     Kat woke on a Saturday morning and hurled curses at the sky. She was supposed to be boarding a plane to Fiji in a few hours, but the completely inconsiderate weathercaster on the news had informed her that an impending monster snowstorm amassing off the eastern seaboard was going to ground all air travel in and out of New York. Kat was staring out her window, willing the dark clouds away when the phone rang. Her sister’s face appeared on the screen and Kat let out a heavy sigh before answering.      “Dana,” she said with forced brightness.

     “Kat,” Dana replied, with sincere brightness. Nothing was ever forced or faked with Dana. She was the most annoyingly authentic person Kat had ever met.       “Where are you headed for the holidays this year?” Dana asked.       “I was going to Fiji,” Kat mumbled. “But there's a storm coming.”

      “That's great!”       Kat knew she'd made a grave mistake telling her sister that she'd be stuck at home. There was an air of triumph in Dana’s tone, and Kat wondered if she had somehow orchestrated the blizzard.       “You can come home for Christmas then,” Dana said. Kat could just picture her expression, somehow glowing and smug at the same time.       “No way,” Kat protested. “I am not driving to Connecticut.”

     “You can make it before the storm gets bad if you leave right now,” Dana said. “Everyone would love to see you.”       “Doubt it.”       “Kat’s free for Christmas!” Dana shouted to someone in the background.       “Dana!” Kat exclaimed, alarmed. “Do not tell people that I'm coming home for Christmas.”       “She's coming home for Christmas!”

      “I am going to throttle you.”

      “Aunt Charlize is already planning to set another place at the table, so it's settled,” Dana said, utterly unfazed by Kat’s threats. “See you in a couple hours!”        There was a click and Kat stared at her phone, incredulous, wondering what the hell just happened. She glanced at her suitcases, packed with sunscreen and bikinis and a floppy sun hat. Not at all suited to a Christmas in Belbridge. Kat dragged herself off the couch and dumped out all her Fiji gear, refilling the suitcase with gloves and beanies and sweaters. She rifled through the closet for some sturdy snow boots and clomped outside into the frigid air, glaring at the dark clouds again.       “This is your fault,” she muttered, shoving her suitcase into the trunk. A few flakes of snow drifted down, mocking her. Kat filled up the gas tank and headed north, not sure why she'd let her sister bully her into going home. She hadn't been home for Christmas, or anything else, in six years. The fight she'd had with her parents before she left was so epic in scale that she thought she could still hear it, like a stubborn echo. Maybe it seemed cruel for Kat to reject the family legacy and leave, after Zach. But she needed to live her own life and his responsibilities had been thrust upon her while she was still reeling from his loss.

      Kat’s big brother had been like a lighthouse, a shining beacon of safety in the dark. She felt unmoored without him. Zach was primed to take over the family restaurant as the oldest, and the one who loved the place most. Their parents thought Kat should become the new future owner as a way to honor him, but Kat felt that the best way to honor him was to do what he'd always told her to do: chase her dreams. And Kat’s dreams were filled with shutter clicks and capturing moments in time, preserving them forever. Making the perfect cinnamon roll or serving coffee to locals and foliage chasing tourists was fine, but not for Kat.

      As she approached the snow-dusted Welcome to Belbridge sign her hands tightened on the steering wheel. The town was positively bedecked in holiday cheer. Lights strung up everywhere, Christmas trees glittering in front windows, and a picturesque sprinkling of snow. It looked like a scene set for a Christmas card. Kat hated that she wanted to stop and snap a photo of it. She had rejected Christmas after Zach’s death, the whole month of December cast in shadows and jagged edges since he'd hit a patch of ice on a road he'd driven a million times before. It hardly seemed fair that you could know something so well and still have it betray you. Roads were a lot like people that way, she supposed.       Kat parked in front of her childhood home and eyed the Christmas wreath on the front door like it might come to life and bite her. She didn't think the world had any business being so damn holly jolly. She didn't get out of the car until her phone rang, Dana’s smiling face lighting up her screen yet again.       “I know you’re outside,” Dana said, by way of greeting. “Stop being a baby and get out of the car.”       “I am not being a baby,” Kat said, affronted.       “You’re being a huge baby. Come inside before I send Josh out to get you.”       Scowling, Kat cut the engine and climbed out of the car, walking up to the front door and its homemade wreath with all the cheer of a woman sent to the gallows. She raised a hand to ring the bell but before she could, it swung open. Dana stood there in a bright green sweater and a reindeer antler headband nestled in her brown curls. Her necklace and earrings were silver snowflakes, and her nails were painted green and gold. She was Christmas personified. Her lips pulled up in that obnoxiously infectious grin.       “Kat!” she exclaimed, as if she hadn't just been threatening her on the phone. She yanked Kat into a hug, freakishly strong in her holiday fueled affection. “It's so good to see you. You look amazing, how was the drive?”       Dana didn't give Kat much chance to answer any of her rapid fire questions as she led her into the depths of the house. Kat followed dutifully behind her little sister, trailing her fingers over the familiar wallpaper.

      “Kat’s here!” Dana announced, pulling her into the living room. Kat stood there in her dark coat, standing out in the sea of green and gold and red. Her family glowed in the light from the giant fireplace while she looked like the ghost of Christmas future come to terrify Scrooge into not being such a dick.       “Um. Hi,” she said dumbly.       “Kat, sweetie, it's wonderful to see you! It's been so long!” Aunt Charlize enveloped her in a hug and Kat was overwhelmed with the smell of gingerbread and Dior perfume. Charlize seemed to break the slight tension bubble that had formed when Kat stepped into the room. Her other aunts and uncles and handful of cousins all offered waves and hellos and a few more hugs. Dana’s boyfriend Josh gave her a warm smile. The two of them had been together since their sophomore year in high school.        Kat was shuffled through the room on a tide of familial greetings until she found herself standing before her parents. She felt eighteen again, standing before them declaring that she wanted to be a photographer instead of being part of the family legacy. Her father had turned the color of a fresh beet at the notion of her running off to a big city to be a starving artist instead of embracing the stability their family had created. Her mother said she'd be home within a month, begging their forgiveness. The fight had been loud and angry, punctuated with harsh words. And Kat had never come home, until now.       “Kathleen,” her mother said, taking her in. “We weren't sure if you were really going to come.”       “Well…here I am,” Kat replied, wondering if her attempt at a smile looked real or if she just looked constipated. It was hard to tell exactly what Marian DeStefano was thinking. The woman had the best poker face in the world when it suited her. But where Marian could be a vault when she pleased, her husband was an open book. Kat saw remnants of hurt and anger on his face that mirrored her own, but there was warmth there too, and he pulled her into a hug. Kat was horrified to find herself feeling an urge to cry.       “It's nice to have everyone home for the holiday,” he said. Kat felt her breath catch, throat burning. Not everyone. It would never be everyone again. She had said as much back then, screaming at them that it was wrong to put up lights and a tree and go on with celebrations when there was a Zach-shaped hole in their lives. But she held back from saying anything now. Dana’s eyes were flicking back and forth between them, and Kat didn't want to be the one to start a fight five minutes after walking in the door.

      “It's good to see you guys,” she said instead. She thought Dana might have sighed with relief. Awkward hellos over, the household settled into easy chatter. Kat wandered the room looking at the dozens of pictures, memories settling over her like a heavy blanket. If she was the ghost of Christmas future, this house was filled with the ghost of Christmas past. She stopped in front of a family portrait, taken the year before Zach died. He was smiling and dressed in a nice outfit, while fifteen year old Kat had insisted on wearing all black. A little Dana was beaming with a smile that nearly took up her whole face. They were such a cliche; the golden eldest boy, the moody middle child, and the carefree baby of the family.       Dana could get anyone wrapped around her finger within five minutes of knowing them. It was hard to tell Dana no. Disappointing her was like kicking a golden retriever; something only a true monster would do. Kat sighed. It was December 22, which meant she had to endure at least three days of family and festiveness. The giant tree in the front room looked like it could barely take the weight of all the ornaments hanging off of it, and the house smelled like Christmas cookies. It was like Santa Claus and his elves had a rager and barfed all over this place. But Kat stuffed down her jaded complaints and endured dinner with her family.       She thought it was going okay until she said she should get going to book a room at the B&B, and quickly realized she'd said the wrong thing.       “Why don't you stay here?” Marian frowned. “You can use your old room.”        “I don't want to impose.”        “This is your home, Kat.”        “Is it really, though?” Kat asked. She immediately wished she could snatch the words back, but they hung in the air like a guillotine blade poised to drop.         “I see,” Marian said tightly. “Well, if that's how you feel, then you can of course go. I hope you’ll at least show up at the Christmas Eve party at the restaurant.”       “The ugly sweater party? You still do that?”       “We still do a lot of things here,” Marian said. “You'd know if you'd ever bothered to come home.”       “I didn't come home because I didn't think you'd want to see me, considering you practically disowned me when I left,” Kat ground out.

      “We did no such thing. Don't be dramatic.”       “I’m going to the B&B.” Kat stood, her face hot. Dana followed her down the hall.        “Come on Kat, please don't go,” she said.        “I knew this was a bad idea.” Kat shoved her arms into her coat sleeves.         “You needed to come home,” Dana said, expression stern and at odds with that stupid reindeer headband. She grabbed Kat’s arm as she prepared to march outside.         “Please come to the ugly sweater party,” she said, and the naked plea in her tone evaporated some of Kat’s anger. She sighed. “I'll be there,” she muttered. “But I don't have an ugly sweater.”          “I have one for you.”          “Of course you do.” Kat looked at her sister with fondness and exasperation, promising again that she'd be there. It was a tradition her parents had hosted for years. Christmas Eve brunch and a spirited ugly sweater contest. The only time they had ever skipped it was the year Zach died, because they had to make funeral preparations instead.       After a night spent tossing and turning, Kat ventured out into the snowy wonderland of her hometown and wandered aimlessly. She saw everything in double, like a sequence of before and after shots. She rounded the corner onto Main. Old habits. She drew to a halt and stared at the restaurant across the street. Her grandfather had started the place, naming it Mabel’s in honor of her grandma. It was now a Belbridge institution. Kat pulled her gaze away, but did a double take as a familiar face walked out, shrugging into a winter coat.      “Alex?” Kat only whispered his name but it was like he heard anyway, because he paused and looked up, catching her eye. He blinked in surprise, then smiled.      “Kat! You're really here.” Alex jogged across the street to where she stood. Kat remembered him in his tux on prom night. His shoulders were broader now, his face in slight need of a shave. His eyebrows lifted and she realized she was staring.       “I’m here,” she agreed.

