Hannah Rae's Blog, page 26

Kilts!

My friend Brad sometimes refers to me as a "kilt magnet." This is because I see men in kilts all over the place! I can't remember how it started, but at some point I started sending him pictures of the kilts I spy on a regular basis. Sometimes I have to snap photos while stopped at a red light (it's a challenge); other times, I pose with the man in a kilt. It just depends on the situation, you know?

If you look back through our thread of texts, it's mostly pictures of men in kilts sent by yours truly, and responses by Brad saying things like, "You're a kilt magnet!" Or "Where do you find all these kilts?!"

This past summer, Brad actually spotted his first kilt (I want to say he was in Arizona or New Mexico or something) and he snapped a sneaky photo and sent it to me. It made my day!

Here are some great shots by me:

[image error][image error][image error][image error][image error] At the Dollar Tree (where everything is now $1.25... so they should really change the name of the store). At trivia. At the grocery store. At Garryowen. In front of Oh Man!

And there are plenty more where those came from!

Just some quick things

I was busy this weekend and didn't write any blogs, and then I almost forgot to write one today as well. But here's what's currently going on in my world:

Just Whistle continues to get excellent reviews from the bookstagrammers on Instagram. I said to my mom, "Jeez... if I'd believed in myself back in 2015 and not let the literary agents drag down my self-esteem, I'd probably be famous by now." Bummer, huh? But at least things are moving in the right direction now. I've secured the nicest reader for Like A Flip Turn, so that will be available as an audiobook in the months to come. Assuming it receives some listens, I'll probably see about making Just Whistle, The Way Back, and Running Through the Words available as well. I'm currently editing and formatting Running Through the Words for release in April and I sort of forgot how much I love this book. I just can't get enough of Sebastian and Bert! My book club is reading The Way Back for its January pick, so I've got to read that too... and then in February, my other book club (the folks who help me edit new manuscripts) are meeting about Come and Go So Quickly (my favorite of all the things I've written!), so I need to read that as well! In other words, I'm gonna be reading a lot of my stuff in the upcoming months. I went to my other mother Amy's house last night and she made delicious soup. That doesn't have anything to do with manuscripts and whatnot, but it was delicious soup and I felt it deserved to be mentioned.

Alright. Those are all the things for tonight. I want to do some more editing before bed so I'm out. Later!

Editing notes. It's how I do it...

Running Through the Words, 4

Four.

“Guess what,” Magnolia demands as soon as her almost-brother picks up the phone. And then, not giving him a chance to speculate, she answers her own question: “I was supposed to go to the beach next week with my friend Jess and her family, but her grandfather’s really sick and now they’re not going. But I still have the whole week off. How would you feel about me coming for a visit?”

“Um… I’d feel pretty good about it,” Bas informs her. “Hold on. Let me find out if Lucy feels the same way.” He lowers his phone, turns to the woman sitting beside him on the couch, and asks, “Do you care if Nol comes for a visit next week?”

“Of course not!” is her immediate reply. “She’s always welcome.”

Returning the cell to his ear, Bas says, “It took considerable persuading on my part, but she’s agreed to let you stay with us.”

Lucy rolls her eyes and lightly smacks his stomach.

“Oof!” Sebastian huffs, feigning injury. He musses his girlfriend’s hair and climbs to his feet, walking out to the calendar that hangs in the couple’s kitchen. When he’s touring, Lucy employs the monthly grid to keep track of the band’s shows and their locations. Now that Bas is home, though, the boxes are used to record events of a more mundane nature: the electric bill is due on the eighteenth of the month, Bert has chemo next Wednesday at nine, and Russo’s stopping by for a beer later tonight. Bas grabs a pencil and wonders, “When should we expect you?”

“Friday evening? Does that work?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t make anything. I wanna take you guys out for dinner to thank you for hosting.”

“That’s completely unnecessary, Nol.”

“Maybe so, but it’s what I’d like to do.”

“Alright, well… we’ll talk about it on Friday. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“I’ll see ya then.”

“Love you, Bas.”

“Love you too, Little Three-Eyes.” He ends the call before Nol can reprimand him for using the nickname she despises. Then he goes to the cupboard, retrieves a glass, and fills it with water from the tap. He drinks it as he stands at the sink, staring out the window and watching a fat squirrel as it scampers about in the dogwood out back. The furry fellow’s tail has a mind of its own, flicking to and fro as the lithe little creature hops from limb to limb.

In his pocket, Bas’s phone vibrates for a second time. He assumes it’s Nol yet again, having forgotten a crucial detail regarding her upcoming visit, but when he glances at the screen, it’s Bert’s face that pops up. In the photo, he’s dripping wet, having just run through a downpour in order to retrieve a baggie of weed and a book of Mad Libs from the tour bus. They’d been playing a sold-out show in Seattle that night and, with two opening acts before it would be their turn to take the stage, the band members were looking for a way to pass the time. “Hold on,” Bert had said amicably. “I’ll be right back.” Bas had tagged along to prop the back door for him, and then snapped the picture as Bert returned from the bus, charging toward him as he attempted to dodge raindrops.

The photograph is a good one—classic, boyish Bert—and Sebastian is smiling as he answers the phone. “Hey, B. What’s up?” His smile falters, however, when he catches the tone of his friend’s voice.

It’s sad… possibly scared.

“Are you busy?” Bert asks plaintively. “I think… I think it might be time.”

“Nope, I’m not busy. I’ll be right over.”

“Actually,” he says softly, “would it be okay if I came to you? I’m feeling a little bit… claustrophobic, I guess. I’d kinda like a change of scenery. D’you mind?”

“Not at all. Lucy’s here. Is that cool?”

“Yeah. She can help.”

“Alright. I’ll let her know you’re coming over. See you soon, B.”

“Yup.”

There isn’t much to be done beforehand. Sebastian gathers some clippers, a pair of scissors, a grey towel that will double as a smock, and the vacuum, its canister newly emptied. Lucy unearths three Champagne flutes and a bottle of prosecco she purchased last week in preparation for this very event. She places the bubbly and the glassware on a tray and carries everything upstairs to the master bathroom. Sebastian waits in the foyer, watching for his friend.

Bert arrives twenty minutes later. “I may not have a lot of hair, but I really like my hair, and I’m so not looking forward to doing this,” he says when Bas opens the door. “Cancer can go fuck itself.”

Without saying a word, Sebastian wraps him in a bearhug, holding him tight. Bert collapses into him, allowing himself to be held for a moment before pulling away. Then, his arm looped across the exhausted man’s shoulders, Bas leads him upstairs and through the master bedroom. Lucy leans against the bathroom sink, waiting. “Hey,” she says, holding out her arms for an embrace of her own. “How’re you holding up?”

“It’s just hair,” Bert says, trying to make light of the moment. “It’ll grow back.” But there are tears in his eyes.

Lucy rubs soothing circles between his shoulder blades while Bas uncorks the prosecco. “I guess,” he says as he distributes the glasses, “step one is to decide who’s going first: you or me.”

Bert arches his thinning eyebrows. “You or me?” he repeats. “No. I’m the only one shaving my head today. There’s no reason you should be bald too.”

