you?”

“No, I’m sure he didn’t,” she soothed quietly.

….

 

Okay, so maybe the night hadn’t been a complete triumph but at least Kate wouldn’t find her life in Whestleigh boring. That had to count for something.

 

North of Happenstance: Chapter Six

 

The day had finally arrived. Waking up to the morning light streaming against the blinds in her bedroom window, Kate groaned. It was the first day of class…and suddenly Kate didn’t feel ready for it. She’d waited impatiently these last weeks and now, now she wanted nothing more than to throw the covers back over her head and hide away from the truth of what was coming.

But she couldn’t, and she knew better than to pretend otherwise. So, despite these baser instincts, Kate pulled her body from the comfort of her bed and headed toward the bathroom.  Her first class, Romantic Literature, started at 9:00 am. It was barely 7:00 am now, but she wasn’t about to launch this new venture blurry eyed and unkempt.  And she most certainly would not be late.

Looking bright in a khaki skirt and loosely flowing green top, Kate pulled into the campus parking lot. It was 8:40 am. She’d hoped the extra time would calm her nerves: she was here, she was ready, she could breathe, breathe! She hadn’t been this nervous her first day on the job at Banner Investment Company as a junior analyst, a position which should have brought her to her knees—she’d seen grown men weep there more often than she cared to remember.

When the dashboard clock read 8:50 am, Kate shut off her car. Quickly snatching up her book-bag and locking up the doors, she hustled over to McCallister Hall, the Language and Arts building. She was looking for room RW307. Her eyes scanned the doors narrowly marching up and down the hallway before her: M209-M221….

The room’s alphanumeric notation served as its geographical coordinates; Kate figured that out quickly. What she couldn’t figure out though, was how to decode this location. Panic clawing up her throat, precious minutes were spent as she trailed aimlessly up and down corridor after unending corridor, gaining further stairwells, alcoves, foyers…all to no avail. It was going on 8:57 am when her hand snaked out, gripping onto the shirtsleeve of a fellow student passing by. Hyperventilation hadn’t been far off when her voice, an unfortunate squeak, pleaded for assistance.

She was looking for the Right Wing quadrant on the 3rd floor, they explained casually.

The second hand had just ticked past 8:58 am when Kate finally, finally spied the room. Hurrying to the door, her fingers closed around its brass knob; her grip was shaky, sweaty, unsure. Fighting down an overwhelming urge to cry, she tugged it open….

Certainly, not the best possible beginning to her college career but, hell, at least she’d made it.  She had a minute and a half to spare—time enough for discrete prayer.

 

“Good morning—and welcome to Romantic Literature.” Delivered a touch dramatically, these were the opening words to the class, spoken smartly by the instructor, a middle-aged woman with fair complexion.

Kate tried not to look as harried as she felt.

“I’m very excited to spend the next sixteen weeks with all of you, exploring what is arguably the greatest era of British writing, indeed some of the most renowned works of literature period,” the schoolteacher practically gushed. It came out perhaps girlish. Nerdy.

Kate felt her shoulders relax a little. This wouldn’t be so bad. She loved to read and she’d been told at orientation this was a highly coveted class.

“I should warn, however, that this class is as tough as it is worthwhile. A 400 level unit, it’s considered an upper division course,” the instructor continued unabashed.  She didn’t sound girlish now. Militant maybe. The shift in tone was startling. “As such, the academia is specific and structured to be rigorous, demanding, exacting….”

The words tolled an ominous bell in Kate.

“I don’t say this to intimidate, rather encourage commitment. To be here, you’ve taken certain required prerequisite classes—they’ve prepared you for this caliber of study: research, analysis, critical thinking. You’ll incorporate what you’ve already learned and take it even further, deeper in here.”

Prerequisite classes? Yeah, maybe…like five or six years ago! It was Kate’s advisor who suggested taking the class, having reviewed Kate’s previous collegiate curriculum. The woman may have been overly hopeful.

The instructor kept right on talking: “On that note, we have got a lot of ground to cover if I expect to leave a solid impression upon you of what the Age of Romanticism did for revolutionizing art—from expression to teaching and evolution of thought. Let’s get right down to it, huh?” she asked rhetorically.

“I won’t bother going over what’s written on the course syllabus. You each received one and should have spent the last couple days familiarizing yourselves with the subject matter. Likewise, I assume you’ve all come to class having completed the week’s reading assignment,” she said to no one in particular. Kate gulped. She’d skimmed over the syllabus, given it a perfunctory glance—but reading assignments? She hadn’t counted on that being due already, five minutes into the first day.

The rest of the class seemed coolly unaffected by this piece of news.

Shit.

