The One Where Veronica and the Gang go to Wichita

The One Where Veronica and the Gang go to Wichita

“What’s the name of the band?”
“John Hancock’s Quill.”
“Doesn’t sound very punk to me,” Veronica said.
“Sounds pornographic to me,” Alison said. Everything sounded pornographic to her.
Seth’s truck rattled down the road. Veronica sat in the middle. Alison had the window seat.
“They are punk, therefore cool. It’ll be a good show.”
“Sounds that they should sing Broadway melodies.”
“Punk, show tunes: either way, it’ll be a good show.”
That was debatable. Seth’s definition of a good show was any club that let them in. Only the most desperate of clubs with the most desperate of acts let in the under aged. Still, Seth was starving for live performances of the musical nature and it was a Saturday night out doing something.
Veronica’s parents believed her to be spending the night at Alison’s. Alison conversely told her parents she was staying with Veronica. It was the perfect cover, as both parents were too afraid of the other to call or check up on their daughters.
Wichita was a two and a half hour drive away. Alison brought provisions. Alison’s idea of provision was a case of Dr. Pepper, a bag of chips, and candy bars. They dined like royalty.
Seth didn’t exactly know where the club was. They drove around the Westport section of the city. Veronica folded her arms and concentrated on not complaining that they did not have a map. Finally, in desperation, Alison rolled down the window and yelled out, “Hey! Does anyone know where the Slaughter House is?”
True to its name, the Slaughter House was in fact, a retired slaughter house.
“Is it me, or does this stink like pig intestines?” Veronica asked.
“It’s you,” Alison said. “Now don’t be square or we won’t get in.” The Slaughter House was fairly popular and a line of hopefuls waiting to get in milled in front of the bouncer. Alison was stunning in white hot pants and knee high vinyl white boots. She looked so punk and cool that if she did not get in the Slaughter House, it would loose cool points.
Veronica was wearing what she thought was risqué: a large shirt that hung off on shoulder and a mini skirt so mini, she kept involuntarily tugging it back down. She was wearing the biggest gold earrings she could find and the loudest lipstick Covergirl made.
The bouncer nodded at Alison and said, “You and your friends.”
Inside the club was loud and crowded. Mostly it was loud. Seth grabbed her hand as he made a beeline for the stage.
“Is that the band?” Veronica asked.
“What?” Seth shouted.
“Is that the band!” Veronica shouted about the music.
“Yeah, I know,” Seth said. Great. Clubs were the best places to hold conversations.
Two beers later, Seth had pushed her onto the dance floor. It was crowded and various elbows jabbed.
Breathless, Veronica made her way to the edge of the dance floor. She couldn’t spot Seth, nor Alison.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the distinctive white vinyl boots in the dark of the club. They disappeared out the front door. Veronica followed.
Outside, the air was refreshing smoke free. Her eyes teared up briefly, washing away the pollution of the club from her vision.
She saw a flash of white vinyl and the back of Alison’s head disappear around the corner. She wasn’t alone.
Veronica turned around. Fantastic. They couldn’t go anywhere without someone getting in Alison’s pants. Fucking fantastic. She didn’t know where Seth went and Alison was off to have anonymous sex with a stranger. She was alone, outside the club, not sure what to do next. Maybe she should go in there and find someone, anyone and…She wasn’t sure what would happen next. Didn’t matter, really. Veronica knew she didn’t have the nerve to go find a stranger and fuck them. She wasn’t that kind of girl, unfortunately.
Veronica went back to the door. A small crowd was outside, some waiting for entry, others puffing furiously on cigarettes or waiting for the payphone.
The thick man at the door lowered a thick arm and said, “Sorry, no reentry.”
“Come on, my friends are in there.”
“No reentry.”
“I just came out for some air.”
“No reentry without the hand stamp.”
Veronica looked down at her hand, pure and stamp-free.
“Please, my boyfriend’s inside.”
“No reentry with the stamp.”
“We know the band.”
“No reentry with the stamp.”
“You keep saying that. Surely,” she swallowed her breath and tried her best to be mesmerizing. “Surely there must we some way we can come to an understanding?”
“No reentry.”
“Nothing I can do to change your mind?”
The bouncer looked her up and down slowly. He said, “No reentry with the stamp.”
Veronica rolled her eyes. It was official now, she was completely unattractive and would remain a virgin until the very, bitter, bitter end of her life.
“Let the kid in,” someone from the crowd shouted.
“No.”
“Come on…”
“She don’t even look old enough,” the bouncer said.
“You let me and my friend in earlier. We were old enough then.”
“Yeah,” the bouncer said, “but your friend is fine.”
The unnamed benefactor pushed his way to the front of the crowd. “I saw her inside. She’s cool.”
The bouncer nodded and motioned for Veronica to hurry back into the club. She tried to look over the crowd and spot her benefactor. The crowd was a sea of black leather, much like the crowd inside. No one stood out obviously in shinning armor.
The club seemed to be more crowded now. Veronica stood on her tip-toes and tried to spot the pale blonde head of Seth in the dim light. No such luck.
“So you know the band, huh?” The voice of her benefactor came from behind her.
“No,” she said, turning around. “I was desperate. I thought I’d give it a shot.”
Her benefactor was a thin man of an indeterminate age which could have been anything from fifteen to twenty five. He didn’t look old enough to be in the club. Neither did Veronica. He was wearing a filthy tee shirt which, in a former life, was white, and a black leather jacket. The lighting gave his hair a purple hue. Charming.
“Simon,” he said, shoving a head forward.
“Veronica,” she said, shaking it gingerly, as if he carried germs.
“Any sign of them?”
“How?”
“The people you’re itching to find?”
“I can’t see anything in here. My boyfriend really wanted to see this band and now he’s vanished.”
“Big fan, is he?”
“I believe he said, ‘It’s punk so it’s cool.’ I guess you could say he’s a fan.”
“And you?”
“A bit loud for me.”
“Me, too. Beer?”
Veronica nodded. They went to the bar and clinked bottles.
“You do know someone in the band now. Find your mates and come on backstage.”
“Cool.”
Veronica’s first stop was the bathroom. How very practical of her but three beers and a lot of bouncing around on the dance floor made some things very necessary. There was no line which was nice but the floor was filthy. Graffiti covered the walls. Nice. A genuinely punk place. Veronica chose the least filthy toilet.
Someone entered the bathroom. Through the grab between the stall walls, Veronica could see the clean shine of white vinyl boots.
Someone else entered the bathroom.
“Why did you have to invite her?”
Veronica was ready to flush but stopped at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Because she’s my fucking girlfriend.” Another familiar voice answered.
Through the gap between the metal stale walls, Veronica could see the thinnest sliver of Alison and Seth.
“No, she’s not your fucking girlfriend.”
What an odd to word to emphasize.
“Don’t be like that.”
“I thought you wanted to have fun.”
“We are having fun.”
“This is not what I call fun. Jesus, Seth, just pick one of us and let it be done. I’m not going to fucking wait around forever.”
The bathroom door opened and closed. From her thin vantage, Veronica could see Seth wash his hands in the sink. He splashed cold water on his face before leaving.

***
“How did that make you feel, hearing them talk?”
“Angry. Stunned. Angry.”
“Angry enough to kill?”
“Oh god, no. Just, stunned, like I just found out the great wizard was a snake oil salesman hiding behind a curtain.”
“Betrayed?”
“Don’t go putting words in my mouth.”
“But you were betrayed. They betrayed you.”
“They did not.”
“They were having an affair. Your boyfriend and your best friend.”
“An affair? I think that’s glamorizing the situation. They fucked.”
“You discover a week before her murder that your best friend was fucking your boyfriend. Don’t you think the timing’s odd?”
“Convenient for sloppy police work, you mean?”
“A month before, sure, I could understand that you decided to be the better person, but a week…That’s hardly anytime at all. That’s like making up your mind and waiting for an opportunity.”
“You think I waited for an ice storm? That was my opportunity?”
“It’s great cover. Anything can happen in a storm.”
“Not that.”
“But you were angry?”
“Of course I was angry! The man I loved was fucking my best friend! I don’t know how long it’s been going on? As long as I’ve been dating Seth? As long as I’ve known Seth? How long have they been lying to me? Smiling with their deceitful mouths.”
“Sounds like you put some thought into the matter.”
“What would you do if your wife was screwing your friend?”
“Me? I’d kill one of them. How about you? Ever feel like that?”
“Is this the interrogation technique they teach you at the academy? I haven’t told you a damn thing I didn’t want to tell you.”
“We’re only just starting.”

***
Veronica sat on the toilet and let herself panic for two minutes. Damn. She should have known. There were clues. There were clues, weren’t there? Finding Alison in the library, that was clue. “What are you doing here?” Veronica asked innocently. “Seth told me about this place,” Alison answered, deceitful with her mouth filled with lies and malice. At the time Veronica thought Alison was meeting someone in the library but she assumed that was because Alison was running out of secret rendezvous points in the tiny town.
Calmly Veronica left the stall and went to the sink. The counter was filthy and great gouges in the porcelain littered the sink basin. She turned on the tap and splashed her face with cold water.
“You can do this,” she said to her reflection. “You just have to make it back home.”
Her reflection seemed uncertain.
“Once we’re home, then we’ll worry about what to do.”
The reflection looked sad. She practiced smiling. No luck. Too much teeth, it was faked and look weird. Maybe she should just pretend she had too much to drink. It wouldn’t be so hard. There was plenty of spilled beer on her shirt. She smelled like she was wasted.
Veronica practiced a droopy eyes look and knitted her brows together, as if trying to remember the very most important thing in the world.
Perfect.
Seth and Alison were standing at a table to the right of the stage. The band was disassembling their instruments and the crowd left the dance floor. The table’s top was littered with empty beer bottles. Alison was smoking a cigarette in a bored manner.
“Hey,” Seth said, smiling in her direction. “Where were you?”
“I’ve been looking for you,” Veronica said.
“I went out to get cigarettes.”
“Both of you?”
Seth tossed a worried look at Alison. “No, just me.”
“While you were gone, I met a member of the band.”
“No way,” Seth said. “Which one?”
“The dude with the purple hair.”
“Awesome.” Seth put an arm around her shoulder in a gesture that was possessive and friendly, maker her as his but ambiguous in the extent that he possessed her. “The crowds dieing down. How about we head on back?”
“Sounds good.”