Sebastian takes a seat on the edge of the tub and rests his hands on his knees. His dark curls are pulled into a high, sloppy knot at the back of his head. His beard, recently trimmed, neatly hugs his narrow cheeks and angular jaw. Never has his hair been this long before; until a year ago, it had been only an inch in length. “If you tell me you’ll be offended if I do it, I won’t,” Bas says now, “but I’d like to do it in a display of solidarity. Me shaving my head will in no way provide me with an understanding of what you’re going through—I’m not trying to negate your experience, B—but me having hair while you’re bald…? I don’t like it.” He shakes his head. “It makes me happy when people ask if we’re brothers, but will they still do that if I’ve got a mop of curls and you’ve got nothing? I just… I want to do this, alright? But only if you say it’s okay. Only if you let me.”

A tear slides down Bert’s cheek, followed by another and then several more. “There you go again,” he whispers. “Showing up.”

“He is pretty good at showing up, isn’t he?” Lucy asks softly. She picks up the towel and unfolds it, holding the grey terry cloth rectangle horizontally and looking from one man to the other. “So?” she wonders. “Who’s going first?”

Bert takes a small step toward Lucy and ducks his head as she wraps the makeshift smock around his shoulders. He sits on the lid of the toilet while she first trims his shaggy locks to an inch in length, and then carefully guides the clippers over his scalp. Dark tufts of hair litter the bathroom floor, falling around his feet. When she finishes, he runs a hand over his smooth head. Bas hops up from the tub and joins him, cupping the back of Bert’s skull with his palm and leaning down to plant a soft kiss on top of the pale skin. “My turn,” he says, switching seats with him, and soon his curls are mingling with Bert’s hair on the tiles beneath his feet.

“Will you keep the beard?” Bert asks from his perch on the sink.

“I’d like to, but I don’t have to.”

“The last time I can remember you being clean shaven was probably thirty years ago. Please keep the beard. Or, at the very least, some scruff. Naked cheeks are gonna look too fucking weird on you.”

One side of Sebastian’s mouth quirks into a bemused smile. “Alright,” he promises, “the beard can stay.”

When his scalp, too, sports little more than peach fuzz, he moves to stand beside Bert so they can study their reflections together in the mirror. Lucy pulls her phone from her back pocket, snaps a photograph of the men standing side by side—Bas’s hand once again on Bert’s head and Bert’s hand wrapped companionably around Sebastian’s waist—before plopping herself down on the toilet and announcing, “My turn.”

“Lucy, no!” Bert exclaims, spinning around just in time to see her pick up the scissors and use them to remove a good six inches from her sunshine-hued hair. He rushes over to her, holding out his hand for the utensil in an attempt to prevent her from doing more damage, but it’s Sebastian to whom she relinquishes the shears. To Bert’s horror, he proceeds to cut more jagged clumps from her head, the golden tendrils tumbling down to drape themselves across the boys’ dark locks.

“I knew you’d try to talk me out of it,” she explains to Bert, “so I had to be a little theatrical about the first snip. And just so you know, it was too short to donate. I looked into that.”

Bert rolls his eyes and picks up his prosecco, holding it as he watches the transformation of the woman in front of him. “I really didn’t expect today to pan out the way it has,” he admits, taking a small sip of the bubbly sweetness. “I really didn’t expect to feel so…” But he trails off, unable to find the right word.

“Celebrated?” Lucy suggests.

“Adored?” Sebastian provides.

“Not alone,” Bert clarifies. “I thought shaving my head would be a lonely experience. But it hasn’t been. It’s been really… special, you know? Way different than I thought it’d be. Way better. So… thank you for that.”

“There’s no need to get all sentimental about it,” Bas says as he runs the clippers over his girlfriend’s head. “It’s just hair, remember? It’ll grow back.” But then smiles across the bathroom at his friend and adds, “You’re welcome, though.”

“And don’t think you’ll be alone for one second through this whole ordeal,” Lucy pipes up, “because we won’t allow that to happen. Also, you should stay for dinner tonight. Bas is gonna grill turkey burgers.”

“Russo’s dropping by for a beer at some point too. Definitely stay. It’ll be fun.”

“Alright,” Bert agrees. “I will.”

Kenny Russo has Finn Gregory in tow when he stops by later that evening. When no one answers the front door, they walk around the house and cross the backyard to join the trio on the deck. “Woah” is the first word out of Russo’s mouth. The next five are “What happened to your hair?”

Bert quickly recounts the afternoon’s events.

Just as quickly, Russo makes the decision to bid adieu to his own honey-colored locks, eager to join his bandmates in their new baldness. Finn, not surprisingly, isn’t quite as eager to jump on the bandwagon.

Whereas Russo wears a subtle fade with an inch or so of hair on the top of his head, the group’s bass guitarist sports thick, ropy dreadlocks that have been a part of his identity since late high school. “For the record,” Bert says when Lucy runs to retrieve the clippers, “I haven’t asked anyone to shave his or her head. The fact that three out of five people are bald right now is not my doing.”

“Soon to be four out of five,” Russo corrects.

“I can’t be the only band member with hair,” Finn groans. “I’ll look like an asshole.”

Bert holds up both hands, palms out in front of him as if to stop the consideration. “Don’t shave your head, Finn! If you don’t wanna do it, don’t fucking do it!”

“Maybe we could just add another hairy guy to Flannel Lobster’s lineup,” Bas suggests, taking a swig of his beer and hiding his sly smile in the process.

Finn sinks down in his chair and covers his face with his hands. “No,” he grumbles, “I’m gonna do it. My mom’s been trying to get me to lose the dreads for years. I wish we’d done this last week though; I would’ve put ‘em in a box and wrapped it up for Mother’s Day.”

“Well, when’s her birthday?” Bas wonders.

“Not ‘til September.”

“Yeah… that’s kind of far. Oh, well. It was a nice thought.”

Bert snorts, choking on his beer. “Was it?” he asks, laughing and coughing at the same time.

Lucy returns with the necessary materials and hands the scissors to Bas so he can start trimming Finn’s dreadlocks while she uses the clippers on Russo’s head. As they work, the sun dips lower and the sky grows dusky. Moths flutter against the outdoor light, drawn to its iridescent glow, and fireflies act like miniature beacons throughout the yard, flashing here and there with no rhyme or reason. Somewhere in the neighborhood, an owl hoots melodically, calling for a mate perhaps. Bas mowed early this morning and the air, growing cooler by the second, still carries a faint scent of newly cut grass. He inhales, filling his lungs with the clean aroma, and notes, “Sam’s gonna wish we’d documented this. Band bonding, you know? Great for social media.”

“I took some pictures,” Lucy says.

“So did I,” Bert echoes. “We can share ‘em with him.” He’s quiet for a moment, watching as his bald friends work to remove the hair from his not-yet-bald bandmates’ heads. And then he admits, “I might need something to look forward to, guys. I might need something to get me through the next six months.” He takes a deep, shaky breath and adds, “Today ended up being a good day. I didn’t think it was going to be, but it was. I need more days like today.”

Lucy pauses her progress with the clippers and glances over at him. “Aww, Bert… You know we’ll do anything for you. What’re you thinking? A party or something?”

