Tag Archives: fiction

Author’s Note: The Model T club always shows up in Kingston on the day of the run. The stop is also famous for its pork chops, at least in my family.

Pork Chops and Model Ts

“Nick and Carrie promised to get me one of those pork chops that everyone kept talking about,” Larry said as he got down from the front seat, wiping at his forehead. “I should have brought a hat. This sun is worse than I thought.”

“I’m going to buy Carson one to match his outfit,” Mackenna said, reaching up to ruffle his hair. He grimaced, but she just grinned at him. He should have known. That was the kind of thing that he had to look forward to the rest of his life. For some reason, though, he didn’t mind it. She wrapped her arm around his. “You want to go look at the Model Ts? The car club always has them here, and we’ll be here for a bit since your brothers and Mac will be busy with those pork chops.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing no one here is on a diet,” Carson said, shaking his head. “All diets would be broken after the first stop, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, laughing. She leaned against him as they wandered through the cars, taking a moment to look at each of the Model Ts parked along the side of the road. He couldn’t tell any of the years, but Mackenna knew, of course, and she started to tell him more than he ever needed to know. He didn’t care. He liked hearing her voice, and that was good enough for him. Nothing else mattered.

If he was honest, he was expecting another flashback to hit at any moment, and he wanted to be with her if that happened. He didn’t want his brothers to see him if it happened. Maybe she was right. Maybe this would all be over by the end of the day, and if it was… He did want it. It scared him, but he needed it to end already. This had gone on for too long, and he did not want to draw it out any longer.

He stopped, looking behind him, frowning.

“What?” Mackenna asked, her grip tightening on his arm. She sounded worried, and she looked worried, and that was worse.

“I was just… I feel like someone’s watching me again. It’s stupid. I’m the one that killed him, right? That’s what I said in that thing I got back last night, so why am I feeling like there’s someone watching me again?”

“Because someone is,” she said, putting her hands on his face. “We are probably the most interesting pair here today, and I think we’d win cutest couple, too.”

“Cutest?”

She nodded. “Think about it—how many times have you kissed me today?”

“Uh… I lost track.”

“Exactly. That could be why there’s people watching. It doesn’t have to be the end of the world or anything sinister.”

He put his hands over hers, leaning forward to kiss her. That was what he wanted to believe, that it was nothing. He didn’t know that he did believe it, but he would rather pretend that he did. He didn’t need to be all paranoid. He didn’t want to think that there was someone after him. If that piece of memory was right, then there couldn’t be. He was the killer, and he couldn’t go after himself.

She patted his cheek and stepped back, studying him for a moment. He had a feeling that she was going to try and distract him again, and he thought he looked forward to it. She was good. Then again, he thought she was good at just about everything she did. “Are you at all hungry?”

“No.”

“There are more cars if you want to look at them.”

“I don’t think that I want to look at anything but you right now.” He grimaced after he heard himself, shaking his head. That was dumb He should think before he spoke. “That didn’t come out right. I just… You help me stay calm.”

She shook her head. “You were fine the first time, trust me.”

Author’s Note: So… I don’t know that it’s much of a twist, but it’s something, I suppose.

Worries, Apologies, and Delicate Conditions

“How is she?” Robert knew he had no right to demand the answer from her doctor, but he could not help it. The moment that the other man had emerged from her room, he had descended upon the man, determined to have an answer. He had to know just how much damage his father had done.

The doctor stopped to adjust his vest. “I can only recommend that she remain in bed for the rest of her pregnancy. Her body cannot handle further strain.”

Robert frowned. That sounded as though she might die if she left the bed, and the man had to be exaggerating that. How would she stand it? She needed to be out in that garden of hers. She needed the flowers and her freedom. “She seemed to be coping rather well before today. Did my father’s behavior do that much harm?”

The doctor fixed his eyes upon him. His glare would have made Robert uncomfortable if he had not grown up with RJ Winston for a father. The doctor did not intimidate him. “It was against my advice that she saw you.”

He swallowed. He knew that he’d upset her a few times, and he’d hated it. Still, he hadn’t thought it was that bad. If he had done this, if his questions and presence had been so upsetting, so much of a strain—and he had seen some of the strain, he’d been leaving to spare her more—then he should never have come. He could only blame himself.

“Robbie?”

At the sound of her voice, he pushed past the doctor and into Violet’s room. He stopped in the doorway, aware of his improper actions. He should not be here, and yet, he could not make himself go. He stepped forward, somehow crossing all the way to the bed. “I am so sorry—I hope your aunt had my father thrown out—”

“Here,” she said, taking his hand and moving it to her stomach, almost forcing him to sit on her bed. “You can see for yourself that the child is still well. Agitated, yes, but alive.”

He smiled as he felt the baby moving under his hand. She was right. The child seemed rather well, though he would not blame it for being angry. “I am so—”

“Your father will say I am lying, but he… That is…” She took a deep breath, her eyes darting toward the door. She bit her lip, covering his hand with hers. “I do not want to say this because it is upsetting and almost impossible to believe, but I do not know if we will have another chance to talk if the doctor and my family—they will not want you to return or me to get out of bed.”