Grabbing a dry-erase marker off her desk, the instructor (scrambling, Kate looked up her name in the course directory…Denise Marlow) turned her back momentarily on the class to write down the following excerpt:

 

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

            My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,

            Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains

            One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

            ‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lost,

            But being too happy in thine happiness—

            That thou, light-winged Dryad

            Of the trees,

            In some melodious plot

            Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

            Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

 

“Who wrote this?” she asked then, facing the students once more. She didn’t offer title or context, seeming to think the question were as simple as all that.

“Keats. John Keats,” one of the students supplied.

Apparently it was.

“And the name of the poem?” she queried smilingly.

“Ode to a Nightingale,” one of the female students supplied. “It’s one of my favorite pieces,” she added. Kiss-ass.

“Exactly! Now, here’s for a tough one,” Marlow said, which to Kate sounded absurd. She’d never heard of this man before, much less his poetry—isn’t that would the prof had dubbed it? “What is the piece about?”

From the corner of her eye, Kate watched the class, seemingly as a whole, wrestle with this question. Sinking a little lower in her seat, she prayed one of them would figure it out though, and soon, before the teacher decided to starting calling out on people.

“Is it about his fear of growing old?”

“Perhaps he’s talking about the freedom of animals versus the toils of human emotion?”

“Is he contemplating suicide?”

Kate listened with ever-deepening anxiety as these theories were tossed out, back and forth, from students who, unlike her, seemed to know what the hell was going on.

“These are all great guesses, and in their own way each one is, at least partially, correct. The answer is much broader, more abstract than such a definite idea,” Ms. Marlow said then. She was leaning back against her desk, the pose casual yet forceful. This was a woman who knew her effect on a crowd.

“No, no,” she said, “this poem is principally about the concept of escapism.” Moving off her desk, she went back to the whiteboard to scrawl this word across its width. “This idea, which we’ll touch on in more detail a little later on, brings us to our first lecture: Understanding the Fundamental Precepts Born in Romanticism.”

Kate felt like she was going to be sick.

The rest of the class past in a whirl of terms and vocabulary Kate didn’t even bother comprehending. Hell, she could hardly hear over the rush of blood beating against her eardrums. She’d made a horrible mistake.

At long last, a timer sitting on the edge of Ms. Marlow’s desk went off—the chirping sound apparently announcing the end of the class. Smiling almost apologetically, as if she couldn’t imagine any student actually wanting to exit this ‘stimulating exercise’, she nonetheless dismissed the class, calling out last-minute homework instructions as she did so.

Kate nodded absently as she rounded the door, exiting into the hallway with such a sense of relief it’s a wonder her legs didn’t collapse on her. Trudging down to the main entrance, her eyes sought out the polished double-doors, standing tall and proud at one end of the hall, beyond which lay the outside world. Kate didn’t allow herself to think past breaching this man-made enclosure. She needed the fresh air.

She hadn’t intended to get in her car, but that’s where she found herself moments later. She had another class—pottery—starting in less than an hour but Kate couldn’t have cared less. She turned the key in the ignition with purpose.

Pulling out of the parking lot, Kate wasn’t sure where she was going, but, twenty minutes later, as the city limits of Whestleigh came into view, she only knew she couldn’t go home. To sit in that house with nothing to do, stewing about the fact that she was skipping her first day of school was simply not an option. That thought firmly in mind, she turned left onto 4th Avenue, in the opposite direction of Eveleth St. She still had only the vaguest idea as to the town’s outline, but she was aware that a corner of it hugged against a small body of water—Packham Lake.

That’s where she wanted to go. Gripping the steering wheel harder, she pressed down on the gas pedal. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was determined to go there now. Perhaps it reminded her of home, but if that were the case Kate wasn’t ready to admit it, even after the horrendous morning she’d just had.

Her eyes flicking every now and then to the side of the road, Kate tried to find a designation marker for the lake; she wasn’t sure how far she had to go yet, or if there was a visitor’s section where she could park.

Wait—what was that? Peering her neck around a clearing in the surrounding trees, Kate saw a glimpse of shimmering water. Immediately ahead, off to the right, a gravel road appeared. Turning down its length, Kate pulled over, stopping the car where the lane dead-ended. Sure enough, right before her eyes was a small stretch of grass leading to a sliver of sand before dropping into the mouth of glinting water.

Getting out, Kate saw a quaint bench standing a little off the way, shielded from the sun by a Dogwood tree. Feeling her pulse quiet already, Kate went to sit down upon it. The view was breathtaking. Packham Lake was far from large, she could see the other side of the shoreline easily. Ignoring a pang of envy that she hadn’t thought to bring a bathing suit with her, Kate leaned against the slat-board backing of the chair. Whatever. She’d save that for another day.

Closing her eyes, Kate took a deep breath. This had been the right decision. She just needed peace and quiet.