He shakes his head. “More like a fundraiser,” he says. “For breast cancer awareness, maybe? And possibly with a focus on male breast cancer, because I don’t think that’s talked about a whole lot. But it should be. I mean… if I hadn’t casually mentioned the lump to Bas, I would’ve kept on ignoring it, you know? I would’ve thought it’d always been there and I’d only just noticed it. But…” He looks over at his friend and forces a smile. “You knew. You knew as soon as I said, ‘Feel this lump. Does it feel weird to you?’ And you made me visit Urgent Care right away.”

Sebastian doesn’t say anything. He just nods in acknowledgment and keeps delicately trimming Finn’s dreadlocks.

“October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month,” Russo points out. “That’s about six months from now. If you wanna do a fundraiser, that’d be a good time to do it.”

“Plus, your favorite holiday’s in October,” Lucy says. “Maybe we could combine the two.”

Finn gets on his phone, scrolling through the calendar app. “Halloween’s on a Saturday this year, so whatever you decide to do, it oughtta take place earlier in the day. People’ll have parties and trick-or-treating and stuff like that later on.”

“So... a morning event?” Bert wonders.

“How about one of those plunges that people host to raise money?” Bas suggests. “Polar Bear Plunges… Penguin Plunges… You could organize a Pumpkin Plunge. We’ve already got the lake, and the water’ll be plenty chilly by the end of October, so… I don’t know. Have people pay ten bucks to participate and ask ‘em to wear pink or something. Wouldn’t that work?”

“The Pink Pumpkin Plunge,” Bert muses. “I sorta like that.”

“So do I,” Russo says, “and I bet my dad will too. He could probably get some folks from the hospital to set up a stand with information about the disease. Maybe bring along some of those fake boobies with the lumps hidden inside.”

Finn, Bert, and Sebastian narrow their eyes, tilt their heads, and fix him with puzzled expressions, but Lucy nods knowingly and explains, “It’s a teaching tool to help women learn the right way to conduct a self-exam. ‘Fake boobies with lumps hidden inside.’ I may have worded it differently, but Russo hasn’t completely lost his mind.” She rolls her eyes and continues, “I’d be willing to make some pink pottery pumpkins and sell them at the event, and you know there are a lot of other artists and business owners in town who’ll be happy to participate. Like Joe Abbott! He’ll for sure park the Bottomless Joe’s coffee cart there.”

“And what about that really good bakery over on Lakefront? I forget what it’s called…” Finn bites his bottom lip, holding it between two rows of perfectly straight teeth as he racks his brain for the name. “Piping Hot? Is that it?”

“Best cinnamon rolls around.” Bas’s mouth begins to water.

“It’d be cool to have a mascot,” Bert says, and before his best friend can announce “Not it”—because if there’s one thing Sebastian doesn’t enjoy, it’s donning ridiculous garb on Halloween—he adds, “I’d like to be the mascot, because I love dressing up. D’you think…” He glances at Lucy, who has, over the years, become the queen of costumes, and asks, “D’you think we could brainstorm ideas together at some point?”

She smiles warmly. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do!”

“Know what’s weird about not having hair? Showering.”

Sebastian uses his towel to wipe his bald head before wrapping it around his waist. “The water sounds different... Like, its spatter-tap-tap is louder, you know? That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“I just think it feels a lot colder in general,” Lucy says from where she’s sprawled on the bed, snug beneath a feather comforter. She slides an arm under her pillow and watches Bas as he crosses the room to collapse on the mattress beside her. Then he squirms around, rolls onto his side, and rests his head on Lucy’s stomach. She places a hand on his smooth scalp, rubbing it absentmindedly. “I’m glad we were able to make today a little bit easier for Bert.”

“Me too. He seemed to have some fun.” Sebastian nuzzles closer and rests a hand on his girlfriend’s thigh. A rumbly chuckle escapes him, resonating from deep in his chest, and he shakes his head in bewilderment as he states, “I can’t believe Finn shaved his head. Not in a million years would I have ever expected that to happen. He was, like—fifteen? sixteen?—when he started growing those dreads… I hope our fans don’t revolt when they find out what he’s done.”

“He looks really different.”

“We all look really different.”

“True.” Lucy moves her hand from Sebastian’s head and uses it to touch her own fuzzy scalp. “Did you send those pictures to Sam?”

“Yep.”

“What’d he say?”

“He promised to get ‘em posted online and asked if we were going for a ‘Right-Said-Fred kind of look.’ I told him no. And then he wrote again to say he loves us, and he misses us, and he asked me to tell Bert he thinks of him daily.”

“Poor Bert.”

“Poor Bert.”

“He seems excited about designing a mascot, though!”

Bas rolls his eyes and hoists himself off the bed, returning his damp towel to the bathroom and replacing it with a pair of boxer briefs. Then he slides under the covers next to Lucy and wraps his arms around her. “You guys and your love of Halloween,” he mutters. “I’ll never understand it. But, if it brings Bert joy, go for it. Just don’t drag me into it, okay? I’m happy to run down a dock and jump into freezing-cold water, but I’m not wearing a costume to do it. Just a bathing suit. Alright?”

“Fair enough,” Lucy agrees. “No silly attire at the Pink Pumpkin Plunge. Got it.”

“Thank you.” Snuggling tightly against her, he breathes in the soapy scent of her skin as he brushes his lips against the back of her neck. “I love you, goose. I love that you shaved your head for Bert and I love that you never waiver in your support of the people you care about. You’re the full package, you know it?”

“Says the sexy-ass musician who goes above and beyond for his friends one hundred percent of the time.” She finds his hand and twines her fingers through his, bringing his knuckles to her lips and kissing each one individually. And then she says simply, “I love you too, Bas. I can’t remember life before loving you.”

Does anyone have a connection to Caamp?

I'm going to try to explain something that makes a lot of sense to me, but often leaves others going, "Huh?"

Here it is:

Everything that I've written has recurring characters. Some are definitely more recurring than others. I like authors who do stuff like that because when a character you know from one book pops up in another book, it feels almost as if you're visiting with an old friend.

Most of my books center around Lake Caywood, Pennsylvania (which is essentially Gettysburg if Gettysburg had a lake). There are some exceptions, of course. The Way Back takes place primarily in Radio Park, Oregon, while Uptempo, Down (which I believe you'll have access to in 2024) takes place in Moonglow, North Carolina.

Just Whistle and Like A Flip Turn both take place in Lake Caywood. So does Running Through the Words (which is being released via installments on my website right now).

In addition to the characters of Just Whistle, Like A Flip Turn, and Running Through the Words making appearances in one another's stories, I do this thing with song lyrics at the start of some of my books. Now, keep in mind all of the following are not yet released, but these five (when they're published) will all go together as a sort of "series," even though they aren't a series at all:

Kick It One More Time (Sebastian's story - he's the lead singer/guitarist of Flannel Lobster)

Uptempo, Down (Finn's story - he plays bass for Flannel Lobster)

Dog-Eared Life (Russo's story - Flannel Lobster's drummer)

Running Through the Words (Bert's story - he, like Bas, plays guitar and also provides backup vocals for the band)

Come and Go So Quickly (Lucy's story - she's Sebastian's partner)

So all of the above books have song lyrics at the start. REAL song lyrics -- not song lyrics like the ones I made up for the beginnings of The Way Back ("Running Through the Words"), Like A Flip Turn ("Dog-Eared Life"), and Just Whistle ("Kick It One More Time"). See what I did there, though? The other books that are based on the band appear in my books that aren't based on the band! And Sebastian Porter is credited as the artist! Isn't that fun? I love it.