“You would not let them stop you from leaving your bed, even if you had to sneak out at night,” he said. He did not doubt that she would find a way should it be necessary. He hoped that it would not be. He did not want to see her hurt.

“Perhaps, but in case I am unable to see you again, I must tell you… Your father looks much like picture that Winston showed me of his father. I know it has been some time, but I swear they are the same man. Robbie, he not only stole your stories, he stole a photograph as well. That man… Winston must be insane and convinced that he is you.”

He closed his eyes. “That… I don’t understand. It is not that I do not believe you. I do. I just don’t understand why anyone would do that. Why me? I had… My life is not that good, and you could even say that it is rather terrible in some respects. The war, my arm…”

“I do not know why he would do something like that,” she said, and he opened his eyes again, guilty. He was still too concerned with his problems, not giving enough attention to hers, but he could hear the pain in her voice. “It makes so little sense.”

“My father was wrong. I cannot apologize enough for his behavior. He had no right to say anything to you, but what he did say—you are not a liar and—even if you were desperate, do not dignify his behavior by accepting his offer. Not that I thought you would, but he… I am so ashamed of him, of the way he treated you, and I am sorry that we caused you so much distress.”

She shook her head. “The moment I have a twinge, everyone shuffles me off to bed again. They can’t do anything for me except tell me to rest, and unfortunately, they are rather insistent upon it.”

“I should let you rest, then. That, and I should see to my father. I have to make him leave.”

She frowned. “Are you going with him?”

“If it proves necessary, yes. I rather think it would be better if you did not have to suffer either of our company while you recover.”

“Will… Will you at least write, then, and tell me what you learned, if anything? I do not want anything else from you or your family, but if you find Winston—”

“I assure you, I will tell you. I will not hold back any information from you. That is a promise.”

“Thank you, Robbie. I am… very grateful to you for all you have done.”

“It is nothing.”

“No, it is not. Trust me, it is not.”

Author’s Note: I was just going to keep The Queen’s Story Time as the next part of this, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to have a scene between that one and Those Who Make Us Feel Safe. So, here it is.

Still Not Friends

“That was… unexpected.”

“Are you injured? I have never known you to use so many curses in a single sentence,” Anokii said, causing the queen to look up at her. The other woman had not realized that she was still in the room. She must have thought she was alone—though, no, that was not possible. She could not have thought she was alone, not given where she currently sat.

“I… My ankle is twisted again, I think,” the queen said, grimacing. “I had not realized that your cousin would still be in my chamber when I returned.”

“He should not have been. I must apologize—”

“I imagine that he does not have anywhere else that he might rest and recover. I can only think of him down in the catacombs, and that cannot be good for his health.”

“That is true. I do not know where he has stayed, either,” Anokii said, glancing toward her cousin. He had not stirred, and she thought he must have become accustomed to some very uncomfortable places if he was able to sleep where he was and where he would have been since his escape or while he was imprisoned. “I apologize. He was… I was able to persuade him to rest, and once I had, I did not wish to wake him.”

“No, I would not ask you to, though I am surprised that he did not wake when I stumbled over him just now,” the queen said, forcing herself back to her feet. She limped across the room. “Should he ever have need of my chamber again, let him use the bed.”

“My lady—”

“That way I will not trip over him like I do my shoes when the bizhat has moved them.” The queen stopped at her bed, laughing. “Now I cannot help wondering if he was the bizhat who displaced them.”

Anokii had to smile at that. “Perhaps he was. He did say he’d done some watching of you in the past, and there is a rather simple path between here and the catacombs that he could have used to gain entry to the rest of the castle.”

“I should be bothered by that.”

“No one cares to be observed too carefully, but I assure you that his interest is not like Malzhi’s.”

The queen sat down on her bed, reaching down to her ankle. “I assure you, even if your cousin was acting in that manner toward me—and he has given me no real indication of any interest at all—it would be more welcome than Malzhi’s. I should not say it would be more welcome than the king’s.”

“Why not? Who would want the king’s attentions?”

“I imagine that his wife is expected to,” the queen said, though she laughed, falling back on her bed. Anokii shook her head, thinking the woman was too close to insane. She curled up on her side, pulling her pillow close to her. “I sincerely hope that he never kisses me again.”

Anokii watched her shudder. “He kissed you?”

“I do not want to think about what he had just eaten. Or what he might do if…” The queen sighed. “Will you look at my ankle and perhaps give me something to help me sleep? I should not ask, but I do not wish to think about what happened earlier. I can only hope that he will kill me before he does anything else, since he has promised to end my life.”

What could one say to that? Anokii had never been able to comfort Agache when that threat was made, and she could not do so for the queen, either. She heard movement behind her, thinking that her cousin had risen and was about to depart. That was, she supposed, for the best.

“I do not recommend that you take anything to assist your slumber. If you are afraid of the king, you do not want to be slow to react should he come or render yourself incapable of your own defense. You should not use anything that will dampen your senses unless you have no other recourse.”

The queen sighed. “I suppose you’d say the same about the pain in my ankle.”