 

“Class over for the day already?” The question came from somewhere behind Kate. Eyes popping back open, her body jerked at the unexpected sound. Scratch peace and quiet.

Craning her neck to the right, Kate saw none other than Madame Penny standing there, less than three feet from her. God, that woman moved with stealth. Kate hadn’t heard so much as a thing.

“If I’d known that college would take up so little of my time,” Penny went on to say, moving to take a seat beside Kate, “I’d have enrolled a long time ago.” In her usual fashion, Madame Penny had on a billowing Mexican skirt of a muted coral color, paired with a thick black belt and a blue embroidered peasant top. Her hair, however, she’d left down today. Kate hadn’t realized how long, or just how curly, it was. It reached halfway down her back, the dark hued ringlets adding a romantic air to her getup.

“I ditched,” Kate supplied, her lips forming a hard line over the admission.

“You? Why Kate, I wouldn’t have pegged you for the sort,” Madame Penny said conversationally.

“How did you—? Where did you come from?” Kate asked, her surprise giving way to suspicion. “Is this part of your psychic gift?” she demanded rudely, and then, “were you following me?”

Madame Penny laughed, seemingly unfazed by her accusation. “No. I didn’t receive any extrasensory vibrations as to your whereabouts, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then how did you know where I was?” Kate asked.

Penny shrugged. “I didn’t.”

Kate sighed. “I’m sorry. I just, I came here to get some alone time,” she said by way of explanation, hoping the other woman would get the hint.

“Are you sure about that?” Penny asked quizzically. Not a hint would be taken today, it seemed.

Kate’s head tilted a little at her words. “What?”

“Everyone has intuition—a sixth sense that guides them despite accounts of reason or rationale. Are you sure you didn’t come here, to this very spot, because, well perhaps you did want to be found?” she asked. Kate assumed she meant that to be a clarifying question, but she hadn’t a clue what those cryptic words implied.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” she said, half exasperated already.

“This bench you’re sitting on, this view you’re taking in…it’s on my property,” Penny informed her.

Kate’s eyes bugged out of her head. Startled into standing up, Kate sputtered, “Your property? Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—I thought this was public land. I guess,” shaking her head, Kate wasn’t sure what she guessed. “I’m sorry.”

Pulling her back down to the bench, Penny waved away Kate’s apology. “Relax. If I haven’t said it before, let me do so now: you’re welcome here, always. Whenever you want, whyever you want. Call it an open invitation, okay?” Pause. “It’s a pretty fantastic piece of land, huh? It’s a blessing to share with others.”

Kate blew out her breath. “It’s beautiful,” she agreed, subdued now.

Madame Penny settled back more firmly against the seat. She didn’t look at Kate and Kate didn’t look at her. Instead, both of their attention remained on the gently swaying water ahead of them. The silence was broken only by the internal struggle waging war inside Kate’s head.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Kate finally whispered out loud, her eyes still stubbornly set forward.

“I thought we already covered that—” Madame Penny said, her head swiveling to take in Kate’s strained expression.

“No, I mean, what am I doing in here?” Kate asked, her voice cracking under the pressure of this statement. Her hands gestured wildly on either side of her person. “In Connecticut? In Whestleigh? What am I doing, going back to school? I’m not ready for this. Who the hell knows what escapism means anyway? Do you? I mean, what was I thinking? My old alma mater would hardly recognize me now. I graduated summa cum laude, did you know that? It means nothing now. I mean nothing now and, stupid fool that I am, I wanted it that way, didn’t I? What’s wrong with me?” She asked, her voice rising steadily over the words. Madame Penny didn’t attempt to answer these questions. She had a feeling young Kate wasn’t quite through.

“I had a great job you know,” she continued, turning now to lock gazes with Penny. “A beautiful home furnished with ridiculously expensive artwork—it was like a freaking museum. Cold like one too,” she rambled on more-or-less nonsensically. “Do you know, if I hadn’t left Minneapolis I’d be getting ready for my bachelorette party this weekend which, by the way, would have been totally lame. My social circle doesn’t abide by anything as gauche as overindulging in alcohol or opening ogling at men. But-but, I’d be getting ready to walk down the aisle. We were supposed to be married on September 20th—a little more than two weeks from now.”

Her eyes were fierce, almost burning despite the fine layer of film coating them. “I would be getting married. Instead, I’m back in the dating pool with men like Simon Yates, who can barely hold their liquor and whew!—it sucks. God he sang karaoke,” she spat, the memory of that night playing out in her mind with a vengeance.

Kate turned her gaze back to the water once again. Madame Penny followed suit. “What am I doing here?” Kate repeated dully. “Have I just made the biggest mistake of my life?”