Now, here's the most important paragraph of this blog: ,I desperately want to use the opening stanza of Caamp's "Vagabond" at the start of Running Through the Words, ,(it inspired the novel's title), and have been unable to get permission from anyone thus far. I've contacted the recording company (Mom and Pop Music) and the tour manager and the band members themselves... but alas, no word. Therefore, my question is this:

,DO ANY OF YOU HAVE A DIRECT CONNECTION TO CAAMP AND, IF SO, COULD YOU PLEASE HAVE THEM CONTACT ME REGARDING THE USE OF THEIR LYRICS?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eh-HsGdunnw

That is all for today. Sorry it's not a trivia update, but trivia didn't happen last night.

I love me a good shower [scene]

One of my favorite units of the entire school year is the one that focuses on Hitchcock's classic film Psycho. It's what we've been doing since our return from the holiday break and I've honestly been having a lot of fun with my sophomores. Hardly any of them have ever seen it before, so the experience is a combination of comical and absolutely amazing.

The thing that I love about this movie is that I can use it to reinforce so much of what I've already taught. We start the year with Daphne du Maurier's "The Birds," which is cool since Hitchcock also directed that film. The setting is crucial, you know? In the story, the setting is a sparsely populated British peninsula and takes place shortly after World War 2. The setting, in my opinion, is what makes the story as scary as it is. Also in my opinion: Hitchcock completely ruined "The Birds" by changing the characters to encompass a love story and changing the setting to Bodega Bay, California. But... whatever. It makes for a great teaching tool because the comparisons are excellent.

After that, we move into Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes (Disney ruined that storyline ) and then Macbeth. Obviously, Bradbury's title comes from Shakespeare, which I always get a little thrill from when the kids put it together, but the two also share a lot of motifs. I really enjoy teaching motifs, too. Something Wicked has so much light/dark and good/evil, while Macbeth is more about blood/sleep. So the kids know what a motif is... but it doesn't really click until we watch Psycho.

Yesterday, we experienced the "classic shower scene," but before we got to that scene, we started the previous day's class by making a list of things one almost always sees in horror films. "Someone hiding behind a shower curtain" made the list -- and that was before the kids even started watching the film!

Anyway, after we watched Marion get stabbed to death in the shower by Mrs. Bates, and then saw Norman find her body and gasp in horror, knocking a picture of a songbird to the floor as he threw himself against the wall in shock, I stopped the film and did a refresher on motif. Did the kids remember what it was? Not right away. In period one, Mr. Personality was all like, "Oh, Miss! I know. He liked that lady and his mom didn't and so she come down from the house and killed her so she don't get an invitation to dinner no more."

I said, "Mr. Personality, that's a motive. I'm talking about a motif."

They vaguely remembered light/dark, good/evil from Something Wicked. Many of them remembered blood and sleep from Macbeth. Then they began to list things that were motifs in Psycho: black/white, money, hands (close-up shots of these)... and then someone said, "Birds."

Birds!

This is why I teach, people. Because the thrill I experience when my students get excited about picking apart a text (or in this case, a movie) is contagious. All of the sudden, they were finding birds everywhere: in the parlor, where Norman had taxidermied them; on the walls, where they hung all through the motel; in Marion's last name, which is Crane; in the city of Phoenix, which is where the story begins... And then someone inevitably said, "What is it with Hitchcock and birds?!"

Sometimes, I really and truly do love my job. And I absolutely love teaching my unit on Psycho. The kids don't know it yet, but we'll be evaluating settings tomorrow, and character conflicts next week, and then analyzing the intentional angles used by Hitchcock when he directed the film... which is super cool because they're already picking up on things! We had an entire conversation today about why everyone exits vehicles on the passenger side instead of on the driver's side. It's just such a cool unit, and I enjoy it more and more every year.

Alexa, who should I follow?

Today my Other Other Mother Theresa called me and said, "Hey... I'm just calling to let you know a pretty neat thing that just happened at my house."

I said, "A pretty neat thing that happened where?" (I hadn't heard what she said.)

Theresa said, "At my house."

Well, the pretty cool thing that happened at my Other Other Mother Theresa's house is this: Alexa recommended that Theresa follow Hannah Rae! I'm Hannah Rae, guys! Alexa recommended that Theresa follow me on Amazon! How cool is that?

I was like, "Alexa recommends stuff like that?"

To which Theresa responded, "Apparently." And now she's following me on Amazon. Turns out, the books Theresa buys from Amazon are similar to the books I write! Go figure!

Three cheers for Alexa and her willingness to help with my marketing!

Friends in Books

I've been reading Uptempo, Down aloud with my mom, and while doing this the other day, I stopped myself quite a few times to say things like, "Isn't that funny? I put that in there because of this one time Buddy set me up with a guy she claimed looked like Hugh Grant and who in fact didn't look anything at all like Hugh Grant and it was pretty much the worst date of my life -- even worse than the date with the guy who only wanted to talk about grocery stores!" (The grocery store guy also gets a reference, in case you're wondering.)

Buddy will, of course, read the book and laugh when she gets to the Hugh Grant reference because Buddy ALWAYS reads my books.

However, the other thing I stopped and said quite a few times while reading aloud with my mom was, "I put that in there because [insert hilarity here] and isn't it weird to think that so-and-so will never know she made it into my book because she doesn't read?"

Let that be a lesson to you: there's a possibility you're already "fiction famous" and don't even know it.

(Also, if you have Amazon Prime and don't mind reading on a tablet/Kindle/etc., all of my titles are available for free. Just sayin'. )

What do you think about... audiobooks?

While I was working on the release of The Way Back, I got it into my head that I would read it aloud and record an audiobook. I mean, I LOVE audiobooks and listen to them regularly. The problem? After doing a bunch of research on recording chapters by myself, I realized that the levels of all the sound thingies need to be just right.

I'm not really interested in creating a studio in my house (my dogs bark way too much anyway), and I have no desire to book time in a studio, so I started exploring other options. One of the options I've found enables me to provide a script for potential readers and then they audition. It's actually very cool! I only embarked on this mission earlier this today, but I've already received two auditions and both were quite good!

Right now, I'm attempting to have Like A Flip Turn read aloud, but if it goes well, I'll likely look into doing the same thing for Just Whistle, The Way Back, and eventually Running Through the Words. Oh! And of course my new Christmas novella, which I finished writing yesterday and have been reading through today.

My Christmas novella has a tentative title, but not a definite title, so while I can't share that with you, I can tell you that it'll be released November 2023, you should buy a copy for all of your friends and family members, and its format is different from anything else I've written. I described it to my mom as a combination of Love, Actually meets Like After Life (which is a book by Kate Atkinson, and if you haven't read it, you should, because it's brilliant).