       “I wasn't sure if Dana was just messing with me when she said you were coming back.”        “She strong-armed me into it.”        “I’m glad.”        Kat was suddenly a schoolgirl with a crush again, her cheeks heating.        “You on your way to Mabel’s?” he asked and she quickly shook her head.         “Want to come with me then? I promised Mrs. Vernicek I’d come fix her decorations. The Santa on her roof fell down.”          “What a tragedy.”           Alex had the same old pickup he'd driven in high school, a faded blue hunk of metal with a bench seat that he lovingly kept in running condition. After he’d rescued poor Santa and narrowly avoided sliding off the roof himself, he asked if Kat wanted to grab a drink. She planned on having a few sips of eggnog and reminiscing about old times, but the universe cared little for Kat’s plans. The eggnog was strong and in the morning she did not wake up in her room at the B&B.       “Hell of a way to reminisce,” she muttered, her head swimming slightly.        “Who needs reminiscing when you can just do a prom night reenactment,” Alex said. Kat smacked him in the face with a pillow.        “God, is that the time?” she groaned. “I’m going to be late for the ugly sweater party.”       “I’m going too. I'll give you a ride.”       Kat was pulling her boots on when Alex stepped out of his room wearing a garish red and yellow sweater that had a plastic T-Rex head hanging off of it, over the words “Merry T-Rexmas.” She stared at him in abject horror.       “What? Ugly is the goal,” he grinned. Kat grimaced at the thought of what Dana had picked for her. Kat only had one leg out of the truck when her sister accosted her.       “I tried to bring you your sweater this morning but you weren't at the B&B,” Dana said. Her eyes scanned the truck and she seemed to recognize it, her gaze then traveling to Alex as he got out and waved. Kat wanted to disappear as Dana’s expression morphed into a knowing little sister smirk.      “Oh. I see. You were spreading holiday cheer.”       “Just give me my sweater,” Kat griped, snatching the thing out of Dana’s arms. She tugged it over her head and looked down to see the damage. It was tye-dye, with a sequined snowman flashing a peace sign.        “This is a crime against humanity,” she said darkly. Dana grabbed pulled her inside. Kat was about to say she was only staying long enough to eat an omelet but the words died as she entered Mabel’s.       Her first couple of years in New York had been rough. Sleeping on a friend’s couch, eating ramen noodles most nights. She'd taken pictures of everything, experimenting with light and angles. She sold some of her prints on Etsy and started a photography Instagram. She'd finally gotten to showcase some of her cityscape work at an exhibition and had some success. Her Instagram blew up, and she now had actual clients and her own website selling prints of her photos.       Now, hanging on the walls of Mabel’s, were a collection of those photos. There were professional shots from her website, but there were others too. Photos she'd taken while still a teenager, on the tripod Zach had bought her. Displayed prominently over the counter was one from the day she'd opened it, when she made Zach and Dana pose with her in front of a pile of autumn leaves. Zach had tossed her into it right after, and she’d recruited Dana to help her retaliate.

      “They've been following your work since I found your Instagram,” Dana explained. Kat just gaped, eyes stinging. Her parents were coming toward her, in matching hideous orange sweaters.       “We wanted to show you how proud we are,” Marian said. “Dana suggested we put them up…is it alright?”       Kat had never seen her parents nervous, and the sight of it now unraveled the knot of anger she'd been carrying.       “I love it,” she said. She hugged her mom for the first time in years, their own Christmas miracle. Dana was grinning, and Alex was smiling too, standing there in his God-awful sweater. And there was Zach, smiling down at her from the photo she'd taken. Kat didn't expect to repair the cracks in her family’s foundation overnight, but as she savored this little moment, this snapshot in time, she figured it was a pretty good start.


The aftermath of my family's backyard Christmas lunch always resembles a festive warzone. The flies, ever the opportunists, descend to finish off our leftovers. Their gentle buzz is audible above some popstar's pitchy attempt at a holiday hit. Having had enough of the cheery screeching, I cross the destruction of winter-themed decorations and soiled paper plates to shut down Mum’s brandless Bluetooth speaker. As the music vanishes and the flies chorus intensifies, I survey the carnage as it bakes in the afternoon heat. Usually, I would be helping clear it all away before we settled into our food comas. This year, it has been left to rot thanks to my inability to keep my mouth shut, causing the family to clear out instead.                I look at the novelty wall clock my parents crack out at this time of year. It accompanies every other mismatched discount store holiday decoration that adorns the back patio. An underweight Santa and his disjointed arms inch closer to twelve and three. If only I could conjure up some Christmas movie-like miracle to rewind his toothpick-thin limbs earlier in the day. I might be able to tell myself to stay home or perhaps go and help the kids put their presents together when the lunchtime conversation turned ugly. Since that would not happen, I just had to sit in this mess I had created.                The growing dampness on my forehead trickles down into my eye. I blink furiously to restore clarity to my vision and look around again at the season's reds, greens, and whites. Why do Australians insist on decorating with the winter themes of the northern hemisphere? It would be more appropriate if the wrapping paper littering the ground had pictures of pine trees on fire instead of being surrounded by snowflakes. I imagine a different reality where my family lives in another part of the world, trapped by snow and forced to stare uncomfortably at each other. The only hazard here is a smoke haze, so everyone had the chance to disperse after I decided to do the unthinkable.                Is this churn in my stomach from eating more prawns than one person needs to? Or is it the growing guilt of disrupting the peace? Either way, I am growing weary of the nausea. So, I stand up and jiggle Santa’s tiny arms back to a time before I opened my big mouth.                All I did was mess around with a cheap Christmas clock. But in my mind, I flashback to the moment I awoke in my childhood bedroom earlier that day. The room that, for years, had been preserved as a museum to my youth. However, it had eventually been transformed into a bed and breakfast that only ever had one visitor. Naturally, that one visitor was me.                A slither of sunlight blinded me through that one part of the window the vertical blinds could not reach. It gave me a déjà vu of Christmas mornings from my younger years. Only now, I was not catapulting out of bed to discover the gifts I had been deemed worthy of. Instead, I was mildly annoyed at being woken earlier than was my norm. The silver lining was the smell of eggs and bacon finding its way to my nostrils from the kitchen at the end of the hall.                My parent's single-story home was typical suburban fare. A fibro shack that had been bricked over once the government decided they no longer wished to house low-income earners in the area. The living room and kitchen could be easily confused for a photo gallery. The long hallway provided a runway to three modest-sized bedrooms, a laundry, and a bathroom. All with floorboards so well polished you could see your reflection in them. Its actual selling point was the size of the front and back yards. Both seemed like football fields compared to what you get in a modern housing development. That is probably why we always had Christmas lunch here. My inner-city shoebox (apartment) and my three siblings’ new-century family homes paled compared to the hospitality our parents could offer.                ‘Joseph, my love, get out here and join your old parents for a champagne breakfast,’ came my mother's shrill voice from the kitchen.                ‘Coming, Mum,’ I replied as I dragged myself out of bed. I cracked open a window to let some air in on my way out. A heatwave had been forecasted, and my room felt like a sauna.                My parents had laid out quite the spread for me. Even though I had not spent the holidays at home in years. There were towers of croissants, pancakes, scrambled eggs, and whatever else Mum had thought was appropriate for three people to start their day.                ‘It is so good to have you home, son,’ Dad said as he raised a glass of sparkling wine. Buying actual champagne would have broken the budget. However, the mass-produced Australian sparkling did not completely offend the palette.                It warmed my heart how much they enjoyed the rare occurrence of my presence. It seemed to annoy the living hell out of my brothers and sisters in equal measure. Although they had yet to arrive, I was happy to enjoy the quality time.                A dramatic jingle filtered in from the lounge room. Dad always loved watching the news on Christmas day. It made him chuckle when they peppered in interviews with shopping centre Santas between updates of everything wrong with the world. Cities were being choked with smoke from raging bushfires, and a brutal war was expanding on the other side of the world. The latter was now a Grinch on my parent’s TV.                ‘Bloody hell,’ said Dad, his voice garbled by a mouthful of eggs. ‘You think they could give it a rest on Christmas day.’                ‘People are dying, Dad. Also, parts of the world are in flames. It is not something that takes a break,’ I replied.                Dad raised one of his bushy eyebrows at me, scrunching up the wrinkles on every corner of his face. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘They can still tone it down on the news for one day.’                ‘There was supposed to be a ceasefire for today. Sounds like it didn’t happen,’ I said with a sigh.                ‘Right enough of all this,’ Mum said as she sprung from her chair. Even though she sat with us to eat, she still wore her Mrs Claus-themed apron. You had to admire a woman who ate one meal dressed to prepare the next. Her silver hair bounced up and down as she ferried plates and trays between the dining table and kitchen. Some remained completely untouched due to their lack of necessity amongst the kaleidoscope of breakfast offerings she had made available.                ‘Can I help with anything, Mum?’                ‘Don’t bother, mate,’ Dad interjected. His speech showed a hint of the effects of the cheap sparkling. ‘You know your mother is a one-woman band today.’                Regardless of Dad’s advice, I tried to aid her efforts. We ducked and weaved around each other as we stacked the dishwasher and filled Tupperware containers. Our domestic ballet continued for some time. It evolved into a roast meats and cold seafood production line for the impending lunch. The flurry of activity kept me so preoccupied that I barely even noticed Santa’s shorter arm moving closer to ten. That meant it was almost time for the others to arrive.