“Wait a minute,” Madame Penny interrupted then, playing catch up to Kate’s overload of information sharing, “you went out with Simon Yates? Why didn’t I know about this?”

Kate’s head rotated mechanically at the words.  “That’s what you’re choosing to comment upon? After everything I’ve just said…that’s what you want to talk about, my ill-forged date?” she asked incredulously.

Madame Penny shrugged her shoulders. “Well I could have saved you the headache if you’d bothered to disclose the details of this little rendezvous earlier. You don’t share well.”

“Focus please,” Kate pleaded. “I’m sharing now.”

With a tilt of her head, Madame Penny conceded to the truth of these words, and their loaded implication. They were getting there.

“Fine, but be clear here,” Madame Penny said then, her voice suddenly sharp in concentration, “because after listening to all that I’m not sure I understand: are you upset because you’ve started a new life here and it’s strange and uncomfortable, mysterious…and that’s scary? Or are you upset because you think it was a mistake defecting from your old life, and you want a return to what, even in the midst of nostalgia, you couldn’t help defining as a ‘cold’ and ‘lame’ existence?”

Kate breathed in and out slowly. “I used to know all the answers in my life. I’d managed to convince myself I liked that predictability, that level of steadfastness. But I actually hated it, I felt suffocated by its sameness.”

“Sometimes it seems easier to resort to the safety of what is familiar then to confront the fathoms of that unknown,” Madame Penny supplied innocuously, the language emphatically impartial, careful to say neither one thing nor another.

“A defense mechanism?” Kate considered slowly. She sounded a little more in control of her emotions at the description.

“You tell me?” Madame Penny demanded.

“Simon Yates is kind of a slob,” Kate said.

Madame Penny didn’t so much as blink an eye at this swift change of topic. “I’d say ‘told ya so’ but you never gave me the opportunity.”

“I’m going to hear about this for awhile, aren’t I?” Kate asked amusedly.

“Probably.”

“He took me to this bar called Hooker Station,” Kate said.

Madame Penny made a face. “Gross.”

“No, what’s gross is my Romantic Literature class,” Kate said. “I totally bombed. On the first day. How is that even possible?”

Madame Penny chewed on her bottom lip. “Yeah, no offense, but I thought you were supposed to be super smart or something.”

Kate laughed. “Yeah, me too. I’m accustomed to financing, economics, statistics…that sort of thing. I guess dead poets never ranked very high on the priority list,” she admitted.

“I always say, there’s a sense of liberation in failing—or thinking one has failed. It reminds that there are things yet to accomplish,” Madame Penny said, in that way she has of talking like a fortune cookie. Kate wondered if that wasn’t a by-product of her profession.

“If that’s the case, and the last few weeks are anything to go by, I’ve got a lot left to prove,” Kate said on a laugh.

Penny remained silent.

“I don’t want to go back,” Kate said, the weight of that verdict pulsing against her veins. “It’s just, I didn’t know how hard it would be…beginning all over again. I feel so alone and lost.”

“You are neither of those things,” Madame Penny assured her quietly.

Kate took a deep breath. “I’m not sure how I ended up here,” she said, her gaze taking a panoramic view of the surrounding scenery. Again, Penny wasn’t sure to which Kate was referring: the town of Whestleigh or this spot of land specifically. She figured it didn’t much matter.

“It wasn’t a conscious decision,” Kate went on. “I didn’t plan it. I just sort of stopped here, somehow.” Pausing, as though weighing the consequences of her next words, she nonetheless continued, “I’m glad I did though. I needed this.”

A beat of silence passed and then: “Thank you.”

“For what?” Madame Penny asked sincerely.

“For reminding me,” Kate said cryptically.

“No thanks necessary,” Penny said easily. “You found this place—one way or another.” She sent Kate a mischievous look. “Maybe there’s a bit of psychic in you yet.”

 

The atmosphere changed after that, becoming almost languid, hushed, measured between Kate and Penny. It was as if, but unspoken mutual agreement, they decided to let the subject rest for now. The next minutes saw the girls spent in a state of mindless gossip, punctuated here-and-there by stretches of silent lethargy. When they spoke, if they spoke, it was offhand, deliberately easy. It was comfortable, untroubled, it was the peace and quiet Kate had needed all along. That’s probably why she was so completely caught off guard for Madame Penny’s well-timed question: “So, you said you don’t have any more classes today?” The words were prosaic, remembered.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m done for the day,” Kate said lazily.

“Well all right then.” Penny sounded the words out slowly, the beginnings of a smile playing out over her mouth. And suddenly, without warning, that woman rose to her feet. “Get up!” she all but demanded. Her voice maintained the same unhurried drawl, only now it was enhanced with a certain conviction, the sound of which was not lost on Kate.