The One Where Veronica Doesn't Get a Good Night's Sleep

Veronica sat up in bed, unsure what woke her. Shackleton had stretched himself out across her feet. His head and tail draped off either end of the bed.
Groggily, she leaned in towards the alarm clock. One in the morning. There was no reason to be awake. Go back to sleep. Pulling covers back to her nose, she realized what had woken her: the total absence of sound. The heater was chugging away, rattling the vents and there was no wind. Perfectly quiet.
The only way out of bed when it was this cold to do it fast. Veronica whipped the covers back quickly and her bare feet landed on the cold wooden floor. She shuffled to the window.
The inside of the glass fogged and vanished and fogged again as her breath hit the panes. Not cold enough for frost but cold enough.
Outside was a figure of a woman, sitting on the lawn. A black dog sat protectively next to her. She was wearing a sweater but no real coat and had a notebook of some sort opened on her lap. The woman’s curly head of bowed over the notebook.
“Christ,” Veronica muttered. She slipped on a warm, fleecy robe and shoved her feet into shoes as fast a possible.
Down the stairs and out the door. No need to be quiet when Cheryl was outside on the lawn.
Crossing the living room, Veronica could see the front door was opened. The air was bitterly cold. She paused to grab the dusty green and tan afghan from the back of the rocking chair.
Shackleton jumped to his feet excitedly as Veronica made it to the porch. Cheryl did not seem to notice.
“Mom?” Veronica asked softly.
No response.
Veronica crouched down next to Cheryl and placed the afghan around her shoulders. “What are you doing out here?”
Cheryl raised her head. Her eyes where vacant and pupils tiny pin pricks. This couldn’t be good. “What,” she murmured.
“What are you doing outside? It’s freezing.”
Cheryl patted Veronica’s hand affectionately. “You’re such a good girl.”
“Let’s go inside.”
“I wanted to draw the house at night.”
“Okay. How about going inside.”
Cheryl slowly rose to her feet but was very intent on explaining her artistic vision. “At night, there’s solitude and peace and this other quality. The way the light, the moon, you know. It’s unsettling. Sometimes, if I’m in the kitchen by myself I think I can hear it. Makes my hair stand on end.”
“Okay. Let’s go inside now.”
“Do you ever feel that way?”
“What way, Mom?”
“Like you’re late to the scene of a crime and no one wants to explain what happened, so you have to figure it out.”
“Everyone feels that way sometimes,” Veronica said.
“No they don’t!”
“Mom, please.”
“Don’t patronize me.” Cheryl struggled out of Veronica’s grip and grabbed the notebook away from her. “Listen to me. I’m trying to tell you something important.”
“Fine. What, what do you need to tell me?”
Cheryl’s shoulder shagged. “I can’t remember.”
Veronica steered Cheryl back inside and onto the coach. Cheryl landed there in a crumpled heap. Patiently, Veronica took the notebook out of her hands and placed it on the carpet. Next, she took Cheryl’s feet and put them up on the coach. Finally, she covered Cheryl with a quilt.
Cheryl’s voice was small. “Why is it you act more like the mom than I do?”
“Because I have to.”
“There’s something bad inside this house.”
“I know about the ghost in the china cabinet. You got another Virgin Mary statue and that will keep him pacified.”
“Not that. The ghost’s isn’t malicious but there’s something in here that wants to hurt you. That’s why the dog was sent here to protect you.”
“Who told you that?”
“Shackleton. He likes the name, by the way.”
“Go to sleep, Mom.” Veronica kissed the top her head quickly.
“Good night dear. Take my notebook. Don’t let anyone find it.”
Veronica picked up the notebook and returned to bed. In the morning she was going to have to tell her father what happened: that Cheryl had another episode and that the dog was talking to her. Maybe she’d have another stay at a hospital, maybe more pills to take. Veronica was too tired to think about tomorrow.

The next morning Cheryl was gone.

“And that didn’t strike you as unusual?”
“No. Mom left lots of times. Sometimes to the hospital, but you saw that coming because of an incident. The crisis. Sometimes she went to stay with Aunt Jackie in Denver, resting.”
“And how did the family take that? Cheryl being away so often?”
“You got use to it. No one said anything. I mean, I had to make dinner and do housework while Mom was away but otherwise we never talked about it.”
“How about your father?”
“He seemed to be in a better mood.”
“Did they ever fight before one of Cheryl’s rests?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes, how?”
“I don’t know. You just get use to life being a certain way and you don’t question it. Mom went away periodically and came back better.”
“You like bug words.”
“I like to read.”
“Why do you feel the need to show off your vocabulary?”
“It’s not showing off. I use the word that seems to fit the situation best.”
“How long was Cheryl gone for?”
“Two weeks. She came back sometime on Christmas Eve.”

Christmas morning, Veronica stumbled bleary eyed downstairs. It was fifty thirty in the morning, too early, even if it was Christmas. Kath couldn’t wait, jumping on the Veronica’s bed in anticipation, begging Veronica to wake. Christian tried to put on a cool demeanor but he was clearly excited. Shackleton caught the excitement and ran in tight circles in the room but not barking. He was sharp like that.
Cheryl was sitting besides the tree, wrapped in a robe and wearing thick plaid slippers, as if she had been there all night.
No one asked where she had been or when she got back. Kath and Christian took their stockings and dumped the contents on the floor.
Cheryl caught Veronica’s eye and smiled. “Merry Christmas, sweetie.”

“Did you know the girl?”
“What girl?”
“The blonde one in the snow. Did you know her?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Strange, as small as town as Sun City is. Could there be someone you didn’t know? You pride yourself on knowing everyone.”
“Maybe she’s not from around here.”
“Not from around here. Right. A stranger drives into the middle of absolutely nothing to stop in your driveway and ask your father questions.”
“It could happen.”
“You didn’t know her then, but do you know her now?”
“Yes, I know of her.”
“Tragic what happen to that girl. Why don’t you explain to me what happen for those two weeks while your mother was missing.”
“She wasn’t missing. She was in the hospital.”
“Did Keith say that? Did he drive ten hours through the night and arrive safe and sound back at home in time for breakfast?”
“He didn’t say that.”
“He didn’t’ say anything. And there’s no record at Osawatomie of your mother checking in for treatment. No one knows where she was. She was missing.”
“Aunt Jackie’s?”
“No. What happened while she was missing?”