               My two brothers and one sister each exploded through the reefed front door with enormous bags of gifts. They looked so heavy that carrying them around would likely lead to attractive muscle gains. The only thing that looked more exhausting was the horde of children that accompanied each of them. I have almost lost count of how many nieces and nephews I have. The fertility of my siblings and their partners was unmatched.                ‘Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence,’ said my sister Joanna sarcastically. Given her tone, I would have thought she was unhappy to see me. However, she still leaned in to kiss my cheek without dropping her cargo of wrapped festive goodness. ‘Where’s the boyfriend?’ She asked, knowing full well I was ending this year single.                ‘Good to see you too, sis.’ I said with a smirk. She rolled her brown eyes and pushed past me. I watched her intently as her shoulder-length brown hair and purple dress disappeared into the kitchen. She was followed by her giant of a husband, Sam. He forced a handshake in my direction as he herded their four pre-pubescent and flame-haired children into the living room. Sam and I rarely saw eye-to-eye, both literally and figuratively. It was best to get the pleasantries out of the way and hope we do not get seated next to each other later.                I remained at the door as the informal greeting party. My brother Jack and his wife Simone came in with their three tween girls. Each had the same platinum blonde hair reaching down to their legs, just like their mum. Jack still had them all wearing his footy teams’ colours. Even though their grand final win was now several months in the past. Jack embraced me as he always does. He was the only one of my brothers who was a hugger.                Finally, John and his partner Belinda appeared in the doorway. They had never married because she did not believe in it. She was also thirteen years his senior and had been there, done that. Their newborn baby was hanging off John’s broad shoulders; I felt a little embarrassed that I could not remember his name. Belinda had also brought her adult son, whom she had named Kale. So, one could assume that the baby's name was perhaps chia or quinoa.                Before anyone could settle in, Mum forced all the siblings to stand before the Kmart tree, which had been overstuffed with baubles. She awkwardly held her second-generation iPad up to get what would no doubt be a grainy photo. I was glad the new iPad I had for her under the tree would mean never again seeing her fumbling with that frayed hot pink cover.                Our arms snapped away from each other’s shoulders as quickly as it took to snap the photo. I looked at each of their faces for a moment. It was like travelling through time, given how much we all looked alike. The same rounded chins, blue eyes, and brown hair. Jack had a slightly more chiselled appearance, given his love of playing sports. However, the distractions of fatherhood are making themselves known around his midsection. I was the upper middle child, with Joanna as the oldest and the heaviest. Her weight had been undulating for years, and it would not have surprised me if she was on some new trendy diet. Usually, one that Sam had insisted she try.                With introductions over, the anarchy was given the green light to commence. The kids attacked their presents under the tree like dogs driven ravenous by the taste of blood. Mum and Joanna tried in vain to form a human shield between them and their bounty. They were hoping for a civil ceremony where each child holds up their gifts for a photo. Instead, they got shreds of paper covering the entire rainbow of colours, flinging into the air like wheat being harvested by a tractor. One child chucked a tantrum because they didn’t get some game they wanted. Meanwhile, another had their worldview altered by an older sibling admitting that Santa was not real. The tears and sounds that followed probably had the neighbours thinking we were torturing someone.                ‘The actual war is less violent than this,’ Belinda said jokingly. She did not seem phased by the lack of anyone laughing with her.                Thankfully, the adults performed their exchange with a lot more disinterest. Each unwrapping was followed by a high-pitched feigning of excitement or a promise that receipts had been kept. I'm pretty sure we all just wanted to get it out of the way so we could dive into the feast Mum had been preparing. At that point, I noticed Santa had unnaturally extended both arms towards the twelve. It was time to move outside and eat. My brothers had emptied multiple cans of beer whilst Joanna and I were not shy with the prosecco. I offered to open a fresh bottle to try and melt the usual ice between us. As I went to pour, Sam quickly guarded the rim of her glass with his hand. ‘You might want to slow down a bit, babe.’ Sam said in his gruff voice whilst glaring at me. His military-style buzz cut and box-shaped head made him slightly intimidating, so I headed the warning. He diverted his eyes back towards my sister. She chose not to meet his gaze and instead found a spot on the ground to focus on. Once he returned to his prior conversation with John, I poured her drink anyway. I cannot remember the last time she smiled at me like that. ‘Come and get it,’ Mum shouted from the makeshift buffet on flimsy fold-out tables. Another bloodbath ensued as adults and children alike piled up their plates. The rush was unnecessary, given there was enough food to feed the entire street. Supermarket crackers popped around the table. Colourful paper hats appeared on heads, and the world's worst jokes were told. Dad claimed not to tell the jokes was “un-Australian,” and honestly, it was cute how he laughed at each one. ‘Are you burning something on the barbeque, Dad?’ John asked as he grabbed another round of beers from the ice bin. There was a smell of ash and burning in the air, but it was not from the cooking. ‘Just the fires again, mate,’ Dad replied. He glanced at a smoke haze rolling into the yard like a morning fog. It dulled the summer sun and my sense of taste. ‘Bloody arsonists,’ Sam said bluntly. ‘We should be pouring taxpayer money into tracking them all down instead of all this climate change bullshit.’ ‘You believe that?’ Jack asked whilst screwing up his nose. ‘Mate, the only manmade thing about these fires is the crooks starting them,’ Sam said as he turned to Joanna. ‘All those bleeding-heart lefties like your mates on Facebook, babe. All she does is let them brainwash her instead of doing anything around the house.’ Joanna and everyone else fell silent. I opened another bottle. The savoury delights of lunch were replaced with the sweet treats of dessert. We all forced bowls of lopsided pavlova, fruit cake and trifle into our bursting stomachs. Conversations around the table drifted away from the fires and toward sports. That was until Belinda found a way to force conspiracy theories into the discourse. ‘There is no way he is getting vaccinated,’ she said in response to a query from mum about the baby. ‘He needs to build his natural immunity. The program is a government hoax to prop up the big pharmaceuticals.’ There was never any arguing with her once she got going. I had long since given up on trying to understand her worldview. I drained another drink to stop myself from saying anything. Belinda wiped a clump of a trifle from her plump face with a serviette and said, ‘Times have changed since you raised your kids, Betty,’ she told my mother. ‘John and I will raise this baby our way if you don’t mind.’ This caused my mother to start clearing plates with furious anger. Her desire for the perfect day overruled the compulsion to bite back. ‘Shame the Christmas ceasefire didn’t stick,’ said Jack to change the subject. I don’t know why the war was his topic of choice. ‘Oh, don’t get me started,’ Belinda said, slurring. No one had noticed how much chardonnay she had put away. She always had plenty of wine capacity. ‘The media is just blowing it all out of proportion. It is just a distraction from those governments to make money off…’ ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I interrupted abruptly. The booze had given me the courage to speak up instead of keeping me silent. ‘Thousands of people are dying or starving every day, and you are honestly going just to spin your bullshit theories?’ ‘All I am saying is…’ ‘No, I don’t want to hear any more of it. We always listen to what you are saying. Entire countries are without food, this one is burning alive, and all you can do is sit there with your tinfoil hat on.’ ‘You might finally keep the weight off if you lived there,’ Sam said, chuckling to Joanna. ‘ What! ’ I exclaimed. ‘That is your wife, man. The mother of your children. What kind of an asshole speaks to his partner like that.’ ‘Mind your own bloody business, Joseph,’ Sam snapped back. ‘Joseph honey, maybe go for a walk?’ Mum pleaded. ‘No, I will not mind my own business. You’re a dickhead, and you don’t deserve my sister.’ My heart was racing from a mixture of intoxication and adrenaline. I turned to Belinda, ‘and you, with your selfish opinions and shitty parenting. Just shut the hell up. You all wonder why I never visit; this crap is why.’ ‘Get the kids. We are leaving,’ Sam said as he dragged Joanna away from the table by the elbow. Belinda ordered John and the surprisingly silent Kale to the car. Everyone else slowly peeled off, unable to handle the tension left behind in my drunken wake. My mother was crying, so Dad took her for a walk to give me some space. With that, here I am, back in the present. I am trying not to cough as smoke fills my lungs. I feel a vibration against my leg and pull out my phone. There is a text message from John that reads, way to go . And another from Joanna that says, I love you .