“What?” Kate asked. The quiet lull of the water slapping against the shoreline had almost put her to sleep.

“Get up,” Madame Penny insisted, reaching for Kate’s hands, more-or-less pealing her off the bench.

“But-but…” Kate began.

“You’ve had a rough couple of days, right?” Madame Penny reiterated.

“Don’t remind me,” Kate pouted.

“No, instead I’m going to help you forget all about it.”

“Huh?” Kate asked with more than a hint of skepticism.

“We are having a girl’s night. Here. Now,” Madame Penny told her in no uncertain terms.

 

North of Happenstance: Chapter Five

Three days before classes were scheduled to start Kate’s computer crashed. Kaput. It wouldn’t turn on. She’d press her finger against the power button frequently, for varying lengths of time, to no avail. Nada. Zip. Zilch. The demoralized contraption remained lifeless.

With rising hysteria, Kate stared desperately at the blank screen. She’d officially run out of troubleshooting ideas. The last time she’d had a computer break down she’d just gone out and bought a new one, but then she’d had a more or less limitless income. Now she was looking down the barrel of a different financial bracket—she was living solely off her familial inheritance. And suddenly, splurging for a new laptop seemed foolish, reckless. She needed that money now in a way she’d never thought possible six months ago.

A computer repair company! That’s what she needed. Yes. The thought, a revelation really, came so swiftly that Kate almost cried out at its manifestation. That was it. A computer repair company would fix it quickly, for a nominal price no less, and before she knew it the PC would be back again, fully functional and ready; she’d be able to attend school without hindrance. It would all work out just fine.

But…which company? Was there even such a service offered in the “getting smaller by the minute” town of Whestleigh? And, if so, which company had the best reputation—the highest rating? Kate hadn’t the slightest clue, the swallowed panic from earlier crawling its way back up her throat. She’d barely spent enough time in Whestleigh to know which gas station kept the tidiest restroom, much less scope out all the avenues of business and trade available.

For the next half hour, she scoured the house, looking for a phone directory, something that could at least point in her the right direction. A waste of time, she never did find one. She considered asking around town but, besides Anne, who was out for obvious reasons, and Penny, whose advice on such matters seemed unpromising, she didn’t know anyone. To knock on strange doors, asking the cold question, without so much as a by-your-leave to come and visit, would feel uncomfortable. As it was, Kate’s most immediate neighbor appeared to be in her late seventies and Kate doubted she even owned a computer. There was the lady across the street…she had two sons so she’d probably know of a service but, besides a handful of waves from coming-and-going Kate had never spoken to her. She wasn’t even sure of her name. That idea was out.

The only remaining option was to search via internet browser; unfortunately that plan required a working processor. That left the local library. No big deal, Kate tried to assure herself. She’d just sign out one of their computers and log in that way (through an undoubtedly obsolete network service)…. Whatever. She’d be in and out in less than ten minutes. Fingers crossed.

Resigned to her fate, Kate quickly locked up the house and made to walk over there. The Whestleigh Public Library was located on the far end of Gadbee, no more than a five minute commute by foot. She was bent in this direction when the LitLiber Bookstore rose on the horizon of her peripheral vision. In hindsight, she wasn’t exactly sure why the sight of it had so surely spurred her decision to deviate off course, she wasn’t sure why the memory of the bizarre little bulletin board just inside its depths chose that moment to flash against her consciousness, but mostly, she wasn’t sure why it had felt like…like a sign or something, pointing her feet precisely. She didn’t believe in stuff like that; maybe Penny did but not Kate. Regardless, she found herself, in no time at all, pulling the doors open to that very enterprise, the library momentarily displaced to the back-burner.

Cramped in the small entrance space allocated between the building’s exterior and interior doorways, Kate squeezed her body close to the wall. The attempt was meant to clear a passage for those entering or exiting around her. Eyes focused intently, Kate visually rifled through the miss-match pattern of information crowding the space. With the flick of her eyes she mentally discarded announcements: from a Slam Reading at Bean Tamptations, to The Whestleigh Warrior’s Ten Year High School Reunion, and other services, running the gauntlet from pet sitting to plumbing.

“You know, in all the time I’ve been here I’ve never actually known anyone to take such an interest in the Community Board.”

Kate jerked at the words, spoken from somewhere behind her. She’d been so involved in her task she hadn’t heard the doors on one side of her open and close, stating the arrival of another person. Half turning around, her eyes landed upon a man. Correction: a very attractive man. Tall, muscular, just left of stocky, with a shock of jet black hair crowning his head, the style unruly and decidedly long, some of the layers brushing back past his ears, the man was definitely yummy to look at. And he smelled delicious. No more than a step behind her, a little to her right, his cologne wafted gently against her sensory glands.