“Yes.”

“I think you must dislike me a great deal.”

“It is not my place to like or dislike you, my lady.”

“So you say,” the queen whispered, closing her eyes. “That just makes me more convinced of my suspicions. You hate me.”

Anokii said nothing. It was not her place to disagree with the queen.

Author’s Note: I think it’s best when the characters can help and heal each other. It’s not just one or the other. It’s both of them or a group/family effort. That’s the best way.

Give and Take

“Are you okay? You haven’t said a word since Litchfield.”

Carson glanced toward his brother in the front seat and then lowered his head onto Mackenna’s shoulder. He took her hand, and she frowned down at him, wondering what had brought this on. “I suppose I’d sound like child if I said they’d make me go home.”

“What?” She sat back, looking at him. “Wait—you had another flashback? At the museum? You didn’t tell anyone?”

He sighed. “I didn’t want to. It’s… It’s still not enough, and I didn’t want my brothers trying to make me go back to the hotel or something. I… I just wanted to be with you, and that may be stupid, but I feel a lot better around you than I do around them. They make me nervous or frustrated, but you… you’re different. You always have been, from the moment I met you. I don’t know what it is about you, but I feel comfortable with you in a way I haven’t felt around anyone else before.”

She smiled at him, brushing back his hair. “You know what it is, but you don’t want to say it.”

He straightened up, looking out the other side of the car. “Dad did buy Phantom. He said he did it for us, for a new start. He said he got some kind of deal, but I still don’t know where that money came from or what happened after he showed up with her.”

“I imagine that it wasn’t long after he did that he was killed or everyone would have seen the car before the day you inherited what was in the barn. Must have been the same day.”

“I… I can narrow it down a bit more. It was harvest time. I remember that because I was supposed to stay in the barn. They were treating me like a baby, and I was so mad at them for it…”

“Okay, that’s good. We’ve got another piece,” she said, scooting closer to him so that she could catch his face with her hand. “I think you might just get all of it back today. Or tomorrow. Look at how fast it’s coming now, and soon there won’t be any gaps. You’ll just know. You’ll know everything you had doubts about before, and that… You’ll finally be able to heal.”

He leaned forward, grazing her cheek with a kiss before putting his head down on her shoulder again. “I hope so. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I know my brothers would put a stop to it, but I don’t want to do that. I need it to end.”

“I know.”

“I wish I could help you like you’ve helped me. I feel like I’m just a giant burden. You’re either talking me down or talking me through something, and what kind of a friendship is that?”

“Did you or did you not take care of me when I was drunk? Did you let me sleep on you when I was fed up with Nate? Did you wear a costume because I asked you to? Did you get past all my walls and the defenses I put up so no one could ever hurt me the way my aunt did? You do more than you think, Carson. I just don’t always show it when I’m struggling. I get mad. I get drunk. I don’t have flashbacks because there’s not much to flashback to. That moment after I opened the door to my uncle’s body is never all that clear, and while I can hear that one neighbor of ours creaking around the floor, hunting for me while I hope he doesn’t check the back of my closet, I never remember him finding me. I can hear dozens of arguments with my aunt’s father and all his stupid rules and the way he made me feel like I was nothing, but those aren’t the same as what you have. I didn’t lock them away, not like you did. I don’t have them rushing back at me in the same way.”

“You are a rare and special person, Mackenna. What that idiot said to you—I don’t care what it was—he was wrong. If that neighbor did anything to you, I think we might have to find him and make him pay for it somehow. And if being with me means you can step into a man’s bedroom again without that image in your head or the smell setting you off, then… I’m glad.”

“I should have listed that off, too. The bedroom thing. Thank you for that,” she told him, kissing his cheek. He smiled, and she wrapped her arms around his stomach. All of what he’d done for her made her all the more convinced that he hadn’t killed his father, and she hoped the rest of those memories came back soon so that he’d stop thinking he had.

He was a good man, a rare one, and she didn’t care how screwed up he was. She had a feeling she was in love with him, as much as she’d denied it before, and she didn’t know what they’d do after all this was over, but whatever it was, they’d do it together.

Author’s Note: So I have now officially separated this story out and given it its own category. It has its own listing on the Kabobbles Serials page, plus a page with the summary and temporary cover art here. I am very proud of the cover art for both this and The Stolen Name, as they turned out quite beautiful.

Admittedly, part of the reason I edited in the Three Word Wednesday words into this section was to show off the new organization and the covers. I had to share the covers.

The words today: lanky, destruction, and ultimatum.

Those Who Make Us Feel Safe

“Let me see your arm, you idiot.”

Agache glared at her, but Anokii was not to be stopped. She refused to let her cousin get himself killed or bring back his fever, not when he was their best hope. He would not want that, would hate to know that most Nebkasha harbored secret dreams of having him for their king, but she also knew that he would accept that role if he felt he had to, and he would be the greatest king any land had ever known. He had such compassion and insight, and though he would make mistakes as anyone would, she knew that he would never willingly harm anyone, not even the least of his subjects.

If only he cared that much about himself.