“Why did you give Gertrude the Baker a bat as a familiar?” Esmeralda asked, placing her pointed hat on her desk and leaning back in her chair. Her silvery curls spilled out, framing her sharply featured face. I shrugged and gave her my winning smile. “It was her arms,” I said. “They were the flabbiest I’d ever seen and she wouldn’t stop waving them around and shrieking in excitement. Boom. Bat familiar, perfect match.” A column of swirling smoke rose from her pipe as she held it between her teeth. “It seems you didn’t think about the fact that she is in the free-range child business, did you?” She replied. “With that giant bat flopping around, it’s scaring all the kids away. She’s only been able to lure two kids into her shack since then and they’ve been goth kids. Do you know how much extra work they require to prepare, removing all the piercings and so on?” “I’m sorry Miss Esmeralda,” I murmured. “Next time I’ll consider a puppy or a predatory balloon.” “By Hecate, I swear!” she snapped, sparks flying from her pipe to mirror her frustration. “Puppies turn to slavering dogs; Float-a-chokes would eat her supply of brats. Last month you give nearly blind sorcerer a snake as a companion. He mistook it for his wand and got bit a week later.” “Everyone makes mistakes,” I said. “He had a problem with rats eating his potion ingredients. I thought it would help.” “He died, Oswald,” she snapped. “Familiars and Friends has been in business for over a thousand years, and this is the first time we’ve ever been sued. If I lose the company my grandfather founded, I’ll banish you to one of Neptune’s moons, I swear it! Now go clean the kennels before the next client comes in.” I lowered my gaze and slunk out of her office. Okay, so maybe some of my matches have resulted in fires, businesses going under, and the occasional death - they all seemed like good ideas at the time. Perhaps they would have been good matches if it were not for them being used in spells and their dark workings. They were seen as tools, little more. Maybe if they spent the time to become friends and communicate, things would turn out a little differently. Maybe that entire suburb wouldn’t have been shifted into another dimension. With bucket and mop in hand, I made my way through the stone and mortar halls, scrubbing down the pens and taking ample time to scratch a black cat behind the ears and dispense treats to the otherwise squirmy and neglected sorts. Through my patrols and scouring, I finally came across a large door - the largest and heaviest of the lot. Runes of warning were carved into it, flashing red, and four massive locks kept it held shut. Even the faded streaks of blood and desperate claw marks pulling into it would frighten off most. But I couldn’t help but smile as I entered, and before I could even put my keys away I was met with a deep and thunderous snarl like the coming of a great storm, a snarl that seemed to echo with the dark and ominous incantations. “Muckle!” I said throwing my arms wide. “Good to see you too!” The hell beast crouched in the corner of the room, with a coat as black as coal and a single eye on the right side that smoldered red like the heart of flame itself. The other eye had been lost when he had eaten his first handler, and the next few didn’t last so well either. But he and I always seemed to get along well enough. Cleaning up after Muckle, however, was about as easy as you would expect for a ravenous dog almost as large as a horse. He came to Familiars and Friends when he was just a puppy and was thought to be some street mutt. It wasn’t until he made a meal of Jasper the Beastmaster that they became suspicious of his true nature. Strangely enough, the scent of sulfur didn’t give him away sooner. Muckle picked up a gnawed fragment of a ribcage and plodded over to me and dropped his offering at my feet, unleashing a gale of fetid breath as he tried to lick me. “Who didja bring me here,” I asked. “Is that a bit of… old Samuel? How sweet of you, sharing with me.” I gave him a good scratch behind the ears and rested my head on his muzzle. He was a gentle enough spirit once you got to know him, and put aside his history of devouring those who displeased him - and my love wasn’t feigned. I think he knew it, too, with affectionate snarling and snapping when I drew near. I felt like he understood me, almost as much as I understood him. A sudden crackling filled the air, and a nasally voice spilled from the wooden speaker in the corner of the room. “Oswald, a new client has entered admissions,” said Janice the secretary. “I’ll be back soon,” I said to Muckle, giving him a pat on the snout before rushing out the door. I stashed my mop and bucket in the closet and paused by the window which opened into a room enchanted to feel like a meadow where bunnies hopped joyfully. I focused more on my reflection and made myself presentable before rushing off towards the entrance. I staggered in, winded, and finding a young lady sitting at the table. She seemed lost in her thoughts, absently twirling a lock of her long, sapphire hair around her fingers. “Pleasure to meet you,” I said, introducing myself. She stood and gave a faint curtsy, keeping her eyes down. “My name is Misty,” he spoke softly. “I’m hoping you can help me find a proper familiar.” “Tell me what it is that you do, and what you need!” I said in my usual spiel. “I am a botanist, I spend a lot of time outdoors to find ingredients for potions,” she said. “Anything that could help would be nice.” I tapped my finger to my chin and nodded a few times as ideas flitted about my head like moths hypnotized by a lamp. “Well then,” I said confident in my conclusions - as I always was. “Let’s go on and find you a familiar!” I led Misty through the warrens and introduced her to a number of our more outdoorsy and mild familiars. “Meet Sir Stetchen! He’s covered in dangerous needles, can burrow, and loves nature,” I said, holding out a small hedgehog in cupped hands. “This one was bred for the spines to be venomous!” Her eyes soften and a faint smile pulled at her lips, which was the most of a reaction that I had gotten from her. I had thought for sure that the swarm of carnivorous butterflies would have been a good match - clearing away any insects from the herbs she sought, as well as handling any enemies she may have earned. But instead, she sighed and moved along. If Sir Stetchen could get a reaction, however, maybe one of the other rodents could catch her attention. “How do you feel about… Bunnies?” I asked. Part of me felt as though it would be a poor choice, considering they might eat the plants she needed but surely he wouldn’t be responsible for burning down a library this time. Damn, bunnies were flammable little things, and warlocks used far too many candles in their rituals. Misty shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt to meet them.” “Excellent,” I said as I lead her down the hall I had been cleaning earlier. “Maestro Llipa can turn into multiple rabbits when frightened, but always pulls back together after a few moments. Great amusement, but the cleanup can… can.” I found the words knotting up in my throat as my eyes traced the paw prints that were sunk into the stone, leading to the splintered door that led into the rabbit habitat - or the rabbitat as we in the business called it. Okay, maybe only I called it that. I looked through the window to find Muckle sitting there, a tatter of white fluff contrasting his ebon coat hanging from the corner of his mouth. He let out one of his snarls and the glass of the window rattled and quaked as if it could break at any moment. “Let’s ah… go back over there shall we?” I said with concerned joviality, but Misty stood planted firmly at the window. “He’s… perfect,” she said, her amber eyes growing wide. “I would have never guessed you to have a black shuck in your possession, considering… well, you know.” I nodded knowingly because I did indeed know. I knew better than old Samuel and so many others who met their fate in Muckle’s maw. Misty turned to me, brimming with excitement. It was the most emotion she had shown since they had met. “Bring the paperwork,” she said, then crooked a beckoning finger towards Muckle, who bounded out of the door with such force that he slammed against the wall, which brought a bright peal of laughter from Misty. “Come with me,” I said, swallowing hard as I led them back towards the office. My quill swung back and forth, sending flecks of black ink all hither and thither as I nervously eyed Muckle who had resigned himself to sitting in the corner, growling and staring straight ahead with his glaring red eye. “Alright,” I said as I pushed the vellum forward. “Sign and date here, here and… initials here… rune of binding and drop of blood there. Alright, by the power vested in me by Zavrael the Bitter Lord, I pronounce you Witch and Familiar.” I didn’t know if my sadness was because I knew that she was inevitably going to be eaten by the beast, or because Muckle was leaving. I had watched him grow from a small sulfurous whelp to the magnificent young shuck that he was now. Mop, feed, scoop the poop, mop, repeat. Unfortunately, none of the furry friends - or their poops - were as interesting as my dear friend. It felt like just yesterday he spilled out of the crate filled with straw and a deer carcass. The smell never quite improved, but our bond flourished. The familiar sound of static filled the air, and I picked up the bucket in preparation to head to admissions. But instead of Janice, Esmeralda’s voice boomed overhead, taking me off guard. “Oswald to my office - NOW!” I dropped my bucket in a strike of fear, and slowly made my way up the stairs, dread boiling in my guts like a cauldron full of poison. Esmeralda sat at her desk, pipe held so tightly in her teeth it seemed like she would bite through it as she sat blowing a column of sparkling red smoke. “The demon-damned Black Shuck?!” She snapped through her clenched teeth. “I thought that I had that thing put to sleep. You thought it was a brilliant idea to sign it off as a familiar? You’re more of a fool than I thought.” “She was fully aware of what Muckle is,” I said defiantly. “He seemed to take quite a liking to her.” Esmeralda rolled her eyes. “Of course he did. He was trying to get her guard down so he could eat her, no doubt!” I wrung my hands and furtively looked around her desk for a report. “Did he eat her?” I asked, not finding any such indication that he had. “Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time! We’ll have to close our doors for good when it happens.” She slammed a small bag of coins on the table. “Take this, your last pay. Get out of here before you do any more damage.” I stared at the coin purse, taken by chill despite the warmth of my blushing cheeks. I had never felt so ashamed, failing despite my best efforts. Everything felt I did felt like the right thing to do. Unable to find the proper words, I took my payment and left. She was right. It was a bad decision to sign Muckle up as a familiar. I walked the busy streets, bundles of parchments detailing my history and talents tucked under my arm. It was difficult to find work in the line of matchmaking and beast tending. Even more so when you left a swath of destruction in your wake. Screams roused me from my grousing, and I looked up to see a crowd of frantic faces as the people charged towards me with little disregard for the fact that they knocked me square on my back. Before I could even right myself, a massive presence bounded upon me. It’s sharply clawed paws pinned my shoulders down and all I could see was a great maw of dagger-like fangs opening before me. Sulfurous breath choked me, and I was fairly certain I could see the decaying remnants of a hand in the back of its throat. I always knew my death would involve getting eaten by a beast or monster, but I always suspected it would be in the line of duty, not being ripped apart in the streets. But the maw of fangs did not close around me. I craned my head around to see a solitary red eye glaring at me menacingly. “Muckle?” I asked incredulously. “Is that really you?” The beast let out a strange snarl that echoed with thunder and familiar incantations. I laughed and reached up to run my fingers through his coarse black fur. “It’s lovely to see you, too!” “Sir? Sir, are you still alive?” asked a young woman running up to where I lay pinned. “Oh, I know you; you’re the gentleman who helped me meet Muckle!” “Naturally,” I said, beaming a smile at Misty who extended her hand to help me onto my feet. “He’s been better at going after people, but I knew something was important when he bounded through the streets towards you. He didn’t even stop to torment the children as he loves to do,” She gave Muckle a pat on the back and returned my smile. “I can’t thank you enough. With him as my familiar, I’ve gone about a change career.” “I fear that has culminated in quite the same for me,” I replied offhand. “But it brings me joy that he is helping you.” Muckle let out a snarl and nuzzled Misty. “I’ve come to think of him more as my emotional support monster than a familiar,” she said. “And then it made me realize, why don’t I start a home for misplaced monsters and those who need them?” I looked at the two of them, Muckle seeming happier than I’d ever known, and Misty who moved and spoke with a newfound passion, rather than the haunting distance she kept before. “The only thing is that they tend to frighten and scare people away. It’s been rather hard finding good help,” she continued. My eyes grew wide and I looked around for my resume, finding a copy on the ground I lifted it up. It had gotten sullied and a little worse for wear from Muckle’s tackle. However, it bore his paw print in the middle. I handed the parchment to Misty, who chuckled. “It looks like you have quite the mark of recommendation,” she said with a twinkle in her amber eyes. “Let’s get started, I have some unhatched terrorantula eggs that will need a lot of care, patience, and a loving parent once they hatch.”