The One Where Veronica Breaks into a Library

The One Where Veronica Breaks into a Library

“Where are we going?” Veronica asked, shutting the front door behind her.
“It’s a surprise,” Seth said.
“What kind of surprise?”
“Pretty good, I think.”
“So not dinner with your parents?”
“Why would that be a surprise?”
“Your mom could make tuna surprise?”
Seth made a face. “Are we out of sight of your house yet?”
“Sounds exciting.” Veronica looked over her shoulder. The house was about a thousand yards away. There were no street lights. “We’re good,” she said.
“Excellent.” Seth grabbed her hand and pulled her off the gravel road into the tall grass.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s a short cut.”
“My shoes will get muddy.”
“Since when have you been a girl who cared about getting her shoes dirty?” True enough.
Seth pulled Veronica through the tall grass. The field was long but shallow, only a half acre across. The far side of the field was the sin side of Constitution Avenue: bar, hotel, and post office.
The night air was cold. Veronica felt the blood drain away from her face and fingers, chilling the flesh. There were no clouds. The stars punctured the velvety night sky with brief glimpses of ancient light.
Behind the post office but not yet out of the field, Seth stopped. “Okay,” he said, putting a hand in a back pocket. “Put this on.” He handed her a red bandana.
“Are you serious?”
“Never more. Put it on.”
“No.”
“Come on. I want you to be totally surprised.” The way he spoke, the words and their accompanying emotions rolled across his face like dark clouds rolling across a sunny sky.
“Fine.” She tied on the bandana.
“Is it tight?”
“Tight enough.”
“No peaking.”
A large, warm hand clasped hers and cautiously pulled her forward. The bandana smelled of Seth’s hair products.
They walked forward another twenty steps. Veronica counted. He halted. Veronica bumped into him. “Careful,” he said quietly.
“Why are we whispering?”
“Because what we are about to do is frowned upon in the state of Kansas.”
Veronica felt an involuntary, electric thrill surge up her body.
There was the sound of wood scrapping against wood and then a window being opened.
“Okay, take a step up on the box.” His hands guided her feet. Everywhere flesh touched, she felt involuntary excitement and ache.
“Okay, now I need you to crawl in through here.”
“This would be easier if I wasn’t blindfolded.”
“Tough.”
Veronica put her hands forward and felt a rough edge of wood, a window sill littered with peeling paint. She lifted one leg and pulled herself through. On the other side of the window was a large, flat surface. She slid across and sat on the edge, legs dangling impatiently.
“Can I take it off now?”
“No.”
“Why not.”
“Can’t you just wait?”
“No. Come on. Hurry up.”
Lips pressed against hers, quick and clumsy in the dark. “Hold your horses,” he said.
Fine. It was very cold and felt colder than the outside, as if she was waiting impatiently in a large meat locker.
“Doesn’t this place have heat?”
“Um, not really.”
The sound of something else being hauled in through the window.
“Okay. Ready?”
“Oh yeah.” She removed the blindfold.
The room was cold and seemed cavernous in the faint light provided by the lantern. Even through Veronica had not set foot in this building in five years, she knew it immediately.
“The library,” she said quietly. To say it too loudly would be inviting fortune to take the library away again. It was a magical place that existed on the past and somehow she was in its foreign country and the no one had been alerted to her presence.
The Sun City library was boarded up five years ago due to a shrinking tax base. Not enough money for books and librarians.
One table was pushed against the wall, under the window she had crawled through. On the table rested a cooler, a blanket, a lantern, and Seth’s guitar case.
She approached the shelves slowly, as if stalking a prey that might scatter if they saw her. The books were on the shelves, neatly arranged and waiting, as if there had been no end of the world, no library free world outside.
The entire library felt that way. The chairs were pushed under tables. Veronica ran her finger along the backs of the chair, dragging a trail through thick dust. Heavy velvet curtains drawn against the boarded windows. In the middle of the room was a circular desk. Cards were still in drawers. Stamps rested atop dried ink pads. Pens were in a cup and bookmarks were stacked neatly in a little pile. The air about the place was that it was waiting to open for business in the morning, not as if it had been abandoned.
“This is amazing.”
“So how long will it take you to read everything in here?”
Veronica couldn’t find the words so she threw herself at Seth, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce embrace.
“A month? Two months? Tell me it’ll keep you busy until the summer?”
“It’s wonderful! This is the best gift anyone could give anyone ever!”
“That might be over doing it.”
“It’s the perfect gift for me.”
He kissed her. It curled her toes. One time. Her body was aching for sex, crying out in a primordial way that kept her up at night. His hand pressed against her lower back, holding her against him. This was it. She could feel undeniable momentum and knew there was only one destination. Finally.
One time couldn’t hurt, if they were careful. Just like that, Veronica’s convictions to remain a virgin and not get knocked up were compromised with a single thought.
Seth pulled away. Veronica stood there dumbly, her mouth working like a fish gasping air. “Don’t you want to know what’s in the cooler?” he asked.
Derailed. Again. Damn it. Why bother to bring her to a dark, secluded library with a blanket and every opportunity of getting lucky if he was only going to talk about what was in the cooler.
“What’s in the cooler?” she asked, trying not to let disappointment and frustration color the tone of her voice.
“A feast. A movable feast, if you will.” He smiled like the sun breaking out from behind clouds. His gazed fixed on hers. Disappointment vanished. She couldn’t stay mad him, not when his gaze made her felt like the center of the universe, as if she were the sun and not the other way around.
From the cooler emerge a feast of cold fried chicken and cans of beer. A blanket was spread across the floor in true picnic fashion. The lantern flicked across the dusty spines of books, casting shadows on the ceiling. It was perfect.
“So how did you find this place?” Veronica cracked the lid of the can.
“It’s the library,” Seth said in a tone of voice that implied her question was silly.
“I mean, how did you find a way to get in? How did you know the books were just left here?”
“I didn’t. In the midst of petty vandalism and general no-goodery, I noticed the plywood over the window was loose.”
“So naturally, you crawled in through the window.”
“Naturally.”
“Thank you.”
Seth smiled like the clouds rolling across the face of the sun, casting shadows on the prairie. He said, “What are you going to read first?”
“Steinbeck.”
“All this effort for Steinbeck? He’s in the school library.”
“Just The Grapes of Wrath. He wrote more than one book and I plan on reading them.”
“After Steinbeck?”
“Don’t know. I think I’m might start with that shelf over there and work my way across.”
“Why not just start with the letter A?”
“Libraries aren’t arranged that way. Haven’t you ever heard of Dewey decimal?”
“Nope. This is the most time I’ve ever been in a…library, did you call it?”
Veronica threw the empty beer can at his head. He ducked the missile neatly. “I hope you don’t plan on littering,” he said.
She shook her head. She wouldn’t’ dream of littering in this, the most sacred of places.
Seth removed the guitar from the case. “I’ve been working on this, so tell me what you think…”

The One With the Girl in the Snowstorm

Veronica sat up in bed, unsure what woke her. Shackleton was stretched across her feet, pinning her feet under his bulk.
“How’d you get in here?” she asked softly. His tail wagged enthusiastically but did not answer the question.
“Walking through walls, now?”
She shivered under the blanket and realized what woke her was the absolute cold. The wind rattled against the house. She needed another blanket.
Veronica wrapped the blanket tightly around her as she stood up from the bed. There were more blankets in the linen closet in the bathroom down the hall. If she walked fast enough, she’d be back in her warm bed.
Carrying a heavy quilt, Veronica crossed by the window. Under the wind, she could hear voices.
Delicate, lacey patterns of frost were traced across the window. Veronica pushed aside the heavy curtain, literally plunging her hand into an inch layer of chilled air.
An unknown care was parked in the driveway. Four doors, a boxy foreign car. In the dark it was hard to tell the color, green or maybe blue.
Snow was falling, the first snow of the season. It drifted down in large white clumps. It was coming down fast and pilling up on the ground. The wind had already made a drift against the house and covered the front steps.
There were foot steps in the snow leading from the porch.
Keith was out in the snow, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together. Clouds of steaming breath drifted upwards.
Veronica did not recognize the woman he was speaking to. The hood on the coat was up and obscuring her face.
The snow seemed to isolate them, make them seem like the only people who existed in the world at that moment.
Keith did not look happy. Her reached into his back pocket and withdrew a white envelope.
The girl took it with one hand, the other pushing back the hood. She looked upwards.
Flakes of snow had collected on her face but not melted. Her skin was so pale and her hair so blonde, she looked as if she could be made of snow.
Keith followed her gaze and looked up, towards Veronica.
Gasping, Veronica stepped back from the window, the curtain falling back into place. The stormy look on Keith face let her know that she just witnessed something she did not need to see.

The One Where Veronica's Dad's Up to No Good

“Veronica!”
Veronica paused as she entered items on the cash register, unsure what she was doing that made people shout out her name.
A woman with badly bleached hair turned a brittle brassy color and large gold earnings was at the end of the counter. Her mouth opened and closed with the motions of chewing gum.
“Um, hello,” Veronica said.
“I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Really?” Because Veronica couldn’t imagine having ever seen the woman before.
“You were real little then. Cute as a button.”
“Okay.”
“Susie,” the brassy haired woman said. “From the truck stop. You’re dad use to bring you in on the overnight. You always wanted French toast.”
That sounded like her. She loved French toast. Vague memories as sitting at a large counter on orange vinyl stools moved forward in her mind.
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember that so well.”
“You were so small then. Look at you, nearly grown. You in high school?”
“I’m a senior.”
“Any plans?”
“College.”
“Good for you. Your dad’s always going on about how smart you are. You look smart.” Which was a backhanded way of saying she looked nerdy.
“Thanks.”
“Me and your dad, we go way back.”
“Okay.”
“It’s a shame he doesn’t come round the truck stop more often.”
“Okay.”
“Tell your dad I said hello.”
“Okay.”
With a final snap of the gum, the brassy hair woman was gone. Veronica had no idea who she was.