Still, she supposed it would be hard for anyone to put a value on a life that had been threatened since before his birth. His time as child, awkward and lanky, had been gone faster than that of most, aging him well beyond his years. No Nebkasha within Biskane lands knew much of happiness or freedom, but those things had vanished for him before they did any other. He had lived with the knowledge that the king would like to kill him since he was old enough to comprehend that idea, and with that knowledge, who would think they’d have much of a chance to live for any reason? If his time was destined to be short, then he would always be compelled to make it of value somehow, to accomplish one more thing before that time was over, and that meant that he would ignore his health and anything that might help prolong his life, thinking it not worth the bother.

“You should have had me treat this when you first escaped.”

“I did not want to go straight to you or Gekin in case the king suspected I was alive. I don’t know that he remembers that you are also my cousin, or that he would know you under the cloak, but it could have been a disaster if I had gone to you.”

“I do not care about the risk. When will you see that you mean more than you think?”

He met her eyes. “I am not what you think I am. I don’t care what my ancestry is. I am not going to save us all. You and Gekin have done more for that than I ever will. Even the queen has done more than I did. We can say the king watched too closely before my ‘death,’ but that excuse is just that—an excuse. It is not right, what I did. Or didn’t do. That might be a more accurate way of saying it.”

“If you had killed him and taken the throne, would that be enough for you?”

“No. I don’t want the throne, and as terrible as he is, even with all the destruction that I know he has caused, that I know he would cause… I can’t kill him.” Agache lowered his head, and she supposed he thought his words cowardly and shameful. She thought they held more honor than he realized. It could be argued that anyone of them could have killed the king, but what would they have lost when they did?

What would Agache lose? Would the other half of his ancestry come out at the taste of blood? If he were to start down that path of violence, would he be able to turn away from it again? Some legends said that the king’s ancestors were once benevolent, that their pursuit of the dragons and violence had pushed them to the monsters that they now knew. She did not know that it was true, but even if it were not, Agache had always feared becoming too like the rest of the Biskane.

Anokii shook her head. He did not need to wallow in guilt or doubt. “Why would you think that you’d ever be satisfied with what you did accomplish while you worked in his court? Even the most direct step would not please you, and you know you would not take it. Why must you force yourself to feel guilty for what you did do?”

Agache sighed. “This should never have continued for so long.”

She would not disagree with that, but it was not his fault, either. “We have spent many years adjusting to what this land does to us. Were it as simple as turning around and fighting, our people might have done that years ago. That was not possible. We do not have darkness, and we burn in the sun. For many, that is all they know, all they think matters. We cannot accomplish anything according to them. That is not true, but some gave up before they tried. Others are too afraid to try. It is not true, what they think, but we are in the minority, those of us willing to act.”

He closed his eyes. She dabbed a cloth in water, wiping down his face. She did not think that he was feverish any longer, but she still found herself caring for him this way. She supposed it was as comforting to her as it was for him.

“I miss your mother.”

“She was a better healer.”

“I did not mean it like that, Anokii,” he said, catching her hand. “I mean I miss how she made us all feel. Safe. Secure. As though nothing the king did no matter how terrible could hurt us or anyone she cared about.”

“Yes. That was what made her special.”

“Sometimes I feel that with you, but you… It is not fair to burden you with that role.”

She bent and kissed his forehead. “You are the one that gives that feeling to us, Agache, not me. If I can be that for you, then you are welcome to it.”

“I am so tired…”

“I know. It is time you rest.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You will,” she told him, not about to relent on her ultimatum. He needed to rest, and she would not allow him to leave if he did not. “You’re not going anywhere until you do.”

“You sound like your mother,” he said with a smile. She laughed, touching his cheek.

“Close your eyes and know that I will be here when you wake. You are safe here,” she said, but she needn’t have bothered. He was already asleep. She eased him into a better position and settled next to him, combing her fingers through his hair as he dozed.

Author’s Note: Sometimes, when a person is convinced that they’re right, they won’t listen to anyone else. Robert’s father is definitely one of those people.

So I have now officially separated this story out, given it its own category and renamed it. It has its own listing on the Kabobbles Serials page, plus a page with the summary and temporary cover art here. I am very proud of the cover art for both this and A Perfect Sunset, as they turned out quite beautiful.

Admittedly, part of the reason I incorporated the Three Word Wednesday words into this section was to show off the new organization and the covers. I had to share the covers.

The words today: lanky, destruction, and ultimatum.

Harsh Words and Foolish Demands

Violet put her hands on her stomach, closing her eyes as she did. She did not know what she would do now. She had cried herself out in her mother’s room last night, and her mother had tried to help her. She was not going to say that she had not been helped, but she woke with no more answers than she’d had before. A part of her was relieved that Robbie had not come this morning, and yet at the same time, she found herself out of sorts because he had not. Would he never return, then? He had already suggested that he should leave, several times, in fact, and after that disastrous dinner, she had almost been certain that he would.

Why should he? What possible good had their talks done? She had not told him anything that could help him find the man who had taken his name, and she knew he felt that all he did when he spoke to her was hurt her.