The Great War was wreaking havoc everywhere. Not only were we losing people, good, hard working people, we were losing great players to the draft. Being a musician was tough as it is, but being a female musician in 1917… it wasn’t easy.

I had a gig tonight in Chicago, the Windy City. I lived an hour away on horseback, around five on foot, assuming I got a ride, that is. I liked walking, though. Nature was a second home to me, after my mama died. Daddy made me help with the chores, and while I hated it back then, I was sure grateful for it now. I was independent, which was so uncommon nowadays, all these women thinking they needed a man. It was pathetic. I was startled out of my reverie by a horn. A blackk car slowed down, some rich old man probably looking for an easy girl. I braced myself, preparing for the worst, but to my surprise, it was a young man, older than me, but still on the young side. “You need a ride, ma’am?” He asked. “That depends. What way are ya headed?” “Well where else? The Windy City of course. There ain’t nothing the way you’re going ‘cept that,” he smiled, revealing straight, pearly whites. He was either blessed or his parents had some money. Most probably the latter. “So you want a ride?” “Yes, if you don’t mind, that is. I don’t want to step on any toes.” “Naw, there’s no toe stepping here,” he got out of his car and the only thing I could think was how big he was. I wasn’t short by no means, a whopping five foot nine, but this man completely towered over me. He had cropped, brown hair that looked like it was consistently styled. Ah, so he was from money. He walked around the front of his car, stopping in front of me. I craned my neck to look up at this giant of a man.

“I can take your instrument, if you like,” he reached for it, but I pulled it back to see how he’d respond.

His hand fell away and I could see a smile start to lift the corners of his mouth. He walked back to the car and opened the back door. “Or I can at least get the door for you.” I walked over to put my daddy’s trumpet inside, then took a seat in the front before he could get my door. The engine sputtered, then I heard it crank. He took off, leaving the small spot where I’d been standing in the dust. “So what’s a lady like you doing out here in between Chicago and nowhere?” “I have a show tonight, and I figured I’d leave a little early, see the city during daylight.” He looked at me, incredulous, “You mean to tell me you walk alone at night?” “Yes sir,” I bristled a bit. “Do you have anything to protect yourself?”

“Now if I told you that, I would no longer have the element of surprise.” I heard him chuckle, then laugh, “I like you. You got spunk, that’s for sure. My name’s Thomas, but my friends call me Tom.” “Well, Tom, my name’s Elspeth, but everyone calls me Ellie.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, we shook hands. I liked him, I realized. He wasn’t sexist like most of the men I was inclined to meet. He didn’t frown when I let my opinion be known. Yeah, Tom was okay The rest of the ride to Chicago was pleasant, conversation coming easy. I directed him to the speakeasy I was playing at, and he pulled close to the sidewalk. “You said you were going to explore the city,” he paused for a minute. “Would you like me to drive you?” “No, I can’t impose any longer. You’ve already done enough. I thank you for the offer though. Hopefully our paths will cross again someday. I’ve enjoyed your company, Tom.” I ducked out of his car, trumpet in hand, and walked through the back door. Even before the club opened, it was booming with life. The club’s owner, Bruce, was ordering everyone around, trying to get the performers situated.

“Ellie!” I heard him yell. “Good to see you again. How’s my favorite cowpoke doing?” “Doing fine, Bruce, doing fine. Where do I need to go?” “Just set ‘er down anywhere in the back. I’ll have the boys take it back later. You still on for 9:30?” “Yes sir, if that’s still okay with you.” “El, you know it is. We love having you play. In my book, you’re one of the greats.” I smiled as I sat my trumpet down, “Thanks, Bruce.” He’d already moved on to something else. I figured since it was only five o’ clock, I’d get to roam around the city for a while. Stepping back through the back door, I told myself I’d only shop around for two hours, giving myself plenty of time to get ready for the performance. There was a black car idling in the lot outside, but I barely gave it any thought as I walked down the busy street.

The first store I came across was a nice dress store off of main street. I opened the door for a few women and was about to go in when a hand landed on my shoulder. Not giving it a second thought, I spun and landed an elbow in the person’s stomach. The man, he was definitely a man because he was way taller than me, doubled over. His face, now level with mine, was familiar. “Tom?” I asked. “What on Earth?” He groaned as he hobbled outside. I trailed after him, now guilty I’d hit him. “Man, El, that was a good punch,” he clutched his side. “An elbow, actually, but thanks.” He laughed as we walked down the bustling street. “So, why did you grab me?” I asked. “Well, I wanted to get your attention, but I didn’t really think you’d pummel me,” “You think that’s pummeling? Have you never been in a fight before, Tom?” “Can’t say I make a habit of it,” We walked in silence for a while, watching the passersby. I looked up at the clock and almost jumped. It was way past time for me to go. “Listen, Tom, I gotta go. I’m performing in less than an hour and I’m still in my street clothes. Thanks for walking around with me.” I shot up from the bench we’d sat down at, but before I could get far, Tom grabbed my wrist, “Wait! Can I come to your show tonight?” “Yeah. Nobody’s stopping you.” “I know, but I didn’t want to intrude.” “Intrude? On me?” I laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well, no one’s ever really cared if they ‘intruded’ on me or not, so I guess I just find it funny.” “What do you mean no one cared?” I let out a sigh, “No one cares about a poor farm girl’s opinions. No one cares for a woman's opinion period. But to answer your question, no I don’t mind at all if you come watch me, but I’m running out of time.” He released me, but followed close behind as I ran back toward the club. When I walked in, Bruce was having a conniption. There was already a guy playing on stage and I was the fifth one playing tonight.

“Sorry, Brucie. I’ll be ready in time.” “And who the hell is that?” He asked, pointing to Tom. “He’s good. He’s with me. Just get him a good seat.” I ran back to my changing room, picking a dress at random and pulling it over my head. I washed my face and applied a little blush before grabbing my trumpet and warming up. I had just enough time to do so before Bruce dragged me out on stage. I looked down to see the piece I was playing, a version of ‘Ragtime’, then,

one of my favorites, the Maytime Waltz. Daddy used to play this song for me and Momma while she taught me to waltz. I sat down on my stool and let my fingers fly across the valves. Themusic consumed me, a feeling I had craved for a long time after Daddy passed from smallpox last year. Jazz was one of the only things in life that truly made me happy. Besides talking with Tom today, I hadn’t had fun since I don’t know when. Making music was one of the few things I could do to make people happy. And I was good at it. When my set ended, I walked off the stage with applause following me off the stage. I smiled to myself, hoping I’d made someone's night. Finally, dressing back down to go back into the crowd, I walked out of my dressing room, almost running into a tall man by the door. I tried to breeze past him, but he grabbed my arm. “What’s a little lady like you doing in there? You don’t belong on a stage. Women folk these days don’t belong nowhere but in the kitchen. It’s about time you learned that.” He started pulling me against him, and before I could defend myself, I heard a thud and the tall man went down. Standing behind him was Tom, holding a lamp in his hand. “Thought you might need some help,” he said, his face turning white. “Tom! What are you doing? I can take care of myself.” “He said you belonged in a kitchen. The place you belong is on stage in front of millions of people, bringing them joy with your music. You have a gift, El. Don’t let these people cut you down.” “You think I haven’t dealt with people like him before? I’ve had to swim upriver from the time I first started playing. Men don’t think women are better than they are. At anything. You did not have to knock this guy out. I’m used to it.” “Yeah, but you shouldn’t be. It’s not right.” “There’s a lot of things not right in this world, but you know what? We have to deal with it anyway. If you don’t learn to deal with it, life just keeps beating you down until you have nothing left. So, Tom, please tell me how a privileged white boy like yourself knows anything about what goes on that’s not right?” He

ran his hands through his hair, “There’s a lot of things you don’t know, El. You want to know the reason I have a car? The reason I wear nice clothes?” He reached down and pulled up his pant leg revealing a wooden foot. “I think I know a whole hell of a lot more than you know. I was one of the idiots who signed up for this damn war. Thought a poor farm boy could make a difference. But you know what you get for trying to save the world, or in my case, my squad? Shrapnel in the leg so bad you have to get it cut off. I spent two years in therapy, paid for by the blessed government of course. I decided to use the rest of my money to do something for myself, so I invested in Henry Ford and his cars. It paid off, turns out. So yeah, I know exactly how unright the world is. And you know the kicker? I made friends on the battlefield and now I get to go to their funerals because I’m not there to save them.” His voice broke and so did my heart. I walked up to him and stood toe to toe with him, looking into his beautiful face. Now, it seemed, I noticed how weathered his face was, the small limp he still has. I wrapped my arms around him and felt him stiffen. Generally, I never got this close to anyone, and never so quickly, but there was something about Tom that got to me.

He stood there for a beat before engulfing me in his grasp. For the first time, I didn’t feel threatened in a man’s embrace. I suppose it was that moment that I decided I would keep this kind, empathetic man. Still hugging, I heard a cough from behind Tom. I peeked under Tom’s elbow to see Bruce, eyebrows raised, questioning us. I ducked from gods embrace and straightened my shirt, flushed that we were caught in a compromising position.