The One Where Veronica Mom Goes to the Sanitorium

Veronica turned the key in the back door, opening the door slowly and shutting it quietly behind her. It was fifteen minutes past nine.
“Is that you, sweetie?” Cheryl’s voice drifted out from the living room. The television was illuminating the darkened room.
“I’m home, Mom.”
“Are you hungry? There’s a plate of spaghetti for you in the stove.”
“Starving. Thanks.”
The plate was warm to the touch and Veronica put on the table as fast as possible, nearly dropping it. Three meatballs and a slice of garlic bread where arranged lovingly on the plate, framed by red sauce. She sat at the table quietly and ate.
Over the dinning room table was a large landscape her mother had painted last year. It was a view of the house in late summer from far across a field. The little yellow house stood alone against a vivid blue sky. There were no clouds. The field of wheat which surrounded in the house on three sides in real life was painted a soft golden, white gold and not quite ready for harvest. There were no people in view. Laundry hung on the line but it was household linens, the yellow and rose tinted rues of sheets and towels and the tiniest suggestions of washcloths. No clothing. There was a car, the car, red and dusty and threatening as the most vivid color in the painting.
The quality of the painting was of a world class caliber. Veronica knew her mother studied the styles of Andrew Wyeth and knew this was modeled to resemble a famous painting of his, but nothing about it suggested an amateur’s attempt at imitation. The landscape filled Veronica with a sense of dread.
Cheryl was a gifted artist and won competitions across the state. She was a prodigy. Her farmer parent’s didn’t have the money to send her to a private school but did the best they could with Sun City’s shrinking public school. Cheryl always seemed to paint and draw and she always seemed to improve. She won a scholarship to New York University.
Cheryl sometimes spoke about what life could have been if she went to New York. It was hard to imagine a city that big. It was hard to imagine so many people and none of them cared who you were or what you were doing in their city. Studying with professors would have been nice but she wanted to see the museums. She wanted to see the paints. The Met, MOMA, the Guggenheim. Cheryl repeated these names as if they were friends she once knew from long ago and thought of fondly.
When Cheryl was seventeen she became pregnant. Veronica disliked that phrase, became pregnant. Got pregnant. It sounded crude and equated pregnancy with getting a cold or getting the flu. One did not catch pregnancy like a virus, it was the logical conclusion of the reproductive act.
Veronica was a virgin and planned on staying that way until graduation. Seth knew this and seemed to be okay with the idea. Veronica wasn’t entirely sure she believe him and was always expecting pressure to put out but she was not going to get pregnant. There was no way to use birth control in this town. There was only one doctor and Dr. Barlow did not respect doctor-patient confidentiality. If she came to him seeking birth control pills, her parents would show up at the office. If she did manage to get a prescription, it’s be filled at Laudermilk’s, who would tell her parents that she was on the pill and therefore having sex. She could go out of town to another doctor but she didn’t have a car.
Buying condoms was impossible. She’d have to buy them from Old Man Laudermilk again and everyone would know. The moment she left the store, she’d have a scarlet letter attached to her bosom. Seth could buy them and everyone would know and they would know who he was going to use them with.
It was easier just to not have sex and deal with the messy complications. Cheryl’s complication was marriage to Keith. Cheryl was a married woman and seven months pregnant when she graduated high school. University and New York slipped away.
That was not going to happen to Veronica. She had a plan and that plan did not include formula and diapers. The knowledge that when Cheryl was Veronica’s age, she was already an expecting mother chilled Veronica to her bones.
Veronica could not remember clearly the first time Cheryl went into the hospital. Veronica was very young and Cheryl was pregnant with Christian. She couldn’t remember much but she remembered finding Cheryl asleep on the living room floor and an empty bottle next to her. Crying, Veronica ran to her Grandma McCoy’s house. After that it was blur of grown up talking and trying to calm Veronica. Grandma McCoy said Cheryl had to go to the hospital to take care of the baby. She’d be home soon. Grown-up comfortably reassuring Veronica that Cheryl would be home soon did not help her. It only made her more afraid. Why couldn’t they visit? Because the hospital was too far away. When would Mom be home? Soon.
Veronica has a clear memory of crying so fiercely that she gasped for breath and cried in convulsion that racked her little body. Grandma McCoy offered spoonful of sugar to calm the crying girl, shoving spoonful and after spoonful into her mouth. When Veronica refused to open her mouth, Grandma would pinch her nose so she’d have to gasp for air and shove in the sugar laden spoon.
Cheryl did eventually return home with a baby boy, who was named Christian. He was tow months old. No one would explain why Cheryl and Christian had to be in the hospital for two months.
The last incident was in May. It was raining. Cheryl went into Medicine Lodge for groceries. Veronica tagged along. While Cheryl was at the market, she went to the library.
Cheryl drove a ’67 Rambler Marlin. Black leather interior, dark blue exterior.
Cheryl’s hand rested in the middle of the steering wheel, on either side of a silver marlin embedded in a blue plastic medallion.
“Any thought about colleges, yet?”
“I’ve got time.”
“Not as much as you think. Next year will fly by. You should get the applications out as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
“I know you will. And don’t be afraid to go far away from home. It might be a nice change to leave the state.”
“Won’t you miss me?”
“You’re my baby, you know. I have to protect you.”
“I can take care of myself, Mom.”
“You think you can. You’ve got such spirit but you have no idea of what that man is capable of.”
“What man?”
“I’m doing this for you, sweetie.”
The windshield wipers beat a steady rhythm as they journey back and forth. Veronica looked at Cheryl, unsure what she would do. Cheryl did not take her eyes off the road. Her knuckles were white, tightly gripping the steering wheel on either side of the silver marlin.
The car swerved sharply to the left. It moved sideways across the road in an unnatural direction. The tires felt like they lost contact with the road, rain separating rubber from asphalt.
Then the road was gone entirely. The car hovered for a second and crashed into the tall grasses alongside the road. Veronica held out her arms, to brace herself. Then the horizon disappeared and reappeared and disappeared. She focused on the silver marlin in the middle of the steering wheel. It seemed to be a moving in a continuous loop, around and around.
It came to a rest. Everything stopped moving.
The world righted itself and Veronica knew the car was upside down, resting on its roof.
A few quiet moments passed. The engine ticked and it’s cooled and rain pattered lightly on the undercarriage of the car. She was going to vomit. She was going to scream. She couldn’t open her mother because she didn’t know which one would come out.
Hands and arms appeared through the windows and pulled Veronica out.
A State Trooper found the car, on its roof in the field beside the road.
She didn’t know how long she answered questions.
“What was the condition of the road?”
“It was raining.”
“Visibility?”
“Pretty bad, I guess. The windows kept fogging up.”
“What were you and your mother talking about?”
“Groceries.”
“Groceries?”
“We just went shopping. She forgot to get cheese.”
“Did she say anything before the car went off the road?”
“No.”
“Considering your mother’s…history, are you sure she said nothing…troubling?”
“My mother’s not suicidal, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”
“I was tying to be nice about it, but yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
“She wasn’t trying to kill herself.”
“If she was and you’re not telling the truth, you’re not helping her. Suicide attempts are a cry for help.”
“That’s rubbish.”
“Statistically, the first attempt is practice. It’s not entirely serious but serious enough that they person wants to see how far they can go.”
“What do you know about statistics, Junior?”
“I know that the first attempt always has a mistake that stops them being successful.”
“Stop it!”
“Think about this. If she gets home and next time she has an accident, she’s going to succeed. And it will be your fault. Your fault she didn’t get help she needs now.”
“It’s not my fault!”
“Then how come you’re the only one of her kids she tried to take with her?”
“It was an accident. The rain was hard and she couldn’t see the road.”
“Right. We’ll go with that for now.”

***

That was the last time Cheryl went to Osawatomie, the state mental hospital for what Keith referred to as a “little rest.” She was gone from the last week of May and returned home on the Fourth of July. Everyone in town knew Cheryl was gone and why but never referred to the incident directly. They used pleasant euphemisms like “visiting family” or “seeing a friend” or “taking a little trip.”
Early that morning, Keith fried some eggs and drank a cup of coffee. Before dawn, he climbed into his truck and rattled his way down the driveway. Ten hours later the truck returned. Cheryl was sitting in the cab, dressed in a pale blue sun dress and a large white straw hat which she kept on her head with one hand.
Kath ran to Cheryl, latching both arms around her middle. Cheryl laughed, crouching down to hug her youngest. Keith silently unloaded luggage from the back of the truck.
“It’s good to be home, pumpkin.” She patted Kath on the head affectionately and looked up sharply at Christian and Veronica.
The sun was powerful in the afternoon and the direct sunlight on the top of Veronica’s head and made it feel like her hair was on fire. Veronica said, “I missed you, Mom.”
Cheryl reached into her purse and withdrew a small paper wrapped package. Veronica knew instantly what it was.
“Go put this in the cabinet with the others.”

“So what was the deal with Virgin Mary statues in the china cabinet?”
“Mom believes the cabinet is haunted.”
“Haunted?”
“With the spirit of a Civil War soldier. Apparently he’s restless.”
“Union or Confederate?”
“How would I know? I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“But this cabinet…”
“Mom fills it with Virgin Mary statues. She says it pacifies his spirit.”
“And no one thought this was strange?”
“It’s strange, but it’s easier not to argue with her. After all, they’re just statues in a cabinet, doing no one any harm.”