True, it was painful to hear that he had been the one in all those stories that had amused her so much, the ones that made her think of Winston as a playful child, not as practiced or charming as he’d been when she met him. Sometimes when a person was too charming, they seemed as though they tried too much to conceal what they were not proud of, and while neither Winston nor Robbie had been too proud of the childhood mischief, she had been satisfied by believing that was what had led to him being so charming.

She had, of course, been quite wrong, but that was only clear now that he was gone and Robbie was here. Winston had seemed sincere before, and the charm was perhaps the most worrisome thing she’d noticed. Then again, she was a fool.

“I demand that you drop this ridiculous claim of yours,” a man said, bursting into the room, and Violet jerked as she sat up, frowning.

Robbie lagged behind the other man, his movements less forceful, more stumbling. She almost thought he would fall as he tried to catch the other man. Beside him, Robbie seemed lanky, though he had never been tall, lacking in all polish and bearing, with the older man standing rigid and disapproving, glaring at her from the other side of the room. Violet had to wonder if Harriet had been hurt when that man plowed his way into the house, because she doubted he’d been willing to wait, and Robbie looked rather guilty, so she thought she’d find that the maid was at least shaken if not injured.

Violet considered rising, but she did not want to do that, not when it could mean that she, too, might be pushed aside, something far more dangerous given her current condition.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am sorry, Violet. I tried to persuade him not to do this, but Father has—”

“I am here to tell you that you will get nothing from my son or from me. This farce has gone on long enough already, and you will cease to make any further claims that impugn the honor of this family. Your lies will cease immediately.”

She swallowed, shaking her head. How dare he? What gave that man the right to come into her home and demand anything of her? “Sir, I have not and will not ask you for anything. I have made no claims. I have not lied. My story is not a trick or a game or anything close to such things. I assure you that I would no more joke about my condition or situation than I would knowingly ingest poison. This is not only undeniable, it is rather… irreversible.”

His eyes went to her stomach, and she let out a breath, hoping to forestall the next lecture that was coming. Robbie crossed to her side. “Please, don’t trouble yourself. Father is not in a mood where he will listen to anyone, and I won’t have him upsetting you after all that I have done. It was my intention to leave, but he would not be stopped. He doesn’t care what kind of destruction he brings with him, just that he gets his way.”

She nodded, her hand on her back. “I understand, and I do not—Oh. That… The child has become quite agitated. Will you please—”

“I see your pretense has fooled my son, but then he was always the gullible sort. Very well. I will settle upon you one thousand dollars. That is all you will ever get. You will stop your claims and retire in silence with that bastard child of yours.”

Violet stared, trying to summon a response to that horrible ultimatum, not sure if the tears stinging her eyes were motivated by his words or by the increasing amount of pain she felt.

“If anyone here is a bastard, it is you, Father. You should be ashamed of yourself,” Robbie told him. He knelt next to her, biting his lip. “I doubt I can carry you up to your room, but I am concerned—Harriet, go and get the doctor. I think Mrs. Winston has need of him again.”

Author’s Note: So, I admit I don’t remember all the exhibits I’ve seen in that Litchfield museum. I am pretty sure there were some cars in one, though. There definitely are wedding dresses. 😉

Museums and Memories

Carson wandered around the second floor of the museum, trying not to think about what Mackenna might be thinking about after seeing the wedding dresses in the case downstairs. She had brought it up earlier, and while he didn’t know that he hated the idea, he was a bit worried by her talking about it.

No, he was more than a bit worried.

He might just be terrified of the idea.

The trouble was that he was more than likely a killer—he’d said he killed his father—and he couldn’t let her do it, no matter how much he needed her and wanted to keep her for the forever that marriage promised. He knew most people didn’t see it that way—most people seemed to have no idea what marriage was supposed to be like anymore—but he always figured if he got married, he’d stay married. Like Nick had, like Larry had tried to do, maybe even like his mother had. That wasn’t fair to Mackenna, not if he was a killer.

He made his way around to the other glass case, looking over the little trinkets in the exhibit. He had to wonder what had happened to all those cars that he had been given as a child. He could have sworn he had some like the ones in there, and if he did, then he might have something of value there.

Something beeped, and Carson looked up from his cars, frowning. Everyone else was out helping with the harvest, and he’d been told just to stay in the house until they were all done because otherwise he’d be in the way and possibly get hurt. He hated the way they treated him like a baby. He was eight now; he wasn’t a baby.

“What do you think?”

Carson swallowed. His father was back again. He didn’t know why he had come back. He’d thought he’d said not to because all he did was make everyone else angry or upset, and Carson didn’t think he should be here. “I think you should go.”

His father lifted him up, and Carson struggled, trying to get back down. “Stop it. I don’t want to go anywhere. Let me down.”

“You haven’t even looked yet.”

“Looked at what—Oh.”

Carson had to stare. That was all he could do. He couldn’t look away, not when he was seeing what he was. This wasn’t quite like the one that his dad had given him as a toy, but it was kind of close, with the same funny wheels. Different color—this one was more black than that shiny blue of his toy—but it had the steering wheel on the wrong side just like the little one did. Strange, though. It didn’t have a roof. The toy had a weird one, a tan one that was kind of squarish, but this one was open. Like a convertible.