“We were… I mean, you caught us at a bad time. No, not like that,” I internally berated myself, cursing my blubbering.

I looked up to see Tom, a smirk on his handsome face, then turned to Bruce to see him laughing. “Ellie, in all my years, never have I seen you so flustered. And never over a guy. I say you keep this one,” Bruce smiled and I knew my reputation was still stellar in his book. He walked up to Tom, put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Son, you keep her out of trouble. Got it?” Tom looked down at me and smiled, which caused my stomach to do a stupid flip, “ I plan on it.” I raised an eyebrow, “Do I get a say in this?” “In love?” Bruce asked. “Not one little word. I know you’re used to controlling everything, but I’m afraid, my dear, that you have no control over this.” Tom slid an arm around my shoulder, and I made a face, “Wow, real classy. And who ever said I was in love?” Bruce looked me in the eye, “You’ve never brought a guy to the club in all your years here, so I figured you must be sweet on him. Plus, not every guy would slam a lamp into my very drunk doorman to rescue his gal.” “Who said I needed rescuing?” “Ellie, you need to stop being so indignant. If you want more proof, it’s all in the way you look at each other, like he’ll bring you the moon and like you’re his whole world. I know this is sudden, but sometimes, you have to have a little faith.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing. Bruce looked at me one more time before dragging his now unconscious doorman into a dressing room and locking the door. Then he strolled past us, whistling the tune to one of

my songs. How did I let this happen? Now, Tom and I were completely alone, and I didn’t know what was going to happen next. Would it be weird? How would he react? I looked into Tom’s eyes, and he kissed me before I knew what was happening. It was nice, I thought, to know that someone liked me, but it was so improper.

I pushed away, “Thomas! We can’t do that! We only just met today!” He looked me straight in the eye, “It feels like I’ve known you a lifetime.” He swooped down again, but hesitated, “I just need to know if you want this, want me, the same way I want you.” It was in that moment that I realized Tom was, quite possibly, the only person on this earth who cared for me this much, who respected me and my opinions. I knew I would forever regret not seeing where this was going, so I closed the gap and melded my lips with his, sealing my fate as well as his.


Taking notes from tuition, Rukmoni were walking in the road. Sky becoming dark around her. Wind were touching her silky hair and bright check . Listening songs and walking alone took her in other world. When she come back to home, it was 8 o'clock. She freshed an up and went to the chicken. Her father Mr. Roy will come with his friend's family to have dinner . Rukmoni had to assist her mother in making dinner. After cooking, Rukmoni's mother suggested her to wear saree. Around 10 pm her father reached home with his friend's family. Mr. Roy's friend had two sons Sujoy and Bijoy. After dinner the family stayed there.    Rukmoni woke up early in the morning. She went for a walk in a nearby park. There Rajdeep also come. Rajdeep was a college student. He was in final year. He saw Rukmoni and come to talk to her. Telling his name, Rajdeep gave his to shake with her. Rukmoni also shaked hand and introduced herself. Rajdeep said that he was doing B.A. Hearing that Rukmoni told him that she was doing M.A. Again they shaked hand and wished good bye each other.   Having launch, Mr. Roy and his friend discussed about Sujoy and Rukmoni's marriage. Rukmoni was unknown about it. Sujoy was well settled with their family business. And Bijoy was studying. Sujoy liked Rukmoni. Before going to home, Sujoy came to Rukmoni's room. He knocked the door and came into the room. Sujoy asked what was Rukmoni's perspective on marriage. As she was unknown, she just smiled and didn't say anything. Sujoy was getting more close to her and tried to kiss but failed.

   Few week later, went a cafe shop to fill up her H. S exam form. But the cafe shop was off. So she had to go another cafe shop. The cafe shop were busy with another guy. As she looked at him she just shocked. She wanted to returned from the cafe shop but couldn't. Accidentally it was last date of form fill up and there were no other cafe shop opened. As the guy went Rajdeep looked at Rukmoni. She seemed nervous. That day when Rajdeep saw Rukmoni in the park, he crushed on her. But when he come to know that she was elder to him. He was quite. And today he was seeing her second time at his cafe shop.   Actually Rukmoni didn't want to close with anyone. she was very beautiful. She didn't want come to any relationship. That's why she use to ignored boys by telling lies. If anybody proposed her she replied that she had in a serious relationship with her boyfriend and she will marry him. But today her lies got catched by Rajdeep. Rajdeep looked dashing. His deep eyes made him more attractive. Looking around the shop, Rukmoni told him to fill up her form. Rajdeep could say something. But thought she would feel embarrassed. He didn't want that. Rukmoni didn't explain anything, returned home.    After dinner Rukmoni checked her phone. Ten missed call and many messages from unknown number. She saved the number and searched it on what's app. She was shocked, seeing the profile name and picture. It was Jaydeep's number. She called back. Joydeep started flatting with her. She hanged out the call. Morning,afternoon, evening, night all time Joydeep called her and sent massages. Finally Rukmoni agreed to meet him in the park. Joydeep came to the park with full preparation. He planned to propose her. Joydeep reached early there. After 10 minutes waiting, she came. She was talking on phone with Sujoy. She cut her call and stand in front of Joydeep. Joydeep started talking on casual things. They walked together around the park. It was morning time. There were few people in the park. Finally Joydeep proposed her in a filmy way. Rukmoni calmly told him about Sujoy and rejected his proposal.   Rukmoni talked with Sujoy friendly. Mr. Roy fixed her daughter's engagement date after one week. And marriage date wiil discuss after her H.S exam. Before two days of engagement, Rukmoni was very sad. She cried all over the night. There was a note book where she wrote her love story with sad ending. Before two years ago, she met with Raj. When she saw him she fall in love with him. Raj was her youngest teacher. After few weeks she proposed Raj. Raj denied her proposal and told her that she was liked her sister. Friends made her joke too. After two years of this incident Rukmoni couldn't forgot him. Her point of view was changed. Whom she loved didn't understand her, because of she was a student, a teenager. From that time she started ignore love matters and kept her away from love. Many handsome boys gave her proposal but she rejected.

  Mr. Roy and Mrs. Roy was quite busy. Rukmoni was their only child. They invited friends, relatives and neighbors. The engagement was took place peacefully. Sujoy took care of her. And loved her also madly. Every week they used to meet . Sujoy gave her many gifts, roses, teady bear etc. They walk together hand in hand,come more close to each other. Rukmoni was very happy, a soft corner was made for him. She liked his smile, cute face and dashing personality . She learnt driving from Sujoy. And when Sujoy come to their home, she used to make meal for him. Sujoy made a good bonding with Rukmoni's parents. Mr. Roy and Mrs. Roy loved him as their own son.

 As day pass, Rukmoni's exam date come. She prepared well and clear his H.S with good marks. Her marriage date also fixed after her exam. Rukmoni wished to higher studies. Sujoy's family was agreed with it. Rukmoni will continuous her studies but after getting married. Rukmoni was happy with that. After getting married Rukmoni came to a knew home. But family were known to her. Bijoy gifted them a honeymoon package. They went the place for their honeymoon. It was a very beautiful place. They started their married life. They enjoyed a lot and loved each other madly. And they returned home   Rukmoni admitted in a college for her higher study. She didn't get pregnant. It was their mutual understanding. They will plan for kids later.


Stella and The Cherry Tree How am I ever going to get out of here? Worse, am I ever? I have just been given a new Dad. Another new Dad. And a new name. Another new name. And my real dad and my real name are now a secret. A shadow, a ghost. I’m only ten and I’ve already been three people. Stella Mack, Stella Brogan and now Stella Dice. I gotta get out of here. New daddy has a temper, a bad temper and he yells a lot. When yelling doesn’t work, he slaps a lot. And when slapping doesn’t work, well…you know… a little kicking and stomping comes into play. New daddy is rich, and handsome, but he’s mean, just plain mean. Not to Mom. He’s never mean to mom. Momma’s pretty. Fashion model pretty. Like in the magazines. She has a smile that lights up a room. Maybe even the world. Mine anyway. But she is his prize now. I’m just along for the ride. He didn’t want me, but I came with the deal and that makes him mad. Why does she keep doing this? I hate him. How am I ever going to get out of here? Everything in my new world is beautiful. On the outside. My bedroom, so perfect. It’s everything a young girl could want. A ballet room, only I’m anything but a ballerina. An Easy Bake Kitchen. Seriously? A new iPhone, a color tv, a desk, all my books in a tall, Italian Provincial bookcase and my very own bathroom. My balcony looks out over the great expanse of country club green that is our back yard. My room is pretty much a dream room. But it’s not my dream and my life, my life is a nightmare. One of those beautiful on the outside, ugly on the inside, well-kept secrets in town. I hate it and I hate calling him Daddy. All I want is OUT. I don’t know why it takes me so long to figure it out. When it happens, it happens in a flash. I’m huddled in front of my tv set in the middle of the night. Old movies are one of my escapes. Books and old movies. But I am tired of the silent escape they provide. Really tired of it. The walls are closing in on me and so is the anger and the violence and that awful smell of stale booze in the morning. “Stella, Stella, Stella…” the guy on the television cries out. He is so desperate. He is screaming up to Stella’s balcony as if she is the only person that matters. I start crying, but I am crying out for my freedom. I’m crying out because I don’t seem to matter at all. And then it hits me. I look out onto my balcony at the tree. The giant cherry tree that towers over it. Why hadn’t I noticed her, why hadn’t I seen her, why hadn’t I acted before now? I grab my flashlight and run out into the night. I shine the light down through the branches, along the trunk to the ground. This is it. The Holy Grail of Escapes. But what if…is the first thing to cross my mind. Fear. What if, I get caught? So what? How much worse could it be than the prison I’m already in? It couldn’t be. I look up at the dark sky above me. It is a new moon night. Just a slice of light in the sky. I find comfort in the night sky. If anyone’s up there, I whisper, help me. Please, please help me do this. I rip off my pajamas, and stuff my flashlight in the back pocket of my Levis. I always have my Levis on under my pjs. I call them my just-in-case pants. Just in case I have to make a break for it. And tonight, tonight is the night I am shifting gears. Down the tree I go. Onto my bike I fly. Out the gate, down the road, into the town and I am FREE. The wind in my face feels like heaven. I ride all night. Breathing in the cool, crisp air of freedom. I cover every block in this new town. Every square inch of it really. I suck it in. Get to know it. The movie theater, the mall, the little AM/PM just down the way. My new school, the Little League Baseball field. The park with all the hiking trails, the skating rink, the pool and the library! The bus station. It’s all here. It’s my town now. No matter what they call me or where I came from or how I’d gotten here, I, me, Stella. I am here now. I barely notice morning light coming on as I head home. I’m filled with the excitement of my newfound freedom. Now my adventures can be real. No one will know where I went or what I did in the night. It didn’t occur to me that everything was closed at night. It didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was the escape hatch and the possibilities. As I parked my bike and started shimmying up the tree, I saw the light in mom’s room go on. My heart stops. My worst nightmare was about to come true. I look up at the balcony expecting him to be peering down at me. Locked and loaded. But he isn’t. I sit still in the branches. Very still. Finally, the light goes out. Whew. Maybe just an early morning whiz. I start shimmying up again. Again, the light goes on. I hear my mother call out to him. “You okay in there, hon?” “Yeah, I’m okay just a little touch of the flu. Go back to sleep.” Flu?! I almost blurt out. Hah. More like the nasty, putrid puking that comes with too much gin. How does she stand it? Why does she? My happy high from my new found freedom starts to fade. I don’t want to lose it. I refuse to lose it. I start shimmying up the tree again until I reach the top and climb over the ledge. I made it. I grab my pajamas, pull them on over my Levis, and crawl back into my bed. I feel different. Taller. Bigger. Full of myself. I rolled the dice, and I found a way out. That makes me grin. A snotty, mean little I won kind of grin. I rolled the dice and won. A reckoning is coming now, and I can feel it.