The One Where Veronica Buys A Doy Collar

The counter of the soda fountain was forever dusty. The shop was forever dusty. Veronica did not know where the dust came from. She wiped down the counter with cleanser, making small, methodic circles on the teal counter top. For minimum wage, she would continue to clean the same spot with absent minded zeal.
A man seat down on the stool opposite her, keys clinking as they dangled from his belt loop.
Veronica did not look up. “You can’t exactly sneak up on crooks jingling like that.” Keys dangling from belt loops was a personal pet peeve. It was just so trashy.
“Is that your dog outside?”
Veronica looked over Junior’s shoulder and out the window. The Shackleton’s Dog was outside on the pavement, patiently waiting for Veronica with his head resting on his paws.
“That dog? That’s not my dog.”
“Everyone in town seems to think it is. Do you know what the fine is for an unregistered animal in city limits?”
“That’s not my dog. Besides, I hate dogs,” Veronica said. “They smell.”
“Not to mention a leash.”
“If I see the dog’s owners, I’ll let them know, Junior.”
“Deputy Laudermilk to you.” Junior was the only son of Old Man Laudermilk. While his father was good natured and had a gift for putting people at ease with small talk, Junior’s talents seemed to be antagonizing people. He could get a man to throw a punch at him in only five words. That was a bit simplistic but Junior had a small bit of power and he enjoyed flaunting it. He looked for trouble because anyone dumb enough to get into a fight with Junior was assaulting an officer. Junior was a world class dick.
“Deputy,” Veronica said. “This counter is for paying customers. I suggest you order something or be on your way. No loitering, isn’t that what you always tell the kids?”
“The dog needs to be registered, in a collar and on a leash next time I see it.” Junior eased off the stool, keys jingling merrily.
“It’s not my dog.”
Alison passed Junior as she entered the building. She wore sunglasses and was chewing bubble gum.
“And where we you last night, Miss Clark?”
“Trick of treating with my kid sister.” That may or may not have been true.
“At midnight?”
“Home. Asleep. It was a school night, after all.”
“You weren’t at a party, perhaps?”
“I don’t remember a party.”
Junior and Alison gave each other a long, level stare. Alison blew a pink bubble and snapped it loudly. Junior left in a sour look on his face.
“What’s Deputy Dog want?” Alison asked, climbing onto the seat Junior vacated.
“Just giving me a lecture on dog ownership.”
“How is the mutt, anyway?”
“Harmless. Follow me everywhere. Hey, I didn’t see a lot of you last night.”
“Well, you were too busy making eyes at the glorious son of York.”
“I was not making eyes.”
“You were doing something. What’d you do after?”
“After?”
“The bust?”
“Seth took me home.”
“No way, home? Are you serious? No stops along the way?”
“Yes, he took me home. Just home. Very innocent.”
“Very boring. In my humble opinion, when you’ve got a guy as tasty gorgeous as Seth, you need to bonk him till your brains ooze out.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“The bonking or the brains?” Alison had a reputation. Not so much from her actions as her words. She talked big and everyone believed her. From the way she talked, she’d personally had every guy on the Medicine Lodge football team. It wasn’t true, but a lot of people believed it. Her current outfit was a good example: tight jeans and a cut-off shirt that exposed the mid-drift of her belly. She dressed that scantily regardless of the weather.
“When are you going to stop punishing your parents and be the dutiful, good little daughter you know you are?”
“The day pigs learn to fly.”
Veronica caught Old Man Laudermilk’s eye and knew the look on his face: your friend has to buy something or skedaddle.
“You need to buy something,” Veronica said.
“Give me a cherry coke. And don’t be stingy on the syrup, soda jerk.”
Veronica admired Alison because she was forever on mission to upset and anger her parents. Her father was the preacher at the Rose of Sharon Baptist Church. Preacher’s daughters had a big hell raiser reputation to live up to and Alison was up for the challenge. Veronica, however, was forever rushing trying to put out fires her family set and trying desperately to placate everyone. Veronica was envious. She wished she would be so selfish as to not care what kind of trouble she caused, to do as she pleased.
Maybe she should buy a collar for the dog. And some dog food. The Shackleton’s Dog had been following her for a week. Clearly he was not going anywhere, whether she ignored him or not.
Old Man Laudermilk placed two paper bags on the counter. “Take these out to the Forth house. There’s milk in there, so don’t dawdle.”
“Can I take the truck?” The Laudermilk delivery wagon was a wood paneled relic from the fifties.
“Nope.”
“I have my liscence.”
“And I don’t have the insurance to let every teenage yahoo go driving Carmine. You can take the bike.” Carmine was the name of the wood paneled relic. The bike was an embarrassing piece of work with a huge wire basket in the front and on the back.
“Fine.” The bike was resting in front of the store, leaving sharply to one side on its kick stand. “You going to come?” Veronica asked Alison.
She shook her head. “Diner’s at seven tonight.”
The Forths lives on the far side of town, the side that faced the old gypsum mines. Mrs. Forth had been a chorus line dancer on Broadway but had serious asthma. She was advised by her doctors to come out west for the healthy, dry air. That was 1923. She arrived in Sun City and worked in the hotel. In the twenties the hotel was no longer a brothel but an actual hotel and had a speak easy in the basement. She married Carl Forth in 1925.
During the Dust Bowl years, the air filled with thick dust and turned to poison. She came for the air that was now slowly killing her. Forth’s developed dust pneumonia. They had lungs filled with scar tissue. Once a month, a medical supply company from Wichita delivered oxygen tanks for Mrs. Forth.
It took Mr. Forth ten minutes to answer the door, enough time for Veronica to ring the bell and then unload the bicycle’s baskets.
The door opened slowly, the smell of dust and lavender wafting towards Veronica. A voice called from the darkness inside the house. “Who is it?”
“The Harlow girl,” Mr. Forth said, his voice bellowing.
“Let her in, I have something to show her,” Mrs. Forth hollered back. She couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t hear.
“You’re dog has to stay outside,” he said. “You know where the kitchen is.” He left the door open for Veronica.
She carried the bags into the kitchen and sat them on the counter. She took out the carton of milk and put it in the refrigerator. The Forth’s had a very old fashioned model, it was round on the top and lined with chrome and sat on four dainty legs. Mrs. Forth mentioned once with pride that it was the first electric refrigerator in Sun City.
Mrs. Forth was sitting in the living room. The heavy drapes were drawn against the night. The lights were on but the entire room seemed dim. The oxygen tube was taped in place under her nose. The canister sat unobtrusively side her on the sofa.
“How are your light bulbs? Should I send my brother round?” Veronica asked, sitting next to Mrs. Forth on the sofa.
“You go ahead and do that.” Christian earned a little pocket money doing errands for the Forths, the most elderly people in town. “We need to get the leaves raked, I suppose.”
“How are you doing today?”
“Can’t complain. Isn’t that right, Carl?”
Mr. Forth had resumed his position in the wingback chair in front of the television. “What?”
“We can’t complain,” she repeated, loudly.
“Of course we can.”
“The old fool,” she said to Veronica. “He won’t admit he needs hearing aides. Anyway, the thing I wanted to show you.”
“Yes?”
Mrs. Forth grabbed a framed photograph from the inn table and handed it to Veronica. A black and white print. In it, a pretty young girl smiled at the camera. Her dark hair fitted tightly to her skull and she wore a long white gown. One arm crooked around to hold up a feather fan behind her head.
“Was that you?”
“I was something sharp, wasn’t I?”
“You look a little fast, to be honest.”
Mrs. Forth laughed, which broke into coughing. She pointed to a large oil painting on the wall. It was the same photograph but rendered in playful brush strokes and soft color. The white gown gleamed. The feather fan was a soft pink. The dancer posed in such a manner that was more than seductive.
“We just had it cleaned.”
“You’re gorgeous.”
“Your mother painted that.”
“My mom?”
“Sure. She was in high school at the time. ’63 I think. That girl had talent.”
Veronica studied the painting. It was hard to gauge a person’s mental instability by the way they painted. The strokes were even and stable, no wild gashing at the canvas. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, truthfully.
“Does she still paint? Carl and I got our sixtieth coming up in a few years. I think it would be nice for the kids to have.”
“Does who still paint?” Mr. Forth asked, taking rare interest in a conversation.
“The McCoy girl,” Mrs. Forth said loudly.
He nodded, sagely. “Very talented that one.”
Veronica wasn’t sure how long Mrs. Forth would be around but it was a nice idea. “She still paints, off and on.”
“You let her know, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
“How much do we owe you?”
“It’s on your tab.”
“Sweet girl. Carl, give her a tip.”
“What?”
“A tip! Give the Harlow girl a tip!”
Mr. Harlow said nothing and produced a much wrinkled, much used dollar bill from his back pocket.
“Thanks,” Veronica said.
“You tell your mother, now.”
“I will.”
Outside, the air was chilled and felt refreshing against her face. Shackleton was patiently waiting beside the bicycle. “I think you need a collar. And some dog food. And I don’t know where to register you. Come on.”

The One Where Veronica Took the Dog To School

“Is that your dog?” Alison loitered on the steps of the school. She was stretched across four steps, leaning back on her elbows and feet dangling carelessly. Alison’s nature at rest seemed to default to loitering. Today she wore a black and white striped shirt, puffy black skirt, and pink tights. Her hair was a soft honey colored blonde and seemed to glow warmly in the autumnal sun. Her hair was cut shoulder length and the ends razored for a tough look. Alison had taken a Joan Jet album to the salon as a guide.
Veronica’s hair was black and straight and long. She had bangs on he forehead and wore a black velvet headband to push the rest of the hair out of her eyes. She desperately wanted a Joan Jet haircut.
“He’s not my dog,” Veronica said. For emphasis, she pointed at the dog and said sharply, “Go away!”
The dog cocked his head to one side, tail thumping on the ground.
“That only works if it’s your dog,” Alison said calmly, now an expert on dogs.
“Shut up, I suppose you know so much.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Don’t know. He just appeared last night at my house. He won’t leave.”
“You should name him.”
“I don’t want a dog and I don’t want to name this dog. I don’t even like dogs.”
“How would you know? You’ve never had a dog.”
“I was bitten by Zero, remember?”
Alison nodded sagely. Everyone remembered Zero, Mrs. Schneidawind’s dachshund that terrorized children. Zero had the run of the town and did what he pleased. Unfortunately, what he pleased was taking small bites out of kids. There was much rejoicing when he was hit by a tractor. The thing is, tractors move so slow. Even a short legged dog like Zero could have avoided a tractor barreling down on him. He must not have cared or thought the tractor had to get out of his way. Either way, Veronica was not sorry to see his vicious little biting corpse pushing up daisies.
“That dog was a psychopath,” Alison said. “I just don’t know why someone as nice as Mrs. Schneidawind would have a dog as nasty as Zero.”
“He’s still behind me, isn’t he?”
“He looks nice. He looks like the dog from the Shackleton Tobacco ad.”
Veronica sat on the steps next to Alison. The dog obediently sat at her feet, plopping down in an affectionate, furry heap. In the daylight he wasn’t so much of a Grim as a shaggy, nondescript mutt kind of dog. He did look like the Shackleton’s Tobacco dog. On the side of Laudermilk’s was a faded old advertisement for the defunct tobacco brand, painted onto the bricks of the building. A bearded man wearing a wool cap and a heavy sweater squinted out of the advertisement, pipe firmly clamped between his manly lips. He looked vaguely like an explorer but more like a fisherman. A shaggy, mutt looking black dog sat calmly next to the explorer/fisherman.
The warning bell rang, a shrill prolonged note of a hammer pounding on a metal bell. Veronica and Alison scattered without a word.
Sun City Memorial High School was built after the First World War. It was haunted. Black and white portraits of fallen Sun City boys lined the halls. Over the years, the Great War sacrifices blended with those of World War Two, Korea and eventually the angry color portraits of Vietnam.
The high school had been built when the gypsum mines were opened and the rail road ran through the town and the town believed it would swell with future generations that should be educated in somber, sober elegance. The future generations never swelled. The portraits of those that truly left the city, not for war but for simple economics, did not line halls. Those causalities wounded the city deeper than those marching off to the battlefield. There was no memorial to the children of Sun City who left for the city, for the world, and never came back home. Now the population was so small, all grades attended the same building. There were only 76 students in the entire district. Sun City was aging and there were no children. The school was haunted.