His father set him down in the front seat of the car. Carson wobbled, grabbing hold of the back of it to keep from falling. The leather on the seat was all hard and old, worse than that saddle of Grandpa’s that had cracked. Yuck.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she? Oh, she needs a bit of work, but she is a real special lady, isn’t she?”

“Dad, it’s a car, not a person.”

His father laughed. “Some people call cars ladies. I happened to find this one, and she is something, isn’t she? I can’t believe the deal I got on her.”

“You did this so I would trust you?”

His father touched his cheek. “Yes. I want my family back. I made a mistake—several of them, actually—but I’m back now. I’m going to do the right thing, not just for you, but for your brothers and your mom, too. I swear.”

He frowned, biting his lip. “I don’t know.”

“This is a new start. One for all of us. It’ll be good, son, I promise.”

Author’s Note: Every year, we stop in Litchfield and look at the museum there. I had to write a bit about it. I have pictures if anyone’s interested in seeing them.

Appreciating History

“I can’t believe your grandfather is in the backseat.”

Mackenna smiled, tempted to grab Carson’s hand, but she kept both of them on the wheel when she was driving the Maxwells. She didn’t necessarily need them there for control, but as much as Carson was afraid of wrecking the cars, she had felt the same way in her early days of driving them, and she got in the habit of holding on with both hands unless she needed to shift gears. They had a nice, flat stretch of road, not a lot of curves or turns, not until they got closer to Litchfield, and that made her job easier.

It was also part of why she got to drive this part and Mac wasn’t.

“I think he decided not to split either of the couples. Your brother and his wife arranged things with Larry so they’d ride together the whole time they were in the car, and now there’s… us.”

Carson nodded, jumping when she honked the horn for the people watching on the side of the road. He glared at her, and she grinned. Next time they did this, though, he needed a hat. She had a feeling he was going to get sunburned by the end of the day. When they stopped again, she’d make sure that he put on some sunscreen.

“We’re getting close to Litchfield,” she said, and he glanced back at Nick and Carrie. Nothing had happened since the starting gun set him off—no memories had surfaced, at least—and Carson seemed to be doing well again. Mackenna figured he was still up to finishing the run, though his overprotective siblings might disagree with her. She thought he could get the rest of his memories back today, and while it might make it a rough time on the run, it was the best thing for Carson.

He’d have his past. He’d have the answers that had been locked away for years. He’d know what happened to his father—he’d know that he wasn’t the killer—and he’d be able to move on, to overcome all that had been holding him back all this time.

Her stomach twisted, and she wondered if her sudden need to have his hand or the whole idea of grabbing a minister was about him changing his mind after he got his memories back. He’d still want her then, still need her, not in the same way, but he would.

Wouldn’t he?

“They’re announcing us,” Carson said, and she blinked, trying to focus again. She’d been on autopilot there for a bit, even as the policeman helped direct them into town. She should have been paying attention to that, not worrying about him leaving her.

She felt a bit pathetic when she looked back on it. She didn’t let people in so that they couldn’t do this to her. She didn’t want to worry about what they were going to do or say or do, didn’t want to fear being abandoned. Her aunt had done a lot to ruin her trust, and now that she had let someone besides Mac in—really in—she was too close, too afraid of losing him.

She slowed the car down and parked it in lane with the others, letting her foot off the gas so that it died. Carson touched her hand. “Something wrong?”

“They have coffee and stuff in the pavilion. There’s a neat little museum over there, and most of us stop to use the restrooms there.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what’s bothering you.”

She sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I’m just kicking myself for being an idiot. It’s not important.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He gave her his hand. “Show me the museum?”

She smiled at him, letting him help her down out of the car. Her skirt made it a bit harder to get in and out, even as much as she’d tried to make all of her outfits as practical as possible. She stepped down, smoothing it out, and she caught him watching her with that look he always gave her right before he kissed her.

This one was short, as brief as the way his hand brushed against her cheek. “We’re going to have to stop doing this all the time.”

She laughed. “Not necessarily. I think your brother and his wife almost prove that.”

Carson rolled his eyes, and Mackenna wrapped her arm around his, walking up to the museum with him. He stared up at the top of it, his eyes on the building, on the castle-like facade. She let him wander around—she’d seen it all before, but she liked to come in every year and she was also curious about his reaction to what he saw.

“I take it the civil war was rather big in this area. Strange to think about. I guess we always assume it was further east and south. Like… Georgia. Gone with the Wind and all that. Oh, wait, there’s Pennsylvania, the Gettysburg address and—”

“History was never your best subject in school, was it?”

He grimaced. “No, not really. I admit… It was kind of boring. Don’t give me that look. I just… It didn’t—I have a better appreciation of it now. I do. That’s because of you. Thank you.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome.”

by

Luna and Her Books

Author’s Note: So this is was prompted. After seeing this picture, I thought I wanted to share Luna’s point of view on this scene, so… I did.

Tynan’s version of the scene is “Curiosity Saves the Cat.”