This story includes references to physical affection, but not sexual contact.

                                   PERFECT PERSON                                                                                September 8, 2003 Pam, Didn’t I tell you I’d find my dream man? And here he is! Ralph Casella, a bona fide New Yorker, the Robert de Niro of 9 th avenue and 42 nd street! I’m not kidding. He’s a dead ringer. Waitresses stare and ask if he’s Robert de Niro – frequently. Think Godfather II, New York accent and all. I mean, he looks like his picture (drool) on the website AND he’s cuddly. I can’t seem to stop sitting on his lap, fully clothed, mind you. This guy was made for LUHV. It’s only the second date, though, and he is a recent widower, so, we cuddle on the couch and talk and talk. Well, mostly he talks because, you know, MEN. But his New York accent SLAYS ME. He lied about his age in his bio, but if you squint he COULD easily pass for 55. Great hair. No jowls. He says I wouldn’t have responded to a 63-year-old, but I’m not so sure about that. His picture and love of philosophy attracted me. Those don’t lie. I’ll keep you posted. Karen

9-16-03 Karen, Wait! He LIED? And you, the strict teller of all TRUTHS forever and evermore are still talking to him? NO! Just NO! No matter how great his hair is. Don’t make me state the obvious. If he lies about his age . . . AARGH! Pam September 21, 2003 Pam, I accepted his apology for lying. His apartment tells me what I need to know about him. He finagled a deal and lives in luxury for a pittance. You know how I feel about obnoxious rich guys, so you don’t have to worry about that with him. No money. HAHA He’s one of the old-fashioned ‘faithful to the death’ men. He’s got that Italian macho thing, oozing with sex appeal and a certain sensitivity. Pisces Sun says it all. Definitely not shy in the bedroom. OH MY! Don’t harp on the lying about his age. He confessed right away. Not that he had to tell me. I could see he was older. You know me. I always sniff out the lies. TRA LA LA (cuddle cuddle) Karen                                                                                9-28-03 Karen, Oh boy, you’re over the edge already. Or at least poised on the ledge. Don’t jump, please. Nobody gets a deal on rent in NYC. (I assume he doesn’t own) Where is this phenomenon exactly? Harlem? And what exactly does ‘finagled a deal’ mean? I smell sour grapes. Oh, that’s not right is it? Never mind, you know what I mean. Something stinks. Keep that nose sharp. Once a liar . . . Have you met his friends? Family? Any activities in common other than . . .? Pam                                                                                October 5, 2003 Pam, He has no friends. My ex-husband has no friends, either. Have any of your boyfriends been rich with friendships? No. Mine haven’t, either. It’s a guy thing.

He was married for forty plus years. She was his only friend. His grown children live close but I’m not seeing them any time soon. They don’t need to meet their dad’s girlfriend yet. It’s only been four months since their mother died. The apartment has a fantastic view and is right next to the theater district, FYI. It IS a phenomenon. How did you guess? Still singing. Tell me about you. Karen

                10-11-03 Karen, His wife died only FOUR MONTHS AGO? Red flags. In fact, I’m seeing blood red flags in tatters, whipped by a hurricane.

No friends? In a city where he’s lived his whole life? Have you seen photos of his children? Do they even exist? What about other relatives? How long has Ralph lived in this place of wonder? Does he have hobbies? Does he take you to the theater? Has he heard you sing? Tell me you escaped lover’s lair long enough to shop for your fall wardrobe. Or Have you disappeared into a web? Fallen into a trough? Look around. Are you lost in a dark cave inhabited by a sorcerer? We need a phone conversation. Dribs and drabs don't do it! Can you tear yourself away from your Italian stallion for 15 minutes to call me? We have to schedule it, so give me your preferred day and time so I can reserve the phone. And send a current photo of you, preferably of the two of you together, please? Do a background search. Nothing much to say about this place. Surviving. One nasty d..e won’t leave me alone. I can handle her. Pam                                                                                October 17, 2003 My dear histrionic sis, You’re spending too much time around criminals. Ralph is not wanted by the law in spite of his early years fending for himself on the streets of NYC. He’s the good guy in his family, a straight arrow, first to go to college. As far as I know, not being terribly sociable is not a crime. So, I met a guy Ralph says is his friend from the old neighborhood. We had dinner at an Italian restaurant a few steps from the apartment. The sleaze asked if any of my young actress students needed a sugar daddy. I nearly barfed up my chicken marsala. Ralph begged me not to judge him by this guy. “He’s not really a friend, just somebody I used to know.” I told him I know he’s not a salacious sex fiend like his friend. As Ralph says, “I’ve never had to go looking. Women always come to me.” Modest, he’s not. What’s happening in your life? Let’s focus on that. How many months do you have left to serve? Maybe your red flag dreams need another interpretation? Maybe stop looking at me and turn the mirror towards yourself? Hmm. Who is this person on your tail? All the best, Karen

                                                                                10-23-03 Karen, Just got word I’ll be out on parole in six months. Whoopee!! So, when do you want to call? I have a few ideas to run past you. Your calm sis who loves you dearly, Pam P.S. Run a background check. Remember the lying sack of crap who landed me in this dump.                                                                                October 29, 2003 Pam, That’s good news. Six months will fly by. If your ideas include moving in with me, I have to say no. Ralph spends every weekend at the townhouse. Sorry. Meanwhile, I met his two brothers yesterday. These two are nothing like Ralph. Ralph takes after the Italian mother. Evidently, the younger boys got their looks and manners from the uncouth lout of a dad. Ugh! So . . . we drove out to Long Island for a family party, a first for us on many counts. After we got our food and were sitting out in the yard, talking, the middle brother, Anthony, started razzing Ralph, calling him names, like a rowdy teenager. He’s always been jealous of his good-looking, educated older brother, as it turns out. And he gets belligerent when he drinks too much. He drinks too much a lot. Ralph has been his target because he won’t fight back. Something got into me! I was furious for Ralph. He was minding his own business and just looked meek as insults pelted him. I couldn’t stand it! I decided to call Anthony on his rude behavior. You’d be proud of me, Sis. I walked up to where Anthony was leaning over the railing and said he had no right to treat Ralph that way. We were on a deck high above the yard and the pool. Anthony shouted, “Go to hell, bitch!” and threw the contents of his drink at me. It totally caught me off guard. I almost fell down the stairs. My blouse was soaked and clinging to my breasts. I was mortified. If you’d been there, you’d have punched him. I wanted to, but you know me, I can’t get violent. I just don’t have it in me. I guess Ralph and I are alike in that way. Ralph didn’t see any of this. He had no idea I was standing up for him until later when he couldn’t find me because I was in the bathroom, crying and scrubbing my blouse. Some of the family gathered around me after I couldn’t hide in the bathroom any longer. They were being nice in their own way. The other brother, Angelo, said, “Aw, don’t take it personally. Anthony’s a buffoon. He does stupid things like that all the time.” What a nightmare! You know what happens to my face when I cry. It’s a freak show. I just wanted to get outta there. The cloud hung over us all the way home and days afterwards. So, that’s Ralph’s family. You’ll probably say I overreacted, but I’m telling you, it was traumatizing, first the taunting, then violence and then the way Ralph was so wishy washy about it. Not that I wanted him to fight his brother, but he acted like it wasn’t a big deal. I think he’s used to being abused. Somebody needed to throw Anthony in the pool. That’s my latest news. (sigh) What’s going on there? Read any good books lately? I still can’t stand the thought of you in prison. And scumbag Steve lounging in your apartment.

Look, if you can’t get him outta there, you can hang at my place. Don’t even consider living there with him. Okay? Promise me. I talked to Ralph and he’s cool with it, too.