Write stuff here about what happens during the school day. Kath-Grim

“I’m bored.” Alison sat heavily in the chair next to Veronica.
“Congratulations. You must be the first kid to ever in history to be bored.”
“Say something funny.”
“No.”
“Come on, you’re funny.”
“I’m not funny on command.”
“Explain to me that Tartar thing again.”
“What thing?”
“You know, bigger inside than outside and it travels through time.”
“That Tardis? Time and relative dimensions…” Veronica stopped herself before she unmasked herself as a geek.
Alison smiled. “Yeah, that. You’re so funny but I’m still bored. Did you hear about the Beast? I took off some kid’s leg last night. They’re in the hospital.”
“We are supposed to be working on a lab.”
“I’ll just copy your work.”
“That’s cheating.”
“We’re lab partners. It’s collaborative education. Teamwork.”
“Cheater.”
“Biology is so boring. But Mr. Wells is kind of tasty, in a mature man sort of way.”
Veronica looked up from her book. Wells was sitting on the edge of his desk, talking to a student in the front row. He motioned broadly with his hands. He was good-looking in a non-threatening way: youngish face, dark hair and thick rimmed glasses.
“Shame about the glasses, though,” Alison said. “Still, those can come off.”
Veronica felt weird in the pit of her stomach, picturing Wells nude, passionate, san glasses, and inflagrante.
“In-fla-what?”
“If you read more I would have to go around explaining things to you.”
“If you wouldn’t use ten-cent words we wouldn’t be having this conversation and discussing how long…”
“I’m not talking with you about this.”
Alison sighed loudly. “You’re so meek.”
“I don’t think seducing our teacher is a very good idea.”
“Show’s what you know. Honestly, what else is there to do?”
“You could read a book.”
Alison made a sour face.
“You’ll just end up regretting it,” Veronica said.

***
“What made you say that? She would regret it.”
“Don’t know. Just conversation. Seemed like something to say.”
“What made you so sure she’d regret it?”
“Seducing a married just seems like a bad idea. Violates the Commandments or something.”
***

“I need to show you something.” Kath sat at the library table, across from Veronica.
“This is study hall. You should be quiet.”
“Everyone else is talking.” That was true. The library had a low level hum of constant chatter. Hardly a quiet sanctuary.
“We have assigned seats.”
“No one cares.” True, again. Veronica’s assigned seat was the table under the windows. She liked the way the sunlight warmed the top of her head.
“But I’m actually trying to study,” Veronica said.
Kath rolled her eyes. One of the disadvantages of the tiny school was sharing classes with siblings. Veronica would have liked to attend a school large enough she never had to see Christian or Kath.
“What is it then?”
Kath slid a book towards Veronica: Monsters of Myth. “Page 27,” she said.
The Grim. A large black dog foretelling misfortune, usually death.
“So?”
“What do you think about our friend outside?”
Veronica stood up to peer over the ledge of the window. The library faced the front of the school. On the pavement, exactly where she left him this morning was the Shackleton’s Dog.
Page twenty seven had an illustration. A large, wolf-like dog in dog, lurking and snarling.
She looked back out the window. The Shackleton’s Dog was sniffing at an earthworm drying on the sidewalk. His tongue darted out and he swallowed the worm.
“He is the most non-threatening dog I’ve ever seen,” Veronica said. “He ate a worm.”
“It’s a Grim,” Kathy said.
“Don’t you have work to be doing?”
“Why won’t it go away? Why does it keep following us?”
“According to your book here, Grims appear and then disappear. This dog seems to be the opposite. Maybe he’s a dog that foretells good fortune. An Anti-Grim.”
“There’s no such thing as an Anti-Grim.”
“Where there’s no such thing as a Grim.”
“Miss Harlow,” the librarian said sharply.
“Go away,” Veronica whispered.
Kath took her book and went back to her assigned table.


The dog was waiting for Veronica on the porch of the house.
“When did you get a dog?” Seth asked.
“That’s not my dog.”
“Alison’s says his name is Shackleton.”
“It’s not my dog,” she repeated. “And that’s not his name. He just looks like the Shackleton’s Dog, that’s all.”
The screen down was close with the front door was opened, to let in the breeze. Shackleton followed Veronica closely and pressed his nose into her back. He was a tall dog.
“Did you hear about the Sun City Beast? Apparently some girl had a leg bitten off in the Fifties.”
“That’s such rubbish.”
“Am I coming in?” Seth asked.
Veronica shook her head. “Mom will flip.”
“Your mom seems nice.”
Cheryl’s voice drifted through the screen door. “Is that Seth? Is he coming in?”
“See?” Seth held the screen door open and disaster happened.
Shackleton barked excitedly and darted inside.
“No, no, oh no…” The cried came involuntary from her lips as she chased Shackleton.
He raced to the very back of the house, into the kitchen.
Cheryl screamed. “What is that dog doing inside!”
“I don’t know.”
Veronica chased Shackleton. He circled under the table and darted out, knocking over a chair. He barked loudly, racing back into the living room.
“Stop, please stop,” Veronica pleaded.
“Get it out! Get it out!”
Shackleton loved being the center of attention and barked louder. He raced in a tight circle in the living room, jumping from the floor to the couch to the rocking chair and back to the floor. Seth tried vainly to catch him.
Shackleton landed with ease on the couch. Seth lunged forward. Shackleton was in motion again, landing on the rocking chair.
For moment, he achieved equilibrium and was a dog standing on back legs, paws in the air, tail wagging at a psychotic rate, and rocking back and forth with perfect balance.
Seth grabbed the dog’s tail.
The dog squealed like a wounded animal and gracelessly fell off the rocker, four paws pointing upwards in the wrong direction and the rest of his black shaggy bulk threw itself into the china cabinet.
Cheryl let out a low, animal sort of noise filled with dread and anger.
The cabinet fell forward. Glass broke. Porcelain broke. Wood splintered.
“Gotcha.” Veronica had Shackleton by the scruff of his shaggy neck. “You. Are. Not. An inside. Dog.” In one swift motion, Shackleton was outside on the porch, howling remorsefully to be separated from his pack.
Veronica felt her heart soften. “I’m sorry.”
More crying.
“No. You’re getting a collar. And training.”
Shackleton settled down on the porch, chin resting on outstretched paws.
Seth had straightened the cabinet. One leg was missing and the cabinet leaned sharply to the left. Cheryl knelt in the middle of the broken glass and pottery.
“The Holy Mothers,” she said.
Seth looked at Veronica. “I didn’t know you were Catholic.”
“I’ll explain later. Mom, you have to get up, you’ll cut yourself.”
“How did that dog break every single Holy Mother?”
“It’s just one,” Veronica said.
Cheryl hugged the body of the blue robed Virgin Mary statues tightly next to herself. It disappeared into the folds of her shirt. Cheryl did not say a word but made a mewling noise.
“I’ll get the vacuum cleaner.” Usually volunteering to do housework caught her attention. Cheryl picked up a small white veiled head, pink lipped and strangely serine removed from her head.
Veronica turned towards Seth. His face was pale and tight lip. “You should leave.”
He nodded and vanished out the front door. That was probably the last time Veronica would have her boyfriend in the house. It was probably the last moment Seth would be her boyfriend. God damn Cheryl.
“A Holy Mother,” Cheryl said. “We need twelve but now we only have eleven. How are we safe with eleven? That dog is an instrument of the devil.”
“Shackleton’s a dog, Mom.”
“So he has a name now? That dog, that…murderer.” The head fell into the wall and crunched softly in a very unsatisfying way.
Veronica closed her eyes and wished the scene to go away. Please, please, don’t be crazy right now. Please, just get up and go back into the kitchen.
“Clean this up before your father gets home. If he finds out that dog did this, you’ll never get to keep him.”
Veronica didn’t have a choice. Shackleton had chosen her. She was his.
“How about I make you a drink to settle your nerves and then I’ll clean this mess up?”
Cheryl nodded slowly. Her nerves needed to be settled. “But we have to get a new statue. It’s imperative.”
Veronica was already in the kitchen, pouring cola over ice. One a small plate Veronica put out two sugar cookies and a valium. Cheryl’s drink to settle her nerves. When friends wanted to come over, Veronica would demure and say that her Dad doesn’t like company. When having to wear childish clothes, Veronica said her Dad flipped out if she wore anything the least bit revealing. The truth was it was not Keith, it was Cheryl. She flipped out. Wigged out. Cheryl had sensitive nerves, that was how Keith put it. The family just needed not to upset her and everything was fine.
Cheryl sat the table and took a cookie.
“There’s a religious supply store in Ottowa,” Veronica said. “We could go tomorrow.”
Cheryl took a sip of the cola and the pill vanished between her lips. “That’s’ sounds delightful dear. I think I’m going to go have a lie down. Are you working tonight?”
“Yes, until nine.”
“Is your friend going to come back?”
“I don’t know.”