He smiled in greeting, apparently unfazed by her ogling.

Kate smiled back. Shrugging her shoulders she felt compelled to comment. “To be honest, this is my first time ever shopping for services through this channel.”

“What are you looking for exactly? Perhaps I can help.”

“From around here, are you?” she asked knowingly.

“Born and raised. Most of the townsfolk are which may very well be why this board usually receives only the most cursory of glances,” he supposed.

“I’m looking for a computer repair company. Know of anybody?” Kate asked then, turning her back completely on the notice board this time, the better to grant this Good Samaritan the benefit of her full attention.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he answered almost immediately. Kate felt her stomach muscles tighten in excitement.

Rubbing a hand against the stubble on his chin he admitted, “Well, I should tell you, the guy I know doesn’t actually own a company per se. He more or less fixes computers on the side—you know, to pay for college classes.”

“Is he reliable?” Kate asked, her standards pretty low at this point. She was nearing the pit of desperation.

“Absolutely. His name is Simon Yates. He’s a whiz with all things computer.”

“And you’re willing to recommend him?” Kate asked a shade suspiciously. She may be new to town but she wasn’t interested in being duped.

“Of course,” he said earnestly, and Kate thought he sounded just the slightest bit taken aback. “He’s worked on our computer systems a couple times in the past,” the man supplied, hitching his thumb behind him, indicating the bookstore.

“For the LitLiber, you mean?” Kate asked, impressed. “Oh. Do you work here?”

He smiled slightly. “Not from around here, are you?” he parried, mocking her earlier wording.

“Nope,” she said dryly.

“Yeah, I work here.” That’s all he said.

“All right,” Kate said, taking a chance on this man’s suggestion. It wasn’t like she had a plethora of alternatives anyway. “Do you have a number for this guy?”

“Yeah, it’s in the office. Follow me,” the guy said, opening the door to the bookstore and walking through it before Kate could mutter out so much as a ‘thank you.’

“This place sure does a mean business,” Kate commented inanely as she trailed after his long-legged stride. Similarly to the last time she’d been there, the place seemed to be absolutely hopping with customers.

“Why do you think I stepped out there just now,” the man said jokingly, “I needed a moment’s peace and quiet.”

“Tisk tisk,” Kate teased him as they came up to a door tucked way at the back of the building, near the small built-in café. Other than a nameplate marked ‘Office’ it was nondescript to the point of being anonymous. “What would the boss say?”

“Oh, he can be a bit of a crank, but I’m not afraid of him,” the man said with a wink.

“Big words when he’s not around to hear them,” Kate replied, startled at her own flirtatious response.

Digging keys out a front trouser pant, eyes twinkling, he answered her seriously enough. “I didn’t introduce myself did I? I’m Jake Farrow–,” he paused here, for added effect she felt sure, before declaring, “I am the boss. And I’ve called myself much worse before.”

Kate felt her face flush. Ducking her head in acknowledgement of this, she effectively shut up, content now to merely tag quietly behind as he proceeded into the room, intent on fishing out Simon What’s-His-Name’s number from within one of the desk drawers.

 

 

 

 

 

Kate stared across the bistro table at Simon Yates, the man Jake had revered as a master computer technician. Since Simon didn’t run his business out of professional office and Kate’s house generally lacked furniture, they’d met up at Bean Tamptations. Certainly, he seemed to know what he was all about. Hunched over her computer, at first he’d tried to explain his process to Kate—using phrases such as System Recovery, Safe Mode, Diagnostics and Repair Installation, etc—but the words only succeeded in rattling around her head emptily. Reading the blank expression on her face, he had since thankfully quit these verbal confirmations. Instead, they’d remained in a state of silence, him furrowed in concentration, her silently pleading in prayer.

It took little over an hour but finally he lifted his head—smiling. The problem was fixed, he told her simply. Fixed! Some sort of malware or whatever had been the culprit, but luckily it hadn’t corrupted anything irreversibly. She’d have to reinstall some of her applications but other than that, her computer was as good as new.

“Oh my God, thank you. Thank you,” Kate enthused upon hearing the verdict. Tears were not far from the surface; she’d spent the majority of the day in a state of such duress that the news felt almost overwhelming. This was perhaps a bit dramatic seeing as Simon had been able to meet up with her almost immediately after she’d called him.

Simon ran a skinny hand through the blond hair hanging over his forehead. He was of medium height, maybe five foot nine inches, and there wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on his body—or muscle either, for that matter. Still, his hazel eyes and his strong chin made him handsome, if boyish. “No problem. Actually, it was one of the easier recoveries I’ve done this week,” he told her with an impish smile.

“Well, then I guess we both got lucky,” Kate joked, reaching into her purse for her wallet. “How much do I owe you for all of this?”