Luna and Her Books

Luna was raised on books. Not just the stories within them, but the look and feel and smell of them. Her earliest memories were of the bookstore, her home, and she would always associate the smell of books with the scent of home. She had to hold onto that now.

She leaned over the shelf and closed her eyes, trying not to give in to the emotions rolling around inside of her. The diagnosis could not have been worse, and she was not sure that she could face what that meant, not now. She wanted to believe that the doctor had been wrong. The tests got switched. Someone had made a mistake somewhere.

Only when she heard her mother coughing, she knew that there was no mistake. Not by the doctors, not by whoever made the tests.

Her mother was dying.

Luna shut her eyes. She would not give in to that. She would not let this win. She could survive her mother’s death. She was strong enough for that. She was a grown woman. She had art. She could paint her way out of it.

She snorted, tempted to laugh. Her mother was the one who wanted a bookstore. Her mother was the one who had read to her when she was a child. She was the one who would go through each box of books like they were old friends. She would lift the books out, run her hands over the covers, and open them up to expose the pages to the air.

“Here, Luna, breathe it in. You can smell the adventure, can’t you?”

“The cover is hideous. Who did they pay to make that picture, and why was anyone allowed to put it on a cover? A five year old with finger paints could do better.”

“Only if that five year old was you, sweetheart,” her mother said, cupping her cheek. She smiled, handing Luna the book. “Put that with the others, will you? Oh, look. Green Eggs and Ham. You remember that one?”

“You said that was why I painted my hair the first time.”

“Well, it was green the first time. I don’t remember if it was because of that book or not, but your hair was green.” Her mother stopped, putting a hand on her side. “Not again.”

“Mom, did you even talk to the doctor about—”

“It’s nothing, Luna. Let’s put these books away.”

Luna heard the bell on the door, so she wiped her cheek before turning around to face the customer who’d come in. She couldn’t see them from here, but she knew what she was supposed to do. She’d worked in the store since she was a kid, too. She rounded the other shelf, peaking her head out. “Is there something I can help you find? Something in particular you’re looking for or would you like to browse a bit?”

“I am here to see books. That is all. The sign said books. I came inside.”

“You like books, do you?” She smiled as she walked toward the nearest shelf. She liked people who liked books. “We have a lot, as you can see. I can help you narrow down your selection, though. It can be a bit of a maze in here.”

He studied the room. “There is no maze.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. She needed it, and he’d just given her it with that literal mind of his. He didn’t know how funny that could be, especially when someone was desperate for a laugh. She looked at him, wondering what had brought him back into her life. “You are very literal, aren’t you? I should have known. I thought you were familiar. You’re the one that didn’t know anything about art. Do you have no knowledge of books, either?”

“I am… not from around here.”

“I gathered that much the last time. What do you want to know about books? How they’re printed? How they’re written? What they’re like to read? Will there be a moment when someone jumps out and reveals the hidden camera that follows you around as you play this prank on people?”

“I do not think that I have ever played anything. Not a game, not an instrument. Not a prank.”

“I feel sorry for you.”

He shook his head. “Your pity is unnecessary. The less I have done, the better. The stronger the curiosity, the quieter the hunger.”

She frowned, rubbing the side of her head as she did. She didn’t understand what he meant by that. Was he insane? That could be it. She should have known. She always seemed to attract the crazies. “I’m not sure you make much sense.”

“It is a question of balance. Anything can be countered. It requires an opposite of equal or greater force. My hunger is no more powerful than any other sensation I might be aware of, but I find curiosity is one of the better ones as a counterweight. As long as I travel, learning a bit here and a bit there, I can avoid consuming too much.”

She studied him, starting with his feet and going to his head. He didn’t need to lose weight. If he thought he had a hunger problem, then he might need therapy for that, too. “You don’t look like you have a problem with your weight. You really some kind of bottomless pit?”

“Black hole.”

“Oh.” Maybe he was just nuts. She didn’t care. She wasn’t scared of him or anything. She shrugged, picking up a book from the shelf. “Here. This one will give you a good idea of what makes a book—well, before the digital age, at least. Printed pages, bound together. You still see them, just like this, though not as much as you used to. Take a look.”

She tried to put the book in his hands, and he backed away. She frowned, more confused than before. He was here for books, wasn’t he?

“Luna!”

“Excuse me,” she said, dropping the book into his hands as she rushed toward the back of the shop. She didn’t know what her mother needed this time, but she knew that she had to take care of it. She had no choice.

“Luna, your mother needs—”

“Just a second,” she called back to her father, having heard the door’s bell again. Had the weirdo wandered off with her book? She didn’t even remember what she’d handed him. She cursed, running after him. “Where are you going?”

He stopped. That was something, she supposed. She shouldn’t confront shoplifters, she knew that, but this guy was different. Weird, but not scary. She didn’t understand why he’d stolen the book, but if he didn’t have the money, then… Hell, she’d just give it to him. Her mother would approve. She wanted to give books to anyone who wanted to read them, and even after she died, Luna would do her best to honor her mother’s ideals.