The One Where Veronica Sneaks Out

The door closed.
Veronica watched the clock until the number slowly arrived at 10:30.
She crawled out of bed and softly made her way across the floor. Opening the bottom drawer of her dresser slowly, she extracted a pair of sneakers. In the hall between the kid’s bedrooms was a closet and all the shoes were lined up neatly. Veronica knew her parents counted the shoes periodically in the night to make sure no one was sneaking off. Another nice thing about having a job was being able to by pairs of shoes without her mother adding it to the rolling tally of things that proved people were where they were suppose to be.
Shoes on, coat on, and Veronica slid out of the window onto the front porch. She crept across the porch to the cherry tree, swung onto a branch, and landed solidly on the ground.
The dog’s tail wagged enthusiastically and a low-pitched whine emanated.
“Don’t you dare,” Veronica whispered.
The dog barked.
“Traitor,” she hissed before sprinting down the street.
Up the street, where it became paved again, Seth was waiting in his rusting Dodge truck.









Halloween Parties Are the Best When the Police Don’t Show Up

There was a party but it was ten miles away in Shutt’s Pasture, far enough away from the main road no one would notice twenty cars and a bonfire. Ghosts towns were good for secrecy.
Veronica watched the road recede from the back window of the truck.
“Why do you keep looking over your shoulder?”
“Do I?” Veronica forced herself to face forward.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know, just a feeling. Look, did you think it would be funny to follow me a Kath tonight?”
“And blow our cover or not dating and totally hating each other?”
Her parents were weird. Not strict, just weird. No boys. Keith made that absolutely certain, no boys. Ever.
“Did you?” she asked with fading hope.
“Not I.”

Party scene here

“It’s Junior!”
The cry spread through the crowd faster than wildfire. The junior Laudermilk was a Sheriff’s deputy and seemed to enjoy extracting whatever joy broke up the monotony of life in the uber small town. He had the swagger of an older man use to abusing power.
Veronica wasn’t sure how she did it, but she was back in Seth’s truck and it was motoring too quickly through the pasture.
The truck slide as it lost traction on the patch of mud. Veronica felt her stomach lurch in horror of the familiar feeling. Seth have a whoop of joy, hands gripping the wheel tightly.
“Slow down,” she said. “You’re going too fast.”
“Relax, this is fun.”
“Slow down!” Veronica’s voice quickly reached an octive of distress that cause Seth to ease up on the gas peddle.
“Fine, fine. Happy now.”
She nodded. She heart was pounding in her chest and she knuckles were while and the single terrifying thought that the seat belts did not work in the truck raced through her mind.
“Fuck, that’s close.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Is he following us?”
The headlights from a dozen vehicles scatter in the night like an exploding star. The red and blue lights remained stationary.
“I think he just wanted to scare us.” Seemed to be a lot of that going around.

Sun City: Halloween

Everyone has a mystery. Human creatures crave the comforting not-knowing mysteries, little questionable events to puzzle over for a lifetime, turning the events over and over, trying to make sense of the mystery. Do they really say that? Am I exaggerating? How much can hinge on infliction? Has memory distorted the truth? Is there any hope of ever recovering the truth? The answer is always yes.
This is my mystery. It’s been turning over and over in my head for twenty years and I still haven’t made sense of the events. I’m not sure if I can rationalize the sequence of events, why things happened the way the happened, how the happen, and why she had to die. That much I do know. Alison died so I could live.