Simon blushed, mumbling under his breath a price that seemed awfully low to Kate, but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth she placed the money, plus a generous tip, on the table between them.

“Oh no, you don’t have to…,” he started to say, shaking his head emphatically at the sighted gratuity.  He looked uncomfortable.

“Well, I want to,” Kate claimed, the rushed insertion of her voice overriding his protest. “Please take it. I would be up the proverbial creek without a paddle if it weren’t for you.” She pushed the money into his hands.

“If you insist,” he relented, finally accepting the cash, albeit reluctantly.

“I do,” Kate said. “You’ve saved my evening.”

Simon gulped. “Your evening? Got big plans?” His voice came out a little rough, as though nervous at the opening her statement had created conversationally.

“You mean, now that you’ve rescued me from the nightmare of buying a new computer—or worse crying futilely over the demise of this one?” Kate asked, teasing lightly.

“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Simon answered shortly, her humor going over his head.

Kate faltered. “I guess not.”

In retrospect, Kate knew that answer as her first mistake. She should have made something up…anything because when, minutes later, Simon finally mumbled up the courage to ask her on a date, she couldn’t even feign an engaged excuse. By then it was too late. She’d sort of walk into that one.

When Kate concluded that Simon was a handsome man, her generosity of opinion was aimed more for women his own age. They hadn’t swapped DOB’s, but Kate guessed he couldn’t be older than twenty-two or twenty-three. That seemed impossibly young when compared to her twenty-eight. Not to mention, he wasn’t her type. Sure, she found his nerdiness adorable. Puppy-like in its sweetness and innocence. But nothing more.

She’d always been more attracted to…well, to men who were…more, more what? Stumped, for the life of her, Kate couldn’t finish that line of thought. Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure what type of man she was attracted to. She’d dated Phil since her freshmen year of college. Their parents had introduced them.

She agreed to go out with him. This was the fatal, second mistake.

Who knew? Maybe he was her type, after all?

 

 

 

 

 

Unfortunately, the “date” went about as well as Kate had imagined it would. No, that wasn’t quite fair. If possible, it went even worse. The first indication: it was barely past ten o’clock when Kate returned home, her blouse smelling vaguely of vanilla flavored vodka, her feet bare of the shoes she’d donned earlier that evening; they had been forever relegated to the garbage heap. Now, heading downstairs to the laundry room, a bottle of bleach in foremost priority, she couldn’t help replaying the evening’s happenings in her mind

She’d agreed to meet Simon at Hooker Station, a bar and grill on the edge of town, for eight that evening, having declined his invitation to drive in together. She’d been unwilling to commit herself any further to this outing than she’d already done.

….

Kate showed up promptly on time. Walking inside the dimly lit tavern she spotted Simon immediately. He must have shown up early because he was already seated at the bar, a half-empty cocktail in hand. He’d changed out of the jeans and plaid t-shirt he’d worn earlier for a pair of grey slacks with a blue and green stripped button-down shirt. He was dressed nicely. Maybe too nicely for an establishment that Kate could only describe as being run-down, but she found his fashion heartening.

In comparison, she’d chosen to pair orange colored skinny jeans with a white oxford shirt, together with wedge sandals touting a floral design. Not quite as smart as he but passable, stylish but detached—she hadn’t wanted to give Simon the wrong impression. It needed to be clear that her intentions were merely friendly.

Kate wasn’t sure but, as she sat down beside him, she wondered if Simon wasn’t a little buzzed already. He was acting even stranger than she’d expected:

He began at least three sentences with the phrase, “Hey girl…”

He laughed so hard at one of her lame jokes he almost fell off the barstool. She’d literally had to grab hold of his arm to steady him.

He demanded that they celebrate their first round by taking a shot—even worse, he ordered boilermakers.

If those clues hadn’t tipped her off, after that shot he became suddenly, otherwise inexplicably, drunk. Totally lit-up:

His speech became almost incoherently slurred. He started calling her “Kayee.”

His motor skills were then dust. She began to feel like his personal leaning post.

His eyes took on a glassy sheen; worse, he started talking nonsense and getting very emotional about it. It was during just such a tirade, when Simon, aka, The Bleeding Heart, was carrying on about customer misuse of computers, conducting dirty searches, downloading irresponsibly, even shutting the things down improperly, that his fast motioning hands clumsily hit the edge of his high ball glass, sending some of the contents spilling over the side…and onto Kate’s chest. She dabbed at her shirt with a napkin but to no avail. It was a spotty mess. He didn’t even seem aware of this, except to lament the liquors “undrunk” waste.