“You always run off like that? Should I ask you where you hid my book or did you burn that, too?”

“Burn?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on. There was a hole in my canvas like you’d set the thing on fire or something. I had boyfriend in high school who was a pyromaniac. He used to set my hair on fire everyday. I’ve seen people who had it bad before, but you… you didn’t even use a lighter for that. How do you do it?”

“It… It is difficult to explain and not what you think. I tried not to take your book. I knew that would happen, but you put it in my hands, and now it is gone.”

She blinked. If that was true, then it had to suck. It could even be a lot worse. “That happen to everything you touch?”

“Almost.”

“No wonder you know nothing about books, then,” she said. She frowned, not sure if she believed him or not. If it was true, she had to pity him. He couldn’t touch anything. “All right—I won’t call the cops for shoplifting or vandalism if you prove that you really were just trying to learn more, not destroy stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

She thought of her mother, of her childhood, and one of the few things she could do for the woman who’d raised her now. She couldn’t cure her, couldn’t stop the pain, but she could read to her. “Well, if you want to learn about books, why don’t we read one? I’ll hold it. I’ll read it. All you have to do is sit there and listen.”

“You… you would do this for me? I confess, your books make me quite curious.”

She shrugged. She wasn’t sure why she thought this was a good idea. She’d blame her current insanity on her mother’s impending death. Sure. That worked. “And I want to be sure I shouldn’t have you locked up because the pyro I used to date started burning buildings when I broke up with him, so… yeah. Come back tomorrow. I gotta close up the shop now and deal with some… stuff, but tomorrow should be okay. I mean, it won’t be—”

“I should not inconvenience you more than I already have. I have no money to pay you.”

She snorted. “If it was about money, my family wouldn’t run a secondhand book store. I’d have a career where I actually earned something instead of needing to paint lines over my crap all the time. Besides, money can’t cure everything.”

“I would not know.”

She did. She’d learned that the hard way. “Just trust me. I’ll look for you tomorrow.”

If you want to see more of Luna and Tynan, you can read more by starting with “Acceptance.”

Author’s Note: If you dress up in costume on the car run, random people will take your picture. You just have to accept that because it’s inevitable.

Making a Bit of a Spectacle

“Have some coffee or something. How are you feeling?” Mackenna asked, shoving a cup at him. He saw the plate full of goodies, baked things full of chocolate and a lot more, and a part of him wanted to eat them, but the rest of him didn’t.

“They are going to make me go home. I know it.”

She gave his brothers and Carrie a look and then shook her head. “You know I won’t let that happen. You need this, need to unlock the rest of those memories, and while it might be hard while you’re in the middle of it, you will be better off in the end. You can’t go on thinking that you’re a killer. You need that part clear.”

He nodded, taking a sip from the cup she’d given him. “I don’t know, though. If I stay with you, I’ll end up costing you and Mac the run, and he hates me enough already.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“He does.”

“I think you’d better try that old-fashioned thing and ask him for my hand at this point, but I still don’t think he hates you. I think he might have been frustrated with both of us—I think everyone who assumed we were more than we thought we were was—but now that we accept that we are, too, that should change,” Mackenna said, putting her hand on his arm. “You do want that, don’t you?”

“Um… I don’t think we should discuss that until I’ve got my memories back. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I don’t believe you’re a killer. We’re standing outside a church. You want to grab their minister and make it official that I’m not walking away?”

Carson stared at her. “Did I even wake up this morning? I don’t think this can be real. No. I mean, if it is, and I’m not still dreaming, I don’t want to rush in there and do anything we might regret. I also don’t… I don’t want you doing it because you think you have to convince me of anything. I want you, and I need you, and I think that’s not going to stop any time soon—”

“Sounds like it’s not rushing anything to me.”

He laughed, dropping his coffee and kissing her. If she kept talking like that, he’d do something else stupid, so kissing her seemed like the best way of keeping her from saying anything else. He didn’t want to give in to anything, not when he didn’t have all his memories. He shouldn’t even be kissing her, but he couldn’t resist her right now.

“You are not leaving me,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You are not allowed to, not even to go home and clear your head.”

He smiled, wrapping his arm around her waist. Both of them jerked when the camera flashes hit them. The light was a bit off-center, not right in their eyes, but he had to blink anyway, and he didn’t like the idea of their moment being stolen like that.

She grimaced. “I should have remembered that we’re kind of… an attraction. The cars are the main one, but since we’re dressed up, we’re almost as entertaining.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have dressed up, then.”

“I don’t know that we wouldn’t have made a spectacle of ourselves anyway. We’re kind of doing that all by ourselves. Well, maybe a lot of it is my reputation proceeding me, since a lot of people on this run or who follow it know me. Let’s just say that… Chambers hasn’t been the only one to make that assumption about me, so I might just have surprised everyone by being with you. I can promise that you are the first guy I ever dragged onto the run, which was part of why everyone believed we were in love from the minute we got here.”

He sighed. “You know… they may have been right about that.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re in love with me?”

“Um…”

She laughed, putting a hand on his cheek and drawing him in for another kiss, and once again the action was a lot better than words.