Sun City, Kansas

Halloween, 1982

It was raining. It always seemed to rain the night of Halloween. The day started bright with the promise of high clouds and pleasant temperatures in the 70s. Then the cold front would roll through around dusk and the temperature would plunge twenty degrees. Coats would only disguise the costumes. Everyone shivered good naturedly in the Halloween gloom, balancing umbrellas and bags of candy.
Veronica and Kathy were no exception, shivering in their black witches costumes and green face paint.
“Where should we go first?” Kath asked, arms swinging wildly at her side and the sisters walked up the street.
“Laudermilk’s.”
“I don’t want to go see stupid old smelly Mr. Laudermilk.”
“He’s not stupid and he doesn’t smell.”
“His breathe does.”
Veronica nodded. Mr. Laudermilk’s breath did smell, like liver and onions and sixty years of bad teeth.
“So why?” Kath scratched at the green paint on her nose, leaving a tiny pink spot of bare skin. Veronica and Kath were dressed as witches. Every year they dressed as witches. Veronica wasn’t sure why this was, maybe they gravitated towards witchery because their mother had a genuine witch-like wart on the tip of her nose.
“Well,” Veronica said, “because I need to pick up my check and old man Laudermilk’s giving away candy.”
Veronica could see the calculation in Kath’s eyes, a hard kind of glint of mercenary children on Halloween, tabulation the benefits of the candy versus time spent that could other be squandered on trick of treating. “The good kind,” Veronica said. “I picked it out last night.”
“Okay, then,” Kath said. “Why isn’t Christian with us?”
“He has a party.”
“Don’t you have a party to go to? Aren’t you pop-u-lar…” Kathy stretched out the last word in a sing-song voice.
Veronica and Kathy reached the edge of town. Their house, and old farm house painted a buttery yellow, was the last house in town, literally at the end of the street. Maple Avenue turned into a gravel road and ended at the Harlow’s driveway. It was a five minute walk to the paved streets of Sun City.
Veronica and Kathy turned west, walking the short two blocks to the intersection that was the downtown of Sun City. It wasn’t much. Sun City could be traversed on foot in under fifteen minutes, if the wind wasn’t blowing hard.
The name Sun City was a misnomer. It was a town. A tiny town. A town so small that other small towns in comparison considered themselves a metropolis. A complete smallsville. Absolutely nowhere. Veronica knew the town so well she could talk it blind folded. She knew the walk from her house to the school took ten minutes, 12 in the rain, 15 in the snow, and 20 if it was icy. She knew every person in every house, some better than others, but had met everyone. Laudermilk’s Pharmacy was the one of three social hubs in the town, the others being the diner and the church. Working the cash register, she met everyone and knew what medicine they took and candy they bought.
“I have a party to go to,” Veronica said.
“Then why are you trick or treating with me?”
“Because you’re too young to go alone.” Kath was only ten. Sun City was small and safe but it was best not to invite disaster.
The lights of Laudermilk’s glowed invitingly against the dark of the night.
“Are you going to sneak out?”
“No,” Veronica said firmly, hoping that she didn’t sound like she was lying because she was lying. Sneaking out was exactly her plan.
“Can I knock at this house?”
Kath planted herself at the root of Mrs. Schniedawind’s sidewalk and would not budge.
“Make it fast.”
Kath skipped up the sidewalk and sixty seconds later returned with a candy bar partially eaten. “This is my favorite holiday.”
Laudermilk’s Pharmacy had a steady stream of children in costumes, each present to Mr. Laudermilk like courtesans to a king. He inspected the costumes, murmured approval or questions over what they were suppose to be and bequeathed the children with a full sized candy bar.
Kath nearly broke into a dance when she saw the candy Laudermilk produced from his apron.
Laudermilk’s Pharmacy was a relic of a by-gone era. Most of Sun City was a relic but Laudermilk’s had a working soda fountain and Sunday bar. Small assortment of dry groceries in the front, pharmacy in the back, and the soda fountain right at the front door. The counter as filled with children spending their allowances on root beer floats or parfaits. Veronica worked the counter. Technically she was a soda jerk, but thought of herself as a soda-asshole.
Mr. Laudermilk (Old Man Laudermilk to everyone Veronica’s age or younger) looked like he crawled out of a Norman Rockwell painting. He was tall, thin in the body and thin in the face with a red nose that did not seem capable of holding up his glasses. He wore a stripped red and white shirt, smartly ironed and nearly wrinkled and a large white butcher apron. Nothing in the store was butchered and the apron stayed remarkably white.
“Miss Harlow,” Old Man Laudermilk said. “And young Miss Harlow.” He produced a white envelope from the confines of the miraculous white apron.
Veronica took her wages with a slight smile.
“Don’t spend it all in one place now.”
There weren’t a whole lot of options for places to spend in Sun City.
“What you gonna spent it on?” Kath asked immediately.
“I’m not going to spend it.”
“It seems to me the only reason to get a job is to spend money.”
A dry laugh came out of Laudermilk.
“I’m saving,” Veronica said. “For college.”
“What you need to save for that for?”
Veronica was leaving the pharmacy when Seth walked in. They nearly collided.
Kath was undeterred and plowed on, oblivious of the other people. “Why don’t you by a car?”
“Sorry,” Veronica apologized quickly. Laying one hand on Kath’s shoulder so she couldn’t’ take off down the street like a rocket, “I don’t want a car.”
Seth graciously stepped aside. “Why not? If you had a car, we could just drive away from this place, leave and never come back.”
Veronica said nothing, moving down onto the street. This time she had to practically drag Kath by the hand. They made their way past the other downtown businesses: the diner, the bank, the post office, the gas station, and the Baptist church.
“Wasn’t that your boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Dad thinks he is.”
“Well, he’s not!”
Kath began to skip. “When are you going to sneak out and go to his party?”
“I’m not sneaking out to go to a party. Stop acting as if I am. Why don’t you go try this house?” They were now in the small cluster of historic houses that flanked either side of Sun City Memorial Park. The houses were spectacular examples of American Victoriana built during Sun City’s money flushed youth of the late 19th century. At least, that’s what her teacher Ms. Danes said.
The park was a square plot of green with trees and the appropriate number of benches. In the middle of the park was a gigantic pink rock: a granite boulder, an erratic boulder, dumped by a receding glacier during the last ice age. Something else Ms. Danes told her.
Kath returned from the first house, mouth already filled with candy.
“Don’t eat everything. Mom’s going to want to see enough candy as proof that you didn’t stuff yourself silly.”
“There’s plenty,” Kath said in a tone that suggested she had everything under control.
Veronica watched Kath skipped up the path to the next house. Twin jack-o-lanterns flanked the porch. A ghost and pirate were already at the door.
Something shifted in the wind. I’m not sure what it was, but my skin felt like my core body temperature dropped twenty degrees and I knew, I knew with absolute certainty that I was in trouble.
I looked behind me quickly. There was nothing in the shadows. It was too hard to see anything clearly. There were no street lamps in Sun City. Street lamps imply a city government and so sort of tax base to operate services. We had neither.
The street was dark. The only light came from the porches of houses expecting Trick or Treaters.
It was even darker inside the park. No light penetrated the leafy canopy.
Something seemed to lurk behind the trees.
I could feel the eyes on me.
“Come on out, Seth York. I know it’s you.”
Nothing. Another bone chilling blast of wind. My eyes watered and I tried to blink away tears and something in the park, behind the trees, shifted.
“Ha ha ha, Seth. You’re not scaring me.” Just as I said the words, I realized it was exactly what the young heroine said in a slasher flick just before the slasher slashed.
I close my eyes. From here, home was a three minute run.
I wrapped my arms around my chest. I should have worn a black sweater. It totally would have kept with the costume and I would be terrified and shivering on the sidewalk of Union Street.
Kath was back, swinging her orange plastic pail. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. How many more houses on this street?”
“Four.”
“Hurry up then, I’m cold.”
“Got a party to go to, you mean.”
“Just hurry up.”
This time I followed Kath up to the house, huddling on the edge of the safety of the warm porch light.
“Let’s do the houses by the school.”
“Aren’t you freezing?”
“No. Is Seth going to pick you up?”
“He’s not going to pick me up because I’m not going to a party.”
“Everyone in school knows about the party at his house tonight. And everyone knows there’s going to be a keg and a room in the back with the all the lights out, the kissing room.”
“I’m not going to a party.”
“Then why did Alison drop off party clothes this morning?”
“Those weren’t party clothes,” Veronica said, perhaps a bit too quickly.
“It was a black lace shirt…”
It was a black lace shirt with grommets and cording to lace up the front and huge ruffled sleeves. It was completely awesome. Her father would never let something like that in the house, much less let her wear it.
“Don’t tell Dad, okay?”
Something lurking suddenly shifted out of the corner of her eye. Something horrible. Veronica couldn’t formulate the words but she knew it was horrible and had sharp teeth.
The dark was too dark. Halloween was never this dark when she was a kid.
“Are you going to go into the kissing room with Seth?”
If the night went well. “No,” I said. “How many more houses?”
“Do I look like I have enough candy to make it too Christmas, because that’s how much candy I need.”
“I don’t know, but you are beginning to look like you’ve eaten enough candy to last to Christmas.” Kath was a little on the round side but not too large for her age. She was the sturdy product of sturdy farmer genes. Veronica herself was equally sturdy: tall, big breasted, not to brag, but they are uncomfortably big, and her mom was forever trying to get her to wear polo shirts with dorky collars that look terrible on her. Actually, Mom tries to dress her like Kath.
“One more block,” Kath said. “The best houses are by the school. Come on.” She fearless stepped off of the safety of the sidewalk and into the dark of the park.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“Cutting across the park.”
“Let’s stick to the main roads tonight.”
“Come on, there’s no time to loose.” Kath took off running, the white soles of her sneakers flashing before disappearing into the gloom.
Veronica watched her ten year old sister vanished and had an uncomfortable feeling that it would be the last time she saw her. Small girl, dressed in black, dark green face paint: she was impossible to find in the dark.
Veronica took off into a fast sprint. The faster they made it threw the park, the better.
A shrill cry pierced the night.
Veronica ran fast, towards the sound. This was it, this was the terrible thing waiting her for just beyond the shadows, the thing following her. “Kath! Where are you!”
There was no answer, just the sound of the wind.
“Kath!”
“Over here!”
Kath was sprawled on the ground near the rock, candy spilled around her like she was a piñata.
“What happened?”
“I tripped. Now I’m never going to find all my candy.”
Veronica extended a hand to help her sister up. “The ground is muddy. You don’t want that candy now.”
“And my butt’s muddy too.”
“The great muddy behind witch.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me we should have stayed to the main road?”
“I don’t have to, but I did tell you so.”
“I’m cold.”
“Ready to go home?”
“Yes,” Kath said glumly.
She heard it. A twig snapping, something horrible with sharp teeth shifting it’s weight, stepping forward.
Veronica’s grip tightened on Kath’s shoulder.
“Ow, you’re hurting me.”
“Shh,” Veronica cautioned. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Breathing.”
Kath became still.
Crack.
Veronica grabbed Kath’s hand and ran, practically dragging her the entire three minute run back to home at the end of Maple Ave.
“Wait,” Kath panted. “Stop.”
“We’re almost there.” The yellow house at the end of Maple Avenue glowed warmly in the night, the downstairs lights on.
“My sides hurt…”
“Come on,” Veronica said. One final burst of speed put her on the porch.
Kath collapsed on the steps. “What…was that…about.”
“You should run more.”
“Go to hell.”
“Don’t let Dad hear that kind of langue. He’ll take it out of your hide.”
“Why did you run like the devil was after us.”
“There was something there. Watching us.”
Kath was pale. “You’re just trying to scare me.”
“Do I look like I’m joshing you?”
“Then it was Christian trying to scare us.”
“Maybe. It worked.”
“Why does he have to be such a jerk?”
“Because he’s our brother.”
The door opened, bright light spilled onto the porch. “Are you girls going to stay out there all night?”
Veronica and Kath entered the house, kicking muddy shoes off in the vestibule. Their mother, Cheryl, began to shut the door but paused. “What’s that dog doing out there?”
Veronica turned to look. A great black dog was sitting at the boundary where the gravel pavement of Maple Avenue became the driveway of the Harlow home. Its pink tongue lolled out of the side of it’s mouth good-naturedly. “I don’t know.”
“Can I pet it?” Kath asked.
“No.” Cheryl firmly shut the door and twisted a deadbolt in place. “You don’t go petting strange dogs. It could have rabies.”
Cheryl seemed to then notice the state of her youngest child. “What happened to you? You’re covered in mud.”
“Fell in the park.”
“Go take a shower can change into your pajamas.”
Kath rolled her eyes and disappeared up the stairs.
The Harlow home was an old farmhouse. Originally it was two rooms up and two rooms down. And addition had been added at some point in the twentieth century that brought plumbing, a kitchen, and two more bedrooms to the house.
“You, too,” Cheryl said. “It’s getting late.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Working late.” Keith Harlow was a mechanic for a trucking company in the next town over. There wasn’t much industry in Western Kansas, just agriculture, but cattle and chickens needed to be shipped from the farm to the slaughter houses and then to the market. Keith kept the trucks running that kept fresh food on the shelves. He worked odd hours, depending on the trucks. When the trucks arrived at the service yard, they needed to be serviced and put back out on the road as fast as possible. However, when Cheryl said Keith was working late it was code for “drinking at the bar” and no one wanted to be awake when he came home.
“I have homework, anyway,” Veronica said. “Then I’ll go to bed.”
“Are you sure? Christian won’t be home until 10. You could stay up until then.”
Wow. Staying up till, just like a big girl. Cheryl acted as if she was Kath’s age, not a senior in high school.
“I’m tired,” Veronica said. “I think I exhausted myself shivering.” She was already on the stairs. Each board creaked under her weight. Grand old houses, never able to keep a secret. She could hear the water running in the bathroom.
“Good night, sweetie.”
Her bedroom was cold. Veronica didn’t mind. She liked the cold. She kept the window cracked an inch so it would be cold.
Her bedroom was in the northwest corner of the house, the draftiest and coldest part of the house. Mornings in the deep of window, the inside of the windows would be coated with a lace-like layer of frost.
The witch costume, a cheap thing made of polyester, was forgotten in the laundry hamper. She put on the clothes Alison had brought over yesterday. She wore a black camisole under the black lace shirt and blue jeans. If Cheryl wasn’t trying to dress Veronica like a kid, then maybe she wouldn’t have to secret clothes away with her best friend. Alison had a whole section of her closet filled with clothes Veronica bought but couldn’t bring home because her parents would flip out. The outfit was nice, curvy in the right places. Veronica untied the top of the blouse, letting the string hand loose and exposing a bit of chest.
Next was makeup, which was not allowed in the Harlow home. For this Veronica did not need Alison to deliver goods, but rather she had her own hiding place. A loose floor board near the bed provided just enough space to squirrel away the essentials of a teenage girls’ makeup kit.
Five minutes till ten, the front door opened and slammed with the force of a teenage boy. Boys wreck your house, Dad said, girls wreck your head. Christian was home. Muffled voices downstairs drifted through the walls and then the heavy sound of feet on the stairs.
Veronica was fully dressed under the covers. The lights were off and a book was sitting on the floor next to the bed.
The door cracked opened, Cheryl making her rounds. “Sweetie?” she said softly.
Veronica made no reply, blanket pulled over her head and eyes closed in feigned sleep.
The door closed.

Happy NaNoWriMo!

As I stumbled out of bed this morning, Andy said, "Do you know what day it is?"

Blinking, "November first."

"How many words have you written? Zero. You're behind already!"

There are only two responses to that: "shut your pie hole" and "fuck you".

Andy got both.