If he’s even still in the picture by then. I have to rethink this relationship. Karen                                                                                11-6-03 Karen, Aw, Sis, that’s real nice of you. It’d just be temporary. My lawyer’s workin’ on getting Steve thrown out of the apartment. My name’s the only one on the lease, anyway, so he’s got no rights. You know, this incarceration thing is not like the TV shows make it look. I had to join one of the ‘gangs’ unless I wanted to fight off a couple of the big girls by myself, if you know what I mean. I’ll tell you more when we talk. They look at the letters, so . . . The food here is rough, I have to say. This place is showing me how much we take for granted. Just shopping for food again is gonna be a thrill. Isn’t that weird? Can’t wait to watch my favorite shows again, too. I’m gonna have to binge Law and Order when I get out. It’s not allowed here. Go figure. So, about Ralph. If you want my two cents, he sounds sweet, but that brother - there’s some bad stuff in the family. You’re a class act, Sis. You don’t have to be around bullies. Stay clear of the riff raff. Take my word.

Pam November 18, 2003 Pam, Thanksgiving’s almost here and I’m putting together a feast for Ralph’s family at the apartment. Just his kids and grandkids. Not his brothers. I’m actually planning everything in advance and making a list of what to do minute by minute, practically. Pick your jaw up off the floor. First turkey day for Ralph’s family without the wife/mother/grandmother. I want to make everything perfect.

Wish you could be here. What happens there on holidays? Karen                                                                                11-29-03 Karen, I heard that Thanksgiving Day here is one when no one is plotting against you. And it turned out to be sorta true. You NEVER stop watching every move the other inmates make, however, if you're smart. Dinner was the best meal they’ve served, still on a plastic tray, but hey. A huge piece of turkey, the real stuff, landed on my plate. Mashed potatoes. No cranberry sauce or pumpkin pie. That was depressing. Can we plan a call soon? Pam                                                                                December 8, 2003 Pam, How about December 15th for a phone call? And what about a visit? I’ll drive down. How much time do they let you have for visitors? Can we do that on Christmas Day? We can talk about it during the call. Let me know. Ralph wants me to go to his daughter’s place for Christmas, but I know she hates me, so I want to leave town for a couple days and avoid a bad scene. The holidays are depressing enough without somebody wishing you didn’t exist. Ralph ignores her glares, but there’s no mistaking her disgust with him for finding another woman to replace her mother. He’s in denial. Don’t ever date a recent widower who has children, no matter their age. I want to see you. And I don’t want you sitting around alone on Christmas Day. Will you find out what the deal is for visitors that day? I’ll bring fudge, if allowed. It’s not the same as Mom’s, but it’s close. Gotta have fudge on Christmas. Maybe some peanut brittle, too? Remember singing around the piano with the fam? Let’s make it festive! Love ya’, Karen                                                                                December 11, 2003 Pam, Beginning to worry about you, Sis. Maybe your letter is in the mail? I tried to call the prison – no luck. I want to talk to you and make plans. Please just call collect. It’s fine, really.

Love, Karen

                                                                                12-18-03 Karen, I’m sorry I haven’t written.

I didn’t want you to worry, so I didn’t tell you the whole truth. The gangs here are not just threatening. Remember I mentioned a pest? She doesn’t like the word ‘no.’ She and her gang beat me up last week. Put me in the infirmary for 3 days. A couple of the guards are in on it, too, so there’s no place to hide. Once you’re targeted, you're pretty much a goner. Word is they want me gone before the new year.

There’s nothing you can do, believe me. Prison is a different world. Please just let it go and do your life. I’m the screw up. Can’t blame anyone else.

If Ralph loves you, Sis, give him a chance. Forget about the daughter. She’ll come around. In time. Don’t let the stupid brother ruin things either. My life is too messy. Nothing to look forward to, so now I’m thinking about Mom and Dad. They’re waiting for me on the Other Side. Might as well let go of this trip. Next life will be better. You’re the golden child. Go on and shine. Love, Pam

                           December 20, 2003 Pam, Yes, you are a screw up. You’re also my baby sister, the drama queen.

AND YOU DON'T DESERVE TO DIE! I’m coming. Don’t you dare give up. Karen

December 23, 2003  Sis,  HOLD ON! The cavalry is coming!  Ralph and his sleazy friend went to elementary school with the NY  governor!!!

We have George Pataki's promise that you will be lifted up and outta there before Christmas. The warden has been notified. Whatever you have to do to stay out of the clutches of your nemesis for the next twenty-four hours, DO IT!

YOU ARE SAVED. Ralph and I will be there to pick you up. I love you Karen

THE END


"Looks as though Dorsey out did himself this year." Kristy Waters said to her best friend Rorie as she pointed out the old car covered in red roses. "Dorsey always goes over bored with the roses you know I heard his wife loved them." Rorie replied as the two girls waved smiled at the old gentleman. The two girls walked arm and arm around the square of there small home town. The Spring Festival had always been something to look forward to in there small town of Lighten Wood. The Lighten Wood spring festival had been a tradition in the town since the girls could remember. It wasn't something had been past down like other small towns. The girls had been coming to festival since they were little so to them it had always been around. When ever the banner went up for the festival the girls always looked forward to it. Everyone in town seem love the festival with the flower show, bake sales, fashion shows and all the homes decorated for spring. This year the town was a bit sad. The mayor of the town Mr. Ross had passed away just a few days before the festival so instead of the festival starting at it's normal day the first day of spring. It had been pushed back to two weeks later. Giving the town a moment to grieve for it's beloved mayor. As Kristy and Rorie walked around the square they stopped at all the booths and looked at everything. They even ran into a few people who stop chat and say hello. After they'd been walking around for about an hour. They stop in at the Ice cream shop. The old shop looked like something out of a nineteen fifties movie. The two girls sat at a booth close to the middle so they talk but still be able to see outside. "You have to admit even though it's a late start it was worth the wait." Rorie said as she sipped on her chocolate and strawberry milk shake. "Yes it was. Only it would have been better if mayor Ross hadn't just passed away. It still sad to think of him as gone. I'm sure Mrs. Ross is having a hard time dealing with all this." "I know right. Bless her heart I hope she's doing okay." "Maybe we should go by and see if she has her booth up if she does we can always stop and say hello see how she's doing." "Not a bad idea." Kristy smiled and called over the waiter to ask for to go cups. After getting there shakes to go. The two friends headed to see if Mrs. Ross booth was in the same spot. They walked the booths filled with bake goods by Mrs. Rivers, the knit booth ran by Mrs. Martin and a bunch of booths filled with all kind of things. After a few shorts minutes of stopping and see everyone's booths. They finally came to Mrs. Ross's booth. It was beautifully decorated with Roses, Peony , lavender , Gardena's and etc.. Mrs. Ross always the girls favorite flowers. Rorie loved the smell of the white roses and the peony. While Kristy though the gardenia's , pink roses and lavender smells wonderful. "Good afternoon girls how are you doing this afternoon?" Mrs. Ross asked the two girls once she was done helping someone. "We're doing great Mrs. Ross." Kristy answered. "How are you doing Mrs. Ross we were so sorry to hear about the mayor." Rorie said. "Thank you girls. I'm doing as best I can. I've been looking forward to this for weeks. Helps to keep my mind off Rich and plus you know I've always loved the spring festival." Mrs. Ross answered. "Well if you never need help please let us know." Kristy said to the older woman. "Thank you my dears. Now you all go and in joy the Festival. I've got sale some flowers." Kristy and Rorie both bid Mrs. Ross goodbye and headed over to one of the other booths. Stopping to say hi to a few other people they know from town. After walking around for a few more hours the girls decided to stop by the local bakery. Rorie's mom Rosie owned the bakery and spring was her favorite time of the year. The whole bakery smelled of lemon, oranges and all kinds of things. "Mom!" Rorie called out to her mother as the two girls went behind the counter to the kitchen. "Hey girls, how was the festival?" Rosie asked the two girls as she popped a fresh tray of lemon squares in the oven. "Lemon squares fresh in the oven Auntie Rosie?" Kristy asked as she popped a chocolate strawberry in her mouth. "Kristina! how many times do I have to tell you not to eat the chocolate strawberries before dinner?" Rosie scolded at her niece. "Sorry Auntie Rosie but they smell amazing." Kristy laughed as she slapped the back of Rorie's hand to stop her from grabbing one herself. The two girls went back and forth telling Rosie about everything that went on at the festival. Looking out the bakery window as they sat at their usual table. The sun was starting to set and soon all the lights around the square would be coming on. The small little solar lights that were placed around the court yard of the court house were so pretty at sunset. "So ends yet another year of Lighten Wood spring festival." Rorie said as they watched the solar lights come on as the last of the sun set. "Yep another end to other wise very pretty day don't you think." Kristy asked her best friend and cousin. "Yep. "What do you think it'll look like next year?" Rorie asked. "Not sure really but I'm sure Dorsey will win the title of best roses I'm sure." Kristy said. "I still can not believe he won best roses yet again. I mean how many years does that make again?" "Ten. Ten years in a row. I really though Mrs. Ross would win this year her roses were so pretty this year. Dorsey always has red roses. An Mrs. Ross had those very pretty white , pink and purple roses." "Yeah I know right." The girls were talking about the whole roses thing when suddenly Rorie noticed that the solar lights across the street at the court house had come on. Which meant that Spring Festival was over for another year.  Kristy and Rorie both went and stood by the window of the bakery. "Another year has come to end." "What do you think will happen next year at the Spring Festival?" "I don't know but I hope next year will be just as pretty as this year." The two cousins smiled and gathered they're things to head home. Another Lighten wood spring fest had come to an end. It really was one of they're favorite days of the year and they really hoped that next year would be as amazing as this years festival had been.