Remember how I said the other day that the Christmas novella will be better if you've read Just Whistle and Like A Flip Turn? Well, I was telling the truth. Won't it be cool if you're able to listen to those titles leading up to the Christmas novella though? I'll definitely keep you posted. Big excitement for 2023 -- that's what I'm anticipating!

Running Through the Words, 1-3

One.

The tears are there. Behind his eyes, at the back of his throat… in the clench of his gut. But Sebastian Porter doesn’t shed a single saltwater droplet. He swallows the grief and the fear and the unfairness of it all. And then he dumps another hearty splash of cabernet into his glass and swallows that too.

He’s perched on his kitchen counter, feet on a barstool, a half-empty bottle of wine standing beside his left thigh. Outside, a robin hops along the deck’s railing, enjoying the sunshine as a gentle breeze ruffles its feathers. Outside, tulips poke red and yellow heads through damp dirt, smiling up at that brilliant orb in the sky. Outside, the world is fresh and new and young.

But Sebastian feels hollow inside.

And numb.

And alone.

He feels so very alone.

There was a day, nearly two decades ago, when Bas had been the cause of this type of pain. It hadn’t been his intention, of course, any more than it was Bert’s intention now. Bas hadn’t done anything wrong; it was an unfortunate accident that had knocked him off his feet and placed him in the hospital. But he’d been in a coma for several days and the people he’d loved most—Bert and Lucy and Doc and even Jack—had been left in a state of unrest, not sure he’d wake up.

Not sure he’d remember who he was before the accident.

Not sure he’d remember who they were.

With Bert, the situation is different… but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to accept. He sets his glass on the counter, rests his elbows on his knees, and cradles his head in his hands.

That’s when the tears come.

That’s when the grief racks his body and shakes his chest and leaves him in loud, ugly sobs.

He wakes hours later on the couch.

He has no memory of relocating to the living room. Bas has no memory of finishing the bottle of cabernet and kicking off his shoes and pulling a blanket over his shivering body. He only knows this is how Lucy finds him.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing a spray of long, dark curls from his forehead and tucking them behind his ear. Her voice contains the hint of a smile. “When did you get home? I thought you’d swing by the shop.”

He blinks, bringing her into focus, and reaches up with his right hand to rub sleep from his eyes. “What?” He runs a tongue over gritty teeth; his saliva is thick and nauseatingly sweet. “No,” Bas mumbles, pushing himself into a sitting position. “No, I just… I should’ve, I know, but I… I just really didn’t want to. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She perches beside him on the couch and focuses her worried gaze on his haggard face, studying the red-rimmed eyes and the bruised bags beneath them. “How long have you been here?”

Bas sighs. “I don’t know… a few hours, maybe? What time is it?”

“A little after five.”

More time has passed than he’d thought. “Bert’s appointment was at eleven; we got into town around ten, I guess.” He sighs, remembering the morning’s events and the attempt at normalcy that came afterward. “We grabbed lunch at the Tavern, but neither one of us had much of an appetite. It’s just…” Bas swallows hard, runs a hand across his scraggly beard, and then wraps an arm around Lucy, pulling her close. She melts into him, resting her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest. “I haven’t showered since yesterday morning,” he apologizes. “I probably stink.”

Tilled earth, stale cigarette smoke, the sour odor of day-old perspiration, and that ever-present aroma of slightly burnt green beans. “You smell fine,” she assures him, filling her nostrils with his scent. Nearly two months have gone by since he last held her in his arms. Normally, the couple’s reunion would be a happy one: an impromptu visit to the pottery shop, followed by a lot of sex and a recap of the band’s most recent tour while wrapped in each other’s arms, naked limbs tangled together, between crisp cotton sheets.

Tonight, however, Lucy doesn’t ask about which venue was the most memorable. She doesn’t wonder if last night’s sold-out show in Boston was everything the boys had anticipated, or if any of their college friends had been in the audience.

Tonight, the single question Lucy voices is, “How bad is it?”

Sebastian bites his lip and wills the tears not to fall. After a shaky inhale, he leans his bristly cheek against the top of his girlfriend’s head and squeezes her tighter. “Stage two,” he whispers in the voice of a scared child. “Russo’s dad says—”

“Dr. Russo was there? But he isn’t an oncologist, is he?”

“No. He just met us for the appointment. Russo—Kenny, I mean—told him what’s going on and asked if he could be there. To explain stuff. To make everything… make sense, I guess. The oncologist—her name’s Dr. Nolan—she’s good. Motherly, you know?” Bas waits for Lucy to nod, acknowledging this tidbit of information, before continuing. “Anyway. Russo’s dad and Dr. Nolan say it doesn’t appear to’ve spread to the lymph nodes, so that’s a good thing… but they want to start him on chemo.”

“Aww, Bas…”

“Yeah.” The knowledge has sat with him since late this morning, but Lucy is hearing the truth for the first time. “I just… I… I can’t lose him, goose. I can’t. And… And I’m so scared I’m going to.” Now, despite his best efforts, the floodgates open and he’s crying again. A plethora of emotions choke him as he continues, “It should be me, you know? Not Bert. I’m the one with the support system. I’ve got you, my dad and Doc… Martha and Nol… Bert—” He cuts himself off, swallowing a sob. “Bert doesn’t even have his mom anymore. It’s not fair. It’s so not fair.”

Lucy leans back, wriggling out of Sebastian’s grasp so she can peer into his swimming eyes.

Her eyes, too, are glassy with tears.

She rests a hand lightly on his cheek and says softly, “Every single person you just listed? Me? Jack and Doc? Martha and Nol? Bert has them too, Bas. And he’s got the band. But most importantly? He has you.” She pulls him to her, rubbing his back as he sobs into her breast, and allows her own tears to drip into his dark, unruly curls.

Two.

Last night, before climbing beneath a down comforter and folding herself into Sebastian’s arms, Lucy had cracked open the bedroom window. Now, a crisp breeze far more reminiscent of autumn than spring filters into the room, causing goosebumps to cover her arms and legs. She rolls onto her side, pulls the blanket tight beneath her chin, and studies her boyfriend’s face. In slumber, there is a sense of peace that hadn’t been there yesterday evening.

Always scruffy, Bas’s cheeks currently sport an unkempt beard. The wiry coating isn’t enough to hide their sunkeness, though. He’s lost weight. Lucy supposes this could be a result of the tour, but she suspects it has more to do with his best friend’s diagnosis. Bas’s dark curls, tousled and tumbled across the pillow, have grown long enough to be contained in a sloppy man bun. Purple-tinged bruises linger beneath his eyes, marking him with a visible exhaustion.

Bits of the story have been shared with Lucy over the past two weeks, but she has yet to hear the tale in its entirety. At this point, she knows about the lump Bert noticed in his left breast and the doctor’s appointment Bas demanded he attend once being informed of the discovery. She knows the boys had visited an Urgent Care in Maine last week, arranged for a scan and needle biopsy to be done the next day in New Hampshire, and then met with Dr. Nolan just yesterday to determine the results. She knows Bert has stage two breast cancer. She knows the same disease killed her boyfriend’s mother, Amelia Porter, when she was only thirty-one years old. And she knows Sebastian is both devastated and terrified.