Kate kept an eye surreptitiously on the bar clock. It wasn’t yet nine thirty by this point. According to her calculations, it had until ten before she could make a gracious getaway. If she left too early it would look suspicious, but two hours was a reasonable amount of time, it was a socially acceptable amount of time…lots of dates concluded within the two hour mark! Then she could politely profess a need to get up early in the morning. Errands to run before school started next week…something, anything it didn’t really matter.

Deep in her own thoughts, working out the best excuse to air, she hadn’t noticed when Simon abandoned his chair. She’d been too busy discarding one pretext for the next when he’d stumbled away, disappearing behind a gathering crowd to the other end of the bar. When she did finally take in his absence, she initially chalked it up to a bathroom break. That was until she heard his voice, booming over a set of loud speakers, announcing to the entire room that he would be starting off the evening’s karaoke entertainment.

Karaoke? Good God.

“This song I dedicate to my beautiful dayee, Miz Kayee MaacDonall,” he garbled over the microphone. Scrambling in her haste to locate where he was saying this from, Kate could have died when her anxious eyes finally caught sight of his spotlighted frame, standing up on a make-shift stage, constructed at the rear of the building, his hands fiercely gripping the mic stand. Probably, it was the only thing keeping him on his feet. He had absolutely everyone’s attention.

If she thought she couldn’t be more embarrassed, that was before the opening strains of Bryan Adams’ “Heaven” played out over the DJ’s sound system. Taking an extra long pull off her wine, Kate prepared herself for the musical stylings of one Mr. Simon Yates. It wasn’t pretty.

When he finally fumbled off the stage, the song thankfully over and done with, Kate flagged down the bartender and hurriedly asked to get their bills; they were ready to pay out. That hadn’t gone over well with Simon.

“Whatcha wanna leave for? Whatcha wanna do thaa for?” he asked her, spilling back on the barstool.

“It’s getting late,” Kate said. Then, because she felt the beginnings of a headache starting at the base of her skull and she was frankly annoyed, added, “and I think you’ve had enough.”

Like a sober brick, Kate’s words sunk through Simon’s squishy brain. With a start, he seemed to realize how far gone he was, and the predicament looked bleak, even in his blurry eyesight. Shaking his head, Simon dropped his gaze. “Yeah, I guess so. I screwoo-ed up. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is horri-able,” he moped, a habit almost ridiculously common for those inebriated with alcohol.

“It’s fine,” Kate tried to reassure him, but he would have none of it. He waved her words away.

“You’re pra-babably having the worstest time. My fault,” he said tersely.

Kate threw some money on the bar, enough to cover both of their tabs and then some, before slinging her purse over her shoulder. She wanted to feel bad for Simon. He looked devastated, but honestly, she was tired and cranky and dammit, he was right—she hadn’t had the best time.

“It’s really all right Simon,” she said, trying to be generous as she led him out the door. “But why don’t you let me drop you off at home. You can pick up your car in the morning.”

“Okay,” he said and then, brightening up suddenly at a new thought, asked, “could we go someplace and get something to eat first?”

Kate felt her patience fray a little at the corners. He’s drunk and that causes social impairment, she reminded herself as she helped him outside. For a skinny man, he sure felt like a lot of extra dead weight. He could barely walk, his feet slipping against the payment as though made of rubber. Despite all this, Kate managed to get him into her car. She seat-belted him into safety and enticed him into consciousness just long enough to acquire directions to his house.

The ride was more-or-less quiet, with Simon drifting in and out of an alcohol induced slumber. This was fine by Kate. Lulled into a false sense of security, she’d assured herself the night, which was almost over, could only go uphill from there. It was as she pulled up to his house that Kate learned just how wrong that estimation had been.

She parked the vehicle and, getting out, quickly circled over to the passenger side, opening the door. It was as she was leaning over the seat, her arms around Simon’s shoulders, trying to help him gain his feet that Kate noted something was off. There was a certain expression playing out over his face. It didn’t look good.

“Simon is something wrong?” she asked. He had his eyes closed and, in hindsight, she saw that he’d tried to push her away but he’d been so weak his hands had done little more than flutter in protest. The next thing Kate knew her shoes were wearing the regurgitated contents of the nights’ boilermaker—and God knew what else.

Wiping his hand against his mouth, Simon tried to apologize but halfway through this endeavor his stomach heaved again. This time Kate was able to jump out of the way, but her shoes were ruined. At least, if nothing else, he hadn’t puked in her car. She supposed she should be grateful of that.

….

It took a miscellany brought of distance, space and time to quite restore Kate’s composure. But now, back at home, the bed pulled down, her shirt soaking safely in the wash, Kate decided that at least one good thing had come from the evening’s performance. Though she still wasn’t sure what it was exactly she wanted in a romantic partner, at least now she had a whole list of things she most definitely didn’t want in one.

A girl has to start somewhere, right? With a sigh, she turned out the lights.