Growing up together in the little development with its streets named after trees, it had always been Bas and Lucy and Bert. When their parents talked about them, the names ran together: Bas ‘n’ Lucy ‘n’ Bert. All one word. A single unit of friendship. A single entity prowling the neighborhood, riding bikes to the park and skipping stones on the lake. They’d been constants in one another’s lives… and they still are.

Things had certainly changed over the years. Jack Porter had moved to northern California almost two decades ago, having forfeited his professorship at Lake Caywood University to accept a part-time position at a tiny liberal college on the coast. For a while, he’d rented his Pennsylvania property to his almost-fiancé, Martha Pond, who had raised her daughter in the stone cottage at the end of Sycamore Drive, secluded in its tree-sheltered cul-de-sac. Magnolia had eventually graduated from high school, though, and when she did, Martha returned to New York. Before listing the house on the market, Jack offered it to his son, and since Flannel Lobster had by that point secured regular residency on the airwaves and Billboard charts alike, Bas was in a financial position to purchase his childhood home. So he did.

For a while, he and Lucy had lived in her childhood home, but then her father retired from his presidency at Conway College in Virginia. Elliot and Grace Campbell moved back to Lake Caywood, reclaimed their tuxedo house on Sycamore Drive, and, for a while, Lucy and Bas relocated to an apartment in town.

Now, however, they’re established in the cottage Sebastian has bought with his own earnings and neither one of them has any intention of ever leaving. The only thing that could make the living situation better would be if the house backing up to theirs was still owned by the Robinsons. Unfortunately, though, Louise had unexpectedly passed away almost three years ago as a result of a heart attack. Unlike his best friend, Bert hadn’t felt compelled to buy the tiny Cape Cod he’d grown up in. He’d sold the property, invested the profit, and opted to rent the second floor of a craftsman-style house on the outskirts of town. It’s a quiet location that allows for a captivating view of the lake, but is still close enough to civilization that a pizza can be delivered.

His downstairs neighbor is a lovely woman by the name of Matilda who shares her leftovers and always bakes a pie or a casserole to welcome Bert home from his tours. She’s in her seventies, but seems younger, and still manages to mow her own grass and tend her own flowerbeds. “I don’t mind yardwork when I’m home,” Bert had explained when he’d decided to rent rather than buy, “but I don’t wanna have to worry about that kind of stuff when I’m away for weeks on end.”

Tears prick at the backs of Lucy’s eyes as she thinks of the simple upstairs space Bert now calls “home.” She thinks of those C-words Sebastian had used last night, cancer and chemo, and wonders how their dear friend will manage his recovery while living alone. Wonders if he can manage on his own.

Until yesterday, Lucy had never had anyone close to her with a diagnosis of cancer. She’d been five when Amelia passed away—the same age as Bas—and therefore remembered very little about her boyfriend’s mother. She doesn’t know what to expect, and she is undoubtedly scared, but she reasons Bas’s fear far outweighs hers. He knows first-hand the dangers of this disease; he’d watched his mother lose her fight to it, and now he will watch his friend gear up for his own battle.

With a shaky hand, she reaches out and rests a fingertip on his chapped lips, tracing their outline and then the ridge of his jaw. She isn’t trying to wake him—she merely wants to capture his presence in an invisible piece of art—but after a moment, Sebastian’s chapped lips form a smile and he says with lids still lowered, “What’re you doing?”

“Sketching you.”

“Lucy…” His eyes flutter open, piercingly blue. They find hers and hold the gaze. “You don’t have to do that. I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.” He rolls onto his back and slides an arm underneath her, pulling her tight against his side. She rests her head on his shoulder and snuggles closer. “I missed you,” she whispers.

“I missed you too, goose.”

A term of endearment… Once Lucy-goosey, and then shortened over the years to a single syllable. The nickname is a comfort, but it doesn’t ease the ache in her heart. “I’m scared about Bert,” she whispers.

“Yeah. So am I.”

Bas fills his lungs with a large intake of air. Lucy can feel his heart thumping beneath her ear, can feel the whiskery brush of his chin against her forehead. “I’m really scared,” he says softly. “I just wish… I don’t know. I wish I knew what to do for him, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“I worry about him being in that apartment all alone.”

“Me too.”

“I’m thinking the guys and I might end up taking turns staying with him sometimes. Like, after chemo or whatever. Just to make sure he’s alright.”

“I think that’d be sweet. I’ll take a turn too.”

With the hand not holding Lucy, Sebastian reaches up and scratches his cheek. He lifts his head from the pillow, peers first at the foot of the bed and then around the room, and finally asks with real curiosity, “Where are the cats? I thought they’d be excited to see me.”

One might assume a professional musician’s bucket list would include locations where he’d like to perform and successes he’d like to achieve. Sebastian Porter isn’t the norm, though. For as long as Lucy can remember, he’s talked about owning two cats by the monikers of Scout and Jem. An avid lover of all things To Kill A Mockingbird, Bas had wanted to name a female Jean Louise and a male Jeremy Atticus. “That way, when they call ‘em back for their appointment at the vet’s, I can use their nicknames and everyone in the waiting room will laugh.”

“Assuming everyone in the waiting room is literate,” Lucy had informed him.

It had been a good idea, and Bas had almost made it a reality. The problem? Jean Louise ended up having a pair of testicles and some other equipment. “So we’ll call him Gene Luis instead,” Sebastian had reasoned. “No biggie.”

Lucy slips a hand over his stomach and rests it on his lower hip, then twines her left leg through his. “That was a really long tour, Bas. They’re probably hiding.”

He falls back onto the pillow and heaves a sigh of resignation. “Well, they’ll have lots of time to reacclimate to my presence. I’m not goin’ anywhere until Bert’s well enough to tag along. No more touring for a while.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

It's the silver lining to this horrible situation: Sebastian will be home. He won't be touring for weeks on end and they can talk face-to-face rather than via cell phone. But it doesn't make Bert’s diagnosis any easier to accept. Lucy untangles herself from the man lying beside her and props herself up on one elbow. “What d’you wanna do today? I’m up for whatever.”

“You don’t have to work?”

“Nope. Rex and Teddy are manning the shop.”

“Hmm…” A sly grin flits across Sebastian’s lips. “If that’s the case, I have some ideas.”

“Like…?”

“Well, I definitely want to spend some time with Jem and Scout… and I really need to trim my beard. It’s out of control at the moment.”

“Okay…”

“The grass needs to be mowed.”

“It does,” Lucy concedes.

“Yeah. And I’ve got a shit-ton of laundry to do, but first…?” He rolls over and positions himself on top of the golden-haired woman, straddling her. A mischievous glint dances in his eyes. “But first, I’d really love to make love to you.”

“I was sort of hoping you’d say that,” she giggles, “because I’d really love to make love to you.”

Three.

Springtime in Lake Caywood is a colorful, fragrant affair. Though the crepe myrtles lining Main Street won’t bloom for another month or two, the bulbs nestled beneath the soil at their roots wake slowly and stretch toward the sun. First come the daffodils, puckered faces smiling cheerfully in varying hues of gold, and then, right behind them, are the tulips. These heavy-headed flowers spring from the earth in rainbowed clusters: red, orange, yellow, indigo, and violet. They adorn the bases of mailboxes and lamp posts alike.

Next come the irises, their purple petals marred by built-in caterpillars. Some are yellow; others are white. Now, at the age of forty-five, Bert realizes the proper name for this particular flower feature is “the beard,” but as a child he’d referred to that fuzzy pipe-cleaner-esque attribute as a caterpillar. And his mother had never corrected him. Bert sighs and pushes thoughts of Louise from his mind. Now is not the time to allow his spirits to plummet; he needs to remain upbeat.

The first day of May should be a fresh start.

A new month and a new beginning.

An unexplored chapter in the big Book of Life.

And, Bert reasons, it is if he chooses to view his first chemotherapy session as an occurrence yet unexperienced. It seems fitting, however, that it’s the steady sound of rain rat-a-tatting on his metal roof that wakes him this morning.

Bert has no qualms about precipitation—rain and snow are among his favorite things—but he’d prefer to spend this rainy day in bed rather than at the hospital. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, studying his reflection and the latest addition to his body: a port-a-cath on the left-hand side of his chest, installed last week and ready for its first use today. Hesitantly, he brushes two fingers over the incision before covering it with fresh gauze.

He’s not yet comfortable with the port’s presence.

He wishes it weren’t there, but can find no point in dwelling on the fruitless thought. Instead, he turns from the mirror and walks down the hall to his bedroom, where he pulls on a t-shirt and then a hoodie. Sebastian will be here any moment to pick him up and Bert wants to be ready when he arrives.

The apartment in which he resides isn’t large by any means, but it offers all the necessary amenities: a place to sleep, a place to bathe, a place to cook, and a place to entertain. The home’s layout makes this last requisite exceptionally easy as the open floor plan easily accommodates large groups of people. Nearly an entire wall of the living room is composed of windows, flooding the home with natural light, and sliding glass doors open onto a deck off the back of the house. This is how Bert comes and goes so as not to disturb his downstairs neighbor Matilda, and this is how he exits the house now when he spots his friend’s Jeep Wrangler coasting down the street.

There had been a time—back in the boys’ twenties, before Sam Clark orchestrated a contract with Lollygag Records and “Kick It One More Time” topped the Billboard charts—when Bert and Bas had shared a red Wrangler. They’d driven it to and from swim practice in high school, to and from concerts in college, and eventually to a car dealership that offered a better-than-expected trade-in for two new Wranglers. Bas had gone with a steely blue finish this time around; Bert had opted for black.

Sighing, he pulls up his hood, grabs his backpack, steps into the drizzly morning, and hustles down the deck stairs to meet Bas. “Hey,” he says quietly, climbing into the Jeep and tossing his bag at his feet. “Thanks for picking me up. I could’ve driven myself, though. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“But we don’t know that yet, B” is Bas’s simple response, “so as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got yourself a personal chauffeur every Wednesday of every week for as long as you need it. Until this round of treatment is over. Okay?”

Bert fastens his seatbelt and turns to face Sebastian. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Thank you. And… hey, B?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Sebastian had been in the process of backing down the driveway, but now he puts his foot solidly on the brake, bringing the Jeep to a standstill. He fixes his friend with those unnaturally pale eyes of his, looking right into him, and asks, “Sorry for getting cancer? Because that’s just silly. It’s not your fault, B. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just… a shitty thing that happened.” And then, correcting himself, “That’s happening. It’s a shitty thing that’s happening, but you’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

“But I am sorry,” Bert counters. “I’m sorry my life is impacting yours so much right now.”

“Are you being serious, B? Because I can remember this one time I got hit by a fucking car and you basically revamped your entire life to help with my recovery. So… no. Do not be sorry. You are not an inconvenience. You’re not something that’s getting in the way of other plans. You are my best friend and I will do anything for you. Right now, in fact,” he says as he eases his foot off the brake, “I’m gonna take you to your first round of chemo, and I’m gonna sit with you while you receive treatment, and then I’ll drive you home and hang out.”

“You don’t need to hang out. I’ll probably spend the rest of the day sleeping. Dr. Nolan says most patients are real tired afterwards.”

“That may be, but I’m not going anywhere. I packed a bag. I’m staying the night.”

“Sebastian…”

“Just shut up and let me take care of you, alright?” He gives Bert a sidelong look of bewilderment and rolls his eyes, a crooked smile lingering on his lips.

The expression earns a quiet chuckle. Bert closes his eyes and rests his head against the seat, shaking his head in resignation. “Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll allow it.”

They arrive at the hospital around nine o’clock. First there’s a blood draw, followed by a check of Bert’s vitals, and after a time, the men are led back to a private room on the infusion floor. “Until last week, I didn’t know Lake Caywood Hospital had an infusion floor,” Bert mutters, settling himself on a recliner and accepting a warm blanket offered by the nurse. Her name is Jacqueline and she looks as though she just walked out of the eighties. Her bangs are feathered, her hair is dyed a fake candy-red, and her eyeshadow is blue. She has a nice smile, though, which she flashes now before asking, “Are the two of you brothers?”

“Might as well be,” Bas answers at the same time Bert says, “Best friends since childhood.”

“You look so much alike,” she muses, and the boys simply nod because it’s something they’ve heard a lot in their lives. Both are tall and slim with angular features; both have dark hair and pale eyes, though Bas’s are blue whereas Bert’s are green. Bert, too, sports a somewhat tidier appearance: shorter (though still shaggy) hair and cleanly shaven cheeks. But for as long as they can remember, strangers have been mistaking them for siblings. In unison, they state, “We get that a lot.”

The nurse laughs and uncovers Bert’s port-a-cath. Then she hangs a bag of saline solution and proceeds to attach it to his port. “These fluids should help with the side effects,” she explains, “and as soon as your chemo cocktail arrives, I’ll hook that up as well. I’m going to step out for a few minutes, but I’ll return shortly. Do you need anything before I go?”

“Nah,” Bert responds, “I’m good for now.”

Jacqueline pats his shoulder. “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

She disappears and Bas takes a seat on the empty recliner beside his friend. “Wanna watch TV?” he asks, but Bert shakes his head. “Maybe we could just talk,” he suggests. “About anything. I just… I wanna keep my thoughts off the fact that my body’s about to be pumped full of poison. I’m fuckin’ scared, B.”

“I know you are.” Sebastian reaches over and grips Bert’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “But I’m here for you, just like you were there for me when I broke my pelvis. I think about that sometimes, you know? About everything you did for me. Visiting me in the hospital… moving back to Lake Caywood… having my guitar restored… That, B, was probably your greatest friend move to date. I love that guitar.” His eyes grow glassy remembering the gesture.

All those years ago, when Bas had stepped into a crosswalk and the teenager who’d hit him had mistaken the accelerator for the brake, both he and his guitar had gone flying. His injuries had been more severe than the instrument’s, but the acoustic guitar had certainly suffered: cracked neck, fractured bridge, splintered body. If left up to Sebastian, he would have cut his losses and tried to move on. Bert, however, understood the object’s nostalgic significance: not only was that particular guitar Sebastian’s absolute favorite, it had also belonged to his mother. Bert had depleted a good chunk of his savings to have it restored, but he’d never regretted the decision.

“Greatest friend move, huh?” he confirms. “That’s a fun thing to think about.” He falls silent for a moment, running through a lifetime of memories shared with Sebastian. The first one that comes to mind is of course the most obvious, but it’s also the single instance in time that Bert has never again referenced since its occurrence. And for that reason, rather than mention it now, he lies, “Yours might be happening right at this moment. Being here, I mean. Being with me as I go through this.”

Bas raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he wonders. “Because there was that time in high school when you sneaked out of the house and hitched a ride—with that idiot Andrew Adams, of all people—to a party in Gettysburg, got stranded at a shady-ass gas station on some road in the middle of nowhere, and called me at one in the morning to come get you. Which I did.”

Bert laughs. “Yeah… you did. I mean, that’s kind of what you’re best at.”

“Being a chauffeur?” he asks, his tone rich with skepticism.

“Showing up,” Bert corrects. “You’re really good at showing up. To the point that…” He chuckles, remembering something from almost two decades ago that he would have given just about anything to witness. “To the point that your greatest friend move, period, had nothing to do with me at all. It had to do with Lucy and that fucking Cowardly Lion costume.”

Bas cocks his head to one side. “Are you talking about when we went trick-or-treating?”

“Nope. I’m talking about when you showed up at her house—mane, makeup, the works—that night she broke up with… What was that guy’s name? Chad?”

“Chet.”

“Right. Chet. I’m talking about that time.”

The expression on Bas’s face is one of humiliated confusion. “Wait. You know about that?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Did Lucy tell you?”

“Nol did.”

All these years after the fact, Sebastian’s cheeks still burn with embarrassment. “I hate that costume so much,” he grumbles, and leans back in the recliner, elevating his feet.

“The things we do for love…” Bert sighs, mirroring his friend’s posture and attempting to relax. Jacqueline returns a moment later with a smaller pouch of liquid. She hangs it beside the bag of fluid, opens the line, and sets it to a slow drip. “This will probably take about two hours,” she informs her patient, “and we ask that you stick around for another thirty minutes or so afterward, just to make sure you’re feeling okay. I expect you’ll be home by two o’clock at the latest.”

“Okay.”

“Let me know when the two of you get hungry. I’ll have lunch brought in.”

Bert forces a smile. “Okay,” he repeats. “Thank you.”

He’s quiet for quite a while after the nurse leaves.

Bas, too, seems lost in his own thoughts, but after a time he wonders, “What does it feel like?”

Bert rolls his head to face the man sitting beside him. His eyes are closed and his legs are crossed. His hands, fingers intertwined, support his head. “What does the chemo feel like?” he confirms.

“Yeah.”

“Not bad. It burns a little, but it’s not bad.”

Sebastian exhales a long breath through slightly parted lips. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

“It doesn’t,” Bert assures him. “I’m fine.”

“I brought along a deck of cards and some other stuff in case we get bored,” he offers.

“What kind of other stuff?”

“Mad Libs, a puzzle… a couple of books.” His eyes flutter open as he turns to face Bert. A shy smile flits across his face as he admits, “I thought I could read to you, if you wanted. That’s what Jem did for Mrs. Dubose when she was sick.”

Having grown up with a literature professor for a father, Sebastian’s offer of a read-aloud comes as no great surprise. He isn’t necessarily someone who spends hours at a time with his nose in a book, but Bas does generally always have a novel that he’s picking away at. He’s a solid reader, too: his fluency is exceptional and he changes his voice to reflect the voices of the different characters. It is, Bert realizes, the perfect suggestion for this moment in time. “What’re my options?” he asks, assuming the first on the list will be Harper Lee’s classic.

Sebastian surprises him, however, when he says, “Ordinary Grace or Me Talk Pretty One Day. One’s a mystery; the other’s more like… humorous memoirs.”

“I don’t feel very funny right now,” Bert quietly confides. “Let’s go with the mystery.”

So Bas hops up from his chair, strides across the room to retrieve his backpack, and unearths a tattered paperback with a cracked spine. It’s obviously been read once or twice before. “If To Kill A Mockingbird didn’t exist,” he says, opening to the first page as he reclaims his seat, “this would be my favorite book.” And then, in a voice soft and smooth, he begins reading.

Trivia Recap: 12/29

The Players: Brock (marketing/graphic design/computer/etc. guru), Hannah (English teacher), Ben (not a proctologist), Alex (coffee shop owner), Phil (Adobe guru), Darren (math professor), Mary (English teacher)

Hint of the Day: Pen

Opening Category: The Polar Express

Sidenote: Didn't Phil's hair look great? He's letting it grow a little longer. If you see him around town, compliment his new look.

Round One:

We earned 33 points in this round, which was really very good. Mary knew the answer to the question about The Polar Express, which we should have all known since it was our chosen category... But, whatever. We got it! There was a good question about things with R.A. initials. The answers were Raggedy Anne, Rheumatoid Arthritis (I predicted that right from the get-go), and Rick Astley (my friend Annie hates "Never Gonna Give You Up," but I've always loved it!). 2KTV was fine. Darren and Darren both got "Penn and Teller," but Darren earned us the two-point bonus by knowing it aired on Showtime. We missed a question about Champagne, but knew the answer and the bonus for Literary Characters. All in all, it was a good round.

Round Two:

Titular Commonalities, our audio clue, was a little trickier than usual... but we got it. We also got Internet Logos (props to my team for knowing the center color of the Google Chrome logo), Scientific Discoveries (even though I didn't wear my periodic table shirt; it was in the wash), and 90s Drama Films. The only thing we missed was Name that NBA Player, which Phil knew but didn't say loudly enough for Ben to hear. Phil was not at all confident in his answer anyway, and it was only one point, and in the scheme of things, it didn't end up mattering all that much.

Half-Time Sheet:

16/20. Let's just say Phil doesn't know as much about Ho-Hos and Ding-Dongs as he thought he did...

Round Three:

Ben got us the answer and the bonus points for 3 Clues, 1 US State (he knows a lot about Pennsylvania), Music Video Hodge Podge was fine, Ben also got us the answer to Historical Battles (Guadalcanal) and Sports Collectibles. Darren knew our bonus category, Authors and Their Works (Norman Mailer), but no one else on the team did. He wasn't quite confident to go for the answer before the multiple-choice options, which means we didn't get the additional two-point bonus, but that's okay because we still got it right.

6 - 4 - 2:

I forget the question, but the answer was "Money" and we got it on the second clue, giving us four points.

Round Four:

TV Characters and Their Shows was fine, as were Oscar Winning Roles, It Happened on New Year's Eve, Medical Conditions, and Comic Book Hodge Podge. A lot of times that last round can be brutal, but we nailed it on Thursday night!

Final Question:

I can't for the life of me remember the category or the question, but we thought the answer was Carnegie and Rockefeller and it wasn't... which means we lost 12 points and came in third.

For some reason, there's no trivia next week, so don't expect a recap on Friday. Maybe I'll blog about something else that day!